Flora McIvor Page 6

  ‘And Lord George went to the prince and to O’Sullivan to ask for more men and they were drinking in their quarters and not able to assist till the morning came. Now it rained all the night and we slept out in our plaids, and at first light the Manchester volunteers came to help and we were there, McIvor and Glengarry with Cluny MacPherson. And we were up to our middle in water, pushing and pulling at the wheels.

  ‘The Lord George was praising the men to their face, till a messenger comes from the prince, and the Murray, Lord George I mean, cries out to McIvor, “See the prince commands me to leave nothing behind. Rather than leave one cannonball he will himself return. Did I not say at Derby that I would bring every man home but could not answer for the baggage? Yet am I not doing as much as any man might do?” “What occupation is this,” cries the McIvor, “for Highland gentleman when they might cast off their plaids, and draw the claymore to repulse the redcoats?”

  ‘Yet no man would yield the effort, or dishonour the command of their prince. We carried the cannonballs up the hill from the ford one by one, and loaded them back onto the carts. And Lord George orders sixpence for every man that would fetch till every ball was piled again on the carts. And as we went on Prince Charles himself came on foot for a time with the Colonel O’Sullivan to walk by the carts and give us good heart. Then the main column went on to Shap for the night with us coming behind. But we were sore weary and had to make camp near hand at Clifton, which was better than marching on or lying out for the rain had turned to snow.’

  As if reliving that moment of exhaustion, Calum came to a halt, and breathed out deeply. Clementina poured a dram of whisky and reached it across. The storyteller drained it with one gulp, and resumed, determined to pay out every word to the end without pause.

  ‘You will be understanding that on the way to Clifton we saw the cavalry riding two by two above us on the hill sounding drums and trumpets. McIvors and Glengarry men threw their plaids and ran to attack, but the enemy were afeared and fled, though Lord George was in the rage as he had not ordered a charge. Yet we followed them fleeing beyond the great House of Lowther which was closed against us. Evan Dhu and Calum went over the wall and caught hold of a man who told us that Cumberland himself was coming there with four thousand men.

  ‘Cluny MacPherson ordered his men to come up now to McIvor and Glengarry. They ran like hounds to find us safely gathered to defend our walls against the redcoats. So the McIvor, Glengarry, his father’s son, and Cluny were there waiting on Lord George’s commands, when he, seeing that Cumberland would advance on Clifton, led the whole rearguard back. The redcoats are now one cannon’s distance away, and we without cannon. A moon came over the clouds throwing its light.

  ‘The Murray directs us to the left through a hedge, cutting thorns with our dirks, and then another hedge, till suddenly they were at us, dragoons on foot, armed to the teeth. Swords were drawn and we charged killing many, wounding and chasing them from the field like deer. But alas, Miss Flora, himself was at the front running on at them and Euan Dhu and myself with McIvor, when more redcoats come riding on the muir and surround us, striking with the sword. Calum is beaten to the ground, and Euan pierced, and the chief our father, shame to our blood and our name, is taken captive. But he was not wounded, I swear, since I saw it with my eyes lying on the ground. And Euan Dhu dead beside me, his blood still warm. You see we were too few to defend him. My own foster-brother, it is how he would have wished to die for McIvor, his chief, near at hand.’

  Calum’s eyes moved from Flora to Rose Bradwardine, as if he felt her gaze on his skin.

  ‘It was Captain Waverley who came looking for us. He had seen our danger just when the moon was being covered once more with cloud. He pulled me back behind the hedge, blessings on his name and kindred, then he went to see if McIvor could be recovered. But we did not see him again. He was lost in the night but I do not think he was taken, for the redcoats had already left the Muir, sore from their loss. We could not stay to search in the darkness but marched back to Clifton. Cumberland was halted for a time and the prince went in safety to Carlisle. From there I left to bring dark tiding. The McIvors are marching with Glengarry till the prince comes home to his own in Scotland.

  ‘My words are black and sad is their telling, but by God’s grace the imprisoned will be released and the lost found. May the ancient right be restored for our eyes to see, and our ears to hear, and our tongues to acclaim.’

