It was now getting towards evening, and I must have fainted or slept somewhat, for the next I remember was feeling what I took to be rain falling, and, on opening my eyes, there was the big face of Father O'Rourke over me. He was crying like a child, and the first words I made out were: "Oh, Giovannini, darling! My poor boy! You're not dead—you're not dead, after all!"
"Who's beaten, Father?" I asked, as soon as I could speak.
"Faith, we're all beaten! First we were smashed into tatters, the King all but taken, and would have been had it not been for Sir Balthasar Nihel. We were beaten at every point of the compass, only we didn't know it! But now we've the town again, and sent General Browne off with a flea in his ear, and all the Croats and Hungarians, Pandours and Talpathians, hot foot after him. But oh, the poor souls that have gone to glory this night! Faith, promotion will be the order of the day now." And all this and much more he gave out, half crying, half laughing.
And there the good man sate, talking his nonsense to keep me up, holding me in his arms covered with his cassock, which he had stripped off when first he found me, in no little danger from the rascally camp-followers and the miserable peasants, who were prowling about ready to put a knife into any one who offered the least resistance. Indeed, the peasants killed, resistance or not; for each soldier dead, no matter what side, they looked on as one enemy the less.
"THERE THE GOOD MAN SATE, HOLDING ME IN HIS ARMS""THERE THE GOOD MAN SATE, HOLDING ME IN HIS ARMS"
I was too weak to think of such things, but he told me afterwards his heart gave a Te Deum of rejoicing when he saw Lieutenant Miles MacDonnell, of the Regiment Hibernia, looking over the bodies for any chance of saving friends. He at once hailed him, and I was soon, lying on the leaf of a door on my way to the hospital.
Some idea may be gathered of the importance of this engagement when I say that there were near two hundred officers alone in the hospital, which was one of the largest convents in the town. As Father O'Rourke foretold, promotion was rapid and easy, and Captain Ranald MacDonnell was named as Colonel, commanding the regiment in the place of his brother, killed, as already related. He went through the hospital twice a day and never failed to visit me, inquiring particularly of my condition by order of his father, the General, and also brought me news of my own promotion as Lieutenant, with many kindly wishes for my speedy recovery—and I know no more grateful cataplasm for a mending wound than promotion.
It was wonderful how we all improved in spite of the heat, our crowded condition, and the scanty fare. My greatest suffering was from dreaming; for weeks I could not get the awful experiences of that day out of my poor head, and no sooner was I asleep than I was at some part of it again, only to be awakened with a scream and a start which often opened my wounds afresh and left me almost fainting with pain. My experience was only that of others, many of whom afterwards said they too dreaded the coming of sleep, which only increased their torments.
Many a story we had of the day, and gradually we gathered something like a fair idea of the whole. General Novati had carried out his attack on the town successfully, but had been prevented from seizing the person of the King through the obstinate defence of the Irish troops; indeed, we came in for no small share of compliments. Even General Browne, who cut our own detachment to pieces, said he was sorry for our loss, though he admired our gallant behaviour. This was the word brought by Mr. O'Reilly, who saved his life by a stratagem; for being down like the rest of us in our last stand, and fearing lest he should be trampled under foot by a squadron of horse just preparing to charge, he called out to the Germans, "Would you leave the Duke of Alba to perish?" and so was picked up and carried out of danger. When brought before General Browne and his staff, he confessed he was only Mr. O'Reilly, a Lieutenant in the Irish Brigade, and had borrowed the Duke's name when he thought it would do him most good. He was abandoned by the enemy in their retreat and carried in, and afterwards made his apologies to His Highness for the liberty he had taken, who graciously assured him he was glad it served so good an end.
The day had ended by a loss to the enemy of near three thousand men, and General Novati a prisoner, besides many other officers of high rank; our own loss was near as heavy, but, then, we were victorious, and the enemy foiled in every point he attempted.
Father O'Rourke was untiring in his care of us all. Indeed, for weeks he hardly seemed to have any rest, but whether he was up all night with some poor fellow whose time was short, or comforting another in pain, or letter-writing, or listening to complaints, he had always the same lively humour that brought many a laugh from the long rows of beds within hearing.
In about six weeks I was on crutches, but sadly incommoded by want of clothes, for I had not even a shirt I could call my own. "Faith, don't be so mighty put out on account of a few rags and tatters," was Father O'Rourke's comfort; "'tis a blessed state of innocence I found you in! Not even Adam in the Garden of Eden could have had less on him, or been less put out by it. You may thank Providence you are here in this blessed sunshine, instead of skiting about barelegged in your native land, where I'm told on good authority the men wear petticoats even in winter." But I was superior to his gibes a day or so later, for the General, hearing of my straits, most obligingly sent me a suit of clothes and half a dozen of shirts. And to add to his many kindnesses, in a letter he wrote to King James giving an account of the late battle, he mentioned my condition to His Majesty, setting forth my services in terms of such commendation that the King was pleased to order a pretty good sum of money for my immediate occasions.
Weary as I was of the hospital, I dreaded leaving it, as ordinary courtesy, let alone my heavy obligations, necessitated an immediate visit to the General, which I much dreaded, as I had not seen him since the day before the battle, when his son rode at our head, as gallant an officer as there was in the service. But when I stood before that fine old soldier there was only welcome in his look, and he said, jocosely:
"Are you still alive?"
"I hope your Excellency has sent no one to kill me," I answered, falling in with his humour.
"No, by gad! I thought you had enough. But I know what has brought you here to-day; you have come for a good meal after being starved in the hospital. But be careful, I have seen many who have been carried off by overeating in like case."
Dinner was served, and I sate down nearly opposite the General, who eyed me anxiously from time to time; at last he got up, took my knife and fork from me, and, ordering away what was before me, said, "You young devil, you'll kill yourself!" and his roughness meant more to me than soft words from any other man.
From this out I recovered rapidly, and soon was myself again and back in my Company with full rank as Lieutenant. There was no fighting now of any importance, and we wondered what the next move would be. But our spies and the deserters brought us in no news of value, and on the last day of September we lay down while our out-posts watched those of the enemy, their fires burning as usual across the valley; but in the morning we thought it strange we heard no drums and saw no movement, and then it dawned upon us that their whole army had withdrawn during the night, and now were in full retreat by way of Rome.
All the available force started in pursuit, with the hope of bringing them to an action at Torre Metia, about half-way between Albano and Rome, but they outmarched us. Both armies had engaged with His Holiness not to enter Rome, so the enemy passed under its walls, where, our advanced guard coming up with their rear, there was warm skirmishing until they crossed the Tiber at the Ponte Mole and encamped on the far side until the next morning, when they continued their retreat. Our army now divided, one division going forward under the Count di Gages to harass the enemy, while the remainder followed King Carlo back to Naples.
