THE LAST CAMPAIGN
Montrose knew the temper of the men who now ruled Scotland too well to
share in the delusions that had brought Charles into their power. From
the Scottish to the English camp would prove, he felt certain, but a
short step. As clearly as we see it now, though from a different point
of view, he saw that the time for compromise was past, and that on
one side or the other the victory must be absolute and unconditional.
But though right in his conviction that peace could only be won at
the sword's point, Montrose did not recognise that the power of the
sword had passed for ever from the King. He even flattered himself
that the tide was on the turn at the very moment when he had been
ordered to lay down his arms, and that a few weeks would have seen all
the Royalists in Scotland united as one man to rescue their sovereign
from the cruel and treacherous hands into which he had fallen. It was
a delusion as complete as the delusion of Charles. He might, indeed,
have continued a desultory campaign among the mountains so long as
he remained alive and free; he might have indulged the King with
another Kilsyth, or the Macdonalds with another Inverlochy; but no man
living, not Oliver himself, could have succeeded where Montrose had
failed. Statesman and soldier had alike been powerless to persuade or
compel those unstable chiefs and their wild followers to the order,
discipline, and concord necessary to ensure success in all military
operations. In another generation another Graham had to face the same
problem; but Dundee, more fortunate than his kinsman, was saved from
the same failure by a glorious death on the field of battle.
And yet the course of Scottish affairs during the next two years seems
at first to suggest that the genius of Montrose might have guided them
to different issues. The jealousy and irresolution of Huntly must
always have paralysed every effort that he might permit to assist
him. But the strange outburst of popular feeling which culminated in
the abortive enterprise known as Hamilton's Engagement, might under
a vigorous and skilful leader have at least saved the King's life.
There was no such leader then in Scotland save Montrose alone. Yet
the certainty of victory under Montrose would never have tempted the
men who cheerfully followed Hamilton to inevitable defeat. It may be
true that Lanark professed himself willing to serve under Montrose in
the capacity even of a sergeant; but the words, if sincere, were not
spoken till after the annihilation of his party, when he was himself a
fugitive and his brother a prisoner. At the time when Hamilton dared
to make a stand against the tyranny of Argyll, Montrose, outside the
little circle of his own friends and followers, was the object of
general aversion to all Scotland. Royalists like Huntly and trimmers
like Traquair were jealous of him. The extreme Covenanters, headed
by Argyll and including the large majority of the clergy, hated
him with the deadly hatred that only fear can inspire. By the more
moderate Presbyterians, who now called themselves Royalist, he was
distrusted as a renegade from the Covenant and the champion, as they
conceived him, of Episcopacy. Nor did they even call their cause
the same. The restoration of the monarchy was their rallying cry as
it had been his; but while they were arming against an English foe,
his victories had been won against his own countrymen. The cruelties
practised in the name of the Covenant had excited no indignation; for
they had been practised in remote parts of the kingdom either on men
who were regarded as little better than wild beasts, or on men who
were fighting against the sacred cause of religion and liberty. Even
the butchery after Philiphaugh was but the just vengeance of God. But
thousands of homes had been left desolate, and thousands of innocent
lives lost, to gratify the vain and furious ambition of Montrose. Such
in times of disorder will always be the reasoning of the stronger
side. It is possible, indeed, that the enthusiasm of these new
Royalists was in some degree due to the feeling that it would not be
forced to submit to the dictation of a man whose ways were not theirs.
Only among the Highlanders could Montrose have found allies, and among
their mountains was his only battle-ground. They knew nothing of Kirk
or Covenant, of Presbyterian or Independent. The men of Macdonald bore
no grudge against the destroyer of the Campbells; the men of Athole
would have heard without a murmur that every Mackenzie had been put to
the sword from Kintail to Loch Broom. They did not care, probably the
majority did not know, for what they had been marching, plundering,
and fighting from Aberdeen to Inverary. They knew only that they were
following a captain who led them always to revenge and booty. But in
the Lowlands Montrose had no party, and to the Lowlands his allies
would not follow him. It is a hard thing to say, but it is the plain
truth, that all his brilliant exploits, his dauntless courage, his
ardent and unselfish devotion to a noble, if mistaken, ideal had
proved of no real service to his master. Had Strafford lived to join
hands with Montrose the history of the Great Rebellion might have been
differently written. But Montrose stood alone, the champion of a lost
cause, the martyr of an impossible loyalty. All the circumstances of
the time were against him, its spirit and its temper, its ideals and
its convictions. At the moment when he was ordered to disband his
forces, Montrose was the King's most dangerous ally.
