1744-1746
How we met old friends and an older enemy in Rome with whom I was
forced to subscribe to a Truce, having passed my word to the Duke of
York; how it came that I resigned from the Company of St. James.
Through General MacDonnell's kindness I was allowed to spend a few
days in Rome as being on his staff, and at my first freedom took my
way to the street of the Quattro Fontane and my old College.
What a welcome I received! Good Father Urbani held me in his arms as
if I bad been his own son, and would not hear of my sleeping outside
the College, although 'twas a downright breach of their rules; and
the old porter, of whom I once stood in such awe, waited up for me,
no matter what the hour for returning might be, and nodded and winked
knowingly, as if he too had once been young. Not that I would
insinuate there was anything of levity in my conduct, for I have
always had a too just regard for my position as a gentleman and an
officer to indulge in anything unbecoming, more especially where I
was so carefully observed.
Angus I found the same as ever, quiet and contented with his lot, as
seemed most of the others, though I could see my appearance caused
something of a ruffle among them. I seemed to have grown so many
years older, and was surprised to find how small and almost mean many
of the old surroundings looked; even the Fathers did not appear as
formidable as before. All, that is, save dear old Father Urbani, of
whom I never stood in awe, and who had only grown older and more
frail; to him I told all that was in my heart, not even hiding my
first fright from him, which I would not have then confessed to any
other living man.
On the second day of our stay, the General and I took our way by the
Corso and through to the Piazza Santi Apostoli to pay our respects to
His Majesty King James. As we ascended the staircase I thought of
the two poor awe-struck collegioners who in soutane and soprano had
climbed the same stairs two years before, and the amazement that had
filled their hearts when they saw and talked with Royalty for the
first time. Now I was a man, though but sixteen, for I had carried a
sword honourably in company with some of the bravest men in Italy,
and had been personally presented to King Carlo as worthy of his
gracious notice.
The General was in full dress, with his Spanish and Neapolitan
orders, and I wore the full uniform of a Lieutenant of our brigade,
which was genteel enough even for a presentation.
In the anteroom the General was welcomed on all hands, and I met many
I knew, including Mr. Secretary Murray, Mr. Sheridan, and the Abbé
Ramsay, and was much made of, though without flattery, save by those
at whose hands I could fittingly receive it. What was my disgust,
though, to see the white face of Creach again in the crowd; he,
however, did not come near me, and, out of consideration for the
General, I refrained from speaking of him, as it might lead to
mention of my former meeting when with his son, the Colonel. I may
say here that I never knew the result of the meeting between Creach
and the Colonel, as the latter never saw fit to refer to it and I
could not well question him.
The sight of the man was so distasteful that it fairly took away all
the pleasure of my presentation, and even the gracious presence and
words of His Majesty, and of the Duke of York, who accompanied him,
did not altogether dissipate my uneasiness. In words as fitting as I
could choose, I thanked His Majesty for his generous and unexpected
succour, whereupon a smile passed over his grave, dark face, and he
said, "But hold! are you not my little Highlander of the Santi
Apostoli?"
"I am, please your Majesty," I answered, reddening at my childish
adventure.
Then the King smiled again, and, much to my discomfiture, told the
story which all seemed to find mighty amusing, save myself, who could
see nothing therein but a very natural and exact distinction. In
telling a story, however, a king has this advantage over others, in
that all must laugh whether they find it to their liking or not.
I had hoped we would have seen the Prince of Wales as well, for in my
heart he was the member of the Royal Family I most longed to see
again, but we were informed he was engaged in a tour of Northern
Italy.
When the King and the Duke withdrew, they signified to General
MacDonnell that he was to follow, and when we bowed them out, and the
doors closed upon them, conversation at once became general.
I withdrew to a window, for I was in no frame of mind for talk, when,
to my astonishment, I saw Creach advance towards me, holding out his
hand with an assured air. I drew myself up at once and looked him
over slowly, seeing everything but the outstretched hand.
"This is a place for friendship and not for boyish quarrels, Mr.
McDonell," he began. "I wish to congratulate you on your promotion.
"No place, Mr. Creach, can be for friendship between us, and as for
congratulations, they are not only out of place but insulting from
you," I said, quietly, and in a low voice, so no one might overhear.
"In the first place, my name is not Creach," he said, trying hard to
keep his temper, "and in the second, you may find it not only foolish
but even dangerous to try any of your airs with me. Remember, you
can't always have a man at your back to fight your battles for you."
[Illustration: "I SAW CREACH ADVANCE TOWARDS ME"]
"You clay-faced hound!" I said, "don't dare to take the name of the
dead into your mouth, or I will strike you where you stand. What
your object is in thus seeking me I do not know nor care, but as sure
as the sun is above if you dare speak to me again I will forget the
roof we stand under and treat you like the dog you are."
His face turned greyer than ever, and he stood hesitating a moment,
but presently bowed ceremoniously, and moved off before my anger got
the better of me.
I stood staring out of the window trying to recover myself, when who
should come up but Father O'Rourke. "Well, well, my little
Highlander, who has been ruffling your feathers?" said he.
"Look there! Father O'Rourke," I said, paying no attention to his
nonsense; "do you see that man?"
"I'm not hard of hearing yet, my son, thank God! and you needn't make
a sign-post of yourself. Do you mean the claret-coloured coat and
the bag-wig?"
"Yes," I said, more quietly. "That is Creach!"
"The devil it is!" he said, and then he became confused, and glanced
at me to see if I had observed his slip; but I have always held that
an honest statement of opinion may excuse the expression. He was
silent for a moment, looking hard at the man, and then went on in his
old lively manner. "Well, Giovannini, we are not responsible for the
company; they cannot be all lieutenants and priests. Let us wander
about and get a mouthful of air." So, taking my arm, he led me off,
nor would he speak on the subject until we were alone on the terrace.
