From "Echoes of the Mountain Muse"
AN EPISODE OF THE BATTLE OF CULLODEN.
Drumossie Moor, Drumossie day,
A waefu' day ye was tae me,
For there I lost my father dear,
My father dear an' bretheren three. - Burns
That portion of the Highland army which had marched of the previous evening towards Nairn, their object being to make a night attack on the Royal army encamped there, returned about six o'clock in the morning without effecting their object, they having been too late. The army of Cumberland was "sounding the note of preparation," and to suprise them was impossible; so after due deliberation the leaders of the clansmen deemed it prudent to return, though the men under their command would have rather tried their steel on the "Sidier Ruagh." Returning by the Church of Croy, the disappointed Highlanders, hungry and disheartened, arrived about six o'clock in the morning, weary and footsore, and in a very poor condition to face a well-disciplined and powerful enemy. Many lay down to snatch a few hours' sleep, while hundreds wandered about in search of food to allay the cravings of hunger, but, alas for the sorely tried Gael, with little success - a thing only to be expected.
By this time, while things did not look promising for the Highlanders, four stalwart clansmen could be seen advancing rapidly towards a broad-set, powerful-looking old Celtic warrior carrying under his arm a small bundle, which he seemed to regard as something most valuable, as he hurried to meet his advancing kinsmen. Three of the approaching clansmen were sons of the old Highlander, whilst the fourth was the sweetheart of his only daughter, "the bonnie lass o' Inverness." Dugald Macintosh and his three sons were determined Jacobites, and at once joined the standard of Prince Charles Edward. Allan Stewart, who aspired to the hand of the bonnie lass o' Inverness, was coolly told that if he did not join the cause her father and brothers had espoused, he would have no chance of winning the hand of the daughter, as father and brothers would sternly oppose it if he did not buckle on his sword and follow Prince Charlie. Dugald Macintosh's three sons were named respectively Roderick (the eldest), then Murdoch, while Kenneth (the youngest) was only eighteen, but was, nevertheless, to all appearance, one who could give a good account of himself "in the strife of swords" as Ossian, the Fingallian bard "of the days of other years" puts it. Allan Stewart, the aspirant to the hand of Flora Macintosh, was a tall, fine looking Highlander, somewhat grave of aspect, and carried himself in a dignified manner.
Old Dugald's three sons and Allan Stewart had just returned from that boldly contrived but unsuccessful night march, and, being famished with hunger, were delighted to find that the old man during their absence had managed - he being well acquainted in the neighbourhood - to get possession of some two or three bannocks and a piece of cheese, so very hard that none but strong men, possessed of first-class grinders, and nearly mad with hunger, could have had any effect upon it. After mutually saluting each other by a hearty shake of the hand and a warm expression of good wishes, old Dugald's bundle soon became beautifully less by the vigorous charge of the hungry Celts.
Having hastily despatched their scanty and not very toothsome refreshments, they were suddenly made aware that Cumberland's army was on the march to attack them. The Prince, who slept all night in Culloden House, was quickly on the field, and conjointly with the chiefs proceeded with all haste to marshal the clans in battle array. The front line was entirely composed of the clans - the Macdonnels of Glengarry, Keppoch and Clanranald; the Macintoshes; and other distinguished tribes. The second line was made up of horseguards, Irish pickets, Duke of Perth's regiment, Lord Ogilvie, Lord Drummond, and other enthusiastic parties all ready to do battle for the Prince. A not very formidable body with respect to numbers formed the reserve. The Athole men formed the right wing of the front line, which included the Macintoshes, Stewarts of Appin, Fraser, and Lochiel. The Clan Donnachie or Robertsons of Struan, the Macdonnels of Glengarry, Keppoch, Clanranald; Macleans, and Maclachlans, and others formed the left, which, for want of space, we must omit. Let it be borne in mind that all these men were weak with hunger, weary and sorely exhausted for want of sleep. Never were men in worse condition for fighting a highly disciplined and well appointed enemy. Hundreds of the clansmen were nodding with sleep in the ranks, and it seemed a rash venture to hazard a battle in a position where the Royal army would have every advantage, not only in superiority of numbers, but in having a field where dragoons, artillery, and every branch of the service could act without hinderance.
