ON THE LONG ISLAND
THE object of the expedition was, of course, to find some vessel big
enough to carry the Prince and his friends over to France. Such ships
were to be had in Stornoway, and Donald MacLeod, being a man well known
in these parts, undertook to secure a vessel and pilot, under the
pretence of going on a trading expedition to the Orkneys. The Prince and
his party were to remain at Scalpa till Donald should send for them. On
May 3 came the message that vessel and pilot were in readiness, and that
they should come to Stornoway without a moment's delay.
Owing to the wind being ahead it was impossible to go by sea, and the
Prince and his two Irish followers were forced to go the thirty miles to
Stornoway on foot. No footpath led through the wastes of heavy, boggy
moorlands, the rain fell with an even downpour, and the guide stupidly
mistook the way and added eight long Highland miles to the distance.
They were thoroughly drenched, exhausted, and famished when Donald met
them at a place a mile or two out of Stornoway. Having cheered their
bodies with bread and cheese and brandy, and their souls with the
hopeful prospect of starting the next day for France, he took them to a
house in the neighbourhood, Kildun, where the mistress, though a
MacLeod, was, like most of her sex, an ardent Jacobite. Leaving the
Prince and his friends to the enjoyment of food, dry clothes, a good
fire, and the prospect of comfortable beds for tired limbs, Donald went
back to Stornoway in hopeful spirits to complete his arrangements for
taking the Prince on board. Another twenty-four hours and the ship would
have weighed anchor, and the worst difficulties would be left behind.
But as soon as he entered Stornoway he saw that something was wrong.
Three hundred men of the militia were in arms, and the whole place was
in an uproar. The secret had leaked out; one of the boat's crew, getting
tipsy, had boasted that the Prince was at hand with five hundred men,
ready to take by force what he could not obtain by good-will.
The inhabitants of Stornoway were all Mackenzies, pledged by their
chief, Seaforth, to loyal support of the Government. It is eternally to
their honour that all that they demanded was that the Prince should
instantly remove himself from their neighbourhood. Not one amongst them
seems to have suggested that a sum of 30,000_l._ was to be gained by
taking the Prince prisoner. So complete was Donald's confidence in their
honesty that he did not hesitate to say to a roomful of armed
militiamen, 'He has only two companions with him, _and when I am there I
make a third_, and yet let me tell you, gentlemen, that if Seaforth
himself were here he durst not put a hand to the Prince's breast.'
Donald doubtless looked pretty formidable as he said these words; at any
rate, the 'honest Mackenzies' had no sinister intentions, only they
vehemently insisted that the party should depart at once, and, what was
worse, absolutely refused to give them a pilot. In vain Donald offered
500_l._; fear made them obdurate; and so, depressed and crestfallen,
Donald returned to Kildun and urged the Prince to instant flight. But
not even the fear of immediate capture could induce the three wearied
men to set out again in the wet and darkness to plod over rocks and
morasses with no certain goal. So Donald had to control his fears and
impatience till next day.
At eight next morning they started in the boat, hospitable Mrs. MacLeod
insisting on their taking with them beef, meal, and even the luxuries of
brandy, butter, and sugar. The weather being stormy they landed on a
little desert island called Eiurn, which the Stornoway fishermen used as
a place for drying fish. Between some fish which they found drying on
the rocks and Mrs. MacLeod's stores they lived in comparative luxury for
the next few days. Ned Burke, the valet, was told off as cook; but he
soon found that the Prince was far more skilful in the art of cookery
than himself. It was his Royal Highness who suggested the luxury of
butter with the fish, and who made a quite original cake by mixing the
brains of a cow with some meal, giving orders to 'birsle the bannock
weel, or it would not do at all.' Donald used to declare that in all his
life 'he never knew anyone better at a shift than the Prince when he
happened to be at a pinch.' Like many another unfortunate man, whether
prince or peasant, Charles found unfailing comfort in tobacco. He seems
to have smoked nothing more splendid than clay pipes, and 'as in his
wanderings these behoved to break, he used to take quills, and putting
one into the other and all into the end of the "cutty," this served to
make it long enough, and the tobacco to smoke cool.'
Donald records another characteristic little trait of the Prince at this
time. On quitting the island he insisted on leaving money on the rocks
to pay for the fish they had consumed.[6]
In the meantime the situation was growing more and more dangerous.