The scene was now shifted from the Highlands of Scotland to the French
capital, but the play was the same. Here Montrose had expected to find
the promised instructions from the King and the necessary credentials,
but if they ever reached Paris they never came into his hands. His
plan for renewing the war had been already submitted to the Queen, and
had received her gracious approval. But fair words were all he was
to get from Henrietta Maria. Help she would not, or could not give.
Money was scarce among the exiles; the Queen was extravagant and her
courtiers greedy. She did nothing without the advice of Jermyn, and
the advice of the favourite was never given against his own interests.
He kept the purse, and would allow no strange fingers in it. Not a
pistole could be spared from the maintenance and amusements of the
little household for the wild schemes of an enthusiast who could no
longer be useful and might prove troublesome. At such a court Montrose
could not be welcome. Nor does his own behaviour seem to have been
altogether judicious. He was accused of setting too high a claim on
his past services, of a manner unbecoming a subject in the presence
of his Queen; and the publication of Wishart's narrative of his
exploits, which might indeed have been postponed to a more favourable
time, is said to have been seriously resented, as likely to offend
the Presbyterian party to whom the Royalists were now turning for
help. So ran the gossip of the time, perhaps not entirely without
reason. Montrose had always worn his heart upon his sleeve. For the
King's sake he was ready to undergo every hardship, to submit to every
indignity. But it was not in his nature to waive what he considered
his just claims before men who had sat idle while he fought, and now
rejected him when he had failed. He may well have been galled to
see these proud carpet-knights preferred to those who had borne the
burden and heat of the day, to find himself and his faithful followers
slighted and in want, while money was freely lavished on the Queen's
French servants and English favourites.
But though Montrose won no honour among his own countrymen, his pride
might have been soothed by the admiration he excited elsewhere. He was
the first person whom visitors to Paris desired to see. De Retz begged
for the honour of an interview, praised him everywhere, and introduced
him to Mazarin. The Cardinal at once offered him high employment and
liberal pay, and promised more. But Montrose had no taste for the
French service, nor belief in the Cardinal's promises. He thought that
he might serve both his King and himself better at the Austrian Court.
In the spring of 1648, after one more attempt to gain the Queen to his
side, and finding her now pledged to the Presbyterian alliance, he
left Paris and, travelling through Switzerland and the Tyrol, came to
the Emperor at Prague.
Ferdinand received him graciously, conferred on him the baton of
a field-marshal, and lent a ready ear to his plans. Montrose was
commissioned to levy regiments for his King in Flanders, and furnished
with letters of recommendation to the Emperor's brother Leopold,
Governor of the Spanish Netherlands. His reception by the Archduke,
whom he found at Tournay, was no less gracious; but the crushing
defeat inflicted by Condé on the Imperial forces at Lens made any
active aid from this quarter impossible, and Montrose went on to join
his friends at Brussels.
The Prince of Wales had now broken from the irksome bondage of his
mother and Jermyn, and was settled at the Hague with Sir Edward Hyde
for his Chancellor. There, too, were his brother the Duke of York,
and his aunt Elizabeth of Bohemia, the gifted and unfortunate Queen
of Hearts, with her son Prince Rupert. With the latter Montrose at
once opened a correspondence. Rupert answered cordially, but his new
duties as Admiral of the Fleet left him, he said, no present leisure
for an interview. At the Hague, as at Paris, Montrose had his enemies.
