Pursuit of Princes (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 5)

by Julia Brannan

  By the time Lochiel had assembled his clansmen, now greatly diminished since Culloden and numbering some four hundred men, it was noon and the sun, although hidden behind thick cloud cover, was high in the sky when they began their march east along the shores of Loch Arkaig towards Achnacarry Castle, built by Lochiel’s grandfather ninety years earlier.

  Alex MacGregor and Donald Cameron both rode, men walking beside their horses in case they should need assistance due to their injuries. Alex had spent the intervening week learning to walk on crutches and building his upper body muscles with the aid of numerous stones of different shapes and sizes. Now he sat erect and proud on his horse, glad to be doing something worthwhile again, although his leg was still paining him and he knew he was not ready to fight yet.

  Lochiel’s agony was written on his face; he was deathly pale, and his mouth was compressed in a tight line. Alex wondered how the Cameron chief was managing to keep his seat at all with both legs broken, and wanted to suggest that he might be more comfortable if he was carried by his men, as Lord Lovat, now on his way back home to raise the Frasers had been, but he didn’t want to offend him so he kept silent. It was but a short distance from the loch to Achnacarry, although it took them longer than normal because the ground was waterlogged due to weeks of heavy rain.

  Once arrived, they settled in to wait for Lochgarry’s men to join them. Lochiel’s house, large and constructed entirely of fir planks, was impressive, masculine and homely, if a little sparsely furnished. The clansmen set up camp. Due to the frequent and heavy rain showers, as many as possible were accommodated in the house and outbuildings, while the unfortunate ones bivouacked in the landscaped gardens among the numerous fruit trees. Alex did not hide his appreciation for either the house, the gardens or the comfort of the sofa he lay on whilst accepting a glass of fine claret.

  “It’s no’ normally as bare as this,” Lochiel explained apologetically, indicating the bare walls and floors. “We feared reprisals, so most of our more portable furnishings have been moved to a safer place.”

  “Will any place in the Highlands be safe, if Cumberland gets his way?” Alex asked.

  “No. That’s why we have to fight on. If nothing else, we can keep him busy while Prince Charlie makes his escape, and until the French come.”

  “Do ye really think the French will come now?” Alex asked. He massaged his leg gingerly. It was improving. He could not put weight on it yet, but it was itching something fierce, which was a good sign.

  “I have to believe that,” Lochiel replied. “For without them we canna win this fight. What choice do we have now? I’m much heartened by the provisions they sent us. We can hold out until help arrives, if everyone who’s pledged to fight on does. Lochgarry should be here by now,” he added, a frown crossing his handsome features.

  “Do ye think he’s surrendered?” Alex asked.

  “Christ, I hope not. His men are watching the troop movements from Fort Augustus so we’ll be warned if they move against us. I’ve no doubt they know we’re moving. I canna understand why anyone would voluntarily surrender, though, after what happened to the Grants.”

  This was a good point. After Culloden, eighty-one men of Clan Grant had surrendered to Cumberland on the advice of their chief, expecting to give up their arms and be allowed to return to their homes in Glenmoriston and Glen Urquhart. Instead they had been taken prisoner and marched down to the quay at Inverness, where they were now being kept in horrific conditions on board one of the transport ships.

  “In a way, Cumberland did us a favour by that, though,” Lochiel added. “A lot of men who were thinking to surrender changed their minds after that.”

  Even so, Lochgarry did not appear either that evening or the next day, with the result that as Lochiel, Alex, John Murray of Broughton and numerous other officers sat down to dinner, Cameron men were sent out to watch the hills and the military road, in case of troop movements.

  It was as they were finishing dinner that a visitor was announced, a young lieutenant by the name of Iain MacDonell, who brought money and dispatches for Murray, and the unwelcome news that on the way he had met his cousin Barrisdale, who had told him that both he and Lochgarry were getting their men together in preparation to see what terms of surrender they could obtain from Cumberland.

