The Pursuit

The

Pursuit

By Colin M Small

Copyright © 2012 Colin Macdonald Small

(Revised 2019)

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events

in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain,

are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or

dead is purely coincidental.

Title

Copyright

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

THE END

Chapter 1

In a remote glen in the highlands of Scotland, in the autumn of 1764, the sun sinking towards the mountain tops, cast long shadows from the pine trees across the forest floor. The slow-moving river reflecting gold from the setting sun was visible through the trees and shrubs that covered the hillside above a narrow drove road. The evening air was calm and still, only the songbirds in the trees and the distant calling of rooks in the high pines could be heard, as they settled before the coming night. A rider astride a tall black mare, stopped at the forest edge to absorb the atmosphere and look down on the familiar landscape below, from his position high on the wooded hillside. This pleasing view of the glen, with the deep purple of the heather on the far hills, contrasted with the colours of the trees along the riverbank. He felt comforted by the warmth from his horse in the cooling air and from the familiar creak of saddle leather, as the mare shifted her weight impatient to continue the journey. During recent violent years spent in Europe, he had often longed to see again this cherished scene that he remembered so well from his youth. In a protected area safe from the river sat a tiny ancient chapel with a roof of reed thatch, walls of stone and with a small burial ground to the front, added to the picturesque setting. Just visible on the other side of the river, below a slight haze of wood smoke, was the tiny village and the inn that he intended to reach before darkness fell.

His quiet reflection was interrupted by raised voices on the still air, the sound seeming to come from within the tiny chapel. Two men dragging a third then struggled from the open doorway of the building, arguing as they came. Two of the men wore red coats, obviously military uniforms; the third man who was now forced to the ground on his knees with his hands roughly twisted behind his back then tied with twine, was dressed in black and appeared to be a clergyman.

The cleric was restrained by the younger soldier, while the portly older man walked to the horses tethered at the perimeter wall of the small graveyard. From the saddlebag, he produced a length of rope and then crossed to an elderly substantial yew tree which overshadowed the gravestones, from a position at the corner of the crumbling stone wall. Fashioning a crude noose at one end of the rope he threw it over a stout limb of the tree, lowering it to a level that he judged to be about the head height of a man on horseback, the other end he secured to a lower branch.

The rider, Charles Macrae, swung his leg across the saddle and dropped down from the tall mare, better to observe the spectacle. He stood close to a large pine tree, which was supporting its neighbour, wind thrown in an earlier storm. Gaining cover from the substantial girth of the great pine and from the surrounding bushes in the foreground, he watched the events below, apparently the only observer in the remote glen.

I think priest that you may be in some difficulty, he said in a low voice, the mare his only audience. He could hear clearly in the still air, the pleading voice of the young soldier who was holding the cleric, protesting at the actions of his companion with the rope.

I don't know if I want any part of this, we were only ordered to take him to the dungeon at Beauly, he objected.

Why should we take that trouble when they will only hang him anyway, his colleague argued in response. Besides it will be dark long before we get there and we’d have to watch him like a hawk all the way. If we do things my way we can return to the inn for the night. Tomorrow we can report that we searched for him all day, but he couldn’t be found and we save everyone a lot of worries.

You don't know that he would be hanged if we took him in, the younger soldier tried to reason. There was no mention of such a thing. Also, he is a clergyman, a priest, I don’t like it. Anyway, what would we do with his body?

What do you think we would do with it? Are we not already in a burial ground?

The redcoats debated back and forth their voices audible in the stillness until the man with the rope won the dispute. The cleric was forced to his feet and pushed toward the old yew tree.

Charles continued to watch the action unobserved, reluctant to become involved, but at the same time, he was deeply concerned about the injustice he was about to witness. These incidents of outrage once common in past years, he thought were now consigned to history. It was becoming more evident as he watched that some action on his part was inevitable. What reason could there be to hang this man? It made no sense to him. The victim was evidently a cleric, what could his crime possibly be to deserve such an end?

He tied the horse’s lead around a convenient branch and slid out his French Carbine from where it was concealed, in a scabbard below his saddle blanket. Priming the musket quickly with well-accustomed ease, he crouched forward to rest the weapon across the trunk of the fallen tree, in order to gain maximum support. Although the range was more than ideal, he took careful aim at the portly soldier with the rope and squeezed the trigger. The man screamed and dropped to his knees; the younger man threw himself to the ground as the priest fell back among the gravestones.

My God I’ve been shot, screeched the redcoat. Someone’s shooting at us. The soldiers and the priest lay still behind the cover of the stones.

