How I fared in my attempt to recover the stolen money, and how Father
O'Rourke and I came face to face with unlooked-for company in the Inn
at Portree.
We, in company with my kinsmen, pushed our way rapidly towards
Knoidart. Although it had been perfectly plain to us both--for
Father O'Rourke had picked up no mean bit of soldiering in his
campaigning--that any successful stand was out of the question--for
the cordon was every day tightening round Lochiel, and, worse than
this, some of the principals, like Lovat, were disheartened, and only
anxious to make their peace on any terms--Murray, who was to some
extent the representative of the Prince, was badly frightened, and
most of the Highlanders were wearying to return home. This was all
patent to us, and yet we could not help feeling a sense of dejection
with the others, most of whom knew no reason whatever for anything
they did, beyond that they were ordered to it by their chiefs.
But nothing like a spice of danger will cheer a lagging spirit, and
for the first twelve hours we had enough of it and to spare. But
though at times nearly surrounded, being able to scatter on any
approach, we had an advantage over what troops we met, and were not
slow to avail ourselves of our opportunities. "Faith, I've not done
so much running away since I was at school!" Father O'Rourke
declared; and, indeed, to see him one would swear he had the heart of
a school-boy in him still.
However, we were soon beyond actual danger, and now made our way
openly enough, until one evening we stood on the highway, and before
us I pointed out to Father O'Rourke the chimnies of Crowlin, my
father's house, which I had left as a boy of twelve, six years before.
[Illustration: "THERE! THAT IS CROWLIN"]
Eighteen may not seem a great age to my reader, and does not to me
to-day, when I can cap it with fifty years and more, but on that June
day in the year '46, when I stood and knocked the dust of the road
off my shoes, I felt like a man who had spent a lifetime away from
all he had known as a boy, and my heart grew so big within me that I
could hardly say the words, "There! that is Crowlin."
"Aye, Giovannini, and the man is blessed that has a Crowlin to come
back to," Father O'Rourke said, laying his hand on my shoulder.
"Oh, I don't mean that, Father; 'tis a poor place enough," I
answered, for fear he should think I was vaunting it.
"And I didn't mean that either, Giovannini," he said, smiling. "But
let us be going."
So on we went, each familiar object breaking down the first feeling
of separation until the years between vanished before a voice within,
saying, "I saw you yesterday! I saw you yesterday!" as we passed the
big rock by the bend of the road, and followed the little path with
the same turns across the fields and over the brook, with the same
brown water slipping between the same stepping-stones. "You crossed
o'er yesterday! You crossed o'er yesterday!" it seemed to say; and
so on, until the dogs rushed out barking at us from the house itself.
"Go in first, lad--go in. I'll stay and make friends with the
collies," said Father O'Rourke, seating himself, and I left him.
I found my father sadly changed; much more so than I had gathered
from the news I had received; indeed, it was easy to see that his
disease was fast nearing its end. He was greatly brightened by my
return, and heartily welcomed Father O'Rourke, the more so when he
learned his true character, and they took to each other at once.
When I saw the great, bare house--all the more forlorn for the lot of
rantipole boys and girls, children of my poor Uncle Scottos--wanting
the feeling of a home, that somehow seems absent without a woman
about--for my sister Margaret was the same as adopted by Lady Jane
Drummond--and my poor father waiting his end among his books, alone,
year in year out, I first realized something of what my absence had
meant to him, and of the effort it had cost him to send me away.
It was decided we should remain where we were for the present, until
something definite was heard from the Prince, which might lead to
further action. As it would only have courted danger, which I hold a
man has no right to do, we put off our uniforms and soon were
transformed by the Highland dress.
To me it was nothing, this change to a kilt and my own short hair,
replacing the bag wig with a blue bonnet, but Father O'Rourke would
fain have returned to the cassock he had left behind him on board the
_Swallow_, and was most uncomfortable for many days until he learned
to manage the kilt "with decency, if not with grace," as he said
himself.
"Oh, Isaiah, Isaiah!" he groaned; "little did I dream you were
preaching at me when you commanded, 'Uncover thy locks, make bare the
leg' (Discooperi humerum, revela crura)," and he would pretend to
cover up his great knees with his short kilt, to the delight of the
children, who were hail-fellow-well-met with him from the hour of his
arrival.
Many was the pleasant talk he had with my father, who was full of his
remembrances of Rome and the College he so loved in the via delle
Quattro Fontane. With him he stopped all his tomfooleries, and I was
surprised to see what excellent reason he would discourse, and take a
pleasure in it too. But it must not be taken he only amused himself
and my father, for more than one weary journey did he make into the
hills to minister to some wounded unfortunate there in hiding, sore
needing the spiritual consolation he alone could carry. As the
"Sagairt an t-Saighdeir" (the Soldier Priest) he was soon known and
demanded far and near, and no request ever met with a refusal, no
matter what danger might offer.
