Flora Macdonald, the Maid of Skye. A romance of the '45

Front matter

a THE MAID OF SKYE H .Romance of tbe '45 BY J. GORDON PHILLIPS AUTHOR OF " JAMES MACPHERSON," " THE MAIDS OF LOUDOUN," " CORA LINN," "THE SMUGGLER'S BI.IDE," " ANNIE LAURIE,"' ETC, ETC. Xonbon DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 1 8 Bouverie Street, Fleet Street, E.C. CONTENTS CHAP. .'AGE I. News of the Prince's Landing ... 1 II. Meeting of the Highland Chiefs . . 11 III. A Deep Schemer . . . .21 IV. The First Victory . . . .29 V. Flora's Contemplated Journey — The Pedlar's Suspicions .... 36 VI. An Unexpected Visitor . . . .43 VII. Unfurling the Flag .... 50 VIII. Escape of Flora ..... 58 IX. On the March ..... 65 X. The Pedlar in Difficulty ... 72 XI. Down through the Lowlands . . .79 XII. Pursued ...... 86 XIII. The Mysterious Lady .... 92 XIV. Colin declares his Love . . . .98 XV. A Secret Interview . . . .105 XVI.

Meditating Murder . . . .112 XVII. In Dundee . . . . .119 XVIII. A Terrible Scheme . . . .126 XIX. A Midnight Meeting . . . .133 XX. In the Sinking Boat . . . .140 XXI. The Slogan of Macdonald . . .147 XXII. In the Foaming Surf . . . .154 XXIII. The Grand Ball . . . . .161 XXIV. A Deed of Blood . . . .168 CONTENTS VIII PACE CHAP. , -- XXV. A Dastard Scheme . . ■ .HO XXVI. A Mysterious Stranger . . • .182 XXVII. In thu Battle Front . .188 XXVIII. Flora in Peril . . • • .195 XXIX. Baffled by a Woman . . • .201 XXX. In a Villain's Power . . • .208 XXXI. Sowing the Seed of Jealousy . • .215 XXXII. A Startling Discovery .... 222 XXXIII. Clanranald upbraids the Prince . ■ 229 XXXIV. Flora's Danger . . ■ • .236 XXXV. Clanranald Doubts . . ■ .243 XXXVI. Neil to the Rescue . . ■ .250 XXXVII. Clanranald and the Prince reconciled . . 257 XXXVIII.

Flora hears Bad News . . . .263 XXXIX. CuUoden 270 XL. The Prince a Fugitive . . . .278 XLI. The Pursuit . . . . .285 XLII. Surrounded by the Enemy . . .292 XLIII. In Difficulty and Danger . . . 299 XLIV. Conclusion . . . .306

Chapter I News Of The Prince's Landing

A bright fire was burning on the low hearth, for though it was the season of summer the evening was cold and raw, and a wild tempest from the west had for three days swept over the islands of the Hebrides. The Atlantic had been lashed into foam, and the curling breakers had leapt high up the dark rocks, and hissed, boiling, tumultuous, through tbe narrow chasms and up the deep fjords, which lengthen through time-worn valleys amid the misty hills. The window of the room where the fire burned so cheerfully looked out upon a wild, stern scene. Im mediately below, and stretching out towards the west, lay the waters of Loch Snizort Beag, one of those arms or tentacles which spring out from the body of the main like the limbs of a cuttlefish and hold the Isle of Skye in their grasp. The sun shone fitfully through occasional rifts in the clouds, and the dark hills were re flected in the breast of Loch Snizort Beag, and the gloom was less appalling.

It is seldom that the sun shines bright on that lone, misty land, and even when he does it is mostly through tears. On this day there was a death-like stillness on moun tain and sea. The faint murmur of the waters upon the shore could be heard where neither shore nor sea were A visible. It appeared as if exhausted Nature had sunk into repose. The window alluded to formed one of five which looked out from that side of the House of Kingsburgh, the residence of Sir Alexander Macdonald of Kings burgh, one of the chieftains of the great Clan Coila. The house only consisted of some half dozen rooms, besides the large kitchen, wherein hospitality was dis pensed to all comers. It occupied a site about five hundred yards from where the present house stands, and was considered to be the one house of importance in that district of Skye.

