Bonnie Prince Charlie: Charles Edward Stuart (Pimlico)

by McLynn, Frank

  There were last-minute alarums. While waiting for dark on this rainy evening, they were forced to put out their fire and dive into the heather when four patrol boats came into the loch. But no landing parties came ashore. At last, as the sun set, they put to sea.65

  To begin with they had to row on a windless sea. The prince sang songs to the rowers to buoy up their spirits. Among this repertoire were ‘The 29th of May’ and, inevitably, ‘The king shall enjoy his own again’.66 Charles cradled the head of the sleeping Flora and protected her from being trodden on when one of the sailors clambered over her in the dark to trim the sail.67

  Around midnight a westerly gale sprang up. There was heavy rain, followed by a thick mist that robbed them of the sight of land.68 As the mist dissipated in the early morning sunshine, they found themselves off the point of Vaternish in north-western Skye. They pulled into a cleft in the cliff-wall to eat a breakfast of bread and butter, washed down with fresh water dripping from an overhanging rock.69 They were unaware that this part of the island was infested with troops and militiamen. As they pulled round the point of Vaternish after the hour’s meal break, a pair of sentries called on them to come ashore. The crew heaved strongly on the oars. The troops fired a volley. Other Macleods, as many as fifteen, came running. They too fired at the disappearing boat. Altogether the prince counted between twenty and thirty shots.70

  This brush with the Macleods alarmed Flora MacDonald greatly. She was aware now, if not before, of what a grim business this manhunt was. Seeing her despondency, the prince spoke words of comfort: ‘Don’t be afraid, Miss, we won’t be taken yet. You see it is low water, and before they can launch their boats over that rough shore, we will get in below those high rocks and they will lose sight of us.’ The prince proved a good prophet. This was exactly what happened.71

  After this episode they rowed across the bay of Loch Snizort to the longer peninsula of Trotternish. It was about 2 p.m. when they came ashore at a beach north of Kilbride.72 Immediately Flora and MacEachain set off for Lady Margaret MacDonald’s home at nearby Monkstadt, leaving the prince with the boatmen on the shore.73

  Flora’s arrival at Monkstadt threw Lady MacDonald into consternation. She was a convinced Jacobite herself, but could not compromise her husband Sir Alexander MacDonald, presently at Fort Augustus with Cumberland. In her house at that very moment was a Macleod lieutenant of militia. The prince was inches away from capture. If he was apprehended, it would be said that Lady Margaret had betrayed him. How to square the circle?

  She sent for her faithful associate Captain Roy MacDonald and explained the situation to him.74 With her factor MacDonald of Kingburgh they held a hasty consultation in the garden while Flora MacDonald kept the Macleod lieutenant talking inside the house. The three MacDonalds in the garden decided that the only feasible escape route was across country to Portree; meanwhile the prince should be lodged at Kingsburgh’s house that night.75

  MacEachain set off for the beach to tell the prince that Kingsburgh was coming to take him to his house. Kingsburgh appeared on the beach shortly afterwards with a bottle of wine and some bread. After refreshing himself with the bread and wine, the prince set out with Kingsburgh to walk the seven miles to his house.76

  On the road they were overtaken by a mounted party, consisting of Flora MacDonald and another MacDonald lady with her maid and manservant. This was the moment when ‘Betty Burke’ came closest to discovery. As a female impersonator, the prince left a lot to be desired. The way he moved, his long-striding walk, his very tallness of stature and the general gaucherie of the way he arranged his skirts would have given him away, had not the universal prejudice against the Irish worked in his favour. The prevalent notion that Irishwomen were tatterdemalion, hoydenish hobbledehoys predisposed the Scots to be satisfied with the outrageous story that this was an ill-bred female peasant from the bogs.77 The MacDonald maid contented herself with a few derogatory comments on ‘Betty Burke’s’ lack of feminine refinements before riding on.

