direction of the coast, and apparently endeavoring to avoid all
collections of human habitations. Now and then, however, they met
persons in the road, who gazed at them with the same curiosity as those
they had already passed.
The scenery before them grew finer as they advanced. Near nightfall they
came near mountainous elevations, abutting on the sea-shore in great
cliffs of columnar basalt, a thousand feet and more in height, over
which leaped here and there waterfalls of great height and beauty. Their
route now lay along the base of these cliffs, on the narrow strip of
land between them and the sea.
Here they paused, just as the sun was shedding its last rays upon the
water. Seating themselves on some protruding boulders, they entered into
conversation, the fair Flora's face presenting an expression of doubt
and trouble.
"I do not like the looks of the people," she said. "They watch you too
closely. And we are still in the country of Sir Alexander, a land filled
with our enemies. If you were only a better imitation of a woman."
"Faith, I fear I'm but an awkward sample," answered Betty, in a voice of
man-like tone. "I have been doing my best, but----"
"But the lion cannot change his skin," supplied the lady. "This will not
do. We must take other measures. But our first duty is to find the
shelter fixed for to-night. It will not do to tarry here till it grows
dark."
They rose and proceeded, following Malcolm, who acted as guide. The
place was deserted, and Betty stepped out with a stride of most
unmaidenly length, as if to gain relief from her late restraint. Her
manner now would have revealed the secret to any shrewd observer. The
ungainly maid-servant was evidently a man in disguise.
We cannot follow their journey closely. It will suffice to say that the
awkwardness of the assumed Betty gave rise to suspicion on more than one
occasion in the next day or two. It became evident that, if the secret
of the disguised personage was not to be discovered, they must cease
their wanderings; some shelter must be provided, and a safer means of
progress be devised.
A shelter was obtained,--one that promised security. In the base of the
basaltic cliffs of which we have spoken many caverns had been excavated
by the winter surges of the sea. In one of these, near the village of
Portree, and concealed from too easy observation, the travellers found
refuge. Food was obtained by Malcolm from the neighboring settlement,
and some degree of comfort provided for. Leaving her disguised companion
in this shelter, with Malcolm for company, Flora went on. She had
devised a plan of procedure not without risk, but which seemed
necessary. It was too perilous to continue as they had done during the
few past days.
Leaving our travellers thus situated, we will go back in time to
consider the events which led to this journey in disguise. It was now
July, the year being 1746. On the 16th of April of the same year a
fierce battle had been fought on Culloden moor between the English army
under the Duke of Cumberland and the host of Highlanders led by Charles
Edward Stuart, the "Young Pretender." Fierce had been the fray, terrible
the bloodshed, fatal the defeat of the Highland clans. Beaten and
broken, they had fled in all directions for safety, hotly pursued by
their victorious foes.
Prince Charles had fought bravely on the field; and, after the fatal
disaster, had fled--having with him only a few Irish officers whose good
faith he trusted--to Gortuleg, the residence of Lord Lovat. If he hoped
for shelter there, he found it not. He was overcome with distress; Lord
Lovat, with fear and embarrassment. No aid was to be had from Lovat,
and, obtaining some slight refreshment, the prince rode on.
He obtained his next rest and repast at Invergarry, the castle of the
laird of Glengarry, and continued his journey into the west Highlands,
where he found shelter in a village called Glenbeisdale, near where he
had landed on his expedition for the conquest of England. For nearly a
year he had been in Scotland, pursuing a career of mingled success and
defeat, and was now back at his original landing-place, a hopeless
fugitive. Here some of the leaders of his late army communicated with
him. They had a thousand men still together, and vowed that they would
not give up hope while there were cattle in the Highlands or meal in the
Lowlands. But Prince Charles refused to deal with such a forlorn hope.
He would seek France, he said, and return with a powerful
reinforcement. With this answer he left the mainland, sailing for Long
Island, in the Hebrides, where he hoped to find a French vessel.
And now dangers, disappointments, and hardships surrounded the fugitive.
