Chapter 33
Tain - Thursday March 20th, 1746
With the words "Wake up, man,” in his ear and Glengyle's hand on his shoulder, Rob opened his eyes. Little could he see for it was still dark and wraiths of mist hung around. He struggled to his feet, adjusting his plaid that had sheltered him from the chill of the night. Soon, surrounded by the bustle of the wakening Clan Gregor bivouacked around him, he had his broadsword, dirk, target pistols and other accoutrements arranged for the day.
For sure it was to be another day such as the last, and the one before it. No doubt there would be more enforced taxations. Although the Earl of Cromartie had brought his tenants out for the cause, most of the other gentlemen hereabouts stayed close to their firesides, hoarding their sparse meal girnals and their purses even more tightly.
Yesterday Rob had levied the farmlands of Kilmuir. The houses of the better sort of tenant appeared almost prosperous. Rob and his men had escorted one of the Prince's clerks. Their duty was to levy the cess tax of five pounds on every hundred pounds of valued rent. It had been clerk's work sure enough, but the rental papers could not be found, for Lord Loudoun had removed them, and the farmers claimed that they had paid the cess to him also. The clerk had requested meal, but was told there was none to be had. At this the clerk, in exasperation, had called on Rob to set fire to some of the dwellings. Rob was only too conscious of his own little house and farm far away by Loch Katrine with Jean and the baby she carried. In the event, the threat was enough. Money was found, though not as much as had been demanded. They carried away several of the labourers off the farms as recruits.
The harshness of the levy and forced requisitions made Rob unhappy. This was not the reason he had followed the Prince. Some of their regiment had deserted again. The time for the spring ploughing was near and there would surely be dearth if the crops were not planted. From what he had heard Clan Gregor suffered less than most from desertion.
His father summoned him over to where he stood with Glencarnaig. "Action is in the offing, Rob. We are to be at them today."
Rob felt his spirits lift. At last there might be chance to strike a blow against an enemy of the Prince!
Glengyle continued. "There are boats, sailed across from Moray for want of any here, to take us over the firth."
Loudoun had commandeered almost every boat of any size between Dornoch and Nairn, either destroying them or taking them to Sutherland with his forces. Loudoun had the capability of launching assaults by sea, supported by the frigates and sloops of the Royal Navy. The Duke of Perth had been forced to maintain detachments to guard against surprise landings anywhere between Tain and Kessock.
The men of Clan Gregor walked down towards the sands of the Morrich Mòr to the East of Tain. Other parties of the Highland army were also converging here. Rob recognised Barrasdale’s men and Clanranald's. Many of the others were local men, serving with the Earl of Cromartie's regiment.
Day was dawning, although down below by the shore, there still hung a thick blanket of mist. As they moved through the whins, approaching the fog bank, the rising sun briefly caught them. Rob caught his breath. The whins were festooned with the webs of tiny spiders, their silken threads soaked with dew. They shone like diamond necklaces on a faery princess. Then the sun was gone. The princess sank back into her earthy den. All was dank and dreary.
Rob clambered over the last of the dunes that edged the shore. His own men, less than thirty now, followed close around as they waded through the stream that meandered over the sandflats. They could not see the sea, nor could they hear it. Nearby another party splashed through water. Seabirds called from the greyness. Rob continued to follow the guide who had been assigned to him. Surely he knew where he was?
At last they came to the boat. Its bow was beached on the sand while its stern bobbed in the gentle oily swell of the firth. Rob made to climb over the bulwark. "Hold sir, not so soon,” the boatmand said in the harsh gutturals of the Moray coast. "You will need to shove off from this sand"
Rob ordered some of his men to push the boat out into the gentle swell. He climbed aboard. His men threw their muskets aboard. They clambered, one by one, over the gunnel and arranging themselves on either side of the hull. The last of the band, almost waist deep were finally hauled inboard.
The four crewmen unshipped the oars. Their passengers grumbled as they packed more tightly together to make room for the oarsmen. The heavily laden boat sat low in the water. The swell of the incoming tide occasionally broke over the hull and soon there was water slopping around their feet. The crew requested that their passengers bail the water out.
