Summer of Love (8 page)

    
When he reported to Lieutenant Gordon, the latter was pouring over a
map of the area, Andrew’s list in his hand. He immediately asked him to
mark all locations on the map and then questioned him about the size of each
clachan, expounding his intention to secure the biggest ones first. The first
expedition was to march off at five o’clock the following morning.

    
That evening, Andrew had an uneasy feeling in his guts. He didn’t trust
the man. His dislike was heightened when over dinner he had to listen to him
bragging about his exploits in the campaign, and saw him pinch the bottoms
of the servant women, groping under their skirts, and laughing loudly when
they squirmed away from him.

    
The troops filed out of the castle yard on the double just as the eastern
horizon began to light up at the edge of the clouds. Their first destination was
a clachan of MacLarens some eight miles up Glen Lochay. Andrew was
riding at the front of the column next to Lieutenant Gordon, his four
dragoons behind them. To his surprise, the soldiers seemed to be eager and
in good spirits, full of anticipation, despite the grueling pace of the forced
march under a darkening sky of gray clouds relentlessly rolling in from the
Northwest, as if the sky wanted to hide what was coming. A bare two hours
later the outlines of their target came into view about half a mile away. The
troop now split into three groups. The plan was to swoop on the clachan in
a pincer movement. Gordon invited Andrew to join him with the main
section, taking the middle. Andrew agreed, curious to see a group of
professional soldiers in action.

    
The barking of several dogs raised the alarm, and before the soldiers could
reach the first houses, shouts and shrill cries of fear echoed through the
cottages. Within seconds, men, children, and women carrying babies or
toddlers ran from the houses, some only half-dressed, and made for the
woods behind the clachan. Some of the stragglers were caught by the soldiers
closing in from the side and any valuables they carried, including their plaids
taken away. When the first people emerged, the dragoons, their swords
drawn, immediately galloped ahead, aiming for the men. They brutally ran
down two of them, both elderly. One tried to rise. With a blow of the sword,
a dragoon struck him down again. The four riders abandoned their pursuit
when the fugitives disappeared in the woods.

    
By then, the soldiers began storming into the cottages, driving out the few
remaining people, mainly old men, who were cursing at the top of their
lungs, old women, crying and lamenting, and two or three young mothers,
fearfully clutching their babies to their bosoms. Other soldiers began
carrying the people’s belongings from the cottages—pots, dishes, clothing,
bed covers, grains, furniture. Those coming in from the side began herding
the cattle, ponies, and other livestock.

    
Suddenly, Andrew’s curiosity turned into a sick apprehension. They
weren’t going to harm these people, he tried to reassure himself. What they
were doing had nothing to do with securing the clachan. They were simply
looting all their possessions! He wanted to protest and looked around to find
Lieutenant Gordon. Then he saw him stuffing several pieces of silverware
into his large coat pockets with a pleased grin.

    
Desperate, weak cries made him turn around. Shocked, he watched how
a young soldier roughly tore a plaid away from an old, frail woman, and then
tried to pry open her gnarled fingers to get the brooch she was clutching.

    
"Leave her alone," Andrew yelled outraged, "aren’t you ashamed to steal
from a woman old enough to be your grandmother?"

    
He nudged his horse toward the soldier. The latter, intimidated by the
animal or by Andrew’s air of authority, let go of the old woman. In her rush
to get away, she stumbled and fell, the brooch dropping from her hand.
Quickly, the soldier jumped to pick it up, slipped it into his pocket, grinning
gleefully, and then ran to join his fellow soldiers, who were emptying out a
cottage farther on. For an instant, Andrew was tempted to go after him, but
then he thought better of it. He would come out as the loser.

    
A quarter hour later, Lieutenant Gordon rode up. "One of my men reported that you interfered when he executed his duty of confiscating enemy
property. Is that the case, sir?" He placed a pronounced emphasis on the ‘sir’.

    
Andrew, still boiling in anger and disgust, let his dislike for Lieutenant
Gordon come to the fore, and he countered sharply: "You call that confiscating enemy property? Stealing a plaid from an old woman? Yes, I told him to
be ashamed."

    
The officer seemed to puff himself up an inch or two. "Sir, I must warn
you. They are executing my orders, and I will tolerate no interference with
the duties of my men."

    
"And your orders are to steal from old women, Lieutenant Gordon. Is that
what lieutenants in the English army order their soldiers to do?" Andrew
emphasized the man’s rank.

    
Lieutenant Gordon went crimson and steered his horse closer. "Master
Andrew, I warn you one last time. Do not interfere or I will order my men to
arrest you. You were seconded to me as a guide. That’s your only role. And
now withdraw beyond the village and wait until I summon you again." He
turned his horse abruptly and trotted back to his troops.

    
Andrew was left fuming, on the verge of going after him, ready to smash
the grin off his face. But then he realized the futility of such an action. The
dragoons would strike him down before he could land a second blow.
Feeling utterly helpless, he swallowed his rage and rode to the edge of the
settlement. The officer was correct. The earl’s orders were to serve as guide.

    
For the next hour he had to witness the shameful plunder and wanton destruction perpetrated by the soldiers. No search party went after the men who
had fled. They were only interested in the loot. Anything that could be
removed was greedily taken. What could not be carried or loaded on carts,
the rifle butts smashed to pieces or the bayonets ripped apart. And then they
set the torch to the thatched roofs of the pitiful cottages, broke off the
branches of fruit trees, and uprooted the crops. The English and their
Highland allies had crushed the rebellion. Wasn’t that enough? Was there a
need to also rape the whole country? Andrew’s rage turned into shame,
growing heavier by the minute. Shame of being a Campbell, of belonging to
the clan that were the staunchest allies of the English subjugators. He would
go and report this outrage to Lord Glenorchy in person and tell him that he
refused to be party to such action. If need be he would quit his employment.