  The story was done, with nothing omitted. The women sat in silence, looking into their own feelings. Calum bowed in acknowledgement and left the room.

  From then frequent messages arrived each one hard on the heel of its forerunner. A garrison had been left in Carlisle. The prince was over the Border. The prince was at Douglas Castle, and then at Glasgow reviewing and resupplying the army. Carlisle had fallen to Cumberland, or was on the verge of surrender. Yet nothing carried the firsthand impact of Calum’s recitation. None of the many words carried by successive detachments and couriers hurrying north added anything to the hard news that Fergus McIvor was unhurt but captured, and that Waverley was lost while presumed living. Calum himself headed onwards to Castle McIvor to prepare the clan for the worst, and to recoup his own strength.

  Rose kept to her room, appearing red eyed to pick at food and quickly retiring to prayers and private sorrows. Flora kept her outward composure but felt frozen inside, unable to react to her own changed situation or respond to Rose’s distress. As for Clementina, she brusquely attempted comfort, but could not hide the excitement which was driving her to energetic reorganisation of the household.

  While the other two sat contained and pensive, her tall body was tensed in constant motion, driving on harassed servants, while she herself dragged out truckle beds, unfolded fresh bed linen and carried chairs from room to room in an effort to find more space. Downstairs the larder became a slaughterhouse as fresh meat and poultry was butchered from the dwindling winter stores of the surrounding farms.

  The Jacobite army was expected daily and, in the continuing absence of her uncle, Clementina was determined to receive as many of the high command as Bannockburn House could hold, short of asking Flora and Rose to seek other lodgings. Never had the three young women seemed so divided by the circumstances that had first thrown them into each other’s company and confidences.

  On the third day of January, which was bitterly cold but dry, the bustle of preparations seemed to abate. Flora sat again by the fire in the back parlour and tried to imagine what Fergus would be feeling. The garrison at Carlisle had now definitely surrendered so it was likely that he had the company of fellow officers, perhaps in the dungeons of Carlisle Castle. What kind of place was that for an exhausted and hungry man? Yet while she felt a stab of worry, Flora acknowledged her brother’s resilient strength. Even if he had been struck down on the battlefield a few days’ rest could restore Fergus to health. But how was he to be freed?

  Only Prince Charles could achieve that through a ransom or an exchange of prisoners. Surely that would be done, if perhaps she made a direct plea? Though Fergus was her brother, it was Charles with whom Flora had spent most of her younger years. In her mind Charles and Fergus were both family, almost brothers to one another. Carefully Flora nursed her thoughts, preparing inwardly for the prince’s arrival.

  The grey short lived day had already returned to dark when a rumble of wheels and hooves approached the front of the house. This was no backdoor messenger. Clementina rushed to the main hall ordering candles lit and the rarely opened doors pulled wide. Flora hung back on the curving stair at first floor level, from where she could look down unseen.

  Three or four black cloaked figures came first clearing the way. Next two uniformed guards, pistols in hand, took up position on either side of the entrance. Then a much taller cloaked man was supported into the lighted hall. Behind crowded a gaggle of staff officers brushing off the frozen air with their coats and plaids. The prince drew himself to his full height, shaking off his beare
rs. They lifted the cloak from his shoulders revealing a richly brocaded dress uniform. The long once pudgy face had hardened, gaunt and grey. Clementina went down on her knee and kissed the prince’s proffered hand. There was a quiet exchange, inaudible to Flora.

  Clementina rose as if in invitation, but the prince stepped past her and leaning again on his attendants began a slow ascent of the stair. As the labouring threesome reached the first landing, Flora appeared in the shadows. Clementina was coming behind talking rapidly about rooms and suppers and fires. Charles came to a stop.

  ‘So, my little Flora.’

  ‘Your Highness.’

  ‘Bad luck about Fergus. Damnable.’

  ‘Can we offer –’

  ‘Later. It’s of a piece with the rest. Believe me.’

  He looked round at Clementina, and she passed between them heading for the principal bed chamber. With a weary sigh Charles leaned again on his companions and began to drag himself and them along the passage. As a noisy wave of followers surged up the stairs behind him, Flora turned and hurried up the second narrow staircase to her own room.