Rumours had got abroad that the Prince was in the Long Island, and the
search was being actively pursued. Two English men-of-war were stationed
near the island, and sloops and gunboats ran up every bay and sound,
while bodies of militia carried on the search by land. These, from their
intimate knowledge of the country, would have been the more formidable
enemy of the two if many of their officers had not had a secret sympathy
with the Jacobite cause and very lukewarm loyalty to the Government.
For several days the Prince's boat had been so constantly pursued that
it was impossible for the crew to land. They ran short of food, and were
reduced to eating oatmeal mixed with salt water, a nauseous mixture
called in Gaelic, Drammach. At last they ran into a lonely bay in
Benbecula, where they were free from pursuit. It is characteristic of
the Prince's irrepressible boyishness that he and the boatmen here went
lobster-hunting with great enjoyment and success.
Without help at this juncture the little party must either have starved
or fallen into the hands of their enemies. Charles therefore sent a
message to the old chief of Clanranald--the largest proprietor in South
Uist--begging him to come and see him.
Nine months before, when the Prince had landed on that island on his way
from France, the old gentleman had refused to see him, pleading old age
and infirmity. His brother, Macdonald of Boisdale, had seen the Prince
and had vehemently urged him to give up so hopeless a design and to
return to France; and, when he found that all persuasion was in vain,
had roundly refused to promise him any assistance from his brother's
clan. And though young Clanranald had, indeed, joined the Prince's
standard, it was with many misgivings and against his better judgment.
But now, in the hour of Charles's total abandonment and distress, this
gallant family laid aside all selfish prudence. The old chief, in spite
of age and ill-health, came immediately to the wretched hut where
Charles had taken refuge, bringing with him Spanish wines, provisions,
shoes, and stockings. He found the young man, whom he reverenced as his
rightful king, in a hut as big as, and no cleaner than, a pig-stye,
haggard and worn with hardship and hunger. 'His shirt,' as Dougal
Graham, the servant, was quick to observe, 'was as dingy as a
dish-clout.' That last little detail of misery appealed strongly to the
womanly heart of Lady Clanranald, who immediately sent six good shirts
to the Prince.
For the next three weeks Charles enjoyed a respite under the vigilant
protection of Clanranald and his brother Boisdale. They found a
hiding-place for him in the Forest-house of Glencoridale, a hut rather
bigger and better than most. By a system of careful spies and watchers
they kept the Prince informed of every movement of the enemy. It was the
month of June--June as it is in the North, when days are warm and sunny
and the evening twilight is prolonged till the early dawn, and there is
no night at all. South Uist, beyond all other islands of the Hebrides,
abounds in game of all kinds, and the Prince was always a keen
sportsman. He delighted his followers by shooting birds on the wing, he
fished (though it was only sea-fishing from a boat), and he shot
red-deer on the mountains.
Once, when Ned Burke was preparing some collops from a deer the Prince
had shot, a wild, starved-looking lad approached, and seeing the food,
thrust his hand into the dish without either 'with your leave or by your
leave,' and began devouring it like a savage. Ned in a rage very
naturally began to beat the boy, but the gentle Prince interfered, and
reminded his servant of the Christian duty of feeding the hungry,
adding, 'I cannot see anyone perish for lack of food or raiment if I
have it in my power to help them.' Having been fed and clothed the
wretched boy went off straight to a body of militia in the neighbourhood
and tried to betray the Prince to them. Fortunately, his appearance and
manners were such that no one believed him, and he was laughed at for
his pains. Out of at least a hundred souls, gentle and simple, who knew
of the Prince's hiding-place, this 'young Judas' was the only one who
dropped the slightest hint of his whereabouts.
Nor was it only among the Jacobite clans that Charles found devoted and
vigilant friends.