How we met old friends and an older enemy in Rome with whom I was forced to subscribe to a Truce, having passed my word to the Duke of York; how it came that I resigned from the Company of St. James.
Through General MacDonnell's kindness I was allowed to spend a few days in Rome as being on his staff, and at my first freedom took my way to the street of the Quattro Fontane and my old College.
What a welcome I received! Good Father Urbani held me in his arms as if I bad been his own son, and would not hear of my sleeping outside the College, although 'twas a downright breach of their rules; and the old porter, of whom I once stood in such awe, waited up for me, no matter what the hour for returning might be, and nodded and winked knowingly, as if he too had once been young. Not that I would insinuate there was anything of levity in my conduct, for I have always had a too just regard for my position as a gentleman and an officer to indulge in anything unbecoming, more especially where I was so carefully observed.
Angus I found the same as ever, quiet and contented with his lot, as seemed most of the others, though I could see my appearance caused something of a ruffle among them. I seemed to have grown so many years older, and was surprised to find how small and almost mean many of the old surroundings looked; even the Fathers did not appear as formidable as before. All, that is, save dear old Father Urbani, of whom I never stood in awe, and who had only grown older and more frail; to him I told all that was in my heart, not even hiding my first fright from him, which I would not have then confessed to any other living man.
On the second day of our stay, the General and I took our way by the Corso and through to the Piazza Santi Apostoli to pay our respects to His Majesty King James. As we ascended the staircase I thought of the two poor awe-struck collegioners who in soutane and soprano had climbed the same stairs two years before, and the amazement that had filled their hearts when they saw and talked with Royalty for the first time. Now I was a man, though but sixteen, for I had carried a sword honourably in company with some of the bravest men in Italy, and had been personally presented to King Carlo as worthy of his gracious notice.
The General was in full dress, with his Spanish and Neapolitan orders, and I wore the full uniform of a Lieutenant of our brigade, which was genteel enough even for a presentation.
In the anteroom the General was welcomed on all hands, and I met many I knew, including Mr. Secretary Murray, Mr. Sheridan, and the Abbé Ramsay, and was much made of, though without flattery, save by those at whose hands I could fittingly receive it. What was my disgust, though, to see the white face of Creach again in the crowd; he, however, did not come near me, and, out of consideration for the General, I refrained from speaking of him, as it might lead to mention of my former meeting when with his son, the Colonel. I may say here that I never knew the result of the meeting between Creach and the Colonel, as the latter never saw fit to refer to it and I could not well question him.
The sight of the man was so distasteful that it fairly took away all the pleasure of my presentation, and even the gracious presence and words of His Majesty, and of the Duke of York, who accompanied him, did not altogether dissipate my uneasiness. In words as fitting as I could choose, I thanked His Majesty for his generous and unexpected succour, whereupon a smile passed over his grave, dark face, and he said, "But hold! are you not my little Highlander of the Santi Apostoli?"
"I am, please your Majesty," I answered, reddening at my childish adventure.
Then the King smiled again, and, much to my discomfiture, told the story which all seemed to find mighty amusing, save myself, who could see nothing therein but a very natural and exact distinction. In telling a story, however, a king has this advantage over others, in that all must laugh whether they find it to their liking or not.
I had hoped we would have seen the Prince of Wales as well, for in my heart he was the member of the Royal Family I most longed to see again, but we were informed he was engaged in a tour of Northern Italy.
When the King and the Duke withdrew, they signified to General MacDonnell that he was to follow, and when we bowed them out, and the doors closed upon them, conversation at once became general.
I withdrew to a window, for I was in no frame of mind for talk, when, to my astonishment, I saw Creach advance towards me, holding out his hand with an assured air. I drew myself up at once and looked him over slowly, seeing everything but the outstretched hand.
"This is a place for friendship and not for boyish quarrels, Mr. McDonell," he began. "I wish to congratulate you on your promotion.
"No place, Mr. Creach, can be for friendship between us, and as for congratulations, they are not only out of place but insulting from you," I said, quietly, and in a low voice, so no one might overhear.
"In the first place, my name is not Creach," he said, trying hard to keep his temper, "and in the second, you may find it not only foolish but even dangerous to try any of your airs with me. Remember, you can't always have a man at your back to fight your battles for you."
"I SAW CREACH ADVANCE TOWARDS ME""I SAW CREACH ADVANCE TOWARDS ME"
"You clay-faced hound!" I said, "don't dare to take the name of the dead into your mouth, or I will strike you where you stand. What your object is in thus seeking me I do not know nor care, but as sure as the sun is above if you dare speak to me again I will forget the roof we stand under and treat you like the dog you are."
His face turned greyer than ever, and he stood hesitating a moment, but presently bowed ceremoniously, and moved off before my anger got the better of me.
I stood staring out of the window trying to recover myself, when who should come up but Father O'Rourke. "Well, well, my little Highlander, who has been ruffling your feathers?" said he.
"Look there! Father O'Rourke," I said, paying no attention to his nonsense; "do you see that man?"
"I'm not hard of hearing yet, my son, thank God! and you needn't make a sign-post of yourself. Do you mean the claret-coloured coat and the bag-wig?"
"Yes," I said, more quietly. "That is Creach!"
"The devil it is!" he said, and then he became confused, and glanced at me to see if I had observed his slip; but I have always held that an honest statement of opinion may excuse the expression. He was silent for a moment, looking hard at the man, and then went on in his old lively manner. "Well, Giovannini, we are not responsible for the company; they cannot be all lieutenants and priests. Let us wander about and get a mouthful of air." So, taking my arm, he led me off, nor would he speak on the subject until we were alone on the terrace. There he changed his tone, and said, shortly:
"Are you sure of the man?"
"As sure as if I had seen his ears."
"Faith! they were big enough to swear by," and to my impatience he began to laugh at the thought. "Do you remember how they stuck out? The handles of a jug would be flat beside them," and he laughed again. "Now I suppose you promptly insulted him?"
"Indeed I did not. I only told him he was a dog, and if he spoke to me again I would not answer for myself."
"Humph! I have frequently noticed a Highlander's conception of an insult is materially altered by the fact whether it proceeds from himself or from another; but I don't suppose you ever got as far in metaphysics as this. Now comes the question, what you intend to do? Remember the gentleman seems fairly well established here. Will you fight with him?"
"Fight with him? A thief? Indeed I will not! I will simply keep my word."
"You're a rare hand at that, and I'm not saying 'tis a bad habit. But here comes the General. To-morrow I'll be at the College about eleven," and so we parted.
The General was in great spirits. "Hark you, McDonell, something touching 'the North' is on foot. I'll not say more now, and this is in strict confidence, but you'll know what it means some day when I signify to you that you may apply for leave of absence. To-morrow, at four, you will attend again at the Palace; the Duke desires to see you. You will enter by the door you know of, and the word is 'Velletri'—but you know nothing," he added, with emphasis.
