The Flight Of Prince Charles

It was early morning on the Hebrides, that crowded group of rocky

islands on the west coast of Scotland where fish and anglers much do

congregate. From one of these, South Uist by name, a fishing-boat had

put out at an early hour, and was now, with a fresh breeze in its sail,

making its way swiftly over the ruffled waters of the Irish Channel. Its

occupants, in addition to the two watermen who managed it, were three

pe sons,--two women and a man. To all outward appearance only one of

these was of any importance. This was a young lady of bright and

attractive face, dressed in a plain and serviceable travelling-costume,

but evidently of good birth and training. Her companions were a man and

a maid-servant, the latter of unusual height for a woman, and with an

embrowned and roughened face that indicated exposure to severe hardships

of life and climate. The man was a thorough Highlander, red-bearded,

shock-haired, and of weather-beaten aspect.



The boat had already made a considerable distance from the shore when

its occupants found themselves in near vicinity to another small craft,

which was moving lazily in a line parallel to the island coast. At a

distance to right and left other boats were visible. The island waters

seemed to be patrolled. As the fishing-boat came near, the craft just

mentioned shifted its course and sailed towards it. It was sufficiently

near to show that it contained armed men, one of them in uniform. A hail

now came across the waters.



"What boat is that? Whom have you on board?"



"A lady; on her way to Skye," answered the boatman.



"Up helm, and lay yourself alongside of us. We must see who you are."



The fishermen obeyed. They had reason to know that, just then, there was

no other course to pursue. In a few minutes the two boats were riding

side by side, lifting and falling lazily on the long Atlantic swell. The

lady looked up at the uniformed personage, who seemed an officer.



"My name is Flora McDonald," she said. "These persons are my servants.

My father is in command of the McDonalds on South Uist. I have been

visiting at Clanranald, and am now on my way home."



"Forgive me, Miss McDonald," said the officer, courteously; "but our

orders are precise; no one can leave the island without a pass."



"I know it," she replied, with dignity, "and have provided myself. Here

is my passport, signed by my father."



The officer took and ran his eye over it quickly: "Flora McDonald; with

two servants, Betty Bruce and Malcolm Rae," he read. His gaze moved

rapidly over the occupants of the boat, resting for a moment on the

bright and intelligent face of the young lady.



"This seems all right, Miss McDonald," he said, respectfully, returning

her the paper. "You can pass. Good-by, and a pleasant journey."



"Many thanks," she answered. "You should be successful in catching the

bird that is seeking to fly from that island. Your net is spread wide

enough."



"I hardly think our bird will get through the meshes," he answered,

laughingly.



In a few minutes more they were wide asunder. A peculiar smile rested on

the face of the lady, which seemed reflected from the countenances of

her attendants, but not a word was said on the subject of the recent

incident.



Their reticence continued until the rocky shores of the Isle of Skye

were reached, and the boat was put into one of the many inlets that

break its irregular contour. Silence, indeed, was maintained until they

had landed on a rocky shelf, and the boat had pushed off on its return

journey. Then Flora McDonald spoke.



"So far we are safe," she said. "But I confess I was frightfully scared

when that patrol-boat stopped us."



"You did not look so," said Betty Bruce, in a voice of masculine depth.



"I did not dare to," she answered. "If I had looked what I felt, we

would never have passed. But let us continue our journey. We have no

time to spare."



It was a rocky and desolate spot on which they stood, the rugged

rock-shelves which came to the water's edge gradually rising to high

hills in the distance. But as they advanced inland the appearance of the

island improved, and signs of human habitation appeared. They had not

gone far before the huts of fishermen and others became visible, planted

in little clearings among the rocks, whose inmates looked with eyes of

curiosity on the strangers. This was particularly the case when they

passed through a small village, at no great distance inland. Of the

three persons, it was the maid-servant, Betty Bruce, that attracted most

attention, her appearance giving rise to some degree of amusement. Nor

was this without reason. The woman was so ungainly in appearance, and

walked with so awkward a stride, that the skirts which clung round her

heels seemed a decided incumbrance to her progress. Her face, too,

presented a roughness that gave hint of possibilities of a beard. She

kept unobtrusively behind her mistress, her peculiar gait set the

goodwives of the village whispering and laughing as they pointed her

out.



