The Tobacco Lords Trilogy

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  ‘Hangman’ Hawley presented Mrs Gordon’s handsome set of table china to the Duke, ‘… as an expression of affection and regard from an old hero to a young one’. His Royal Highness thanked him for the gift but had no particular liking for it, so he in turn presented it to a prostitute who had no use for it and she sold it to a dealer.

  The Houses of Parliament passed a Bill to increase Cumberland’s yearly income to forty thousand pounds and in addition his father gave him the lucrative sinecure of Ranger of Windsor Castle. There was extra money too for the soldiers and officers. And a campaign medal was struck in their honour. Cast in gold for the officers, it boasted a Roman bust of the Duke and the word ‘Cumberland’ in halo above it. On the other side of the medal was the nude figure of Apollo piercing the neck of a dragon with his arrow. There were copper and bronze copies for the private soldiers.

  And while hundreds of men rotted in prisons, churches and ships—‘wounded and naked … the wounded festering in their gore and blood, some dead bodies covered quite over with pish and dirt, the living standing to the middle of it, their groans would have pierced a heart of stone …’—there was a special service of thanksgiving at St Paul’s Cathedral. The Duke looked very splendid as he strode in wearing his dress uniform of scarlet, lapelled and cuffed in blue. The buttonholes were stitched with gold thread. His buff waistcoat was edged with gold. There was gold too on his right shoulder, a tumbling aiguillette of glittering cord. There was still more gold on the crimson baton he was carrying. He was wearing snowy-white breeches and pumps buckled in silver and his fat cheeks glowed happily in the frame of his white curled wig.

  He swept off his laced beaver. The organ pealed out with ‘The Conquering Hero’ especially written for the occasion by George Frederick Handel. The voices of the choir rose with great emotion to the grand dome of the cathedral. And everyone was enthralled. The Archbishop of York then proceeded to preach a sermon which did nothing to detract from or to spoil the grandeur or pleasurable emotions of the occasion. There were no awkward quotations or confusing observations on the subject of brotherly love or charity or tolerance or compassion or mercy. And certainly nothing was mentioned of the Carpenter of Nazareth in his sandals and coarse cloth robe.

  Nothing of this was mentioned either in the petition to King George from their General Assembly in London entitled ‘A Humble address of the People called Quakers’. It said:

  ‘… As none of all thy Protestant subjects exceed us in aversion to the tyranny, idolatry and superstition of the Church of Rome; so none is under more just apprehension of immediate danger from their destructive consequences or have greater cause to be thankful to the Almighty for the interposition of His providence and our preservation … a preservation so remarkable makes it our indispensable duty also to acknowledge the King’s paternal care for the safety of his people, of which he has given the most assured pledge in permitting one of his royal offspring to expose himself to the greatest dangers for their security.’

  And the address concluded with the hope that ‘… an uninterrupted race of kings of the royal progeny would continue to be a blessing for England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales’.

  The Church of Scotland address was to the Duke himself.

  ‘Sir, That the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland has met at this time in a state of peace and security exceeding our greatest hopes is, under God, owing to His Majesty’s wisdom and goodness in sending Your Royal Highness, and to your generous resolution in coming to be the deliverer of this church and nation. We might be justly charged with ingratitude to the glorious instrument of Divine Providence if we neglected to pay Your Royal Highness our most humble and heartfelt thanks for that happiness which we now enjoy.

  ‘As for some months past the many fatigues you endured, and the alarming dangers you ran in pursuing that ungrateful and rebellious crew, filled our minds with the greatest pain: so now the complete victory now obtained over them by the bravery of your Royal Father’s troops, led on by your wise conduct and animated by your heroic example, gives us the greatest joy …

  ‘The Church of Scotland are under peculiar obligations to offer their most thankful acknowledgements to Almighty God, Who has raised you up to be the brave defender of your Royal Father’s throne, the happy restorer of our peace, and at this time guardian of all our sacred and civil interests.

