‘Och, I used to do the same myself. I remember me and my sister …’ His face darkened. ‘Don’t just stand there, sir. I told you to go down to the stables.’
‘Yes, maister.’
Gav hurried away to find Big John leading Ramsay’s horse out to the yard. In a minute or two Ramsay came striding out, mounted the animal and galloped off without a word. Gav and Big John followed on foot. The first destination was Tron Church where the wedding service was to take place. They had only been standing a few minutes in the crush of folk in the middle of the church when Phemy entered looking like an ugly-faced bird with glorious plumage. She was wearing a silver satin dress with huge hoops and sewed all over it from top to bottom, back and front, neck and sleeves, were ‘favours’ of different-coloured ribbons. The Earl of Glendinny looked very grand, too, in a cutaway coat of shining peach damask embroidered with tiny blue, purple and green flowers, and breeches to match.
After the ceremony the guests suddenly rushed at the bride and in a matter of moments they had ripped every single favour from the dress. The next ceremony was the garter, and the bridegroom’s man tried to pull it off her leg but she managed to drop it through her petticoat on to the floor. And all the time there was much screaming and laughing and hilarity. Afterwards Ramsay walked with Gav and Big John, with Big John leading the horse, across the road to the reception at the Halyburtons’ house. Ramsay strode along with hands thumping behind his back.
‘It’s a bloody disgrace,’ he growled. ‘High time it was stopped—all that sinful laughing and levity in God’s House.’
The laughter and gaiety was spilling out all around them and splashing recklessly, heedlessly across to the Halyburtons’. Up the stair it echoed, to cascade into every room in the house with a rainbow of colour.
The fiddlers were already scraping away as fast as they could, but before any dancing began the guests energetically attacked the food Letitia had provided. A long table was packed from end to end. A huge platter held a hind quarter of boiled mutton with cauliflower, turnips and carrots. There was roast beef. There were geese and ducks and pigs. There were oysters; and, of course, there was the bride’s pie made with calves’ feet, suet, apples, raisins, currants, peel, cinnamon, nutmeg and mace, well moistened with a glass of Madeira and one of brandy and baked in puff paste. Somewhere concealed in the crust was a gold ring, as was the custom, and the pie was decorated with cupids, turtles, torches, flames and darts.
Gav was overwhelmed by the magnificence of it all. Everything, every sound, every touch, every smell, every taste, every sensation, he relished to the full, and he vowed yet again and even more passionately that from now on this was the life for him.
He had enquired a couple of times about Quin and been told that his case had not been dealt with yet but that it would be soon. He had no idea what he was going to say to Quin or what he was going to do about him. He had no wish to hurt him, but there could be no question of resuming their old life together. None at all. He did not want anything more to do with Quin. A person like Quin could have no place in his new life. Yet at the same time he could not stop worrying. He wished he did not have to make a decision about him or speak to him again. He realised he did not need to, but knew that to avoid the confrontation would be cowardly and he was not a coward. If he had something to say to a man, he would say it to his face. He went yet again to the Tolbooth and learned with a mixture of real regret that Quin, because he had been convicted and punished several times before as a thief, had this time been banished from the town.
But no doubt he would trot off to Edinburgh or some other place and be perfectly happy in his own strange and terrible way. So, sadly, yet thankfully, Gav put Quin out of his thoughts.
But Quin had Gav very much on his mind and was determined to find out where he was and what had become of him. He was only too well aware that hanging was the punishment for anyone who returned to the town after being banished but he was so agitated about Gav he could not do anything else but risk the terrifying consequences.
He wandered about the wynds and closes in bewilderment, all the time talking to himself.
‘Quin’s lost his childer. Quin’s lost wee Gavie.’
He rubbed his torn ear and scratched his head and couldn’t understand it.
