IX

How Father O'Rourke kept the Black Pass; of the escape of the Prince

and my own mischance that followed, but of how the Day of Reckoning

between me and Creach came at last.

We felt that Skye was not the safest place for us after my brush with

Creach, for, with such a creature in leash with Allan Knock, no

decent man's liberty was worth a rush in days when a whisper was

sufficient to secure his arrest, so we made our trip a short one and

returned to the main-land.

We and all felt relieved that the Prince had returned from the

Islands, whither he had gone much against the wishes of his best

friends, and his escape might have been effected long since had he

not taken wrong advice from those who knew nothing of the country.

And if I may criticize, without blame however, His Royal Highness,

perhaps from too great an openness in his own temper, was not a

discerning judge of those about him, many of whom were men of no

character whatever, and to-day I can see the truth of Father

O'Rourke's words which I had resented so heartily in Rome.

But such advantage as he now gained from being amongst his friends

was in a measure balanced by the nearness of his enemies, and he was

obliged to lie exceeding close, and at times ran narrow chances of

capture. This was the more evident as but few now knew his

whereabouts, and while on the Islands his movements were known so

wide that at times I have been tempted to think it was possible the

English were not in truth over anxious for his capture. Indeed, I

cannot think what they would have done with him had he fallen into

their hands. To execute him would be an impossibility, for we felt

such a murder as that of King Charles was something the civilized

world would never see again, and the horrid crimes of the French in

these last days were as then undreamed of; and to imprison him would

have been to place him on the highest possible pinnacle of martyrdom,

the last thing his enemies could desire.

Be this as it may, we found the activity of the troops had been

greatly increased, and it was only with the greatest caution we could

visit Crowlin; so we kept moving about the country, seldom passing

two nights in the same place, keeping as near the coast as possible

to be on the outlook for friendly ships.

We soon had evidence, too, that Creach was at work, for even before

we left Skye it was clear we were spied upon, and now it was only the

scarcity of troops that prevented him and Allan Knock from carrying

out their private revenge. We were dogged night and day, and knew an

attempt would be made upon us the moment the necessary men could be

spared for such service.

It was on the first of September that we got news of a vessel off the

coast, near Loch Carron, where we were then hiding on a property

which belonged to our family, and we forthwith sent word to

Glenaladale--Alexander McDonald--who had just left the Prince in

charge of Cluny Macpherson among the hills, that all was ready. We

made a night visit to Crowlin and bade good-bye to my father, whom I

never expected to see again on earth, while over the sleeping

children Father O'Rourke said a prayer in Irish, and left his

blessing on the house. We slipped out into the night again and made

our way to the coast to find that the vessel had gone out to sea, but

had signalled she would stand in again after dark the next day.

This we spent most anxiously among the hills. We knew we were

watched in every movement and an attempt would be made to prevent our

embarking, if possible; and, to add to our anxiety, word was brought

from Glenaladale saying he had no knowledge of where the Prince was,

as Cluny had moved away from the hiding-place he last knew, but that

we were all to be aboard and lie to until the last possible hour in

the morning, and then, if he did not appear with the Prince, to sail

without him, instructing any other vessel spoken, to stand in farther

to the south near Arisoig, so he might prepare and get word into the

hills in time.

Shortly before midnight we saw the signal of a red light low on the

water shewn twice for a moment, and made our way to the beach, where

the boats met us, and we embarked without molestation. We found her

to be the _Alerte_ privateer, and her Captain fully prepared to run

any reasonable risk to bring off the Prince. We met with a numerous

company of gentlemen and some ladies on board, who had been picked up

at different points along the coast, and together we watched in the

greatest anxiety for some signal from the shore; but our hopes

vanished as the dawn grew stronger in the east, until we could not

justify a longer delay, and made ready to return in our boat, which

we had kept alongside. Such was their devotion that some, when they

heard of our resolution, were only deterred from joining us by my

assurance that I was charged with a special commission by the Duke,

and their presence would only endanger the safety of the Prince as

well as our own; on this they allowed us to depart, with many a

prayer both in Gaelic and English. With dull anger in our hearts we

climbed the hills, eying all the cover whence we knew false eyes were

following us; but not a bush moved, nor was there a sound, as we lay

on the open hill-top and from our old hiding-place saw the sun redden

the sails of the privateer as she stood on her way towards France and

safety.