In the mist, thick and uninterrupted, nothing could be seen. The distant splash of oars, in the quiet as their own lifted clear of the water, told Rob that they were not alone. They could be half way to Norway for all Rob knew, but the cox'n seemed to know where they were. The oars splashed steadily into the water, haul back, and up, forward and splash again. The swell on the water was greater here, the boat rising and falling as it met the waves. Still nothing could be seen.
The cox'n leaned over, "We are thereabouts, sir,” his voice jarred. Rob looked around, nothing but water and mist could he see. True enough, no more than seconds later, the stem of the boat grounded on sand. He leapt out on one side, while a crewman jumped on the other side to steady the boat. Quickly his men followed over the gunnels along the length of the boat.
At last they were all out of the water, back on firm sand. The crew returned to their element, with sweeps unshipped and pulled away into the mist. For a short time the splash of their oars could be heard. Glengyle had told Rob that there had been sufficient boats to transport barely five hundred men but the Duke of Perth had more than fifteen hundred prepared for the assault. These boatmen faced at least three double crossings today. Rob had watched Government ketches and sloops cruising off shore during the past few days. If this mist cleared they might wreak slaughter should their crossing be observed.
Rob listened. There were noises from up ahead. Stealthily he led his men along the beach. The sand seemed to continue on forever. He heard the sounds of men ahead. He signalled his own men to be prepared. He called out the password, "Tarbat.” Back came the response, set by the Earl of Cromartie without doubt, "Nigg.” Rob rushed forward, almost tripping over a piece of driftwood as he did so.
Here was a party of Clanranald’s men. They had been detailed to the same part of the assault as Rob. Their objective was Dornoch. Their lieutenant had a crude map in his hand, but was unsure quite where they were. It had been planned that they should land on the machair a mile to the south of Dornoch, from where they were to attack the garrison and capture the noble Lords Sutherland, Loudoun and Forbes. It seemed that they were somewhat to the west of their intended landfall.
They marched along the beach, keeping the noise of the tidal swell behind them, until it could no longer be heard. Now they paused. The light seemed stronger to the right so they were still moving northwards, but were they east or west of Dornoch Point? They continued, their bare feet padding along over the wet sand, splashing through stranded pools. At last, the sand was softer and drier. Marram grasses could be seen. The machair had been reached. They climbed the low dunes that fringed the beach. They ran now as silently as heavily armed men could run.
Although only a few feet above sealevel, the mist was thinner and visibility was improving. There was a low rise ahead. Rob held out his arm, calling a halt. Someone was ahead. Silently, belly down, they approached. Two sentinels lounged by a rocky outcrop. Most unwarlike they lay with their muskets cast aside, oatmeal bannocks half eaten. Rob levelled his pistols at them while his men collected the muskets. The sentinels were only too happy to direct Rob's party to Dornoch. Indeed, as they were of the Laird of Macintosh's company, they had many friends serving with the Prince. They would guide them and thereafter gladly serve the Prince.
Now they met up with the rest of Clan Gregor, Barrasdale with his men and some of Mackinnon�
�s, and mustered nearly five hundred strong.
A little later they discerned a body of men approaching. The Jacobites took cover behind whins and among the sand dunes of the machair. A regular company of troops were on the march with their officer leading. Rob ordered a group of his men to be ready to fire, but to aim high. From the testimony of deserters, he had heard that the fighting spirit of their opponents was not high.
"Now,” Rob yelled. A brisk roll of musketry crackled. Several of the marching men fell. Many of the others took to their heels while the remainder cast their weapons down and held their hands high. Barrasdale took the surrender of their officer, who was Major MacKenzie of Loudoun’s regiment. They had taken about sixty soldiers and several officers prisoner. Three or four were hurt from the musket fire but none killed.
Leaving a detachment to guard their prisoners, the remainder continued on their way. The sun had broken through the mist as they entered Dornoch. Running, whooping their slogans, firing their muskets, the assault on Loudoun's headquarters commenced.
There was no defence offered. Soldiers ran out from the ancient Cathedral, ruinous chapter house, tolbooth and lesser houses of the little town. They threw down their weapons, unprepared to fight. Their officers, only half-hearted in their support of King George quickly decided that discretion was the better part of valour and surrendered. Others, too many to capture, could be seen fleeing for the hills.