20
IT was O’Sullivan who chose the battlefield of Drumossie Muir for the vital confrontation with the Duke of Cumberland. The Prince who was staying at nearby Culloden House, approved the choice. But all along the chiefs and General Murray favoured the method of a long war of attrition against Cumberland, gradually wearing him down in strength and confidence. They believed in striking only when and where it favoured the Highlanders and never committing the whole Highland army in one sweep. There was no doubt that this was the wisest policy. But the Prince was young and headstrong and impatient. Most of his Irish friends were the same. O’Sullivan, in particular, considered himself quite worn out by the stresses and strains he had undergone since coming to Scotland and wanted to be done with this without further delay. Along with the Prince he concocted another plan to be put into practice immediately. They knew that Cumberland’s birthday was on 15th April, and reports had reached them at Culloden that there were celebrations among the government troops. The Prince and O’Sullivan wanted a surprise dawn attack on Cumberland’s camp at Balbair.
Most of the chiefs refused to consider the plea until reinforcements arrived. But the Prince was optimistic as usual, with never a thought of defeat. Lord George agreed with the chiefs’ objections. But he had just come from inspecting Drumossie Muir and had been appalled at the boggy state of the ground and the vast flat openness of it. No worse place in the whole of Britain could have been chosen for Highlanders to fight on. It was only because the plea for a dawn attack was the lesser of two evils that he eventually agreed to it. The Prince was so delighted he flung an arm around Murray’s neck and said:
‘This will crown it all! You’ll restore the King by it! You’ll have all the honour and glory of it! It is your work …’ Lord George took off his bonnet, bowed coldly and said nothing. He knew that the odds were stacked against the Highland army because over a third of it had not yet returned from foraging. Officers rode off to try and round up the men, but were told by them:
‘We are starving. Shoot us if you like but we will not return until we get meat.’
On hearing this the Prince was not in the least perturbed.
‘Whenever the march begins the men will be all hearty and those who have gone off will turn and follow.’
Less than four and a half thousand clansmen were finally available to march against an army of over eighteen thousand strong who were well fed, well rested and in good spirits. But the Prince’s Irish favourites assured him that Cumberland’s army would be ‘utterly dispirited and never be able to stand an attack’. The Prince enthusiastically agreed and said that even if he had only one thousand clansmen he would still march that night.
Lord George led the front column at his usual brisk pace and soon far outdistanced the heavily equipped French troops in the rear. The Prince was in the middle of the column and had to send a messenger forward asking Murray to slacken his pace. Soon the men had to go in single file because of trackless paths, marshes and quagmires, and became bogged down. Sometimes they sank waist-deep and horses and men had to violently struggle all the time to extricate themselves.
Halfway to Balbair, Murray sent back Colonel Kerr to warn the officers not to raise the alarm by using their firearms.
‘Attack the tents sword in hand,’ he commanded. ‘Strike and push vigorously wherever a bulge appears in the canvas.’ At the same time he also sent a message to the Prince asking him to form the centre and rear of the second column as they came up so as to make sure the attack was made simultaneously and without confusion. In reply he was astounded to receive the order that he was to attack without waiting on the rest of the troops to arrive. Murray had started off with less than two thousand men
under his command and a great many of this number had now fallen out, collapsing for want of food. He therefore sent back word with Cameron of Lochiel that it was useless to continue as there was no possibility of his being strong enough to attack. The Prince, however, was convinced that the army was stronger than it had ever been and sent Lochiel back to Murray with positive orders to continue.
Lord George was joined by some other officers, who confirmed that there was still a gap in the line of over half a mile and it would be impossible for the rear to catch up with them. As a result, Murray ordered the troops to halt. O’Sullivan galloped up then, shouting:
‘What is this, gentlemen? Do you not know that it is the Prince’s wish that the march should be continued?’
Before Murray could answer, Lochiel burst out in disgust:
‘The delay on the part of the rear is inexcusable, sir. Murray is perfectly justified. Indeed, he has no alternative.’
Then one of the Atholl Brigade officers broke out violently:
‘Those that are so much for fighting, why don’t they come up with us?’