Our first thought was to get back to Crowlin, for, now the Prince had

failed to appear, we held our duty was to my father until another

opportunity offered.

We were quite unable to approach the house in daylight, as it lay in

the hollow well open to observation; and when we at last made our way

down and entered, we were shocked at the change that had taken place

in my father's condition.

"It was a kind Providence that led us back, Giovannini," said Father

O'Rourke, as we knelt beside the plainly dying man, "for these hours

will mean much to him and to you afterwards."

When my father recovered from the shock of seeing us, it was with the

greatest thankfulness I saw Father O'Rourke go into him alone, and

when he appeared again his face was that of the holy man he was.

[Illustration: "SHE STOOD ON HER WAY TOWARDS FRANCE AND SAFETY"]

"Now, Giovannini," he said, "I am going to your cousin"--this was Dr.

McDonald, of Kylles--"for I have done all that is in my power for

your father. He wants you now, my son, and he wants such relief as

the Doctor may perhaps give him."

"But, Father," I said, "that is impossible; you do not know the road

over the hills well enough, and the country is alive with troops you

can never pass."

"Nonsense," he said, with a short laugh, "I can pass anything on a

night such as this. Let me take Neil with me, and we will be back

before daybreak."

Knowing that argument was useless, I sent for Neil, as good and safe

a man as there was in the country, and who spoke English perfectly,

gave him his directions to go by the Ghlach Dubh--the Black Pass--saw

they both were well armed and supplied with cakes and whiskey, bade

them god-speed, and then turned back into the dark house.

The poor little ones, soon to be fatherless for a second time, were

sleeping quietly, knowing nothing of the great sorrow creeping over

them, and I passed on into the chamber of death, sending old

Christie, the servant, to keep her lonely watch in the kitchen.

That last night alone with my father is as distinct to me to-day as

if it were but just passed; it is full of things that are sacred--too

sacred to be written about--and at the change of the night into day,

I closed his eyes and prayed over his remains in peace.

When I could, I rose, and, calling Christie, opened the door softly

and stole out into the cool, clearing morning air. It was so still

that a great peace seemed over everything, and only the cheep of

distant birds came to me; but soon I made out a moving figure on the

hill-side, and, remembering Father O'Rourke with a start, I set off

and hurried to meet him. But as I drew nearer I could make out that

it was Neil alone, and hurried forward much alarmed, and, as I saw

him better, my fears grew.

He was running at his best, without plaid or bonnet, and when we met

all he could gasp out was, "Oh! the Soldier Priest! the Soldier

Priest!"

"Stop, man!" I said, sternly. "Neil, Neil! What new trouble do you

bring?"

"He is dead!" he cried, with a groan. "No, not dead, God forgive me!

but dying there alone, and him the finest swordsman I ever stood

beside."

"Come!" I said, and he turned with me, and as we went he gave out his

story in gasps:

"The Doctor was not at home. Skulking in the hills again. We left

our message and started back. Just at the top of the Black Pass they

met us, and he never thinking of them at all! An officer and six

men. We were too quick for them, though, and had our swords out and

our backs to the hill-side before they could stop us.

"They called to him to surrender, taking him to be you.

"'Come, come, Mr. McDonell!' says the officer. 'Give up your sword

like a gentleman!'

"And oh! Master John! With his death before him he laughed. And

what do you think were the words he said? 'Sir,' says he, 'I never

knew a McDonell yet who could give up his sword like a gentleman!'

"And then he warned the officer to be off and leave such work to the

likes of Allan Knock and Creach, and the hot words flew back and

forth between them till we were all at it together.

"He ran the officer through as cool as if he was at practice; he put

two others down, and we were making grand play, when there was a

flash, and down he went, shot like a dog!

"'Neil! Neil!' he shouted, 'go, for the love of God!' and I broke

through and rolled over the side of the cliff; but by God's help I

caught and held myself just when I thought I was lost. And I held

there while they crawled to the edge and threw a torch down--making

sure I had gone with the stones that rolled till they struck the

black water below--and until I heard them gather up their wounded and

tramp. Then I climbed to the top again, and left him only when I

found he was still breathing, and remembered he meant I was to carry

his message to you.

