Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  Late on the evening of and July they left Raasay in a storm, the Prince singing a Highland song to cheer the boatmen; he had learned Gaelic in the course of his expedition. They landed at Scorrybreck, close to Portree, and the Prince spent an uneasy night in a cow-byre, often wakening up and looking round him with a startled air. “O poor England,” he was heard to murmur in his sleep. Donald Roy had been sent for, but was unable to come, and Malcolm MacLeod warned the Prince that parties of soldiers were on the outlook, and that they must set out without a moment’s delay. They walked to Mackinnon’s country, the part of Skye known as Strath, and the Prince passed as MacLeod’s servant and took the name of Lewie Caw, a fugitive from Culloden who was known to be hiding in Skye. Lewie Caw carried the baggage and was careful to walk behind his master and to show no curiosity when MacLeod met an acquaintance. They redoubled their precautions when they entered Mackinnon’s country, because Mackinnon had been “out” and the district was specially watched. Charles exchanged his waistcoat with MacLeod because it looked too fine for a servant, and promised some day to give him a better waistcoat still when he himself should walk in London streets dressed in the kilt which Kingsburgh had given him. He removed his periwig and covered his head with a dirty napkin, but MacLeod insisted that any one who had ever seen him would know him again. “This is an odd remarkable face I have got that nothing can disguise it,” he said, and MacLeod, as he looked at him, felt that no disguise could conceal his possession of “something that was not ordinary, something of the grand and stately.”

  In this way they reached Elgol and met the old Laird of Mackinnon, who arranged to accompany the Prince to the mainland. Malcolm MacLeod, himself a person for whom search was being made, thought that the Prince would be safer without him, and Charles reluctantly let him go, sending with him a note of thanks to Donald Roy. “Sir,” it read, “I thank God I am in good health and have got off as designed. Remember me to all friends, and thank them for the trouble they have been at. — I am, Sir, your humble servant, JAMES THOMSON.”

  IV

  IN LOCHABER

  The Prince, with the old laird and his son, John Mackinnon, landed on the shore of Loch Nevis at four o’clock in the morning of 5th July, and spent three nights in the heather. On the morning of 8th July the old laird went to seek a cave as a shelter, and the Prince and John Mackinnon rowed up the loch. Suddenly, as they came round a point, their oars struck some wood, and they saw a boat tied to a rock and five men standing near it on the shore. They were at once challenged, and, when the boatmen answered that they came from Sleat, they were ordered to come ashore. They disobeyed, and the militiamen jumped into their own boat and pursued. John Mackinnon himself took an oar, for the Prince’s life depended upon the race that summer morning. Charles was sitting in the bottom of the boat with his head between Mackinnon’s legs. He wanted to make for the shore and trust to his powers of running; but Mackinnon spread a plaid over his head that he might not be seen, and told him firmly that he had no chance on a bare hillside, that their only hope of escape lay in their oars, and that if the pursuers came up he could rely on them all to fight to the last. Each boatman sat with a loaded musket beside him. From time to time the Prince inquired how the race was going, and Mackinnon was always able to answer that they were holding their own. It was not enough, but a desperate effort carried them round a point and out of sight of the enemy. The coast was wooded, and the Prince, Mackinnon, and one of the boatmen jumped ashore and plunged into the trees. The boat went on, but the pursuers, coming again within view, saw that their prey had escaped, and Charles, from the top of a hill, watched them return, while Mackinnon was apologizing for having disobeyed his commands. “I only wanted,” he replied, “to fight for my life rather than be taken prisoner.”

  Later in the day they recrossed the loch and walked through the night to Morar, and MacDonald of Morar gave them his son as a guide to Borrodale. They made for the house of the Laird of Borrodale, Angus MacDonald, but it had been burned down by the troops, and they found him in a neighbouring hut. When John Mackinnon announced the Prince’s presence, the old man said, “I shall lodge him so secure that all the forces in Britain shall not find him out.” After his narrow escape two days before, Charles had received a cold message from Clanranald and a refusal of help from Morar, and Borrodale’s welcome gave him fresh heart and hope.