Charles obscured by the forest in the shadows from the setting sun, quickly propped the musket against the tree trunk and took his startled horse by the bridle to stroke her cheek and velvet nose, whispering softly to calm the animal lest she gives his position away. She was unsettled by the sudden noise of the weapon and by the pungent smell of the smoke from the spent powder.

With the horse more relaxed, he retrieved the weapon and watched and waited for a reaction from below. The smoke from the discharge had drifted away and alarm calls from the circling ravens disturbed from the pine tops, diminished as they began to settle. He need not have been concerned; his action did not attract even an upward glance from below, the soldiers were too intent on keeping their heads down. He took a fresh paper cartridge and ball from the pouch attached to his saddle. Swiftly recharging the weapon, he set it to half cock and continued to watch the scene below.

After a time, judged safe, the uninjured soldier quickly got to his feet and then supporting his limping companion, helped him as best he could with the cover of the memorial stones, to hobble toward the restless horses pulling at their tethers. Using one horse for cover, the wounded man was hoisted over the back of the other animal before a slap on the rump, sent it bolting behind the building. Putting the second horse between himself and the suspected position of the gunman, the uninjured soldier also followed quickly to the rear of the building.

Charles Macrae continued to wait and watch for any sound or movement. Then after a short lapse of time, the soldiers suddenly reappear from the cover of the chapel moving fast. The wounded man stretched low in the saddle with his arms around the neck of his horse, his younger comrade in the lead with his head down, riding the other horse whilst holding the reins of both animals. They emerged from the cover of the building clearly expecting further gunfire. The younger man spurred his animal to jump through a low gap in the perimeter wall, keeping the second horse in close formation. They took a short route through a narrow rough grass field, to join the track and galloped at speed eastward in the fading light.

Charles made the carbine safe and returned it to the scabbard, which was carefully concealed between the horse blanket and his folded plaid. He stepped up onto the trunk of the fallen tree and whilst speaking softly to calm the still restless mare, he swung himself over and into the saddle. With a gentle nudge from his heels and a clicking sound with his tongue, he encouraged the tall horse as she navigated her way carefully through the undergrowth, down the hillside and across the drove road in front of the churchyard.

He rode through the narrow gateway in the low wall and along the short path to the door of the chapel. Looking cautiously around the graveyard, with apparent customary vigilance he took in the scene, always alert for any hidden danger. When he was satisfied as he could be that there were no others hiding undercover in the tiny churchyard, he turned his attention to the cleric who was struggling to sit up from behind a large gravestone.

Well, priest you seem to be in some difficulty. I assume you are a priest. Can I be sure that there were only the two and no more of them are in hiding?

The young clergyman struggled to turn over onto his knees, endeavouring to relieve the pressure on his bound hands.

May I give you some help? asked Charles with a hint of humour in his voice.

Get down from there and set me free. I am jammed here, I cannot move, I think that I may have broken something.

Charles slid down from the saddle. Producing a folding knife from the pocket of his coat he cut the twine securing the man’s wrists, allowing him to then roll onto his knees and struggled to his feet with the aid of a gravestone.

It seems all your friends have left you in a hurry.

They are not friends of mine I can assure you and to answer your question, yes there were only two of them. I take it that you fired that shot? He said in an accusing tone, brushing the soil and shreds of grass from his ill-fitting cassock.

Indeed, I cannot deny that since I see no one other than me, said Charles dryly, glancing around.

You make light of the matter, but do you realise that you may have killed that man? said the young cleric.

I shot to kill him. Had I not done so, you would be the one dead by now, hanging by your neck, he replied pointing to the rope still attached around the branch of the yew tree.

I would rather that I was hanging from that rope than you would take another's life on my behalf was the pretentious response.

Well I never, brave words, I think. I find it hard to believe that I have just saved your life and then heard make such a comment. I have seldom come across such an ungrateful person in my time truth be told, but I suppose I can expect no less from a man of the cloth. Have you ever seen a man die from strangulation on the end of a rope? That’s exactly what it would have been strangulation, were it to be carried out by that pair of scoundrels. It is not something pleasant to see, let alone experience I am sure. A very slow and painful death you can be certain. A little gratitude on your part would have been in order I should have thought.

The priest regained some of his composure with the colour now returning to his face.

You paint a gruesome picture, but it is not needed for my benefit. I have indeed seen people die at the end of a rope in recent years. After a slight pause and in a calmer tone he added quickly. There have been many not so far from here in times past. Notwithstanding your obvious lack of respect, I am pleased you appeared when you did and I am grateful for your intervention, but you must be aware that too many lives have been lost in these glens over recent years. I have no wish to see more killing and violence, I have seen enough to last me a lifetime.

