Original subtitles

Previously...

We will unite the clans and I will lead you all to glory.

Charles has landed in Scotland and is gathering his army.

Then what will ye do, brother?

To save our clans, our country,

we must band together.

Angus! Rupert!

Dougal! Colum change his mind then?

Colum's mind is his own. We are here.

We'll make a fine group of Highland soldiers.

It is our time.

These are my men, my clan.

They'll answer to me and no one else.

If you choose to fight with Clan Fraser,

then you'll follow my orders without objection.

I would give my life

to see a Stuart back on the throne.

If we have the discipline to fight together,

then by God, we will win.

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_

How many men had I seen killed in war?

This Highlander

who had run afoul of a redcoat patrol

was only the latest one.

The rebellion Jamie and I had labored so hard to prevent

was upon us.

Our only hope was that somehow we could change the outcome.

I feared in my heart that history would not be rewritten.

That no matter how many battles we might win,

victory would remain forever out of reach.

Claire, how long do you need to take a simple pish?

I'll be right there.

How many men had I seen killed in war?

Far, far too many.

There, sir. Right there is your enemy.

Yet we do nothing but sit here and twiddle our thumbs.

And what would you have the Lord General do, John?

Pardon me, Quartermaster O'Sullivan.

Well, attack, damn it.

Pardon me, Your Highness, but... but for the life of me,

I cannot understand why General Murray insists

we waste our time in dilly-dally.

I rushed the army here

to ensure our possession of the high ground.

And now you wish us to abandon such a strong defensive position

and attack the enemy in force?

Indeed I do, sir.

Time, sir. Time is of the essence.

We must not tarry, Your Majesty.

We must strike and strike hard.

May I remind the Quartermaster

any attacking force will have to cross here,

through Tranent Meadows.

Though "meadow" is a fancy name

for the bog that lies between us and the enemy.

Since when did a Scotsman

shy away from a bit of mud, huh?

Especially when there's an enemy waiting for him

on the other side.

Since when does an Irish-born officer dismiss the dangers

of boggy ground to an infantry attack?

Well, thank God. A sane voice, at last.

Can you imagine, Sire?

Your army wallowing helplessly while under a withering volley

from the British Brown Bess musket?

A weapon deadly at 50 yards and accurate up to 100.

Cavalry could prove useful to our needs.

Both to test the ground and to report on the enemy position.

Aye, a braw squad of dragoons

could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

Let us not speak of defeat or of cavalry we do not have.

And as for the Lord General, may I remind him

that he would be remaining behind the lines,

and therefore need not be concerned

about British marksmanship.

Damn my liver! What are you implying, sir?

I imply nothing, sir.

I'm merely grateful that we are dependent

upon the bravery of our warriors...

Here, here!

who are not afraid to face shot or shell

to pursue a glorious victory for our prince

and for our king.

Mark me,

now it is but weeks gone

since we took the cities of Perth and Edinburgh

without firing a single shot.

And let us not forget,

they welcomed me with open arms.

Aye, but on both occasions

we possessed the element of surprise, Your Royal Highness.

General Cope wasna expecting us.

His troops fled.

And that won't happen again, Sir.

Perhaps if I were to arrange a meeting with the General?

Offer him generous terms of surrender.

Give him my word

his men will be allowed to march back to England unmolested.

I am sure he has no more desire

to shed English blood than I have.

We are all brothers after all.

Even as a young lad

you had the kindest of hearts, Sir.

But I fear the time for talk is done.

We sailed from France to fight a war.

Let us fight...

and be done with it.

I will not risk destroying our army...

by ordering it to cross potentially lethal ground.

Is that clear, sir?

I will not allow it.

Then resign your commission

and let the prince find himself a general

with a firmer backbone!

You pompous toe-rag!

While you two exchange insults,

what do I tell Clan MacDonald?

Tell your men to await further orders.

Which may be some time.

Why must the Scots be such intractable people?

Aye, we can be pig-headed on occasion.

On many an occasion.

As can the Irish, I fear.

Our cause must succeed, James.

I promised my father, and I have promised God.

Mark me.

Your noble wife will be among those providing medical succor

for those poor souls in need of such

come the cannon's roar?

Aye, she's helping to set up a field hospital

even as we speak, Your Royal Highness.

Be so kind to tell her

the prince asks that British casualties be tended to

before the Jacobite wounded.

The British are my father's subjects also,

and I will have them well cared for.

They must be made to realize the Scots wage war upon them

with the greatest of reluctance.

They are our enemies now, but one day soon

they will be our friends again.

I'm afraid the British have never been a friend

to the Scots.

But as your friend,

I would advise you not to speak of such things

within earshot of the men.

