The battle took but an hour, our superior artillery and the boggy moor made our victory almost easy. Casualties to His Majesty's army numbered at only three hundred whereas the Jacobites had suffered a colossal loss of nearly two thousand men. However my heart was heavy. I had fired shot after shot into the lines of the Highlander army. As I watched them fall one after another never breaking formation and holding fast until Charles Stuart had finnally given the order to attack. Witnessing their stubborn bravery as the cannonball soared into their ranks, cutting men down by the dozens.
Now orders had come down that no quarter was to be given to the injured Highland warriors and the wounded would be killed where they lay. While a calvary contingent hunted those who had been able to retreat. As a young officer fighting under the Duke of Cumberland I had no choice but to follow orders. Or risk the hangman's noose myself.
The Duke had sent for me himself, he had heard my commander talking about my prowess upon the pianoforte and desired a small party be thrown for his officers while the soldier's of lower rank committed murder upon the field. I gently leaned my musket against the fine instrument and sat down upon the bench. Blinking tears from my eyes I began to play. A haunting sorrowful melody that came straight from my soul.
In the distance a Scottish bagpiper began to play his music matching mine in dispair.
The clans had rallied to Bonny Prince Charlie like moths to a flame. We had followed him to battle like sheep to the bloody slaughter. We were starving, exhausted and low on supplies. The English bastards outnumbered us greatly and had the higher ground. I recall the sick feeling of dread as the cannons fired and the muskets rang out as men fell to each side of me. We held the lines with courage and when the order finnally came we charged into battle with our highland battle cry. Our kilts spattered with blood and mud as we ran into the artillery fire. I had only a sword and dirk but I made quick work of the redcoats that I came upon. Until a bullet entered my chest and I staggered to my knees. A British bastard slashed at my neck with his bayonet but I deflected and it only sliced my thigh going to the bone. I in turn ran him through watching as the life drained from his eyes. The retreat sounded but my wounds stopped me near moors edge. Breathless and bleeding, here I stopped. Not far from me lay body of a fallen piper. As I watched in horror the redcoats began to slaughter those lying upon the field. I felt the life draining from me and knew I could fight or run no more. I took up the pipes and began to play for my comrades in arms. Perhaps they could take comfort from my song in their last moments.
I played on, until a redcoat cut me down.
In the distance a piano played on mournfully, and then all was quiet.