"Oh, Master John! never, never did man fight better, and you may

comfort your heart with the name he made for you this night."

[Illustration: "'GIVE UP YOUR SWORD LIKE A GENTLEMAN'"]

I could see it all clearly: that scoundrel, Allan Knock, set on by

Creach, had been on our track ever since we left Skye, and knowing of

our return from the ship through his spies, had thought to have taken

me, or both of us, at Crowlin; the rest was plain from Neil's story,

and it was only through the mistake of the English captain that my

father had closed his eyes in my arms.

By the goodness of God, when I knelt beside the man so dear to me, I

found him still alive, though wounded so that at the first sight, I

saw even to raise him meant a quicker death.

The moment I spoke he opened his eyes. "Ah, Giovannini, my son," he

said, in a voice surprisingly strong, "it was a grand fight!" And

then, after a moment, "It was a pretty fight until they put an end to

it with their shooting. But, poor creatures, I drove them to it.

They couldn't get in at me in any other way."

"Oh, Father," I cried, "why didn't you tell them who you were?"

"I've been borrowing names all along," he said, drowsily; "tell Lynch

I kept his. I didn't make a bad use of yours either," he said, very

slowly, and seemed to doze.

We raised his head more and covered him with the plaids.

In a little while he woke up quite clear. "Giovannini, lad, what of

things at home?"

I told him, and he muttered a short prayer to himself, and then went

on: "I am thankful I have neither kith nor kin, and not a soul to

give a thought to my going to-night save yourself. But that is

much--is dear to me. What claim has a wandering priest save on his

God, and your being with me is the excess of His goodness.

"Now don't be fretting about the way my end has come; it was as much

God's work to bar the door by my sword, and keep the father in peace

with the son, as to stand beside His Altar."

And then the drowsiness began to steal on him again, but he roused

himself to say, as if in answer to my sorrow, "Courage, lad, courage;

the sun has not gone because a rushlight is snuffed out."

It was a long time before he spoke again, and then it was in the same

quiet voice.

"'Tis a strange pass to come to a man who a few years ago thought of

nothing more dangerous than the sunny side of a street! But, do you

know, I always believed I had a bit of the soldier in me. Many a

time have my fingers itched for a sword-hilt when I thought I might

have done more than praying, and now it has been given to me, and I

have done it well. I can say with St. Paul, 'I have fought a good

fight' (Bonum certamen certavi)"--and these were the last words that

brave heart said on earth.

We bore him home to Crowlin on our shoulders, and laid him and my

father side by side in the one grave, where my tears and those of the

children fell on both alike.

Broken as I was in every way, I had to think and act, for the same

necessities were before me. So after seeing my uncles, Allan and

Alexander, the nearest relations left to the children, and making

some provision for their safety, I returned again to the coast near

Loch Carron, for I could now move with greater freedom until such

time as the real facts of my supposed death at the Black Pass might

be discovered.

Not more than ten days went by before I had news of two ships hanging

off the land, and I arranged to board them should they come close

enough to signal. This they did, and I found them to be the

_Princesse de Conti_ and _L'Hereux_, from St. Maloes, under command

of Colonel Warren, of Dillon's Regiment, expressly come and

determined to carry the Prince back with him at all hazards.

I told him of our disappointment of the _Alerte_, and, in accordance

with the instructions from Glenaladale, we stood south for Arisoig,

and I was put on shore near Loch-na-Neugh. I found Glenaladale

without difficulty, but to our uneasiness there was still the same

uncertainty about the Prince; and at first the search brought no

result, but by chance he got the information necessary, and the

joyful news of the vessels' arrival was carried in all haste to the

"Wanderer."

It was late at night--the night of the nineteenth of September--when

we came to Borodale, where a numerous company had gathered awaiting

him. He was accompanied by Lochiel, now nearly recovered, his

brother the Doctor, and others; but my heart was sore when I heard of

the condition he was in, although far better than what he had known

for months. However, Glenaladale said he was in grand health and

spirits, and clean linen, a tailor, and a barber, would soon change

him into as gallant a looking gentleman as ever stepped in the Three

Kingdoms.