  ‘The many late instances of your favourable regard to the ministers of the Church of Scotland and of that entire confidence that you have placed in us ever since this part of Great Britain has been blessed with your presence, must forever excite us to give the strongest proofs that we have not been unworthy of that countenance you have been pleased to give us, and of that trust with which you have honoured us.

  That the Lord of Hosts, Who has hitherto covered your head in the day of battle, may still guard your precious life … and crown you with the same glorious success … and that your illustrious name, so dear to us, may be transmitted still with greater glory to latest posterity: and that you may share at last in the eternal happiness and glory bestowed, through the Divine Mercy, by Jesus Christ, in a distinguished manner, upon those who have been eminent examples of virtue and the happy instruments of communicating public blessings to mankind, are and shall be the prayers of

  ‘May it please Your Royal Highness,

  ‘Your most obliged, most obedient, and most humble servants, The Ministers and Elders of the Church of Scotland.

  ‘Signed in our presence and at our appointment by

  John Lumsden, Moderator.’

  All this did not happen for some considerable time after the battle, of course, because news only travelled as fast as a horse and rider and it was some time before even the people of Glasgow heard of Duke William’s victory at Culloden.

  They learned too that an incredible award of thirty thousand pounds had been offered for the Prince, who was now hiding among the heather and caves of the Highlands. The biggest manhunt in history had been mounted, but so far no one had come forward to claim the reward. Although the government had spies among the clans who said they would betray him if they got the chance. A young lad had told of how and where he had met up with the Prince and how the Prince, seeing he was hungry, had given him a share of his meat. There was also the Protestant minister on one of the islands who had been looking forward to the opportunity of betraying the Pretender and was extremely chagrined when he had discovered too late that he had in fact given hospitality unawares to Charles Edward and his Highland boatman.

  And there was the Highland chief, Coll McDonell of Barrisdale. He boasted that he would be the most likely to lead the soldiers to where the Prince was hiding because he knew the mountains better than anyone.

  The news came also of another battle, this time between ships at Loch nan Uamh. Two French privateers had come to try to rescue the Prince but had only managed to pick up a band of dispirited Jacobite lords who were quite worn out with the contemplation of their utter ruin. Two ships of the Royal Navy had arrived and attacked the French ships and many men had been killed and wounded on both sides before the French ships managed to get away with the Scottish and Irish officers.

  It was to take six attempts by French ships and there were to be many more men killed before the Prince was finally found and rescued by four determined Irishmen.

  Celebrations for the victory of Culloden had been planned in Glasgow to take place in a couple of days’ time and everyone was looking forward to them. The Grammar School was going to be closed that afternoon and in the morning instead of the usual lessons there was to be a cockfight. All the shops and counting-houses were going to have a holiday too. The two days before, everyone was busy cutting wood and gathering material for bonfires. Extra candles were being made to illuminate all windows and lanterns were being hung outside buildings on all the main streets. Flags and banners were being erected too.

  Quin caught glimpses of the unusual activity and sensed the excitement as he jogged round the outsk
irts of the town, peeping in curiously at the perimeter like a hen pecking at grain. He determined as soon as darkness came, and he could slip safely into the wynds and closes, to find out what was going on. But his first priority was to continue his search for Gav.

  Dusk was beginning to blur the edges of the city and make shadows of the trees in the countryside around him when he heard the sound of horses’ hooves. Bustling round, he saw a young gentleman bobbing along wearing a white periwig, smart blue cut army coat, ruffled neck-cloth, white breeches and jackboots. He had a pistol in his belt and he also sported a sword. Quin was just about to humbly beg for money or food when the young gentleman stopped his horse and said:

  ‘What are you doing here, Quin? You’ll not find much shelter outside the city.’

  Quin cocked his head. His one eye stared out. But still he could not recognise the stranger.

  ‘Quin’s been banished,’ he said. ‘And all Quin and the childer did was sup a drink o’ water.’

  ‘You mean Gav?’

