For those who would like to listen to the reading of this blog by the author
THE BATTLE OF CULLODEN
I lay
upon the soft grasses and wild flowers that bloomed casting a fragrance that
had taken away the sickening smell of a once blood soaked ground and replaced
it with the sweetness of life. Life had a distinct yet gentle fragrance.
One
would have to stand very still and breath in with the winds coming off the
Moray Firth to capture the delicate essence of wild-flowers that grow along
with the tall grasses for as far as the eye could see. I preferred to lie upon
the grasses and look up into the clouds and imagine a world that would never
again know the smell of death and war.
The
death from battle is so incredibly different than that of a natural death. Skin
was flayed and the innards of a man could be found lying on the ground around
his fallen body. There were bodies without limbs and without heads. The only
way to identify those who could be identified were their uniforms and possibly
some handwritten communication meant for a loved one far from here, a love one
who waited eternities for word of life or death of their beloved son or
husband, and sometimes one’s true love – promises of marriage upon their return
from battle. Most of these would wait in vain. No word would come to confirm
life or death, and the waiting would carry on for decades.
Many a
cloud would have crossed the sky like angels held aloft by those prayers long
ago. How many sunrises and sunsets have come and gone since that time of
arrogance and the selfish desire to rule the world?
Rulers
have come and gone with battles and with illnesses and plagues. This much I know;
I see past the clouds and on into the darkness of the universe where the light
illuminated stars led the way. There, I see the souls of those who look down
upon us here on this cold hard ground in wonder, the arrogance and hunger for
power has not changed, only those that fight the battles for those who rule and
call all to arms.
No, the
ruling class will not suffer the loss of life for themselves or their family
members, it will be those without names and unfamiliar faces that will do the
sacrificing for the greed of powerful men. They are the casualties of wars
fought for naught. It will be their loved ones who must remember and carry the
weight of the stories of olde. The tears they have cried have filled the
crevices and irrigated these very fields before reaching the Firth. The blood
has been washed clean from this place long ago. The soil opened up to take the
remains left to spoil, and the crimson stain of death has become the beauty of
this very field upon which I now lay.
‘Tis
hard to consider those days and what the commoners felt and feared as they were
called to bear arms and fight for one side or the other. There were no promises
of defeating the enemy. Who was the enemy? Do I know them now? Would I
recognize the foe of my people and would I believe the tales of how they would
poison the lot of us if we were taken prisoners? Truly, I wondered.
I had
fallen asleep.
I stood
in the path of a soldier who was asking where the Duke of Cumberland was, there
was news that the battle would soon begin. The Duke of Cumberland was
discussing the coming battle. They would meet the opposition in Cumberland.
Arguments erupted and I could sense the ill will among the leaders who had met
there to discuss the coming battle. For what had they come to fight? What was
so important here that man and boy should fall wounded or to their death? Yes,
the Duke of Cumberland had finally arrived in Edinburgh in late January and
immediately took over the command of the Royal Army.
He was
speaking of the advantage they would have by taking a route near the waters of
the Firth so the fleet could follow along the coast with supplies to replace
the loss of those spent on battles as they marched north. By the time the Royal
Army marched north it was ready for the decisive encounter with the
Highlanders.
The
Highland Army was unprepared for the coming of the Royal Army and many young
soldiers had thrown down their weapons and returned to their families rather
than die needlessly. Most knew they were under supplied and badly organized for
this final battle.
Meanwhile,
the Generals and other Leaders of the Royal Army had to do as the Duke
commanded. He alone had the clout to ensure enough weaponry and equipment to
win this battle. The time was upon them, the fleet sitting in the Firth had
indeed supplied enough equipment and artillery power to defeat the Highlanders.
On the
night before battle, everyone was celebrating the anniversary of the Duke’s
birth. Sadly, the Highlanders thought they would have the advantage with a
distracted army unaware of their approach. However, the bog became their
biggest challenge and they failed miserably.
The
next morning the Highland Army realized there were not near enough of them to
launch an attack and thus, retreated to Culloden, worn and weathered, their
stomachs aching for food and their mouths thirsting for water.
Those
that had become lost in the bog made retreat to safer places and each took
their own path to their awaiting loved ones, exhausted but alive. The following
day the Royal Army rose early and began its march to Culloden. The war was
fierce and the Highlanders were sorely the underdogs. Finally, the Highlanders
called retreat and few got away with their lives. The battle was over and the
carnage stretched far and wide in all directions. It was believed that over 1,000
Highland soldiers died that day.