The rebellion was at an end; retribution was in its full tide. The
Highlands were being scoured, the remnants of the defeated army
scattered or massacred, the adherents of the Pretender seized, and
Charles himself was sought for with unremitting activity. The islands in
particular were closely searched, as it was believed that he had fled to
their shelter. His peril was extreme. No vessel was to be had. Storms,
contrary winds, various disappointments attended him. He sought one
hiding-place after another in Long Island and those adjoining, exposed
to severe hardships, and frequently having to fly from one place of
shelter to another. In the end he reached the island of South Uist,
where he found a faithful friend in Clanranald, one of his late
adherents. Here he was lodged in a ruined forester's hut, situated near
the summit of the wild mountain called Corradale. Even this remote and
almost inaccessible shelter grew dangerous. The island was suspected,
and a force of not less than two thousand men landed on it, with orders
to search the interior with the closest scrutiny, while small
war-vessels, cutters, armed boats, and the like surrounded the island,
rendering escape by water almost hopeless. It was in this critical state
of affairs that the devotion of a woman came to the rescue of the
imperilled Prince. Flora McDonald was visiting the family of
Clanranald. She wished to return to her home in Skye. At her suggestion
the chief provided her with the attendants whom we have already
described, her awkward maid-servant Betty Bruce being no less a
personage than the wandering prince. The daring and devoted lady was
step-daughter to a chief of Sir Alexander McDonald's clan, who was on
the king's side, and in command of a section of the party of search.
From him Flora obtained a passport for herself and two servants, and was
thus enabled to pass in safety through the cordon of investing boats. No
one suspected the humble-looking Betty Bruce as being a flying prince.
And so it was that the bird had passed through the net of the fowlers,
and found shelter in the island of Skye.
And now we must return to the fugitives, whom we left concealed in a
basaltic cavern on the rocky coast of Skye. The keen-witted Flora had
devised a new and bold plan for the safety of her charge, no less a one
than that of trusting the Lady Margaret McDonald, wife of Sir Alexander,
with her dangerous secret. This seemed like penetrating the very
stronghold of the foe; but the women of the Highlands had--most of
them--a secret leaning to Jacobitism, and Flora felt that she could
trust her high-born relative.
She did so, telling Lady Margaret her story. The lady heard it with
intense alarm. What to do she did not know. She would not betray the
prince, but her husband was absent, her house filled with militia
officers, and shelter within its walls impossible. In this dilemma she
suggested that Flora should conduct the disguised prince to the house of
McDonald of Kingsburgh, her husband's steward, a brave and intelligent
man, in whom she could fully trust.
Returning to the cavern, the courageous girl did as suggested, and had
the good fortune to bring her charge through in safety, though more than
once suspicion was raised. At Kingsburgh the connection of Flora
McDonald with the unfortunate prince ended. Her wit and shrewdness had
saved him from inevitable capture. He was now out of the immediate range
of search of his enemies, and must henceforth trust to his own devices.
From Kingsburgh the fugitive sought the island of Rasa, led by a guide
supplied by McDonald, and wearing the dress of a servant. The laird of
Rasa had taken part in the rebellion, and his domain had been plundered
in consequence. Food was scarce, and Charles suffered great distress. He
next followed his seeming master to the land of the laird of MacKinnon,
but, finding himself still in peril, felt compelled to leave the
islands, and once more landed on the Scottish mainland at Loch Nevis.
Here his peril was as imminent as it had been at South Uist. It was the
country of Lochiel, Glengarry, and other Jacobite chiefs, and was filled
with soldiers, diligently seeking the leaders of the insurrection.
Charles and his guides found themselves surrounded by foes. A complete
line of sentinels, who crossed each other upon their posts, inclosed the
district in which he had sought refuge, and escape seemed impossible.
The country was rough, bushy, and broken; and he and his companions were
forced to hide in defiles and woodland shelters, where they dared not
light a fire, and from which they could see distant soldiers and hear
the calls of the sentinels.
For two days they remained thus cooped up, not knowing at what minute
they might be taken, and almost hopeless of escape. Fortunately, they
discovered a deep and dark ravine that led down from the mountains
through the line of sentries. The posts of two of these reached to the
edges of the ravine, on opposite sides. Down this gloomy and rough
defile crept noiselessly the fugitives, hearing the tread of the
sentinels above their heads as they passed the point of danger. No alarm
was given, and the hostile line was safely passed. Once more the
fugitive prince had escaped.
