Authors: Bob Atkinson
As Andy struggled to put on his phillamhor the
boy ran to his bedside.
“
Saigdearen! Saigdearen!
Auntie, to come
pleas;
saigdearen dearg!
”
Andy could hear Alistair’s voice in the
background.
“Achnacon is three miles away and has sent young
Donald to let ourselves know the redcoats are approaching.” Alistair’s voice
remained calm, even as he scrambled for his clothes.
“Does he know how many? How far away they are?”
Alistair spoke to Donald in his own tongue and
the boy looked from one to the other, taken aback that one of these strangers
had the Gaelic. He shouted his reply at Andy.
“No more than a dozen have been spotted,”
Alistair translated, now dressed and on his feet. “They are approaching from
the west; from the shores of Loch Eil.”
“From the west? Ah didn’t know there was any way
intae the glen from the west.”
“It’s a rougher track, and a longer way in.
Perhaps they thought they would take us by surprise.”
Alistair brought over Macmillan’s webbing and self-loading
rifle, the weight and complexity of the weapon attracting his interest.
“Perhaps you could teach me how to operate your
weapon… in case anything should happen to yourself.”
Andy nodded. “First chance we get Ah’ll go over
the drill with ye.”
“Yeah, count me in on that,” added Sam. He was
floundering about in bed, trying to locate his clothes. Beside him Shawnee
sleepily opened her eyes, her face hidden beneath a tangle of hair.
“Whassup? Whassgoin on?”
“It’s okay. You go on back to sleep. The guys
are just gonna check something out.”
She sat up, sweeping the hair from her face.
“What d’you mean ‘check something out’? What’re you guys up to? What’s going
on?”
Andy could see what was about to develop between
the two Americans. Beside him young Donald seemed ready to pounce on the
soldier and drag him towards the door.
“Alistair, you’re still no’ a hundred percent,
you make yer own way there. Ah’ll send the wee lad back tae meet ye. Sam, you
come along with Alistair. Ah can move faster than the pair of you, so Ah’ll get
going now with the laddie here, okay?”
Without waiting for a reply he strapped on his
webbing and nodded towards Donald. The boy bolted for the door, like a
greyhound being sprung from its trap.
He was relieved to find that no rain had fallen,
although heavy clouds were sweeping inland on a hard, westerly wind. Donald
adjusted his pace so that he stayed ten yards ahead of the soldier. The boy’s
running was so free and effortless Andy wondered what speed he would need to
achieve if he was ever to bridge that gap.
It wasn’t long before they reached the
settlement of
Achnacon
. There was no sign of life; evidently the people
had been dispatched to their mountain hideaway. It was to be the same story
with the other settlements they passed through:
Dail Na Bruthach, Larachmor,
Ceann Laragain
. Andy recalled the lilting music of their names when he’d
first heard them flow from the tongue of Achnacon. Now they were all cold and
deserted, as if a terrible plague had passed this way. By the time they reached
the cemetery, Andy was dry-mouthed and sweating, the rifle stock slipping in
his greasy hands.
Without warning, Donald abandoned the path and
began to run up the hillside to his left. The gap between them quickly grew as
Andy stumbled on the slanting ground. By the time he’d struggled to the brow of
the hill Donald was out of sight. He was about to charge through a thicket of
gorse when his legs were pulled from under him. As he scrabbled for the
butt-end of his rifle he heard Achnacon’s whispered voice:
“Wheesht, man! They are on the other side of
this hill.”
Now that he was at ground level Andy could make
out young Donald, as well as Larachmor and three other
bodachs
he’d seen
at the wake. All were lying motionless beneath the gorse bushes, their faces
turned to the west. Beside each
bodach
lay a captured army musket.
Below them stretched the wild, uninhabited
western reaches of Glen Laragain. Andy’s eyes followed the course of a burn as
it tumbled from the wastes of
Druim Fada
towards the distant shores of
Loch Eil. The drab browns and greens of early spring threw into sharp relief
the scarlet uniforms of a group of men resting by the burn some four hundred
yards away.
Andy felt a wild tangle of emotions: excitement…
fear… anger… Jamie’s predictions had been no more than wishful thinking; the
redcoats had come back, exactly as he’d feared.
He could only make out nine figures. His eyes
followed the sweep of the landscape until the glen curved out of sight miles to
the southwest. Where were the others?
“The other laddies; they’re still watching the
hills, in case this is a diversion?”
The Highlander snorted disdainfully. “Not even
the Hanoverians would think us so easy deceived.”
Some of the redcoats had peeled off their outer
uniforms and were washing themselves in the burn. Two of the hardier souls had
stripped off altogether and were splashing about in the water, like children at
play.
“There is something else which makes no sense
whatever,” Achnacon whispered. “They may have pistols or dirks concealed about
themselfs, but not a one of them carries sword or musket.”
“This has got tae be some kindae trick.”
Achnacon shook his head doubtfully. “After what
has taken place these men must know they are being spied upon. To divest
themselfs of clothing in their enemy’s land; they have either taken leave of
their senses…”
“…Or they’re tryin’ tae send us a message.”
Larachmor crawled over to Achnacon and whispered
excitedly at him. Achnacon’s reply was sharp and succinct, and clearly not to
Larachmor’s liking. He scowled horribly at Achnacon, then scowled at Andy for
good measure, before dragging himself back through the bushes.
“What was yer friend so upset about?” asked
Andy.
Achnacon shielded his eyes as he studied the
distant redcoats. “Och, himself was always a terrible man for the claymore.
’Twas never his way to skulk in the heather. Larachmor always enchoyed the wild
charge.”