  3

  AT THIS POINT a gap occurs in Flora McIvor’s story, caused by the Jacobite defeat at Culloden, her brother’s execution in Carlisle, and it would appear her own illness and grief. Yet there is a complication in the shape of Alister Ruadh McDonnell, Young Glengarry, who succeeded his father as chief a few years after these events The documents below – a testimony recorded from Chevalier O’Sullivan, an account sent by Flora herself to the prince’s circle, and a letter from Clementina Walkinshaw to King James in Rome – only survive because they were found much later amidst Glengarry’s own papers. He was informed of their contents and we surmise protected himself against them. They are copied here once more in a clumsy attempt to fill the silent years.

  Colonel O’Sullivan

  For myself take no heed. I sit easy at my table, honourable service given. None to carp or whinge. John William O’Sullivan, Colonel at your pleasure. As you may have heard, Major General to His Majesty the Prince, our own dear Tearlaigh, on the last expedition. My worth is known and my reputation needs no defending. A soldier born, now pensioned in Bella Firenze. Friends call me Willie, and anyone who shares a bottle, earns the name. I call her Bella.

  It is against Himself that calumny and vile insinuation aims. The Prince. They are lies, spread by those who should know better, those who never drew sword in the good cause, those who cling to old King James and descry his gallant son. But I was there, by Tearlaigh’s right hand and saw it all before my eyes. You can rely on Willie. He was there, myself.

  At Derby they all wanted to turn back for Scotland, every one of them, except himself. Tearlaigh was for London and no turning back, not a bit. But Murray, the estimable Murray, our General says there are three Hanoverian armies ready to close in and crush our Highlandmen. His Highlandmen, and ne’er a mention of the Irish Brigade, or the French, or even those poor English volunteers – a scrabble of untrained fellows, for we never saw the eyes of any Jacobite south of Carlisle. They didn’t fancy our Scotch sauvages.

  Anyroads, he raged and threatened and cajoled, the Prince, but he couldn’t sway them. They were too far from hame. Was strange for he was their darling all the road south. Always on foot was Tearlaigh cracking with the men, wading through fords, walking by his horse to show he would go wherever they went, as long as they went with him. They said there was an army between us and London, not to mention Wade and Cumberland himself on each side. Yet Tearlaigh had the right, as now we know, there was no-one in London ready to fight, only to flee. So he might have been king, and us lording it at the Court of King Charlie.

  Aye, but the truth is they never wanted that, those Highland chiefs, they wanted James Stuart, the Old Pretender so-called, back in Edinburgh as a Scottish king and them in their old style. They never drew a sword in England, not for Tearlaigh. Except at Clifton and then they were forced to the steel.

  Mind it was a bad business. Right enough. Back we dragged ourselves through rain and snow, wagons stuck in the mud, swollen rivers, roads like an Irish bog. And Himself stayed in the coach and sulked. Always last up, he wouldn’t move till the men were in order, and then they couldn’t get moving for Himself. Still, he had cause, and we lost not a man, not till Carlisle anyway.

  Aye, that was a business. We’d checked them at Clifton. Murray finally persuaded to fight, with Cluny MacPherson and McIvor to the fore. That was where McIvor was taken, in the dykes. And Waverley, the young English gallant, went to his aid, and he was cut off, lost somewhere in the north. Still it was his own country and he made it home after a time. Unlike McIvor.

  We left a garrison at Carlisle to show we would be back. We had another army holding Scotland, and reinforcements landed from France. It was no rearguard action – Murray was wrong, as usual. We had to show it was tactical withdrawal, drawing them on to where our forces could regroup.

  Cold, crabbed, Murray, looking down his aristocratic neb at John William O’Sullivan, Major-General. It was my decision to defend Carlisle against Wade or Cumberland, and Tearlaigh backed me. He was coming to himself a bit by then, after the shame of being overruled. He was seeing Murray now like another father, holding him back, undermining his authority, as his father had done.