I could not go near the house, and begged Glenaladale not to mention

my name to the Prince until they sailed, and then only that the Duke

might know I had at least kept my promise not to leave Scotland while

the Prince was in danger. My trouble was too heavy upon me for the

drinking of healths, and I had no heart for the framing of

encouragements.

From where I sate I could see the lighted windows in the house darken

as figures crossed them. I could even catch faint snatches of song,

and with some envy in my heart for those who could so rejoice, when

behind them was ruin and before only the uncertain safety of the two

ships I could faintly make out against the dark waters of the Loch.

As for me, the whole world seemed closing down in the darkness, and I

could see no cheer and no light beyond. My thoughts were the

formless thoughts of a hopeless man, and they were my only companions

till the dawn broke and the embarkation began.

Then my broken thoughts took shape. What place had I among these

men? They had fought, and, if they had lost, had lost gallantly,

without reproach, and were still about their leader, while I had

never even drawn my sword for the Cause I loved as truly as any of

them all, and my efforts had only ended in failure in every

particular. I was a broken man, and the best friend I had in the

world was lying, murdered for my sake, in his unconsecrated grave at

Crowlin.

Those were the blackest hours that ever had come to me, and I would

not wish my worst enemy to pass through the like.

I counted over one hundred who passed to the ships until the Prince,

Lochiel, and their immediate following appeared. Then I rose and

stood bareheaded, and I remember it was in the Gaelic my mother had

taught me that the words came when I prayed aloud for his safety.

Poor, ill-fated, Bonnie, Bonnie Prince Charlie! All the gallantry,

all the fortitude, all the sensibility with which God Almighty ever

dowered human creature had been shewn forth by him from the hour his

misfortune came upon him, in a measure that redeemed his former

faults, and should blot out all that followed the day he sailed from

Loch-na-Neugh.

Bareheaded I stood and watched _L'Hereux_ and the _Princesse de

Conti_ get under weigh, until I could not bear to look at them longer

and threw myself face downwards amid the heather.

At length sleep came to me, and when I awoke the quiet of the night

was again about me, and I rose and took my way alone.

I now settled myself at Loch Carron, and was visited by such as knew

of my whereabouts, who did what they could to raise my spirits, and,

amongst others, by Dr. McDonald, of Kylles.

One afternoon, when out fishing with him at the entrance of the Loch,

we were surprised by the appearance round a headland of a sloop of

war, which we at once recognized as the _Porcupine_, Captain

Ferguson, well known on the coast for his activity in the

apprehension of suspected Jacobites.

To attempt to escape was only to invite pursuit and ensure certain

capture, so we put a bold face on the matter, and the Doctor, without

hesitation, stood up and signalled to her with his hat.

"Ferguson will not molest me, if he has any bowels at all, for I did

him a good turn this summer when I set his arm for him in Knoidart,"

said the Doctor.

"That is all very well, but what of me?" I asked. "I am in no state

to go on board. I am dressed like a ploughman."

"Well! what better would you wish? You have nothing to do but hold

your tongue, for you don't know a word of English. I'll tell

Ferguson I am short of lemons and sugar, and appeal to him not to

drive me to drinking my whiskey pure. I know the idea of a rebel

coming on board a King's ship on such an errand will tickle his

fancy, for he is not such a monster as they report. In any case, we

can do nothing else."

There was nothing for it but to go on, and in truth the matter did

not appear in any way serious, so I rowed on towards the sloop, which

was coming up smartly, and before many minutes we were alongside, the

Doctor shouting out his instructions to me in Gaelic.

It turned out much as he had said, for Captain Ferguson laughed

heartily when he whispered his message, and invited him into his

cabin to have a glass together, whilst I waited on deck.

Now, unfortunately, the Doctor had a strong taste for conviviality,

which was part reason why his story of the lemons was so easily

swallowed, and one glass followed another, until I could see that he

was getting well into his cups.

I was anxious to be away, and so ventured to speak to him at the

door, saying, by way of excuse, that the weather looked threatening;

but he only pooh-poohed the matter, and I saw he was further gone

than I supposed, and so spoke with more sharpness than I intended.

