IN SKYE
ON Saturday (June 26) the Prince put on his female attire for the first
time, and very strange he must have felt as he sat in flowered calico on
wet, slippery rocks, trying to keep himself warm beside a fire kindled
on the beach. It was eight in the evening when they started, and the
storm broke on them as soon as they were out at sea. The whole party was
distressed and anxious, apparently, except Charles himself, who sang
songs and told stories to keep up the spirits of his companions. Long
afterwards Flora Macdonald loved to tell how chivalrously and
considerately he looked after her comfort on that dangerous journey.
Going round the north end of the Isle of Skye, they came ashore close to
Mugstatt, Sir Alexander Macdonald's place. That chief was himself away
at Fort Augustus with the Duke of Cumberland, but his wife, Lady
Margaret, who, as we have seen, was a staunch friend to the Prince, was
at home. Still, in her position it was most undesirable that Charles
should present himself at her house. Miss Macdonald and her servant Neil
went up to the house--the garden sloped down to the part of the shore
where they had landed--leaving Betty Burke sitting on the boxes in her
flowered gown and duffle cloak.
Miss Macdonald had good reason to congratulate herself on her prudence
when she found Lady Margaret's drawing-room full of guests. Among these
was Mrs. Macdonald of Kirkibost, but she was already in the secret; Mr.
Macdonald of Kingsburgh was also there, but he was a man of such a
chivalrous spirit and so kindly in his disposition, that the secret
would have been safe with him even if he had not been--as he was--a
staunch Jacobite at heart. Far more formidable was a third guest, young
Lieutenant MacLeod, a militia officer who, with a small body of men, was
stationed at Mugstatt for the express purpose of examining every boat
that might arrive from the Long Island. He certainly neglected this duty
as far as Miss Macdonald's boat was concerned, possibly out of
complaisance to her hostess, Lady Margaret, possibly because the young
lady's careless demeanour disarmed all suspicion.
The situation was a most anxious one for Miss Macdonald; she had to
carry on an easy flow of chat with a young officer while all the time
she could think of nothing but Betty Burke sitting on her box on the
shore. Every moment was precious and nothing was being done.
At last, during dinner, she managed to confide the whole situation to
Kingsburgh, and while she kept the lieutenant engaged, the latter left
the room and sent for Lady Margaret to speak to him on business. (He was
her husband's factor, and there was nothing to excite remark in his
wanting a private talk with her.) On learning the news she for a moment
lost her head, and screamed out that they were undone. But with much
sense and kindness Kingsburgh reassured her, saying that if necessary he
would take the Prince to his own house, adding, with a touch of his
characteristic chivalry, that he was now an old man, and it made very
little difference to him whether he should die with a halter round his
neck or await a death which could not be far distant.
As for the immediate future, the first idea that occurred both to Lady
Margaret and Kingsburgh was, 'Let us send for Donald Roy.' This Donald
was a brother of the Macdonald of Belshair who had visited the Prince at
Coridale. He had been 'out' with the Prince's army, and was now living
with a surgeon near Mugstatt, trying to recover from a serious wound in
his foot received at Culloden. This Donald must have been a good fellow,
popular, and liked by all; for even in those dangerous times he seems
to have lived on an intimate footing with the very militia officers who
were sent to search for hidden Jacobites.
No man could have been more suited for Kingsburgh's purpose than Donald.
Not only was he sensible, honourable, and brave, but as an acknowledged
Jacobite he had less to lose if discovered, and as a young and amiable
man his person could not fail to be acceptable to the Prince.
On his arrival he found Kingsburgh and Lady Margaret walking up and down
the garden. 'O Donald!' cried the lady, 'we are undone for ever!' After
much rapid, anxious talk, the three agreed that the safest place for the
Prince would be the Island of Rasay. Old Rasay had been 'out' and was in
hiding, his second son was recovering from a wound received at Culloden,
and the eldest, though he had kept quiet from motives of prudence, was
quite as keen a Jacobite as the other two. Their eagerness to serve the
Prince could be relied on, and as the island had been recently
devastated by the Government soldiers, it was not likely to be visited
again.
Donald Roy undertook to see young MacLeod of Rasay and to make
arrangements for meeting the Prince at Portree next day, while
Kingsburgh promised to carry the Prince off with him to his own house
and to send him next day under safe guidance to Portree. In this way,
whatever happened, Lady Margaret would not be compromised.
