by R. W. Hughes
‘There are eight as I can see, Douglas,’ George said to his companion who was in the process of fitting a flint that had been missing from the youngest Stewart’s musket. ‘And there may be more behind the house.’
‘Then I suggest we use these muskets,’ said Douglas indicating the three muskets being held by the Stewarts. ‘They are not aware of our presence so we will catch them unprepared. Then we can rush the remainder and use our pistols, leaving the Stewarts to reload the muskets and be ready if there are more of the gang at the rear of the property.’
‘I fear the odds may be too many even for us, Douglas,’ George replied, but still admiring his friend spirit.
‘Yes! I think on reflection you are right,’ replied Douglas looking thoughtfully at the Stewarts standing at the rear of the barn in a nervous group. ‘But I would feel happier if I also had my trusty broadsword, instead of just our dirks.’
The two men who had fired their pistols through the window were busy reloading their weapons. They were standing with their back to the farmhouse at the side of the window. They were out of sight of anyone in the building, but not from George and Douglas. The two shots fired from the barn were a split second apart but the sound of the discharge was as one. One of the robbers just keeled over without a murmur the ball entering his heart killing him instantly. The second staggered for a few paces before he too fell to the ground. The time it took the young Stewart to hand Douglas the remaining loaded musket was sufficient for the rest of the gang to dive for cover. A pistol was fired wildly in their direction and the ball entered through the barn opening to splatter harmlessly against the far wall.
‘Whoever they are would not be expecting such a warm reception,’ chuckled the elder of the Stewarts as he joined George at the side of the barn entrance.
‘That is true William, but we are also trapped here in the barn.’
The conversation was cut short by the discharge of the blunderbuss as it peppered the wall from where a group of the robbers were sheltering.
‘Well the farmer is still capable of firing his cannon,’ voiced Douglas from the far side of the entrance.
‘If I was in their shoes, I would be inclined to retire. They have already taken several casualties and have nothing to show for it, and they do not know how many we are here in the barn.’ The voice came from Allister’s younger brother, Robert.
‘At the same time, we still do not know their numbers, Robert.’ George’s reply was said more to himself than answering Robert Stewart. ‘I do not want to leave this position in case they decide to rush us, so Roy you check the rear of the barn, see if there is any other means of exit.’ While the youngest Stewart scurried off to follow his instructions he checked with William and his brother the amount of powder and shot they had available.
The crack of Douglas’s musket was followed by a shout. ‘That will teach ye to keep ya head down,’ from his friend, told him that Douglas was enjoying the situation.
‘There’s no other door, only several small openings for ventilation.’ The shout from Roy at the rear of the barn was as he had expected, but the ventilation slots could cause a problem for the group.
‘Pack some straw tightly into the slots!’ he shouted back. ‘We don’t want those taking pot shots at us from behind without warning,’ he said to William who was still by his side. He was quiet for several minutes while he gave the situation some thought.
He needed to get behind the group of men facing them; otherwise they were trapped in the barn, while the robbers took their time to break into the farmhouse. He did not know the capabilities of the Stewart family, a frontal attack on their part was out of the question, and the casualties would be too high. There must be a way of getting behind their antagonists that were in front of them.
Several more cracks from muskets sent shots whistling through the barn opening to splatter on the stone wall at the rear, causing the pack animals that were already very nervous from the first volley, neighing in panic pulling and struggling on their ropes tethering them to a flimsy wooden rail.
‘Calm those animals!’ William shouted to his brother leaving George’s side to assist his brother and nephew to calm their line of ponies. There was a further distinctive blast of the blunderbuss again, but this time from the rear of the farmhouse followed by two sharp cracks from muskets.
‘They’re trying to break in at the rear of the house, while they keep us pinned down in the barn,’ came the shout came from Douglas from his position on the far side of the barn opening.
George had already realised what the gang were up to, having left his position to inspect the far section behind the line of now much quieter ponies. In the corner, he could make out the shape of a selection of stacked tools: several hoes a pick and two spades. Keeping his voice low, he whispered to the Stewarts who were still calming the ponies. ‘Use these tools and dig a tunnel under the barn wall.’
The Stewarts looked at him with a look of amazement on their faces.
‘It’s not as silly as it sounds,’ George continued. ‘The barn wall will not go very deep, two feet at the most, it only needs to be as wide for one person at a time to crawl through; be as quiet as you can.’
While the eldest Stewart stayed with the ponies, his brother and son started quietly to dig in the peat-like soil, and within a matter of minutes they had found the bottom of the wall as George had said. They continued their digging under the large slabs of stone that formed the shallow foundations of the barn.
George went back to his position at the barn entrance from where he could hear the breaking of timber from the rear of the farmhouse, and no reply from the blunderbuss.
‘They’re through,’ came the whisper from William Stewart as he crawled ungainly on hands and knees to the side of George.
