Wolf, Joan by Highland Sunset

Author:Highland Sunset [Sunset, Highland]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-11-20T23:44:40+00:00

At Derby the Highland High Command decided on retreat. The prince protested. He wanted to continue on to London, which he was certain would open its gates to welcome him, but Lord George Murray and the chiefs voted to return. Faced with such unified opposition, the prince acquiesced. On Friday morning, December 6, the Jacobite army began its retreat to Scotland.

Niall was outraged. "How can you do this, Father?" he cried to Alasdair in stunned protest. "You are leading the prince back like a dog on a string! He wants to go on. We should go on. We are but one hundred and fifty miles from London!"

"Yes," Alasdair returned grimly. "And there are two large armies under Wade and Cumberland dogging our tracks. There is no sign of a French invasion. And—most of all—there has been no Jacobite uprising among the English."

Niall's eyes flashed. "We don't need them!"

"Yes we do," Alasdair contradicted him. "Think, my son. Suppose we do get to London. Suppose we take London. Then what are we to do? Garrison it indefinitely with the clans? They will not tolerate that. They are not a professional army. Dhé. They will all want to be going home for the spring planting!"

Niall stared at his father mutinously. "Once we have shown what we can do, others will join us."

"Do not count on it." His father's voice was flat. "We got no support from the northwestern counties, which we were told abounded with wealthy squires and hardy yeomen devoted to the cause. Where were those wealthy Tories, Niall?"

Niall's nostrils flared.

"In every town where we have proclaimed King James, the reaction has been the same," Alasdair continued relentlessly. "The mob stands and listens, heartless, stupefied, dull. Van had the right of it. England does not want the Stuarts."

"Well, what are we to do then?" Niall asked despairingly.

"Return to Scotland, where we can join with Lord John Drummond. He has brought us some French troops—not an army, but still..." Alasdair straightened his back and forced himself to smile. "All is not lost, Niall." He put a brief hand on his son's shoulder. "Take heart. In Scotland we are on our own ground. We will prevail."

Niall tried to smile back. "We came so close, Father."

"I know." Alasdair looked around at the encamped army behind them. "I know, my son." His voice was unusually gentle. "Get some sleep, Niall. We march early tomorrow morning."

As he watched Niall move off, Alasdair's face settled into very grim lines. This retreat—they had had no alternative. But he knew in his bones that it was the beginning of the end for them all.

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