So the garden conclave broke up, and the three separated. Lady Margaret
returned to her drawing-room, where, poor woman, she sadly disconcerted
Miss Macdonald by nervously going in and out of the room. However, the
lieutenant seems to have been too much taken up with his companion to
notice his hostess's demeanour. Donald Roy, in spite of his lame foot,
set off for Portree in search of young Rasay, and old Kingsburgh hurried
off to look for Charles, carrying refreshments with him. Not finding him
on the shore below the garden, the old man walked on rather anxiously
till, seeing some sheep running, he concluded that someone must have
disturbed them, and went to the spot. A tall, ungainly woman in a long
cloak started forward to meet him brandishing a big knotted stick. As
soon as Kingsburgh named himself the Prince knew that he had found a
friend, and placed himself in his hands with the frank confidence he
always showed in dealing with his Highland followers, a confidence which
they so nobly justified.
After the Prince had had something to eat and drink, the pair set out to
walk to Kingsburgh, a considerable distance off. Unfortunately it was
Sunday, and they met many country people returning from church, who were
all eager to have a little business chat with Sir Alexander's factor. He
got rid of most of them by slyly reminding them of the sacredness of the
day, for the Prince's awkward movements and masculine stride made his
disguise very apparent. 'They may call you the Pretender,' cried
Kingsburgh, between annoyance and amusement, 'but I never knew anyone so
bad at your trade.'
At the first stream they had to cross the Prince lifted his skirts with
a most masculine disregard of appearances, and to mend matters, when he
came to the next, let his petticoats float in the water with a most
unfeminine disregard of his clothes.
Halfway on their road Miss Macdonald rode past them on horseback,
accompanied by Mrs. Macdonald of Kirkibost and the latter's maid. 'Look,
look,' cried that damsel, 'what strides the jade takes! I dare say she's
an Irishwoman or else a man in woman's clothes.' Miss Macdonald thought
it best to quicken her pace and make no reply.
She was already at Kingsburgh when the Prince and his host arrived there
at about eleven o'clock. All the household were in bed. A message was
sent up to Mrs. Macdonald to tell her of the arrival of guests, but she
very naturally refused to get up, and merely sent her compliments to
Miss Macdonald and begged she would help herself to everything she
wanted. When, however, her husband came up to her room and gravely
requested her to come down and attend to his guest, she felt that
something was wrong. Nor did it allay her fears when her little daughter
ran up crying that 'the most odd, muckle, ill-shaken-up wife' she had
seen in all her life was walking up and down in the hall. Mrs. Macdonald
entered the main room with some misgiving, and in the uncertain
firelight saw a tall, ungainly woman striding up and down. The figure
approached her and, according to the manners of the time, saluted her.
The rough touch of the unshaven lip left no doubt on the lady's mind;
her husband's guest was certainly a man in disguise, probably a
proscribed Jacobite. She hurried out of the room and met Kingsburgh in
the hall. It did not occur to this good woman to upbraid her husband for
bringing danger on his family; her first question was, 'Do you think the
stranger will know anything about the Prince?'
'My dear,' said Kingsburgh very gravely, taking her hands in his, '_this
is the Prince himself_!'
'The Prince!' cried Mrs. Macdonald, rather overwhelmed, 'then we shall
all be hanged!'
'We can die but once,' said her husband, 'could we ever die in a better
cause?'
Then, returning to the homely necessities of the hour, he begged her to
bring bread and cheese and eggs.
Bread and cheese and eggs to set before Royalty! This disgrace to her
housewifery affected Mrs. Macdonald almost as feelingly as the danger
they were in. The idea, too, of sitting down at supper with her lawful
sovereign caused the simple lady the greatest embarrassment. However,
she was prevailed upon to take the seat at the Prince's left hand, while
Miss Macdonald had her usual place at his right. After the ladies had
retired Charles lighted his 'cutty,' and he and Kingsburgh had a
comfortable chat and a bowl of punch over the fire. Indeed, good food,
good fires, and good company were such congenial luxuries after the life
he had been leading, that Charles sat on and on in his chair, and the
hospitable Kingsburgh had at last to insist upon his guest going to bed.