One friend, indeed, supported him with all the ardour of a brave and
generous woman. Between the nature of Elizabeth of Bohemia and the
nature of Montrose there was much in common, and the warm sympathy
that sprang up between these two noble spirits forms the one pleasant
incident of this dark and miserable time.[22] But the rest, though
more gracious than their countrymen in Paris, still held aloof. The
complete and ignominious failure of Hamilton's Engagement had poured
a fresh body of exiles into Holland, who persisted in assuring the
Prince that only through Presbyterian Scotland could salvation come,
and in warning him against the employment of a man so universally
detested as Montrose. Charles was, on one side at least, the true son
of his father. He was determined to keep friends with both parties,
and to commit himself to neither. But for the present it was clearly
not his interest to offend the Presbyterians, who had the advantage of
numbers and were moreover on the spot. Hyde was therefore commissioned
to hold a secret interview with Montrose, and was on the point of
leaving the Hague for that purpose, when a fresh and terrible turn was
given to affairs by the news of the King's execution.
Wishart tells us that on the receipt of the intelligence Montrose fell
down in a swoon. On recovering he broke into passionate exclamations
of grief, declaring that there was nothing now left for him in
life. His chaplain, in the spirit rather of the Cavalier than the
clergyman, reminded him that vengeance was still left, and that the
murdered King's son still lived. "It is so," answered Montrose; "and
therefore I swear before God, angels, and men, that I will dedicate
the remainder of my life to avenging the death of the royal martyr,
and re-establishing his son upon his father's throne." He then retired
to his room, and would see no one for two days. On the third morning,
Wishart, being admitted, found that the Marquis had embodied his vow
in the following lines, which may be admired for their passion if not
for their elegance:
Great, Good, and Just, could I but rate
My grief with thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep the world in such a strain
As it should deluge once again;
But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies
More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes,
I'll sing thine obsequies with trumpet-sounds,
And write thine epitaph in blood and wounds.
A new element was now added to the factions which seethed round the
little Court at the Hague. Charles the Second had been proclaimed
in Edinburgh immediately on the news of his father's death, and
commissioners now arrived from the Estates to dictate to him, whom
they had just acknowledged as their King, the sole conditions under
which he could be allowed to enter his kingdom. The Estates meant
Argyll; the chief commissioners were his sworn friends, Cassillis and
Robert Baillie; the terms they offered were those the late King had
lost his life by refusing. The moderate Presbyterians, the survivors
of the Engagement, were represented by Lanark and Lauderdale. As they
were now outcasts equally with Montrose, it might have been thought
that they would make common cause with him against the common enemy.
The King used all his courtliest arts to effect a reconciliation which
might give him the power of dictating instead of accepting terms; but
his arguments and entreaties were alike vain. Sworn foes on all other
points, Engagers and Covenanters were at one in their denunciation
of the bloody murderer James Graham. Among the former the bitterest
was Lauderdale, whose name was destined to become a byword throughout
Scotland for brutality. Hyde attempted to reason with him. He was
told that it was in the nature of such a war as had lately raged in
Scotland to give no quarter on either side; he was reminded that
Montrose had never been guilty of such deliberate cruelties as his
adversaries had freely perpetrated, that he had taken no man's life in
cold blood, nor ever broken his faith with a prisoner. That Hyde spoke
truth Lauderdale could not deny, but the truth mattered nothing. He
swore passionately that, greatly as he desired the King's restoration,
he would rather that it should never be effected, than effected with
the help of this cruel and inhuman James Graham. How much of this
indignation was sincere, and how much assumed as a cloak for the
intrigues of faction, it would be hard to say. That there was a deep
and widespread feeling in Scotland against Montrose is certain; but it
is difficult to believe that pity for human suffering can at any time
have strongly moved such a man as Lauderdale. The rest of the party
followed his lead. They would not meet Montrose in council; they would
not stay in the royal presence when he came into it; they desired the
King not to permit Wishart to preach before him, on the ostensible
grounds that he, like Montrose, was under the ban of the Kirk, but
in reality because he was Montrose's chaplain and had written a
narrative of his exploits. This foolish and insolent violence had the
natural effect. Charles turned to Montrose, and frankly asked for his
advice on the commissioners' proposals. It was as frankly given. The
King was warned that his hereditary right of succession was being
changed for "a conditional election of _ans_ and _ifs_" which must
inevitably leave him a mere tool in the hands of Argyll and the Kirk;
that to sign their Solemn League and Covenant would be to condemn his
father's memory by countenancing the origin of the rebellion that
had cost him his kingdom and life. He was reminded that the very men
who had proclaimed him King were even now slandering, persecuting,
and murdering his faithful subjects whose only crime was loyalty to
the Throne. Finally he was recommended to be resolute and bold, and
to trust the justice of his cause to God. The disease was gone too
far for gentle remedies; in vigorous and active measures lay the
only human means of success. And such measures Montrose was ready to
undertake so soon as the King should sanction them. The suspicious
nature of that loyalty which shouted _God save the King!_ while it
struck at the King's most faithful subjects was an argument that came
home. The violent language used against Montrose added fresh point to
it every day; and the same ship that brought the commissioners to
the Hague brought also the news of Huntly's death. His brother-in-law
Argyll had sent him to the scaffold, pathetically lamenting with his
last breath that he had done so little in the cause for which he
suffered.
