A Tale of the '))45.
The year 1745 was a noteworthy year in the annals of Longdendale. In
that year the valley was roused to excitement by the doings of Prince
Charles Edward Stuart, the young Pretender, who, at the head of a
large army, marched through Manchester and Stockport on his road to
Derby. Many of the male portion of the inhabitants of Longdendale
walked into either Manchester or Stockport to see the army pass, and
to catch a glimpse of the romantic figure which might one day sit upon
the throne of England. Most of these sightseers returned home full of
the grand picture which the Scottish army presented; they told a great
tale of how the Prince forded the river at Stockport, that the water
took him up to the middle, that he wore a light plaid, and a blue
bonnet, in which was set a milk-white rose.
These accounts greatly interested the inhabitants of Mottram town,
who, like most people, loved to hear of martial doings at a distance.
The Mottram folk, however, were not so highly elated when, a little
later in the year, they heard that portions of the flying Scottish
army were likely to pass through their town during the retreat from
Derby. They would gladly have had the soldiers play the part of the
Levite of old, and "pass by on the other side."
"A murrain on them," quoth the sexton, as he sat in the ingle of the
"Black Bull's Head"--that homely tavern perched on the hillside just
beneath the graveyard of Mottram Church. "Why cannot they even travel
back the same gait they came, and leave our good Mottram folk in
peace? Like enough if they come, there will be blows, and who knows
but what my trade will flourish mightily. And that will be the only
trade that will flourish if they get to fighting on this side of the
border."
The maid who was attending to the wants of the customers pricked her
ears at the conversation, and as she filled the sexton's glass, she
joined in with her sweet woman's voice.
"For my part I should be glad to see them march through Mottram. They
say that the Prince is a handsome gentleman, and brave as he is fair.
One day he will be the King, and then, think what an honour it will be
to Mottram, to have had his army billet in the town when he fought
for his own. Moreover, as I hear, there be some of the best and
bravest of the old families of Lancashire in his train, and we see too
few of the real gentry hereabouts to throw away so fine a chance as
this. As for the fighting, I see no sin in that when the good Prince
but seeks to win back his own."
The sexton smiled at the maid's enthusiasm. He slowly charged his
pipe, lit it, and when she had done, took the stem from his lips.
"You are a maid," said he; "and like all women, are easily carried
away by a handsome face and a fine figure. And belike you are a
supporter of the Stuarts. As for me, I am for King George. I know
enough of the Stuarts never to wish them in power again. My
grand-father was a youth when the great war was on, and he saw enough
blood shed then through the follies of Charles the First to turn him
and all his kin against the breed. I could tell you tales he told to
me that would set your heart a sick at the very mention of a Stuart.
And war is not the grand thing some folks think. It's all well when
someone else gets the worry, and pays the price, and leaves to us the
glory of it. But I've no desire to see my thatch blazing above my
head, my goods and chattels carried off, and my earnings squandered to
keep some hungry fighting man in trim."
John the smith now took up the tale.
"As for me, I'm a favourer of the Stuarts. The lad is the true King,
say I, by all good right. But I'm heart and soul with you, sexton, in
hoping the army of the Scots will keep clear of Mottram town."
And as the talk went on the speakers were divided on questions of
politics, some siding with the Prince, others with the House of
Hanover; but all alike agreed in hoping that the fugitives would give
the Longdendale country a wide berth.
Military necessity, however, knows no law, and the Scotchmen came at
last--big burly Highland men. They wore kilts, and carried
claymores--for the most part they were bearded, unkempt creatures, men
who followed their leaders with the blind faith of children. As soon
as definite news of the retreat of the rebel army in the direction of
the town became known, the householders of Mottram became greatly
alarmed, and everybody grew busy in hiding his or her valuables, and
in driving the cattle to places of safety. The farmers scattered about
their fields, and horses, cows, sheep, and swine, were hurried into
the hills, and there secreted as comfortably and well as possible.
Even the poultry were collected, and hidden away, so that they should
not become a prey to the hungry Scots. It is said that the sexton had
a busy time among the graves, burying such pieces of plate as were
owned in the neighbourhood; and in many other spots throughout the
district the savings of the householders were committed to the ground.
Contrary to expectation, however, the Mottramites found the
Highlanders a quiet, harmless lot of mortals, who did not seem
desirous of reckless plunder. When they arrived they showed no
disposition to take more than was absolutely necessary to provide for
their needs, nor did they turn the people out of doors, and take
forcible possession of the houses. During their short halt at Mottram,
they roughed it with the best, killing cattle for food, and then
(through lack of proper utensils) boiling the meat in hides skewered
up at the corners.
[Illustration: BELFRY DOOR IN MOTTRAM CHURCH.]
The kilts of the Highlanders were what interested the people most of
all, and the children would often flit about, in and out, near the
legs of the soldiers, looking in awe at the strange petticoats for
men, and the knees all bare and bony. Sometimes the men would take the
children on their knees, and tell them stories of war and panic, of
the charging of horse and foot, and of the glorious deeds of the great
and brave. At which the children were greatly pleased, and could have
listened all day long.
The soldiers did not camp together, but were divided into companies;
one portion stayed in Mottram, but the bulk of them encamped near
Hollingworth Hall. Some of the inhabitants took pity on the men, and
treated them with great kindness, which appears to have been much
appreciated by the rebels. On departing, one of the soldiers left
behind as a mark of his gratitude a tinder-box--the most valuable
possession he had--and this box was long preserved at Hollingworth
Hall.