Hour after hour the Prince slept on next morning, Kingsburgh being
unwilling to disturb the one good rest he might have for weeks; Miss
Macdonald was growing impatient and Mrs. Macdonald anxious, and at last
Kingsburgh consented to rouse him at about one o'clock. Portree was
seven miles off, and had to be reached before dark. It was decided that
the Prince might resume male attire _en route_, but in case of exciting
suspicion among the servants he had still to masquerade as Betty Burke
till he left the house. Mrs. Macdonald, her daughter, and Miss Flora all
came up to assist at his toilet, for 'deil a preen could he put in,' as
his hostess expressed herself. He laughed so heartily over his own
appearance that they could hardly get his dress fastened. Before he left
the room he permitted Flora Macdonald to cut off a lock of his hair,
which she divided with Mrs. MacLeod. What is a still more touching proof
of the devotion of these two good women is that they carefully took off
the sheets of the Prince's bed, vowing that these should be neither
washed nor used again till they should serve each of them as
winding-sheets. Kingsburgh accompanied his guests part of the way,
assisted Charles to change his dress in a little wood, and then, with
tears, bade him farewell.
Flora Macdonald rode on to Portree by another road, leaving her
servant, Neil MacKechan, and a little herd-boy to act as guides to the
Prince.
In the meantime, Donald Roy had been active in the Prince's service. At
Portree he had met young Rona MacLeod of Rasay and his brother Murdoch,
and, as he had expected, found them eager to face any danger or
difficulty for their Prince. They had a cousin rather older than
themselves, Malcolm MacLeod, who had been a captain in the Prince's
army. He entered into the scheme as heartily as the other two, and only
suggested prudently that Rona should leave the matter to himself and
Murdoch, who were 'already as black as black can be.' But Rona was not
to be baulked of his share of the danger and glory of serving the
Prince, and vowed that he _would_ go even if it should cost him his
estate and his head. So with two stout faithful boatmen they arrived
within a mile of Portree, drew up their boat among the rocks where it
could be hid, and remained waiting for the Prince, while the night fell
and the rain came down in sheets.
It had been arranged at Mugstatt that Donald Roy was to meet the Prince
late on Monday afternoon in the one public-house that Portree could
boast. This public-house consisted of one large, dirty, smoky room, and
people of all kinds kept going in and out, and here Donald took up his
post. Flora Macdonald was the first to arrive, and she, Donald Roy, and
Malcolm MacLeod sat together over the fire waiting anxiously. It was
already dark when a small, wet herd-boy slipped in and going up to
Donald whispered that a gentleman wanted to see him. The poor Prince was
standing in the darkness outside drenched to the skin. As soon as they
were at the inn Donald insisted on his changing his clothes, and Malcolm
at once gave him his own dry philibeg. Food they could get, and water
was brought in an old, battered, rusty tin from which the Prince drank,
being afraid of arousing suspicion by any fastidiousness. He also bought
sixpennyworth of the coarsest tobacco, and nearly betrayed his quality
to the already suspicious landlord by a princely indifference to his
change, but Malcolm prudently secured the 'bawbees' and put them into
the Prince's sporran.
Miss Flora now rose very sadly to go, as she had to continue her journey
that night. The Prince kissed her and said farewell with much suppressed
emotion, but with his usual hopefulness added that he trusted that they
might yet meet at St. James's. These constant partings from so many
faithful, warm-hearted friends were among the hardest trials of
Charles's wandering life. He seems to have clung with special affection
to Donald Roy, and urged him again and again not to leave him, but to go
with him to Rasay. Donald could only reply that the state of his wounded
foot made it impossible.
This conversation took place as they plunged through wet and darkness
from Portree down to the shore where the boat was lying. Malcolm
MacLeod, who made a third in the little party, had a spirit as firm and
a heart as warm as Donald's own, and before the end of the week the
Prince was clinging with the same affection to this new friend.
The wild and desolate island of Rasay offered the Prince a comparatively
secure hiding-place, and the three MacLeods had both the will and the
power to protect him, and to provide a reasonable amount of comfort for
him. But a kind of restlessness seems to have come over the Prince at
this time. It was only by being constantly on the move that he could
escape from anxious and painful thoughts. Possibly he may have felt a
little insecure in the midst of the Clan MacLeod (though he had met
nowhere with more devotion than that of the three cousins); he certainly
seems to have bestowed far more affection and confidence on Malcolm than
on the other two.
