Broadsword

by R. W. Hughes

  Having been given this lecture by his uncle, he held up his hands and made what he knew to be a feeble excuse. ‘I feel as leader of the clan I need to be aware of all the options open to me,’ he replied weakly, feeling guilty that he had broached the subject to his uncle in the first place. He was glad to take his leave from a very agitated and red faced Reverend Monroe with an excuse that he was needed in the stables to tend his horse.

  It was the Reverend who chaired the meeting several days later which was held in the hall of Tongue House; the room was full to capacity with standing room only. The result was not a foregone conclusion as the Reverend had expected.

  This showed the distaste shown by the senior members of the clan of the English King George and his parliament. It was only after a heated debate that it was decided to follow the decision of the other great Whig clans in the area. This was to verbally support the present government. But it was also unanimously decided not to commit themselves at this stage; they would as one witty speaker proclaimed. ‘Sit on the fence and wait and see on which side to tumble.’ Many of the occupants in the room had responded to the call to debate the situation and put their point of view. But they were also taking the opportunity to congratulate their young chieftain on his recent successful exploits against the Clan Sutherland.

  The next few weeks were busily spent arming the MacKay clansmen from the armoury of Tongue House. Delivering powder and shot to the villages under their control and consolidating their position along their borders.

  Word soon reached Tongue via the informants of the other Whig clans that General Cope, the English commander in Chief, had avoided engagement with the Prince’s forces at the pass of Corryarrick; having withdrawn northwards towards Inverness leaving the way to the capital open. The Prince’s forces had taken Perth and routed two regiments of dragoons at Coltbridge, and they had then carried on to enter Edinburgh. Further bad news for the Whig supporters quickly followed when General Cope’s army was defeated at Prestonpans; there his infantry could not with stand the violence of the Prince’s supporters’ Highland charge.

  On the advice of his uncle, he had scouts with fast horses positioned near the passes that led on to the lands under their control. They were there to give warning in the event of an attempted surprise raid by the Highland clans that supported the Prince’s cause, and he organised a system to quickly raise an armed column in the event of such a happening or to block off any groups of Jacobite’s attempting to use the passes to leave the area in support of the Stuart cause.

  He left his uncle to deal with the other Whig clan leaders, even though they may take offence at not introducing himself. He could not face meeting the Earl of Sutherland. He felt he would not be able to control his emotion, and may inflict serious injury on the man that was obviously deeply involved in the deaths of his father and older brother. The boredom of having to keep close to the castle to react quickly to any information the scouts might bring was relieved by the companionship of his friend, Douglas. But he was quick to realise that it was not just friendship that kept Douglas close to the castle. He was also an admirer of his sister, Ailie, and he took every opportunity to be in or near her presence.

  He was greatly relieved when at the beginning of November one of his scouts galloped into the courtyard astride a panting lather coated horse gasping, ‘The Prince and his army have left Edinburgh for Carlisle on route for the capital of England!’

  This news, although greatly welcomed at the Great House as it meant he would not be tempted at the present to strengthen his position by moving against the Jacobite supporting clans in the Highlands, was over shadowed by the death of his mother, who had never recovered fully from the tragic loss of her husband and eldest son.

  So, on a clear crisp November morning, Kathleen MacKay was interned at the side of her husband and son in the tomb on the plot of land at the side of the local kirk that for generations had been the final resting place of the MacKay family.

  Kathleen MacKay’s brother, the Reverend Alistair Monroe, even though he was deeply upset still insisted on taking the service. It was the first time that George in all the years he had known him see his uncle shed a tear or hear his usual strong steady voice wavering. Though he was obviously upset, he still showed great resolve, managing to control his emotions throughout the service and the interment that followed. But that was not the case with his brother, Riavach, who was inconsolable. Along with his sister, Ailie, they had to support him from either side during the service otherwise he would have surely collapsed to the floor.

  George also felt the tears well up inside him several times during the service, especially when he heard his sister’s quiet sobbing, but gritting his teeth and grasping as hard as he could the hilt of his father’s sword hanging by his side, he forced himself to stay dry-eyed. He felt if he were also to show emotion he would be letting his father down along with the MacKay name that he carried so proudly. There were too many eyes watching him, to show the feelings that he wanted so much to do. They would all be looking for any signs of weakness that might show in the recent newly acclaimed Chief and Lord Reay of the Clan MacKay.

  It was several days after his mother’s funeral and he was still deeply grieving his loss but was managing to show a brave face to those around him. Now early afternoon, he had just returned from a fishing trip on the Kyle of Tongue, arranged by his friend Douglas who was vainly trying to snap his friend out of his deep depression. As both men made their way upwards along the wide track that led to Tongue House, Douglas was joking light-heartedly about their excellent catch, when they were met by the Reverend Monroe.

  ‘I’ve been watching for your return, George,’ he said acknowledging Douglas at the same time with a slight nod. The serious look on his uncle’s face instantly removed the smiles from the two young men standing in front of him.