A noticeable feature about the coming of the Highland men was the
excitement and pleasure it occasioned among the female portion of the
inhabitants of Longdendale. The lasses in no way showed those signs of
distress and doubt which were so evident in their elders. On the
contrary, they dressed themselves in their best, became gay with
ribbons, and by every art known to woman sought to enhance their many
charms. Even in those days a soldier's coat was a magnet of attraction
to a maid.
Among the rest was the pretty maid who had spoken to the sexton in the
"Black Bull." She was a fair lass, of good figure, and winsome ways,
and she was greatly admired by all the lads of Mottram town. One of
these was one whom we will call Robin Shaw, on whom she seemed to look
with favour; and already that handsome yeoman had come to consider her
as especially his property. A sad surprise was in store for poor Robin
when the Scotchmen came marching through the town.
Robin, young though he was, had strong views upon the situation. He
was a staunch "King's man," and it was with no good grace that he
beheld his lady love sporting the rebel colours as the Highlanders
marched by. His cup of bitterness, however, ran over when, on the next
night, he came across the faithless damsel strolling down a lane,
where he himself had often made love to her, in company with a
handsome youth who followed the fortunes of Prince Charlie.
It was an angry scene which followed.
Good Robin lost his temper, and in the most approved Longdendale
fashion, then and there gave forth his opinion of the heartless
conduct of his lady love, and the unjustifiable meddlesomeness of the
soldier. The two would have come to blows there and then (for the Scot
was quite as eager for the fray as his enraged antagonist) had it not
been for the presence of the maid, who placed herself between them,
and firmly decided against hostilities. As it was, she commenced an
onslaught with her tongue, and the unlucky Robin, on whose head she
poured forth her wrath, at last beat an ignominious retreat.
"I'll be even with you yet, you bare-legged rebel," he cried to the
Highlander as he went.
And the soldier with a light laugh replied, "At your service, my
friend, whenever you are ready."
But the fates were against their meeting for the present, for, eager
to get back beyond the border before the English army, which was
massing, should lay them by the heels, the Scots left Longdendale, and
passed hurriedly northwards.
The day after they left, a fine figure of a man, equipped and ready
for war, strode into the bar of the "Black Bull" at Mottram. It was
Robin Shaw, and he sought the maid.
"Well, my lass," said he, "I'm off. I've joined the army for the
north, and now I'll be on the track of the rebels. If I meet your
Highland lover, there'll be blows, and the end will be that you'll
have no difficulty to make a choice between us. If I live, I'll come
back to claim you. One kiss now, and then good-bye."
Without waiting to see if the girl would give consent, he drew her to
him in a grasp that would admit of no resistance, and kissed her. Then
without another word he left the inn, and went swinging on his way.
The weeks passed, and the grey dawn broke upon the heath near
Culloden, where the English and the Scottish armies lay. With the dawn
the Duke of Cumberland set out on his march, and shortly after mid-day
the roar of the English artillery told that the battle had begun. All
the world knows the history of that fight, how the fierce Highlanders,
rendered desperate by the play of the cannon upon their ranks, burst
into that wild and ill-fated charge which met with a bloody repulse;
but there are personal details of the conflict that the world knows
nothing of.
When the Highland line darted forward, there moved in the front rank a
"braw" young Scot, whom one at least of the Royal troops welcomed with
a shout of joy. For an instant the weight of the Scottish column
caused the English regiment to waver before the impetus of the charge.
But there was one man who never gave ground an inch--the Longdendale
Loyalist--Robin Shaw. He had seen among the charging host the form of
the soldier who had tampered with his love in distant Longdendale, and
with a shout he set himself in front of his foe.
"Now, my merry rebel," he cried; "we meet again. We will settle old
scores."
"Thou art welcome," cried the Highlander, crossing blades. "We fight
for the love of a lass and--King James."
"For the love of a lass, and King George," said honest Robin Shaw.
And with that the fight began.
Now, Robin was no match for his foe save in strength. In skill of
sword play, the Scot was greatly the superior of the two, and the
result was not long in doubt. Before he knew where he was, Robin's
blade was dashed from his grasp, and the sword of the Highlander
thrust him through. Robin grew sick, and a mist rose before his eyes,
but in the mist he could still make out the triumphant face of his
foe. With teeth firmly set, he pulled himself together, and sprang at
the throat of the Scot. In vain the latter drew back. Before he could
draw his dirk, the Longdendale lad had him by the throat, gripping him
like a vice. The men fell to the ground, rolling over and over in the
struggle, but the grip of Robin never slackened, and at length both
lay still. Another moment and the beaten wave of the Highlanders swept
over them, and the victorious English charged past in pursuit. The
battle of Culloden was fought and won; Charles Edward was beaten, and
the Stuart cause for ever lost.
When the burial parties passed over the battlefield, they found two
corpses firmly locked together--an Englishman run through the body by
the other's sword--a Scotchman strangled to death by the grip of his
foe. The dead man's grip might not be loosened, and they buried the
bodies in one common grave.
So Robin and his rival lay down together in the last long sleep
beneath the heather at Culloden, and away in merry Longdendale a fair
girl watched and waited for a lover who never came.