There he changed his tone, and said, shortly:
"Are you sure of the man?"
"As sure as if I had seen his ears."
"Faith! they were big enough to swear by," and to my impatience he
began to laugh at the thought. "Do you remember how they stuck out?
The handles of a jug would be flat beside them," and he laughed
again. "Now I suppose you promptly insulted him?"
"Indeed I did not. I only told him he was a dog, and if he spoke to
me again I would not answer for myself."
"Humph! I have frequently noticed a Highlander's conception of an
insult is materially altered by the fact whether it proceeds from
himself or from another; but I don't suppose you ever got as far in
metaphysics as this. Now comes the question, what you intend to do?
Remember the gentleman seems fairly well established here. Will you
fight with him?"
"Fight with him? A thief? Indeed I will not! I will simply keep my
word."
"You're a rare hand at that, and I'm not saying 'tis a bad habit.
But here comes the General. To-morrow I'll be at the College about
eleven," and so we parted.
The General was in great spirits. "Hark you, McDonell, something
touching 'the North' is on foot. I'll not say more now, and this is
in strict confidence, but you'll know what it means some day when I
signify to you that you may apply for leave of absence. To-morrow,
at four, you will attend again at the Palace; the Duke desires to see
you. You will enter by the door you know of, and the word is
'Velletri'--but you know nothing," he added, with emphasis.
The next morning Father O'Rourke came as promised, and was introduced
by me to the Rector with some little pride. Indeed, he was no mean
figure of a man, this Chaplain of ours, with his broad shoulders and
great head, that looked fitter for a soldier's tricorne than a
priest's calotte.
After the usual compliments we fell to talking, Father O'Rourke as
much at home as if he had known the Rector all his life, and it was
easy to see the old man warmed to him as he told him of his work as
chaplain in a marching regiment, though making light of it, as was
his manner.
"Ah, Father," said the Rector, smiling, "I am afraid it is somewhat
to you that the College owes the loss of this scholar; he would have
been a credit to the schools some day."
"I doubt it, Most Reverend," answered Father O'Rourke, dryly, "as he
is lacking in one of the senses."
"In what, pray?" asked the Rector, a little stirred. "I have never
observed any lack; Sight, Sound, Taste, Touch, and Speech, he has
them all."
"Your pardon, you have omitted Humour," returned Father O'Rourke,
quietly; "and he has no more of that than a crocodile has of
mathematics. A deplorable lack in a scholar, and useful any
where--though for the banging of guns and the cracking of skulls
there's less required than in almost any other profession"; and at
this he burst into one of his foolish roars of laughter, much to my
dislike, for I wished him to make a good figure before my protector.
But, to my surprise, the Rector did not seem half as much put out as
myself, and said, smiling:
"Well, well; this killing is a serious business in any case."
"But not so serious it could not be tempered by a little
cheerfulness. 'Suaviter in modo' goes a long way towards making your
enemy's end comfortable," ranted on Father O'Rourke, with much more
that I have not the patience to put down. Indeed, I hold him wrong
throughout, as I have quite as keen a sense of humour as is fitting
for any gentleman in my position.
But to go on. When we were alone he listened quietly enough to my
remonstrances to his late conduct, merely saying he understood that
the Rector had not been born north of the Tweed, which was no answer
whatever.
He then recurred to our matter of the day before, saying:
"I have been making some inquiries about this man Creach."
"Yes, and what do you find?"
"I find, Mr. McDonell, that if you are going to have the run of the
Santi Apostoli you must number him amongst the Elect, for His
Saintship is in high favour. He not only is there day in day out,
but is a bosom friend of the Prince of Wales to boot."
"That I cannot credit," I returned. "His Highness could not be so
mistaken."
"Faith, I'm not so sure of that," he returned, bitterly; "he has some
sorry cattle about him, and, to say the least, he is easily pleased
in the way of company."
"Father O'Rourke, it is not for the likes of you or me to discuss the
doings of princes, and I'll thank you to say no more on the subject."
"Very well, Your Highness. I merely thought a word in season might
save you from a like error, and that, coming from a descendant of
kings, like myself, it would not give offence. But to leave that
aside, you'll have to humble your stomach and swallow this Captain,
claret-coat, chalk face, big ears, and all, or I will prophesy that
you'll cut but a small figure with your betters."
This was as unpleasant a piece of news as I could well receive, and
though I could not quarrel with it, I at least could resent the
manner of its conveyance, so I turned upon my informant at once:
"Perhaps this is an example of your 'suaviter in modo,' Father
O'Rourke; if so, I'll be obliged if you'll put things in plain,
sensible English, as between gentlemen."
"Oh, very well, Mr. John McDonell of Scottos--do you think it sounds
better to say that his Royal Highness has not ordinary common taste
in choosing his companions, and if you follow him, you must be
hail-fellow-well-met with a blackguard like Creach, who happens just
now to be in his favour?"
"'Pon my soul, Father O'Rourke, you are the most provoking man I ever
met! If you wore a sword, I'd make you answer for this!" I roared,
beside myself with anger.
"Oh, I can waggle a sword, if need be," he answered, very cool, "but
I was thankful it wasn't a sword but a calabash of good chianti I had
strapped on me the night I fell in with you after Velletri. There,
there, Giovannini; 'tis nothing to make such a pother about, only you
and I are too old friends to quarrel over such gentry as Mr. Creach."
"But it wasn't Mr. Creach, Father. I never would have lost my temper
over him; I thought you were poking fun at me."