"That's a pretty kind of servant, 'pon my word!" said the Captain.

"Servant, indeed!" snorted the Doctor, to my dismay. "Servant,

indeed! He's as good a gentleman as I am!" and then, sobered at

once, as it flashed across his fuddled brain what his words might

mean, he went on, earnestly: "You know, Captain, in the Highlands

service does not necessarily mean that a man is not a gentleman. Why

I have known--" but the Captain cut him short with: "Come, come,

Doctor, you can't throw dust in my eyes. 'Tis bad enough to have you

here imposing on me on your own account, but I will have no tricks

with unknown gentlemen who choose to run their necks into the noose."

The poor Doctor was completely overwhelmed with his blunder, and only

made matters worse with every word he uttered; but I refused to open

my mouth, and was not sorry when they put him over the side of the

ship and we saw him drifting fast astern, still lamenting.

The Captain then turned to me. "Now, sir," said he, "'tis an

unpleasant duty to detain you, but I will make your detention as easy

as may be. Of course, if you care to explain who you are, and can

prove to me that you are innocent and your representations correct, I

will put you on shore; if not, you will go with us to Skye, where I

will certainly obtain information, so you will gain little by your

silence."

However, I did not see fit to answer him, and only stared as if I did

not understand a word.

"Very well," said he, "if you will play the servant you will live

forward; when you choose to declare yourself a gentleman, I will

treat you as leniently as I may."

So forward I went, and gained but little by my obstinacy except

uncomfortable quarters and rough company, for we made for Sleat, and

there were boarded by Allan Knock. The Captain was convinced he had

secured Barisdale in my person, but Knock was forced to declare that

he was wrong in this, though he could not name me; but the next day

he returned with Creach, before whom I was paraded like a beast on

market-day.

The game was up now, but I did not care to speak; indeed, I had

nothing to say before such a scoundrel. Words were not what I

counted on to settle my reckoning with him.

After they left, Ferguson came up to where I was sitting on deck.

"You are my prisoner, Mr. McDonell," said he.

"On what authority, sir?" said I.

"Oh, ho! You can talk English, I find," he laughed.

"Yes, and perhaps more than you may relish, Captain Ferguson," I

replied; "and if English be not sufficient, I have one or two other

tongues beside. Now, there is no use in trying to frighten me; I

have gone through too much for that. I am an officer in the Spanish

service, and have not drawn sword in this quarrel, and if you detain

me without any authority or warrant beyond the words of this creature

who has just left, I warn you your action is unjustifiable and will

be most strictly inquired into."

"Now, now, Mr. McDonell, don't try any of your hectoring with me," he

returned. "You can make your complaints when you see London."

"Well, then, London let it be. I have always had a mind to visit

it," I answered, shortly, and thereupon our talk ended.

I will do him justice to say he treated me with much civility during

the four weeks I was on board the _Porcupine_--very different

treatment from what I received at the hands of Captain Gardner, to

whom he handed me over in the Sound of Mull. But this he apologized

for before I left him, saying he had only acted under orders, as

otherwise, could he have followed his inclination, I would have been

of his mess.

However, I will not dwell on these personal inconveniences, and only

record a kindness received from Mr. Maitland, a midshipman on board.

When orders were received from Edinburgh to land me at Fort William,

I took leave of Captain Gardner without any hard feeling on either

side, and placed myself in the boat ordered to convey me on shore.

The sailors, who were Irish, pitying my situation, said, in that

language, if I broke away when I was landed, they would take good

care no balls would reach me. But I thanked them, in the same

tongue, and assured them I was in no danger.

On taking leave of Mr. Maitland he said, in French, "I suppose you

know, Mr. McDonell, to whom you are indebted for this? To Allan

McDonald Knock."

"Thank you a thousand times for your interest," I returned, "but I

know that already."

I was accordingly imprisoned in Fort William, but suffered little,

save from the confinement, which lasted over four months, when, by

the exertions of my sister Margaret and her protector, Lady Jane

Drummond, I was released.