I may mention it was now the common people began to speak of me as
"Spanish John," a name that has stuck fast to the present; indeed,
such names serve a purpose useful enough where a whole country-side
may have but one family name, and I can assure you, the McDonells
never wanted for Johns. There were Red Johns, and Black Johns, and
Fair Johns, and Big Johns, and Johns of every size and colour and
deformity. Had they known a little more geographically, they might
have come nearer the mark; but it is not for me to quarrel with the
name they saw fit to fasten upon me, as most of them knew as little
difference between Spain and Italy as between Mesopotamia and
Timbuctoo.
The English were about at times, and more than once we had to take to
the heather, and lie skulking for days together in the hills; but no
harm came to Crowlin. Indeed, I thought but little of the ravages
committed, though they have been made much of since, for waste many a
mile of country had I helped to lay, and that a country like to the
Garden of Eden compared with this tangle of heath and hill. It was
only the fortune of war; and, after all, there was many a one who
lived on without being disturbed, always ready to lend a hand to
those less fortunate.
[Illustration: "MANY WAS THE PLEASANT TALK HE HAD WITH MY FATHER"]
Early in June we heard the news of the capture of old Lord Lovat, in
Loch Morar, and before the end of the month that Mr. Secretary Murray
had also fallen into the hands of the Government, About this time too
we heard some ugly reports of one Allan McDonald Knock, of Sleat, in
the Isle of Skye, and, though a cousin of our own, it was said he was
the head of the informers and spies, and from the description we
suspected that Creach was his coadjutor.
As soon as our country began to get more settled, I resolved to go
North and see if I could come on any chance of recovering the stolen
money; for now the Prince would need it more than ever, as the last
news we had of him was in South Uist, in great straits for every
necessity. Accordingly, I set out alone, and, on arriving in the
McKenzie country, I put up for a night with a Mr. McKenzie, of
Torridon, who had been out as a Lieutenant-Colonel in my cousin Coll
Barisdale's regiment.
I made some inquiries, and found old Colin Dearg was still in the
country, but was careful not to disclose the object of my visit,
which was an easy enough matter, as our talk ran on the troubles of
our friends and the Prince.
The next morning, while the lady of the house was ordering breakfast,
I went for a solitary stroll, to turn over my plans and decide how I
might best approach the matter. I had not gone far before I met a
well-dressed man, also in Highland clothes, taking the morning air,
and with him, after civil salutations, I fell into discourse about
former happenings in the country.
What was my astonishment to hear him of his own accord begin the
story of the French officers who came to Loch Broom, and how the
thousand guineas had been cut out of their portmanteau by Colin Dearg
and the others, Major William McKenzie of Killcoy, and Lieutenant
Murdock McKenzie, from Dingwall, both officers of Lord Cromarty's
regiment.
"A pretty mess they made of the matter," he said, "and were well
despised through all the country for their behaviour; but had they
only taken my advice there would never have been a word about it."
"Indeed!" said I, astonished beyond measure. "And pray, sir, what
did you advise?"
"Och, I would have cut off both their heads and made a sure thing of
it, and there never would have been another word about the matter."
I looked at him with a good deal of curiosity, for I can assure you
it gives a man a strange feeling to hear his taking off talked over
to his face as a matter of course.
"Who were they," I asked, "and from what country?"
"The oldest, and a stout-like man, was Irish. The youngest, and very
strong-like, was a McDonell, of the family of Glengarry," he answered.
"How did they know the money was there? Did these officers speak of
it?" I asked, thinking I might as well get at the whole story.
"No," said he, "but another officer, who had been with old Colin
since the battle, went on board their ship when they landed and told
him the youngest one was sure to have money."
"Was his name Creach or Graeme," I went on.
"I don't just remember, but his face was as white as a sick woman's,"
was the answer, which fixed my man for me beyond a doubt.
"And what was done with the money?"
"Colin Dearg got three hundred guineas, William Killcoy three
hundred, and Lieutenant Murdock McKenzie three hundred."
"And what of the other hundred?"
"Two men who stood behind the Irish Captain with drawn dirks, ready
to kill him had he observed Colin Dearg cutting open the portmanteau,
got twenty-five guineas each, and I and another man, prepared to do
the like to the young Captain McDonell, got the same," he answered,
very cool, as if it were a piece of business he did every day.
"Now, are you telling the truth?" I asked, sternly.
"As sure as I shall answer for it on the Last Day," he said, warmly.
"And do you know to whom you are speaking?"
"To a friend, I suppose, and one of my own name."
"No, you damned rascal!" I roared, and caught him by the throat with
my left hand, twitching out my dirk in my right, and throwing him on
his back. "I am that very McDowell you stood ready to murder!" And
I was within an ace of running him through the heart, when I suddenly
reflected that I was quite alone, in a place where I was in a manner
a stranger, and among people whom I had every reason to distrust. I
got up, thrust my dirk into its sheath, and walked off without a
word, leaving the fellow lying where I had thrown him.