Bonnie Prince Charlie: Charles Edward Stuart (Pimlico) (50 page)

Scalpay proved another haven. The tenant Donald Campbell entertained the prince royally in his farmhouse. There were eggs, milk and butter to eat. There was also a bed and clean sheets. But it is significant of the prince’s deep fear of betrayal that he insisted on sleeping with his clothes on.
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On 1 May Donald Macleod departed for Stornoway in a borrowed boat, intending to charter a suitable ship for the voyage to the Orkneys.
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The prince remained on Scalpay until the morning of the 4th. There was one bad scare for him, a portent of things to come. On 3 May, quite by chance, Donald Campbell ran into a party of militiamen on the island. Reports that Macleod was in Stornoway looking for a ship to take him to Bergen fuelled other rumours that Macleod had stumbled on a Spanish treasure hoard from a wreck on Barra.
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Fortunately, Campbell managed to talk the militiamen out of visiting his home. But the prince was now edgy, eager to be away.

At last they received a message from Macleod that he had managed to hire a brig. They made haste to join him in Stornoway. At daybreak the prince called for a hearty dram and gave everyone a glass before they put to sea.
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They sailed nearly to the top of Loch Seaforth in Harris. Then the prince, with O’Neill, O’Sullivan and a local guide, set off to walk across country to Stornoway.

Only then did they realise the dreadful nature of the country through which they were passing. This part of Lewis was a maze of hills and small lochs. The desolate hills rose abruptly from sea-level to 2,500 feet. Many tiny lochs lay in open moorland, surrounded by soft, black bogs. It was a wet and stormy night, and there would be no moon until half past two in the morning.
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In such conditions, even the local guide lost his way. Predictably, the prince thought this was a deliberate attempt to betray him.
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They floundered through the boggy country, skirting the dozens of lochs, all night long. In the morning, after walking in semicircles for some eighteen hours, they found themselves at Arrish, two miles from Stornoway.
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But if the prince thought his ordeal had earned him the right to a respite, he was soon disabused. For Stornoway, it now transpired, was up in arms against him. How they knew of his imminent approach is obscure. Some accounts blame Donald Macleod for indiscretion. He is said to have chartered a 40-ton brig for £100, which aroused the master’s suspicion. When the master tried to renege on the deal, Macleod offered to buy the ship for £300. The master than asked for £500.
Since
Macleod made no demur, the captain was able to guess who the new owner might be.
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According to O’Neill, who is not always reliable, old Donald got drunk and blurted out the secret of his commission.
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Whatever the case, when the prince got to the outskirts of Stornoway at 11 a.m. on the morning of 5 May, it was to find that Aulay Macaulay, minister of Harris, had aroused his flock against him.
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The townspeople were apprehensive of the possible loss of life if they tried to seize the prince.
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They did, however, send word that he would be refused entry to the town, that no ship would be sold or chartered to him, and that they would not even let him have the services of a pilot to get to Seaforth’s country in Ross-shire – which Donald Macleod suggested as a compromise.
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The prince meanwhile spent four dreadful hours in the rain.
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Macleod then sent his son to take the waiting party to Kilden House. He also sent the bad news, together with a bottle of brandy, which the three men disposed of in short order.
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After dining at Arrish with Mrs Mackenzie (‘Lady Kilden’), on eggs, butter, biscuits, tea and whisky, they took stock. The prince was cold, tired and drenched; his feet were blistered. He refused to move on immediately. While his sodden shirt and worn-out shoes were replaced, he seized a few hours’ sleep.
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Mrs Mackenzie supplied them with meat, bread and brandy for the onward journey.

On the morning of the 6th they embarked with the six remaining crew members, intending to get to Poolewe in Ross-shire.
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An argument broke out between Macleod and the crew about the feasibility of beating all the way to the mainland against strong contrary winds.
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The argument was settled in dramatic fashion when they saw the sails of warships. The waters of the Minch were now teeming with British cruisers. To avoid them they put in at the tiny desert island of Iubhard (also called Evirn or Iffurt), at the mouth of Loch Shell, some twelve miles from Stornoway.
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Any attempt to cross the Minch at this stage would have led to certain capture.