It was the misfortune of Montrose to serve two masters who could never
be trusted. As the father had been, so was the son. Charles knew that
part of this advice was good; that if he accepted the conditions of
the Estates he could be a king only in name; and he must have had
a shrewd suspicion that, while Cromwell was master in England, he
would not long even in name be king in Scotland. That he believed at
this time in the chance of vigorous action is not impossible. The
infatuation of exiles is proverbial, and there were undoubtedly others
besides Montrose who shared his views. It would be unjust therefore
to brand Charles with the deliberate treachery of sending a brave
man to inevitable death. But he could not resist the attractions of
that double game which had led his father to the block. If Montrose
succeeded, Charles would be free for ever from the patronage of Kirk
and Covenant; if he failed, these unwelcome allies might still be left
to fall back upon. The terms of the Estates were therefore declined,
but in such a way as to leave an opening for future negotiations;
and a commission was issued appointing the Marquis of Montrose
Lieutenant-Governor of Scotland and Commander-in-Chief of the Royal
Forces, and at the same time Ambassador-Extraordinary to solicit aid
from the Northern Courts in the name of the King of England.
Montrose at once set to work. Though the Powers on whose help he
relied were more generous in compliments and promises than in
substantial aid, he contrived by the end of August to despatch a small
force, mostly Germans and Danes, under the Earl of Kinnoull, to the
Orkneys. He had chosen these islands for the place of muster, partly
because they belonged to the Earl of Morton, Kinnoull's uncle, who was
believed to be well affected, and partly because he thought that the
terror of his name might not have penetrated to that remote part of
the kingdom. Kinnoull was ordered to establish his men at Kirkwall,
and to occupy himself in levying and drilling the islanders till his
chief joined him at the end of the year.
But the hand of fate was against this wild venture from the first.