‘Douglas and myself will crawl through the hole and try and get in a position to pick off a couple of the gang. You give us five minutes then you and Robert fire your pistols in their direction to attract the gang’s attention. Leave young Roy at the rear of the barn to cover the entrance to the tunnel and the blocked vents.’
The old man Stewart nodded, positioning himself where George had been while his brother took over Douglas’s position. The two Highlanders made their way to the rear of the barn, giving a confident nod to the young Stewart who looked exceedingly nervous as with both hands he held the heavy musket that had been placed in his care. Douglas watched as George scrabbled into the tunnel head first, under the two-foot-thick wall and crawled out at the other side beside the farm animal’s great stack of dung. This evil smelling heap was waiting to be spread on the nearby meadow at the first frost of winter.
Another good pace to the left and the tunnel would have appeared in that great heap.
He mused as he peeped over the pile, but quickly withdrew his head, standing at the corner of the barn was one of the gang. Fortunately, he had his back to him and was looking at the farm yard and the entrance to the barn, hoping that he could get off a shot at any of the barn’s occupiers if they were foolish enough to present themselves as a target.
George realised, the noise of digging the tunnel had been drowned by the unsettled pack animals and several Highland cattle in a small enclosed area near the dung pile. These were complaining loudly that they had as yet not been allowed into the nearby paddock. That had been most fortunate; otherwise, if they had popped their head out of the hole, it could well have been blown off.
Douglas meanwhile had attempted to follow George traversing the tunnel but without success. Struggling, he had returned into the barn, where he had set to make the tunnel walls wider. This caused George to cringe at the sound of the digging which seemed to be deafening in the quiet of the still morning air. Eventually the two muskets were passed through followed by Douglas’ head, and with a series of hand signs, he indicated for him to be quiet, and that one of the robbers was nearby.
Wh
ile Douglas covered him with his pistol, he slowly crept up behind the unsuspecting robber, and as the man half turned to face him he clubbed him senseless with the butt of his pistol.
Leaving the unconscious robber well-trussed at the side of the manure pile, and then keeping the barn between themselves and the gang, they quickly covered the ground in a large semi-circle that brought them to the rear of the farmhouse. What confronted them was the sight of three of the gang at the rear of the main building; one had obviously been caught by some of the buckshot from the previous blast from the blunderbuss as his shoulder was strapped up with a heavily blood-stained cloth. They were in the latter stages of breaking through the barricade of flimsy furniture, having already broken down the rear farmhouse door.
George indicated to Douglas which one he would target, pointing to one of the other trio for him, leaving the already injured robber for later.
The distance was only about twenty-five paces; both he and Douglas were in good cover, and both were also excellent shots. The two shots fired from the barn by the Stewarts was their signal, as the trio froze for a second, both he and Douglas both discharged their muskets. Their aim was good, both their targets crumpled as the iron ball hit and smashed through their bodies at such close range taking everything in its path, to exit leaving a gaping hole, and spattering the farmhouse wall with slivers of bone and pieces of bloody flesh.
The remaining robber stopped for a few seconds, startled at the sight of his two companions lying in crumpled heaps at his feet, who a second earlier had been laughing with him at the thoughts of the easy pickings now they had silenced the person with the blunderbuss. He looked quickly in the direction of where the shots had come from and then bolted around the corner of the building as fast as his injured shoulder would allow him and out of sight of both George and Douglas, who were loading their muskets as fast as they possibly could, in preparation for the onslaught they expected from the rest of the robber gang. But as he and Douglas waited, muskets primed, the expected onslaught never came. It was the Stewarts who shouted, before they tentatively appeared around the corner of the farmhouse.
The remaining disillusioned Highlanders having abandoned the Prince’s Army had also had enough of the accurate firepower of George and Douglas. They had departed empty-handed, leaving several dead and one of their own comrades unable to walk and badly injured and the one knocked unconscious and trussed up by George.
The farmer had taken a pistol ball in the shoulder, and then fainted from the shock; his wife and daughter could not load or fire the antique blunderbuss that had kept the robbers at bay for a while. The farmer was fortunate that the ball had passed through the fleshy part of the shoulder, and although it was bloody and messy, it had fortunately missed any vital parts.
He seemed more relieved that he still had his livestock and farmhouse than he was over the nasty flesh wound in his shoulder. But he fainted again as Douglas sewed the wound together, telling George he had done the same for many of the injured livestock when traveling with the herds and flocks in the company of his father.
The injured would-be robber when questioned by George confirmed that he had seen the young drummer along with several of the Clan MacKay, who were still with the rest of the Macleods acting as rear-guard for the Scottish Army. The injured man, along with several of his friends, had become disillusioned with their long trek, being so far from home and their families, especially now that they were entering the enemy’s country. The promise of support of men and materials for the Prince’s cause was not materialising. They had decided amongst themselves to return to the Highlands, but unable to obtain food from the Prince’s now well- guarded supply waggons, and on the point of starvation, they had been forced into plundering as they returned along with several groups in similar circumstances to themselves. He had also informed George that several days previous before he deserted he was on the outskirts of Carlisle, at the rear of the Scottish Army and according to the rumours, they were intending heading for Manchester.
