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So
the unfortunate courier was roused from his well-earned rest, given
a Highland garron and sent off again forthwith northwards, with a
letter for Colkitto. The Marquis of Montrose requested Alastair
MacDonald, Younger of Colonsay, to meet him at Blair in Athol,
in two days' time, for their mutual pleasure and conference.

At
midday on the
18th
of
August, then, Montrose, alone save for Pate Graham, came by devious
ways to Atholl, midway between Badenoch and Strathordie, that
great mountain tract in the north of Perthshire, to find the
Blair district in the wide vale of the Garry in a turmoil. Colkitto
and the Irish, it seemed, had misinterpreted the message. Instead of
coming quietly to a secret meeting here, the MacDonald had marched
south with his whole ragged force, had taken forcible possession of
Blair Castle, with the young Earl of Atholl - still a minor - within
it, and had run up his banner at the tower-top. Promptly the Atholl
Stewarts and Murrays, with their neighbouring Robertsons of Struan,
had gathered to rescue the young earl, and take vengeance, and were
still gathering. Battle appeared to be imminent.

'I
told you!' Pate declared. 'Savages! And fools, forby. What good are
such as these?'

'Wait,
you,' his friend advised.

Quite
openly. Montrose led the way, though anonymously through the ranks
of the angry clansmen and towards the opposing crowd that surrounded
the castle on its green terrace some
400
yards
away, an alarming proceeding.

'Pray
God they don't shoot us down like dogs!' Pate muttered.

They
will not do that. We present no threat to them. Keep your head up,
man.'

Some
distance off still, a rich and powerful voice hailed them. 'Who
comes so bold, in the name of God ?'

Montrose
raised a hand in acknowledgment, but did not answer, and kept on
walking. Perforce Pate did likewise.

'Stand
you!' the great voice bellowed. 'You heard me - Alastair? Who walks
so swack to his death?'

Even
then the other took his time to answer. 'James Graham,' he called,
at length. 'And I do not shout. At my friends. Or my foes.'

"Graham,
d you say? Graham? Stand you, then, Graham - or you'll never shout
again, I promise you! What Graham thinks he may outface Alastair?'

Pate
could not restrain himself longer. 'Montrose, you fool!' he cried.
'Who did you come here to meet? The Marquis. The King's General.'

'Blessed
Mary Mother o' God!' That was almost a howl. "Montrose?
Himself? By all the saints - if you lie .. .
!'
A
giant of a man buist out from the ragged throng that faced them.
Dressed in red-and-green short kilt and plaid, with ox-hide long
sleeveless waistcoat, shoulder-belted broadsword at side and
bristling with pistols and dirks, he was nearer seven feet than six
and broad in proportion, with a shock of curling red hair and savage
down-turning moustaches at strange variance with the almost boyish
freckled face. A man of Montrose's own age, in his early thirties,
he had hot blue eyes. He came forward, great-strided and
grim-visaged.

But
James Graham, for better or for worse, seldom managed to look other
than he was, however dressed or circumstanced. The calm assurance
was not to be mistaken. The big man, as he came close, slowed his
stride and then halted, chewing his lip under those wicked drooping
moustaches.

'Saviour
Christ born of Mary,' he muttered. And then bowed, deeply. 'My lord
Marquis - your servant. Alastair.'

‘
Not
mine, Alastair - not mine. The King's only. We are both the King's
servants. And here is another - Patrick Graham, Younger of
Inchbrakie, my kinsman and friend.'

Those
two sized each other up, stiff as suspicious dogs.

'I
looked ... I looked for you otherwise, my lord. I looked for the
Captain-General. With an army . . .'

'And
found only James Graham and his cousin! I fear that we are a
grievous disappointment, Alastair. I am not even
Captain-General.
Prince
Maurice is that. Only Lieutenant.'

The
other swept that aside with a mighty arm, the shirtsleeve of
which was torn and far from clean. 'What are styles and titles?' he
asked.

"What
indeed? Do I call you Alastair MacDonald, Colkitto, Dunaverty ... or
my Major-General?'

The
giant drew a quick breath. 'Major-General... ? Did I... hear
aright?'

To
be sure. Mere style and tide - but yours!' Montrose smiled wryly. ‘I
may have no army, no power - but I have all the authority that King
Charles can give me. I am his royal voice and hand, in Scotland -
God help me! So I make Alastair MacDonald of Dunaverty, son to Coll
of the Left Hand, his Major-General and my second-in-command.'

For
a long moment the other stared, perceiving what was here involved,
the ramifications of that statement - or some of them. Then he
inclined his red head, and held out a huge hand, large as a ham.
Tour servant, my lord,' he said. 'At your commands.' He turned, and
gestured sardonically. "Your army!'

Montrose
considered the fierce and motley throng of shaggy and unwashed Irish
kerns and Highland caterans, armed to the teeth with steel but with
hardly a musket, pistol, jack or helmet amongst them, and nodded
gravely.

'Excellent,'
he said, and there was no mockery in his voice. 'With these we shall
do great things, you and I, Major-General. Now, bring to me your
host, the Earl of Atholl, whose aid I seek. And make your officers
known to me ...'

