Montrose was too skilful and experienced a general to think lightly of
the struggle before him, but he formed a plan by which Scotland was to
be invaded on the west by the earl of Antrim from Ireland, while he
himself, reinforced by royalist troops, would fall on the Scotch who
were on the border. But the reinforcements he expected hardly amounted,
when they came, to one thousand one hundred men, and these being
composed of the two nations were constantly quarrelling, which added to
the difficulties of the commander. At Dumfries he halted, and read a
proclamation stating that 'he was king's man, as he had been covenanter,
for the defence and maintenance of the true Protestant religion, his
majesty's just and sacred authority, the laws and privileges of
Parliament, the peace and freedom of oppressed and thralled subjects.'
Adding that 'if he had not known perfectly the king's intention to be
such and so real as is already expressed' he would 'never have embarked
himself in his service,' and if he 'saw any appearance of the king
changing' from these resolutions he would continue no longer 'his
faithful servant.'
Thus he said, and thus we may believe he felt, but none the less not a
man joined his standard as he marched along the border. He tried to
reach prince Rupert, the king's nephew, in Yorkshire, but Marston Moor
had been lost before he arrived there. Then, dressed as a groom, he
started for Perthshire, and after four days arrived at the house of his
kinsman Graham of Inchbrackie, where he learned that the whole of the
country beyond the Tay was covenanting, with the single exception of the
territory of the Gordons. No one knew of his presence, for he still wore
his disguise, and slept in a little hut in the woods, where food was
brought him. All day he wandered about the lonely hills, thinking over
the tangled state of affairs, and waiting for the right moment to
strike.
One afternoon when he was lying on the heather, wondering if he ought
not to come out of his hiding, and join either the Gordons or prince
Rupert, he beheld a man running quickly over the moor, holding in his
hand the Fiery Cross, which, as every Highlander knew, was the call to
arms. Starting to his feet, Montrose stopped the man and asked the
meaning of the signal, and whither he was going.
[Illustration: "A great army of Irishmen have swooped down on the
Atholl."]
'To Perth,' answered the messenger, 'for a great army of Irishmen have
swooped down in the Atholl country, and Alastair Macdonald is their
leader. I myself have seen them, and I must not tarry,' so on he sped,
leaving Montrose with his puzzle solved. The Irishmen whom he expected
had arrived, and he would go to meet them.
There was no need for hiding any more, and glad was he to throw off his
disguise and put on his Highland dress again. Then, accompanied by the
laird of Inchbrackie, he walked across the hills to join Macdonald,
bearing the royal standard on his shoulder.
As soon as he reached the meeting-place where the clans and the Irish
were already waiting, he stuck the standard in the ground, and, standing
by it, he read aloud the king's commission to him as lieutenant-general.
Shouts of joy made answer when he had done, and next Montrose went round
the ranks to inspect the troops he was to fight with, and find out what
arms they had. The numbers only amounted to about two thousand three
hundred, and it was not long before the clans began to quarrel with each
other, and all with the Irish. As to their weapons, the Irish had
matchlock guns, which took a long time to load, and one round of
ammunition apiece, while the Highlanders had seized upon anything that
happened to be in their cottages and showed a medley of bows, pikes,
clubs, and claymores--a kind of broad sword. As to horses, they could
only muster three.
* * * * *
With this ragged army Montrose marched, and his first victory was gained
against lord Elcho, on the wide plain of Tippermuir, near Perth. The
covenanting force was nearly double that of the royalists, but many of
the troops were citizens of Perth, who thought more of their own skins
than of the cause for which they were fighting. When Montrose's fierce
charge had broken their ranks, they all turned and fled, and many of
them are said to have 'bursted with running' before they got safely
within the city gates.
In Perth Montrose fitted out his army with stores, arms, and clothes,
and released some of the prisoners on their promising not to serve
against him, while others enlisted under the royal banner. Before he set
out for Aberdeen he was joined by his two eldest sons and their tutor,
master Forrett; and in Forfarshire he found lord Airlie and his sons
awaiting him, with the welcome addition of fifty horse, which formed his
entire cavalry. These, and one thousand five hundred foot, were all the
army he had when he crossed the Dee fifteen miles from Aberdeen, and the
covenanters mustered a thousand more.