  ‘The widow and youngest son of Rory Morgan have arrived at Tongue House.

  The woman is nearly out of her mind with worry. I feel she is here to request you honour the pledge you made to her, when her husband was killed at Ben Loyal.’ What his uncle was saying had his instant attention.

  Rory Morgan’s widow was a proud woman; it must be something of a serious nature to bring her all the way to Tongue to speak to him.

  ‘Has she spoke to you, Uncle, and has she told you of her problem?’ he quizzed at the same time feeling a shiver of excitement travel through his body.

  ‘Yes! I have spoken to the woman, and I don’t see how you can help her present situation.’

  He waited impatiently for his uncle to continue as he stopped to regain his breath.

  ‘Apparently, the widow’s eldest son, a twelve-year-old by the name of Collain, along with sixteen other members of our clan, have deserted our cause.

  They have been mesmerised by the Prince’s claim to the throne of Scotland, along with his and his court’s gaudy French clothes. They have been impressed by the victories of this rag tag and bobtail of an army that he has gathered around him, and this lad has run away from home joining the Clan Macleod as a drummer boy. This has left his mother in a most distressed and pitiful state as you will see. What she expects of you in this situation I have no idea.’

  They followed behind the Reverend, who continued mumbling to himself as he made his way up the steep path towards Tongue House. George took the opportunity to look enquiringly at his friend Douglas, who in return just showed his upturned palms in a simple gesture that meant, Don’t ask me, I don’t know!

  The widow Morgan was indeed in a distressed condition, and between her uncontrollable sobbing, she told her story which they had heard previously from the Reverend. She only regained some of her composure after he had promised he would do his utmost to find and return her son, to the look of utter amazement on his uncle’s face.

  It was only after Ailie had taken the widow to show her a room for the night that the Reverend Monroe seemed to
have overcome his shock and found his voice. ‘And may I ask how you intend to fulfil your promise that I have just heard you make to this unfortunate women?’

  To George the answer was simple. ‘I will follow the Prince’s army, find the boy in question, and I will then persuade him to return as his mother needs him far more than Prince Charles.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ burst out his uncle. ‘If you are recognised, you could well be charged with being a spy for the Crown and hung, or shot on the spot.’

  ‘Yes, George! That is so,’ added Douglas.

  ‘I am honour bound to keep my word. I would not be here today if Rory Morgan had not taken the ball that would have surly taken my life. As it was, it took his.’ It was to George after all a matter of honour.

  After much discussion and pleas from both his Uncle and Douglas, it was obvious to them he was adamant in his decision, and no amount of persuasion by the Reverend, even though he was supported by Douglas; the two men could find no answer to his reply.

  ‘I am honour bound to the Morgan family; I gave my word to the man’s wife, and honour my word I will.’

  ‘What will happen if we ourselves are attacked by the Prince’s supporters? Who will lead the clan and defend our lands while you are hundreds of miles away? You could be dead or languishing in some jail across the border. Your loyalties are here, and it is here you are needed.’

  He realised it was a last desperate fling of his uncle to try and persuade him to stay. But his mind was made up, and no amount of arguments could now change his resolution to honour the promise he had made to the Morgan widow.

  ‘If you go then I go with you!’ The blunt statement came from Douglas.

  It was now his turn to try and persuade his friend to change his mind, as he would be sorely needed at Tongue House in his absence, if trouble erupted in the Highlands between the Whig supporters and the Jacobites. But to no avail. Douglas was as stubborn in his decision, as he had been with his.

  ‘Paul Aberach, Clan chief of the Mathyson, has proved a capable leader, and he can deputise in my absence,’ he added.

  Reverend Monroe gasped, placing his head in his hands he collapsed in a nearby chair his elbows resting on his desk. He stayed in that position for several minutes while George and Douglas stood quietly looking first at one another and then at the Reverend, who seemed to be deep in silent prayer.

  Eventually realising he had lost the argument, he looked up at the two men standing over him, and in a way, he was quite proud of his nephew. It would have been quite easy to send someone else to search for the Morgan boy. That was probably all that the widow Morgan had expected, but his nephew had taken his pledge seriously, and he had obviously not given his word lightly; he intended to honour it in person. Still he felt happier that his nephew’s friend, Douglas, had insisted on travelling with him after realising that George had set a course that he would not deviate from, or he could not be persuaded otherwise. Reverend Monroe settled down with the two men to offer his advice in the planning of their dangerous journey.

  Because it was not possible for the clan to transport their livestock overland, due to the aggressive nature of the Prince’s supporters whose territory they would have to pass through, all the extra cattle and other livestock that could not be taken at the small dock at Tongue were now brought to the larger port of Thurso. From here they were transported at a much greater cost than the overland route to the port and the cattle markets at Inverness or other ports. Because of the threat of the English Navy who were blockading the ports held by the Jacobites, only the smaller vessels with a shallow draught that could keep close to the shore could be used, where the English Man-of-War would not safely venture. The captains of these ships were risking their vessels in the dangerous situation and in turn were charging a premium to transport the livestock from the scattered coastal communities.