  The two Mackinnons left him at Borrodale, and both of them fell at once into the hands of the soldiers, who could not fail to suspect the Prince’s presence in the neighbourhood. The news of their capture made old Borrodale doubly cautious, and on 13th July he hid the Prince in a cleft between two precipitous rocks where he had constructed a little hut and had covered it with green turf, so that it looked like a natural grass-covered brae. Here the Prince was joined by a nephew of his host, Alexander MacDonald of Glenaladale, who was his companion in most of what remained of his wanderings. Glenaladale had been wounded three times at Culloden, but he responded at once to the Prince’s call. They did not remain long at Borrodale, for they learned that the Prince’s presence in that region was known to the enemy, and they could see the ships on the coast. On 17th July they set out for a new place of concealment in Morar, where they learned that General Campbell, with six ships, had anchored in Loch Nevis, and that a party of soldiers was near them. It was clear that they were surrounded, and that they must break through the enemy’s line of posts, and make for the north in the hope of finding a French ship at Poolewe, near Loch Maree.

  Every day brought fresh perils and new adventures. At their first setting out they saw from the top of a hill some cattle being moved, and discovered that Glenaladale’s tenants were saving their property from the troops, who were taking the very route by which the Prince had intended to go. This led them to send for a fresh guide, Donald Cameron of Glenpean, to conduct them out of the dangerous region of Morar. While they waited for him they learned that a hundred Argyllshire militiamen were at the foot of the very hill on the top of which they were resting. They could not stay for their guide, and, as the sun was setting, they moved on. A solitary figure was seen approaching them, and they could not tell whether the man was friend or foe, but, to their relief, it proved to be Donald Cameron, and he promised to lead them safely through the enemy’s outposts.

  From the head of Loch Eil to the head of Loch Hourn there was a long series of small camps about half a mile from each other; the sentries were each within call of his neighbour, and patrols were constantly moving to keep the sentries alert. Cameron led them to a hill which had just been searched, and might, therefore, be regarded as safe, but they had no provisions except a little oatmeal and some butter, and, after some wanderings, they found a hiding-place for the Prince on a hill at the head of Loch Quoich, while some of the party went to get provisions. They brought back the news that a hundred redcoats were marching up the other side of the hill, and the whole party set out again towards nightfall. As they trudged along they saw in front of them a camp-fire, but they decided that they must take the risk of passing through the enemy. To remain in the region of Moidart meant certain capture. They crept along, going so near the camp that they could hear the soldiers talking, but they were unobserved. As they were climbing the next hill they came across a rivulet which, emerging from a spring, fell straight down a precipice. The Prince missed his footing and was about to fall, but was supported by Donald Cameron and Glenaladale, and they reached the top in safety, only to see another camp-fire at the foot. This they were able to avoid, but, although they had broken through the cordon, their route still lay along the line of the camps.

  At the head of Loch Hourn they hid in a hollow which was covered with long heather and birch trees. They were faint with hunger, and one of them, a son of old Borrodale, produced from his pocket a small quantity of meal. He used to tell afterwards of the change produced on the faces of his companions by the sight of it. Their guide, Donald Cameron, was not sure of the way from this point, and in the evening he and G
lenaladale went to find a new guide. When the two emerged from the hollow they found that they had spent the day quite close to one of the enemy’s camps; they returned, and the whole party at once set out for Glenshiel. The night was very dark, and they had nothing to eat, but in the morning they got butter and cheese in a village in Glenshiel, where they were fortunate enough to find a guide, named Donald MacDonald, who had fought in the Prince’s army and was fleeing from the troops. They also learned the unpleasant news that a French ship had just left Poolewe, and that it would be useless to go there. That day, 22nd July, was very hot, and they lay on a mountain side parched with thirst; a stream was near, and they could hear the sound of the water, but they dared not move. At sunset Donald Cameron bade them good-bye, and a small boy, the son of the man from whom they bought their provisions, arrived with some goats’ milk as a present to Glenaladale.