"Ah, Mr. Lieutenant, in humour, like in file-firing, a sense of
direction is a great thing."
And so we made it all up again, and with Angus we had the chanti and
fruit which the Rector had thoughtfully provided in my chamber.
At four o'clock I took my way to the secret entrance of the Santi
Apostoli, found the familiar passage and a lackey awaiting me in the
garden to conduct me to the Duke.
He was then about nineteen, though I did not think he appeared much
my elder save in his manner, which was that of a Prince, though most
lively and engaging. He soon opened the reason of the visit.
"Mr. McDonell," he said, "I am sure you are faithful and can be
trusted."
"Your Royal Highness," I answered, "my people have been true to you
and yours for generations, and it would ill become me to have any
principles other than those we have always held. You can count on me
to the very end."
"I was sure of it," he answered, smiling, holding out both his hands,
which I grasped with emotion. "Now to business," and he civilly
invited me to be seated in an embrasure of a window.
"My brother, the Prince of Wales, is travelling, it is true, but not
in Italy; he left here secretly in January last, and since then has
been in France, and at any day an expedition may be formed for
Scotland, for we have the surest hope of the hearty co-operation of
the French Court.
"Now I and His Majesty must have messengers at hand on whom we can
absolutely rely; and my request to you is that you will not volunteer
for service when the news comes, but will remain with your company
here in Italy; we have positive assurances you will be permitted to
leave at any moment we may signify. I know that I am asking you a
hard service, but it is an important one, for there are but few men
whom we can trust for such a mission.
"It is impossible to say when you may be needed, but your reward will
be such when the time comes that others will envy your choice, and I
and the King, my father, will ever remember the man who was ready to
sacrifice the empty glory of the parade of war for the trust laid on
him.
"You must keep yourself free of all entanglements, for your absolute
freedom to move at once will be of the utmost importance to the
Prince and to your country. Surely I may count on you for this?"
And I swore faithfulness from the bottom of my heart.
Then changing his tone, he began more lightly: "There is another
small favour, a personal one, I would ask of you yet. There is a
gentleman here in our court named Mr. Graeme--"
"Mr. Creach, Your Highness," I could not help interrupting.
"Mr. Graeme, I said," he returned, with something of hauteur. "You
will be required to meet him, possibly to have business with him, and
I desire as a personal favour to me," and he laid much stress on the
words, "that you will lay aside all previous difficulties or
misunderstandings between you until your engagement with me is at an
end. Surely I am not asking too much in urging a favour at this
beginning of your service," and I was so overcome with the
graciousness of his manner that I promised, although sore against my
will.
We then had a private audience with the King, who was pleased to
recall the services of my grandfather, old Æneas of Scottos, and his
brothers Glengarry, Lochgarry, and Barisdale, whom he knew personally
in 1715, and flattered me by saying he congratulated the Duke of York
on having a messenger of such approved fidelity; "for, Mr. McDonell,
your General tells me he would trust you with his own honour."
"His Excellency has been like a father to me, Sire," I answered; and
shortly afterwards our interview closed, the Duke paying me the
honour of accompanying me to the door and insisted on shaking hands,
nor would he admit of any ceremony at leave-taking.
The next morning some one knocked at my door, and, on opening it,
there, to my surprise and disgust, I saw Creach, dressed in the most
foppish manner. However, I dissembled my feelings, and to his
greeting said, with civility:
"I wish you good-morning, Mr. Creach."
"By God! sir, if you repeat that name to me, I will run you through!"
and he laid his hand to his sword.
I glanced quickly to see my own was within easy reach on the table,
and then, "Mr. Creach," I said, "I promised His Royal Highness the
Duke that I would not quarrel with you, and nothing will make me
break my word, so don't go on pretending to find insults in my
conversation, Mr. Creach, or it will become one-sided. I am a man of
very few ideas, and one of them is that 'Mr. Creach'--no, 'Captain
Creach'--was the name by which you were introduced to me, and so
Creach you must remain till the end of the chapter, Mr. Creach."
But he had recovered himself with great address, and said, with an
air of much openness:
"Mr. McDonell, what is the sense of keeping up this farce of
quarrelling? We must meet, therefore let us do it with decency, as
befits the cause to which our honour is pledged."
"Mr. Creach, if I were not a man moderate in all things, and were not
my word pledged to the Duke, nothing in the world would prevent me
throwing you down these stairs, and I could have no greater pleasure
than to see you break your neck at the bottom; but since I am forced
to treat you as a gentleman, kindly deliver yourself of your business
and leave me to mine."
"I am doubly fortunate then, Mr. McDonell, first to the Duke and
second to your high sense of honour. But I will not bandy
compliments. His Highness bade me deliver this letter and his
regrets that he will not see you again, as he hears General
MacDonnell leaves for the army at Spoletto to-day."
"My humble duty to His Highness, sir," and I bowed to him mighty
stiff, and he withdrew, leaving me very thankful that I had not been
betrayed into any heat nor broken my word to the Duke.
On hurrying to the General's quarters I found the news was true, and
that he had already sent for me; so, after short farewells, we rode
through the Porta del Popolo and took the highway towards Spoletto.
I will not follow our campaign through the winter, except to say we
were fairly successful and saw some brilliant service, particularly
at La Bochetta and during the investment of Tortona.
During this winter I lost my best of friends, General MacDonnell, who
died of a fever occasioned by the fatigue of our forced marching on
Genoa; and a few days afterwards he was followed by his brother, the
Major-General, of a fever also, resulting from the breaking out of an
old wound he had received in the shoulder some fifteen years before.