On this uninhabited islet they remained for four days and nights, cooped up in a ‘low, pitiful hut’.
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They had to spread the boat sail over the roof to keep out the rain. They dared not build a fire for fear of attracting warships to the island.
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The one compensation was that they found food. By now they were down to a single oatmeal cake. It would have gone hard with them if they had not found a quantity of salted cod and ling.
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The Lewis fishermen used this desolate spot to wind-cure their fish; a ready-made iron ration was therefore available.

On 7 May the prince climbed a hill to get an overview of the Royal Navy patrols. To his astonishment, he clearly made out two vessels he was able to identify as French from their rigging.
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But this time not even Charles Edward’s famous charm could induce the crew to row out to investigate.
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A great opportunity was thereby lost, for these were the ships that took Perth, Elcho, Lord John Drummond and many others back to France.
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On 10 May they put to sea again, making for Scalpay. They landed there only to find that their former host Donald Campbell was now also on the run.
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The hospitality he had shown the prince a week before made him a marked man, and he had gone into hiding. Alarmed by the approach of four strangers, they returned to their boat and rowed away southwards.
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Off Finsbay they were spotted by HMS
Furnace
, commanded by the notorious Captain Fergusson. Fergusson crowded on sail for the pursuit. They gave him the slip by steering into shallow water near Rodil Point.
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On an ebb tide the shallow-draught boat could go where Fergusson dared not follow. The
Furnace
broke off pursuit.

They now fetched a westward course towards Benbecula. But at Lochmaddy another Royal Navy frigate lay at anchor.
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Again there was an attempt at pursuit, but a brisk wind blew up which detained the frigate and wafted the prince’s boat out of sight.

They spent a grim night at sea off the forbidding shore of North Uist.
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In the morning the wind forced them in to land at a little island in Loch Uskavagh in Benbecula. In heavy rain they found shelter in ‘a poor grass-keeper’s hut or bothy’.
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The entrance to the hut was so narrow that the prince had to fall on his knees and creep forward on his belly every time he went in.
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In this awful hovel Charles Edward remained for three nights. It was evident to his followers that the prince was in very low spirits, but no word of complaint came from him.
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Old Clanranald paid the prince another visit here and brought welcome provisions in the shape of trout, biscuits and some bottles of wine. This was an important addition to the prince’s diet, which he had hitherto eked out by a solitary duck shot on Loch Uskavagh.
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More significantly, Clanranald brought word of a good refuge in Corradale in South Uist.
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Mightily relieved to leave the bothy, the prince and party set out at 11 p.m. on 13 May and walked to Corradale, where they arrived at 6 p.m. the next day.
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In a crofter’s cottage in a rough inlet in the rocky coast, with Hekla rising 2,000 feet to the north and Ben More to the south, the prince found a satisfactory respite. For three weeks
he
rested and recovered while the hue and cry in the islands went on around him. The cottage in which he lodged was, he said, like a palace after the hole he had just left.
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On the first night he basked in the unwonted luxuries of bread, cheese and goats’ milk. He had his feet washed, smoked a pipe, and went to sleep on a bed of heather and green rushes, so soft that he slept until noon the next day.
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For twenty-two days the prince lived in comparative comfort and safety. He settled into a routine of hunting and fishing, punctuated by visits from Jacobites of the islands.
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His expertise as a hunter and the deadly accuracy of his shooting amazed even those who had already witnessed the prince as warrior.
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South Uist was at that time considered the best part of Scotland for game. All species of wild fowl were found here in great abundance. There were many deer. For the prince it was the Romagna all over again. He shot dozens of moorcocks and hens, bringing them down on the wing with infallible shooting power. One day he shot a deer on the run from long range.
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His health continued excellent apart from the dysentery or ‘bloody flux’ which came on periodically and was exacerbated by drinking milk.
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His voracious appetite was much commented on.