  Thus refreshed, they turned their course southwards for Glenmoriston, under their new guide; but they had scarcely gone a mile when Glenaladale missed his purse, which contained the Prince’s gold. The Prince found a hiding-place, and Glenaladale and young Borrodale proceeded to search for the purse. They soon found it — empty. There could be no doubt about the thief, for Glenaladale remembered taking it out to give four shillings to the boy who had brought the milk. They walked back to his father’s house, and made their complaint. The father seized a rope and threatened to hang the boy to the nearest tree, and the money was returned. The boy’s crime saved the Prince. As he lay waiting, with the guide and another attendant, an officer with a small armed party passed close to him, having come by the track along which the fugitives were going. Charles dared not send to warn Glenaladale and his companion, and he lay in grave anxiety until they arrived. The officer had passed them on the other side of a stream, and neither of the two parties had seen the other. If Glenaladale had not missed his purse, and they had all pursued their original route, they must have met the soldiers, and, though they would have outnumbered them, the noise of the conflict could not have failed to bring larger numbers of the enemy.

  They went on towards Glenmoriston, walking by night and hiding by day, the Prince made miserable by swarms of midges. On 24th July they reached the Braes of Glenmoriston and found some friendly MacDonalds, Highland robbers by profession, one of whom recognized the Prince. “I hope,” he said, “to see you yet in a better condition, as I have seen you before at the head of your army on Glasgow Green.” For a week the Prince remained concealed in Glenmoriston. His host told him of a cave which could shelter forty men, the best water in the Highlands running through it, and a heather bed ready for his reception. After three days of these comforts, they moved to another grotto, equally picturesque, but a party of militia was reported to be within four miles of them, and the Prince was again in hopes of finding a French ship at Poolewe.

  On the night of 1st August they set out northwards and spent next day in Strathglass, where the Prince rested in a tent made of fir-branches. They continued on this route until 7th August, when, on a hill called Beinn Acharain, they heard again that only one French ship had reached Poolewe, and that it had sailed, leaving behind two French officers who hoped to meet the Prince in the region of Loch Eil. This information led them to retrace their steps, which they did without any adventure until they found themselves again in the Braes of Glenmoriston on 12th August. There they were delayed by a party of soldiers in Glengarry, but the road was soon clear, and they went on without difficulty except for heavy rain and want of provisions. No food could be obtained, for the troops had wasted the country and driven the inhabitants into the hills. But in their utmost need, near Loch Arkaig, one of the party shot a hart, on which they “most deliciously feasted.”

  On 21st August, on the shores of Loch Arkaig, Archibald Cameron, a brother of Lochiel, who had been a physician in the Prince’s army, and was afterwards to give his life for the cause in London, brought to the Prince two French officers who had landed at Poolewe in June, and had been looking for him ever since, but they could give him no information of any value. Two days later, as the Prince lay sleeping, he was told that a party of two hundred men were close to him; a friendly guard was believed to have been placed, and, as they had received no warning, they concluded that there was treachery and that they were surrounded. The Prince asked for his gun, and the small party, eight in number, at once took up a position on the hillside, determined to sell their lives dear. “I was bred a fowler,” said Charles. “I can charge quick and am a tolerable marksman, and I can be sure of one at least.” But the soldiers, after searching the hut which the Prince had just left, went off in another direction, and Charles lay down and slept peacefully in the rain.

  This was his last adventure, for the authorities were giving up the search in despair. Cumberland had left Fort Augustus on 18th July, and his successor as commander-in-chief, the Earl of Albemarle, wrote from Fort Augustus to the Secretary of State on 12th August that he was to leave for Edinburgh next day. “The last party I sent out,” he explained “(upon a report that the Pretender’s son was in Glen Dessary), returned last night without any tidings of him, and I can make no conjecture of the place he lies concealed in, therefore cannot help suspecting he is gone off, either in some of the small French vessels that have been hovering along the coast, or in a boat to the Long Island. I shall march with the troops, and not leave them till I see them quartered at Perth, Stirling, and other places.” On the day the letter was written, the Prince was in Glenmoriston; three days later, at Loch Arkaig, he was not far from Glen Dessary. He had crossed the head of Glen Dessary on 19th July, and a report to this effect had reached Albemarle much too late. The recall of the troops for their southward march explains the comparative security of the fugitives, and about the same time the militia regiments were disbanded after their fruitless search.