  ‘The verra one.’

  ‘Has he been banished?’

  ‘Quin’s lost him. They chugged Gav away from Quin at the Tolbooth.’

  ‘I want him.’

  ‘Oh-ho, you too, eh? Quin’s never known a poor childer to have so many folks chasing after him.’

  ‘What do you mean? Who else is after him?’

  ‘Merchant Ramsay a while back.’

  ‘That’s where he’ll be.’

  Quin jigged round and round with excitement, his hair and his hands and his coat-tails whirling out.

  ‘Oh-ho, oh-ho. Aren’t you the clever one, eh, eh? Quin never thought of that.’

  The horse reared up, then cantered away, leaving Quin motionless with surprise for a minute. Then suddenly he scampered after it.

  ‘Quin’s coming,’ he puffed.

  ‘What can you do? Leave me to find him.’

  ‘But, maister, what can a fine gentleman like yourself want with a beggar lad?’

  ‘I’m his sister, Regina.’

  Quin stopped in his tracks and the horse quickened its pace and left him behind in the empty countryside like a scarecrow with the wind flapping at his clothes.

  Regina clattered past the Shawfield Mansion and along Trongate Street. Then she stopped at the Cross where the four main streets intersected. If Gav was out at all, the chances were he would be seen from here. She kept turning her horse around to peer down one street and then the other. But it was fast getting too dark to see very far and she was just about to give up and try again the next day when she caught sight of the sturdy figure in the too big jacket approaching the Cross from the High Street. She spurred the horse towards him and, startled, he turned to run.

  ‘Gav!’ she hissed, and hurriedly dismounted. ‘Gav, it’s me Regina.’

  He stopped. Puzzlement replaced consternation.

  ‘Regina?’ he echoed.

  ‘Never say that name again. Call me Reg or Reggie as if I were a lad.’

  ‘Why? I don’t understand. Why are you dressed in breeches? And you look so grand. How …’

  ‘I stole the clothes off dead bodies.’

  Gav was appalled and incredulous.

  ‘Stole? You stole from the dead?’

  ‘They had no longer any use for them. I was entitled to them. I deserved them because I survived. I’ve come a long way and it’s taken me many terrible days and nights. Terrible days and nights. On my own. But I survived. I bloody well survived.’

  ‘But, Regina …’

  ‘Reggie.’

  ‘Reggie, how … where … why …’

  ‘Soldiers are killing people everywhere up north. And burning houses and barns and crops and killing cattle. The whole place is ruined, finished. There’s bodies strewn about all over. Down hillsides, in glens, floating in rivers, sprawled on roads, inside the houses. Everyone’s killing and stealing. I’ve lots of money, Gav. And jewellery. We’ll be all right now. Nobody will dare kick us about or make our lives miserable. But I’ve got to get safely away from Glasgow before Annabella Ramsay comes back.’

  Gav said:

  ‘I’m not getting kicked about and I didn’t steal or kill. Maister Ramsay has been good to me. He’s sent me to the Grammar School to learn bookkeeping and one day I’m going to go as an indentured servant to Virginia.’

  ‘To the plantations? You must be mad. Can’t you see he’s tricked you? He’s going to sell you as a slave. Remember Mammy used to tell us how folk were sent over there as slaves for stealing.’

  ‘I’m not a thief and Maister Ramsay wouldn’t trick me. He’s a good maister.’

  ‘A good maister,’ Regina sneered. ‘What does he care about you? Haven’t you learned yet that nobody cares about anybody? There’s nothing for it in this bloody world but to take damn good care of yourself.’

  He stared at her in distress, realising for the first time that it was not only her disguise that made her unrecognisable. Her whole expression and even her voice had changed. Her eyes, once large and timid, seemed to have shrunk back into her head like glittering green bullets, the muscles of her face were taut, gripping her mouth into a hard line that twisted down at the edges.

  ‘Mammy’s dead,’ he said. ‘They hanged her.’