The next morning Father O'Rourke came as promised, and was introduced by me to the Rector with some little pride. Indeed, he was no mean figure of a man, this Chaplain of ours, with his broad shoulders and great head, that looked fitter for a soldier's tricorne than a priest's calotte.
After the usual compliments we fell to talking, Father O'Rourke as much at home as if he had known the Rector all his life, and it was easy to see the old man warmed to him as he told him of his work as chaplain in a marching regiment, though making light of it, as was his manner.
"Ah, Father," said the Rector, smiling, "I am afraid it is somewhat to you that the College owes the loss of this scholar; he would have been a credit to the schools some day."
"I doubt it, Most Reverend," answered Father O'Rourke, dryly, "as he is lacking in one of the senses."
"In what, pray?" asked the Rector, a little stirred. "I have never observed any lack; Sight, Sound, Taste, Touch, and Speech, he has them all."
"Your pardon, you have omitted Humour," returned Father O'Rourke, quietly; "and he has no more of that than a crocodile has of mathematics. A deplorable lack in a scholar, and useful any where—though for the banging of guns and the cracking of skulls there's less required than in almost any other profession"; and at this he burst into one of his foolish roars of laughter, much to my dislike, for I wished him to make a good figure before my protector. But, to my surprise, the Rector did not seem half as much put out as myself, and said, smiling:
"Well, well; this killing is a serious business in any case."
"But not so serious it could not be tempered by a little cheerfulness. 'Suaviter in modo' goes a long way towards making your enemy's end comfortable," ranted on Father O'Rourke, with much more that I have not the patience to put down. Indeed, I hold him wrong throughout, as I have quite as keen a sense of humour as is fitting for any gentleman in my position.
But to go on. When we were alone he listened quietly enough to my remonstrances to his late conduct, merely saying he understood that the Rector had not been born north of the Tweed, which was no answer whatever.
He then recurred to our matter of the day before, saying:
"I have been making some inquiries about this man Creach."
"Yes, and what do you find?"
"I find, Mr. McDonell, that if you are going to have the run of the Santi Apostoli you must number him amongst the Elect, for His Saintship is in high favour. He not only is there day in day out, but is a bosom friend of the Prince of Wales to boot."
"That I cannot credit," I returned. "His Highness could not be so mistaken."
"Faith, I'm not so sure of that," he returned, bitterly; "he has some sorry cattle about him, and, to say the least, he is easily pleased in the way of company."
"Father O'Rourke, it is not for the likes of you or me to discuss the doings of princes, and I'll thank you to say no more on the subject."
"Very well, Your Highness. I merely thought a word in season might save you from a like error, and that, coming from a descendant of kings, like myself, it would not give offence. But to leave that aside, you'll have to humble your stomach and swallow this Captain, claret-coat, chalk face, big ears, and all, or I will prophesy that you'll cut but a small figure with your betters."
This was as unpleasant a piece of news as I could well receive, and though I could not quarrel with it, I at least could resent the manner of its conveyance, so I turned upon my informant at once: "Perhaps this is an example of your 'suaviter in modo,' Father O'Rourke; if so, I'll be obliged if you'll put things in plain, sensible English, as between gentlemen."
"Oh, very well, Mr. John McDonell of Scottos—do you think it sounds better to say that his Royal Highness has not ordinary common taste in choosing his companions, and if you follow him, you must be hail-fellow-well-met with a blackguard like Creach, who happens just now to be in his favour?"
"'Pon my soul, Father O'Rourke, you are the most provoking man I ever met! If you wore a sword, I'd make you answer for this!" I roared, beside myself with anger.
"Oh, I can waggle a sword, if need be," he answered, very cool, "but I was thankful it wasn't a sword but a calabash of good chianti I had strapped on me the night I fell in with you after Velletri. There, there, Giovannini; 'tis nothing to make such a pother about, only you and I are too old friends to quarrel over such gentry as Mr. Creach."
"But it wasn't Mr. Creach, Father. I never would have lost my temper over him; I thought you were poking fun at me."
"Ah, Mr. Lieutenant, in humour, like in file-firing, a sense of direction is a great thing."
And so we made it all up again, and with Angus we had the chanti and fruit which the Rector had thoughtfully provided in my chamber.
At four o'clock I took my way to the secret entrance of the Santi Apostoli, found the familiar passage and a lackey awaiting me in the garden to conduct me to the Duke.
He was then about nineteen, though I did not think he appeared much my elder save in his manner, which was that of a Prince, though most lively and engaging. He soon opened the reason of the visit.
"Mr. McDonell," he said, "I am sure you are faithful and can be trusted."
"Your Royal Highness," I answered, "my people have been true to you and yours for generations, and it would ill become me to have any principles other than those we have always held. You can count on me to the very end."
"I was sure of it," he answered, smiling, holding out both his hands, which I grasped with emotion. "Now to business," and he civilly invited me to be seated in an embrasure of a window.
"My brother, the Prince of Wales, is travelling, it is true, but not in Italy; he left here secretly in January last, and since then has been in France, and at any day an expedition may be formed for Scotland, for we have the surest hope of the hearty co-operation of the French Court.
"Now I and His Majesty must have messengers at hand on whom we can absolutely rely; and my request to you is that you will not volunteer for service when the news comes, but will remain with your company here in Italy; we have positive assurances you will be permitted to leave at any moment we may signify. I know that I am asking you a hard service, but it is an important one, for there are but few men whom we can trust for such a mission.
"It is impossible to say when you may be needed, but your reward will be such when the time comes that others will envy your choice, and I and the King, my father, will ever remember the man who was ready to sacrifice the empty glory of the parade of war for the trust laid on him.
"You must keep yourself free of all entanglements, for your absolute freedom to move at once will be of the utmost importance to the Prince and to your country. Surely I may count on you for this?"
And I swore faithfulness from the bottom of my heart.
Then changing his tone, he began more lightly: "There is another small favour, a personal one, I would ask of you yet. There is a gentleman here in our court named Mr. Graeme—"
"Mr. Creach, Your Highness," I could not help interrupting.
"Mr. Graeme, I said," he returned, with something of hauteur. "You will be required to meet him, possibly to have business with him, and I desire as a personal favour to me," and he laid much stress on the words, "that you will lay aside all previous difficulties or misunderstandings between you until your engagement with me is at an end. Surely I am not asking too much in urging a favour at this beginning of your service," and I was so overcome with the graciousness of his manner that I promised, although sore against my will.
We then had a private audience with the King, who was pleased to recall the services of my grandfather, old Æneas of Scottos, and his brothers Glengarry, Lochgarry, and Barisdale, whom he knew personally in 1715, and flattered me by saying he congratulated the Duke of York on having a messenger of such approved fidelity; "for, Mr. McDonell, your General tells me he would trust you with his own honour."