  Lochiel received the young man with the utmost courtesy, offering him a meal and a bed for the night which he gratefully accepted, but once the lieutenant had left, he exploded with rage.

  “The bastard!” he roared. “He would surrender without even sending word to me, leaving us open to attack from Fort William! The fool, does he really think that the Elector’s son will treat him kindly? We see every day what he thinks of Highlanders! Well,” he continued, “he has chosen his path, God help him, and I have chosen mine. Tomorrow we cross the Lochy and join with Keppoch, and then on to Badenoch. Let us retire, gentlemen, and get what sleep we may. It may be long before we enjoy such comfortable quarters again.”

  * * *

  Fort Augustus, May 1746

  Colonel Mark Hutchinson stood smartly to attention in front of his Commander-in-Chief, waiting for him to finish perusing the intelligence report he had just delivered from Lord Loudoun, who had been sent to Loch Lochy to reconnoitre and send back news of the rumoured rebel insurgency in the area.

  Some minutes passed, during which the Duke of Cumberland read and reread the missive, then sat staring out of the tiny window of his accommodations against which the rain drove unceasingly, clearly deep in thought. Near one corner of the room a peat fire gave out a little heat and a large amount of smoke which drifted lazily upward to the roof space.

  Colonel Hutchinson spent those minutes heartily wishing he had chosen to stand to attention a few inches further to the left of where he now was, where he would have avoided the steady trickle of icy water that was dripping from a leak in the roof to land with unerring accuracy on the back of his neck. He resisted the natural urge to step to the side, which would be an unforgivable breach of military etiquette, and occupied his time wishing all Scots, including both the rebels who did not know when they were beaten and the loyal soldiers who had built this ridiculous hut for the duke to live in, in the deepest regions of hell.

  After three miserable days of riding round this godforsaken country in the pouring rain, he had finally returned to Fort Augustus, had divested himself of his sodden uniform, briskly dried himself off, and with a sigh of bliss had donned dry clothes before delivering his missive to the duke. If he had to stand here much longer, however, this uniform would be as wet as the one still lying on the floor of his quarters. He only possessed two uniforms.

  Finally the duke finished contemplating and glanced across at the colonel, then up at the roof.

  “At ease, Colonel,” he said. Colonel Hutchinson relaxed his shoulders and moved slightly to the left, allowing the rain to drip onto the dirt floor. Cumberland glanced up at the roof of his office again and sighed.

  “Get someone to put a bucket or some such thing under that when you leave, will you? The floor will be awash otherwise.”

  Colonel Hutchinson examined the roof with some interest. From the outside the duke’s ‘apartment’ resembled nothing more than a huge heap of haphazardly-piled turf and branches, at the bottom of which could be seen a low turf wall, in which was set a small window and a low door, through which the colonel, although not a tall man, had had to duck to enter the premises. From inside though, he could see that the roof had been constructed with some skill, considering the materials to hand. The branches had been placed at regular intervals, and had been interlaced to make a sturdy base on top of which sods of turf and heather had been placed to seal the roof.

  To almost seal the roof. He supposed that given more time and variety of materials, the Highland regiment would have been able to construct a completely weatherproof house, but as it was they had only been informed two days before that the duke was moving to Fort Augustus, which had been burnt down by th
e rebels two months previously. Of course the officers had commandeered the least damaged areas of the fort, while the common soldiers had shifted for themselves and had cobbled together temporary shelters in the ruined barracks, but the loyalist Highlanders had pulled out all the stops to construct a traditional Highland dwelling for their victorious prince.

  Colonel Hutchinson shivered and glanced back at his commander, who looked as though he was chilled to the bone as well. His nose was red, and in spite of his podginess, his face had a pinched look to it.

  “I am sure that more…er…comfortable accommodations could be found for you, Your Highness,” the colonel ventured. Indeed his own accommodations, though somewhat cramped, were warm and dry at least. “Would you like me to enquire for you?”

