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.
"SHE STOOD ON HER WAY TOWARDS FRANCE AND SAFETY"