"His Excellency has been like a father to me, Sire," I answered; and shortly afterwards our interview closed, the Duke paying me the honour of accompanying me to the door and insisted on shaking hands, nor would he admit of any ceremony at leave-taking.
The next morning some one knocked at my door, and, on opening it, there, to my surprise and disgust, I saw Creach, dressed in the most foppish manner. However, I dissembled my feelings, and to his greeting said, with civility:
"I wish you good-morning, Mr. Creach."
"By God! sir, if you repeat that name to me, I will run you through!" and he laid his hand to his sword.
I glanced quickly to see my own was within easy reach on the table, and then, "Mr. Creach," I said, "I promised His Royal Highness the Duke that I would not quarrel with you, and nothing will make me break my word, so don't go on pretending to find insults in my conversation, Mr. Creach, or it will become one-sided. I am a man of very few ideas, and one of them is that 'Mr. Creach'—no, 'Captain Creach'—was the name by which you were introduced to me, and so Creach you must remain till the end of the chapter, Mr. Creach."
But he had recovered himself with great address, and said, with an air of much openness:
"Mr. McDonell, what is the sense of keeping up this farce of quarrelling? We must meet, therefore let us do it with decency, as befits the cause to which our honour is pledged."
"Mr. Creach, if I were not a man moderate in all things, and were not my word pledged to the Duke, nothing in the world would prevent me throwing you down these stairs, and I could have no greater pleasure than to see you break your neck at the bottom; but since I am forced to treat you as a gentleman, kindly deliver yourself of your business and leave me to mine."
"I am doubly fortunate then, Mr. McDonell, first to the Duke and second to your high sense of honour. But I will not bandy compliments. His Highness bade me deliver this letter and his regrets that he will not see you again, as he hears General MacDonnell leaves for the army at Spoletto to-day."
"My humble duty to His Highness, sir," and I bowed to him mighty stiff, and he withdrew, leaving me very thankful that I had not been betrayed into any heat nor broken my word to the Duke.
On hurrying to the General's quarters I found the news was true, and that he had already sent for me; so, after short farewells, we rode through the Porta del Popolo and took the highway towards Spoletto.
I will not follow our campaign through the winter, except to say we were fairly successful and saw some brilliant service, particularly at La Bochetta and during the investment of Tortona.
During this winter I lost my best of friends, General MacDonnell, who died of a fever occasioned by the fatigue of our forced marching on Genoa; and a few days afterwards he was followed by his brother, the Major-General, of a fever also, resulting from the breaking out of an old wound he had received in the shoulder some fifteen years before.
All this time I had been anxiously expecting orders from the Duke, but the only word which came was a letter containing the disheartening tidings of the failure of the expedition under Marshal Saxe, and then we were all startled at the news of the Prince's embarkation in theDoutelleand theElizabeth.
"'GENTLEMEN! GLASSES ALL!'""'GENTLEMEN! GLASSES ALL!'"
"It is simple madness," said Father O'Rourke, when the tidings were announced in the General's tent at dinner—indeed, one of the last occasions when he had us all at his table, as he loved.
"'Tis the kind of madness that heroes are made of," said the General, heartily. "Here, gentlemen! glasses all! Here's to Royal Charles, and may he never stop till he sleeps in St. James'!" and, warmed by his enthusiasm, he broke into the old Irish Jacobite song:
"'He's all my heart's treasure, my joy and my pleasure,So justly, my love, my heart follows thee;And I am resolved, in foul or fair weather,To seek out my Blackbird, wherever he be.'"
Such was the enthusiasm that we were all ready to volunteer, but as the General said, dryly enough, "What is to become of the Austrians if you all leave? You might as well desert to the enemy at once and have done with it."
While we awaited with impatience an answer to our application, word came to me from the Duke that I was on no account to apply for leave until such time as he sent me certain word himself. It was a bitter disappointment, but I was not alone, as the military authorities saw fit to refuse all applications until the matter was further advanced.
At last, in the month of January, letters came saying the Duke was about starting, that leave was granted me as well as certain others, with instructions to report to Mr. Sempil, the King's Agent at Paris, who would direct us further.
Conceiving my future duties called for freedom from immediate service, I sent in my formal resignation, and received from our Colonel, Ranald MacDonnell, a certificate testifying in flattering terms to the services I had performed, to my honour as a gentleman and my conduct as an officer while under his command in the Company of St. James:
"Nous, Colonel du Régiment d'Infanterie d'Irlande de St. Jacques, certifions que le Sieur Jean McDonell de Glengarry, sous-lieutenant au dit Régiment, s'est toujours comporté pendant tout le temps qu'il y a servi en Gentilhomme d'honneur, brave officier, et avec une conduite irréprochable à tout égard; en foy de quoy nous lui avons donné le présent. Fait à Plaisance le douzième janvier, mil sept cent quarante six."MACDONNELL."
To my surprise I found the name of Father O'Rourke amongst those allowed to volunteer, and when we were alone I said, rallying him:
"I was not aware you were so strong a Jacobite, Father."
"Well, to tell the truth I am not, except in the way of sentiment; but sentiment, my dear Giovannini, as you are aware, will induce a sensible man to do more foolish things than any other power in the world. Still, I regard myself as in the path of duty, for I conceive there may be some Jacobites who will be none the worse for a little extra morality dispensed by even my unworthy hands."
I did not question him further, as I dreaded one of his usual rodomontades.
We left at once with the good wishes of all, took barge at Genoa as far as Antibes, and thence by post to Lyons, where we put up at the Hôtel du Parc.
Here we met a number of French officers, who brought news of the Battle of Falkirk, wherein Prince Charles had beaten the English cavalry and infantry off the field; and though, at the same time, we knew he had retreated from England, it did not serve to dash bur spirits, and we supped merrily together, drinking toast after toast to the success of the Cause.
All the old songs were sung lustily, and the French officers were much amused at our enthusiasm; but it was Father O'Rourke who carried off the honours of the evening by singing the following, to an air that was new to me:
Oh the water, the water,The dun and eerie water,Which long has parted loving hearts that wearied for their home!O'er the water, the water,The dark, dividing water,Our Bonnie Prince has come at last, at last—to claim his Own.He has come to hearts that waited,He has come to hearts that welcome,He has come though friends have wavered, with the foeupon his track.But what loyal heart will falterWhen our Bonnie Prince is standingWith his banner blue above his head and his claymoreat his back?
Then gather ye, Appin, Clanranald, Glengarry!Cross has gone round! Will a single man tarryWhen we march with our Prince against Geordie's Dutch carles?We are out for the King!We will conquer or swing!But the bonnie brown broadswords will klink and will klingFrom the Tweed to the Thames for our Bonnie Prince Charles!
Oh! the waiting, the waiting,The cruel night of waiting,When we brake the bread of sorrow and drank our bitter tears,It has broken at his comingLike the mist on Corryvechan,In the sunlight of his presence we have lost our midnight fears.