All this time I had been anxiously expecting orders from the Duke,
but the only word which came was a letter containing the
disheartening tidings of the failure of the expedition under Marshal
Saxe, and then we were all startled at the news of the Prince's
embarkation in the _Doutelle_ and the _Elizabeth_.
[Illustration: "'GENTLEMEN! GLASSES ALL!'"]
"It is simple madness," said Father O'Rourke, when the tidings were
announced in the General's tent at dinner--indeed, one of the last
occasions when he had us all at his table, as he loved.
"'Tis the kind of madness that heroes are made of," said the General,
heartily. "Here, gentlemen! glasses all! Here's to Royal Charles,
and may he never stop till he sleeps in St. James'!" and, warmed by
his enthusiasm, he broke into the old Irish Jacobite song:
"'He's all my heart's treasure, my joy and my pleasure,
So justly, my love, my heart follows thee;
And I am resolved, in foul or fair weather,
To seek out my Blackbird, wherever he be.'"
Such was the enthusiasm that we were all ready to volunteer, but as
the General said, dryly enough, "What is to become of the Austrians
if you all leave? You might as well desert to the enemy at once and
have done with it."
While we awaited with impatience an answer to our application, word
came to me from the Duke that I was on no account to apply for leave
until such time as he sent me certain word himself. It was a bitter
disappointment, but I was not alone, as the military authorities saw
fit to refuse all applications until the matter was further advanced.
At last, in the month of January, letters came saying the Duke was
about starting, that leave was granted me as well as certain others,
with instructions to report to Mr. Sempil, the King's Agent at Paris,
who would direct us further.
Conceiving my future duties called for freedom from immediate
service, I sent in my formal resignation, and received from our
Colonel, Ranald MacDonnell, a certificate testifying in flattering
terms to the services I had performed, to my honour as a gentleman
and my conduct as an officer while under his command in the Company
of St. James:
"Nous, Colonel du Régiment d'Infanterie d'Irlande de St. Jacques,
certifions que le Sieur Jean McDonell de Glengarry,
sous-lieutenant au dit Régiment, s'est toujours comporté pendant
tout le temps qu'il y a servi en Gentilhomme d'honneur, brave
officier, et avec une conduite irréprochable à tout égard; en foy
de quoy nous lui avons donné le présent. Fait à Plaisance le
douzième janvier, mil sept cent quarante six.
"MACDONNELL."
To my surprise I found the name of Father O'Rourke amongst those
allowed to volunteer, and when we were alone I said, rallying him:
"I was not aware you were so strong a Jacobite, Father."
"Well, to tell the truth I am not, except in the way of sentiment;
but sentiment, my dear Giovannini, as you are aware, will induce a
sensible man to do more foolish things than any other power in the
world. Still, I regard myself as in the path of duty, for I conceive
there may be some Jacobites who will be none the worse for a little
extra morality dispensed by even my unworthy hands."
I did not question him further, as I dreaded one of his usual
rodomontades.
We left at once with the good wishes of all, took barge at Genoa as
far as Antibes, and thence by post to Lyons, where we put up at the
Hôtel du Parc.
Here we met a number of French officers, who brought news of the
Battle of Falkirk, wherein Prince Charles had beaten the English
cavalry and infantry off the field; and though, at the same time, we
knew he had retreated from England, it did not serve to dash bur
spirits, and we supped merrily together, drinking toast after toast
to the success of the Cause.
All the old songs were sung lustily, and the French officers were
much amused at our enthusiasm; but it was Father O'Rourke who carried
off the honours of the evening by singing the following, to an air
that was new to me:
Oh the water, the water,
The dun and eerie water,
Which long has parted loving hearts that wearied for their home!
O'er the water, the water,
The dark, dividing water,
Our Bonnie Prince has come at last, at last--to claim his Own.
He has come to hearts that waited,
He has come to hearts that welcome,
He has come though friends have wavered, with the foe
upon his track.
But what loyal heart will falter
When our Bonnie Prince is standing
With his banner blue above his head and his claymore
at his back?
Then gather ye, Appin, Clanranald, Glengarry!
Cross has gone round! Will a single man tarry
When we march with our Prince against Geordie's Dutch carles?
We are out for the King!
We will conquer or swing!
But the bonnie brown broadswords will klink and will kling
From the Tweed to the Thames for our Bonnie Prince Charles!
Oh! the waiting, the waiting,
The cruel night of waiting,
When we brake the bread of sorrow and drank our bitter tears,
It has broken at his coming
Like the mist on Corryvechan,
In the sunlight of his presence we have lost our midnight fears.
When the Prince unfurled his standard
In the green vale of Glenfinnan,
Beneath a sky as bright and blue, blown clear of storm and wrack,
The Loyal chiefs came thronging
To where their Prince was standing
With his banner blue above his head and his claymore at his back.
Then gather ye, Appin, Clanranald, Glengarry!
The Cross has gone round! Will a single man tarry
When we march with our Prince against Geordie's Dutch carles?
We are out for the King!
We will conquer or swing!
But the bonnie brown broadswords will klink and will kling
From the Tweed to the Thames for our Bonnie Prince Charles!
Oh! the heather, the heather,
Our modest hill-side heather,
Hath donned her royal robe again to welcome back her Own.
The roses bloom once more in hearts
That hope deferred was wasting
That will march with Bonnie Charlie, to halt only at his Throne!
We have suffered, we have sorrowed,
But our joy has come with morning,
And all is shining gloriously that late was drear and black.
Then up and out, ye gallant hearts,
To where your Prince is standing,
With his banner blue above his head and his claymore at his back!
Then gather ye, Appin, Clanranald, Glengarry!