Just then, John Hay, the Prince’s secretary, did so, but his angry arguments were equally ineffective. Lord George ignored him. Drums were already beating in the distant camp, which told him all too clearly that Cumberland’s men were on the alert. He said to his Highland officers:
‘The day is coming, gentlemen, and I have taken my decision. Guide your men back down the road.’
The Duke of Perth and Lord John Drummond rode back to order the second column to face about, but an infuriated O’Sullivan and John Hay galloped back ahead of them to warn the Prince.
‘Your Royal Highness, unless you come to the front and order his Lordship to go on, nothing will be done.’
Charles immediately spurred his horse forward through the darkness and on coming upon the retreating men of the second column he demanded:
‘Where the devil are the men going?’
And when he was told that they had been ordered by the Duke of Perth to return to Culloden House he broke out excitedly: ‘Where is the Duke? Call him here. I am betrayed! What need have I to give orders when my orders are disobeyed?’
But the Duke and O’Sullivan had lost their way in the darkness. Nor could Lord George be found. Distracted aides-de-camp rode about demanding:
‘For God’s sake, what has become of His Lordship? The Prince is in the utmost perplexity for want of him.’
Eventually the Duke of Perth presented himself and the Prince demanded:
‘What do you mean by ordering the men to turn about?’
The Duke replied:
‘Your Royal Highness, Lord Murray turned back with the first column three-quarters of an hour ago.’
‘Good God!’ Charles cried out. ‘What can be the matter? What does this mean? We were in equal numbers and could have blown them to the devil. Pray, Perth, can’t you call them back yet? Perhaps he has not gone too far?’
But the chief was firm.
‘It is now daylight, Your Royal Highness. Far better to march back than go and attack the Duke who would be prepared.’
The Prince did his best to hide his disappointment and to encourage his followers.
‘There’s no help for it, my lads, march back. We shall meet them later and behave like brave fellows.’
On the way to Culloden he confided in his Irish officers that he suspected Lord George of being responsible for the failure. As usual they did nothing to allay his suspicions and by the time he had reached Culloden House he was convinced that Murray had deliberately wrecked the plan.
About six o’clock in the morning of Wednesday, 16th of April, the Jacobite army returned to Culloden, and although the first column had a greater distance to march, they arrived before the others. Everybody could think of nothing but sleep. The officers threw themselves on beds, floors, even on tables to snatch some rest. The Prince arrived last. On the way he had become aware for the first time that the men were hungry enough to desert and in case he would be left with no army he decided to gallop on to Inverness in order to have the meal stored there immediately dispatched to Culloden. But on hearing this the Duke of Perth rode anxiously after him to warn him that his impulsive departure might be misconstrued by the men as abandonment. He suggested that instead the Fitzjames’ Horse should be sent to fetch food from Inverness. The Prince was persuaded back to Culloden House and on arriving tired and irritable the first person he encountered was an equally exhausted Murray. Immediately the Prince was roused to temper and shouted publicly at him:
‘In future, my Lord Murray, no one will command my army but myself.’
He was so agitated that he later asked some Irish officers to watch Lord George’s motions, particularly in case of a battle and they promised to shoot the General if they should find he intended in any way to betray him.
In the early hours he also gave an interview to the Marquis d’Eguilles, who wrote in a letter to King Louis:
‘I requested a quarter of an hour’s private audience. There I threw myself at his feet. In vain I represented to him that he was still without half his army; that the great part of those who had returned had no longer their targes—a kind of defensive armour without which they were unable to fight to advantage; that they were all worn out with fatigue by a long march made on the previous night and for two days many of them had not eaten at all for want of bread.
‘In the end, finding him immovable in the resolve he had taken to fight at any cost, I made my desire to yield to my duty. I left him for the first time. I retired in haste to Inverness, there to burn all my papers and there to think over the means of preserving your Majesty that portion of the (French) troops which might survive the action.’ He went on to tell the King how he had advised the Prince to fall back and put the river between himself and his enemies and to give his army rest. ‘But Charles, proud and haughty as he was, badly advised, perhaps even betrayed, forgetting at this moment every other object, could not bring himself to decline battle even for a single day.’