  She did not blink an eyelid, but the muscle of one cheek contorted, deforming her mouth as she echoed:

  ‘Hanged her?’

  Tears gushed inwards and stung other wounds. What harm had her mother ever done? All her life she had worked hard and tried to do her best for her family. Yet all she had got out of life was misery and pain. Then eventually they had hanged her. Ignorant, cruel, wicked pigs of men had hanged her.

  ‘What are you going to do, Regina?’ Gav asked.

  She ignored his question.

  ‘They’ll hang you too. Or worse. The Virginia plantations!’ She gave a humourless laugh. ‘You’re a fool!’

  All the time she was speaking she could see her mother swinging on the gallows and feel the pain she must have suffered. She could hear her voice crooning …

  Homeward ye’re travellin’

  In the soft hill-rain,

  The day long by

  That ye wearied o’ the glen,

  No ring upon yer hand,

  No kiss upon yer mou’,

  Quiet noo.

  ‘You’re the fool,’ Gav flashed back in anger. ‘And you’re the one who’ll end on the scaffold if you’ve been killing and stealing.’

  ‘They’ll have to catch me first. And recognise me. I’m not a helpless beggar girl any more. I’m a young man, don’t forget!’

  ‘What are you going to do, Regina?’ he repeated.

  ‘Reggie, for God’s sake. My life may depend on it.’

  ‘Reggie.’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’ She shrugged. ‘Edinburgh or London maybe. I haven’t made up my mind.’

  Cold was the sky above ye,

  The road baith rough and steep.

  No further shall ye wander

  Nor greet yersel’ tae sleep,

  My ain wild lass,

  My bonnie hurtit doo,

  Quiet, quiet noo.

  ‘Until you do, why don’t you attend the Grammar School with me? I’m learning bookkeeping. It’s a useful thing for any lad to know who wants to get on in the world. That’s what Maister Ramsay says. It costs four shillings a term. Have you got enough for that?’

  ‘Of course,’ she told him disdainfully. ‘I could probably buy the whole damned school if I wanted to.’

  But she couldn’t buy back her mother.

  ‘You’d get in all right. The headmaster likes people with money.’

  ‘I can imagine!’

  ‘Then we’d be together, even just for a wee while, Reg … Reggie. Oh, please, meet me there tomorrow. I’ve missed you and I’ve been so worried.’

  She hesitated in wretchedness.

  ‘If Mistress Annabella returns, you promise not to tell her about who or where I am?’
/>   Of course not. Do you think I’d betray my own sister?’

  ‘Cousin. Your sister is as dead as your mother, Gav.’

  ‘You’ll be there tomorrow?’

  She nodded and then as she sprang back on to her horse Gav added:

  ‘Why are you so anxious that Mistress Annabella shouldn’t know anything about you?’

  But Regina galloped off without giving him an answer. He continued thoughtfully on his way to the Old Coffee House Land where Ramsay too was deep in thought. He was worrying about Annabella.

  Now that the rebel army was defeated, it seemed to Ramsay that Annabella must have been defeated and killed along with them. Probably she had never survived the journey as far as Culloden. Yet his mind kept returning hopefully to what the minister said. Annabella would not be easily quelled, not even by the mighty Duke of Cumberland. And because he felt that the minister would have more chance of God’s ear, he asked him to put up a prayer every day. Encouraged by plenty of whisky, Mr Blackadder prayed most earnestly.

  ‘O Lord, Lord. O blessed Redeemer, for pity’s sake help oor Annabella. Aye, we ken fine how thrawn and wicked the lassie is and we hope you’ll forgive us for asking. O Lord, Lord, in Your infinite mercy, can you no’ find it in Your heart to lead her back to Glasga a’ in one piece? No’ so much for her ain sake but for her faither’s. The poor man’s fair distractit.’

  Indeed it was true. From the moment he awoke in the morning until he snuffed out his candle at night, Ramsay’s mind was tormented by thoughts of his daughter.