The Cross has gone round! Will a single man tarry
When we march with our Prince against Geordie's Dutch carles?
We are out for the King!
We will conquer or swing!
But the bonnie brown broadswords will klink and will kling
From the Tweed to the Thames for our Bonnie Prince Charles!
When he ended we cheered and cheered, breaking our glasses, half
crying, half laughing, until we made the room ring again; and the
people in the square listening to us began to cheer in sympathy, and,
unable to control myself, I jumped up, and, catching the big form of
the priest to my bosom, fairly hugged him in my arms, "Oh, Father
O'Rourke! How could you ever do it and you not a Highlander at all?"
I cried, in my wonder.
"Faith, I could do the same for a Hottentot if I could only manage
his irregular verbs," he shouted, struggling out of my embrace. "And
now, gentlemen! If you don't stop this hullabaloo, you'll be
arrested for disturbing the peace of this good town of Lyons, and if
you don't stop cracking those bottles your heads will be as easy
cracking for the English when it comes to hard knocks!" And off he
went with a storm of cheers after him.
V
1746
How Father O'Rourke and I met with the Duke of York, who charged me
with a secret mission towards Prince Charles; of our voyage to
Scotland, and the dismal tidings that there met us.
The next morning Father O'Rourke's words came true, for there were
many aching heads amongst us, of which my own was one, and the
jolting of the Paris diligence did not in any way improve their
condition nor their owners' tempers. It is surprising how mightily
the hot enthusiasms of overnight will cool down by daylight--and here
was an example. Last night there was not one of us but would have
embarked to the Prince's support without a second thought of the
chances, and not one would have admitted that the chances, if any,
were aught but rose-coloured; but with the morning everything took on
a different complexion, and the whole of our way to Paris was filled
with nothing but the most dismal forebodings.
I addressed myself to Mr. Sempil, and found that the Duke would
expect me in about a week at Boulogne; and in the mean time I did
what I could to raise the spirits and determination of my companions.
At length we had a general consultation, and, much to my disgust,
they one and all began to plan, not for our joining the Prince, but
for offering the most excellent reasons why they should then and
there return: "the Prince had retreated from England; the passage was
dangerous on account of the English fleet; the French could not be
relied upon for any material aid; and, lastly, Spring was
approaching, and they would lose their chances of promotion in the
ensuing campaign," and so on.
"In short, gentlemen," I said, out of patience at last, "you all came
here prepared to sing the same song, and you do it to perfection.
Your arguments do more credit to your heads than to your hearts. If
the Prince were safe in London you would be the first to flock after
him; but now, when he most needs your assistance, you are like a pack
of old women inventing terrors to excuse your cowardice."
There were some of them who pretended to take exception to my words;
but as I assured them I would be only too pleased to make any or all
of them good, and the sooner the better, they did not go beyond their
protest.
But if they found my words unpalatable, Father O'Rourke gave them
something more difficult to digest.
"I object to the gentleman's manner of putting it myself," he began;
"he is altogether too mealy-mouthed, which comes no doubt from his
diet in boyhood. If he were only a blathering Irishman like the rest
of you, he would be shouting Jacobite songs, and guzzling Jacobite
toasts, and whispering Jacobite treasons, and never venture an inch
of his precious carcass, until the moon turned into a Jacobite cheese
and was ready to drop into his mouth. I'm ashamed of you all! Go
back to your macaroni and polenta, and brag about Cremona and other
battles _you_ never fought, and see if you cannot breed some mongrel
mixture that will make you ashamed of the way you have behaved this
day. There! that's what I say to you; and if any of you don't like
it, get down on your marrow-bones and thank Heaven that the rules of
his Church prevent Father O'Rourke, late Chaplain of the Company of
St. James, wearing a sword, or, by the Powers! you would go back like
so many pinked bladders!"
And to my surprise, these men, who were wont to smell an insult afar
off, and whose courage in the field was unquestioned, received this
intolerable tirade as quietly as school-boys after a whipping--and so
the matter rested, and they went their way and we ours.
I wrote to Mr. Constable, then Secretary to the Duke of York, of the
resolution of my comrades, and, by return of post, I received orders
from His Royal Highness to repair to Boulogne, which I immediately
complied with, accompanied by Father O'Rourke.
On reaching Boulogne, we enquired our way to Mr. Constable's
lodgings, and upon knocking at his chamber-door it was opened by the
Duke himself.
"Welcome, Mr. McDonell, welcome; and you, too, Father O'Rourke. You
see we are so few we have dispensed with ceremony here in Boulogne."
he said, giving a hand to each of us.
"We ourselves dispensed with it, and most of our following as well,
in Paris, your Highness," said Father O'Rourke, laughing, "though I
don't know that we'd have been any more had we used all the ceremony
of the Court of Spain;" and then, without waiting to be introduced to
the other gentlemen present, he began the story of his farewell
speech to the volunteers from Italy, and set them all a-laughing
heartily with his impudence.
I was somewhat taken aback, but thought it best to offer no
remonstrance; indeed, I could not imagine any company which would
have put Father O'Rourke out of countenance. I felt ill at ease, not
having shifted myself, as I had not expected to see any one save Mr.
Constable; but Father O'Rourke talked and moved among them all in his
rusty cassock without an apology for his condition. However, I soon
forgot such trifles in my interest in the company gathered. Besides
His Highness, there were the Duke of Fitz-James, son of the great
Duke of Berwick, and many noblemen of distinction and general
officers, among whom I was introduced to the Count Lally-Tollendal,
whose unjust execution at the hands of his enemies some years later
aroused the sympathies of all Europe.