Sir Alexander was related to all the great families of the island and to many upon the mainland. He was brother to tbe Lord of the Isles, and cousin to Macdonald of Sleat. When the clan was mustered for foray or for war, his rank and importance were only inferior to that of his brother. Consequently, it was seldom that the House of Kingsburgh was empty of clansmen, seldom that its inmates were left alone. They appeared to be alone to-day, however, and the calm of Nature without seemed to have affected all within. The only sound which broke the stillness was the steady whirr-whirr of a spinning wheel in the small room mentioned, and the maiden who wrought it seemed intent upon her labour. Her eyes were fixed steadily on the rapidly revolving spindle with its sharp hooked teeth. Occasionally her look followed her right hand as she drew out the worsted from the roll of soft flossy wool, while her left rubbed down the knots before it entered the mouth of the spindle to receive its final twist and become worsted ready for the loom or the knitting wires.

This maiden had a thin, sharply-outlined face, with dark brown hair, which clustered in natural curls upon her brow. A faint tinge of colour mantled her cheek, more, perhaps, from the exercise than from anything else, and she had a small, firm mouth, which showed decision of character and a touch of the proud imperious temper common to those of her race. Near her, on the floor, was a shaggy collie, lying with outstretched fore paws, upon which his head rested, and though at the first glance one would have thought him asleep, the occasional opening of his brown eyes to gaze up at his mistress showed that he was fully upon the alert. The whirring of the wheel stopped, and the nimble fingers of the maiden were at work among the teeth of the spindle where the thread had got twisted. For a few minutes she worked assiduously, but the worsted snapped in her hands, and with a gesture of impatience she started to her feet and crossed over to the window and gazed down upon Loch Snizort and at the dark, low hills beyond.

In height she was rather below the middle size, but she had a firmly-knit, supple figure. Her eyes, which at once fixed the attention of the beholder, were large and of a dark hazel, and they seemed to penetrate into the very soul. She was simply dressed. A pleated skirt of Macdonald tartan fell in straight folds to her ankle, leaving the foot at freedom. A tight-fitting jacket of similar material fitted her round, graceful figure, while a narrow scarf of blue silk was tied carelessly round her neck, leaving part of the delicate white skin exposed. Her hair was twisted in a coil behind, and held together by a pin, on the head of which glittered and sparkled a magnificent rock crystal, which might have passed for a diamond, it shone so in the light This maiden was Flora Macdonald. She was at present on a visit to Kingsburgh, the proprietor of wliich was her uncle, but her own home was Armadale, the present seat of Lord Macdonald of the Isles.

To see her standing there, with hands clasped behind her, she did not look very much of the heroine. Few would have dreamed of the dauntless and intrepid soul which inhabited her somewhat slight figure, but in her veins flowed the blood of a thousand chiefs — chiefs who were chiefs long before the Conqueror was born, long before Rollo, bis ancestor, had left the Norwegian forests. There was majesty in her glance, in the contour of her face, in her light but firm step, in her free, easy carriage. She was dressed with the simplicity of a Highland maiden, but she had the bearing of a queen. As she gazed out at the window she appeared to be lost in thought. She was looking, but she saw nothing ; her brain was at work, and scenes of the past were flitting before her mind's eye. Her lips parted in a smile, and her small, white teeth gleamed through.

Then a shade passed over her face, and her brow contracted, and there was something like a glitter in her dark eye. Presently, however, a new direction was given to her thoughts. Her attention was attracted by a man struggling up the height with a large bundle on his back. He was dressed as the Scottish Lowland peasantry of that time. He had knee breeches and blue coat, plush waistcoat and a broad blue bonnet. Flora watched him as he climbed, pausing now and then to take breath and to dry the sweat from his forehead. At length he reached the level where the house stood, and, glancing upward, his eye caught sight of Flora at the window, and he immediately doffed his blue bonnet, and stood with eyes resting upon the ground in an attitude of deepest respect. The action exposed the head and face of a man approaching his fiftieth year.