They would not appreciate such sentiment.

Nor do I believe would my wife

follow such an order.

From her prince, perhaps not.

But surely Lady Broch Tuarach

would prove obedient to an edict from her lord and master.

Aye.

Enough!

"Enough," ye say?

That's what he said, all right.

I heard it with these very ears.

The ale ye waste now

is ale ye'll probably be wanting later.

Quench the thirst of battle.

"The thirst of battle," ye say?

What would ye two cotters ken of battle, eh?

Cotters we may be,

but we're here, same as you.

For gore and glory.

Gore and glory, is it?

There's no pigs ye're slaughtering here,

but men.

And they'll be looking to do the same to you.

We know our task,

and we'll do what needs doing

to return the king across the water.

Will ye now?

I bet ye Lallybroch tumshies will turn arse

and run at first blast of cannon fire.

Ye take that back, ye buggering wee shite!

Hey, ye fancy a doing?

Come on, I'll open ye from yer belly to yer bone!

Put that blade down

or I'll ram it up yer arse until ye taste it.

Ye try it, ye bushy-faced whoreson!

For the love of Christ,

how can a man nap with all this blathering?

Is that a dirk I see in yer hand?

Angus.

See yer getting on as well as our commanders.

Have we orders, Jamie?

No. Nor are we likely to

while the general and O'Sullivan

remain hopping mad at each other.

It sounds like someone in the front ranks

could do with a good arse kicking, eh?

If only that was all was needed.

What is required

is a reconnaissance of the marshland

that sits between us and the British camp.

Discover if the ground is solid enough

for our army to cross.

So the plan is for us to attack?

If the Quartermaster has his way.

Though I'm of a mind it's the better part of valor

to force the British to come to us.

But not even O'Sullivan will countenance an attack

until the question of the ground is solved.

To undertake such a mission

under the very guns of our enemies

will be naught but suicide.

So, eat yer fill and rest up.

Save the whisky for when we have cause to celebrate.

Dougal, a word.

It would be an easy thing to have someone ride out

to take a measure of the marshland?

And get a musket ball between the eyes for their trouble.

Not if he's prudent.

And lucky.

There's no other way about it.

If the ground can support a man on horseback,

it can support infantry.

And, uh,

is it yerself ye're nominating?

'Cause if ye survive such foolishness,

the prince would have yer head for endangering the life

of one of his most trusted aides.

Hmm. Aye.

He would not be best pleased.

No.

Still and all,

someone has to risk the doing.

And all I need to do is stay out of range of their guns.

125 yards should do it.

I was thinking more 105.

The redcoats will only be too happy to crack away

at a living, breathing target.

Oh, aye, it's a gamble,

but it's worth the risk.

Besides,

I'd like to prove my mettle to the prince

and Lord Murray

and the rest of these jackanapes.

So then,

125 yards?

Or thereabouts.

Here, look.

All right, men.

Come on, then, to ranks.

Load.

Extraordinary fellow.

That's Dougal MacKenzie.

Personal friend of mine.

You are?

I'm your prince, Charles Edward Stuart.

Are ye really?

Ye hear that?

I'm talking to the prince.

An honor to make yer acquaintance,

- Your Royal Highness. - Quite so.

Easy, boy.

Fire at will!

- Fire! - Come on.

Ease off, lads.

I think we've learned all we need to know.

Quite enough.

Surrender.

Bravo! Bravo!

Mark me, if I had 100 men like you,

this war would be over tomorrow.

Well, I dinna ken about that, Your Royal Highness,

but I fear that it's joyless news

that I bring back with me.

Indeed.

Gentlemen,

there will be no glorious Highland charge

through Tranent Meadows.

Damn me, we can't get to the British,

and they can't get to us.

We should disengage from the enemy

under cover of darkness

and return to Edinburgh.

And wait for the British to lay siege to the city?

The enemy is here, General, not in Edinburgh.

Now, I look to you to break this stalemate

or I will be forced to find myself a new general.

Ye're a lucky bastard.

Ye should get that looked at.

Either way.

It's just a scratch.

And now, I'm off to change my breeks

because the hero of the hour has shat his pants.

So, apparently your Doctor MacPherson

left Tranent a few days ago.

But fortunately, he left his medical bag behind.

The instruments in it will prove useful,

more useful than the doctor himself probably would have.

So, it is up to us to tend to the wounded.

And I have no doubt that together

we will be able to do it.

Molly Cockburn, you're a strong girl.

Now, your job is to see to it that the pails and buckets

are filled at all times.

And use water from the well only.

Yes, Lady Broch Tuarach.

There's no time for all of that.