  Farther along the road, the prince and Kingsburgh ran into a crowd of people returning from Sunday services at the meeting-house. These god-fearing folk were also appalled at the ungenteel amount of leg ‘Betty’ displayed when lifting her petticoats to step across a stream. Eventually the tension became too much for MacEachain. ‘For God’s sake, sir,’ he hissed at the prince, ‘take care what you are doing, for you will certainly discover yourself!’78

  On arrival at his house, Kingsburgh revealed to his wife that the ‘odd muckle trallup’ he had brought home was the prince.79 At first his wife was shocked and dismayed. Then her concern shifted to the more mundane consideration of whether she had proper food to set before a prince, and whether she was worthy to sit at the same table as him.80

  The prince’s informality and charm soon put her at ease. After a supper of roasted eggs and bread and butter, the prince called for brandy: ‘for I have learned in my skulking to take a hearty dram.’81 After draining a bumper with a panache that would not have disgraced the most hardened toper, Charles took out a cracked pipe and asked for tobacco. Kingsburgh provided him with a clay pipe and a pouch of tobacco. The prince sat smoking and drinking with great cheerfulness and merriment. Kingsburgh reported that his attitude was not like that of a man in danger but more that of an amateur thespian who had put on women’s clothes for a diversion.82 That the prince was feeling cheerful again is clearly shown by his answer to a query from Kingsburgh. The MacDonald factor asked what he would have done if he (the factor) had not been at Monkstadt that day. Charles Edward replied: ‘Why, sir, you could not avoid being at Monkstadt this day, for Providence ordered you to be there on my account.’83

  The prince slept late. Next day Mrs MacDonald requested a lock of his hair as a keepsake. After some demure hesitation, Flora MacDonald sat at Charles’s bedside and snipped the lock.84 The prince assured his hosts this was only the first of many favours they would receive from him once he was restored.

  It was late in the day when the prince set out for Portree. He dined, sipped tea, drank wine, and even asked for some snuff which Kingsburgh gave him but told him to keep in his woman’s muff.85 Flora and MacEachain had set out earlier to travel to Portree by road.86

  Kingsburgh accompanied the prince part of the way on the cross-country trail. In a wood Charles changed out of the ‘Betty Burke’ outfit into Highland dress.87 The gown and petticoats were burned by the Kingsburghs to remove incriminating evidence. For the rest of the route to Portree the prince had a lad called MacQueen along with him as guide.88 They traipsed along the byways in pouring rain. At the inn in Portree he met up with Flora and MacEachain and Donald Roy MacDonald, the third conspirator in the garden.

  Final plans were hatched for a pre-arranged crossing to Raasay Island.89 The prince changed his shirt in the inn and sat down with his comrades to a meal of roasted fish, cheese, bread and butter.90 After two hours in the inn, with the rain still flooding down, the prince was inclined to spend the night in Portree. His companions said this was too dangerous and argued him out of it.91

  There was one last-minute hitch. The prince bought a roll of tobacco from the landlord for fourpence ha’penny. He paid with a sixpence and seemed disinclined to wait for his change. Donald Roy warned him that such aristocratic hauteur amid the poverty of Skye would attract immediate suspicion. The prince took up his three ha’pence change.92

  Charles Edward was now leaving the sheltering custody of the MacDonalds for the uncertain care of the Macleods. There was both genuine emotion and some anxiety in his leave-taking. Not surprisingly, he, MacEachain and Donald Roy polished off a bottle of whisky before leaving the inn.93 Then he bade a courtly farewell to his saviour Flora. ‘For all that has happened, I hope, Madam, we shall meet in St James’s yet.’94 But they were not destined to meet again, in London or any other place.

  At dawn on the first of July the prince left the shores of Skye for Raasay Island, accompanied by the leading Raasay Macleods, Murdoch, Malcolm and J
ohn. On Raasay the effects of Cumberland’s devastation of the Highlands were only too plain to see. There had been three hundred cottages on the island. Not one was left standing. Cumberland’s licentious soldiery had pillaged, raped and murdered their way from one end of the island to the other. When told of Cumberland’s atrocities, the prince found them hard to believe: such actions were against all known laws of civilised behaviour.95

  On arrival in Raasay, the prince slept for two hours in a small hut. Again it was of the variety where one had to stoop to enter.96 Then he dined avidly on a meal of roast kid, butter and cream.97 He was in euphoric mood, seemingly much taken with the idea of redemption through suffering: ‘Sure. Providence does not design this for nothing.’98

  But it was too early for self-congratulation. News of his presence on Skye was abroad almost as soon as he had cleared the island. The flight to Raasay already seemed like a false move. It was too easy to be trapped on this barren island. Next day the prince decided to take his chances back on Skye. While he was arranging this with his comrades, a lookout gave notice of the approach of a local pedlar, strongly suspected of being a Hanoverian spy. The Macleods at once decided to kill him. Immediately the prince’s merciful and compassionate side was triggered. ‘God forbid that we should take any man’s life while we can save our own,’ he expostulated.99 Fortunately, the pedlar settled the argument by passing by at a safe distance.