His hair was long, and well mixed with grey ; his face was ruddy and showing signs of good health ; while his shrewd grey eyes looked out beneath a bank of shaggy eyebrows. Flora drew up the window, and, putting out, her head, cried in excellent English, though the soft Gaelic accent was easily distinguishable, — " Come in, Sandy, and show me your wares, and give me the news of the mainland. There must be a lot to tell me since I was there." " Heaven bless yer bonnie face ! Miss Flora," cried Sandy ; " ye wis aye kin' to the traveller an' the out cast an' the stranger. 'Deed was ye, Miss Flora, an' the Lord'll reward ye when His ain time comes, which I houp will be lang, lang yet." With this somewhat ambiguous wish upon his lips he hurried to the nearest door, and made his way, with out ceremony, to the room in which Flora was.

As he entered he again took off his bonnet and bent his head courteously, remaining respectfully silent. "Throw off your pack, Sandy, and sit down until my aunt comes in ; then we will have a look at your goods, aud perhaps we may purchase something. When did you come to Skye ? " " Jist a week this very day, Miss Flora, an' I've been wanderin' about sin' syne." " Not during the storm of the past three days, surely, Sandy ? " " Weel, no, I would nae say for a' the three days oot an' oot, bit for the maist pairt o' them. It's nae easy to mak' an honest livin' nooadays, Miss Flora ; for what atween taxes, an' war an' rumours o' war, an' opposee tion — -fause, leein', barefaced opposeetion — an honest body like mysel', that's been gaen the road for mair nor thirty year can hardly get meal fill's brose, lat alane kitchen, nor a sark fill's back, beggin' yer pardin for sayin' sae, Miss Flora."

"Times are hard, no doubt, Sandy," replied Flora, smilinsr ; " but the war with France will soon be over, and as for the taxes, well, better times may come, Sandy." Then she sang in a sweet musical voice, — " Over the sea, over the sea, Somebody's comin' ere lang." Sandy Davidson, the pedlar or packman, glanced at her keenly with his shrewd grey eyes, and then he ex claimed, — " Weesht, weesht, Miss Flora, for God's sake ! This is nae a time to sing Jacobite sangs, nor ony ither sangs, maist o' a' poleetical sangs, for they say that the youngest son o' the Pretender has landed in the west coast o' Scotlan', an' that some o' the clans are joining him." This intelligence had a wonderful effect on Flora. Her face assumed a grave, almost stern, expression, her breast expanded, her large eyes flashed, as she threw back her head proudly, her thin nostrils dilated, and she advanced her right foot from underneath her tartan skirt.

"Ha!" she exclaimed, "this is news indeed. Then the King will get his own again, and Scotland will once more raise her head. But is it true, Sandy ? Is it true?" she cried, gazing at him. At that moment the attention of both was arrested by a young Highlander who entered the room. " Pardon, cousin Flo," he said in Gaelic, " but, hearing voices, I walked in ; besides, I am the bearer of news which I knew you would be anxious to hear." " Is it that the Prince has landed, Colin 1 " she said, taking a step forward and catching him by the arm. " Sandy here has been telling that he has landed, and that some of the clans are joining him. Is it true, Colin." The young man appeared somewhat embarrassed, and the colour deepened in his cheek. He glanced at the pedlar and then at Flora, and she seemed to under stand.

"Sandy Davidson is no tale-bearer, Colin," she said; " and unless you have something of a private nature to reveal we need not mind him." "Na, na, I carry nae tales," said the pedlar, who understood Gaelic perfectly, though he could not speak it, " an' if it's only aboot the landin' o' the Pret — I mean the Prince, beggin' yer pardin, Miss Flora — I ken a' aboot his landin' already. But hoo div ye ken aboot it?" he asked, looking at the straight, athletic form of the Highlander. "Neil M'Eachan has just arrived with the news," answered Colin. " Bring him in," said Flora, " and let us see how his intelligence agrees with this man's." Colin retired, at the same time giving Sandy a searching glance, and shortly returned with Neil M'Eachan, a powerful, middle-aged Highlander. He was dressed in the Macdonald tartan, but time and hard usage had reduced the battered plaid to a mere apology.