The
easy and quite unassuming assertion of command was accepted by the
fiery Colkitto without a murmur. As was the later move, when with
the boy Earl and Pate, Montrose walked back across the
no-man's-land to the watchful, waiting ranks of Atholl and Robertson
clansmen, to declare to them his identity and authority, and to
announce that he had come, in the name of King Charles, to take
charge of and discipline Colkitto's Irish and Islesmen host and to
raise the Highlands for His Grace. With the Earl's, and Robertson of
Struan's permission, he would request all to disperse to their homes
forthwith, assured that there would be no further trouble; and
thereafter, as many as loved their King and Scotland's cause and
freedom, to rally to the royal standard, here in Atholl, next day.
Let the Fiery Cross be sent out. Not for the first time the
Highlands would teach the Lowlands their duty!

So,
for the second time, and on a day of hazy August sunshine, with
the heather glowing richly purple on all the Atholl braes, the
Marquis of Montrose unfurled the banner of King Charles in Scotland.
It was a very different occasion to that at Dumfries nearly five
months before. Instead of a town square on the very southern edge of
the land, the ceremony took place in the wide green hazel-rimmed
haugh-land where the foaming Tilt met the peat-brown Garry under the
soaring mountains of the very heart and centre of Scotland. Instead
of decent, hodden-clad burghers and mounted Border and Solway lairds
and their levies, infinitely more fierce-looking Highlanders and
Irishmen surrounded him, however softly musical their voices, most
shooting suspicious if not downright hostile glances at each other,
a sea of colourful if ragged tartans, flashing steel and brawny bare
limbs. A big crowd was present, but it made a very small army.
Colkitto had proved to have remaining only some 1100 men of his own,
after his West Highland campaigning - if so it could be called
- to which he had added another
500
or
so from Badenoch, mainly outlying Gordons. He had no cavalry at all,
nor ever had. A large number of Athollmen, Stewarts, Murrays and
Robertsons, turned up for the occasion - but how many would remain
as part of the fighting host remained to be seen. Summonses were
sent out now, urgently, far and wide, for all who had promised aid,
all who ought to have promised, to rally to the standard here in
Atholl; but it would take dme for any appreciable number to
assemble from a distance. Montrose had only the boy Earl of Atholl,
Donald Robertson, Tutor of Struan, Sir William Rollo, Colonel
Sibbald, and a number of local lairds, with Colkitto and Black Pate,
at his side.

'My
friends,' James Graham said, in the Gaelic - since few there knew
English - when horn-blowers had gained him silence, 'today we set
our hands to a great and goodly venture. This land is most
grievously oppressed by men, not all evil but most shamefully
mistaken, and eaten up with the arrogance of spiritual pride. These
men have risen against the King's Grace, to whom all owe allegiance
and love - as do we. Tyranny reigns, imposed above all by Archibald
Campbell of Argyll,
MacCailean
Mor
..
.'

A
great roar of execration interrupted him, at mention of that name.

He
held up his hand. 'The Campbell rides high. But not so high that he
cannot be pulled down. To that end have I come. Come with the King's
command to save Scotland from such evil and disloyal men. And with
his royal commission to do all that is necessary to that end, naming
me Lieutenant-General and Governor in Scotland, with all powers as
Viceroy. In that name and authority, therefore, I, James Graham,
call upon all loyal men soever to arms, to fight under my command,
until Scotland is cleaned of the Campbell, of his minions, and
of fanatic men who set themselves up as the very voice of Almighty
God . . . !'

Again
the bellow of approval. Deliberately, that was all he was going to
say anent religion, with a host before him three-parts Catholic, and
his own Covenanting background known to all.

'In
the King's royal name, then, I unfurl the King's royal standard, the
ancient emblem of this realm and kingdom, for which I am prepared to
die. How many of you, my friends, do say as much?' And he tugged
loose the cord which tied the great red-and-gold flag, and the Lion
Rampant of Scotland streamed free in the breeze. He had carried
that flag, rolled in his horse-blanket, since Dumfries.

Everywhere
hands, swords, dirks were thrust up, bonnets soared into the air,
and the uproar rose and maintained, echoing from the surrounding
hills, in fierce, hoarse and continuing acclaim and assertion. Even
the Irishmen joined in, affected by this heady draught.

When
he could make himself heard, Montrose added, "Your word I will
test! And you, mine. Today we are not many. In a month, we shall be
a great host. In our proud and sacred cause may we ask Almighty God
to go with us, to strengthen our hearts and our arms, and to give us
the victory. Amen. God save the King!'

Out
of his own pocket thereafter, James Graham bought great quantities
of beef and ale, whisky and victual, from the Earl of Atholl's
steward, and fires were lit all over the grassy haughland to roast
the meat, providing a rough-and-ready feast, with as much to eat as
even the most starveling bog-trotter could desire. This while the
necessary business of enrolment and forming into companies and
commands proceeded. Montrose went round making himself known,
speaking with the men, encouraging, questioning.