History reveals no more splendid example of unswerving loyalty. The whole story of Prince Charlie’s wanderings is one of the proudest traditions of the land of mountain and of glen. As a memorial of his gallant but hopeless attempt to overthrow King George the Second we have those spirited and tender Jacobite songs which have become an imperishable part of our literature. They are a monument not so much to the young man whom they commemorate as to the race which saw in him its best and most inspiring ideals.
Before we say farewell to Prince Charlie, the story of a woman’s superb heroism and devotion must be told. When Charles was hiding in the heather in South Uist, and the redcoats were within a couple of miles of him, a young lady, named Flora Macdonald, was introduced to him. She had lately come from Skye to visit her brother in South Uist, and Charles’s faithful henchman, O’Neil, had heard of her and of her friendship for the Stuart cause. He met her secretly, and begged her to convey the prince to her mother’s house in Skye, where he might be safe until he could be got away to France. The plan was most difficult and daring, for Flora’s chief was then with Cumberland, and her stepfather was an officer in the Skye militia, and was at that instant scouring South Uist for the fugitive. Nevertheless Flora undertook the task, and O’Neil made her known to the prince. O’Neil proposed that Flora should obtain a pass from her stepfather for herself and her maid, Betty Burke, to go and visit her mother in Skye. Flora’s stepfather was a Jacobite at heart, and he furnished her with the passports. Betty Burke was none other than the prince, who was now to don petticoats and follow Flora as her servant. The prince made but a poor maid; he walked with such manly strides that his disguise only served to attract attention. Further, he could not manage his skirts; at one time they trailed in the mud, at another time he held them above his knees. However, the boat was reached in safety, and “over the sea to Skye” went Charlie. The night was stormy, but Flora slept, and the prince watched over her and sang songs to hearten the crew. In the morning they only just managed to escape the boats of the enemy.
While the prince hid in the heather, Flora went to the house of a friend, Lady Margaret Macdonald, and arrived at a sadly ill-timed moment, for the militia were in the neighbourhood and their officer was in the house. Nevertheless, arrangements were made, and Macdonald of Kingsburgh undertook to get the prince to Portree. The night was spent at Macdonald’s house, and next day Charles managed to get to Portree, where he doffed his petticoats. Here he hid for some time in a cave, and here, too, he said good-bye to his brave preserver. He kissed her and said, “For all that has happened, I hope, madam, we shall meet at St. James’s yet.” He called her “our lady,” and his last thought was for her. Thus he parted from the courageous woman who had ventured all for his sake. From this moment she fades out of history, but her place amongst the heroines is assured for ever.
Months of flitting to and fro, of lurking in the heather and hiding in caves and ruined huts, followed, and at last news came to him that two French vessels were off the coast. Losing no time, he started off for the very spot where fourteen months before he had landed so full of hope. The ships were riding at anchor, a boat moored to a rock awaited him. The prince jumped in, and in a few moments was climbing the sides of the vessel, safe at last. And here we leave him while his ship is rocking on the wave, and the stern men upon whom he has brought such sorrow and suffering wave him a last farewell amidst their streaming tears. We will not dwell upon the later years of his life—years of misery and degradation, when the once gay, kind, brave, and loyal prince sank into a fierce, shabby, homeless, and almost friendless adventurer. For many years he moved about like a shadow, finding his way more than once to England. Giving way to drink, he sank deeper and deeper into the mire. Let us not dwell upon the sad scenes of his later life. Let us think of him in his best moments, as the man who ennobled the Highland race for all time by calling forth a devotion, loyalty, and love the fame of which can never die.
BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE.
(From the painting by John Pettie, R.A.)
AFTER CULLODEN: ROYALIST SOLDIERS SEARCHING FOR JACOBITE FUGITIVES.
(From the picture by John Seymour Lucas, R.A., in the Tate Gallery. By permission of Messrs. Frost and Reed.)