  Of course, Murray kept on north and Carlisle fell. It was a bad business, right enough. Cumberland refused all rule of war. Prisoners were executed, transported, starved, McIvor amongst them. He was hung like a common criminal, not exchanged like a gentleman officer. Fergus was a true Chief, of the old kind to be sure.

  That was when I got to know, Flora, Miss McIvor, the Chief’s sister. There was a lady if I ever saw one, and let me tell you, Willie has seen a few in his time, fine boned and dark haired with skin as white as an Irish dew. An exquisite flower. To Flora McIvor, life and good fortune. Whatever that fortune might be, for she had more than her share of troubles. But that’s another tale for the telling.

  Aye it was a business, but we came north to Stirling once more, after fleecing those tight fisted burgers of Glasgow. They had to shoe the whole army, at point of a sword, God damn them. They were all Hanoverians there, apart from the Walkinshaws and a few loyal families to be sure. But I am coming to that, our own Clementina, darling Clemmie. We’d better fetch another bottle, lest I say anything indiscreet. You know Willie, close as a Sligo whelk, even when drink is flowing.

  That was when it all began, you see, Tearlaigh and Clementina. They’d been confidential before, in Edinburgh, but now it was doos cooing in the doocot. Sworn for life, swore Clementina later, whatever you need, whenever you call, I’ll come winging to your breast. She loved the Court life, our Clemmie. Felt she belonged there amongst the intrigue and high living. That’s not the life for Willie, no sir, a soldier born, pensioned here to the Tuscan sun. No Irish bogs for Willie, right enough.

  She was a looker as well you see, not bonny and neat made like Flora. She was all height and style, fire in the eyes, hair piled back and nose in the air. But clever with it, she knew how to wheedle and coax and work round folk to her will, as I should know better than any. I suppose it’s a kind of soldiering, the Court life with drills and manoeuvres, but not for the soldiering sort, no sir. She knew what she wanted, Clementina – Charlie. And she had him there just where she wanted him, and most of his staff to boot squeezed into the old Uncle’s house at Bannockburn.

  Tearlaigh, he took to it like a duck who hadn’t seen water for a year. He just seemed to give way and lay there weak and pampered. It had all been too much for the overgrown laddie. We were dead beat after that retreat, right enough. Well, withdrawal for the time to be sure. Poor Flora moped and pined for McIvor, along with some other Scots lass who was weeping for young Waverley, till she was sent home to weep in her own tower. Clementina kept us entertained, in between tending His Majesty. We had no news from England, except that Cumberland was coming.

  But he didn’t come, not yet anyhow. Instead he si
delined cautious old Wade and sent Hawley instead. He was a dragoons man all set to put right the scandal at Prestonpans, when they ran with the rest. That was the first time, boyo, I saw the Highlanders charge and thanks to Our Lady I was behind them instead of before. Off go the plaids and sometimes the shoes as well till they’re bare-arsed and working up to some kind of berserk fury. Those wailing pipes and the big swords banging on their shields as they caterwaul. Like a wave breaking o’er you in a sou’wester Kerry gale at full tilt. Nothing could stand in their way. Not Johnnie Cope and his empty coats anyhow. By God they ran like the devils of hell at their heels, which they were to be sure.

  Now though it’s Hawley for us, an iron discipline sort of fellow, in place of Wade or Cope. I suppose he’s cashiered somewhere for his trouble. But for once Tearlaigh and Murray agreed on something. We should face down Hawley and move on Edinburgh. Suddenly everyone felt better, including Himself. We’d been leeching men since coming north – the sauvages would just take off on the notion, or arrive back as suited themselves. No conscript army here. Now everyone was fired upright enough and we advanced towards Falkirk, a kind of market town for cattle droving.

  No sign of Hawley, or his army. Till we heard they were hanging around on the other side of Falkirk, not expecting to meet us anytime early. In truth Hawley was at his dinner in Callendar House where the good lady kept him chatting and eating at leisure. While we seized high ground above the town. So suddenly they saw their danger, snapping awake, and moved to block us, but it was too late. The rain was coming down fierce and chill and they were forced to climb up the hill to get at us with the wet in their eyes.