‘Quin’s to wait on the wee childer. He’ll be here in a minute.’
Sure enough in a very short time Gav appeared from Saltmarket Street and Quin dashed across the road to meet him.
‘Gav, Quin’s kept his promise. Quin’s found your mammy.’
Gav gazed up at Quin, his face radiating joy as if a beacon had been lit inside him.
‘But wait a wee,’ said Quin. ‘Wait a wee. She’s been hangit.’
The beacon’s bright flame flickered, then extinguished.
‘Hanged?’
‘That’s what Quin said.’
‘Mammy’s dead?’
‘Quin’s never known anyone hangit and no’ deed.’
Gav’s head drooped low. A storm of grief was gusting about in his chest, heaving it up, tightening it, paining him. Jerkily he struggled to breathe and to swallow.
‘Come on,’ Quin said. ‘Quin and Gav’s got work to do. There’s a mither to be buried.’
He hurried back to where Jessie was lying. Gav came slowly after him to stand gazing down at the sheet with a pale stricken face. His mouth moved but no words came.
Quin said: ‘You stay with your mammy until Quin gets a wee loan of a shovel oot the Tolbooth.’
Into the Tolbooth he went and out again with the shovel to find Gav still standing as if still fighting to drag words up from his chest. He pushed the shovel under Gav’s arm.
‘You carry the shovel and Quin’ll carry the mither.’
He hoisted the body over his shoulder and scampered away with Jessie’s arms dangling and jerking and swinging behind him. Gav caught one of the hands and held on to it, struggling at the same time with the shovel which was as big as himself.
All the way along the Gallowgate he desperately held on, past the houses and on to the lonely road to Edinburgh. At the crossroads they stopped and Quin laid Jessie down, with Gav still clutching at her hand.
Quin cocked his head to one side and scratched his ear.
‘Aye, weel, you’re maybe a bit wee for the digging. Quin’ll do it. He’s done it before. You just have a seat beside your mammy.’
Huddled as close as he could to Jessie, Gav thought of the times when he’d sat on her knee and she had rocked him and sung to him. Her arms had been strong and her hands warm and comforting as she patted and fondled him in time with her song. Tears spurted from his eyes and his lips quivered.
Ignoring him, Quin set about digging the grave and when he was finished he said:
‘Quin’ll wrap her up nice and snug and jist drap her in.’
Through a flood of tears Gav shook his head. After a struggle he managed to steady his voice enough to make his words decipherable.
‘When folks get buried at the church something’s always said.’
Quin scratched his ear. ‘Quin’s never been to church.’
‘Well, I have,’ Gav managed. ‘I’ve been to church and I’ve been to school and I know something should be said for my mammy.’
‘What sort o’ things are said, eh?’
Gav shook his head again and rubbed at his flushed and swollen face with the back of his sleeve.
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Weel, Quin and Gav’ll just have to drap the mither withoot saying anything.’
Quin snatched the sheet from over the top of Jessie and began wrapping it tightly round her body. Seeing her face, Gav’s weeping raged louder and he cuddled and nursed it against himself.
‘Quin’s mither’s doon there and Quin’s no’ greetin’.’
Eventually he managed to prise the body away from Gav’s arms. Then he slithered down into the grave with it, arranging it neatly at the bottom, and scrambled back up again. He was just about to throw the first spadeful of earth when Gav protested louder than ever.
‘No! Something must be said. We must say something for Mammy.’
‘But, Gavie, Quin doesn’t know what to say.’
Hiccoughing with grief, Gav wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
‘I think I remember the Lord’s Prayer.’
‘Oh-ho, you’re the clever one, right enough. Weel, you start and Quin’ll follow as best he can.’
He leaned forward on Gav’s shoulder and cocked his head.
Gav’s lips were trembling violently but somehow he managed.