Its tattered ends scarcely seemed to cover his rough, shaggy, muscular limbs. Stockings he had none, and his shoes were composed of hide, laced together with a strip of the same. His neck, breast and arms were bare, except in so far as Nature had covered them with hair. His face, too, was all but covered with the same garment, only his nose being bare, and even it at the extremity had a tuft of hair. His brow was covered with matted locks, and his fierce blue eyes gleamed. Though not more than the average height, he had tremendous muscular development, great depth of chest, and alto gether a man whom one would prefer to have rather as a friend than as a foe in the days when muscular strength counted for something in the world. As he entered the room he bent low before Flora, while he flashed a suspicious glance at Sandy, which the latter returned with one of calm, stolid indifference.

"You are weary, Neil," said Flora in a kindly voice. " Colin, order him a quaich of usquebaugh." " No need to order it when it is here," replied Colin, and he went to a cupboard and drew out a large flask and a horn, which he filled and presented to Neil, who eagerly seized it and swallowed the contents. " I have neither had bite nor sup for two days," he said, " and I have run much and swam some." " Poor faithful Neil," said Flora. " Now, tell me all that you know about the landing of the Prince. Tell us all and fear nothing." Flora perhaps had a motive in asking Neil to tell his news before the pedlar. If the Prince had really landed it mattered little who knew, for the noise would soon get abroad. She knew the calculating character of Sandy, too, and it is possible she wished to hear his opinion without directly asking him.

Travelling as he did over a large tract of country, it was not un reasonable to suppose that he would know something of the feelings of the people towards the movement, and how many of the Highland clans were well disposed to the Stuart cause. Neil's news was brief and to the point. He told them in Gaelic of the landing of the Prince at Moidart, of the visit of Clanranald, Lochiel and others to the Prince, and their determination to risk their all for the restora tion of the exiled House. "Has Lochiel joined?" asked Flora, eagerly. Neil bowed his head in the affirmative. " Then all is well, all is well," she cried, turning her eyes upward. "Scotland will follow the gentle, the good, the brave Lochiel." Sandy Davidson coughed slightly and shifted from foot to foot, while Neil glared savagely at him and laid his hand upon the hilt of his dirk, a movement which did not in the least interfere with the equanimity of the pedlar. •'Did any of the chieftains of Clan Campbell join?" suddenly asked Flora.

"The children of Dermid nor Maccullum Mhor love not the son of kings," said Neil, gravely; "they bow the knee to the German usurper." Flora frowned, and her dark eye glittered with a strange light. " How many French troops has he brought with him ? " she asked. " None," answered Neil, and his eyes sought the ground. "None," exclaimed Flora in surprise, and she glanced at the pedlar for confirmation of this. " Speak," she said, seeing that he hesitated, " speak boldly, and fear not." " It's nae fear o' my skin, nor dirks either," answered Sandy, at the same time glancing at Neil, " but seein' that my opinions, an' maybe my conscience, micht differ frae yours I divna like to say onything aboot it." Flora smiled a little. She was far too well informed a girl, and far too clever, not to be aware of the difference of opinion in every part of the country regarding the Stuarts, and she knew that to gain information one must hear all opinions, and from all sorts of persons.

She believed that no cause could be helped by the curb ing of free thought and speech. " Tell us all that you know, Sandy," she said. '• We can stand it, I trust." "Weel, my lady," said Sandy Davidson, with great gravity, " if I wis near the young man I would advise him to tak' Clanranald's advice an' Lochiel's advice an' gang back ower the sea to France, for naething guid ever cam' oot o' it. The maist feck o' the folk, Heilan' an' Lowlan', sae far as I can learn, wints to be left alane ; for, atween oorsel's, they care as little for the ae king as for the ither. Very few o' the Lowlan' folk will join the risin', an' the half o' the clans will bide at hame, an' some o' them will, nae doot, join King Geordie. A' the Campbells will join him, a' the Grants, a' the Mackays, a' the Sutherlands, a' the Rosses, a' the Macleods, some o' the Frasers, some o' the Gordons, some o' the Forbeses, some o' the Farquharsons, ay, an' some o' yer ain clan, the Macdonalds, Miss Flora, will join King Geordie.