Two miles from the town the two armies met. As was his custom, Montrose
sent an envoy summoning the enemy to surrender, and with the envoy went
a little drummer-boy, who was wantonly shot down by a covenanter. When
Montrose heard of this deed of deliberate cruelty his face grew dark,
but he began to dispose his men to the best advantage. Both sides fought
well, and for a moment victory seemed uncertain; then Montrose brought
up reinforcements and decided the day by one of his rapid charges.
He had already bidden the magistrates of Aberdeen to bring out the women
and children to a place of safety as he would not answer for their
lives, but, as he had twice preserved the city from pillage, it is
probable they looked on his words as a mere idle threat, and left them
where they were. After the battle the sack began; houses were burned and
robbed, and many fell victims, though the dead, including those who had
fallen in battle, did not exceed a hundred and eighteen. But his friends
lamented that this time also he had not restrained his soldiers, and a
price of 20,000 l. was set on his head by the enraged covenanters.
* * * * *
Never was Montrose's power of moving his men swiftly from one place to
another more greatly needed than now. The Gordons were all in arms
against him; Argyll was advancing from the south with a strong force,
and Montrose had been obliged to send a large body of men into the west
under Macdonald to raise fresh levies. With the remainder he retired
into the Grampians, and turned and twisted about among the mountains,
Argyll always following.
At Fyvie Montrose suddenly learned that his enemy was within two miles
of him. Hastily ordering all the pewter vessels that could be found in
the castle to be melted down for bullets, he disposed his troops on a
hill, where a few trees and some outhouses gave them cover. Here they
waited while the covenanters gallantly made the best of their way
upwards. Then Montrose turned to young O'Gahan, who commanded the Irish,
and said gaily, 'Come, what are you about? Drive those rascals from our
defences, and see we are not troubled by them again.'
Down came the Irishmen with a rush which scattered the covenanters far
and wide, and seizing some bags of powder that lay handy, the victors
retreated up the hill again, while Montrose with some musketeers
attacked Argyll's flank, till they retired hastily.
After this defeat the covenanting leader went into Argyllshire, where
was his strong castle of Inverary, by the sea. But Montrose crossed the
pathless mountains, deep in snow, drove Argyll to Edinburgh, and when he
came back with all his clan, turned on them suddenly, destroyed them at
Inverlochy, and caused Argyll to escape in a boat.
The hopes of the king's lieutenant rose high as he thought of all he had
done with the few undisciplined troops at his command.
'I trust before the end of this summer I shall be able to come to your
majesty's assistance with a brave army,' he wrote; but meanwhile he
dared not go to Edinburgh, where he had been sentenced to death by the
Committee of Estates, and his property declared forfeited. But though
the campaign had been successful beyond his expectations, yet his heart
was heavy, for his eldest son had died of cold and exposure and the
second was a prisoner in Edinburgh castle.
* * * * *
Such was the state of things when he went west again into the country of
the Macdonalds, who flocked to his standard. On the other hand the
Lowlanders fell off, and began to cast longing eyes at the rewards
promised to those who joined the covenant. If Montrose could only have
forced a battle on Baillie, who commanded the covenanting army, another
victory would probably have been gained, but Baillie was wise, and
declined to fight. Then the Highlanders grew sullen and impatient, and
every day saw them striding over the hills to their own homes. By the
time he reached Dunkeld the royal army had shrunk to six hundred foot
and two hundred horse.
With this small force he entered Dundee, the great fortress of the
covenant, and his men took to drinking. At that moment news was brought
him that Baillie was at the gates, and with marvellous rapidity he
collected his men and marched them out of the east gate as the English
entered by the west. The Grampians were within a long march, and once
there Montrose knew he was safe.
And, far away in Sweden and in Germany, the generals who had been
trained under Wallenstein and under Gustavus Adolphus looked on, and
wondered at the skill with which Montrose met and defeated the armies
and the wealth arrayed against him.
