Page 7 of A Fire in Their Hearts

T HE EDGE OF THE SWORD whistles past my head.

With a sinking heart, it dawns on me that my opponent could cleave open my skull anytime he wants and there’s little I can do to stop him.

Violet’s father, who learnt how to handle the weapon from a ship’s officer, drilled Hamish and me in using one when we were younger.

However, the man circling me slowly is an expert, and for all the good I’m doing I might as well pick up a rock and throw it.

‘You’ve had some training,’ says Captain Arnot. He speaks loudly so that the dozens of men watching can hear.

‘Yes, sir,’ I reply clearly, without lowering my sword, and mighty glad that he’s on my side.

‘In a battle, you’re unlikely to have the luxury of walking around an enemy having a conversation or enjoying an ale together.’

Those nearby laugh. We’re all caught up in a mad fever of excitement and hope, which has been our constant companion ever since leaving Dumfries with the various captured soldiers and Sir James Turner, who had at least been allowed to dress properly beforehand.

Now we have experienced officers under the leadership of Colonel James Wallace, a devout Christian and a soldier of such renowned bravery that even his enemies speak of him as a man of honour.

He may be past his prime, having lived quietly for many years, but such is his loyalty to the Covenanter cause that he has come out of retirement.

There’s a belief that we’re going to be part of an important advancement in this fight for religious freedom, despite the fact that the entire venture has had little planning behind it. We’ve ended up here because an old man in the village of Dalry was being mistreated by a handful of soldiers.

Captain Arnot suddenly sheaths his sword and greets someone behind me. ‘Colonel Wallace, sir.’

I lower my sword and turn to show my respect. The next moment I’m hurled roughly to the ground. When I’ve regained my wits, there’s the point of a sword at my throat. The men give a great cheer at my folly.

‘Never turn your back on an opponent, even one as good-looking as me.’

The officer sheaths his sword again and holds out a hand to help me up. I’m impressed by the strength in his arm when he easily pulls me to my feet. He claps me heartily on the shoulder and speaks so that everyone nearby can hear.

‘Well done .?.?.’

‘Samuel, sir.’

‘Well done, Samuel. You’ll do us proud. Most of you won’t be fighting with a sword. That’s probably just as well as you’re more likely to cut off your own bollocks than hurt the enemy and I don’t want to be surrounded by a bunch of castratos singing in my ear!’

This results in much laughter and I realise that the captain understands how to handle men. I’m learning fast that there’s much more to being an officer than knowing how to fight.

‘Those with pikes or similar, form up over there and I’ll speak to you shortly. Those with other weapons should go with Captain Paton, who will instruct you how best to use whatever you have.’

Men disperse while I stand alone, still catching my breath and trying not to rub my throbbing shoulder.

There’s enthusiasm, commitment and courage in abundance, but time to practice, and the weapons themselves, are in terribly short supply.

Some of the pikes, halberds and spears look as though they were made in the last century.

The majority of the five hundred or so men on foot have something home-made such as a scythe fixed firmly to the end of a wooden pole, or a hayfork with sharpened prongs.

Amongst our hastily assembled army, there are almost as many men with horses and they’re better armed, mainly with pistol and sword.

‘You did well against Captain Arnot,’ says Hamish, who’s come up beside me with George, Cornelius and Alexander. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to face him.’

‘It was more of an exercise in humiliation.’ I’m trying to appear calm but I’m still breathing hard from the exertion and the experience, which was more than a little frightening.

‘Well, I wouldn’t have fared any better against Arnot,’ says Cornelius.

‘You wouldn’t fare well against anyone,’ jokes Alexander. With good humour, he fends off some half-hearted punches from Cornelius.

‘You can’t expect to have done better than you did, Samuel,’ George tells me. ‘Captain Arnot has had years of fighting experience.’

‘What’s going to happen when we come up against experienced soldiers?’ asks Hamish.

I can’t bring myself to admit it out loud, but this is the very fear in my own heart.

‘We fight,’ says George simply. ‘That’s all we can do.’

But Hamish isn’t quite reassured. ‘Is it true that there’s hardly any powder for the muskets or pistols?’

‘Don’t worry about powder,’ says George, slapping Hamish on the shoulder. ‘We haven’t got that many muskets and pistols to fire anyway! God is our weapon against the enemies of the Kirk. Looks like we need to join the others.’

‘Come on, Cornelius, I’ll help you over,’ says Alexander.

To everyone’s astonishment, Alexander suddenly heaves the unsuspecting Cornelius over his shoulder as if he were a sack of grain, then casually walks away, his friend complaining loudly while everyone around laughs.

‘Put me down, you great Ayrshire arse!’

They walk off, leaving Hamish and me alone, the humour of the moment dispersing like smoke in a gust of wind.

‘Are you scared, Sam?’

‘After that demonstration with Captain Arnot, I’m even more terrified than I was before.’

‘I’m scared, though at the same time I’ve never felt so alive.

We’re finally doing something real, something that will make a difference.

Perhaps we can help change Scotland’s destiny, free people from the tyranny of King Charles and his Royalist army.

Imagine what our fathers will say when we return. They’ll not call us boys any more.’

It’s his last comment that gives me the greatest concern because, compared to men like Paton and Arnot, that’s exactly what we are. Besides, there are many here who are younger than us and even less able to defend themselves.

Over the years, I’ve met Covenanters who want to die for the cause.

They seek death and entry into Heaven. Well, I’ll die if that’s God’s will but I would rather live.

To actively wish it seems contrary to anything we’ve been taught.

I don’t express my concerns, for it is best that Hamish maintains whatever enthusiasm and hope he can find.

‘We’ve got together with some good men,’ he says. ‘We should stick close to them in case there’s any trouble.’

‘Hamish, the one thing we can be sure of is that there’s going to be trouble .?.?. lots of trouble.’