A Red-Misted Dawn

By CelticWarriorQueen17

In silence, fog rolled down from the mountainsides of Glencoe, reticently concealing the dark stains of crimson upon half-melted snow and the cruelly mutilated remains of what had once been many of the people who had made their home in this rugged valley. 

Just a few hours before, there had been life. Now, only a ghastly stillness remained, broken only by the icy February wind moaning among the barren rocks and empty crofts. Fires still burned at unattended hearths, but those who had once warmed themselves by the saffron flames had been silenced forever. 

Here and there, a door swung open and closed with the wind; there was no one to bolt it. The sulphurous scent of burnt saltpetre could still be detected amidst the palpable aura of death and the bitterness of a deep betrayal. 

As the eastern sky metamorphosed itself from sable emptiness to pearl grey, more and more of the carnage became evident. The flames upon the hearths had long burned themselves out, never to be lit again. 

Upon the barren, stony hills, frozen corpses could be found, having escaped the massacre happening down in the valley only to succumb to death by over-exposure. 

Thirty-eight lay dead in the valley, their blood long drained into the trampled snow. Around forty or more glaciated cadavers lay on the hillsides, deceased witnesses to an appalling treason that would go down in history as the Massacre of Glencoe. 

The sun at last rose, misting red the fog that slowly began to dissipate away. The evidence of British justice became clearer with the dawn's light--justice that had gone miserably awry.

The wind tossed about the ruins of the once thriving village. Upon the bitter gusts was carried a small sheet of paper that had clearly seen much opening and refolding. The walls of the crofts scattered about the valley were the only witnesses now who had seen the owner of the paper often open and close it, deliberating between carrying out the terrible command written therein or risking losing his position in the army and possibly his life if he refused. 

On February 12th, in the year of our Lord 1692, this letter had been delivered to Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton to carry out a command of execution to "all under the age of seventy," primarily "Chieftain McDonald and his sons." 

Lord Stair, Secretary of State for Scotland, had been given an order that all Highland chieftains had to swear an oath of loyalty to His Royal Majesty, King William III of England and II of Scotland before January 1st, 1692, on pain of annihilation. 

Chieftain McDonald of Glencoe had sworn the oath, but it was only made official five days past the first of January. Lord Stair had called for an execution of, as he deemed it, the treasonous chieftain and all his clan. 

And so the sun rose misty-red, dawning upon all that now remained of the village of Glencoe: the bloodied and frozen remains of the fulfilled command.