That morning the chiefs and Murray also strongly declared themselves against fighting that day and all pleaded with him to fall back to the hilly ground beyond the Nairn until Charles exclaimed angrily:
‘God damn it! Are my orders still disobeyed? Fight where you will, gentlemen, the day is not ours.’
But Walter Stapleton, commander of the Irish picquets, brought about the Prince’s wish to engage the English army on the field of Culloden. He sneered at the chiefs:
‘The Scots are always good troops till things come to a crisis.’ As usual Lochiel and the other Highland chiefs could not bear anything that affected their pride. To them there was only one answer to this. They would go down in glory fighting against odds on unfavourable ground. Lochiel said:
‘I do not believe there is a Highlander in the army who would not run up the mouth of a cannon in order to refute this odious and undeserved aspersion.’
At last the Prince lay down without taking off his boots to try and snatch some sleep. First, though, he gave the order that the men should have a good meal as soon as supplies arrived from Inverness and also all cattle there and at Culloden had to be slaughtered for this purpose.
But Cumberland having been informed of the abortive night march, had no intention of allowing the Highlanders any time to recover from it. Before the Prince had time for one hour’s rest, and before even the officers had eaten anything, a Jacobite cavalry patrol clattered in with the warning that Cumberland’s horsemen were only four miles off and fast closing in.
The Prince wasted no time in rushing downstairs and when his servant said that a roasted side of lamb and two hens were about to be placed on the table he cried out indignantly:
‘Would you have me sit down to dinner when my enemy is so near me? Eat! I can neither eat nor rest while my poor people are starving.’
In the greatest haste the Prince, the Duke of Perth, Lord George Murray and Lord John Drummond mounted and rode off
. Drums beat, pipes skirled and guns fired in attempts to recall the Highlanders, but only caused confusion. Officers ran about trying to rouse men who were half-naked with exhaustion and could hardly crawl.
At Inverness the townspeople were startled by the drums beating to arms and the trumpets of Fitzjames’ Horse sounding the call to boot and saddle.
The Atholl men and Camerons, the first to return from the night march, were now first on the field. The Prince was with Lochiel’s regiment, with O’Sullivan, as always, close on his heels. O’Sullivan remarked admiringly that there was not the least concern on the Prince’s face and that when there was the greatest danger that was when the Prince appeared most cheerful and hearty.
Now he rode along, shouting to his men:
‘Here they are coming, my lads; we’ll soon be with them. They don’t forget Gladsmuir and Falkirk and you have the same arms and swords. Let me see yours … I’ll answer …’ He brandished his own sword. ‘This will cut off some heads and arms today. Go on, my lads; the day will be ours and we’ll want for nothing after!’
Murray requested ‘a little time to have another look at the ground,’ but this was curtly refused by the Prince, who was impatient to see his army immediately form in order of battle. Murray, however, had seen enough of the boggy moor over which the Highlanders would be forced to travel in a charge to realise that O’Sullivan had chosen a battlefield which Cumberland would have been only too delighted to have picked out himself. Lord George then protested about the order of battle drawn up by O’Sullivan, but the Irishman, like the Prince, would be moved on nothing. He insisted there was no time for rearrangement and as for the ground it was as good a position as any.
On the other side the Duke of Cumberland was ‘mightily pleased’ about the choice of ground. On the way he had been wary and perplexed, thinking there must be Highlanders waiting to ambush him at every corner and behind every hillock. He could not believe that his previously wily and astute enemy would not be lurking in the dark heather waiting to pounce on him. It took several military patrols to convince him that the Highland army were actually formed on a moor. And on arrival it was at once apparent that this dejected, depleted and disorganised force were not the clans that had fought with such fierceness and vigour at Prestonpans and Falkirk.
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 25
