Culloden Page #2

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Brigadier General Walter Stapleton,

commander, Irish pickets

of the French army.

Yes, we're here because

Prince Charles is a Catholic.

It will be a fine thing

for all Catholics

when Charlie's on the throne

and German George is off it.

If we had a Catholic king

on the throne in this country,

then we could get back

to living in our own.

You must remember that

your Protestant king in London

is passing penal laws

against the Catholics in Ireland.

I'm from County Tipperary.

Now I've got to live in Boulogne.

You won't find a Catholic Irishman

with much cause to love George ll.

William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland,

third son of King George ll.

Age 25 and one day.

Commander in chief

of the Government army in Scotland.

Salary 15,000 per year.

Alexander Laing, private.

Salary sixpence a day.

Patrick McColman,

three days ago a sergeant,

two days ago 800 lashes for looting,

today a private.

John Mallaby, private.

Pressed into service.

William Roach, private.

Two years of his pay would not

buy even the wig and hat

of the officer marching

in from of him.

Joshua Ward,

lieutenant, British army,

a fraternity where

the least pretension to learning,

to piety or to common morals

would endanger

the owner to be cashiered.

I will now pass...

in the middle of the second line.

Your Highness.

Give me a battery

in the centre of the front line.

Alexander Laing

carries a .753 musket,

firing a ball of

one ounce and a third weight

an effective distance of 60 paces.

He carries sufficient ball, paper

and black powder for 24 cartridges.

He carries at his hip

a brass-hiked sword

and a bayonet

with 18 inches of uted steel.

Alistair McVurrich

carries in his right hand

an outdated dragoon pistol

for which he has

no further ammunition.

What's the gun you're sewing?

It's a three-pounder.

Right now, it's downright useless.

Why's that?

We've only got 4 lb ammunition for it.

I tell you, it's chaos.

Half the ammunition's with the food.

That's still back in Inverness.

I haven't eaten for...

I don't know how long.

Ah, well now... that really

is not my responsibility.

But, Mr O'Sullivan, you are

the quartermaster general

and, as such, surely you're responsible

for the distribution of food.

In normal circumstances, yes

but now, as I am much pressed

by other affairs,

I have given that responsibility

to someone else.

When was the last time you ate?

Two days ago.

The day before yesterday.

This morning he killed a pig

but wasn't allowed time to eat it.

I can't remember.

Andrew Henderson, Whig historian,

biographer of Cumberland,

eyewitness of the Battle of Culloden.

The time is 12:
15.

Now this wall,

behind which we're sheltering,

is at approximately right angles

to the rebel lines.

I've drawn a rough sketch map here.

The rebel lines are here.

We are here.

And the Duke of Cumberland's army

is here.

9,000 men in 16 infantry battalions

three of which are themselves Scot,

a total of 1,300 regular soldiers

from the Lowlands,

plus, in reserve,

the volunteer militias

of Stirling, Edinburgh,

Dumfries and Glasgow,

a further 8,000 men.

Charles Edward Stuart,

regent claimant to the thrones

of England and Scotland,

has more Scots-in-arms

against him than for him.

And, ranged against him

in the Highlands,

he has the Whig clans

siding with the Government,

the Munros, the Rosses,

the MacKenzies,

the McLeods of Skye, the Sutherlands,

and here on the moor,

the Campbells of the Argyll militia.

Here to fight Charles and his

rebellion, here to take clan revenge,

Angus Ian Campbell,

wife murdered by the MacDonalds.

Alistair MacDonald, brother

killed by Campbells in a cattle raid.

For him, loyalties to Charlie

mean little.

For him,

today's battle is a clan battle.

The swords those bastards use

can cut a man in half.

Well, I reckon

we'll have them this time.

- Why do you say that?

- We've got a new bayonet drill, see.

You don't poke

at the man in front of you.

You poke at the man

coming at your chum on the right.

That means,

as he's lifting his sword arm,

you get him underneath, like.

What do you think about the rebels?

Well... I ain't taken me clothes off

for six weeks.

I reckon till we lay

them bastards out I won't, neither.

I'll tell you one thing.

I know a lot of the boys

make fun of our Billy Cumberland

but I reckon he's all right.

He's a tough bastard

but at least he feeds you

which is more than some of them do.

I've heard said the rebels want to cut

him as small as herbs for the pot.

Well... I don't reckon that.

They're a lot of friggin' savages.

Donald Gram, a farmer,

forced a month ago

into the Highland army,

twice has deserted

back to farm and family,

twice has been captured

and forced to return.

Euan MacDonald, farmer,

forced into the Highland army

the day before yesterday.

With him his son,

John Angus MacDonald,

the day before yesterday a ploughboy,

today a rebel in arms.

His age, 13.

I can't just make out

what's happening in the rebel lines.

There's much confusion of movement.

Large numbers of men are moving about,

changing their position...

and there are large gaps

in the centre.

It seems to me as though

the entire line is completely askew.

Why is this?

We are all MacDonalds and, as such,

we are entitled to stand

on the right in the line of battle.

This is an ancient

MacDonald privilege

and yet Mr O'Sullivan

has thought fit to place

Lord George Murray's men

in that position.

The main reason is that

yesterday the Prince had an idea

for a surprise march by night

on the camp of Cumberland.

This we attempted. It failed.

But it meant that we were

all up marching the entire night.

Consequently, the men are exhausted

and are still stumbling

into their positions.

What effect has this had

on your men?

Look at them.

When did you last sleep?

As far as I am concerned,

we are now putting an end

to a bad affair.

The Scots are fair fighters

until a crisis is reached

and it's my opinion

we've now reached that crisis.

With all these things amiss

in our army,

it would have been better had the

Prince made some plan for retreat.

Bu! Charles

has made no plans for retreat.

He says that only those who are

afraid can doubt his coming victory.

He puts from his mind

the discontent of the MacDonalds,

the fatigue and hunger of his men,

the total outnumbering of his army,

the thinning of ranks by desertion,

the ill choice of battlefield,

convinced as he is

of the invincibility of his men.

God is on our side.

Our cause is just

and we will triumph this day.

The soldiers in the Elector's army

know me to be their lawful Prince.

And so I'm convinced

they'll break in panic,

for they will never dare fight me.

Battalion, fix your bayonets.

Fix.

This man's name is Chisholm,

James Chisholm.

A private in the Government army,

he is also a Highland Scot.

This man's name too is Chisholm,

Roderick Og Chisholm.

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