Morton and Kinnoull were both dead of a fever within a few weeks
after they had met at Kirkwall. Sir James Douglas, Morton's brother,
was sent to Denmark with a message to Montrose urging his immediate
coming to Scotland. He need not wait to bring an army with him; his
own presence in the country would at once raise twenty thousand men
for the King's service. Kinnoull had found time, before the fatal
sickness seized him, to announce his safe arrival, and to assure
his chief that he was "gaped after with that expectation that the
Jews look after their Messiah." All agreed that Scotland was weary
of the bondage of the Covenant, and impatient for a deliverer. But
Montrose had been advised that despatches were on their way from
the King in Jersey, and had no choice but to wait for them. It were
better for the reputation of Charles that those despatches had never
been written. They contained, indeed, the George and riband of the
Garter, with many flattering words; but they contained also words
which, written on the eve of the fatal conference of Breda, and
read, as we now read them, by the light of its results, convict the
King, if not of deliberate treachery, at least of a cruel disregard
of his general's honour and life. They told him of the reopened
negotiations with the Covenant and of the approaching conference:
they urged him to instant and vigorous action; and they assured him
that nothing should be conceded on his sovereign's part which could
offer the least impediment to his proceedings, or the least diminution
of his authority. And all the while Charles knew well that the one
inevitable condition, whatever else might be taken or left, without
which no basis of an understanding with the Covenant was possible,
must be the dismissal of James Graham from his service. Elizabeth
of Bohemia, who knew her nephew's disposition too well, had always
foreseen this risk. "I pray God keep the King in his constancy to you
and his other true friends and servants," she had written to Montrose;
and through all her letters to him ran the half-concealed warning
that more danger was to be expected from this quarter than from his
open foes. But Montrose, if he had ever shared the Queen's fears or
remembered them now, had no eyes for any part of this cruel letter
but that which counselled instant action. He had already, in default
of his own presence, despatched another and much larger force to the
Orkneys under Kinnoull's brother William Hay, who had now succeeded
to the title. But again the fates were adverse. A violent storm arose
on the passage; the greater part of the little fleet went down at
sea, or was dashed to pieces on those rugged coasts; out of twelve
hundred men only two hundred, with a few field-pieces, came safe to
land. Montrose himself did not reach Kirkwall till the end of March,
accompanied by many of his old officers and a small but eager body of
gentlemen volunteers.
It is idle to say that the delay was fatal to the success of an
enterprise which could never in any circumstances have succeeded. But
it was fatal to the continuance of that feeling which had prompted
the letter of Kinnoull and the message of Douglas. The feeling had
never indeed, even since the execution of Charles, been such or so
widespread as they persuaded themselves with the exaggeration in all
ages characteristic of the supporters of a lost cause. But through
the greater part of the year 1649 the courage and hopes of the
ultra-Royalists or Cavalier party in Scotland undoubtedly stood higher
than at any time since the days immediately following the battle of
Kilsyth. A rising of the Mackenzies under Pluscardine, Seaforth's
brother, had indeed been easily suppressed in the spring; but it
showed that the flame once kindled by Montrose was not yet wholly
dead. Along with this reviving loyalty, though separate from it,
was a strong and growing dislike, even among those who had hitherto
held aloof from the Engagers, against the tyranny of the extreme
Covenanters, the men of the Solemn League, who were led by Argyll. The
moderate Presbyterians who shared this dislike would have welcomed
the restoration of the young King as gladly as the Cavaliers; but
they were not prepared to welcome him on the same terms. It was the
misfortune of the Cavaliers to confound this partial and calculating
sentiment with their own unconditional loyalty; and of this mistake
Montrose was the victim. It was a mistake of which Argyll was not
slow to take advantage. His emissaries proclaimed everywhere that the
desired restoration was to be accomplished, not by the brutal violence
of the excommunicated traitor James Graham at the head of an army of
foreign mercenaries and Highland savages, but by the peaceful and
ready consent of the exiled King to the wishes of his loving subjects.
Argyll had not been deceived in his estimate of Charles. When the
conference met at Breda the King promised everything demanded of him.
Montrose was given up with the rest. He was publicly ordered to lay
down his arms, to disband his forces, to withdraw from the kingdom.
He was told that the King would not forget his interests when in a
position to remember them. At the same time the bearer of this cruel
and unkingly order was privately instructed, with the characteristic
duplicity of these unhappy Stuarts, to ascertain Montrose's strength
before delivering it, and to withhold it if he should be found
sufficiently strong to enable Charles to break his word with the
Covenant when once safe in Scotland. These orders never reached
Montrose; they were not indeed written till some days after his defeat
and capture. When he landed at the head of his army in Scotland he was
still acting in obedience to the King's commands.[23] But the mischief
had been done. The declaration which he published immediately on
landing was burned by the common hangman at the cross in Edinburgh.
A counter-declaration was issued denouncing him in terms of the most
scurrilous abuse, and calling upon all in whom the fear of their God,
duty to their King, and love for their country, were not utterly
extinguished, to aid in bringing this traitor to justice. Every pulpit
in Scotland thundered curses on his head. Those who dared to speak a
good word for him were flung into prison. From one end of the country
to the other he was held up to execration as a wretch abhorred of God
and man.