I thank you for the sermon and I agree that what you say is certainly very true, you will get no argument from me on that opinion. In any event, I really don’t think you need to be overly concerned. Judging by the speed with which those rogues made off, I think the fat fellow’s injury could not have been very severe. With any luck, we will see no more of them. The distance was too great for an accurate shot. I really did not expect to strike him in all honesty, despite what I just said. I admit I did not aim to kill him or injure him even for that matter. I fired a random shot; my intention was only that the ball would pass close, to stop them harming you further and make them run for cover.

That gives me even greater cause for concern, responded the priest.

Why would that be so?

Because, if your shot was that random, you could have shot me by mistake from that distance.

Now who show a lack of respect? How would you know anything about using a musket? Charles asked with annoyance. Then he gave a laugh to lighten the exchange.

You need not worry you are safe enough now, from me at any rate.

They studied each other for a few moments; then the priest still dusting himself down gave a brief nod of acceptance.

Charles thrust out a hand. Anyway, I am Charles Macrae and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. You may call me Charles.

The priest took the proffered hand. I am James Buchan and you were quite correct; I am a priest. A Jesuit missionary to be exact, the assistant to the presently absent parish priest and you can call me Father.

Charles smiled shaking his head, amused at the formal manner of the young cleric. Very well James, I am not a true believer but I will call you Father if that is your wish.

There was a moment of silence as they considered how to respond further. James Buchan then moved to the entrance of the church, bending to pass through the low doorway he turned back and beckoned to Charles.

The night is falling it will be dark soon, you had better come inside, whilst we reflect on our position. I think I may have the makings of supper, although it will be somewhat meagre. I suggest you may well have to remain here for the night, soon it will be too dark to travel safely.

Thank you, Father, I also have a little bread and some cheese in my bag which you are welcome to share. I will see to my horse first before I join you.

Charles led his horse to the wooden rail provided for the purpose of tethering and paused for a moment to look down the track as he inhaled the cool, sweet, pine-scented evening air. The sun had disappeared below the tops of the hills leaving them as dark shadows, with the sky streaked by orange bands of fire, the little ancient church was bathed in the reflected golden light. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he tied the horse’s lead to the rail.

Chapter 2

When the mare had been unsaddled and tethered on a slack halter at the rail where she could crop the long uncut grass, Charles carrying his saddle and equipment entered the small but carefully tended place of worship. The building was by now dark inside except for the reflected light from the sunset coming through the tiny west-facing window. The priest glanced towards him as he entered.

On second thoughts, I think perhaps you should just call me James.

Good, just as you wish, James it will be.

You might also remove your hat in the church sir if you please.

Of course. My apologies, my manners are a little rusty these days. Your chapel seems to be well cared for, clean and tidy if I may say. It is of a high standard compared to other places of worship I have seen elsewhere on my journey. Clearly, your parishioners must be of a reasonable disposition.

Not necessarily so. It is just that the people who worship here are inclined to take pride in the chapel, although somewhat compact I suppose compared to other places of worship. They prefer to be as warm and dry as they can be and well sheltered during the service. Most are quite prepared to employ considerable effort in what spare time they can find, to allow this.

After a pause, he went on. You have visited many places of worship on your travels then I take it from what you say? Perhaps you are a more pious man than I first thought. Despite the impressions, you seem to wish to convey?

No not so I must confess. I am really just making polite conversation.

Honesty at least, that is something. Confession is good for the soul I would say.

Indeed, I expect you would say that. I am beginning to feel I must guard my words more carefully. Charles responded with a smile.

The tiny building was not unduly cold inside, because of a small wood-burning fireplace, built into a side wall. On the rearmost wall, was a small stone alter with a carefully crafted lectern beside it. James brought two chairs and arranged them in front of the hearth and encouraged the embers with the poker, then put on more wood. With the fire burning brightly he filled a kettle with water from a covered wooden bucket and placed it in position to boil. From a large chest in the corner of the room, he produced a small polished wooden box which he held up.

I have here some tea leaves, the property of the Parish Priest if you care for some. He has a liking for a cup of tea. I am sorry if you are disappointed that I have nothing stronger.

Thank you I do quite like tea at this time of the day, Charles replied with forced politeness.

So, you are a tea drinker?

