Broadsword

by R. W. Hughes

  It was late the following afternoon that the captain came to the three men huddled and shivering together at the side of the main mast.

  ‘The weather his getting worse. We’ll have to find shelter in the port of Dunbar till the storm blows itself out. In the meantime, I suggest you three men fasten yourselves to the mast with this rope. Some of these large waves breaking over the boat could wash you into the sea. We should be back on our way to Berwick again within a couple of days,’ he shouted, as the men struggled on the wet heaving deck to obey the captain’s instructions and fasten themselves to the groaning wooden mast.

  The waves were battering the boat mercilessly as it valiantly eased slowly towards the coast to reach the shelter of the harbour. But both George and Douglas felt that their time had come and they were to be buried prematurely at sea, as they were pitched and tossed, hanging on to one another for dear life, the timbers of the boat creaking ominously as it rose and fell in the deep swell of the storm.

  They breathed a great sigh of relief, as the old boat with its holds knee-deep in water limped into the shelter of the small fishing port, and the weary crew secured the boat to the quay. Arrangements were made with the captain that they would find accommodation, as they desperately needed to dry their clothes and have a hot meal. They would then send word to the captain where they were staying, so that he in turn could inform them when he would be departing again when the storm abated.

  They found a small inn near the harbour just below the ruins of the old castle, where they were the only guests. At their request, the landlord sent his young son to inform the captain where they were lodging. According to their very talkative host, customers down the coast were scarce and trade was poor due to the situation, and commerce had practically come to a full stop as tradesmen were reluctant to transport their merchandise where they could be confiscated by different warring groups.

  After a hot meal followed by several drams of whisky they both retired to their room, where they quickly removed their soaking garments, hanging their damp steaming clothes around a blazing coal fire which they had instructed to be set for them. They then tumbled naked and exhausted into their beds, and within seconds of their heads resting on their pillows, they were both in a deep sleep with not even the sound of the heathy rain battering against the attic window could keep them awake.

  George was the first to wake in the morning; he could see through half-closed eyes that the fire had burned down during the night, but with a little nearby kindling and a few more lumps of coal placed on top, it was soon burning merrily away again. He dressed himself in the shirt, it being of finer material had dried but the breeches were still damp so he left them around the fire. Douglas was beginning to stir, disturbed by the noise as he had relit the fire and made his way around the room to the small bedroom window.

  Their room was in the loft of the inn and he had to stoop almost double because of the pitch of the roof timbers to look through the window. The storm that had battered against the small panes of glass the night before had now subsided, and wiping away the condensation on the inside, he could see the nearby roofs and the pavement below was still wet with a fine drizzle. To the left of the building he could make out the beginnings of the ruined castle, below him; because of his high vantage point, he could observe the small harbour. In the half light of dawn, he was struggling to see the ship that had brought them there the night before. As his eyes became more accustomed to the poor light he realised the boat was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Douglas!’ he shouted, which brought his companion springing naked out of his bed a dirk in his hand taken from under his pillow. ‘That slimy lizard of a captain Barnes has taken our money and sailed without us.’

  Douglas relaxed; his friend’s shout had in his half-asleep mind given the impression they were under attack.

  George was now pulling on the still damp breeches. ‘Hurry Douglas!’ he shouted to his friend who was still standing naked in the centre of the small bedroom, Douglas looked around to find and put on his clothes not understanding his friend’s panic.

  If the boat had gone, it had gone. They would have to find alternative means of transport, and surely that would not be a major problem. But Georges’ concern was the longer it took them to catch up with the Prince’s Army, the deeper they would be penetrating into England; and the harder it would be to extradite themselves, surrounded from what could well be a very inhospitable and aggressive population.

  Their noisy decent down the wooden stairs from their room in the attic brought the landlord hurrying from his kitchen. ‘You seem to be in a fair rush, gentlemen,’ he commented looking at the unkempt and half-dressed appearance of his two lodgers.

  ‘Our transport has gone, that two-faced, greasy snake, Captain Barnes has deserted us,’ blurted out Douglas as he placed his canvas bag on the stone flag floor, while he continued to fasten the front of his shirt and cover his great hairy chest.

  ‘They would have sailed on the early morning tide two hours ago,’ said the landlord. ‘But if it your intention to still travel to Berwick-upon-Tweed, there is transport in the form of a coach leaving from the town square in two hours.

  That gives you time to share some hot porridge I’ve just made, and dry those damp clothes you are wearing which will help stop you both getting a chill.’

  ‘The man talks sense George.’ exclaimed Douglas. ‘His offer is too good to refuse; we will still be able to travel to our destination in a lot more comfort than the previous open sea carrier.’

  ‘I agree with what you say, Douglas, common sense says we take the coach.’

  ‘Hi, and I caught that mate of his the one the crew call Haw’Haw’ the one with a face like a donkey rummaging through our and the other travellers belongings, I forgot to mention it at the time as the storm struck the vessel and as you know we were preoccupied,’ said Douglas. ‘I thought at the time they were a deceitful pair, and our fellow traveller threatened to improve her features with the back of his hand, and he may well have done so if I had not intervened allowing her to scurry off back to her galley.’