It is improbable that Montrose had ever allowed himself to reflect
on the desperate hazard of his venture. He had never been apt to
calculate the chances against him, and he was not likely to do so
now. That he can have felt confident or even hopeful of success seems
incredible to us. In his little army were indeed some stout soldiers,
Danes and Germans, who, like all mercenaries, could be trusted to
sell their lives dearly; but at least one half was composed of raw
Orkney men, unused to arms and with little heart for a cause they
can hardly have understood. Hurry and some of his old officers were
still with him; and among the gentlemen volunteers were the Earl of
Kinnoull, Viscount Frendraught, Sir James Douglas (Morton's brother),
Sir William Hay of Dalgetty, Colonel James Hay of Naughton, Drummond
of Balloch, Menzies of Pitfoddels, Ogilvy of Powrie. His only cavalry
consisted of the horses which carried himself, his principal officers,
and some of the volunteers. The whole force did not exceed fifteen
hundred men with a few brass field-pieces. He hoped indeed to find
allies as he advanced, especially among the Mackenzies, whose chief,
the vacillating Seaforth, though he preferred to stay by the King's
side, had sanctioned a rising of his clan. But past experience can
hardly have encouraged him to count much on such hopes. On the other
hand, he knew that his old antagonist, David Leslie, was arrayed
against him, and that though the Scottish army had been nominally
disbanded it had only been quartered about the country ready for
muster at a day's notice. Yet the orders issued to his officers were
as firm and confident as ever. They are such, indeed, as almost to
suggest a doubt whether his mind was able to realise the full gravity
of his position. We read in them of life-guards and regiments and
squadrons, as though he had the full complement of a regular army at
his disposal. The truth is, that his ardent and romantic imagination,
which had always seemed to belong rather to some knight-errant of
the Middle Ages than to a man of the modern world, was now exalted
to a height of enthusiasm whence all things looked possible. He
conceived himself to stand before the eyes of Europe as the peculiar
champion of fallen and insulted monarchy. Resolute as he was to
obey his sovereign's commands in all matters of life and death, the
thought of avenging the father was probably even nearer his heart
than the thought of restoring the son. The standards he had caused
to be prepared for his expedition indicate the spirit in which it
was undertaken. The royal banner displayed a bleeding head upon a
black ground. On his own, wrought of white damask, were embroidered
two rocks divided by a deep chasm; on the top of one a lion crouched
for the spring, and beneath was the motto, _Nil Medium_. It was his
favourite boast:
He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
That dares not put it to the touch,
To gain or lose it all.
The spirit of devotion to a cause, a creed, or a principle, which
counts no cost, knows no fear, and will brook no compromise, has
always been called by those who cannot understand it, and by those who
dislike its object, the spirit of fanaticism. It can take many shapes,
from Christian meekness and heroic valour to uncouth extravagance and
savage ferocity. It inspired alike the martyrs of the early Church,
the warriors of the Crusades, the priests of the Inquisition, and the
troopers of Cromwell. Such was the spirit that now led Montrose to his
doom.
In the second week of April he broke up his camp at Kirkwall and
crossed to the mainland. His landing was effected at a point on the
north-eastern extremity of Caithness, where tradition still preserves
the memory of John o' Groat's House. He had already despatched a
party of men to seize and garrison the strong castle of Dunbeath
in order to secure his retreat, and with his little force now
reduced to twelve hundred men he moved slowly south. In the shires
of Caithness, Sutherland, and Ross he had expected to find willing
recruits among men who had known nothing of the horrors of the last
campaign, and he supposed that the whole array of the Mackenzies
would be marching to meet him under the gallant Pluscardine. He was
grievously disappointed in both hopes. His conciliatory letter to
the Sheriff of Caithness produced no response, and as he advanced
the inhabitants fled everywhere in terror before him. He crossed the
Ord into Sutherlandshire to meet the same reception. When he reached
Invercarron at the head of the Firth of Dornoch, he had not been
joined by a single ally.