  As the Reverend had stated, a smaller profit was better than no profit at all, and funds at Tongue House were already stretched to the limit helping to support needy families of the clan during these troubled times and restocking with shot and powder for the skirmishes that they knew were inevitable.

  ‘I suggest!’ stated the Reverend with his back to the men and looking through the window in his small study in the top tower which overlooked the Kyle of Tongue. ‘That you travel by the next boat that arrives at Tongue or Thurso to carry the livestock as far as Inverness. Then while you are in that port, you make enquiries about obtaining sea transport to Edinburgh or even farther down the coast if possible. You will be following the Prince’s Army with all the problems that they will have created as they passed through and over the English countryside. You cannot hide the fact you are Scottish, as far as they will be concerned you are part of the Prince’s forces and remember, there will be only the two of you.’

  The Reverend stopped for several seconds to allow his words to be absorbed by the two men sitting opposite him.

  He then continued. ‘You risk being attacked by the English Militia, or even if you reach the Scottish Army, if you are recognised as a MacKay you could be taken prisoner and possibly hung as spies. Your task is a marathon of obstacles.

  Even if you eventually do find the Morgan boy, there is no guarantee he’ll want to return with you. If he does, your problems are just starting, as you will have to return possibly, most definitely, through a very hostile country.’

  Reverend Monroe looked at the crestfallen faces of the two young men facing him. He wished he could have softened his predictions in some way, but he knew that to do so could possibly place is nephew and his loyal friend in a false sense of security. And that would be fatal, as they would have to be on their guard having their wits about them twenty-four hours a day, during what he considered to be their foolhardy escapade. He dropped a small purse on the table in front of them. ‘There are several coppers, some silver coins and six half gold sovereigns in the purse to help on your journey. I also think it would be prudent if you exchanged your kilts for trews before you cross the border into England.

  Six

  The following day after helping to load the livestock onto the animal transporters both George and Douglas joined the captain of the coastal vessel as he struggled to catch the last of the changing tide. He cursed his crew to greater endeavours as they struggled to clear the Kyle of Tongue; otherwise, the vessel would be forced to stay until the following day with a cargo of restless livestock, as the next tide was at dusk, and it would be too dangerous to attempt to manoeuvre through the shallows in a fading light. The captain breathed a sigh of relief as the boat sluggishly cleared the last island at the mouth of the estuary. They picked up speed as the coastal wind filled the sails, and this was accompanied by the bellows of the cattle loudly objecting to the extra rolling of the boat. In several days with good winds they would eventually reach the port of Inverness, or if that port was being blockaded, they would be forced to travel further down the coast possibly to Aberdeen. All depended on which town and port were in the hands of the Royalist supporters or the Jacobites. The captain had played this game of cat and mouse with the English Navy successfully on many occasions, becoming quite wealthy with his high charges for transporting cattle to the cities supporting the Prince’s cause. Where there was a desperate shortage of fresh meat, high profits were for all parties involved if their endeavours were successful.

  During the several days at sea, the captain impressed George by his navigational skills, keeping close to the coast but sufficiently far enough away in order to still benefit from the off coastal winds. These conversations with the old sea dog confirmed that he had also played the same game with the English Navy in ’15 during the last uprising. He had earned enough money then running the blockades to pay off the debt on his boat.

  ‘Keeping close to the coast makes it difficult for the Sassenachs to see my boat,’ he said indicating the dark brown colour of the sails. ‘But I can see them against the s
kyline, so even if by chance they do see me, they cannot come in close due to their deep drought, as you can see.’ He said with this with a laugh as he indicated large patches on the sails. ‘We have crossed swords on several occasions when they have tried to stop me. The English boat patrolling this stretch of the coast now is the twenty-gun frigate the Sheerness.’

  It was going dusk as the captain turned his heavily laden, and by now stinking dung laden boat, into the estuary leading to the port at Inverness.

  ‘If the English don’t see us, they will certainly be able to smell us,’ quipped Douglas.

  All eyes were looking out to sea as the cattle laden boat began its turn, Douglas laughed slapping George on the back. This took away his thoughts from his last meeting in Inverness with his beloved Fiona. As her auntie acting as her usual chaperone was occupied cleaning mud from her shoes. He had on impulse leant over and kissed Fiona on the lips. He was taken back and pleasantly surprised by her passionate response, which lingered for many long seconds, before they both parted, as Fiona’s auntie looked suspiciously up at the pair.

  ‘The first leg of our journey seems to be over my friend,’ said Douglas.

  The words were no sooner said than a shout from one of the crew of ‘Sail in the estuary!’ caused all heads to swing in that direction.