For several miles the travellers proceeded, following the general

direction of the coast, and apparently endeavoring to avoid all

collections of human habitations. Now and then, however, they met

persons in the road, who gazed at them with the same curiosity as those

they had already passed.



The scenery before them grew finer as they advanced. Near nightfall they

came near mountainous elevations, abutting on the sea-shore in great

cliffs of columnar basalt, a thousand feet and more in height, over

which leaped here and there waterfalls of great height and beauty. Their

route now lay along the base of these cliffs, on the narrow strip of

land between them and the sea.



Here they paused, just as the sun was shedding its last rays upon the

water. Seating themselves on some protruding boulders, they entered into

conversation, the fair Flora's face presenting an expression of doubt

and trouble.



"I do not like the looks of the people," she said. "They watch you too

closely. And we are still in the country of Sir Alexander, a land filled

with our enemies. If you were only a better imitation of a woman."



"Faith, I fear I'm but an awkward sample," answered Betty, in a voice of

man-like tone. "I have been doing my best, but----"



"But the lion cannot change his skin," supplied the lady. "This will not

do. We must take other measures. But our first duty is to find the

shelter fixed for to-night. It will not do to tarry here till it grows

dark."



They rose and proceeded, following Malcolm, who acted as guide. The

place was deserted, and Betty stepped out with a stride of most

unmaidenly length, as if to gain relief from her late restraint. Her

manner now would have revealed the secret to any shrewd observer. The

ungainly maid-servant was evidently a man in disguise.



We cannot follow their journey closely. It will suffice to say that the

awkwardness of the assumed Betty gave rise to suspicion on more than one

occasion in the next day or two. It became evident that, if the secret

of the disguised personage was not to be discovered, they must cease

their wanderings; some shelter must be provided, and a safer means of

progress be devised.



A shelter was obtained,--one that promised security. In the base of the

basaltic cliffs of which we have spoken many caverns had been excavated

by the winter surges of the sea. In one of these, near the village of

Portree, and concealed from too easy observation, the travellers found

refuge. Food was obtained by Malcolm from the neighboring settlement,

and some degree of comfort provided for. Leaving her disguised companion

in this shelter, with Malcolm for company, Flora went on. She had

devised a plan of procedure not without risk, but which seemed

necessary. It was too perilous to continue as they had done during the

few past days.



Leaving our travellers thus situated, we will go back in time to

consider the events which led to this journey in disguise. It was now

July, the year being 1746. On the 16th of April of the same year a

fierce battle had been fought on Culloden moor between the English army

under the Duke of Cumberland and the host of Highlanders led by Charles

Edward Stuart, the "Young Pretender." Fierce had been the fray, terrible

the bloodshed, fatal the defeat of the Highland clans. Beaten and

broken, they had fled in all directions for safety, hotly pursued by

their victorious foes.



Prince Charles had fought bravely on the field; and, after the fatal

disaster, had fled--having with him only a few Irish officers whose good

faith he trusted--to Gortuleg, the residence of Lord Lovat. If he hoped

for shelter there, he found it not. He was overcome with distress; Lord

Lovat, with fear and embarrassment. No aid was to be had from Lovat,

and, obtaining some slight refreshment, the prince rode on.



He obtained his next rest and repast at Invergarry, the castle of the

laird of Glengarry, and continued his journey into the west Highlands,

where he found shelter in a village called Glenbeisdale, near where he

had landed on his expedition for the conquest of England. For nearly a

year he had been in Scotland, pursuing a career of mingled success and

defeat, and was now back at his original landing-place, a hopeless

fugitive. Here some of the leaders of his late army communicated with

him. They had a thousand men still together, and vowed that they would

not give up hope while there were cattle in the Highlands or meal in the

Lowlands. But Prince Charles refused to deal with such a forlorn hope.

He would seek France, he said, and return with a powerful

reinforcement. With this answer he left the mainland, sailing for Long

Island, in the Hebrides, where he hoped to find a French vessel.



And now dangers, disappointments, and hardships surrounded the fugitive.