When the Prince unfurled his standardIn the green vale of Glenfinnan,Beneath a sky as bright and blue, blown clear of storm and wrack,The Loyal chiefs came throngingTo where their Prince was standingWith his banner blue above his head and his claymore at his back.
Then gather ye, Appin, Clanranald, Glengarry!The Cross has gone round! Will a single man tarryWhen we march with our Prince against Geordie's Dutch carles?We are out for the King!We will conquer or swing!But the bonnie brown broadswords will klink and will klingFrom the Tweed to the Thames for our Bonnie Prince Charles!
Oh! the heather, the heather,Our modest hill-side heather,Hath donned her royal robe again to welcome back her Own.The roses bloom once more in heartsThat hope deferred was wastingThat will march with Bonnie Charlie, to halt only at his Throne!We have suffered, we have sorrowed,But our joy has come with morning,And all is shining gloriously that late was drear and black.Then up and out, ye gallant hearts,To where your Prince is standing,With his banner blue above his head and his claymore at his back!
Then gather ye, Appin, Clanranald, Glengarry!The Cross has gone round! Will a single man tarryWhen we march with our Prince against Geordie's Dutch carles?We are out for the King!We will conquer or swing!But the bonnie brown broadswords will klink and will klingFrom the Tweed to the Thames for our Bonnie Prince Charles!
When he ended we cheered and cheered, breaking our glasses, half crying, half laughing, until we made the room ring again; and the people in the square listening to us began to cheer in sympathy, and, unable to control myself, I jumped up, and, catching the big form of the priest to my bosom, fairly hugged him in my arms, "Oh, Father O'Rourke! How could you ever do it and you not a Highlander at all?" I cried, in my wonder.
"Faith, I could do the same for a Hottentot if I could only manage his irregular verbs," he shouted, struggling out of my embrace. "And now, gentlemen! If you don't stop this hullabaloo, you'll be arrested for disturbing the peace of this good town of Lyons, and if you don't stop cracking those bottles your heads will be as easy cracking for the English when it comes to hard knocks!" And off he went with a storm of cheers after him.
How Father O'Rourke and I met with the Duke of York, who charged me with a secret mission towards Prince Charles; of our voyage to Scotland, and the dismal tidings that there met us.
The next morning Father O'Rourke's words came true, for there were many aching heads amongst us, of which my own was one, and the jolting of the Paris diligence did not in any way improve their condition nor their owners' tempers. It is surprising how mightily the hot enthusiasms of overnight will cool down by daylight—and here was an example. Last night there was not one of us but would have embarked to the Prince's support without a second thought of the chances, and not one would have admitted that the chances, if any, were aught but rose-coloured; but with the morning everything took on a different complexion, and the whole of our way to Paris was filled with nothing but the most dismal forebodings.
I addressed myself to Mr. Sempil, and found that the Duke would expect me in about a week at Boulogne; and in the mean time I did what I could to raise the spirits and determination of my companions.
At length we had a general consultation, and, much to my disgust, they one and all began to plan, not for our joining the Prince, but for offering the most excellent reasons why they should then and there return: "the Prince had retreated from England; the passage was dangerous on account of the English fleet; the French could not be relied upon for any material aid; and, lastly, Spring was approaching, and they would lose their chances of promotion in the ensuing campaign," and so on.
"In short, gentlemen," I said, out of patience at last, "you all came here prepared to sing the same song, and you do it to perfection. Your arguments do more credit to your heads than to your hearts. If the Prince were safe in London you would be the first to flock after him; but now, when he most needs your assistance, you are like a pack of old women inventing terrors to excuse your cowardice."
There were some of them who pretended to take exception to my words; but as I assured them I would be only too pleased to make any or all of them good, and the sooner the better, they did not go beyond their protest.
But if they found my words unpalatable, Father O'Rourke gave them something more difficult to digest.
"I object to the gentleman's manner of putting it myself," he began; "he is altogether too mealy-mouthed, which comes no doubt from his diet in boyhood. If he were only a blathering Irishman like the rest of you, he would be shouting Jacobite songs, and guzzling Jacobite toasts, and whispering Jacobite treasons, and never venture an inch of his precious carcass, until the moon turned into a Jacobite cheese and was ready to drop into his mouth. I'm ashamed of you all! Go back to your macaroni and polenta, and brag about Cremona and other battlesyounever fought, and see if you cannot breed some mongrel mixture that will make you ashamed of the way you have behaved this day. There! that's what I say to you; and if any of you don't like it, get down on your marrow-bones and thank Heaven that the rules of his Church prevent Father O'Rourke, late Chaplain of the Company of St. James, wearing a sword, or, by the Powers! you would go back like so many pinked bladders!"
And to my surprise, these men, who were wont to smell an insult afar off, and whose courage in the field was unquestioned, received this intolerable tirade as quietly as school-boys after a whipping—and so the matter rested, and they went their way and we ours.
I wrote to Mr. Constable, then Secretary to the Duke of York, of the resolution of my comrades, and, by return of post, I received orders from His Royal Highness to repair to Boulogne, which I immediately complied with, accompanied by Father O'Rourke.
On reaching Boulogne, we enquired our way to Mr. Constable's lodgings, and upon knocking at his chamber-door it was opened by the Duke himself.
"Welcome, Mr. McDonell, welcome; and you, too, Father O'Rourke. You see we are so few we have dispensed with ceremony here in Boulogne." he said, giving a hand to each of us.
"We ourselves dispensed with it, and most of our following as well, in Paris, your Highness," said Father O'Rourke, laughing, "though I don't know that we'd have been any more had we used all the ceremony of the Court of Spain;" and then, without waiting to be introduced to the other gentlemen present, he began the story of his farewell speech to the volunteers from Italy, and set them all a-laughing heartily with his impudence.
I was somewhat taken aback, but thought it best to offer no remonstrance; indeed, I could not imagine any company which would have put Father O'Rourke out of countenance. I felt ill at ease, not having shifted myself, as I had not expected to see any one save Mr. Constable; but Father O'Rourke talked and moved among them all in his rusty cassock without an apology for his condition. However, I soon forgot such trifles in my interest in the company gathered. Besides His Highness, there were the Duke of Fitz-James, son of the great Duke of Berwick, and many noblemen of distinction and general officers, among whom I was introduced to the Count Lally-Tollendal, whose unjust execution at the hands of his enemies some years later aroused the sympathies of all Europe.
The plans of the Prince and hopes of aid from King Louis were discussed with the utmost freedom and with much hope, for it was confidently expected an expedition for Scotland would be equipped immediately, which the Duke was to command, as it was on this promise he had come from Italy.
But one week went by, and then another, and yet we had no satisfaction from the Court, not even excuses, and I could not but observe that, though others still had implicit faith in some action by King Louis, the Duke began to lose heart.