And now for a considerable time Charles wandered through the rough
Highland mountains, his clothes in rags, often without food and shelter,
and not daring to kindle a fire; vainly hoping to find a French vessel
hovering off the coast, and at length reaching the mountains of
Strathglass. Here he, with Glenaladale, his companion at that time,
sought shelter in a cavern, only to find it the lurking-place of a gang
of robbers, or rather of outlaws, who had taken part in the rebellion,
and were here in hiding. There were seven of these, who lived on sheep
and cattle raided in the surrounding country.
These men looked on the ragged suppliants of their good-will at first as
fugitives of their own stamp. But they quickly recognized, in the most
tattered of the wanderers, that "Bonnie Charlie" for whom they had
risked their lives upon the battle-field, and for whom they still felt a
passionate devotion. They hailed his appearance among them with
gladness, and expressed themselves as his ardent and faithful servants
in life and death.
In this den of robbers the unfortunate prince was soon made more
comfortable than he had been since his flight from Culloden. Their faith
was unquestionable, their activity in his service unremitting. Food was
abundant, and, in addition, they volunteered to provide him with decent
clothing, and tidings of the movements of the enemy. The first was
accomplished somewhat ferociously. Two of the outlaws met the servant of
an officer, on his way to Fort Augustus with his master's baggage. This
poor fellow they killed, and thus provided their guest with a good stock
of clothing. Another of them, in disguise, made his way into Fort
Augustus. Here he learned much about the movements of the troops, and,
eager to provide the prince with something choice in the way of food,
brought him back a pennyworth of gingerbread,--a valuable luxury to his
simple soul.
For three weeks Charles remained with these humble but devoted friends.
It was not easy to break away from their enthusiastic loyalty.
"Stay with us," they said; "the mountains of gold which the government
has set upon your head may induce some gentleman to betray you, for he
can go to a distant country and live upon the price of his dishonor. But
to us there exists no such temptation. We can speak no language but our
own, we can live nowhere but in this country, where, were we to injure a
hair of your head, the very mountains would fall down to crush us to
death. Do not leave us, then. You will nowhere be so safe as with us."
This advice was hardly to Charles's taste. He preferred court-life in
France to cave-life in Scotland, and did not cease his efforts to
escape. His purposes were aided by an instance of enthusiastic devotion.
A young man named McKenzie, son of an Edinburgh goldsmith, and a
fugitive officer from the defeated army, happened to resemble the prince
closely in face and person. He was attacked by a party of soldiers,
defended himself bravely, and when mortally wounded, cried out, "Ah,
villains, you have slain your prince!"
His generous design proved successful. His head was cut off, and sent to
London as that of the princely fugitive, which it resembled so closely
that it was some time before the mistake was discovered. This error
proved of the utmost advantage to the prince. The search was greatly
relaxed, and he found it safe to leave the shelter of his cave, and
seek some of his late adherents, of whose movements he had been kept
informed. He therefore bade farewell to the faithful outlaws, with the
exception of two, who accompanied him as guides and guards.
Safety was not yet assured. It was with much difficulty, and at great
risk, that he succeeded in meeting his lurking adherents, Lochiel and
Cluny McPherson, who were hiding in Badenoch. Here was an extensive
forest, the property of Cluny, extending over the side of a mountain,
called Benalder. In a deep thicket of this forest was a well-concealed
hut, called the Cage. In this the fugitives took up their residence, and
lived there in some degree of comfort and safety, the game of the forest
and its waters supplying them with abundant food.
Word was soon after brought to Charles that two French frigates had
arrived at Lochnanuagh, their purpose being to carry him and other
fugitives to France. The news of their arrival spread rapidly through
the district, which held many fugitives from Culloden, and on the 20th
of September Charles and Lochiel, with nearly one hundred others of his
party, embarked on these friendly vessels, and set sail for France.
Cluny McPherson refused to go. He remained concealed in his own country
for several years, and served as the agent by which Charles kept up a
correspondence with the Highlanders.