‘Our Father …’
‘Oor Faither …’
‘Which art in heaven …’
‘Which art in heeven …’
17
THE Prince, as usual, led the minuet. He and some of his officers were staying at Bannockburn House, the castle of Chevalier Sir Hugh Paterson. Also at the castle was Annabella Ramsay and Sir Hugh’s niece Clementine Walkinshaw. Sir Hugh was an enthusiastic Jacobite and his hospitality was lavish. Nothing had been too good for the Prince. He had been wined and dined. He had been entertained by a fiddler and by Miss Walkinshaw on the spinet. Annabella sang an amusing but bawdy song at which they all laughed heartily, except the Prince, but even his mouth twitched up at the edges and his eyes glimmered in appreciation. Miss Walkinshaw hid her face modestly behind her fan, but she emerged to partner the Prince in the minuet and they both seemed to enjoy the dance.
It was while they were at Bannockburn House that they were visited by Sir John Douglas, MP, with a message from the English Jacobites. He told the Prince:
‘Your Royal Highness, ten thousand pounds has been collected for you in London.’
Sheridan, the old Irishman who had been the Prince’s tutor and his constant companion, growled, ‘Since they have collected money, why the devil did they not send it?’
The army could have done with some money. They also were badly in need of stores. Some of the Highlanders under the Prince were now quartered in the neighbourhood of Bannockburn. The rest of the army, commanded by Lord George Murray, made up of five clan regiments and part of the cavalry, had at first been stationed nine miles further eastwards at Falkirk. Murray, the Prince’s Lieutenant General, knew that Huske of the King’s or Royal Army and second-in-command to General ‘Hangman’ Hawley, had left Edinburgh and was marching westwards with five regular battalions, the Glasgow militia and Hamilton’s and Ligonier’s dragoons. Murray had also heard that supplies for the royal troops were being collected at Linlithgow and he resolved to carry away as much as possible. He had set out with his division from Falkirk and reaching Linlithgow sent forward the horse under Lord Elcho to patrol the area. Elcho reported that a very large body of horse and foot were advancing and Lord George waited at the bridge over the Avin, planning to attack the enemy when half of them passed the bridge. However, none of them passed it. Instead, some dragoons who were in front of the regulars drew up close to the bridge and abusive language was hurled between both sides. Then Lord George, deciding that it was better not to have a fight when a general action was impending, withdrew to Falkirk and next day received his order to rejoin the Prince at Bannockburn. But a body of horse was ordered to patrol all that night as near Falkirk as they could. Next day sixteen of that party sent word to the Prince that all the foot of Hawley’s army had arrived at Falkirk, also one thousand Highlanders under the command of Colonel Campbell.
Murray advised the Prince that, instead of waiting to be attacked, the Highland army should take the offensive. Knowing the Highlanders’ preference for high ground, he suggested as their objective the hill of Falkirk. This ridge rose steeply to the southwest of the town about a mile from General Hawley’s camp. The plan was, first of all, to distract attention from the main body of the Highland army. Lord John Drummond, with his own regiment, the Irish picquets and all the cavalry, should take the main road from Bannockburn to Falkirk. This passed the remains of the old Caledonian Forest at the north and from there his force could be clearly seen from the enemy’s camp. At the same time, marching by side roads and across fields, it was hoped the main body would be able to advance unnoticed until they reached the ford over the River Carron about two miles from Falkirk.
&nbs
p; The Prince and his officers took their leave of Bannockburn House and started on the march between twelve and one o’clock, followed on horseback by their host and Miss Walkinshaw and Annabella and some servants, who were all anxious to have a good view of the battle. The army advanced in two parallel columns, the left-hand column under Lord George Murray was headed by the three Clan Donald regiments. Led by the Atholl Brigade, the right-hand column was commanded by the Prince. The numbers that made up the Highland army were less than Hawley’s, because a detachment of the Highland army had been left, under the Duke of Perth, to cover the siege of Stirling Castle.
General Hawley, who did not believe the Highlanders would dare to attack, was wining and dining at Callender House and did not even think it necessary to send out cavalry patrols to collect information. Nevertheless, about eleven o’clock some of his soldiers noticed a body of horse and foot moving about to the north of the Caledonian Forest with their colours. This was standard and the royal army stood to arms. But they were soon ordered to stand down again and they went in search of food to cook for their dinner. This was not easy to find and by the time they found it and cooked it and began eating it, it was nearly one o’clock. They had barely finished when a countryman came rushing into the camp shouting:
‘Gentlemen, what are you about? The Highlanders will be immediately upon you.’