"Claire" is fine.

Fergus?

Please?

I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name.

Alice McMurdo, Madame.

Alice, that's right.

You are responsible for looking after the honey water.

Begging your pardon,

I don't see what good sweet water's going to do

for bullet wounds.

Well, for the wounds themselves, nothing.

But it will help keep the patients' blood pressure up.

Trust me, it's important.

It will also help replace any fluids lost

and prevent shock.

And our friend Fergus here, he will be responsible

for keeping the kettle fires burning.

Women's work.

I-I'm sorry. What was that?

Nothing, Milady.

Leave it to me.

Thank you.

Milady! Milady!

This gentleman, he wishes to speak

to the commander of His Highness' army.

Has information of the utmost importance.

Allina, Alice, a moment please.

Sir.

I'm Richard Anderson of Whitburgh, Madame.

Lady Broch Tuarach, Claire Fraser.

Yes, Milady.

Ye see, I've lived in these parts all my life.

My father owns the land, so I ken the grounds

where the armies are like the back of my hand.

There's a way down from the ridge

where the Highland troops are.

A small, hidden trail that will lead them

past the bog at the bottom

to catch the English unawares.

- I see. - If I may speak

to a commander, perhaps Lord Murray himself.

Fergus, do you think you can find your master?

Yes, I-I will find him.

Go now, but be careful.

Tell him to come back straightaway

to speak with Mr. Anderson.

Here, you say?

Aye. Or thereabouts.

I don't ken much from maps.

There's no such path marked.

Marked or no, it's there.

As I told Mrs. Fraser, it's a narrow, winding path,

hard to spot in daylight,

and hopeless to find in the dark.

Unless ye ken where to look.

And you do?

Aye, I do.

Fortune drops out of the sky and onto our doorstep.

Convenient, is it not?

If we dare trust this boy.

And ye're willing to lead us across the meadows?

There's no other way for it.

I'm no much for fighting,

but I'll get ye from here to there

without a misstep.

Thank you, Mr. Anderson.

Your help is much appreciated.

I do wish that John was here.

I pray I might hear his opinion.

And I pray the Quartermaster is off somewhere

gathering much needed victuals for this army.

Delay could prove fatal, Your Royal Highness.

Off we go, gentlemen.

Now we shall not return

unless we bring victory back with us.

I'm not saying it's going to happen,

but if it does, if I'm to fall in battle,

it would ease me greatly to know

that you'll watch over Bess and the croft.

And I'll do the same for you,

if it proves necessary.

My Marina and the six bairns?

I'd wish them on no man.

Listen, there's a wee bit of coin

buried south of the pig sty.

She-devil knows where.

- Then it's settled. - Aye.

What's mine is yours, and yours mine.

You can have my sword.

And my dirk.

And my sporran.

And all that it contains, eh?

What are you havering about now?

Were ye no listening to those two?

What's his is his.

What's mine is yours.

What use would I have for a sword

that's never been used?

Ye think I need a fat man's blade

dangling from my hip?

Eh?

It occurs to me...

I'll be leaving Scarlet to ye as well.

Scarlet the whore?

Part-time whore.

Full-time barmaid.

She's not yours to give, ye daft bastard.

Well, I'm saying she is.

And it's ye I'll be giving her to.

Do ye accept?

I do not.

Now shut yer gab

before ye bring the devil's own eye upon us.

If ye dinna put that whetstone down,

ye'll be grinding that blade to a needle.

May as well get it off yer chest.

Whatever it is.

Ah...

It's just...

In a raid, every man has a part to play.

You tell yerself that the raid's success or failure

is dependent on yer actions.

And if ye're forced to wound a man,

kill him even,

chances are...

ye stare into his eyes when doing it.

And if you were to be killed,

ye'd die knowing that yer memory

would live on within yer clan.

Yer death would have meaning.

But this...

this is different.

We're but part of a 2,000 strong army.

My death, your death, alone would be meaningless.

500, 1,000 would have to be slain

before our deaths take on any meaning.

That's not a very comforting thought on the eve of battle.

Aye.

It weighs on me.

If it's words of comfort ye're looking for,

I've none to give.

In Paris,

I almost lost my marriage

trying to stop all of this from happening.

I failed.

We.

We failed.

If there's any solace,

I feel much the same way you do.

Aye.

It is.

Make sure you get some sleep, Sassenach.

Tomorrow will be a... a trying day for us all.

I don't think sleep will be an option for anyone tonight.

Milady, Milord.

I request permission to join you in the fight that is to come.

And who will keep the hospital fires burning, hmm?

I'm sure someone else can handle such work.

I can sneak into the very tent of General Cope.