* * * * *
But to those who had eyes to see the end was certain. It was to no
purpose that he, with the aid of the Gordons, now once more on his side,
gained a victory at Auldearn, between Inverness and Elgin, and another
at Alford, south of the Don, which cost him the life and support of
Huntly's son, lord Gordon. In vain did Ogilvies, Murrays, and Gordons
swell his ranks, and the covenanting committee play into his hands by
forcing Baillie to fight when the general knew that defeat was
inevitable. The battle of Kilsyth had been won near Glasgow on August
14, and the day was so hot that Montrose ordered his men to strip to
their shirts so that they might have no more weight to carry than was
strictly necessary. Baillie was not even allowed to choose his own
ground, but though he did all that man could do, the struggle was
hopeless, and the Fife levies were soon in flight.
Only a year had passed since Montrose, now captain-general and viceroy
of Scotland, had taken the field, and yet the whole country was subdued,
largely by the help of the Irish, and of their leader Macdonald, whom he
had knighted after Kilsyth. But for the royalist cause Naseby had been
lost, Wales was wavering, Ireland was useless, and Montrose was not
strong enough to make up for them all.
* * * * *
From Kilsyth, which is near Glasgow, it was easy for Macdonald to lead
his men across the hills and lay waste the territories of his hereditary
enemy Argyll. He would, he said, return to Montrose if he was wanted;
but the marquis took the words for what they were worth, and waited to
see whose turn to desert would come next. It was young Aboyne, who was
tired of fighting, which had not brought him any of the rewards he
thought his due, and he took with him four hundred horse and many
infantry. At the end there only remained five hundred of Macdonald's
Irish, who had cast in their lot with Montrose, and about one hundred
horsemen. With these he marched to the south, trusting in the promises
of help freely given by the great border nobles, and hoping to enter
England and help the king.
* * * * *
And doubtless these promises would have been kept had the king's cause
showed signs of triumph, but the speedy advance of four thousand
horsemen under David Leslie, the best cavalry officer of the day, turned
the scale. Roxburgh and Home at once proclaimed themselves on the side
of the covenant, and only Douglas reached Montrose's camp on the river
Gala, and brought a few untrained and unwilling recruits with him. It
was the best he could do, yet he knew well enough how little reliance
could be placed on his country contingent, who had been taught to look
on the king and Montrose as monsters of evil, seeking to destroy
whatever they held most dear.
It was on September 12 that Montrose drew up his forces at Philiphaugh
between a line of hills and the river Ettrick, while shelter was given
on the west by some rising ground covered with trees. Trenches had been
made still further to protect them, and the Irish foot soldiers were
ordered to occupy the position, which seemed secure against attack. But
on this day, which was destined to decide whether the king or the
covenant should rule Scotland, Montrose's military skill--even his good
sense--deserted him; he posted his horse and best generals at
Philiphaugh, on the other side of the river close to Selkirk, and he
himself slept in the town. More than this, instead of placing his
sentinels himself, as was his invariable custom, he allowed his officers
to do it, and also to send out whatever scouts they may have thought
necessary without orders from himself, while he sat undisturbed, writing
despatches, little knowing that Leslie was only three miles away, at
Sunderland Hall.
So the night of the 12th passed, and Montrose took counsel with the
three men he most trusted, the earls of Crawford and Airlie, and his
brother-in-law, old lord Napier, as to what should be their next step
when the battle was won. The mist was thick and heavy over the land when
morning dawned, but in spite of the cold their hearts grew light as one
scout after another came in, reporting that there was not a sign of an
enemy within miles. Had they been bribed? We shall never know, yet it is
hardly possible that they could all have overlooked the presence of
several thousand men so close to their own camp. At that very moment
Leslie's army was crossing the river, and it began the attack while the
royalists were putting on their uniforms for an inspection.
Montrose was at breakfast in Selkirk when a messenger burst in upon him
with the news, but before he could ford the river with his horse his
left wing had given way under Leslie's steady pressure. At the head of a
handful of troopers, and followed closely by his faithful friends,
Montrose twice charged the covenanters and forced them to retire. But a
detachment of Leslie's men which had crossed the river higher up fell
upon the right wing, composed of the Irish, who were placed in the wood.
