The government's retribution for a half century of bloody rebellion began almost before the smoke of battle had cleared from the field. Wounded clansmen, with the terrible injuries that grapeshot and musket balls at close range can induce, littered Drummossie Moor. Cumberland ordered that no quarter was to be shown to those who had entered into a treasonous adventure against the king and presently the bayonets of the redcoats finished the work begun by the artillery and musketry of the government line. There is little honour in the slaying of  wounded, helpless men and  a young James Wolfe, the later conqueror of Quebec, refused to participate. Most of his comrades in arms took to the task with gusto. The field was methodically searched and any Jacobites found despatched with bayonet, sword or pistol. More than 150 men were executed this way. In one farmhouse outbuilding were found 32 wounded Jacobites and the government troops locked the doors, set fire to the building and burned them all alive. The road to Inverness along which the broken Jacobites had fled could be followed by the scores of corpses that lined its way. Cumberland's cavalry had eagerly pursued their foes and ridden down those not fast enough to escape. There were many women and children among the corpses for neither age nor sex was a protection against the vengeful fury of the government army. 
       It was just the beginning and in the following weeks and months a redcoated reign of terror would sweep through the Highland glens, officially searching for rebels but in reality one vast great wave of murder, rape and pillage. When it was over the clan system would be gone forever. 

       The chiefs who had come out for the Young Pretender were attainted for treason and their lands declared forfeit to the crown. Some of them went to the headsman's block. The heritable jurisdictions, the legal basis for a chief's power over his clan were abolished and as some clans had fought for the government, the chiefs of these were given compensation. No longer was the word of a chief law in his glen and with the building of more roads and forts the penetration of southern commerce, law and order overlaid the old ways of the mountains and finally subdued them. 

       The carrying of arms was banned by the government and breaking of the ban was punishable by death. Likewise the wearing of the plaid, kilt or any kind of tartan and even the playing of bagpipes were made illegal. The Highlanders threw away their weapons, dyed their plaids and sewed them up into poor renderings of trousers. To be a warrior and wear the cloth of his fathers was now open only to these young men who joined the Highland regiments that were raised for the service of the crown overseas. Many did and the martial story of the Highlands did not die at Culloden but was changed in form and location. From the Heights of Abraham by Quebec to the relief of Lucknow in India, from the field of Waterloo in Belgium to the valley of the Alma in the Crimea, Highland regiments were always in the forefront of Britain's military triumphs. 

       The Young Pretender himself escaped from the battle of Culloden and spent five months wandering the Highlands while the redcoats searched for him. The astonishing sum of 30,000 pounds was offered for his capture, but no-one betrayed him. Many men paid for their silence with their lives. He was spirited away to the Isle of Skye by Flora Macdonald and she paid for her assistance by imprisonment in an English gaol. Finally, from the same beach where he was landed, he was picked up by a French warship and taken to the safety of France. He died in exile in Rome and by then he was no lomger the dashing hero of legend and song but a dissolute drunk.

 
 
 
 
 

 
The Duke of Cumberland, 
victor of Culloden and  
the man who ordered the wounded 
Jacobites to be killed. 
 
 
 
 

 

Of all the many songs celebrating or lamenting the Jacobite risings, perhaps the most poignantly beautiful is the Skye Boat Song. 

"Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing, 
Onward the sailors cry, 
Carry the lad that's born to be king, 
Over the sea to Skye, 

Loud the winds howl loud the waves roar, 
Thunderclaps rend the air, 
Baffled our foes stand on the shore, 
Follow they will not dare. 

Many's the lad fought on that day, 
Well the claymore did wield, 
When the night came silently lay, 
Dead on Culloden field."

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