  ‘Do not worry Douglas my and the ship’s crooked deceitful Captain Barnes’ path will no doubt cross again in the fullness of time and I will have satisfaction with interest or take it from that man’s hide. Oh and why do the crew call that captains mate Haw!Haw!’ he asked Douglas out of curiosity.

  ‘I believe,’ said Douglas with a laugh, ‘it’s because she has the looks and the screech like her nickname. Oh and our fellow traveller informed me when we all thought we would be drowned, that he was a member of the Clan Morrison from the Isle of Lewis, he was a supporter of the Princes cause and he was traveling to join his army.’

  They settled down at the innkeeper’s kitchen table sitting in their underwear to enjoy the hot porridge while their clothes hung drying around a roaring fire. Douglas looked at his friend; the previous events had certainly changed him from the man that had arrived at Tongue House for his father’s and brother’s funeral several months previous to a man who had earned the respect of the senior members of the clan by his bold actions. He was also a man that once crossed would not hesitate if the opportunity arose to obtain satisfaction for the wrong done against him.

  Seven

  There were three other passengers in the coach with him, and it had been decided beforehand that Douglas would travel with the driver, that way he would not get involved in any conversation with the other passengers and risk letting slip their true intentions. The conversation in the coach was subdued at first but one of the passengers was a clerk with a firm of solicitors based in Edinburgh with whom he had dealings with in the past. He gave the clerk the impression that he was still in the employ of Forbson and Forbson of Inverness. It was during their conversation that the clerk informed him that due to the troubles taking place in Scotland, for safe keeping, he was delivering important papers for several of his employer’s clie
nts to their English office in Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

  The second passenger was an English businessman, who like many of his associates, had closed his business in Edinburgh and was moving back onto English soil hoping to avoid the conflict that was beginning to escalate on that side of the border.

  The third passenger was a small wiry man who, by his sombre black clothes, George thought was possibly associated with some religious order. He did not join in any of the trio’s conversation keeping himself very much to himself, sitting quietly in the corner seat of the coach. George thought he was of no consequence and put him from his mind.

  The coach changed horses at Cockburns where the passengers were given the opportunity to stretch their legs and purchase refreshments. Both George and Douglas were walking around the small yard while watching the horses being changed and a short distance away from the rest of the group. ‘Do you notice Douglas the gentleman dressed in black does not mix with the rest of the passengers.’ Said George, indicating the small man standing alone in the corner of the yard. Douglas just grunted in reply, it was of little interest to him what the little man was doing.

  Before they re-joined the coach, he pointed out to Douglas the nearby Castle Fast, and giving also a brief history the ruins of the building which was the result of generations of feuding between two local clans. Which Douglas also found to be of little interest. It was now late afternoon and the horses were walking slowly up a steep incline. They were, according to the talkative solicitor’s clerk, a few miles short of the village of Grantshouse, the next relay station for the horses.

  A shout from Douglas from his seat next to the driver of ‘Ambush!’ alerted George from his dozing which he had slipped into while the horses pace had slackened and the coach was steady. This was followed by a crack of a discharging pistol from above his head and an increase in the pace of the coach as the driver set about the horse’s flanks with his whip. A glance through the window of the coach door showed him a group of ruffians; some dressed in Highland garb and some in a mixture of items of clothing all were armed with a various collection of weapons.

  There obvious intention was to stop the coach. One of the unfortunate thugs was laying at the side of the road a victim of Douglas’s pistol. Another of the gang swinging a short cutlass came into his view as he rushed towards, and then jumped on the coach attempting to climb towards the roof. George waited until the man’s body filled the window opening before firing his own pistol into his midriff.

  On the opposite side of the coach, another one of the robbers wrenched open the door of the coach and pointed a large pistol at George, the passenger in black in turn placed the muzzle of a small calibre weapon against the thug’s chest.

  The sight of the small pistol brought in a flash to George’s mind the conflict at Ben Loyal and Paul Aberach leaving a similar weapon for the Sutherland man with the fatal stomach wound.

  The robber swung his pistol to his new target, and both men discharged at the same time. The combined noise of the two explosions deafening those in the coach, the seriously wounded robber fell forward onto the man in black grabbing the lapels of his coat in the process. George kicked his shoe into the robber’s face, and there was a crack of hard leather on breaking bone as the heel came in contact with the man’s nose, which sent the already fatally wounded would-be robber reeling backwards through the open coach door. The coach lurched heavily as the rear wheel ran over the prone body, throwing the occupants into disarray on the inside of the coach. The now dead highwayman had landed at the feet of the rest of the gang who had been chasing after the coach, which was rapidly gaining speed pulled by the horses panicking by the noise of the discharging weapons. Another shot from one of Douglas’s pistols into the midst of the pursuing gang dampened their enthusiasm for any further pursuit.