I will steal his sword.

A general cannot fight without his sword.

I don't doubt yer capabilities, laddie.

But without you, who will look after the women?

Uh, the... the same person who keeps the fires lit,

I don't know.

Mm. And what of our Lady Broch Tuarach, huh?

There's no one I trust with her safety more than you.

Looks like you're going to have to stay

and like it. Is that understood?

Jamie.

It's time.

It's time to send the British army to hell.

If you ask me,

the British don't stand a chance.

Angus.

Surely there's another woman you can have kiss you good-bye.

Oh, none that will have him.

Must I remind you, Mistress,

at this time tomorrow

I could be laying in a field bleeding to death?

I would hate for my last thought to be

how you denied me my final request.

You are shameless.

I'll not say good-bye to ye, Claire.

No need to, since none of us

will be meeting our maker in this place.

When we meet again, it'll be to embrace in victory,

share a stiff dram.

Mistress.

Watch over Jamie.

Always.

We will win the day, correct?

It is the promise of history.

Yes, we will win this day.

So we shall.

On your way, soldier.

Get some rest, all of you.

That's an order.

Have any of you seen Fergus?

I'll be leaving you now if it's all the same to you, General.

I'm no general,

but all of Scotland's in your debt.

General Murray,

you see the prince stays here out of harm's way.

I shall indeed.

Gentlemen,

must I remind you that this is my army?

Now I very much desire to lead them into battle.

It is my right and my destiny.

I carry a sword,

and I am trained in its use.

I dinna doubt it, but Your Royal Highness must realize

this rebellion would never survive your death.

Besides, regaining the throne would never mean as much

to King James if the son that made it possible

wasna there to share the moment wi' him.

A touching sentiment, James.

Mark me,

I don't believe my father is all that fond of me.

Nevertheless,

ye shall remain behind the lines

with the Quartermaster and the Lord General.

I need these strips to be a little wider.

Yes, Madame.

That looks good.

Just keep going.

I know what you're all feeling.

I've been there myself.

The fear. The self-doubt.

But our men are depending on us.

And we will not let them down.

Boil these again. They need to be spotless.

Right away.

Everyone up! Get up!

"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High

"shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

- I will say of the Lord... " - Go get more firewood, please.

We're going to need lots and lots of hot water.

"He is my refuge and my fortress: my God:

in Him will I trust."

I'm sorry, lad, ye'll have to bite it tight.

Ross?

Come with me.

Could someone get some more hot water?

More dressings!

If ye could rip more dressings!

I'm sorry.

Sorry?

He's gone.

Claire.

There's nothing more I can do.

Come on!

Stand your ground, you dogs!

Don't turn your back on these traitors!

Stand your ground!

The British! The British prisoners are here.

We mean you no harm, Madame.

But we do require your assistance.

Allina, sort these men out by the severity of their wounds.

- Come with me. - You two, over there.

Get this man on to a bed.

Rupert, he needs you, Mistress.

Rupert, I'll be there in a second.

Now!

- Allina, take over here. - Yes, ma'am.

Ye must save him, Mistress.

I'll no allow that fat bawbag to die on me.

Oh.

Molly, we have to close this wound

before an infection sets in.

Get me hot water, a large needle, and thread.

- Now! - Right away, mistress.

Angus, it was Angus. Is he blown up?

Tell me!

- What's he talking about? - It's just a cannon blast.

It's nothing.

Damn it all!

Stand your ground!

Tell me true, Mistress,

will he live?

I wish I knew.

But he's strong,

and if the wound doesn't fester, then...

Let me see that head of yours.

Come on.

Your eyes are clear. Any nausea?

No. I told ye, I'm fine.

If it's anything, it's a mild concussion.

So you can stay here by Rupert,

but no napping; I want you awake.

Well, I must admit,

I'm bone-weary,

but I'll be keeping both eyes on this big belly

going up and down.

Well, as long as it does, there's hope.

Aye.

The day is ours, Sassenach.

The British are routed.

General Cope is in retreat,

leaving hundreds of dead and wounded behind.

And our losses can't number more than 50 men.

The whole thing took all of 15 minutes.

If only we had cavalry, huh,

we could have pursued the enemy, captured General Cope,

perhaps put an end to the rebellion

this very morning.

Where's Fergus?

I'm sure he went to fight.

Dinna fash, Sassenach.

Take a wee peek outside.

Fergus!

Oh, you wretch!

What do you mean by sneaking off like that?

Should box your ears until your head rattles.

- Milady. - Are you all right?

I...

I-I killed an English soldier, Milady.

Don't tell me that.

I think I killed him.

He... he fell down.

