all this was knowledge too late acquired. The great fact that confronted us was that without a French army to assist, our English friends would not redeem their contingent pledges. We were numerically of no greater force than when we had set out from Scotland, and the hazard of an advance was too great. General Wade and the Duke of Cumberland were closing in on us from different sides, each with an army that outnumbered ours, and a third army was waiting for us before London. ’Tis just possible that we might have taken the desperate chance and won, as the Prince was so eager that we should do, but it was to be considered that as a defeated army in a hostile country, had the fortune of war declared against us, we would surely have been cut to pieces in our retreat. By Lord George Murray and the chiefs it was judged wiser to fall back and join Lord John Drummond’s army in Scotland. They declared that they would follow wherever the Prince chose to lead, but that they felt strongly that a further advance was to doom their clansmen to destruction. Reluctantly the Prince gave way.
On the 6th of December, before daybreak, the army began its retreat, which was conducted with great skill by Lord George Murray. Never were men more disappointed than the rank and file of the army when they found that a retreat had been resolved upon. Expressions of chagrin and disappointment were to be heard on every hand. But the necessity of the retreat was soon apparent to all, for the regulars were now closing in on us from every hand. By out-marching and out-maneuvering General Wade, we beat him to Lancaster, but his horse were entering the town before we had left the suburbs. At Clifton the Duke of Cumberland, having joined forces with Wade, came in touch with us, and his van was soundly drubbed by our rear-guard under Lord George, who had with him at the time the Stewarts of Appin, the Macphersons, Colonel Stuart’s regiment, and Donald Roy’s Macdonalds. By great good chance I arrived with a message to Lord George from the Prince in time to take part in this brilliant little affair. With his usual wisdom Lord George had posted his men in the enclosures and park of Lowther Hall, the Macdonalds on the right of the highway, Colonel Stuart in close proximity, and the Macphersons and the Appin regiment to the left of the road. I dismounted, tied my horse, and joined the Red Macdonald’s company where they were lying in the shrubbery. We lay there a devil of a while, Donald Roy smoking as contented as you please, I in a stew of impatience and excitement; presently we could hear firing over to the left where Cluny Macpherson and Stewart of Ardshiel were feeling the enemy and driving them back. At last the order came to advance. Donald Roy leaped to his feet, waved his sword and shouted “Claymore!” Next moment we were rushing pell-mell down the hillside through the thick gorse, over hedges, and across ditches. We met the dragoons in full retreat across the moor at right angles toward us, raked them with a cross fire, and coming to close quarters cut them to pieces with the sword. In this little skirmish, which lasted less than a quarter of an hour, our loss was insignificant, while that of the enemy reached well into the three figures. The result of this engagement was that our army was extricated from a precarious position and that Cumberland allowed us henceforth to retreat at leisure without fear of molestation.
Of the good fortune which almost invariably attended our various detachments in the North, of our retreat to Scotland and easy victory over General Hawley at the battle of Falkirk, and of the jealousies and machinations of Secretary Murray and the Irish Prince’s advisers, particularly O’Sullivan and Sir Thomas Sheridan, against Lord George Murray and the chiefs, I can here make no mention, but come at once to the disastrous battle of Culloden which put a period to our hopes. A number of unfortunate circumstances had conspired to weaken us. According to the Highland custom, many of the troops, seeing no need of their immediate presence, had retired temporarily to their homes. Several of the clan regiments were absent on forays and other military expeditions. The Chevalier O’Sullivan, who had charge of the commissariat department, had from gross negligence managed to let the army get into a state bordering on starvation, and that though there was a quantity of meal in Inverness sufficient for a fortnight’s consumption. The man had allowed the army to march from the town without provisions, and the result was that at the time of the battle most of the troops had tasted but a single biscuit in two days. To cap all, the men were deadly wearied by the long night march to surprise the Duke of Cumberland’s army and their dejected return to Drummossie Moor after the failure of the attempt. Many of the men and officers slipped away to Inverness in search of refreshments, being on the verge of starvation; others flung themselves down on the heath, sullen, dejected, and exhausted, to forget their hunger for the moment in sleep.
Without dubiety our plain course was to have fallen back across the Nairn among the hills and let the Duke weary his troops trying to drag his artillery up the mountainsides. The battle might easily have been postponed for several days until our troops were again rested, fed, and in good spirits. Lord George pointed out at the counsel that a further reason for delay lay in the fact that the Mackenzies under Lord Cromarty, the second battalion of the Frasers under the Master of Lovat, the Macphersons under Cluny, the Macgregors under Glengyle, Mackinnon’s followers, and the Glengary Macdonald’s under Barisdale were all on the march to join us and would arrive in the course of a day or two. That with these reinforcements, and in the hill country, so eminently suited to our method of warfare, we might make sure of a complete victory, was urged by him and others. But O’Sullivan and his friends had again obtained the ear of the Prince and urged him to immediate battle. This advice jumped with his own high spirit, for he could not brook to fall back in the face of the enemy awaiting the conflict. The order went forth to gather the clans for the fight.
To make full the tale of his misdeeds came O’Sullivan’s fatal slight to the pride of the Macdonalds. Since the days of Robert the Bruce and Bannockburn it had been their clan privilege to hold the post of honour on the right. The blundering Irishman assigned this position to the Athole men in forming the line of battle, and stubbornly refused to reform his line. The Duke of Perth, who commanded on the left wing, endeavoured to placate the clan by vowing that they would that day make a right of the left and promising to change his name to Macdonald after the victory. Riding to the Duke with a message from the Prince I chanced on a man lying face down among the whin bushes. For the moment I supposed him dead, till he lifted himself to an elbow. The man turned to me a gash face the colour of whey, and I saw that it was Donald Roy.
“Ohon! Ohon! The evil day hass fallen on us, Kenneth. Five hundred years the Macdonalds have held the post of honour. They will never fight on the left,” he told me in bitter despair and grief. “Wae’s me! The red death grips us. Old MacEuan who hass the second sight saw a vision in the night of Cumberland’s ridens driving over a field lost to the North. Death on the field and on the scaffold.”
I have never known a man of saner common sense than Donald Roy, but when it comes to their superstitions all Highlanders are alike. As well I might have reasoned with a wooden post. MacEuan of the seeing eyes had predicted disaster, and calamity was to be our portion.
He joined me and walked beside my horse toward his command. The firing was by this time very heavy, our cannon being quite ineffective and the artillery of the English well served and deadly. Their guns, charged with cartouch, flung death wholesale across the ravine at us and decimated our ranks. The grape-shot swept through us like a hail-storm. Galled beyond endurance by the fire of the enemy, the clans clamoured to be led forward in the charge. Presently through the lifting smoke we saw the devoted Mackintoshes rushing forward against the cannon. After them came the Maclaughlans and the Macleans to their left, and a moment later the whole Highland line was in motion with the exception of the Macdonalds, who hewed the turf with their swords in a despairing rage but would neither fight nor fly. Their chief, brave Keppoch, stung to the quick, advanced almost alone, courting death rather than to survive the day’s disgrace. Captain Donald Roy followed at his heels, imploring his chieftain not to sacrifice himself, but Keppoch bade him save himself. For him, he would never see the sunrise again. Next moment he fell to the ground from a musket-shot, never to speak more. My last glimpse of Captain Roy was to see him carrying back the body of his chief.
I rode back at a gallop along the ridge to my troop. The valley below was a shambles. The English cannon tore great gaps in the ranks of the advancing Highlanders. The incessant fire of the infantry raked them. From the left wing Major Wolfe’s regiment poured an unceasing flank