I then returned to Knoidart, but shortly after, hearing that Allan

Knock was at Glenelg, I took Neil and Duncan, his half-brother, and

started for that place.

Things fell out better than I had expected, for, by what I have

always held to be a direct Providence, no less an enemy than Creach

himself was delivered into my hands when I least looked for it. I

was on my way to Glenelg, as I say, to meet with Knock, and never

thought to meet with the greater villain, Creach, in the country, as

I knew he must be aware of my release, and that he would not be safe

within my reach. But, by what I am not impious enough to name a

chance, when in the house of one of our own people I heard of him

being in the neighborhood, and so laid wait in a place by which I

knew he must pass, safe from interruption or observation.

When he and his three men came up, we rose, and, planting ourselves

in the way, called a halt.

I have spoken before of his address, and even now it did not fail

him, for I could mark no sign of surprise on his white face; he might

have come to a rendezvous for all he shewed.

I spoke at once to his men in Gaelic, who held themselves ready for

attack the moment we appeared.

"Skye men! I am a McDonell, of Glengarry. I and mine have no

quarrel with you, but this gentleman and I have a matter of blood

between us. Take no part in it, then, for it is no affair of yours,

and it will not be stayed in any case."

Then, either because they had small stomach for useless fighting, or,

what is the more likely, that they saw it was a private matter and

did not touch their honour, they drew to one side in silence with

Neil and Duncan.

Creach understood what I was at, and as I threw off my coat and vest

he did the like.

A fierce joy was rising in me. "Come, sir!" I said, and he fell into

position.

He was a good swordsman enough, but my wrist was of iron and my heart

of fire, and the tinkle and grate of the steel was like music to my

ear.

He was fighting for time, waiting to see my play, and parried with

great judgment, but at last I reached in at him and touched him above

the right breast.

"That is for Aquapendente!" I cried, in satisfaction, as I saw the

stain grow and redden on his shirt.

In a little I touched him again, on the opposite side. "That is for

Rome!" and I was completely master of myself, for I held his life in

my hands, like a ball, to throw away when I pleased.

He said not a word, but fought on with the same courage, but it was

hopeless. Again I got in at him just where I had planned, and

shouted in my joy, "That is for Loch Broom!"

[Illustration: "HE WAS FIGHTING FOR TIME"]

Up to this time he had not shewn the slightest sign of faltering, but

now in a sudden move backwards he struck his heel sharply and

staggered wide. I could have run him through with the greatest ease,

but I was not ready for that as yet. He regained his feet, but to my

dismay and surprise the shock had broken his courage, like a glass

that is shattered, and he fenced so wildly that I withheld from

attack, hoping he would recover. Instead of this he only grew worse,

until, losing hope of any betterment, I locked his sword, and with a

sudden turn broke it short off. With a groan, the first sound he had

uttered, he fell, and covered his face with his hands.

I stood over him, and had he screamed or made a move I would have

ended it then and there. But I could not kill the creature lying,

waiting his fate in mute terror at my feet, though for months I had

longed for this moment above all things else in the world.

"Get up, you coward!" I said, but he made no move. Suddenly I threw

my sword down, and, stepping towards him, drew my dirk, at which he

screamed and prayed for mercy with shrieks of terror.

"Have no fear, you dog! I am not going to put murder on my soul for

a wretch such as you! But I will mark you so that you will be a

by-word amongst men for the rest of your days!"

Whereupon I seized him, and, despite his screams and struggles, with

two clean sweeps I cut off his ears close to his head.

Leaving him rolling on the ground, I called Neil and bade him bind up

his wounds. Then, placing his ears in my silver snuff-box, I threw

it to him. "Take these to your fellow-spy, and tell him whose hand

did this! Tell him, too, that his own run much danger of a like fate

if they hear aught he may ever be tempted to repeat to the harm of me

or mine!"

My story is told. I did meet with Allan Knock, and I did not cut off

his ears; but I poured into them words that made him wish he had been

born without.

Because I have lived on into a time that has changed much from what I

knew in those days, I have sometimes felt I should have killed

Creach, instead of taking a revenge which may now be looked on as

barbarous. But those who know will understand, and those who do not,

I must leave to their prejudice. I have tried to tell things as they

were, without excuse.