I had a knife.

I struck him.

Oh, God, Fergus.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

You aren't injured, are you?

No.

I'm just...

tired.

Very, very tired.

Come with me.

I'll get you some food,

somewhere to sleep.

Ahh!

Dougal MacKenzie.

Do I know ye?

Lieutenant Jeremy Foster.

I accompanied you and the lady Claire Beauchamp

to the village of Brockton.

Oh, aye.

The only honorable redcoat

in Lord Thomas' staff.

I would be much obliged if you would see me to your infirmary.

Oh, ye expect me to carry ye to Tranent?

I've still got work to do here.

Is your thirst for slaughter not quenched yet?

You've won a great victory today.

Aye.

And I wager there'll be many more to follow.

A war chief should know better.

I tell you this in all candor:

you cannot defeat the British army.

You've won a battle, but you will never win this war.

Well...

No. No!

God alone knows the answer to that.

Shush.

There, there.

And if so...

I'll look for you in hell.

We did not run.

Dinna fash yerself,

that blubber no doubt protected his innards.

Aye.

Must have been those third portions he gobbled that did it.

Aye, the man could eat.

Can eat, I meant to say.

Easy now, ally,

you look done in.

No, it's just...

It's been a long night.

What is that?

You look like you got stepped on by a horse.

Hm, 'cause I was.

The British were in such retreat

an officer galloped right over me.

Here, fill this.

You've had 400 weight of horse step on your kidney.

I want to see if there's any blood in your urine.

Here.

Hold this while I take aim.

Six pence says you can't make it

from where you stand.

Ah, I wouldna say it was easy, but for six pence,

ow, I'll make the effort.

Silence, everyone.

Let the man concentrate.

Madame Fraser,

your labors on our behalf are much appreciated.

Your Royal Highness.

Please be careful of the blood; the floor is slippery.

I bring you the blessing and gratitude of my father.

Your deeds today will be forever remembered.

If this victory had been obtained over foreigners,

my joy would be complete.

But as it is over Englishmen,

it brings a damp chill over my heart.

I say to you all:

I came here in the interests of both our countries,

which are, in truth,

but one country.

- My father will tell me... - Victory is ours!

Let the writing of the ballads begin.

Dougal!

What's this, then? What?

Do ye mean to tell me ye been tending this scum

as if they were yer own kin?

Dougal, the British were taught

a lesson this morning they are not soon to forget.

Like bloody hell.

I say we put an end to this shit here...

No, killing these men willna add to our victory.

Ye call these bastards "men"?

Yes.

Men.

And they are my father's subjects.

And each one of them

is your brother.

My God, sir, where is your Christian charity?

James...

I wish for you to remove this gentleman

from the muster roll immediately.

There is no place for such wanton disregard

for Englishmen in my army.

Dougal MacKenzie is a true warrior.

Your Royal Highness, I ken it well,

despite his foolish tongue.

If this army is to triumph,

we'll need every warrior we can muster.

Yes, James.

And the fastest horse will undoubtedly win the race.

Now what good is it

when its master is tossed from its saddle in the process?

What am I to do with such a blood-thirsty barbarian?

We... promote him...

Your Royal Highness.

As captain of the newly formed

Highlander Dragoons,

give him 15

of our best riders and horses.

Let them follow the enemy,

report on troop movements,

harass his supply lines.

That way, we use his abilities...

and Your Royal Highness will never have to lay eyes upon him.

You have an ingenious mind, James.

You are in his debt, rouge.

See that he does not come to lament his benevolence.

I thank you, lad.

Truly.

And I swear...

that I will not give you cause to regret your generosity.

But I know what ye're up to.

Ye champion me and ye exile me,

both at the same time.

That's a plan worthy of my brother Colum.

Angus, how's Rupert?

Talk to me, man. He's my friend as well.

Claire!

Angus!

Oh, my God, the cannon blast.

He's been bleeding internally this whole time.

- Angus. - Is there nothing you can do?

I expected the flavor of victory to taste sweeter.

Aye. War tastes bitter, no matter the outcome.

Well, Claire,

turns out you were right about Prestonpans after all.

I was, wasn't I?

That means I'm also right

about the disaster awaiting us at Culloden.

♪ Down, down, down, down ♪

♪ Here's a health to the king ♪

♪ And a lasting peace ♪

♪ To factions end and wealth increase ♪

♪ Come let us drink while we have breath ♪

♪ For there's no drinking after death ♪

♪ And he that would

♪ This toast deny ♪

♪ Down among the dead men ♪

♪ Down among the dead men ♪

♪ Down, down, down, down ♪

♪ Down among the dead men, let him lie ♪

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