  The man in black had been thrown to the floor of the coach by the lurch, and it could now be seen he was bleeding profusely from a great wound in his side. George knelt by the man and patted out the smouldering cloth around his wound, but by the glazed look as their eyes met, he knew that the man was fading fast and he had little time left before the angel of death came to take him. The coach was now on the level, the driver travelling as fast as his horses could canter and obviously shaken by the episode he was putting as much distance as possible between him and the now stationary gang.

  ‘Who were those men?’ gasped the badly shaken clerk, who had sat though out the whole incident huddled in a corner, petrified with fear. That was until the lurch of the coach had unseated him and thrown him on top of the injured man in black, but he had quickly returned to his seat in the corner.

  ‘They are thugs and robbers,’ explained the businessman. ‘They have taken advantage of the unrest in the country to chance their arm at armed robbery; there are many such groups up and down the country. They obviously thought we were an easy target, and rich pickings, so we would have been if it was not for this gentleman, (indicating George) and his companion up above with the driver. I think we owe them our lives. It is a pity though that one of our group; was not so fortunate.’ He pointed to the small man in black who was now slumped in a lifeless heap onto the floor of the coach.

  After the initial fear by the occupants of the coach during the attempted hold-up, this was now replaced by a feeling of exultation that they had escaped unscathed.

  ‘I was ready if they entered the coach. I was right behind our friend here,’ said the bank clerk loudly, indicating George. In reality, he was sheltering behind the frame of George terrified with fear. There followed a long period of silence in the coach as each passenger reflected on the incident, realising it could have been any one of them lying dead on the floor instead of the stranger. This silence was eventually broken by the English businessman addressing George.

  ‘Without meaning to offend you my friend, there will be many groups of men similar to those we have just encountered roaming the countryside. They are opportunists, mostly dregs from the cities; they joined the Prince’s Army hoping for loot and easy pickings. Many have deserted because the going must be getting much harder than they first envisaged. They are obviously not true to his cause.

  If you are travelling any further into England, you should be prepared to encounter groups of a similar character. But it is also important that you also avoid the English local Militia who will have no doubt been formed to protect their areas from these men. Your accent could well leave you to bodily harm by some overzealous Militia volunteer mistaking you for members of one of these groups.’

  The businessman’s logical and considered statement gave him a great deal to think about, and he realised that his uncle’s arguments that had been used in an attempt to dissuade him from his foolhardy and dangerous quest were now becoming a reality; these had just been seconded by this English businessman.

  The horses quickly tired from their extra-long canter, and the driver was forced to slow the pace while nervously continually looking over his shoulder. It was with great relief for all the occupants that the coach which was now being pulled at just a walk, eventually entered the comparative safety of the station yard at Grantshouse. The bank clerk then competed with the businessman and coach driver to tell their tale of the attempted hold-up to anyone in the inn that was prepared to listen. George and Douglas, following the directions of the innkeeper, carried the body of the man in black into a nearby empty stable. The innkeeper would arrange with the local parish council for the man to be buried in a pauper’s grave, as a search of the man clothes and his small attaché case had shown, unusually, that he had no means of identification and the few coins found on his person would barely cover the cost of his funeral.

  It was an hour later that the three passengers eventually re-joined the coach; the fresh horses had been fastened in the harness and were eager to go.

  ‘We’re a passenger short!’ shouted the driver to the businessman’s shout of what was the delay.

/>   ‘Where is your friend? He is holding up the coach,’ exclaimed the previous timid clerk turning angrily on George. George in turn was bemused. The clerk, having drunk several large brandies while at the stopover, was now full of false courage, beginning to believe the tale he had told in the inn to all and sundry of his brave efforts during the attempted hold-up, and what a heroic part he had played in the event. Several moments later there was a shout from Douglas. ‘Carry on driver! I’m here.’

  He appeared from the nearby outbuildings and nimbly clambered on to the coach and into his seat alongside the driver. With several cracks of the whip the driver directed the coach out of the yard of the inn, expertly manoeuvring between the large stone pillars and onto the road which would lead to the next relay station at Ayton, followed by the final stage in their journey to their night’s stop at Berwick- upon-Tweed, hopefully without any further mishap.

  Meanwhile George could feel the dead man’s small pistol secreted securely away on the inside pocket of his jacket, and it gave him a great feeling of comfort, as his instincts told him that this deadly little weapon would come in useful on what was becoming a very tense journey. At the same time perched on the seat at the side of the driver, Douglas was also feeling quite pleased with himself, as he felt the man’s waistcoat that he had stuffed in his pocket, and fingered the soft material of the little man in black’s silk scarf that was now wrapped around his own neck. Douglas had admired the man’s waistcoat from when he had first seen it, he knew it was too small for him at present, but it could possibly be altered, anyway it was now of no use to its previous owner, and if he had taken it from the body of one of his own clan, it would have been to return the items to his family. This man was a Lowlander or a foreigner and therefore he was fair game as far as the big Highlander was concerned.