ground, even redder than the little boy’s. The man was wearing a pack, and the woman had a large bag over one shoulder. She set it down and bent to pick up the doll, brushing it off and handing it back to her daughter.
The woman turned then to speak to her husband, throwing out an arm to point to something—the Higginses’ cabin, I thought. The man put both hands to his mouth and shouted, and the wind carried his words to us, faint but clearly audible, called out in a strong, cracked voice.
“Hello, the house!”
I was on my feet, and Jamie stood and grabbed my hand, hard enough to bruise my fingers.
Movement at the door of the cabin, and a small figure that I recognized as Amy Higgins appeared. The tall woman pulled off her hat and waved it, her long red hair streaming out like a banner in the wind.
“Hello, the house!” she called, laughing.
Then I was flying down the hill, with Jamie just before me, arms flung wide, the two of us flyng together on that same wind.
AUTHOR’S NOTES
Dams and Tunnels
In the 1950s, a great hydroelectric project was started to bring power to the Highlands, and, in the process, many dams with turbines were built. During the construction of these dams, a good many tunnels were built, a number of them long enough to require a small electric train to transport men and equipment from one end to the other. (If you’re interested in this project and its history, I recommend a book called Tunnel Tigers: A First-Hand Account of a Hydro Boy in the Highlands by Patrick Campbell, though there are several other good sources.)
Now, Loch Errochty does exist, and it does have a dam. I don’t know whether it has a tunnel exactly like the one described in the book, but if it did—that’s what it would look like; the tunnel and train are taken from multiple descriptions of the hydroelectric constructions in the Highlands. My description of the dam itself, its spillway, and its turbine room are based on those at the Pitlochry Dam.
Banastre Tarleton and the British Legion
There will likely be a certain amount of quibbling about my inclusion of Colonel Banastre Tarleton in the Battle of Monmouth, as the British Legion of which he was a commander (a regiment of mixed cavalry and artillery) was technically not in existence until after General Clinton’s return to New York following the battle. However, the British Legion did consist of two separate parts: cavalry, under the command of Banastre Tarleton, and artillery, and these parts were organized separately. The cavalry unit appears to have been in some stage of organization in early June of 1778, prior to the battle, though the artillery unit (reasonably enough, given the problems of equipping and training) was not organized until late July, after the battle, when Sir Henry Clinton had returned to New York.
Now, there is no report that I can find as to the definite whereabouts of Colonel Tarleton during the month of June 1778. While neither he nor his British Legion is listed in the official order of battle, that listing is admitted by every source I could find to be confused and deficient. Owing to the large number of militia units taking part and the irregular nature of the battle (by eighteenth-century standards), various small groups are known to have been there but were not documented, and others were there but under confusing circumstances (e.g., a portion of Daniel Morgan’s Rifle Corps was reported as taking part in the battle, but Morgan himself didn’t. I don’t know whether his absence was the result of illness, accident, or conflict, but apparently he wasn’t there, even though he plainly intended to be).
Now, if I were General Clinton, in the throes of imminent departure from Philadelphia, and more or less expecting the possibility of attack by Washington’s Rebels, and I had this nice new cavalry unit forming up in New York—would I not send word to Colonel Tarleton to bring his men on down, to lend a hand in the evacuation and to have a bit of field experience to meld them together as a new unit? I would, and I can’t think that General Clinton was less soldierly than I am.
(Besides, there is this interesting thing called novelistic license. I have one. Framed.)
The Battle of Monmouth
The battle lasted from before daylight ’til after dark: the longest battle of the Revolution. It was also by far the messiest battle of