The rebellion was at an end; retribution was in its full tide. The

Highlands were being scoured, the remnants of the defeated army

scattered or massacred, the adherents of the Pretender seized, and

Charles himself was sought for with unremitting activity. The islands in

particular were closely searched, as it was believed that he had fled to

their shelter. His peril was extreme. No vessel was to be had. Storms,

contrary winds, various disappointments attended him. He sought one

hiding-place after another in Long Island and those adjoining, exposed

to severe hardships, and frequently having to fly from one place of

shelter to another. In the end he reached the island of South Uist,

where he found a faithful friend in Clanranald, one of his late

adherents. Here he was lodged in a ruined forester's hut, situated near

the summit of the wild mountain called Corradale. Even this remote and

almost inaccessible shelter grew dangerous. The island was suspected,

and a force of not less than two thousand men landed on it, with orders

to search the interior with the closest scrutiny, while small

war-vessels, cutters, armed boats, and the like surrounded the island,

rendering escape by water almost hopeless. It was in this critical state

of affairs that the devotion of a woman came to the rescue of the

imperilled Prince. Flora McDonald was visiting the family of

Clanranald. She wished to return to her home in Skye. At her suggestion

the chief provided her with the attendants whom we have already

described, her awkward maid-servant Betty Bruce being no less a

personage than the wandering prince. The daring and devoted lady was

step-daughter to a chief of Sir Alexander McDonald's clan, who was on

the king's side, and in command of a section of the party of search.

From him Flora obtained a passport for herself and two servants, and was

thus enabled to pass in safety through the cordon of investing boats. No

one suspected the humble-looking Betty Bruce as being a flying prince.

And so it was that the bird had passed through the net of the fowlers,

and found shelter in the island of Skye.



And now we must return to the fugitives, whom we left concealed in a

basaltic cavern on the rocky coast of Skye. The keen-witted Flora had

devised a new and bold plan for the safety of her charge, no less a one

than that of trusting the Lady Margaret McDonald, wife of Sir Alexander,

with her dangerous secret. This seemed like penetrating the very

stronghold of the foe; but the women of the Highlands had--most of

them--a secret leaning to Jacobitism, and Flora felt that she could

trust her high-born relative.



She did so, telling Lady Margaret her story. The lady heard it with

intense alarm. What to do she did not know. She would not betray the

prince, but her husband was absent, her house filled with militia

officers, and shelter within its walls impossible. In this dilemma she

suggested that Flora should conduct the disguised prince to the house of

McDonald of Kingsburgh, her husband's steward, a brave and intelligent

man, in whom she could fully trust.



Returning to the cavern, the courageous girl did as suggested, and had

the good fortune to bring her charge through in safety, though more than

once suspicion was raised. At Kingsburgh the connection of Flora

McDonald with the unfortunate prince ended. Her wit and shrewdness had

saved him from inevitable capture. He was now out of the immediate range

of search of his enemies, and must henceforth trust to his own devices.



From Kingsburgh the fugitive sought the island of Rasa, led by a guide

supplied by McDonald, and wearing the dress of a servant. The laird of

Rasa had taken part in the rebellion, and his domain had been plundered

in consequence. Food was scarce, and Charles suffered great distress. He

next followed his seeming master to the land of the laird of MacKinnon,

but, finding himself still in peril, felt compelled to leave the

islands, and once more landed on the Scottish mainland at Loch Nevis.



Here his peril was as imminent as it had been at South Uist. It was the

country of Lochiel, Glengarry, and other Jacobite chiefs, and was filled

with soldiers, diligently seeking the leaders of the insurrection.

Charles and his guides found themselves surrounded by foes. A complete

line of sentinels, who crossed each other upon their posts, inclosed the

district in which he had sought refuge, and escape seemed impossible.

The country was rough, bushy, and broken; and he and his companions were

forced to hide in defiles and woodland shelters, where they dared not

light a fire, and from which they could see distant soldiers and hear

the calls of the sentinels.



For two days they remained thus cooped up, not knowing at what minute

they might be taken, and almost hopeless of escape. Fortunately, they

discovered a deep and dark ravine that led down from the mountains

through the line of sentries. The posts of two of these reached to the

edges of the ravine, on opposite sides. Down this gloomy and rough

defile crept noiselessly the fugitives, hearing the tread of the

sentinels above their heads as they passed the point of danger. No alarm

was given, and the hostile line was safely passed. Once more the

fugitive prince had escaped.