Andy smiled. “For what it’s worth, Ah think it’s
best we wait tae see what their intentions are.”
“Achnacon is of the same mind,” said the other
with quiet authority.
The sky was now leaden, the clouds whipped along
on a stinging wind, speckling the ground with pellets of rain. The distant
soldiers hurried to put on their uniforms. In some ways Andy sympathised with
Larachmor. There was a strong temptation to eliminate this problem before it
became a threat to the glen. He began to prepare himself for the worst. His
ammunition pouches contained four magazines, of twenty rounds apiece judging by
their weight. Jamie’s last shouted message came back to him as he encountered
two muslin bags full of single 7.62mm rounds. The lad must have plundered
Fergie’s G.P.M.G. ammo. Andy felt a little better as he settled his sights on
that faraway clump of scarlet. Even from this distance he could take out each
one of them should he so choose.
He remembered his arrangement with the others.
“Perhaps ye could send the young lad back along the path tae guide Sam and
Alistair here.”
Achnacon spoke briefly to Donald, and the boy
melted out of sight, the gorse remaining undisturbed as though a ghost had
passed through it.
The redcoats were on the move again, following
the burn towards its watershed. A sharp exchange broke out between Achnacon and
Larachmor. At once Andy saw the problem; if they stayed put they would be
bypassed by the soldiers. Should they intercept now or fall back?
“We shall withdraw from here and continue to
observe as best we may,” Achnacon said quietly.
Andy could hear Larachmor muttering dark oaths
as he retired through the bushes.
Away from the cover of the gorse there was
nothing but bare hillside between them and the approaching soldiers. Achnacon
pulled his force further and further back until he found a suitable hollow,
twenty yards south of the path, and a little to the east of the graveyard. Here
they could remain concealed while they continued to watch the redcoats. From
such a position, however, there could be no further withdrawals.
The rain was becoming heavier now, stinging any
exposed flesh as it drove inland. To the east there was still no sign of
Alistair or Sam. It wasn’t long however before the redcoats came into view.
When they were two hundred yards away they were halted by their leader; a tall,
striking-looking individual, who seemed to command instant obedience from his
fellows. He scanned the horizon before him, as though expecting to be
intercepted.
Soon they were on the move again. As they drew
closer Andy found his attention drawn to the scarred face of their leader.
“Longholme!”
The name meant nothing to his companions,
although their eyes too were drawn to the incongruous image of disfigured face
and highbred bearing.
“You know this man?” Andy could hear surprise
and alarm in Achnacon’s voice.
“Alistair read about him in a book.”
“Himself must be important if someone thought to
write of him in a book.”
“Aye. Ye could say that…”
“Whatever could a chentleman like that want with
folk like ourselfs?”
Achnacon seemed cowed by the very demeanour of
the man. The redcoats were barely a hundred yards to the west and would soon be
abreast of their position. Andy took hold of his rifle.
“There’s only one way tae find out,” he
murmured, as he rose to his feet.
At once the redcoats came to a halt. Macmillan
could feel their leader taking stock of him as he crossed the few yards of
heather to the path. The wind and rain were now full in Andy’s face, bringing
tears to his eyes.
“What is it yez want here?” he bellowed.
One of Longholme’s comrades murmured something
into his master’s ear.
“We have come here to offer the good people of
this valley our assistance,” the officer replied.
“What makes ye think we need yer help?” Andy
yelled back.
Longholme inclined his head once again as he
took advice from his subordinate.
“You should know that each and every one of you
is in mortal danger…”
“…’Tis chentlemen such as yourselfs that pose
the only danger to Glen Laragain!” Achnacon interjected.
Andy turned to find the five old clansmen
standing to his right, their muskets held awkwardly before them.
This time Longholme needed no translation. “My
companions and I remain in these uniforms to protect us from the worst of your
climate, not to dismay the good people of this valley.”
He began to approach, his men shuffling uneasily
behind him. At once five muskets were pointed in their direction, aging hands
trembling with the weight of the weapon.
“Hold your fire, gentlemen, I implore you!”
Longholme pulled open his wide-skirted coat to show he was unarmed. He ordered
his men to stand still, and approached Achnacon and his ragged little band on
his own. As he drew near his piercing blue eyes flicked from one face to
another.
“You are in the gravest danger, all of you. Even
the safety of your women and children is not assured. As we speak, the
destruction of this valley is being planned to the smallest detail. My men and
I have come to you this day to offer our help.”
“And why would a fine chentleman like yourself
be offering to help the likes of us?” Face to face with the tall redcoat
Achnacon seemed to have recovered some of his self-confidence.
Longholme towered loftily over the little group
of
bodachs
. He tried to smile at them as one comrade to another, but the
expression sat uneasily with those cold, searching eyes.
“The men you see before you have incurred the
wrath of His Royal Highness. In the space of but three short days the life of
every wretch here has become worth as little as that of any man who has taken
to the field with your prince.”
“And how would a chentleman like yourself have
come to such a pass?” Achnacon asked dubiously.
“How many of your people no longer draw breath
this morn?”
“Three and thirty.” Achnacon had replied before
Andy could urge caution.
Longholme nodded solemnly. “I am heartened so
many have survived. As loyal soldiers of the crown my men and I came to this
valley in pursuance of the orders of His Royal Highness, the Duke of
Cumberland. These same wretches left that very day, their orders unanswered;
aye, even though it should mean they have forfeited their own lives. We were to
be taken by ship to London, there to stand trial as an example to other men of
principle who do not share His Highness’s taste for blood.”
The doubt remained in Achnacon’s eyes. “A Chuke’s
man who speaks of principles. ’Tis a notion that means as much to my ears as to
the dead ears of my kinfolk.”