"Ah, the poor young man," said Father O'Rourke, "my heart is sore for him. He has more sense than the rest of them, and faith, I think, has more heart, too, and so takes it harder. Do you know, Giovannini, 'tis a great misfortune to be born in the ranks of princes; they're the only class of men I know of that are untrustworthy as a whole. King David knew the breed well, and did not he write 'Put not your trust in princes' (Nollite confidere in principibus)? and here is the Duke eating his heart out because he is learning the bitter text King David preached thousands of years ago."
We were seated in a lonely place outside the town, overlooking the sea, and watched the lights below us gently rising and falling on the fishing-vessels and other craft at anchor, and marked among them the bright lanthorns of a man-of-war which topped all the others.
Presently we heard footsteps, and the Duke came up alone; it was not so dark but he could recognize us, which he did very quietly, and, advancing, seated himself between us, saying, "Do not move, gentlemen, and forget I am the Duke for an hour. My heart is sick of empty forms which mean nothing," and he sate in silence for a long time with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands gazing out over the sea.
At length he said, slowly, as if to himself, "I would give ten years of my life to be on board that frigate with the men I would choose and a fair wind for Scotland. To think of my poor brother longing and wondering why some support does not come, and I idle here with empty hands," and something like a sob ended his words.
Then Father O'Rourke spake in a voice as gentle as if he comforted a woman. "Your Highness, when we were children, the story we loved best to hear was the one our mother never told us—about 'The Little Red Hen.' Who 'The Little Red Hen' was, or where she came from, or what she did, we never could learn. She was just 'The Little Red Hen,' and had no story at all. But her story which no one ever heard was better than that of 'Brian Boru,' or 'Malachi of the Collar of Gold,' or 'Rookey the Water Witch,' any of whom would come out without much coaxing and parade up and down until we knew them through and through, while the very name of 'The Little Red Hen' would quiet the biggest trouble that ever broke our hearts. My own belief is that she stayed at home and kept the breath of life in the family by laying her eggs and scratching up food for the chickens; but wherever she was, there was no cackling to lead us to her. She was just doing her work, helping the tired hearts and healing the sore ones, and all these years no one ever set eyes on her, more than on the dew that falls at night on the thirsty land."
And that was all; no beginning, no end, and I wondered what he was at, with his silly stories of Red Hens, fit only for a lot of bare-legged children; but the Duke must have seen something else, for after a little he broke into a more lively humour and said, half laughing, "Upon my word, Father O'Rourke, you Irish are a wonderful people!"
"We are all that, your Highness," he returned, with great complacence. "We are a terrible convenient people to have about when everything is going right, and, for the matter of that, when everything is going wrong as well, if we only have some one with a strong hand to lead us; but make us all equal and we are no more use than a lot of chickens with their heads cut off."
"THEN FATHER O'ROURKE SPAKE""THEN FATHER O'ROURKE SPAKE"
"Father O'Rourke," said the Duke, suddenly, "sing me that song I heard of your singing at Lyons."
"I will with all my heart, your Highness," and, making his big voice as soft as a girl's, he began without any further words:
"Oh the water, the water."
When he had finished, the Duke sate silent a little, then he rose and said, "Gentlemen, I thank you for the first hour of quiet I have had for weeks. Come, let us go back." And at the door of his lodgings he bade us good-night, saying to Father O'Rourke, "Don't be surprised if I should come to you some day to hear the rest of the story of 'The Little Red Hen.'"
The forebodings of the Duke came true; no expedition was forthcoming, and he was obliged to send in single vessels such aid as could be procured. One left Dunkirk in the beginning of April with three hundred men and many officers, but I was still bidden to remain.
Shortly afterwards the Duke commanded me to repair to Dunkirk and there await him. He there sent me the grateful assurance that I was to start almost at once charged with considerable monies, which he was about raising, and also letters for the Prince, and at the same time confided to me that he had almost transmitted a large sum by the hands of Creach, or "Mr. Graeme," as he styled him—news I was sadly disappointed to hear, for I could not bring myself to trust the man in any particular.
In a few days the Duke arrived, and the next day was invited to dinner by my Lord Clare, then in command of the French troops in and about the place. As Father O'Rourke and I were considered to be in the Duke's retinue, we were also asked. Lord Clare, observing my uniform, enquired of the Duke who I was, and was informed I was a Highland gentleman named McDonell, a Lieutenant in the Spanish Army in Italy. After some further conversation with the Duke, he addressed himself to me, saying, without any introduction:
"Mr. McDonell, I have a company now vacant in my regiment, and if you will accept, it is this moment at your service."
I rose, and, commanding myself as well as possible under this surprise, said: "Your Excellency has my most humble thanks for your handsome offer, but I only left my late service, wherein I had gained some recognition, in order to devote myself to my protectors and benefactors, the Royal Family, to whom I am bound by the strongest ties of gratitude."
The Duke looked at me with a real pleasure in his eyes, and I was proud that I could afford him even a passing gratification.
Presently the Duke requested his Lordship to grant him a favour.
"I am sure your Highness will not ask anything beyond my poor powers," he answered.
"There are no political complications in this," laughed the Duke. "I would only ask that my friend, Father O'Rourke, be requested to sing for us a song which has been running through my head since I first heard it from him the other night."
Whereupon Lord Clare requested him to sing, and straightway he began, for the fiftieth time that I had heard him, at the same old song. And herein lies the poverty of these rhymers, for if by any chance they hit something that tickles the ear, they must be harping on it until the patience of their intimates is wearied beyond words. But I could afford to let him win his reward, for I considered I had cut no inconsiderable figure before the company myself.
Two or three days later we left Dunkirk for St. Omer, where I at last received my orders. I was to return secretly to Dunkirk and there take passage in a swift sailing cutter, lately captured from the English, and carry a sum of three thousand guineas, together with important despatches and letters for the Prince.
The Duke was very down the last night we spent together, and once or twice repeated:
"Oh the waiting, the waiting,The cruel night of waiting,When we brake the bread of sorrow and drank our bitter tears."
"Mr. McDonell," he said, "it is impossible to tell how things may turn, but should they prove against us, give me your word not to desert the Prince."
"Your Royal Highness," I answered, "I swear by my mother's soul I will not leave Scotland while he is in any danger, and neither threat nor peril will tempt me to be unfaithful to him in word or thought."
"It is enough," he said; "I can trust you without the oath."
The next morning we parted from him, embracing him like any private gentleman, as he wished to keep his incognito absolute; so he took his way into Flanders, and we to Dunkirk, there to join some twenty-five officers, all volunteers for Prince Charles. We found our vessel ready for sea, and before sunset were safely on board, meeting old friends and making new ones.
It was night by the time we ran out of the harbour, and many an anxious hour we had of it, for it was no easy matter to make the run from France to Scotland in the year '46, when every sail was looked upon with suspicion.
