The Battle of Culloden
In April, 1746, Bonnie Prince Charlie led a fleat of ill-prepared husbands, sons, and warriors against the trained regiments of the English army, in hopes of freedom for Scotland. Over one thousand Highlanders were killed in an hour. Those remaining were burned alive at a nearby cottage. For the years after, the Black Watch and other English regiments tracked down Jacobites and their supporters, raiding villages, raping women, and killing most men they came across- elderly or babe. The Prince fled to France, killing the last hopes of the risings which had been going on strong for over 20 years, and had been dreamed of since the fourteenth century and before.
Epilogue: March 12, 1745 The child was restless that night, waking Chlora up before the gentle light of the dawn peeked through the glass of their bedroom window. The little one inside of her stirred and kicked, eager for its mother to start moving about a little. Opening her weary eyes, she turned a smile upon her mouth to feel her insides bruise with the most wonderful and unique feeling of them all. It was as if they two were the only ones real, the only ones in the world who could feel each other. The natural obligation to love rested upon the mother and child who would live as one until the time when the mother would again become a woman and the child a wee newborn babe. Chlora pushed the covers off and looked down at her round stomach, seeing the movement as she felt it. Then, the mother looked over at the father, startled out of her peaceful world to find him awake and staring off into nothingness. She reached over, picking up his hand with her sweaty palm, and guiding it to her belly. A moment later, the baby kicked and Robert gave a surprised yip as he looked up into his wife's eyes. She asked quietly, "Ye were up and thinkin'?" She knew what it was he had been thinking about and she had to know his answer. "Aye, I was. And I ken now what I must do." Chlora did not like the coldness of his voice, nor his frowning eyes that were ashamed to meet hers as he continued. "I must gae." She gave a disappointed sigh but said nothing until he was finished trying to justify himself. "I am a fighter, and this cause is a just one. Tae stand wi' Bonnie Prince Charlie himself would be the greatest honor in the world. His fight is for my honor, yer honor, the honor of all of Scotland, and if I dinna fight, it will all be lost." Chlora could not tell if he was finished, but she decided that if he was not, she would tell him her mind any way. "Robert Douglas MacLennan, sometimes I think I could kill ye." She sighed and tried not to sound as angry as she felt. "Ye mean tae leave me and the bairns to fight as one man in a thousand against twice as many English? They willna miss yer courage or yer honor, but I will, and our children will. Think o' wee Betty and wee Maggie, and o' this one right here in me still, who will never ken ye if ye do not return. Robert, ye canna win the battle single-handed, ye'll be part o' an arma, an arma that'll do fine wi'out ye." "But, Chlora," he protested, "If I dinna go, I'll be a coward, and my honor--" "Damn yer honor!" she yelled, clasping her hand over her mouth as she remembered her daughters sleeping in the next room. He voice continued softer, though the strength had far from vanished. "It's alwas ye and yer honor--" "That's all I have--" "Nay!" she hissed, her eyes fiery and relentless. "Nay, ye have me! Ye have our family! The honor ye spent years tae get is no goin' tae just fly away because ye havena gone out tae slit yer throat fer the young pretender." Robert considered for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Ye are right, lass, about that. My honor will always be a part of me, but can I live wi' myself if I dinna gae? Can I sit in my quiet little home with my peaceful little famila as onla a bit away the English and Scots are slaughterin' each other? Can I live bein' just like my da, like my grandsire? Can I live as a coward fer nae joinin' in? For nae defendin' that which needs defendin'? And what would that say for my honor? And the honor of our children?" Chlora could not answer. She knew there was nothing she could say to change his mind; when he made a decision, he was stubborn, even if it led to death. "I have tae gae. That's the only way I can be Robert Douglas MacLennan, yer husband, Betty and Maggie's father." He waited a few minutes for the silence to calm their tempers. Then he inched closer to her, finding his leg upon hers, his hand stroking her hair. Quietly, "Do ye hate me now, Chlora?" She turned to look at him, her eyes filled with tears the size of a loch. It would serve him right if she did, if he had lost her to the bloody battle for Scottish freedom. But she could not help but love him for that, for loving his stubbornness, his braw, Highland honor. "Nay. I canna hate ye. It's onla that... I canna live wi'out ye. And if ye were tae die... Oh Robert!" Chlora dissolved into sobs and her husband's arms did their duty, wrapping themselves around her. "I'm a bonny fighter, Chlora, there's none in the village as good as I am with a broadsword or a dirk. I'll come back tae ye, dinna worra." He sighed, releasing her and pulling her damp hair from her hot forehead. "Besides, a couple o' English muskets could never tak my heart the way ye have." Her hand clapped against the back of his cool neck, and she pulled him to her, kissing him full on the lips. "I do love ye, Robert Douglas MacLennan." He smiled and tilted his head forward so that their foreheads touched and their eyes were but an inch away. "I love ye, my bonnie lassie. And I will forever." |
Bonnie Charlie's gone awa Safely o'er the friendly main Mony a heart will break in twa Should he ne'er come back again. Chorus: Will ye no' come back again? Will ye no' come back again? Better lo'ed ye canna be Will ye no' come back again? Ye trusted in your Hielan' men They trusted you, dear Charlie They kent your hiding in the glen Death or exile braving. Chorus English bribes were a' in vain Tho' puir, and puirer, we maurn be Siller canna buy the heart That beats aye for thine and thee. Chorus We watch'd thee in the gloamin' hour We watch'd thee in the mornin' grey Tho' thirty thousand pound they gie Oh, there is nane that wad betray! ~traditional folk song |