There
were more less important battles to be fought after the taking of Culloden and
many of the Highland Commanders left their men in search of foreign armies who
would give them refuge. Death and greed were formidable allies. The Royal Army
won their battles, leaving few survivors and then filled their pockets with the
spoils after battle.
There
was nothing noble within the alliance of greed and the killing of men, women
and children unable to defend themselves properly. The men lost their lives in
shame – too tired and depleted to fight. When I awoke, I could hear the distant
screams of the wounded and dying along with the shout of successes and the
commands to continue fighting… to continue cutting down the opposition. Once
their kinsmen and now their foes… continue to kill and maim… continue to kill.
Were these lives any less important than their own? Had they become mad from
their own blood lust and the rewards that followed in gold and jewels?
I sat
up from my sleep and rubbed my eyes. I could not see the green of grasses nor
see the flowers or smell the delicate fragrances carried upon the wind from the
Firth. The air was dry and hot, I was sitting among mud and entrails, the
ground was no longer dark rich soil. It had become wet and sticky from the
blood of many; the stench was overwhelming and I rose to test myself again. Was
I still sleeping or awake? I could not tell.
All around
were pools of blood that could not find a way to the Firth. The Firth! I must
get to the waters. I ran for some time before I could see the shore of the
Firth. There, where the waters were blue and there was no hint of blood beneath
its waves. I jumped into the waters and dropped far beneath the waters break.
Finally, I resurfaced and turned to look behind me, at the land I had just
traversed. To my relief, my eyes found the land a fertile green, the grasses
blowing to and fro from the rising air of the Firth. The smell of the florals
was more intense here. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. The
sweetness of florals, herbs and grasses filled my mind and began to wash away
the visions from my dream.
I
opened my eyes and once again took in the vision of the emerald hills and the
pastels of many types of flowers that grew there, adding to its beauty. I
closed my eyes and put my hands together, with open palms I lifted the water in
the Firth to my face. I felt something unusual clinging to my face and hands. I
opened my eyes and looked at the water all around me. The waters were filled
with flowers. The blooms had been removed from the hillside and were now
covering the surface of the water where I stood. It was if they were thrown
into the waters to herald the unwitting souls that were lost and give them
homage there. Those that died must have been honored here on the shore of the
Firth and the flowers thrown upon the waves to hide the underlying smell of
blood with their lovely and blessed perfume.
I was
awake. I don’t know what I witnessed inside of my dream, but I was now awake
and there was no death around me here. At once, I heard his voice. It had been
lost over the many decades of my own births and deaths, but I remembered his
voice. Long ago, when the battles began, I lost my true love. I wept for him
then and in every life, thereafter, not knowing for whom I wept, but always
grieving an unknown loss. And here he was, I could hear him calling to me.
I
shouted back, “Where are you, my love? I cannot see you.” Again, I heard my
name called, but it was not coming from the hillside – it was coming from the
water. At once, I knew why I returned day after day to lie upon the grasses and
smell the flowers, looking up into the sky and beyond. I was searching, trying
not to forget him.
Here, I
was standing chest deep in the waters of the Firth and could feel him all
around me. I could hear him calling my name… just my name. I knew what I had to
do. I took my hands and brought the petals to my nose once more, letting the
water run through my fingers so that all I was holding were the petals,
handfuls of petals.
I took
one more deep breath and exhaled as I slowly surrendered to the waters of the
Firth. I opened my eyes beneath the waters and there he was reaching out for
me. I took his hand and then I took in a deep breath of fluid that quickly
choked me and left me convulsing for air. He never let go of my hand as I
passed from this world of wars, fed on greed and blood lust, and into his world
of peaceful contentment and purest love.
When
they found my body, I was no longer alive and I was covered in flower petals
and a soft angelic smile upon my face. I had most certainly found him. Finally,
after years and years of searching and waiting, I had found him. He was here
the whole time, searching and waiting for me. We had found each other and now
others in this place could continue to call out to loved ones in hope of
finding their mothers, sisters, daughters and true loves.
We bid
this world goodbye and rose beyond the clouds, out into the darkness where
stars shown like miniature suns to light our way. We finally found each other
and now we were going home, at last, we were going home.
M TERESA CLAYTON (c) 2016
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