On September 29 the fugitive prince landed near Morlaix, in Brittany,
having been absent from France about fourteen months, five of which had
been months of the most perilous and precarious series of escapes and
adventures ever recorded of a princely fugitive in history or romance.
During these months of flight and concealment several hundred persons
had been aware of his movements, but none, high or low, noble or outlaw,
had a thought of betraying his secret. Among them all, the devoted Flora
McDonald stands first, and her name has become historically famous
through her invaluable services to the prince.
_TRAFALGAR AND THE DEATH OF NELSON._
From the main peak of the flag-ship Victory hung out Admiral Nelson's
famous signal, "England expects every man to do his duty!" an inspiring
appeal, which has been the motto of English warriors since that day. The
fleet under the command of the great admiral was drawing slowly in upon
the powerful naval array of France, which lay awaiting him off the rocky
shore of Cape Trafalgar. It was the morning of October 21, 1805, the
dawn of the greatest day in the naval history of Great Britain.
Let us rapidly trace the events which led up to this scene,--the
prologue to the drama about to be played. The year 1805 was one of
threatening peril to England. Napoleon was then in the ambitious youth
of his power, full of dreams of universal empire, his mind set on an
invasion of the pestilent little island across the channel which should
rival the "Invincible Armada" in power and far surpass it in
performance.
Gigantic had been his preparations. Holland and Belgium were his, their
coast-line added to that of France. In a hundred harbors all was
activity, munitions being collected, and flat-bottomed boats built, in
readiness to carry an invading army to England's shores. The landing of
William the Conqueror in 1066 was to be repeated in 1805. The land
forces were encamped at Boulogne. Here the armament was to meet.
Meanwhile, the allied fleets of France and Spain were to patrol the
Channel, one part of them to keep Nelson at bay, the other part to
escort the flotilla bearing the invading army.
While Napoleon was thus busy, his enemies were not idle. The warships of
England hovered near the French ports, watching all movements, doing
what damage they could. Lord Nelson keenly observed the hostile fleet.
To throw him off the track, two French naval squadrons set sail for the
West Indies, as if to attack the British islands there. Nelson followed.
Suddenly turning, the decoying squadron came back under a press of sail,
joined the Spanish fleet, and sailed for England. Nelson had not
returned, but a strong fleet remained, under Sir Robert Calder, which
was handled in such fashion as to drive the hostile ships back to the
harbor of Cadiz.
Such was the state of affairs when Nelson again reached England. Full of
the spirit of battle, he hoisted his flag on the battle-ship Victory,
and set sail in search of his foes. There were twenty-seven
line-of-battle ships and four frigates under his command. The French
fleet, under Admiral Villeneuve, numbered thirty-three sail of the line
and seven frigates. Napoleon, dissatisfied with the disinclination of
his fleet to meet that of England, and confident in its strength,
issued positive orders, and Villeneuve sailed out of the harbor of
Cadiz, and took position in two crescent-shaped lines off Cape
Trafalgar. As soon as Nelson saw him he came on with the eagerness of a
lion in sight of its prey, his fleet likewise in two lines, his signal
flags fluttering with the inspiring order, "England expects every man to
do his duty."
The wind was from the west, blowing in light breezes; a long, heavy
swell ruffled the sea. Down came the great ships, Collingwood, in the
Royal Sovereign, commanding the lee-line; Nelson, in the Victory,
leading the weather division. One order Nelson had given, which breathes
the inflexible spirit of the man. "His admirals and captains, knowing
his object to be that of a close and decisive action, would supply any
deficiency of signals, and act accordingly. In case signals cannot be
seen or clearly understood, _no captain can do wrong if he places his
ship alongside that of an enemy_."
Nelson wore that day his admiral's frock-coat, bearing on the breast
four stars, the emblems of the orders with which he had been invested.
His officers beheld these ornaments with apprehension. There were
riflemen on the French ships. He was offering himself as a mark for
their aim. Yet none dare suggest that he should remove or cover the
stars. "In honor I gained them, and in honor I will die with them," he
had said on a previous occasion.
The long swell set in to the bay of Cadiz. The English ships moved with
it, all sail set, a light southwest wind filling their canvas. Before
them lay the French ships, with the morning sun on their sails,
presenting a stately and beautiful appearance.