 * * *

Back at the castle and without waiting for any instructions from Lieutenant
Gordon, Andrew immediately went to the factor’s quarters. As usual,
Dougan Graham was pleased to see him.

    
"Tell me, lad, how did that expedition go?" Then noticing Andrew’s
somber face, he asked: "Was there trouble?"

    
"More than that! I would not believe if somebody told me, had I not seen
it with my own eyes," the young man exclaimed, the rage he had bottled up
until now breaking to the surface. "They burned down the clachan. Stole
anything they could. They even ripped the branches off the trees… The
dragoons ran down people with their horses. I could do nothing to prevent it.
Even old women …" His vision blurred. He turned away ashamed, wiping
the tears with the sleeve of his coat.

    
For a short while, Dougan looked pensive, then said: "Tell me, Andrew."

    
Haltingly and then with ever increasing vehemence, Andrew gave an
account, ending in his altercation with Lieutenant Gordon.

    
"You better be careful, my lad. He could easily have you arrested for disobeying orders." He touched Andrew’s arm. "You know, the reason he might
not have done it is that he needs you right now. Nobody around here knows
this region and the lord’s tenants better than you."

    
"But how could he? I’m not in the army. They can’t court-martial me."

    
"Oh, yes, my lad. They can. The Earl seconded you, so you fall under
martial orders, even if you have not been officially enlisted. So watch out
what you do or say. Besides, Gordon could easily accuse you of being a
Jacobite sympathizer. With all this hysteria, the suspicion alone could land
you in jail, you know. And there would be little hope for justice now."

    
These words had a sobering effect on Andrew. In a subdued voice he said:
"So I couldn’t refuse to be a guide. I was thinking of doing just that."

    
"No, lad, that would be foolish. He would have you jailed right away. You
better put this out of your mind… I know, this is hard on you. But there is
little anybody can do. It seems that Lord Cumberland has set his mind to
breaking any rebellious spirit in Scotland once and for all. I have heard that
all men who fought with Prince Charles will be court-marshaled and that
they and all known sympathizers will forfeit their property to the Crown. A
commission is going to be set up in charge of selling their lands."

    
"They would confiscate even their clothes? An old woman’s plaid?"

    
"If the officers condone it, the soldiers will take anything they can and
even worse."

    
"But couldn’t Lord Glenorchy put a stop to it. The houses and trees don’t
belong to the tenants. They belong to him. And with all their cattle gone, they
won’t be able to pay rents, … and many won’t make it through the winter
either. The soldiers destroyed all their new crops. How will they feed their
children? Somebody should tell the Earl, tell him that his houses are being
torched." Andrew’s voice took on a more and more urgent tone.

    
"I guess he knows. He has seen it before. They did much of that after the
1715 rebellion… Come, lad, sit with me and have a glass of claret. You
cannot do anything. I know this is hard on an upright fellow like you. But
this is war. You just have to accept it… Maybe I will mention it to the Earl.
He may be able to curb the worst excesses."

    
"Please do, Mr. Graham."

    
Andrew’s disgust was fueled further when he saw that most of the items
plundered were sold at a fraction of their real value to the speculators who
had followed the troops like vultures.

 * * *

Over the next three weeks, Andrew had to watch that spectacle of callous
plunder and destruction time and again, except that now most clachans were
empty but for the very old and infirm, all other inhabitants and much of their
belongings safely hidden in the forests or the shielings. But even the very old
were not spared the indignities of being robbed of clothing, leaving them
barely decent. Andrew hated himself for what he was doing. Most nights, he
had trouble sleeping and when he finally did sink into an exhausted sleep,
violent dreams often woke him abruptly. He felt ashamed to be seen riding
next to Lieutenant Gordon and always stayed well back from the settlements.
Every time he swore that this was his last, that he would leave the following
day. Simply flee. But a vague feeling that he had to watch over something
kept him back.

    
Initially, he had been able to spare Dougal MacGregor’s little clachan,
claiming it was too small to even bother about it. Early June, running out of
other targets, Lieutenant Gordon overruled him. Andrew thought of ways to
warn the MacGregors, but there wasn’t enough time left for an opportunity
to sneak away. Since that first outing, he felt constantly watched and treated
with suspicion by the officer, the dragoons, and the sergeants. Even some of
the soldiers made no bones about despising him. If they had not observed
him practice his dexterity with throwing a knife and seen his deadly aim,
they probably would have beaten him up already.

    
The night before the raid, he did not sleep a wink. He prayed that Dougal
MacGregor was astute enough to set a sentinel who would raise the alarm in
time for a quick flight into the hills. Time and again, he imagined himself at
the head of the column and suddenly being face to face with Dougal, Mary,
and Helen. The very thought set his heart pounding. Having to face Helen
would be the worst. He wouldn’t be able to meet her eyes. He would want to
die then and there. He racked his brain for a last-minute way to warn them,
but nothing came to mind that wouldn’t give him away. Shortly after
midnight, he actually got dressed only to sink back into bed when he realized
that he wouldn’t get his horse past the guards at the stables.