I need make no apologies for our anxiety when we were signalled to lay to by the first English ship we met; and the invitation was quickly followed by a puff of smoke and the boom of a gun. A sense of danger is largely quickened by unfamiliarity, and though any of us would have made little of attacking a battery on shore, this sea fighting was a new and uncomfortable outlook. But when we saw what a pair of heels our privateer, fitly named theSwallow, could show, we soon recovered our confidence, and after this it was a mere matter of speculation how long anything we met could stand up to us at all.
Our crew of about fifty was a mixed lot, French and Scotch, but they were thorough at their business, and it was curious to see how true the Captain could judge of the exact room he must give to any suspicious sail—it was a game of hare and hounds all the time, for no sooner were we rid of one than we would fall in with another to take up the running; but none of them served to do more than raise our spirits and take our minds off the discomfort most landsmen find at sea. We encountered various weather, but the worst only brought out the sailing qualities of theSwallow, until at length we made the coast of Scotland, and all eagerly looked to the end of our voyage, which was to be at Inverness; indeed, the Captain counted on making Cromarty Head before night, and to lay there till the morning.
That day at dinner Father O'Rourke gave us another taste of his song-making, which was greatly appreciated on account of the reference to the "White Cockade," always a favorite quickstep with the Jacobite Regiments:
Merrily, merrily blows the wind from off the coasts of France;The Channel open wide before, God send us now good chance!Give us the green seas rolling free and but way enough to steer,And we'll leave the swiftest foe in the wake of theSwallowPrivateer!
Then here's to theSwallow, flying true!And here's to the Prince and his Bonnets Blue!And here's to the heart of each wife and maidThat is beating for the Laddie with the White Cockade!
Drearily, drearily sets the wind down from the Northern Seas,But she dips to the rollers big and black, and her bonniebreast she frees,From her tapering mast she flies on the blast her signalsfluttering clearTo the friends that pray for the coming home of theSwallowPrivateer!
Then here's to theSwallow, flying true!And here's to the Prince and his Bonnets Blue!And here's to the heart of each wife and maidThat is beating for the Laddie with the White Cockade!
Mightily, mightily booms the wind out of the setting sun;We will double the great ships like a hare, we willfight where we cannot run,Till we win to land, and with sword in hand we willfollow the ChevalierWho will bless the winds that filled the wings of theSwallowPrivateer!
Then here's to theSwallow, flying true!And here's to the Prince and his Bonnets Blue!And here's to the heart of each wife and maidThat is beating for the Laddie with the White Cockade!
It was with the highest expectations that we looked forward to landing on the morrow and joining the Prince, of whose movements we were in ignorance, except that we were to rendezvous at Inverness.
In the latter part of the night I was awakened by an ugly scream from Captain Lynch, one of the officers of our company.
"What is the matter?" I asked, in some alarm.
"I dreamed the Devil had hold of me by the heels, and about to dash my brains out."
"Perhaps the Devil is not so very far off," I returned; and then, being somewhat restless, part from the heat and part from our being so near our landing, I thought I would take a turn on the deck. No sooner had my eyes got accustomed to the light than, to my alarm, I made out the dim outline of a great ship, which must have come up during the night, unseen and unheard by our sentinels, and was lying-to between us and the entrance to the bay. I at once made my discovery known to the Captain, who, coming hurriedly on deck, swore with a great oath I had saved their lives, for she was no other than an English man-of-war on the outlook for such as we. Then, without more ado, he slipped his anchor, got up sail as quietly as possible, and, in a fever of anxiety, we waited to see whether the tide which was setting on shore or the light winds which were moving would prove the stronger. At length our sails gently filled and began to draw, so we crept round under the shadow of the land until we got the full wind, and stood out to sea with thankful hearts for the danger we had so narrowly escaped.
Great was the surprise of my comrades when aroused to find we were again making for the open instead of ending our voyage; but, as Father O'Rourke said: "Captain Lynch, your patron saint evidently thinks that even a little extra salt water is better for you than the inside of an English prison. The truth is that Irishmen are such favourites that even the Devil himself will do them a good turn at times."
Though I thought to myself there were others fully as deserving as the Irish, I said nothing.
As our intended landing was now impossible, our Captain determined to stand round the Orkneys for Loch Broom, in Cromarty, on the West coast.
We had an easy run, and as soon as we were signalled from the shore, and on lying-to, a boat was put out. In the stern there were seated two gentlemen, one of whom, the Captain informed me, was a McKenzie, and in the other Father O'Rourke and I only too soon recognized Creach.
"This means trouble of some sort," I remarked; "we would never find him so far afield if things were going right."
"I fear it, too," he answered, and before long our worst apprehensions were realized.
We withdrew at once to the cabin where I met Creach, or Graeme, as he still called himself, without remark, for I recalled my word to the Duke and felt there was something too weighty on hand for even the remembrance of a personal quarrel. In a few moments we heard, to our dismay, that Culloden had been fought and lost the very day we had sailed from Dunkirk; that the clans were scattered and no one knew what had become of the Prince.
After the dreadful news had been given time to sink into our benumbed senses, I asked for personal friends, and heard, to my sorrow, from McKenzie, that my Uncle Scottos, who had been among the very first to join the Prince, and was much esteemed by him, had died like a soldier and a gentleman in his service in the first charge at Culloden.
When the body of his clan refused to answer the signal to charge, and stood still and dumb under the insult which had been put upon them in placing them in the left instead of the right wing, he cursed and swore like one possessed, as did others. But finding it of no avail, he changed of a sudden, and, turning to his own men, threw his bonnet on the ground, crying to them, with tears in his words: "Let them go! But my own children will never return to say they saw me go to my death alone!" and with that he charged, every one of his own following him. It was fine, but of no effect, for the English swept them off the face of the earth by a point-blank fire before ever steel met steel. He was picked up and carried off by two of his men; but finding the pursuit grow too hot, he called a halt.
"'WILL NEVER RETURN TO SAY THEY SAW ME GO TO MY DEATH ALONE'""'WILL NEVER RETURN TO SAY THEY SAW ME GO TO MY DEATH ALONE'"
"Put me down here!" he said, and quickly taking off his dirk, sporran, and watch, he sent them to his son with the message that his end had come as he had always wished, "Sword in hand and face to the foe," and bade them leave him.
And so died one of the gallantest gentlemen, and probably the best swordsman in all Scotland.
Besides, I lost many other of my friends and kinsmen, as I afterwards learned; but this was no time for private mournings, and I turned at once to the business in hand. My comrades decided there was nothing to do but return, and proposed our action should be unanimous.
"Gentlemen," said I, "in the face of such tidings as we have received, no one can doubt but your resolve is justified, and had I simply volunteered for military service, as you have done, I would not hesitate to give my voice to your decision, which I hold to be honourable in every way. But I am charged with private despatches and other matters for the Prince by the Duke of York, and I am not free until I have at least attempted to carry out my mission, for which I know I have your good wishes, and so must go on alone."