Two officers hastily climbed a tree and by means of their telescopes verified that the main body of the Highland army was approaching to the south of the woods. Their commanding officer immediately galloped off to report to Hawley at Callender House, but so convinced was Hawley that there could be no attack, he did not return to the camp. He gave orders that the men were to put on their equipment but that there was no need for them to stand to arms.
As it happened, the Highland march had nearly been abandoned. Captain O’Sullivan rode up to Lord George Murray and told him he had been talking to the Prince and advised him that it would be too dangerous to pass the river in sight of the enemy and it would be better to wait until night.
Murray said: ‘You surprise me, O’Sullivan. Don’t you realise we could all be past the water in less than a quarter of an hour and the place we’ve to pass is a full two miles from the enemy?’
A little later the Prince rode angrily up to Murray accompanied by Brigadier Stapleton, the commander of the Irish picquets, O’Sullivan and some other Irish officers. They all remonstrated with Lord George, but he kept on the march, at the same time pointing out:
‘It’s impossible for the men to lie out all night at this time of year. I know them. They would just disperse and look for shelter. Either we continue to advance or we return to our quarters, for it’s threatening a very bad night.’
Murray was a sturdy, good-looking man with a determined mouth, intelligent eyes and quick, impatient movements. He had been the one who, as well as engineering all the Highland army’s successes, had also advised their retreat from Derby. The Prince had never forgiven him for what he termed this treachery. He believed that Murray had betrayed both him and the Highland army. None of Murray’s brilliant tactics on the field or his unswerving loyalty to the cause could change the Prince in this conviction. From the moment they began the retreat, he listened with trust only to his Irish officers.
Now he glared furiously at Lord George and was about to call after him when Stapleton said:
‘Perhaps on this occasion, Your Royal Highness, there’s something in what Lord Murray says. If the enemy isn’t sufficiently near to dispute our crossing the river, then there isn’t any danger.’
So it was between one and two o’clock that a party of volunteers rode into Hawley’s camp ‘upon the spur’, bringing the news that the Highlanders were fording the river with the obvious intention of making for the high ground on Falkirk Moor. Immediately the drums were ordered to beat to arms and a messenger was hurriedly sent off to Callender House.
Hawley arrived at the gallop without his hat and ordered the cavalry forward, followed by the foot and artillery in the hope of stopping the Highlanders reaching the summit. From its lower slopes on the outskirts of the town, the hill rose steeply to a large moorland plateau of scrub and heather and the side of the hill was cut by a deep ravine.
As Lord George Murray had said—a storm was on its way. The sky darkened and a gale-force wind came howling from the south-west. He made sure it was behind the Highland army on its forming line by making a wide circuit after crossing the Carron and marching very quickly up the hillside. The dragoons hurried up from the opposite direction and it was not until the two sides had almost reached the summit that they came in sight of each other. When, earlier that morning, the Jacobite order of battle had been arranged, Lord George Murray had twice reminded the Prince:
‘Your Royal Highness should appoint the officers that are to command and where.’
But this had not been done and even he had not received any particular charge, other than a vague order to lead the front-line troops. He inferred by this that he was to command the right wing. It was later discovered that no one was officially in charge of the left wing and Lord John Drummond, who was not there when the battle began, had eventually taken over the position of his own accord.
But while the Highland army was forming, the Prince sent O’Sullivan to arrange the front line and as usual he proceeded to criticise Lord George, who stonily ignored him.
The storm which had been threatening now broke and rain lashed down in torrents.
Annabella and the others from Bannockburn House, and also some farmers from the surrounding district and some townspeople from Falkirk, gathered under a clump of trees. Annabella was afever with excitement. Her cheeks burned and her eyes were wide and expectant. Clementine Walkinshaw was upset by the sudden downpour.
‘Our heads will be ruined,’ she wailed.
‘Oh, put your hood up,’ Annabella said impatiently. ‘Anyway, rain is uncommonly good for the complexion. Oh, Mistress Walkinshaw, look at the men forming up. Isn’t it exciting?’
She could see the Glasgow Regiment well in the rear of the dragoons near some cottages. They had been considered insufficiently trained to be given a place in the line.