On came the English fleet, like a flock of giant birds swooping low
across the ocean. Like a white flock at rest awaited the French
three-deckers. Collingwood's line was the first to come into action,
Nelson steering more to the north, that the flight of the enemy to
Cadiz, in case of their defeat, should be prevented. Straight for the
centre of the foeman's line steered the Royal Sovereign, taking her
station side by side with the Santa Anna, which she engaged at the
muzzle of her guns.
"What would Nelson give to be here!" exclaimed Collingwood, in delight.
"See how that noble fellow, Collingwood, carries his ship into action!"
responded Nelson from the deck of the Victory.
It was not long before the two fleets were in hot action, the British
ships following Collingwood's lead in coming to close quarters with the
enemy. As the Victory approached, the French ships opened with
broadsides upon her, in hopes of disabling her before she could close
with them. Not a shot was returned, though men were falling on her decks
until fifty lay dead or wounded, and her main-top-mast, with all her
studding-sails and booms, had been shot away.
[Illustration: THE OLD TEMERAIRE.]
"This is too warm work, Hardy, to last," said Nelson, with a smile, as a
splinter tore the buckle from the captain's shoe.
Twelve o'clock came and passed. The Victory was now well in. Firing from
both sides as she advanced, she ran in side by side with the
Redoubtable, of the French fleet, both ships pouring broadsides into
each other. On the opposite side of the Redoubtable came up the English
ship Temeraire, while another ship of the enemy lay on the opposite side
of the latter.
The four ships lay head to head and side to side, as close as if they
had been moored together, the muzzles of their guns almost touching. So
close were they that the middle-and lower-deck guns of the Victory had
to be depressed and fired with light charges, lest their balls should
pierce through the foe and injure the Temeraire. And lest the
Redoubtable should take fire from the lower-deck guns, whose muzzles
touched her side when they were run out, the fireman of each gun stood
ready with a bucket of water to dash into the hole made by the shot.
While the starboard guns of the Victory were thus employed, her larboard
guns were in full play upon the Bucentaure and the huge Santissima
Trinidad. This warm work was repeated through the entire fleet. Never
had been closer and hotter action.
The fight had reached its hottest when there came a tragical event that
rendered the victory at Trafalgar, glorious as it was, a loss to
England. The Redoubtable, after her first broadside, had closed her
lower-deck ports, lest the English should board her through them. She
did not fire another great gun during the action. But her tops, like
those of her consorts, were filled with riflemen, whose balls swept the
decks of the assailing ships. One of these, fired from the mizzen-top of
the Redoubtable, not fifteen yards from where Nelson stood, struck him
on the left shoulder, piercing the epaulette. It was about quarter after
one, in the heat of the action. He fell upon his face.
"They have done for me, at last, Hardy," he said, as his captain ran to
his assistance.
"I hope not!" cried Hardy.
"Yes," he replied, "my backbone is shot through."
A thorough sailor to the last, he saw, as they were carrying him below,
that the tiller ropes which had been shot away were not replaced, and
ordered that this should be immediately attended to. Then, that he might
not be seen by the crew, he spread his handkerchief over his face and
his stars. But for his needless risk in revealing them before, he might
have lived.
The cockpit was crowded with the wounded and dying men. Over their
bodies he was carried, and laid upon a pallet in the midshipmen's berth.
The wound was mortal. A brief examination showed this. He had known it
from the first, and said to the surgeon,--
"Leave me, and give your services to those for whom there is some hope.
You can do nothing for me."
Such was the fact. All that could be done was to fan him, and relieve
his intense thirst with lemonade. On deck the fight continued with
undiminished fury. The English star was in the ascendant. Ship after
ship of the enemy struck, the cheers of the crew of the Victory
heralding each surrender, while every cheer brought a smile of joy to
the face of the dying veteran.
"Will no one bring Hardy to me?" he repeatedly cried. "He must be
killed! He is surely dead!"
In truth, the captain dared not leave the deck. More than an hour
elapsed before he was able to come down. He grasped in silence the hand
of the dying admiral.