"Not alone, my son," broke out Father O'Rourke, and stretched out his big hand to me across the table. "I am curious, gentlemen, to see Scotland, and am sure I cannot do so better than in company with our friend here."
"But, sir, how can you expect to travel about here in your cassock? You would only have to meet the first loyal man to be arrested," objected Creach, the first time he had spoken to either of us.
"Thank you for your suggestion, sir, though doubtless the word 'loyal' was a bit of a slip on your part. I am too well accustomed to meeting blackguards of every description to fear even a 'loyal' man!" Whereupon every one looked at him in surprise to hear him so address Creach, who, however, thought well to make no reply; and shortly after our conference broke up, Creach returning to shore, whilst Mr. McKenzie remained with us until we had formed some plan.
Father O'Rourke arranged with Captain Lynch, who had volunteered from the Hungarian service, and was near as big a man as himself, that he should provide him with a spare uniform, and, when once arrayed, he presented so fine an appearance that we, one and all, made him our compliments upon it.
"Captain Lynch," said he, at dinner, "I have another favour to ask before we part, and that is for the loan of your name while I am playing at this masquerade. I know it is a ticklish thing to ask, this loaning of names, but as I have always been particular of my own, I can promise you I know how to care for yours."
"Faith, you can have it, and welcome, provided you are careful not to mislay it, for 'tis the only bit of property my poor father ever left me," replied the Captain, with great good-nature.
"Never fear, you'll have it back safe and sound. I'll make good kitchen of it, so it won't be worn out, and if they hang me, I'll take care they'll do so under all my true name and title."
Seeing that Father O'Rourke approved, I determined that half the sum I carried was quite enough to risk, so I did up one thousand guineas in one bag, five hundred in another, and confided the remaining fifteen hundred to Captain Lynch to return to the Duke, together with a letter explaining our intentions, and with farewells all around, followed by many a good wish from our comrades, Father O'Rourke and I clambered down the side, followed by Mr. McKenzie, and were rowed ashore. We gave the boat's crew something, and waving a farewell to those on ship-board, picked up our portmanteaus and struck inland.
How we supped with a thief, and the outcome thereof.
There were one or two ragged creatures near by watching us as we landed, but though we shouted to them and made signs, they not only refused to come to our aid, but made off amongst the rocks as we advanced.
"Well, Giovannini, is your heart bursting with pride over your country and countrymen?" asked Father O'Rourke, in Italian, as we struggled and panted with our loads over the rough track up the hillside under the hot spring sun.
"Indeed, this is none of my country, thank God! This only belongs to the McKenzies," said I, ashamed somewhat of the reception we had met.
"Oh, indeed! and to what particular tribe of cattle do they belong?" he asked.
I stopped short in my way and dropped my portmanteau, determined to put an end to his nonsense at once.
"Now, Father O'Rourke—" I began, but he interrupted me with:
"Captain Lynch, if you please, Mr. McDonell, and your superior, remember, as regards rank!" drawing himself up to his full height. He looked so droll standing there in his fine uniform, with his sword and cocked hat and bag wig quite à la mode de Paris, that I could not help bursting out laughing.
He waited until I was done, and then said, very gravely, "Well, 'pon my word! but I'm rejoiced that I've found my way to your funny-bone at last. But if the sight of a fist like this and a foot like that are the only approaches to a Highlander's sense of humour—and I am bound to apply the back of the one and the toe of the other whenever I am forced to a jest—I take it, my better part is to make poor Captain Lynch a sad dog like yourself."
"Mr. McKenzie," he ran on, addressing our guide, who, it was plain to see, was much puzzled at our behaviour, "are you much given to humour in these parts?"
"No sir," he answered, "none that I ever heard of."
"Then why in the name of the Isle of Man did you take up with that creature you brought on board ship?"
Seeing the poor man was bewildered, I explained that his companion, Mr. Graeme, was meant.
"Och, him—-he would just be coming to Colin Dearg with the others after the battle."
"Is that old Colin Dearg, Laggy?" I asked.
"None other," he answered; "and it is to him, very probable, that Ardloch will be sending you."
Ardloch, I explained to Father O'Rourke, was a Mr. McKenzie, to whose place we were bound, and Colin Dearg, or Red Colin, another, both staunch Jacobites.
"Well, well, 'tis a puzzlesome country this, where the men not only do without breeches, but throw off as well the names their fathers gave them; had I known more, I needn't have used such punctilio in borrowing the Captain's. Would not O'Rourke of Brefni, or just Brefni, tout court, have a grand sound; seeing it wouldn't be decent for me to go in petticoats, and I am anxious to make a good impression?"
But I would not answer him, for I could see he was in one of his most provoking humours; so I shouldered my portmanteau and trudged on, and he was forced to follow.
He was not abashed, however, and tried to draw out McKenzie; but the latter was shame-faced and could hardly answer to his follies, so I had to beg him to desist, as the poor man could not understand his funning.
"I don't find him different from the rest of his countrymen," he returned; but I would not answer.
Ardloch received us warmly, and gave us a hearty meal, with good whiskey to follow, and then proposed we should hire a boat—leaving McKenzie behind, as it was better Father O'Rourke's transformation should not be talked over—and go up Little Loch Broom to Laggy, where we would find a number of officers, fresh from the Prince, who might give us some directions where to look.
"Do you look upon everything as lost?" I asked him, at parting.
"That depends on what you mean by 'everything,'" he answered, slowly. "If you mean any attempt to bring the rebellion to life again now, I would say yes. But if you mean to keep the fire alive, then no. The clans cannot all be scattered as yet, for nothing goes to pieces in that way, and I doubt not but there will be some for making a stand in spite of all. But money must be had to keep them together. They have been out since August last, and no Highlander will stay away from home long, even for fighting. 'Tis against all custom. What plunder they got is long since gone, and they will be wearying for home. For home! God help them, many will never see it again! But money, Mr. McDonell—if money can be had, men can be had too, and the Prince can, at the worst, be safely covered until the time opens for escape."
Then my heart rose within me for the first time, for in my hands lay the possible means of safety for the Hope of all loyal hearts.
We at once proceeded, and before nightfall reached Laggy, where we were met by old Colin Dearg, a burly, bearded ruffian with a great shock of red hair, Big William McKenzie of Killcoy, a major, and Murdock McKenzie, a lieutenant in the Earl of Cromarty's Regiment, with about sixty men, and thought ourselves as safe as in the heart of France.
We learned that some were still in arms for Prince Charles, especially the regiment of Glengarry, in which were my kinsmen and friends, and that of Cameron of Lochiel. So we begged for an early supper, and engaged guides and a horse that we might set out at once to join them.
Our baggage and little stores we had carried up from the beach, but I was much annoyed at hearing one of the men, on lifting my portmanteau, remark it was "damned heavy."