  At 9 o’clock on the evening of 2 July they put to sea again. It was a stormy night, the wind increased to gale force, and even on the short stretch between Raasay and Skye the waves threatened to overwhelm the boat.100 They made landfall at Nicholson’s Rock near Scorobreck, on the north side of Portree harbour.101 After spending the night and the following day in a cow-byre, the prince set out on the evening of the 3rd for the Mackinnon country. Dismissing the boatmen Charles Edward took Malcolm Macleod alone with him and headed towards Strath. This time he took the alias of Lewie Caw, allegedly Captain Macleod’s servant.102

  To avoid Sligachan, then occupied by the enemy, they skirted the top of Loch Sligachan and made for Elgol by the circuitous route via Strath Mor. It was a hard night’s marching, with difficult and treacherous conditions underfoot.103 At one point the prince sank into a bog right up to his thighs. Macleod had to pull him out.104 After more than twelve hours’ dour marching, they reached Elgol in the early morning. It was as well that the prince, at Macleod’s urging, had perfected his disguise, for outside the village they were stopped and questioned by three militiamen. Macleod and the prince had already decided to make a fight of it if the militiamen became suspicious.105

  Their first port of call in Elgol was the house of Captain John Mackinnon, Malcolm Macleod’s brother-in-law. Here they were fed and their clothes changed. With difficulty Macleod persuaded a servant girl to wash the feet of his ‘servant’.106 While the Mackinnons arranged for his onward journey, the prince dandled a young Mackinnon child on his knee and carried him on his back. ‘I hope this child may be a captain in my service yet,’ he remarked.107 John Mackinnon’s reply was to weep silently.108

  Word of the prince’s presence was brought to the old Mackinnon chief. Malcolm Macleod at once resigned the management of the prince’s affairs to the Mackinnons and prepared to depart.109 At about 9 p.m. Old Mackinnon, Captain John and four boatmen embarked with the prince for the mainland. Some enemy sails were seen on the horizon but Charles refused to delay his departure.110 As if to confirm his trust in Providence, the wind veered and the ships stood away. They made the short crossing to Mallaig without incident.

  The prince’s devious circling path through the islands was over. From now on his flight would be through the burns and glens of the mainland.

  21

  His Finest Hour

  (July–September 1746)

  BY NOW THE authorities in London and their bloodthirsty acolytes were lashing themselves into frenzies of indignation and frustration at their inability to track down ‘the Young Pretender’. Nearly three months had passed since Culloden. Ancram, Lockhart, Scott and Fergusson had spread fire and sword across the Highlands, yet still the major prize eluded them.1 Cumberland himself stayed in Scotland until mid-July, vainly hoping to crown his triumph in battle with the capture of the ‘Pretender’s son’.2 But although the Whigs were often hot on the prince’s trail, they were always just short of catching him.3

  Sometimes the Hanoverians rationalised their failure to capture their prey by alleging that Charles had already left Scotland. To the obvious objection that in that case he would have been seen in Paris, they replied that he must have escaped via Norway.4 More often, they simply threw greater and greater resources into the chase.5 If anything, after Cumberland’s departure, his successor Lord Albemarle intensified the hunt, avid for the prestige of succeeding where his royal master had failed. On the mainland, in addition to the Campbell militia and Loudoun’s regulars who made criss-crossing patrols, Albemarle placed a chain of sentries between Inverness and Inverary at the important passes, so that the chances of Charles’s slipping through their fingers were considered remote.6

  Whig money was firmly placed on the islands as Charles Edward’s most likely hiding place. Almost Cumberland’s last act before leaving Scotland was to order Albemarle to bottle up Skye, where the prince was now definitely placed (in fact he was already on the mainland).7 Albermarle followed this up by sending search parties to every single Hebridean island.8 He vowed he would not leave Fort Augustus until all hope of catching the Young Pretender was gone.9