Meanwhile the Earl of Sutherland had mustered his vassals. He did not
dare to give battle, but falling back before Montrose intercepted
all communications from the south. At the first news of war Colonel
Strachan, a Covenanter of the straitest sect, who had distinguished
himself in the previous year by his vigorous suppression of the
Mackenzies, had been sent north with a strong body of cavalry, while
Leslie himself made all haste to his support with three thousand foot.
When Strachan and Sutherland met, it was agreed to attack at once. The
latter was sent round with his own men to secure the passes into the
hills, while Strachan with his cavalry moved up the south side of the
Firth upon the royal camp.
It was Saturday, April 27th. Montrose had heard of the advance, but
his scouts had seen only a single weak troop of horse. Strachan had
divided his force into three divisions; one he led straight forward
upon the enemy, the others he kept out of sight among the wooded
and broken ground on either side of his main advance. Montrose was
deceived. He sent his few horse forward under Hurry, and drew up his
foot on a piece of flat exposed ground at the head of the Firth. It
was Philiphaugh over again. The enemy were upon him before he was
aware of their strength. He at once ordered his foot to retreat to
a rough and wooded hill at the rear of their position. Before they
could reach it the cavalry was among them. The wretched islanders
fled without firing a shot. The Germans fought bravely, but were
ridden down right and left by the troopers; within two hours they were
all killed, taken prisoners, or drowned in flight across the Firth.
The rout was complete. Douglas, Ogilvy, Menzies (who bore the royal
standard), were dead; Hurry and most of the surviving officers were
prisoners. Wounded and dismounted Montrose still fought on for life or
death, when young Frendraught, himself covered with wounds, pressed to
his side with the offer of his own horse. It was little matter what
became of him, said the gallant lad, so long as his Majesty's general
was safe. Montrose leaped into the saddle, and followed by Kinnoull
and a few others galloped off to the hills. Frendraught surrendered,
and was committed to the care of his uncle Sutherland at Dunrobin.
The pursuit was maintained till dark, and for many days afterwards
the country people hunted out and slew the unfortunate Orkneymen till
it was said that there was not a family in the islands which had not
to mourn a son or a brother. Within the present century the place of
slaughter was popularly known by a Gaelic name signifying the Rock of
Lamentation.
The little band of fugitives soon separated. There was no safety in
numbers, and the ground was unfit for horsemen. Montrose dismounted,
threw away his cloak, star, and sword, exchanged clothes with a
peasant, and, accompanied only by Kinnoull and an Orkney gentleman
named Sinclair, struck off into the heart of the mountainous
wilderness that forms the western part of Sutherlandshire. His design
was to make for his garrison in Caithness, whence, should the disaster
prove irretrievable, he might escape to the Continent. But neither
he nor his companions knew the country. For two days and nights they
wandered aimlessly up the Oikel river without food or shelter. On the
third day Kinnoull's strength failed him, and he lay down to die.
His companions must have shared the same fate, had they not come at
evening to a little cottage where they were supplied with bread and
milk. Through the night and the next day they pressed on, ignorant
of their course, but supposing at least that they were leaving
their enemies behind them. They were in truth heading straight for
the toils. The direction of their flight had been betrayed by the
discovery of Montrose's star and sword, and word sent into Assynt
to be on the watch, with promise of reward to whomsoever should
take James Graham alive. The fugitives were discovered in the last
extremity of hunger and brought to the Laird's house at Ardvrech.
The Macleods of Assynt had long been followers of the Earls of
Sutherland with whose family they were connected by marriage, and Neil
Macleod, the present Laird, had been recently appointed the Earl's
Deputy-Sheriff of that district. From such a man at such a time a
fugitive Royalist with a price upon his head had little to hope for.
Montrose tried at first to buy his captor's favour, then, finding
this useless, prayed at least for death rather than to be delivered
alive into his enemies' hands. To prayers and bribes Macleod was
alike inexorable. The great news was at once despatched to Leslie,
who hurried north with a strong body of soldiers to secure the prize.
Argyll had won the last move in the deadly game; Montrose was the
prisoner of the Covenant.[24]