The plans of the Prince and hopes of aid from King Louis were
discussed with the utmost freedom and with much hope, for it was
confidently expected an expedition for Scotland would be equipped
immediately, which the Duke was to command, as it was on this promise
he had come from Italy.
But one week went by, and then another, and yet we had no
satisfaction from the Court, not even excuses, and I could not but
observe that, though others still had implicit faith in some action
by King Louis, the Duke began to lose heart.
"Ah, the poor young man," said Father O'Rourke, "my heart is sore for
him. He has more sense than the rest of them, and faith, I think,
has more heart, too, and so takes it harder. Do you know,
Giovannini, 'tis a great misfortune to be born in the ranks of
princes; they're the only class of men I know of that are
untrustworthy as a whole. King David knew the breed well, and did
not he write 'Put not your trust in princes' (Nollite confidere in
principibus)? and here is the Duke eating his heart out because he is
learning the bitter text King David preached thousands of years ago."
We were seated in a lonely place outside the town, overlooking the
sea, and watched the lights below us gently rising and falling on the
fishing-vessels and other craft at anchor, and marked among them the
bright lanthorns of a man-of-war which topped all the others.
Presently we heard footsteps, and the Duke came up alone; it was not
so dark but he could recognize us, which he did very quietly, and,
advancing, seated himself between us, saying, "Do not move,
gentlemen, and forget I am the Duke for an hour. My heart is sick of
empty forms which mean nothing," and he sate in silence for a long
time with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands gazing
out over the sea.
At length he said, slowly, as if to himself, "I would give ten years
of my life to be on board that frigate with the men I would choose
and a fair wind for Scotland. To think of my poor brother longing
and wondering why some support does not come, and I idle here with
empty hands," and something like a sob ended his words.
Then Father O'Rourke spake in a voice as gentle as if he comforted a
woman. "Your Highness, when we were children, the story we loved
best to hear was the one our mother never told us--about 'The Little
Red Hen.' Who 'The Little Red Hen' was, or where she came from, or
what she did, we never could learn. She was just 'The Little Red
Hen,' and had no story at all. But her story which no one ever heard
was better than that of 'Brian Boru,' or 'Malachi of the Collar of
Gold,' or 'Rookey the Water Witch,' any of whom would come out
without much coaxing and parade up and down until we knew them
through and through, while the very name of 'The Little Red Hen'
would quiet the biggest trouble that ever broke our hearts. My own
belief is that she stayed at home and kept the breath of life in the
family by laying her eggs and scratching up food for the chickens;
but wherever she was, there was no cackling to lead us to her. She
was just doing her work, helping the tired hearts and healing the
sore ones, and all these years no one ever set eyes on her, more than
on the dew that falls at night on the thirsty land."
And that was all; no beginning, no end, and I wondered what he was
at, with his silly stories of Red Hens, fit only for a lot of
bare-legged children; but the Duke must have seen something else, for
after a little he broke into a more lively humour and said, half
laughing, "Upon my word, Father O'Rourke, you Irish are a wonderful
people!"
"We are all that, your Highness," he returned, with great
complacence. "We are a terrible convenient people to have about when
everything is going right, and, for the matter of that, when
everything is going wrong as well, if we only have some one with a
strong hand to lead us; but make us all equal and we are no more use
than a lot of chickens with their heads cut off."
[Illustration: "THEN FATHER O'ROURKE SPAKE"]
"Father O'Rourke," said the Duke, suddenly, "sing me that song I
heard of your singing at Lyons."
"I will with all my heart, your Highness," and, making his big voice
as soft as a girl's, he began without any further words:
"Oh the water, the water."
When he had finished, the Duke sate silent a little, then he rose and
said, "Gentlemen, I thank you for the first hour of quiet I have had
for weeks. Come, let us go back." And at the door of his lodgings
he bade us good-night, saying to Father O'Rourke, "Don't be surprised
if I should come to you some day to hear the rest of the story of
'The Little Red Hen.'"
The forebodings of the Duke came true; no expedition was forthcoming,
and he was obliged to send in single vessels such aid as could be
procured. One left Dunkirk in the beginning of April with three
hundred men and many officers, but I was still bidden to remain.
Shortly afterwards the Duke commanded me to repair to Dunkirk and
there await him. He there sent me the grateful assurance that I was
to start almost at once charged with considerable monies, which he
was about raising, and also letters for the Prince, and at the same
time confided to me that he had almost transmitted a large sum by the
hands of Creach, or "Mr. Graeme," as he styled him--news I was sadly
disappointed to hear, for I could not bring myself to trust the man
in any particular.
In a few days the Duke arrived, and the next day was invited to
dinner by my Lord Clare, then in command of the French troops in and
about the place. As Father O'Rourke and I were considered to be in
the Duke's retinue, we were also asked. Lord Clare, observing my
uniform, enquired of the Duke who I was, and was informed I was a
Highland gentleman named McDonell, a Lieutenant in the Spanish Army
in Italy. After some further conversation with the Duke, he
addressed himself to me, saying, without any introduction:
"Mr. McDonell, I have a company now vacant in my regiment, and if you
will accept, it is this moment at your service."
I rose, and, commanding myself as well as possible under this
surprise, said: "Your Excellency has my most humble thanks for your
handsome offer, but I only left my late service, wherein I had gained
some recognition, in order to devote myself to my protectors and
benefactors, the Royal Family, to whom I am bound by the strongest
ties of gratitude."
The Duke looked at me with a real pleasure in his eyes, and I was
proud that I could afford him even a passing gratification.
Presently the Duke requested his Lordship to grant him a favour.
"I am sure your Highness will not ask anything beyond my poor
powers," he answered.