  “God, no, man,” the duke barked. “The men went to an enormous effort to collect together all the materials and build this for me, and all in this horrendous weather. It was a sign of the esteem they hold me in, and I would not insult them by rejecting their kind gesture. I am deeply touched by it. And, being practical, we need to keep the good opinion of the loyal Highlanders, Colonel. God knows, they are few enough.”

  “Yet the majority of the Highlanders did not come out for the Young Pretender, Your Highness,” Hutchinson commented.

  “True. But those who did not come out for Charles did not come out for my father either,” reasoned Cumberland, “which is why Cope lost at Prestonpans. If all those who had declared themselves loyal to the crown had risen for us then, the rebellion would never have got off the ground. I don’t trust the Highlanders, loyal or not. They’ll change their allegiance on a sixpence, and I won’t risk that at the moment, even if I catch pneumonia in the process. They know the territory, and we need that knowledge to nip this new rising in the bud. Damn Lochiel and that snake Lovat!”

  “The Fraser lands have been burnt, and Lovat’s house razed to the ground,” Hutchinson said. He refrained from saying that that was probably the reason that the Fraser chief had finally committed unequivocally to the Stuart cause, although most of his clan had come out for Charles last December, under Lovat’s son.

  “Yes, and I intend to do the same and more to the Camerons. They started this whole thing, but by God I will finish it, and now. I will not give them the chance to rise again! I was told there were three thousand of them at Achnacarry, but Loudoun seems to think there are only about six hundred, which is heartening. But the MacPhersons are ready to rise again, I’ve been told, and most of the Frasers, and no doubt the damned MacGregors will come out too. We must strike before they can and see if we can take Lochiel in the process. That would be a mighty blow against the Jacobite scum. Is Charles with them?”

  “No, Your Highness. It is believed that he may have sailed to France on the ships that anchored in Loch nan Uamh to drop supplies for the rebels. But we have no certain news of that as yet.”

  “Very well, then. Sit down, Colonel. You can scribe for me. This is what we shall do.”

  The colonel pulled up a chair and prepared his writing materials, while the duke poured them both a brandy and located a map of the area, which he unrolled on the table, placing the decanter on one end to stop it rolling up again.

  “Now, as you know, Loudoun is here, waiting at the head of Loch Oich with two thousand men for my orders.” He indicated with a fat finger a spot on the map a little to the north of where the Camerons were currently massed. “Munro and Howard have another six hundred men heading along Loch Lochy. On Saturday morning they will ford the river near Moy and attack the rebels from the south, while at the same time Loudoun will come down here,” he pointed to a gap between Loch Arkaig and Loch Lochy, “from the north to take Achnacarry and cut off any retreat. In this way, we will be able to capture Lochiel, who is severely wounded and therefore unable to travel at speed.”

  “It is rumoured that many of the Camerons would surrender their arms if Lochiel was captured,” Colonel Hutchinson supplied.

  “I have heard that rumour, although I think the only way to ensure the Camerons do not rise again is to wipe them out, as far as is possible. They have been staunchly for the Stuarts since ’89. They may submit now and hand in some rusty old swords when we give them no alternative, but I have no doubt they’ll be causing trouble again the minute my back is turned. Every damn one of them is false, and has more than one set of arms, of that I have no doubt.” The duke sat back in his chair and took a sip of his brandy. “I have no wish to spend any more time than is absolutely necessary in this savage place. I must return to Flanders as soon as possible, and have no time to wait around for these traitors to see reason in their own time. I intend to hit hard, and make an example of this clan. There is no surer way to show the Jacobites that any further insurrection will be dealt with immediately and efficiently.”

  “You mean to kill all six hundred rebels, if possible?”

  “Of course.”

  “And what of the common people, Your Highness?”

  “In my view there are no common people. They are all rebels, to a man. You will take back my instructions that all their houses are to be destroyed and their cattle brought to the fort.”

  The colonel glanced out of the window. It had been raining for days, and the nights were bitterly cold.

  “What of the women and children, Your Highness? They will die without food and shelter.”