It was nearly four o’clock by the time both armies were formed and Hawley sent orders to Colonel Ligonier to begin the attack. The Colonel did not share the General’s faith in the superiority of cavalry over Highlanders. However, the three regiments advanced on the Highland right, coming at full trot and in good order. Lord George Murray waited. The horses charged closer and closer. Annabella and Clementine and the other woman watching covered their mouths to stifle their screams. It looked as if the Highlanders were just going to stand motionless until they were pounded into the mud by the horses’ hooves. Not until the charging cavalry came within a few yards did Murray raise his musket as the signal to fire. Delivered at such close range, the Highlanders’ fire was devastating and about eighty dragoons fell dead on the spot. The rest all turned and fled, with the exception of one small party of Ligonier’s men who stood their ground, but to their horror and to the horror of those watching, who had never seen the Highlanders’ method of fighting, the Highlanders flung themselves under the horses and thrust their dirks into the animals bellies, hacking them open until their bowels trailed out. Horses screamed and men screamed along with them as they were dragged down by their clothes and stabbed.
After the cavalry had been repulsed, Lord George Murray ordered the three MacDonald regiments to stand their ground, but he could not restrain Glengarry’s and Clanranald’s men. Brandishing their swords and screeching at the tops of their voices, they rushed off in pursuit of the runaway dragoons.
In blind panic, the troopers galloped into the fifteen thousand strong Glasgow Regiment, riding over them and killing those who did not manage to race out of their path in time. It was the same panic that made two of the other royal regiments break away and plunge into their own left wing, scattering men in all directions.
The G
lasgow militia re-formed and stood their ground in the face of the fast-approaching Highlanders, who fell upon them and gave them no quarter.
Dougal Grahame, the packman poet, who was also watching the battle, wrote of the scene:
On red coats they some pity had,
But ‘gainst the Militia were raging mad.’
Annabella felt real distress for the first time. They were her townspeople and she felt for their brave stubborn spirit. Then in the confusion of her concern it occurred to her that the Highlanders were her countrymen too and, that, as well as the English in the battle, Scots were fighting Scots. Scotland was in fact involved in a bitter civil war.
War had never been a reality to her before. She had heard exciting stories from men who had taken part in the fighting or from ladies and gentlemen who had been spectators, but this was the first time she herself had been present at a battle. Certainly it was exciting and she had not the slightest regret at being there. Nor was she afraid. Yet her emotional confusion remained.
Regina was sitting behind Nancy on one of Ramsay’s horses. She said bitterly:
‘It’s disgusting. They’re like animals. The Highlanders are as bad as the Frenchies.’
‘Wheesht!’ Nancy said. ‘Do you want to get yourself shot?’
Annabella called over to her: ‘I’ll shoot you myself if you don’t guard your impudent tongue.’
Through her telescope she could see in one direction the two MacDonald regiments, some of them still pursuing the dragoons, others plundering the dead and others hacking down the Glasgow militia. She saw one plump Glasgow shopkeeper being attacked by six Highlanders and for some time defending himself with his half-pike. He appeared to kill two, but a seventh coming up fired a pistol into his groin and as he fell another of the Highlanders slashed him across the eyes and mouth with his sword.
After the rout of the dragoons, on the left wing the Highlanders faced the royal foot. The front-line Highland regiment having expended their fire on the dragoons, now found themselves unable to reply to that of the royal foot. Because of the heavy rain, and because the Highlanders did not use cartridges, reloading was impossible. So with what O’Sullivan called, ‘one of the boldest and finest actions any troops in the world could be capable of’, they flung down their muskets and charged forward sword in hand and shrieking out battle cries as they hurled themselves at the enemies’ guns. The front rank broke against the onslaught and many of the second-line regiments followed hard on their heels. Hawley’s left-wing troops, already disordered by the dragoons, gave only a weak and ineffective fire. Four of his six front-line regiments, Wolfe’s, Cholmondeley’s, Putteney’s and the Royal, turned and ran and they were immediately followed by the whole of the second line. The disorder and confusion increased and General Hawley rode back down the hill. But although Hawley had obviously lost control of the situation, his second-in-command, Huske, kept his head.
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 21