"There are no political complications in this," laughed the Duke. "I
would only ask that my friend, Father O'Rourke, be requested to sing
for us a song which has been running through my head since I first
heard it from him the other night."
Whereupon Lord Clare requested him to sing, and straightway he began,
for the fiftieth time that I had heard him, at the same old song.
And herein lies the poverty of these rhymers, for if by any chance
they hit something that tickles the ear, they must be harping on it
until the patience of their intimates is wearied beyond words. But I
could afford to let him win his reward, for I considered I had cut no
inconsiderable figure before the company myself.
Two or three days later we left Dunkirk for St. Omer, where I at last
received my orders. I was to return secretly to Dunkirk and there
take passage in a swift sailing cutter, lately captured from the
English, and carry a sum of three thousand guineas, together with
important despatches and letters for the Prince.
The Duke was very down the last night we spent together, and once or
twice repeated:
"Oh the waiting, the waiting,
The cruel night of waiting,
When we brake the bread of sorrow and drank our bitter tears."
"Mr. McDonell," he said, "it is impossible to tell how things may
turn, but should they prove against us, give me your word not to
desert the Prince."
"Your Royal Highness," I answered, "I swear by my mother's soul I
will not leave Scotland while he is in any danger, and neither threat
nor peril will tempt me to be unfaithful to him in word or thought."
"It is enough," he said; "I can trust you without the oath."
The next morning we parted from him, embracing him like any private
gentleman, as he wished to keep his incognito absolute; so he took
his way into Flanders, and we to Dunkirk, there to join some
twenty-five officers, all volunteers for Prince Charles. We found
our vessel ready for sea, and before sunset were safely on board,
meeting old friends and making new ones.
It was night by the time we ran out of the harbour, and many an
anxious hour we had of it, for it was no easy matter to make the run
from France to Scotland in the year '46, when every sail was looked
upon with suspicion.
I need make no apologies for our anxiety when we were signalled to
lay to by the first English ship we met; and the invitation was
quickly followed by a puff of smoke and the boom of a gun. A sense
of danger is largely quickened by unfamiliarity, and though any of us
would have made little of attacking a battery on shore, this sea
fighting was a new and uncomfortable outlook. But when we saw what a
pair of heels our privateer, fitly named the _Swallow_, could show,
we soon recovered our confidence, and after this it was a mere matter
of speculation how long anything we met could stand up to us at all.
Our crew of about fifty was a mixed lot, French and Scotch, but they
were thorough at their business, and it was curious to see how true
the Captain could judge of the exact room he must give to any
suspicious sail--it was a game of hare and hounds all the time, for
no sooner were we rid of one than we would fall in with another to
take up the running; but none of them served to do more than raise
our spirits and take our minds off the discomfort most landsmen find
at sea. We encountered various weather, but the worst only brought
out the sailing qualities of the _Swallow_, until at length we made
the coast of Scotland, and all eagerly looked to the end of our
voyage, which was to be at Inverness; indeed, the Captain counted on
making Cromarty Head before night, and to lay there till the morning.
That day at dinner Father O'Rourke gave us another taste of his
song-making, which was greatly appreciated on account of the
reference to the "White Cockade," always a favorite quickstep with
the Jacobite Regiments:
Merrily, merrily blows the wind from off the coasts of France;
The Channel open wide before, God send us now good chance!
Give us the green seas rolling free and but way enough to steer,
And we'll leave the swiftest foe in the wake of the
_Swallow_ Privateer!
Then here's to the _Swallow_, flying true!
And here's to the Prince and his Bonnets Blue!
And here's to the heart of each wife and maid
That is beating for the Laddie with the White Cockade!
Drearily, drearily sets the wind down from the Northern Seas,
But she dips to the rollers big and black, and her bonnie
breast she frees,
From her tapering mast she flies on the blast her signals
fluttering clear
To the friends that pray for the coming home of the
_Swallow_ Privateer!
Then here's to the _Swallow_, flying true!
And here's to the Prince and his Bonnets Blue!
And here's to the heart of each wife and maid
That is beating for the Laddie with the White Cockade!
Mightily, mightily booms the wind out of the setting sun;
We will double the great ships like a hare, we will
fight where we cannot run,
Till we win to land, and with sword in hand we will
follow the Chevalier
Who will bless the winds that filled the wings of the
_Swallow_ Privateer!
Then here's to the _Swallow_, flying true!
And here's to the Prince and his Bonnets Blue!
And here's to the heart of each wife and maid
That is beating for the Laddie with the White Cockade!
It was with the highest expectations that we looked forward to
landing on the morrow and joining the Prince, of whose movements we
were in ignorance, except that we were to rendezvous at Inverness.
In the latter part of the night I was awakened by an ugly scream from
Captain Lynch, one of the officers of our company.
"What is the matter?" I asked, in some alarm.
"I dreamed the Devil had hold of me by the heels, and about to dash
my brains out."
"Perhaps the Devil is not so very far off," I returned; and then,
being somewhat restless, part from the heat and part from our being
so near our landing, I thought I would take a turn on the deck. No
sooner had my eyes got accustomed to the light than, to my alarm, I
made out the dim outline of a great ship, which must have come up
during the night, unseen and unheard by our sentinels, and was
lying-to between us and the entrance to the bay. I at once made my
discovery known to the Captain, who, coming hurriedly on deck, swore
with a great oath I had saved their lives, for she was no other than
an English man-of-war on the outlook for such as we. Then, without
more ado, he slipped his anchor, got up sail as quietly as possible,
and, in a fever of anxiety, we waited to see whether the tide which
was setting on shore or the light winds which were moving would prove
the stronger. At length our sails gently filled and began to draw,
so we crept round under the shadow of the land until we got the full
wind, and stood out to sea with thankful hearts for the danger we had
so narrowly escaped.