In truth, no not really, I have taken it on occasions, although I must say I have acquired more of a taste for coffee, since my time in Europe. I did have a little in my pack, but now, unfortunately, it is used up. The Parish Priest has expensive tastes it seems.

He received the Box and its contents as a gift in appreciation, from a wealthy landowner, for services rendered, in that he presided over the marriage of the gentleman’s daughter. He has encouraged me to share it with him, to use it freely in case the leaves should spoil. I am sorry that I cannot offer you coffee.

No matter, as I said tea is perfectly fine. So where then is your superior that we are able to partake of his tea?

Regretfully his present whereabouts is unknown to me; he was arrested by the military some weeks ago. Someone unknown accused him, of preaching sedition it was said. He was taken to Fort Augustus, I think. I await word but I have heard nothing of him since. I am beginning to fear for his safety.

I see you have no obvious accommodation available to you here, so I take it you must travel as required from your abode elsewhere.

The main church and the house in which we live are not so very far away. It is a Mission House with a small croft attached to provide for our needs. It lies on the far side of the river at Fasnakyle. I am here on most Sundays, to provide a service for any of the faithful who are able to attend. I must admit I take great pleasure in spending time here. It is my custom though to go home long before nightfall, but as you saw I was unavoidably detained on this occasion.

You must have a good number of clergymen in your community, if you are able to attend here in the event some worshipers will turn up?

I like to come here, James repeated. Sad to say I am the only priest left in the community for the time being. I very much appreciate the solitude when I am here and the beauty of the country. If I have no other pressing matters, I tend to dwell longer than I should. When we have a sufficient complement of brothers, we try to bring help and comfort the sick and infirm where we can. We conduct marriages, baptism and burials of course, although life has become more difficult in the many years since the tragedy of Culloden. In the population generally, I suppose, there is an increasing number of people who follow different persuasions. Thankfully although our position remains under threat, we are now less troubled by visits from the King’s men than we were previously.

Yes, I noticed that this afternoon, said Charles with a hint of sarcasm.

This afternoon’s trouble was unusual. Not the proposed arrest, but the level of brutality you saw. There is no need for them to offer such violence now if ever there was; the Highlanders are no longer a threat to the military.

You speak of Culloden but you are surely too young to know much about it. I notice that although you seem to be something of an expert on the area, you have no trace of a highland accent in your speech. I presume you would be very young, no older than me at that time of Culloden.

You are correct I am not a Highlander; I was not here at that time and also like you, I was but a child. However, I have learned quite a good deal about the subject from the people I meet and the stories they tell. Many of the people from these glens lost their loved ones at that time and subsequently as a result of it. So much has changed about here in the two decades or so since the tragedy. The tiny crofts, once so many and so full of life in the upper Glens are now mostly abandoned and derelict, left to the ghosts of the past. Life is very hard for those that still remain, trying to make a bare living for their families.

Charles said nothing, preferring to keep his own counsel on the subject and not become involved in politics. James poured the tea and they made their meal of the bannocks and cheese and a little cold roasted venison. They sat eating in silence for a while staring into the fire and then James turned to his guest.

Why are you in these parts may I ask. You seem to be a stranger, a traveller in the district. By the manner of your dress, it is easy to tell you are not a cattleman or a drover and yet you are obviously armed. That to say the least is quite rare in these parts now, without the necessary exemptions. Judging by your obvious skill, I would hazard a guess that you may be a military man or perhaps a government man of some sort. You were obviously quite prepared to intervene when a serious breach of the law was evident.

I was a soldier for a number of years but not in any army you are familiar with. I have returned to the glen only on a matter of personal business.

That is some relief then. If not an Official, at least having saved my life you are not then about to rob me in my sleep.

You may rest assured I am not a robber or highwayman either. I was in fact born in the glen, but my father died a few years thereafter, at Culloden in fact when I was just six years old. A follower and supporter of Charles Edward Stewart, he was a crofter and forester near here as was his father, during times when life was better. I have spent a good while away, so I hope there will have been some improvements and changes for the better in my absence. I was expecting and quite prepared to believe, that the situation would no longer be as bad as when I was young. When I was a child, after the cruel death of Lovat there was a great deal of trouble. So much wanton destruction and damage to land and property took place in revenge by the occupying forces, that the people were obliged to live in the derelict homes that remain with only the clothes on their backs. The poor people on the land had their possession confiscated, livestock forfeit and what meagre crops they had, destroyed. Families had to forage as best they were able in dreadful circumstances.