And now for a considerable time Charles wandered through the rough

Highland mountains, his clothes in rags, often without food and shelter,

and not daring to kindle a fire; vainly hoping to find a French vessel

hovering off the coast, and at length reaching the mountains of

Strathglass. Here he, with Glenaladale, his companion at that time,

sought shelter in a cavern, only to find it the lurking-place of a gang

of robbers, or rather of outlaws, who had taken part in the rebellion,

and were here in hiding. There were seven of these, who lived on sheep

and cattle raided in the surrounding country.



These men looked on the ragged suppliants of their good-will at first as

fugitives of their own stamp. But they quickly recognized, in the most

tattered of the wanderers, that "Bonnie Charlie" for whom they had

risked their lives upon the battle-field, and for whom they still felt a

passionate devotion. They hailed his appearance among them with

gladness, and expressed themselves as his ardent and faithful servants

in life and death.



In this den of robbers the unfortunate prince was soon made more

comfortable than he had been since his flight from Culloden. Their faith

was unquestionable, their activity in his service unremitting. Food was

abundant, and, in addition, they volunteered to provide him with decent

clothing, and tidings of the movements of the enemy. The first was

accomplished somewhat ferociously. Two of the outlaws met the servant of

an officer, on his way to Fort Augustus with his master's baggage. This



poor fellow they killed, and thus provided their guest with a good stock

of clothing. Another of them, in disguise, made his way into Fort

Augustus. Here he learned much about the movements of the troops, and,

eager to provide the prince with something choice in the way of food,

brought him back a pennyworth of gingerbread,--a valuable luxury to his

simple soul.



For three weeks Charles remained with these humble but devoted friends.

It was not easy to break away from their enthusiastic loyalty.



"Stay with us," they said; "the mountains of gold which the government

has set upon your head may induce some gentleman to betray you, for he

can go to a distant country and live upon the price of his dishonor. But

to us there exists no such temptation. We can speak no language but our

own, we can live nowhere but in this country, where, were we to injure a

hair of your head, the very mountains would fall down to crush us to

death. Do not leave us, then. You will nowhere be so safe as with us."



This advice was hardly to Charles's taste. He preferred court-life in

France to cave-life in Scotland, and did not cease his efforts to

escape. His purposes were aided by an instance of enthusiastic devotion.

A young man named McKenzie, son of an Edinburgh goldsmith, and a

fugitive officer from the defeated army, happened to resemble the prince

closely in face and person. He was attacked by a party of soldiers,

defended himself bravely, and when mortally wounded, cried out, "Ah,

villains, you have slain your prince!"



His generous design proved successful. His head was cut off, and sent to

London as that of the princely fugitive, which it resembled so closely

that it was some time before the mistake was discovered. This error

proved of the utmost advantage to the prince. The search was greatly

relaxed, and he found it safe to leave the shelter of his cave, and

seek some of his late adherents, of whose movements he had been kept

informed. He therefore bade farewell to the faithful outlaws, with the

exception of two, who accompanied him as guides and guards.



Safety was not yet assured. It was with much difficulty, and at great

risk, that he succeeded in meeting his lurking adherents, Lochiel and

Cluny McPherson, who were hiding in Badenoch. Here was an extensive

forest, the property of Cluny, extending over the side of a mountain,

called Benalder. In a deep thicket of this forest was a well-concealed

hut, called the Cage. In this the fugitives took up their residence, and

lived there in some degree of comfort and safety, the game of the forest

and its waters supplying them with abundant food.



Word was soon after brought to Charles that two French frigates had

arrived at Lochnanuagh, their purpose being to carry him and other

fugitives to France. The news of their arrival spread rapidly through

the district, which held many fugitives from Culloden, and on the 20th

of September Charles and Lochiel, with nearly one hundred others of his

party, embarked on these friendly vessels, and set sail for France.

Cluny McPherson refused to go. He remained concealed in his own country

for several years, and served as the agent by which Charles kept up a

correspondence with the Highlanders.



On September 29 the fugitive prince landed near Morlaix, in Brittany,

having been absent from France about fourteen months, five of which had

been months of the most perilous and precarious series of escapes and

adventures ever recorded of a princely fugitive in history or romance.

During these months of flight and concealment several hundred persons

had been aware of his movements, but none, high or low, noble or outlaw,

had a thought of betraying his secret. Among them all, the devoted Flora

McDonald stands first, and her name has become historically famous

through her invaluable services to the prince.