Rob arrested the Captain of an Independent Company. "Where is Loudoun?" he demanded.
"Gone, sir, these several days to inspect the Laird of MacLeod’s men, and the Earl of Sutherland's companies at Oykel and Shin. With him is the Lord President."
"Your sword, sir, and your name withal. You are my prisoner.” Rob held out his left arm for the sword, his right still held his own broadsword.
"I am Aeneas Macintosh of Macintosh, chief of Clan Chattan and Captain of a company of my clan, serving with the Lord Loudoun. To whom am I to surrender my sword?”
Rob declared himself. "Robert MacGregor, younger son to Glengyle and officer of the Clan Gregor regiment in the service of Charles, the Prince Regent."
"I yield my sword, sir. Now if you will forgive me, I retire to my quarters. Here are my officers. Yonder I see that Lord Fortrose and Captain Sutherland of Forse have also surrendered."
"Hold, sir. I require more information of thee. Where is my Lord of Sutherland? Is he with Loudoun or elsewhere?" Rob queried.
"I saw him last with his escort returning to Dunrobin, where he resides in comfort. He may still be there,” Macintosh responded.
"Why do you serve with King George?" Rob asked. "Your people made bonny cause for the Prince at Moy."
"Aye, man, that was painful. I was visiting my own Hall to surprise my very wife, who they say is Colonel Anne to my Captain Aeneas! My Lord Loudoun had me stationed well down the column, for fear of my loyalty no doubt. Then we ran, by God, we ran! Tell me, which regiment put our brave forces to flight so soon?"
"That was no regiment, sir,” replied Rob. "That was your blacksmith, Donald Fraser with five of your servants. They raised such a to do with torches and muskets and trumpets withal, that the brave Lords at the head of your column turned and fled."
Macintosh stared at him in amazement. Then he saw the funny side of it. His shoulders began to shake, his eyes watered. He collapsed helpless with laughter. At last, when he could speak once more, "Ah, well then," he said. "Donald of all people, a stout fellow without doubt. One of those who came with the lady Anne, my wife, from Invercauld. You say there were just five others beside Donald?"
"Aye, sir,” Rob answered. “I spoke with him in Inverness. He is Captain Fraser now in the Macintosh regiment. That is your lady wife's Macintosh regiment."
Macintosh looked at Rob. "Clan Gregor, thou art,” he said. "Your people have been less than fortunate, but in this scrape they are, indeed, fortunate. You have little to lose and a great deal to gain by the success of the Prince. My case is different. I lead a party of my people to safeguard my estate. My wife and younger son do not have my responsibility. They follow their hearts. Sir, I have surrendered my sword to thee and I give thee my parole. Should any of my people wish to join your party then that is for their own conscience. I am for my quarters and, by your leave, I bid thee good day." So saying he turned on his heel and retired to his lodging.
Rob quickly found Glengyle and Glencarnaig who were with Barrasdale, Clanranald and Appin. "Father,” he called as he approached. "I bring the sword of the Laird of Macintosh. Loudoun and Forbes are well away from here at Invershin and Sutherland is at Dunrobin."
The leaders, receiving reports from other lieutenants that confirmed these tidings, quickly made their dispositions. Barrasdale was to head west immediately to strike at the remainder of Loudoun's forces who were emplaced at Spinningdale, Bonar, Invershin and Lairg. The rest of the Duke of Perth's forces would attack these emplacements by land. Clan Gregor was to march straightaway for Dunrobin. Clanranald and Stewarts of Appin were to follow them when their parties arrived from Tain. As the waters of Loch Fleet at Ferry Oons had to be crossed, the MacGregors were to take with them boats that could be carried. Little boats, mere curraghs they were, which Loudoun had collected and held at Dornoch.
Once more Rob was in the vanguard, alongside his father. Their tail, clad in the colours of Glengyle, trotted behind them. Other companies and gentlemen of the Clan were strung out behind. Along the machair they went as quickly as the pace of the four man relay teams which ported the curraghs would permit. The mist still held firm over the sea, but was sparse here over the land. Past Embo they went, a hard pace that only men inured to the chase could stand. Finally they crossed the machair of Coul and on to the beach where the mist thickened once more.