James nodded his understanding. At that time the break-up of the family home and the need for survival against poverty, as well as all manner of deprivation, I understand was the reason so many people had to leave the highlands. You and your family would be no less affected I expect.

I left here as a teenager only to seek employment elsewhere. I left my mother and young sister in the care of my uncle at our family home on the Farrar River, a very modest home I may say, what was left of it. I travelled to the south and in due course, I went to Europe.

I take it that you return now in search of your relatives and the family you left behind? Sadly though, you may have to look elsewhere; there are few people left in the glens I believe. Most indeed nearly all of the families that remained after the time you speak of, were more recently once again dispossessed of their homes and crofts, so even fewer people remain now.

As the men talked and ate their supper, the interior of the building became too dark to see clearly. The flickering light from the small hearth reflected on the stone walls and sparse furnishing casting their shadows dark across the thatch of the ceiling.

I had better light some candles or we will soon be in total darkness, said James.

Charles rose from his seat. No, I suggest that perhaps you don’t. I expect the light might show and be visible all around. Perhaps it is better not to allow our presence to be known when this place is not usually occupied by night. The reflection of the fire will not be so obvious I think. He walked over to the doorway to look out, down the deserted and now almost invisible track.

Where do you suppose our pair of villains would have gone from here? He said thinking out loud. I noticed a small settlement to the west, no more than a few buildings, but they went east from here and at speed. I suppose they could not have gone far if they had to seek help for the injured one. They could surely not have ridden all the way back to their billet at Beauly with night falling’ and with one of them wounded?

It would be possible, said James. Under any normal circumstances at least, it is but a few hours ride. If the night is not very dark and the man’s injuries not severe, I think they could get there. I believe though, that they would most likely make for the bridge and cross into the village of Cannich and to the inn. That is no doubt where they had obtained strong drink on the way here. Maybe they would go to a farm or croft somewhere not too far along the road and asked for help, it’s impossible to say really. Even if the wounded one is not badly hurt, they will not return here without company and there is no barracks or camps locally where they would find such support; this is an isolated area. Anyone they meet could perhaps be pressed into rendering help, but I would not think many would care to set out from the comfort of their homes in the dark of night, on behalf of two redcoat soldiers.

Nevertheless James, we will have to move from here as soon as we can. When word gets back, they are bound to send others from Fort Augustus or elsewhere to conclude the business. Although the action of the soldiers was extreme, they were still on official business, with specific orders to arrest you I presume?

You say we will have to move from here? I have done nothing wrong. You intervened without my bidding. My duties are here I cannot just run off into hiding, it is my intention to remain here as long as I can. I really think you should make good your escape alone at daybreak.

Charles sighed. There you go again, calm down. I must say I am confused by your attitude; I fully expect you to go as far from here as possible. I would think that our situation would be rather obvious to you and therefore, it would not be necessary for me to explain the seriousness of the position. It was transparent to me at least from where I viewed your predicament; those rogues were intent on hanging you. Whether that was their specific orders or not we have no way of knowing, but that is irrelevant now. They were sent to arrest you that much is clear; I cannot guess what heinous crime you have been involved in to incur such wrath. Even if they had not decided upon this course of action, at the very least they would have carted you off to a place of imprisonment. What then would your duties matter. The fact that I took you from them puts us both in the same boat and that boat may soon be sinking.

James remained silent for a few moments turning the matter over in his mind before responding. I do not imagine for one moment that these men came here with express orders to kill me. That just would not happen in these times, the military no longer has the freedom to hang a person on a whim as they once had.

You have more faith in the military than I. No matter, should the man I shot die or not, you will be held just as responsible for the shooting as me. I don’t think they will hold much debate about it and please remember, they know who you are, but they do not know who I am, where I am from or to where I go.

James remained silent giving the matter more thought, then conceded that possibly his situation was more precarious than he had first thought. I suppose I am forced to agree, so what have you in mind, what do you suggest we do?

How did you travel here? Do you own a horse?

I am not in the position to own a horse, but there is a sturdy garron mare grazing in a small patch at the side of the church.

Well, I suppose it would be better than walking or sharing my horse. If you take the animal will we both then risk the hangman for that also, for horse stealing?

I have permission to borrow the horse when required she belongs to the parish priest.

I might have guessed. Is it a fit enough animal to travel a distance?

She is a strong highland pony, though not so young I believe, but hard work and endurance are no strangers to that ancient breed, or the ability to climb over hill and glen whatever the conditions.

I am quite familiar with the highland pony as a breed; I mean no disrespect and refer only to its health and condition. Very well then, what supplies do we have?

"We have the remains of your