  Cumberland looked at him askance, and the colonel wished he had thought before speaking his mind.

  “The men should have thought about that before they left their families to fight for a usurper. And in any case, the women are as bad as the men. Look at Jenny Cameron and Lady Mackintosh, who brought their clans out while their husbands were fighting for us! We cannot be soft when dealing with these people, Colonel. They have no notion of mercy and honour. They see it only as weakness. Soon they will be too busy trying to feed themselves to think of rebelling again. And then we can leave this place and get back to civilisation. I am sure you want that, sir, and your men too.”

  Colonel Hutchinson agreed that that was indeed what he wanted and set to work to write out the duke’s orders.

  An hour later he was back in his room. A cosy fire burned in the hearth, and his wet uniform had been hung up to dry to one side of it. His sergeant had procured a bottle of wine and had cooked some mutton chops for him. The duke had honoured him by confiding his opinions to him and by entrusting him not only to write them out, but deliver them to Lord Loudoun as well. Colonel Hutchinson was aware that he should be feeling very happy right now.

  Colonel Hutchinson was not feeling very happy right now.

  It was true that once he had eaten his mutton chops and drunk his bottle of wine he would have to go out in the abysmal weather to deliver the Duke of Cumberland’s orders to Lord Loudoun, although he now had the use of an oilcloth coat to help keep the rain out. But it was not this that was making him unhappy.

  The truth was that he was far from happy to have the job of delivering orders sanctioning the murder of innocent people, especially of women and children, even if they were on behalf of a royal prince. In fact if anyone but the prince had asked him to deliver such a message, he would have done his utmost to avoid the task. The colonel had hoped that Prince William would heed the advice of Lord Culloden, who, as well as being unfailingly loyal to the Hanoverians, knew the Highland mentality better than anyone, and who had strongly counselled against draconian measures being adopted against the ordinary people, saying that rather than subduing their spirit, they were likely to be inspired to rise again for the Stuarts, in the spirit of revenge.

  The Highlanders were a vengeful people, everyone knew that. And they could hold a grudge for centuries.

  However, the duke thought he knew better, and it was not for the likes of Colonel Hutchinson to question his orders, only to obey them.

  He sighed. He had not joined the army to murder innocent peasants and watch as their homes were burnt and their wives and children stripped and left to die of
cold or hunger. He had joined the army to fight for his country, and to him that meant fighting enemy soldiers on a battlefield. It was true that soldiers sometimes committed indiscretions during and directly after a battle, when their blood was up. While regrettable and to be discouraged, the colonel was a realist, and understood that you could not expect a man fired up to a killing rage to just switch it off at a moment’s notice.

  But what he was witnessing now was something else; it was the cold-blooded murder of unarmed men, of the old and feeble; it was the rape of innocent women and girls, and of leaving them to almost certain death by starvation. This was not a task for him. This was a task for arrogant bullies like General Henry Hawley, and Captains John Fergusson, Caroline Scott and Richard Cunningham, who enjoyed brutalising women and children.

  For the first time since he had joined the army thirty years before at the age of sixteen, he considered resigning his commission. It might be pleasant to settle down, marry, maybe have a few children. Perhaps he would, soon.

  But not yet. He had a job to do. He had thought that job was to put down a rebellion, but now he realised that it was to curb the excesses of the more inhuman of his men. He could do nothing about Hawley, Fergusson or Scott, none of whom were under his command. But he could, and fully intended, to keep an eye on Cunningham, who was enjoying himself immensely in the current punitive environment. He had already heard several unsavoury rumours about the man’s treatment of the local women in particular, but nothing substantial enough for him to address. Cunningham’s men were mortally afraid of him, which did not help matters. In any case, in view of the orders he was now preparing to deliver, he doubted that he would be able to bring a case against Cunningham for rape and torture, even were he to have firm evidence.

  All he could do for now was watch and ensure as little brutality as possible took place on his watch. But the moment an opportunity presented itself for him to be rid of Captain Cunningham, he intended to take full advantage of it.