Sae, if ye tak' my advice, ye will tell a' yer frien's to bide at hame an' keep a calm sough an' their tongue atween their teeth." Flora appeared very thoughtful, and it is doubtful if she heard the sagacious pedlar's advice. "I wonder how the English will act?" she said more to herself than to those present. " Deid, just as they've acted afore," answered Sandy. "They will wait till they see which side is winnin', and syne they'll join that side wi' a soon' o' trumpets, garin' folk believe that it wis them that did it a', an' claimin' a' the glory an' as muckle o' the gear as they can lay han's on at the hinneren'. The English may be guid eneuch in a wye, but they like a' the parritch to their ain side o' the pot." Neither Flora nor her cousin paid any attention to the latter part of the pedlar's speech, but they looked into each other's eyes as if anxious to read there the thoughts that were working within.

Then Flora said, — " I wish to talk to my cousin. Go into the hall both of you, and get refreshment." When the pedlar and Neil M'Eachan had retired Flora dropped into a seat and leant her head on her hands in deep thought. Colin Macdonald moved not, but a look of the deepest tenderness came into his face as he gazed at the form of the girl before him. His heart, his soul, was in his eyes. Suddenly Flora raised her head and caught the ex pression upon his face. The blood flew through her veins and mantled her cheeks, and her hand trembled slightly while Colin's eyes fell to the floor in confusion. It was only for an instant, however, that the blush on the young lady's cheek lasted, and it is hard to say what feeling might have caused it. " Well," she said, in a calm, easy voice, " what think you of what we have just heard 1 " " I do not know what to think," replied the young man, regaining in some measure his composure.

" If what the pedlar says be true, the greater part of Scot land will be against the Prince." "Not necessarily against," answered Flora, "but they may be neutral. Of course, you will hasten to join him with as many Skye men as you can raise ? " The young man's eyes again fell before her eager glance, and for a moment he spoke not. At his silence Flora's lips tightened, but otherwise she gave no sign of the feelings which animated her. At length Colin Mac donald spoke, and all his previous confusion and shyness had disappeared. "How can you talk so, Flora," he said, "when you know that my father commands the militia in Skye in the service of King George? Would you have me to turn rebel and traitor, and draw my claymore against my own father, against the children of our race? " Flora was about to reply when a knock was heard at the door.

A moment after it opened and there entered a young man in the uniform of an officer of a regiment of foot. He lifted his cocked hat and bowed gracefully to Flora, and then, turning to Colin Macdonald, he bowed still lower with mock ceremony and a peculiar smile upon his face. Colin Macdonald's brow darkened, and he laid his hand upon the hilt of his claymore, but remembering the presence of his cousin he hastily withdrew it ; but the look of passion upon his face deepened.

Chapter II Meeting Of Highland Chiefs

At the period in which the incidents mentioned in our last chapter were taking place, other and very different were occurring in the House of Borodale, in the country of the Macdonalds of Clanranald in the west of Inver ness-shire. The same death-like calm rested on the wild rugged mountains and the deep valleys. The small vessel which had borne the chivalrous young Prince, and the few devoted noblemen and gentlemen who attended him, to the land of his ancestors lay in Lochnanaugh with bare masts. A Highland seer might have said that such a calm por tended a storm, and some of the mountaineers who stood upon the shore or paced listlessly to and fro might have thought so too. Few words were spoken, but there was an anxious look upon their stern weather-beaten faces. Ever and anon they would glance towards the house where chiefs were sitting in council — a council upon which depended the weal or woe of the millions forming the British Empire, which even at that day the sun never set upon.