Desperate was the fight and bravely and faithfully the king's men died
at their posts. Montrose seems to wish to die too, and bitterly he must
later have regretted that he listened to his friends, who bade him
remember his duty as a general, and besought him to fly. At length he
yielded, and with fifty comrades galloped off the field, bearing the
standards with him.
* * * * *
With the battle of Philiphaugh the cause of the king was hopelessly
lost, and with it also the fortunes of his followers. A hundred of the
Irish surrendered on promise of quarter, and were shot down next day,
while their wives and children were killed on the spot, or imprisoned,
and hanged later. Strange as it may appear to us, Montrose did not
recognise the meaning of the defeat, and, with the dash and energy that
marked him to the last, he collected a fresh army of Highlanders, and
prepared to set out for the south, hoping to rescue his personal
friends, who were now prisoners in Glasgow. Yet again his judgment
failed him, and instead of attacking the English general who was holding
Huntly in check in the north of Aberdeenshire, he left him alone, and
then found that without the Gordons he was not strong enough to cope
with Leslie's army. Once more the mountains were his refuge, and from
their shelter he crept out to attend the burial of his wife in the town
of Montrose. On his way he probably passed the ruins of his castles,
which had been burned by order of the covenanters.
Owing to the special desire of the Scottish rulers every possible
degradation was heaped on the imprisoned nobles, and it was a rare
favour indeed when they were suffered to die on the block, and not by
the common hangman. Lord Ogilvy was saved by his sister, who, like lady
Nithsdale sixty years later, forced him to exchange his clothes for
hers, and remained in his cell, ready to take the consequences.
Then came the rumour that the king, with cropped hair like a Puritan and
wearing a disguise, had ridden over Magdalen bridge at Oxford, attended
by lord Ashburnham and Hudson, his chaplain, and entered the Scottish
camp in the hope of softening his foes by submission. He was soon
undeceived as to the way in which they regarded him, for before he had
even eaten or rested he was begged--or bidden--to order the surrender of
Newark, which still held out, and to command Montrose to lay down his
sword. Charles, whose manhood returned to him in these hours of
darkness, positively refused; but at Newcastle he found he was powerless
to resist, and wrote to his faithful servant to disband his army and to
go himself to France.
In the letter which the marquis sent in reply he asks nothing for
himself, but entreats the king to obtain the best terms possible for
those that had fought for him, and the conditions arranged by Middleton
were certainly better than either king or general expected. The men who
had served in Montrose's wars were given their lives and liberty, and
also were allowed to retain whatever lands had not been already handed
over to other people. As to Montrose himself, he, with Crawford and
Hurry the general, was to leave Scotland before September 1 in a ship
belonging to the Committee of Estates. Should they be found in the
country after that date death would be the penalty.
* * * * *
After disbanding his army--or what was left of it--in the king's name,
and thanking them for their services, Montrose went to Forfarshire to
await the ship which was to convey him to France. But day after day
passed without a sign of it, and the marquis soon became convinced that
treachery was intended, and took measures to prevent it. Leaving old
Montrose, he went to Stonehaven, another little town on the coast, and
settled with a Norwegian captain to lie off Montrose on a certain day.
So when, on August 31, the covenanting captain at last appeared, and
declared his ship would not be ready to sail for another eight days--by
which time, of course, Montrose's life would be forfeit--he found his
bird flown; for the exile and a friend had disguised themselves and put
off one morning in a small boat to the larger vessel that was waiting
for them, and in a week were safe across the North Sea at Bergen.