Down they crouched at the edge of the dunes. The Gregarach spread out along the narrows where the ebb and flow of the tidal waters of Loch Fleet rushed by. There were four ships at anchor. The largest was of seventy tons or so, though they had no sailors with them to tell. Three were small merchantmen and there was one ketch armed with two four-pounders on each side. The ensign of St George hung at its Jack-staff. The ketch was anchored across the channel with its four-pounders facing up and downstream.
"They are not warned,” Glengyle whispered to Rob. They conferred with Glencarnaig and Major Evan. Together they examined the boats floating at anchor in the narrows before them.
"There are lookouts on the seaward side but not on the landward" someone whispered.
"More, over there, at the point by the dunes, I think. Damn this mist!"
As far as could be seen, it appeared that no sentinels had been posted inland of the anchorage. Rob's company were quickly detailed to cross upstream and command a little eminence to the east of the pier.
These little curraghs were tricky to enter. It appeared all too easy to put a foot through the hide covering them. Gingerly, stepping on the framework, Rob climbed in. Clutching at an overhanging branch to hold the little boat steady in the water, he helped the next man aboard. Sitting on the shore, watching intently were the rest of his men. Their turn would come soon. Now three men had boarded and then the fourth. Ready. Shove off. Their paddles dipped as silently as possible and the little boat swung into the stream. Round and round they span as there was neither keel nor rudder. Soon, however, they were able to make progress across to the other bank. Rob gripped a clump of reed and carefully clambered out. He looked back, two more boats were in the streama and the fourth ready to launch. Silently he detailed one man to take the boat back for a further load. Then, crouched down, keeping the dunes and whins as a shield, they hurried forward.
Now Rob had a clearer view. One of the boats was berthed. It appeared to be a collier. Carts were being loaded with coal, swung out in whicker baskets from a rope attached to the jib. Rob counted carefully. There were four men on board and four more on the pier. They were all working and there were no weapons in sight. More of his men lay beside him. He ca
refully examined the other boats. There was a lookout sitting by the bows of each. The ketch had two more armed men aboard. Rob sent four of his men scurrying, crouched low, round to a further vantage beyond the little track leading to Golspie. Now all of his men were in position. The signal for ‘all clear’ came from the other side. At least there did not appear to be a company of militia waiting there, out of sight.
Rob waved his the signal. His men discharged their muskets. They were chiefly aiming at the armed sentinels, although with only slight hope of hitting them. There came an answering volley from the men on the opposite bank. Then Rob was up, with broadsword drawn, "Ard Choille!" rang out as they sprinted the fifty paces or so down to the pier.
The unloading crew looked up in amazement. One man leapt into the water. The others held their hands high in surrender. It was all over so quickly. The captured men were seated on the pier under guard. The Gregarach aimed another volley from the pier at the ketch and its three sentinels. They fired back. Several more men came on deck. One fell, a lucky shot at this range.Two of the crew jumped into a dinghy tied alongside. Several casks were handed down by two more who also boarded. The dinghy cast off. Its crew pulled strongly on their oars, heading out to sea. Rob's men ran along the shingle beach, pausing to load and discharge their muskets but to no avail as the dinghy drew out of range. Steady musket fire enfiladed the remaining crewmen on the three uncaptured ships. There was no wind so they could not escape and the ketch’s four pounders could not be brought to bear. Another defender fell. Soon white flags were hoisted and the fight was over.
More men quickly crossed in the curraghs. Rob took a dinghy which had been tied to the pier out to the ketch. Several Gregarach, with broadswords in hand, held the crew prisoner. Rob swung down the companionway ladder into the little hold. Though deserted of crew it was hardly empty. There were many casks of muskets all marked with the TOWER seal, fresh from the factory. Barrels of gunpowder, cases of flints and bags of shot were stowed neatly around. Several barrels were lying disturbed. Rob examined them as more men came clattering down the ladder. Money! Bags of money, copper coin it seemed mostly. It was obvious that these were similar casks to those that had been taken by the escapees. Perhaps that had been gold and not copper. Rob looked further into the hold. Here were cannon, four pounders he thought, gun carriages, shot, wadding, ramrods, all manner of plenishing for an artillery battery. More cases contained clothing, uniforms, boots, military webbing. He returned to the deck and signalled Glengyle and Glencarnaig over to view the booty.