  On 27th August MacDonnell of Lochgarry and Dr. Archibald Cameron guided the Prince into the friendly country of Cluny Macpherson, where he was to remain until the arrival of a French ship could be definitely ascertained. Lochiel had a touching meeting with him on 30th August. He knelt to greet his Prince. “No, my dear Lochiel,” said Charles, “you don’t know who may be looking from the tops of yonder hills.” They were entertained in Lochiel’s hiding-place, where the fugitive ate minced collops out of a saucepan with a silver spoon and exclaimed that at last he was living like a prince. Cluny himself joined them on 1st September; he had been originally on the side of the Government, but had been captured by the Jacobite army in August 1745, had joined the Prince with his clan after Prestonpans, had marched into England and fought at Falkirk, but had been too late for Culloden. He took the Prince to a cunningly devised refuge which he had provided to avoid the dampness of a cave. Cluny’s “cage” was situated in some holly bushes on a rough hillside overlooking Loch Ericht. The floor consisted of rows of felled trees, made level with earth and gravel. Young trees growing between the planks of the floor formed a series of stakes, which served for the construction of a thatched roof bound with ropes made of heather and birch twigs. A large tree which rested on a rock lay across the top of the hut and gave it the appearance of a cage hanging from a tree. A crevice between two stones formed a chimney, and the smoke of the peat fire was so near in colour to the stones that it was invisible. The hut was divided into two chambers, of which the upper was the living room and the lower served as a kitchen.

  In this cage, with sentinels posted round, the Prince, with Cluny, Lochiel, Dr. Cameron, and six others, lived pleasantly enough for a week. They had plenty of provisions and found amusement in a pack of cards. At one o’clock in the morning of 13th September, they were roused by a messenger who reported the presence of two French ships in Loch Nan Uamh. No time was to be lost, and they set out at once for the coast of South Morar, but they did not forget to send the news to other fugitives who were in hiding — among them Neil Maceachain, who met them on the coast and escaped with them.

  It was still necessary to walk by night and
hide by day; but one day the Prince, who had just received three mounted firelocks which he had left in the course of his wanderings, felt himself safe enough to challenge his companions to a test of skill in marksmanship. They threw their bonnets into the air and shot at them, “in which diversion His Royal Highness far exceeded.” He played a poor practical joke on one of his followers, wrapping himself in a plaid and lying on the floor of a hut at the entrance to which was a large puddle. As his victim approached, the Prince peeped out of the plaid; and with a cry of “O Lord! my Master!” the unfortunate man fell into the puddle. When they reached the river Lochy, he was greatly delighted by being given some brandy which had been brought from the enemy’s garrison at Fort Augustus. On 16th September they reached the ruins of Lochiel’s house at Achnacarry, which had been burned by Cumberland, and on the 19th they were once more at Borrodale. Cluny knew that he was safe in his own wild country; and, shortly after midnight, he watched the Prince, with Lochiel and Dr. Archibald Cameron, sail in the frigate Prince de Conti, whence they were transferred to her slightly larger consort, L’Heureux. The two French vessels had arrived in Loch Boisdale on 5th September; they had been searching for the Prince for a fortnight, and their commanders were beginning to despair of finding him.

  All of Prince Charlie’s companions who left records of his wanderings testify to his courage and endurance. “The Prince submitted with patience to his adverse fortune, was cheerful, and frequently desired those that were with him to be so. He was cautious when in the greatest danger, never at a loss in resolving what to do. He regretted more the distress of those who suffered for adhering to his interest than the dangers and hardships he was exposed to.” If the record of Prince Charlie’s escape is honourable to himself, it is not less honourable to the people who, at their gravest peril, sheltered and protected him, and the unforgettable story which clings to Highland glens and island shores speaks not of the Prince alone, but also of the men and women who saved him. Among the things that abide is the memory of such as be faithful in love.