The two most powerful chiefs in the North-west of Scotland were at this
time MacLeod of MacLeod and Sir Alexander Macdonald of Mugstatt, or
Mouggestot, in Skye. These two had, to the great disappointment of the
Jacobites, declared for the Government, and had shown considerable zeal
in trying to suppress the rising; but in the very household of Mugstatt
Charles had a romantic and zealous adherent in the person of Lady
Margaret, Sir Alexander Macdonald's wife. A daughter of the house of
Eglintoun, she had been brought up in Jacobite principles, and now, in
the absence of her husband, did all she could to help the Prince in his
distress. Through the help of a certain Mr. Hugh Macdonald of Belshair
she kept Charles informed of the enemy's movements and sent him
newspapers. Towards the end of June the Government authorities were
pretty certain that the Prince was hiding somewhere in the Long Island,
and attention began to be concentrated on that spot. Two more English
cruisers were sent there, under Captains Scott and Fergusson--men who
had learnt lessons of cruelty from the greatest master of that art, the
Duke of Cumberland--and militia bands patrolled the whole island. It was
quite necessary to remove the Prince from Glencoridale, and the faithful
Belshair was at once despatched by Lady Margaret to consult with Charles
about his further movements. This Mr. Macdonald of Belshair arranged
with Macdonald of Boisdale--one of the shrewdest as well as kindest of
the Prince's friends--that they should meet at the Forest-house of
Glencoridale. The meeting, in spite of hardships and danger and a worse
than uncertain future, was a merry one. The two Highland gentlemen dined
with the Prince (on 'sooty beef' and apparently a plate of butter!), and
the talk was cheerful and free. Forgetful of the gloomy prospects of the
Jacobite cause, and ignoring the victorious enemies encamped within a
few miles of them, they talked hopefully of future meetings at St.
James's, the Prince declaring that 'if he had never so much ado he would
be at least one night merry with his Highland friends.' But St. James's
was far enough off from Coridale, and in the meantime it became daily
more certain that there was no longer safety for the Prince in Uist.
The pleasant life in the Forest-house had to be broken up, and for the
next ten weary days the little party lived in their boat, eluding as
well as they could their enemies by sea and by land.
Their difficulties were much increased and their spirits sadly disturbed
by the fact that their generous friend Boisdale had been taken prisoner.
It is one of the most singular facts of the Prince's wanderings that as
soon as he lost one helpful friend another immediately rose up to take
his place. This time an ally was found literally in the enemy's camp.
One of the officers in command of the militia in Benbecula was a certain
Hugh Macdonald of Armadale, in Skye, a clansman of Sir Alexander's, but,
like many another Macdonald, a Jacobite at heart. It is very uncertain
how far he was personally responsible for the plan that was at this time
being formed for the Prince's escape. Donald MacLeod and others of the
Prince's party were certain that Charles had met and talked with him at
Rossinish and had presented him with his pistols. This gentleman had a
step-daughter, a certain Flora Macdonald, a girl of remarkable
character, courage, and discretion. She generally lived with her mother
at Armadale, in Skye, but just now she was paying a visit to her brother
in South Uist. It is difficult to make out how or when or by whom the
idea was first started that this lady should convey the Prince to Skye
disguised as her servant, but it appears that she had had more than one
interview with O'Neal on the subject. On Saturday, June 21, being
closely pursued by the implacable Captain Scott, Charles parted with his
faithful little band of followers in Uist, paying the boatmen as
generously as his slender purse would allow. With two clean shirts under
his arm and with only O'Neal as his companion he started for Benbecula.
Arriving at midnight in a small shieling belonging to Macdonald of
Milton, 'by good fortune,' as O'Neal puts it, 'we met with Miss Flora
Macdonald, whom I formerly knew.' It is a little difficult to believe
that young ladies of Miss Flora's discretion were in the habit of
frequenting lonely shielings far from their homes at midnight, at a time
when the whole country was infested with soldiers. Nor does the
beginning of her interview with O'Neal sound like the language of
surprise. 'Then I told her I brought a friend to see her; and she, with
some emotion, asked me if it was the Prince. I answered that it was, and
instantly brought him in.' Among all the stout Highland hearts which
were ready to risk everything for him, Charles never found one more
brave and pitiful than that of the girl who was introduced to him in
this strange and perilous situation.
The plan was at once proposed to her that she should convey the Prince
with her to Skye disguised in female attire as her maid. Flora was no
mere romantic miss, eager for adventure and carried away by her
feelings. She was quite aware of the danger she would bring on herself,
and more especially on her friends, by this course. It was with some
reluctance that she at last gave her consent, but once her word was
pledged she was ready to go to the death if need were, and threw all her
feminine ingenuity into carrying out the scheme. They arranged that she
was to go next day to consult with Lady Clanranald and to procure
feminine attire as a disguise for the Prince. As soon as all was
prepared they were to meet at Rossinish in Benbecula; in the meantime
O'Neal undertook to come and go between the Prince and Miss Macdonald to
report progress and convey messages.