One of the other ships was also a collier, but the fourth was well stocked with food; oatmeal, pease meal, naval hard tack, salt beef and pork. We will not starve here, Rob thought.
Rob was summoned ashore. An hour had elapsed since they had reached Ferry Oons. Less than an hour ahead lay Dunrobin and Lord Sutherland, the prize that Perth had assigned to them. Clanranald's and the Appin Stewart regiments now arrived and the commanders discussed their next move. A detachment of each regiment was detailed to go on to Dunrobin.
Rob's company were on their way again, at a tireless lope, unhampered by the curraghs. By now it was late afternoon. They went along the machair and shingle, through the little Kirkton of Golspie, splashing across the burn and up the slope towards the castle. At last they paused a little out of range of musket shot from the tower. The mist still hung over the sea like a great woolly blanket, nothing could be seen of it. The Jacobites spread out around the castle, taking care in case of a possible cannonade from within, although there were no signs of cannon on the walls.
Rob moved around to the North with some of his company. A small group of men ran out of the courtyard pend and turned down the hill. Rob gave chase, accompanied by no more than six men. On, down the hill through the demesne gardens, they reached the seashore. Rob and his men were some two hundred paces behind, but scrambling over rocks and through pools, they gradually overhauled their quarry. A small single masted fishing boat rocked in the swell beside rocks that sheltered it and formed a crude pier.
Their quarry leapt aboard while one of them hastily slashed through the mooring ropes with a broadsword. The boat pushed off, with sweeps madly forcing it further out to sea. As Rob reached the pier, he and his men presented their muskets at almost hundred paces range and fired. At least one ball appeared to strike the hull. The crewmen continued to row. One man sat crouched low by the mast sheltered from the gunfire by the hull planking. "Reload,” Rob commanded. They fired again, but the range had increased to some hundred and fifty paces. The boat had almost disappeared behind mist and musket smoke. More Gregarach arrived on the shore. There was still time for another volley. Muskets cracked, but the range had become too great.
Rob’s men made their way back up the hillside to the besieging party around the castle of Dunrobin. A Jacobite officer was waving a flag of truce before the gate. A parley was being sought. As Rob arrived the gates opened. Clanranald talked earnestly to several of the occupants. He turned and walked back.
“They yield,” he called. "They intended to defy our siege until I warned them of the cannon at the ferry. We would have a battery prepared by the morrow and that it would make short work of their fine house."
Into the courtyard they went. "Secure the walls and the tower,” Clanranald commanded. Rob and Clanranald climbed the spiral staircase of the house, with several of their men behind. They entered the drawing room. There was a fine carpet on the floor and paintings on the wall. Lady Sutherland, dressed in a fine gown, stood stiffly to meet them. Her nephew, Lord Elcho wa
Clanranald as senior officer took control. "My Lady, where is your husband? I carry a warrant from Prince Charles for his arrest."
“He departed just as you arrived.” Lady Sutherland responded.
Rob had decided that it had been the Earl whom he had chased to the boat and fired upon. However, Clanranald refused to believe that the Earl was not hiding in the castle. "Search the place,” he ordered.
Clanranald and Rob sat in the drawing room. Lady Sutherland attempted small talk while the search proceeded. Their men reported back their lack of success. Some of them carried items of loot. Clanranald, in a fury that their quarry had escaped, drew his dirk and held it at Lady Sutherland's throat. Rob clutched his arm. "Desist man. We do not make war on women. The quarry has flown so let there be an end to this."
Clanranald, his anger subsiding, withdrew the dirk. The Lady Sutherland, her danger past, summoned servitors and offered her guests wine. It was now quite dark.
Rob rose, "My lady,” he said. "I am ordered to return to the Ferry Oons. I regret that our meeting was not in kinder circumstances."
Rob collected his men. One had a silver snuffbox, while others carried bottles of brandy and port. Rob took the snuff box and returned to the drawing room. “My lady,” he said. “Your nephew, my Lord Elcho, is an officer with the Prince's army. We have been instructed to arrest my Lord of Sutherland but not to loot his house and yours. I would return this to you and suggest to my brother officer that he should order his men to do likewise.”
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