‘We are only two days behind the main Scottish Army, Douglas, so if we strike off now on our own, we can make up a lot of lost time, where the Prince’s Army can only move as fast as their slowest column.’
Douglas was ahead of him already loading their pack pony.
Leaving the Stewarts to help the farmer and his family, and deliver to the necessary authorities the two robbers, they departed with provisions for several days, forced on them by the grateful farmer and his family.
‘Follow this route, do not deviate, and it will avoid settlements and built-up areas, and eventually following these paths, it would bring you to the outskirts of Carlisle.’ The sentence was from William Stewart as he handed George a sketched map with one hand and warmly shook his hand with the other.
It was midday after making excellent time now the weather had improved when they joined the Old Roman Hadrian’s Wall on the outskirts of the small village of Gilsland. It was while walking on the track besides this old defensive fortification that they encountered their only fellow humans that day. These were four travellers, a similar group as the Stewarts with their loaded pack animals, and they too served the outlying crofts and small farms in the area. The group acknowledged himself and Douglas but the two Highlander noticed the four men were very wary, keeping their hands on the handles of their pistols as the two parties passed.
They eventually reached their destination for the night which was the Priory at Wetheral. It was a place that William Stewart had recommended to him, good cheap accommodation provided by the Sisters for travellers like themselves and conveniently for them; with it being off the regular track. So far on their journey they had never been stopped, or asked where their destination was or what their business was. He still had the document partly written in French and partly in Latin that had been sewn in the lining of the waist coat that Douglas had removed from the body of the little man in black. He could read the Latin text as there were still many legal documents written in that language and he had studied it at university. It had given details and place of a delivery of significant value for the cause. But further details of the delivery were in French. At his enquiry, none of the Stewarts or the wounded farmer could read French. He had not expected they could, but there had been no harm in raising the question.
It was as one of the Sisters was showing them to their accommodation which was a converted ground floor store room; this was used for meditation when there were no guests. It was very basic, consisting of two narrow bunks a small table and two stools.
‘There will be a simple hot evening meal in one hour; it will be served in the room at the bottom of this corridor.’
George could sense that the nun was obviously embarrassed at being alone and having to converse with two men. This in turn also made him feel awkward, it was only as she was leaving that he built up the courage to blurt out his enquiry.
‘Sister!’ she turned, seeing that he was also uncomfortable seemed to relax her. She smiled, before replying with a simple, ‘Yes?’
‘Sister, I have a document that is in French. Could any of the nuns at the Priory translate the document for me?’
The nun pondered for a few moments before replying. ‘We have two Sisters who are Bretons who speak French and Flemish and could translate if required, but permission would be needed from the Mother Superior.’
‘Thank you, Sister, I will keep that in mind.’ He had decided he needed to give the matter more serious thought. ‘The problem is, Douglas’ talking more to himself than to his friend, ‘as gentle and wellbeing as these nuns are, it may well be they have leanings to the Catholic Prince and his cause, so if the contents of these documents contain vital information, they could well be tempted to divulge the contents to other interesting parties.’ He returned the papers to the inside pocket of his money belt.
‘The document is useless to you if you don’t know its contents, yet events are mov
ing very fast, so any delay could make the information they may contain of little or no value.’
George nodded in agreement at his friend’s logical assessment: any value the papers might hold could be fading even as they spoke.
‘I will approach the Mother Superior to ask her permission for the Breton Nuns to do the translation after we have eaten, but I will not make available the second sheet that carries the crest of the French court nor the part I have translated that is in Latin. We will try and have that sheet of parchment translated elsewhere.’
Douglas just nodded. He was tired and the two bunks in their quarters, even though they were very primitive, looked very appealing after their previous night’s accommodation. When they had finished the several helpings of hot vegetable stew and freshly baked bread provided by the nuns, Douglas returned to their room while George, after seeing the Mother Superior and leaving a small donation for the Breton nun’s translation, also returned to find Douglas was asleep wrapped in his thick woollen shawl using the blanket provided by the nun as a pillow. It was while he was reading the translation by the faint light of a candle that a slight noise in the courtyard attracted his attention. Looking from the small window, he was just in time to see the disappearing figure of one of the nuns hurrying across the courtyard and through the large iron studded door onto the lane that led towards the distant village.
Now where would a nun be going at this unearthly hour and in such haste. His instincts made him feel uneasy, he decided to wait by the window and, allow his friend to sleep for several hours then awaken him and share his concern.
Douglas would then have to continue on watch while he slept for a short while.
He had an uneasy feeling they may well have to leave their present accommodation in great haste.
It was several hours later that he was awakened from his light dozing near the window by the creaking of the door as the nun re-entered the courtyard and slipped quietly back into the building. He decided not to waken Douglas but stayed in his position near the window, nodding off occasionally then waking with a start at the faint noises of the night, before dozing off again.