Great was the surprise of my comrades when aroused to find we were
again making for the open instead of ending our voyage; but, as
Father O'Rourke said: "Captain Lynch, your patron saint evidently
thinks that even a little extra salt water is better for you than the
inside of an English prison. The truth is that Irishmen are such
favourites that even the Devil himself will do them a good turn at
times."
Though I thought to myself there were others fully as deserving as
the Irish, I said nothing.
As our intended landing was now impossible, our Captain determined to
stand round the Orkneys for Loch Broom, in Cromarty, on the West
coast.
We had an easy run, and as soon as we were signalled from the shore,
and on lying-to, a boat was put out. In the stern there were seated
two gentlemen, one of whom, the Captain informed me, was a McKenzie,
and in the other Father O'Rourke and I only too soon recognized
Creach.
"This means trouble of some sort," I remarked; "we would never find
him so far afield if things were going right."
"I fear it, too," he answered, and before long our worst
apprehensions were realized.
We withdrew at once to the cabin where I met Creach, or Graeme, as he
still called himself, without remark, for I recalled my word to the
Duke and felt there was something too weighty on hand for even the
remembrance of a personal quarrel. In a few moments we heard, to our
dismay, that Culloden had been fought and lost the very day we had
sailed from Dunkirk; that the clans were scattered and no one knew
what had become of the Prince.
After the dreadful news had been given time to sink into our benumbed
senses, I asked for personal friends, and heard, to my sorrow, from
McKenzie, that my Uncle Scottos, who had been among the very first to
join the Prince, and was much esteemed by him, had died like a
soldier and a gentleman in his service in the first charge at
Culloden.
When the body of his clan refused to answer the signal to charge, and
stood still and dumb under the insult which had been put upon them in
placing them in the left instead of the right wing, he cursed and
swore like one possessed, as did others. But finding it of no avail,
he changed of a sudden, and, turning to his own men, threw his bonnet
on the ground, crying to them, with tears in his words: "Let them go!
But my own children will never return to say they saw me go to my
death alone!" and with that he charged, every one of his own
following him. It was fine, but of no effect, for the English swept
them off the face of the earth by a point-blank fire before ever
steel met steel. He was picked up and carried off by two of his men;
but finding the pursuit grow too hot, he called a halt.
[Illustration: "'WILL NEVER RETURN TO SAY THEY SAW ME GO TO MY DEATH
ALONE'"]
"Put me down here!" he said, and quickly taking off his dirk,
sporran, and watch, he sent them to his son with the message that his
end had come as he had always wished, "Sword in hand and face to the
foe," and bade them leave him.
And so died one of the gallantest gentlemen, and probably the best
swordsman in all Scotland.
Besides, I lost many other of my friends and kinsmen, as I afterwards
learned; but this was no time for private mournings, and I turned at
once to the business in hand. My comrades decided there was nothing
to do but return, and proposed our action should be unanimous.
"Gentlemen," said I, "in the face of such tidings as we have
received, no one can doubt but your resolve is justified, and had I
simply volunteered for military service, as you have done, I would
not hesitate to give my voice to your decision, which I hold to be
honourable in every way. But I am charged with private despatches
and other matters for the Prince by the Duke of York, and I am not
free until I have at least attempted to carry out my mission, for
which I know I have your good wishes, and so must go on alone."
"Not alone, my son," broke out Father O'Rourke, and stretched out his
big hand to me across the table. "I am curious, gentlemen, to see
Scotland, and am sure I cannot do so better than in company with our
friend here."
"But, sir, how can you expect to travel about here in your cassock?
You would only have to meet the first loyal man to be arrested,"
objected Creach, the first time he had spoken to either of us.
"Thank you for your suggestion, sir, though doubtless the word
'loyal' was a bit of a slip on your part. I am too well accustomed
to meeting blackguards of every description to fear even a 'loyal'
man!" Whereupon every one looked at him in surprise to hear him so
address Creach, who, however, thought well to make no reply; and
shortly after our conference broke up, Creach returning to shore,
whilst Mr. McKenzie remained with us until we had formed some plan.
Father O'Rourke arranged with Captain Lynch, who had volunteered from
the Hungarian service, and was near as big a man as himself, that he
should provide him with a spare uniform, and, when once arrayed, he
presented so fine an appearance that we, one and all, made him our
compliments upon it.
"Captain Lynch," said he, at dinner, "I have another favour to ask
before we part, and that is for the loan of your name while I am
playing at this masquerade. I know it is a ticklish thing to ask,
this loaning of names, but as I have always been particular of my
own, I can promise you I know how to care for yours."
"Faith, you can have it, and welcome, provided you are careful not to
mislay it, for 'tis the only bit of property my poor father ever left
me," replied the Captain, with great good-nature.
"Never fear, you'll have it back safe and sound. I'll make good
kitchen of it, so it won't be worn out, and if they hang me, I'll
take care they'll do so under all my true name and title."
Seeing that Father O'Rourke approved, I determined that half the sum
I carried was quite enough to risk, so I did up one thousand guineas
in one bag, five hundred in another, and confided the remaining
fifteen hundred to Captain Lynch to return to the Duke, together with
a letter explaining our intentions, and with farewells all around,
followed by many a good wish from our comrades, Father O'Rourke and I
clambered down the side, followed by Mr. McKenzie, and were rowed
ashore. We gave the boat's crew something, and waving a farewell to
those on ship-board, picked up our portmanteaus and struck inland.