* * * * *
But Norway was merely a stepping-stone to Paris, where the queen of
England was living under the protection of her sister-in-law, Anne of
Austria, and of the young king Louis XIV. The handsome pension allowed
her in the beginning gradually ceased when the civil war of the Fronde
broke out in 1648, and, as we know, she was found one day by a visitor
sitting with her little girl, whom she had kept in bed because she could
not afford a fire. And even at this time, in 1647, she always spent
whatever she had, so from one cause or another no money was forthcoming
to help Montrose, who perhaps did not understand the situation, and
thought that she was unkind and careless of her husband's welfare. As
often before, he spoke out his feelings when he would have done better
to be silent, and pressed on the queen advice that was not asked for,
and may not have been possible to follow. Yet, if he felt that there was
no place for him in the little English court, ample evidence was given
him of the high respect in which he was held elsewhere. The all-powerful
minister, cardinal Mazarin, desired to enlist him in the French service,
and the greatest nobles paid court to him. Montrose, however, was not
the sort of man to find healing for his sorrows in honours such as
these. He gave a grateful and courteous refusal to all proposals, and
bidding farewell to his hosts, made his way to the Prague to offer his
sword to the emperor Ferdinand. Like the rest, the emperor received him
warmly, and created him a field-marshal, but there was no post for
Montrose in the Austrian army, and in the end he joined some friends in
Brussels, whence he kept up an intimate correspondence with Elizabeth of
Bohemia, Charles I.'s sister, who was staying at the Hague with her
niece, Mary of Orange, and the young prince of Wales.
There in February arrived the news of the king's execution, and when he
heard it Montrose vowed that the rest of his life should be spent in the
service of his son, and in avenging his master. Charles II. did not like
him; he was too grave and too little of a courtier; and besides, the new
king had listened and believed the stories to his discredit brought by
men whose fortunes had been ruined in their own country, and who sought
to build them up in Holland! Charles soon found for himself how untrue
were these tales, and though the two never could become friends, he
recognised Montrose's loyalty and ability and appointed him
commander-in-chief of the royal forces and lieutenant-governor of
Scotland, and gave him leave to get what mercenaries he could from
Sweden and Denmark.
Full of hope, Montrose at once set off on his recruiting journey, and
sent off some troops to the Orkneys to be drilled under the earls of
Kinnoull and Morton; but Morton in a very short time caught fever and
died. Meanwhile his friend, Elizabeth of Bohemia, looked on with
distrust and alarm at her nephew's proceedings, for well she knew--as
did Charles himself--that the surrender of Montrose would be the first
article of any treaty made by the covenant. She even wrote to put
Montrose on his guard; but he, judging the king by himself, believed the
assurances of help and support given in Charles' own letters,
accompanied by the gift of the garter, as a pledge of their fulfilment.
He was bidden to lose no time in opening the campaign, but one thousand
out of the one thousand two hundred men whom he despatched went down in
a great gale, and only two hundred reached the shore. So April had come
before the general had collected sufficient soldiers to march
southwards, and by that time the forces of the enemy were ready to meet
him.
It was on April 27 that Montrose's last battle was fought at Carbisdale,
near the Kyle, where the rivers Shin and Oykel reach the sea. The earl
of Sutherland secured the passes of the hills, while colonel Strachan
and a large body of cavalry approached from the south. When they arrived
within a few miles of the royalist camp at the head of the Kyle,
Strachan ordered two divisions of his cavalry to proceed under cover of
some woods and broken ground, and only suffered a few horse, led by
himself, to remain visible. These were seen, as they were meant to be,
by Montrose's scouts, who, as at Philiphaugh, were either careless or
treacherous or very stupid, and they brought back the report that the
covenanting force was weak. Montrose, taking for granted the truth of
their report, disposed of his foot on a flat stretch of ground, and
ordered his horse to advance. Then the trees and the hills 'started to
life with armed men'; the Orkney islanders fled without striking a blow;
and though the foreign troops made a stout resistance, they were
overpowered by numbers, and those of their leaders who were not dead
were taken prisoners. Montrose, who was badly wounded, fought
desperately on foot, but at length after much entreaty accepted the
horse ridden by Sutherland's nephew and dashed away into the hills,
throwing away as he did so his star, sword and cloak--a fatal act, which
brought about his discovery and death. Their horses were next abandoned,
and Montrose changed clothes with a peasant, and with young lord
Kinnoull and Sinclair of Caithness plunged into the wild mountains that
lay on the west.
[Illustration: For two days they sought in vain for a road to take them
to Caithness.]