After some preliminary manoeuvring on both sides the battle commenced with a cannonade a little after one o'clock, but the ordnance of the Highlanders was of small calibre, not exceeding four pounders, and was poorly served, and did little or no execution. And to make things worse, most of the men that should have managed the artillery were wandering about in search of provisions, while the clansmen were getting furious and impatient to be led to action, as Cumberland's cannon were making fearful havoc in their ranks, while theirs might be said to do little or nothing to annoy the Royal army.
We must now narrate the fate of old Dugald Macintosh and his three sons, as well as Allan Stewart, the suitor for the hand of Flora, the daughter. The fate of these devoted clansmen the writer learned from an eyewitness, who was more fortunate and escaped with his life, although he fought in that terrible melee in which the others perished. Just as Lord George Murray was about to lead the right wing in to the attack, the Macintosh regiment rushed forward with tremendous impetuosity, and at once the whole right wing followed suit and rapidly swept over the intervening space that lay between the two armies. The onset of the Highlanders was simply indescribable. The portentous roar of the cannon, and the deafening rattle of musketry, and the ominous crash of steel, and last but not least, the fierce energy and desperate valour of the Highlanders, formed a scene of the most appalling character. Munro's and Barrel's regiments were swept aside broken and cut up, and in a confused mass were fain to seek shelter behind the second line. Still the desperate valour of the Highlanders carried them headlong forward, notwithstanding that they were rent and torn and broken up into bleeding groups, with hideous gaps between them, wherein lay mangled heaps of dead and wounded - a convulsive mass of groaning humanity.
At this moment old Dugald Macintosh, his three sons, and Allan Stewart had urged their way to the very front of the melee - rage and fury glowing in every face, and beneath their knitted brows stern defiance flashing from their eyes. On reaching the second line these dauntless warriors, in their reckless daring, plunged among their foes, and for a brief period struggled in a seething scene of blood and slaughter. In less than a minute old Macintosh emerged from the carnage; his time-worn features were seamed with streaks of blood, his trusty claymore red to the hilt, while he, with evidently a painful effort, turned round as if to look whether any of those near and dear to him were following. He suddenly fell forward on his face; the vital spark had fled, and at the moment his eldest son appeared wounded and bleeding, while his aspect was appalling and terrible to behold. Glancing at his prostrate father, he at once wheeled round and slit to the collar-bone the head of the first foeman whom he met. He then fell from a pistol shot, and, like his father, with his face to the foe. Needless to say, the other three lay rigid in the cold sleep of death, ghastly and gory specimens of what erewhile were noble and grand figures of a vigorous humanity.
A perfect storm of grape shot, an incessant roll of musketry, and a galling flank fire from Wolfe's regiment had so torn and mauled the ranks of the Highlanders, that nothing else remained but to retire as best they could. They had done all that human strength and courage could have done, and it is questionable whether any other troops in Europe, under the circumstances, could have achieved so much.
The above particulars, so far as they relate to the fate of Dugald Macintosh, his three sons, and Allan Stewart, were gathered from recital of an eye-witness who was present at the battle.
When the shattered ranks of the right wing began to give way many a terrible glance was thrown towards the left. And the same eye-witness was of the opinion that had the Macdonnels charged at the moment the sorely cut-up heroes of the right would have turned, and with renewed vigour charged their foes with their usual impetuosity. It is hard to say, however, what might have been the result.
When the sad news reached Flora Macintosh, the beloved sweetheart of Allan Stewart, her grief was terrible to behold - all those nearest and dearest to her at "one fell swoop" had perished. With the poor stricken maiden all the beautiful colours of youth, beauty and romance suddenly faded into darkness and desolation. Before poor Flora's grief had somewhat abated nearly three months had passed away. When Flora was able to bear the fatigue, kind friends carried her to the field where slept those whose memory she could never forget, and the lines of that very tender and pathetic ballad may be appropriately quoted, as Flora was really "the bonnie lass o' Inverness."
Their windin' sheet's the bluidy clay,
Their graves are growin' green to see;
And near them lies the bonniest lad
That ever blest a woman's e'e.
The lines of Burns seem to relate to the main incidents of our story. The grass has long been green where sleep the lovely and the brave.
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