On Thursday he insisted on starting for Skye, in spite of the entreaties
of the young MacLeods, nor would he turn back when a storm broke and
threatened to overwhelm them. It was night before they landed at
Trotternish, a night such as had become familiar to the Prince, dark and
chill and pouring with rain. They made for a byre on the property of Mr.
Nicholson of Scorobeck. Young Rasay went on in front to see that no one
was there. 'If there had been anyone in it, what would you have done?'
he asked the Prince rather reproachfully; for Charles's self-will and
foolhardiness must at times have been very trying to those who were
risking life and estate for him. In the byre they lighted a fire, dried
their clothes, and slept for some hours. The next day, Rona being away,
the Prince asked Murdoch if he would accompany him into the country of
the Mackinnons in the south of Skye (the old chief of that clan had been
in the Prince's army, and Charles felt that he would be safe amongst
them). Murdoch's wound prevented his undertaking such a journey--it was
thirty miles over the wildest part of Skye--but Malcolm could go, and
his cousin assured the Prince that he could nowhere find a more faithful
and devoted servant. So the pair set out in the morning for their wild
tramp. To prevent discovery the Prince affected to be Malcolm's
servant, walked behind him, and, further to disguise himself, put his
periwig in his pocket and bound a dirty cloth round his head--a disguise
specially calculated, one would think, to excite attention. The two
young men talked frankly and confidentially, making great strides in
friendship as they went along. Once a covey of partridges rose, and,
with a true British instinct for sport at all hazards,[7] the Prince
raised his gun and would have fired if Malcolm had not caught his arm.
They were careful to pass through the hostile MacLeod country at night,
and at break of day arrived in Strath, the country of the Mackinnons.
Malcolm MacLeod had a sister married to a Mackinnon, an honest,
warm-hearted follow who had followed his chief and served as captain in
the Prince's army. To his house they directed their steps; Mackinnon
himself was away, but his wife received her brother and his friend with
the utmost kindness. The Prince passed for a certain Lewis Caw, a
surgeon's apprentice (who was actually 'skulking' in Skye at the time),
and acted his part of humble retainer so well that poor Malcolm was
quite embarrassed; and the rough servant-lass treated him with the
contempt Highland servants seem to have for their own class, if 'Lowland
bodies.' Both the tired travellers lay down to sleep, and when Malcolm
awoke late in the afternoon he found the sweet-tempered Prince playing
with Mrs. Mackinnon's little child. 'Ah, little man,' he cried, in a
moment of forgetfulness, 'you may live to be a captain in my service
yet.' 'Or you an old sergeant in his,' said the indignant nurse, jealous
of her charge's position.
Next day Malcolm went out to meet his brother-in-law. He had absolute
confidence in Mackinnon's faithfulness and loyalty, but he feared that
his warm-hearted feelings might lead him into indiscretions which would
betray the Prince; and in spite of all warnings Mackinnon could not
restrain his tears when he saw his Prince under his roof in such a
wretched plight.
It was important that Charles should be at once taken to the mainland,
and John Mackinnon went off at noon to the house of the chief of the
Mackinnons to borrow a boat. This old man was a fine type of a Highland
gentleman. It was his daily--probably his only--prayer that he might die
on the field of battle fighting for his king and country. He was
simple-minded, brave, and faithful, and though now between sixty and
seventy, as active and courageous as any young man. John had received
injunctions not to betray the Prince's presence in the neighbourhood to
the laird, but to keep such a piece of news from his chief was quite
beyond honest John's powers. Nothing would restrain the old man from
going off at once with his wife to pay their homage to the Prince. Nor
would he hear of anyone conducting Charles to the mainland but himself.
[Illustration: PRINCE CHARLIE'S WANDERINGS.
The black lines indicating land and the dotted lines sea journeys.]
At eight o'clock that night the little party embarked. The Prince took a
most affecting farewell of Malcolm MacLeod. With courtly punctilio he
sent a note to Donald Roy to tell of his safe departure, then pressed
ten guineas--almost his last--on his friend's acceptance, smoked a last
pipe with him, and finally presented him with the invaluable 'cutty.'