Apart from the visits by Clanranald and the coming and going of his messengers to and from the mainland, only two events worthy of note took place during the three weeks. One day, while they were cutting up venison joints, a starving vagrant boy came up and put his finger in the meat. Ned Burke went to chastise him but the prince rebuked him in the name of Christian charity and of ‘Scripture which reminds us to feed the hungry and clothe the naked’.
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According to the legend, the boy, after being fed, repaid the Christ-like action by playing Judas, running off to tell the militiamen of Uist, who refused to believe his story of the prince on Corradale.
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On another occasion, while the prince was sitting on the beach, a school of young whales approached the shore. Calling for his gun, Charles took a pot-shot at them. But this time his legendary prowess deserted him. Convinced he had killed a whale, he called out to Neal MacEachain to swim out and haul in the stricken Leviathan (it will be remembered that the prince himself could not swim). To humour him, MacEachain began to strip off his clothes to make the attempt. At this point the comatose (and unharmed) whale stirred itself and swam slowly out of range.
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It might be thought that the opportunity for the prince’s companions to observe him at close quarters over a period of three weeks would yield valuable biographical data. So it proves.
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All the
evidence
agrees on two things: the prince was subject to severe mood swings; and he was already developing into a heavy drinker.

When the weather was fine, Charles would sit on a stone in front of the door of the cottage, with his face turned towards the sun. While in these reveries, the prince would oscillate wildly between melancholia and merriment. At times he would show symptoms of hypermania, dancing alone for an hour while he whistled a Highland reel to himself.
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At others, he would plunge into profound gloom, especially when the invariably bad news from the Highlands was brought in. He brooded particularly on the way Lord George had allegedly betrayed him. On one occasion Donald Macleod, who had been sent to the mainland, came back with news that he had met Lochiel and Murray at the head of Loch Arkaig. Murray sent the prince word that Eigg would provide a safe hiding place. Charles Edward was convinced that the advice was given to ensure that he was captured. Learning that Eigg was a narrow island, easy to comb through, increased his suspicion. As he recorded later in a memoir of his flight through the isles: ‘Charles knew better than to follow that advice.’
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The oscillation between euphoria and despondency clearly had some sort of link with his drinking. As Neal MacEachain related: ‘He took care to warm his stomach every morning with a hefty bumper of brandy, of which he always drank a vast deal; for he was seen to drink a whole bottle of a day without being in the least concerned.’
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Charles certainly had motive and opportunity. Macleod and the other emissaries rarely brought any other provisions back from the mainland than brandy.
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And brandy was, for the prince, a proven antidote to the dysentery from which he suffered, doubtless exacerbated by lack of a balanced diet. Whenever he drank milk ‘which was a nourishment always contrary to him’,
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he had another attack, which was remedied only with a further intake of brandy.

The prince’s fondness for alcohol had been noticed by his father even before he left Rome in 1744.
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But on the islands he began to give unmistakable signs of a fondness for drink that was exacerbated by stress. Already his capacity for strong liquor was as pronounced as his skills as a hunter. On one occasion MacDonald of Boisdale came to visit him. He found the cottage in turmoil, laid waste after a furious binge the night before. Charles Edward had been carousing with another visitor, Hugh MacDonald of Baleshare. Challenging his companions to a drinking contest, the prince had drunk them all
under
the table, wrapped the debauched bodies in their plaids, and then said a ‘De Profundis’ for their souls.
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The fact is that every messenger who returned brought a further instalment of gloomy and depressing news. By now the prince was aware of two things: the scale of suffering unleashed on the Highlands in the wake of the defeat at Culloden; and the scope of the dragnet being laid down by London to apprehend him personally. Cumberland’s armies had already cut a swathe through the Highlands, killing, raping, burning and looting as they went.
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There was no resistance. Lochiel and the MacDonalds talked about raising a clan army at Badenoch and carrying on the fight until the prince returned with help from France. But the numbers of men who appeared in early May at the rendezvous at Muirlaggan on Loch Arkaig were so disappointing that the attempt to organise another rising was abandoned.
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