  Bit by bit Albemarle narrowed the gap between pursuers and pursued. Almost without exception, those who helped Charles Edward on his way were taken prisoner and questioned closely: Donald Macleod, O’Neill, Flora MacDonald, Kingsburgh, Malcolm Macleod, Old Mackinnon.10 To a man (or woman) they testified that their motivation was common humanity and that they scorned the £30,000 reward on the prince’s head. Flora MacDonald testified eloquently that she would have helped anyone so deeply in distress, not just the Stuart prince.11 Kingsburgh spoke movingly of a fugitive without meat and sleep for two days and nights, whom he had come upon sitting dejectedly on a rock, beaten upon by the rain and, when that ceased, eaten up by flies. The fugitive was ‘meagre, ill-coloured and overrun with the scab’.12

  No threats of imprisonment (or worse) could shake the Highlanders’ stories or drag from them a scintilla of useful information about the secret network of sympathisers that took the prince ever onwards out of the hands of his pursuers. As for the £30,000, that was looked on by the overwhelming majority with unconcealed contempt. Eighteenth-century Europe was much struck with this aspect of the prince’s successful flight in the heather. Diderot, arguing for man’s natural goodness, later cited the refusal of the Highlanders to give up the prince for £30,000 (a million-pound reward in our terms and the wealth of Croesus by any standards) as his most telling instance.13

  The failure of the Whigs to locate and capture the prince during his five-month escapade has sometimes been set down to the London government’s reluctance to apprehend him; a decision as to his fate would be fraught and embarrassing, the argument goes. Such a view cannot be sustained from the evidence.14 It is true that the prince himself thought that if captured he would be in more danger of assassination by poison or ‘accidental’ death than public execution.15 But in this he underrated the threat to his person. The London government had shown by its virtual suspension of due legal process in Scotland, and by the unleashing of Cumberland’s military rabble, that it was determined to exterminate once and for all the hydra of Jacobitism. And what better way to do this than by burying the hydra’s ‘immortal head’? The execution of Charles Edward would produce a trauma from which the Jacobite movement could never recover. And precisely this consummation was both urged and expected by leading Whig luminaries. Horace Mann was asked by the Prince de Craon what would happen to Charles Edward if he was taken. ‘He would be beheaded,’ said Mann. ‘Fie, fie, a king’s grandson!’ Craon remonst
rated. ‘Well, Prince,’ Mann replied, ‘it is just that fact that would cause his destruction.’16

  The first days on the mainland might have been a time for sombre reflection by the prince on his possible fate, since for three days and nights he and his party lay in the open air.17 They could get no help or shelter because the presence of a militia encampment at Eansaig on the south of Loch Nevis intimidated their potential supporters. By the fourth day Old Mackinnon had had enough. He set off in search of a better refuge.

  Chafing at the inactivity, the prince, John Mackinnon and the three boatmen launched the boat for an ill-advised reconnaissance of Loch Nevis. They were spotted by five militiamen on the shore and ordered to put in to land for identification.18 The prince was all for making a fight of it, as they were roughly equal in numbers.19 But John Mackinnon took command and ordered his men to pull away. He told them to have their muskets primed but not to fire unless he gave the word. If firing commenced, they could not leave a single militiaman alive.20

  It did not come to that. They quickly outdistanced their pursuers and put in to a wooded shore. From a hill the prince watched the militiamen give up the chase and return to their station. Then he lay down on the hillside and slept for three hours.21

  They re-embarked and rowed across to a small island on the north shore, a mile away from the house of Scotus, one of the luminaries of clan Donald.22 John Mackinnon went ahead to sound Old Clanranald, who was known to be living there. The Clanranald chief was appalled to find the prince once again in his domains. ‘What muckle devil has brought him into this country again?’ he cried, and went on to refuse all help.23 The best he could suggest was refuge on Rona – an even more desolate island than Raasay. Both he and Mackinnon understood that this was code for an undeviating refusal to become involved. Rona was a green island with no cover; not a single sheep or goat could escape detection there, let alone a man.