The two men seem to have returned to a hiding-place in the neighbourhood
of Glencoridale, and Miss Flora returned to Milton. She had to pass one
of the narrow sea fords next day on her way to Ormaclade, the
Clanranalds' house; this ford was guarded by a body of militia, and
having no passport, she and her servant, Neil MacKechan, were taken
prisoners. The situation was awkward in the extreme, and every hour's
delay was an added danger. To her great relief she learned that the
officer in command, who was expected that morning, was her stepfather,
Mr. Hugh Macdonald. On his arrival he was (or affected to be) extremely
surprised to find his stepdaughter a prisoner in the guard-room; but
with a complaisance very remarkable in an officer of the Government, he
drew her out passports for herself, for her servant Neil, and for a new
Irish servant, Betty Burke, whom she desired to take with her to Skye.
So great was Macdonald's interest in this unknown Betty that he actually
wrote a letter to his wife in Skye recommending the girl.
'I have sent your daughter from this country,' he wrote, 'lest she
should be frightened by the troops lying here. She has got one Betty
Burke, an Irish girl, who, she tells me, is a good spinster. If her
spinning pleases you, you may keep her till she spins all your lint.' In
spite of the gravity of the situation, one cannot help thinking that
Flora and her stepfather must have had a good deal of amusement
concocting this circumstantial and picturesque falsehood.
As soon as she was set at liberty Flora went to Ormaclade, where Lady
Clanranald entered heartily into the plan. Among her stores they chose a
light coloured quilted petticoat, a flowered gown--lilac flowers on a
white ground, to be particular--an apron and a long duffle cloak.
Fortunately Highland women are tall and large, for the Prince's height,
5 feet 10 inches, though moderate for a man, looked ungainly enough in
petticoats.
[Illustration]
It was Friday the 25th before the way was clear for Flora and Lady
Clanranald to meet the Prince at the rendezvous at Rossinish in
Benbecula. The four intervening days had been full of difficulties for
Charles and O'Neal. The fords between the two islands were so well
guarded that there was no chance of their being able to cross them on
foot; they had no boat, and the hours were passing for them in an agony
of suspense. At last they risked asking a chance boat which was passing
to set them across, and accomplished the passage in safety. But when
they did arrive at the hut at Rossinish, cold, wet, and wearied, they
found that a party of militia were encamped within half a mile, and that
the soldiers came every morning to that very hut for milk. Charles was
by this time accustomed to the feeling that he was carrying his life in
his hands. At daybreak he had to leave the hut to make room for his
pursuers, all day he had to lie in an unsheltered fissure of a rock,
where the rain--the heavy, relentless rain of the West Highlands--poured
down on him; if it did clear at all, then that other plague of the
Highlands, swarms of midges, nearly drove him distracted. On Friday the
militiamen moved off, and the way being clear, Lady Clanranald, Miss
Flora Macdonald, and a certain Mrs. Macdonald of Kirkibost came to visit
him and O'Neal in their hut, bringing the female attire with them.
These loyal ladies found their lawful sovereign roasting a sheep's liver
on a spit; but neither discomfort, danger, nor dirt could do away with
the courtly charm of his manner or the fine gaiety of his address. He
placed Miss Macdonald on his right hand--he always gave his preserver
the seat of honour--and Lady Clanranald at his left, and the strange
little dinner-party proceeded merrily. But before it was finished a
messenger broke in to tell Lady Clanranald that the infamous Captain
Fergusson had arrived at Ormaclade, and was demanding the mistress of
the house with angry suspicion.
The Prince had now to part with O'Neal, in spite of the poor fellow's
entreaties to be allowed to remain with him. Miss Macdonald had only
passports for three and the danger was urgent. He was a faithful and
affectionate friend, this O'Neal, if a little boastful and
muddle-headed. He could shortly afterwards have escaped to France--as
O'Sullivan did--in a French ship, if he had not insisted on going to
Skye to try to fetch off the Prince. He missed the Prince, and fell into
the hands of Captain Fergusson.