From that council would go forth the decree which would make the Highland claymore leap from its scabbard, drench the land with the blood of its noblest and bravest, render women and children homeless, and shake or overturn thrones. Yet, viewed personally, those within tbe House of Borodale did not appear like men calculated to unhinge society and let loose the fiends of wreck and ruin. They were only four in number, and three of them were quite young, while the fourth had not yet passed middle life. Three of them wore the national dress of the Gael, namely, the kilt and plaid and a short tartan coat. The plaids were twisted round their bodies, and hung in graceful folds from their left shoulders. Brooches of gold of ancient Celtic design were fastened on the shoulder keeping the plaid in its place, and in that of the elder a beautiful amethyst or cairngorm blazed and shone.

From the waistbelts hung basket-hilted claymores, which had been handed down from father to son for many generations. On the other side was the deadly dirk, also highly ornamented. In the stocking was the skein dhu or black knife, which served the purpose of cutting the Highlander's food, or stabbing an enemy when all other means had failed. Two of them wore in their bon nets three eagles' feathers, denoting that they were chiefs or heads of clans, while the third wore only two, signi fying that he was only a chieftain, yet sufficiently high in rank to be taken into council, at least upon the present occasion. They were Lochiel, chief of the Camerons, the elder of the three ; Clanranald, chief of that branch of the Macdonalds ; and Evan Macdonald, first cousin to Clan ranald. The fourth was a tall, thin, fair-haired young man, dressed in the fashion of the day, but plainly, and without ornament, except the hilt of his sword, in which a jewel glittered.

This personage was Prince Charles Edward Stuart, the descendant of a race of kings. He was pacing the room with hasty steps, and there was a flush upon his cheek. His large blue eyes sparkled with animation, and there was a slight twitching of the somewhat full lips. He stopped suddenly in front of young Clanranald, gazed earnestly into the chief's handsome, clean-cut, manly face, and exclaimed, — "I did not expect that the brave and generous Clanranald would have advised me to return back to France, and leave the land of my fathers without striking a blow for its recovery. What though I have brought no French army with me ? There will be the more honour to ourselves ! " Then, turning to Lochiel, he continued, and his voice was now somewhat broken, — " And for you, Lochiel, whom my father has always told me was the most devoted friend of our family, for you to turn away from me at such a moment staggers me.

I had hoped that you would not see your Prince, the son of ancestors for whom your ancestors shed their blood, turn away from your shores an exile and depending upon the bounty of strangers for the very bread of life with out striking a blow for him. Ah ! Lochiel, Lochiel, if our circumstances were changed, how differently would I act with you. But I pray God you may never know what it is to be an exile from all that you love dearest upon earth." Here the Prince broke down and hid his face in his hands, while the three Highlanders glanced at each other, and their eyes were moist. It was not lack of courage, it was not lack of love, which made those brave men hesitate, it was the knowledge, the almost certain knowledge, that they could not succeed. A large part of their own countrymen was against them, and also a large portion of England.

They had been reasoning with the Prince for more than an hour, and telling him of the difficulties which lay in their way, difficulties wliich no argument of the Prince could overturn, and now he had appealed to their feelings, which he knew to be the weakest and most accessible part of the High landers. The effect of his appeal upon young Clanranald and his kinsman was what might have been calculated. The chief threw himself on his knees at the Prince's feet, and swore to follow him to the world's end or die. The Prince raised him from the ground and embraced him, while the light of triumph gleamed in his eye. He glanced towards Lochiel, who still hesitated, and calmly observed, — " Lochiel may stay at home and learn the fate of his Prince in the newspapers."* This was more than the gallant Cameron could endure, These were the exact words used by the Prince when the chief refused to join him. and he, too, against his better judgment, yielded to his feelings.

As Lochiel pledged himself and his clan to the Stuart cause a change came over the face of Nature. The wind began to sigh in a low, dreary tone, as if mourning for what had been done ; a dark cloud drifted over the face of the sun, and it appeared to the imaginative Highlanders as if it was a premonition of what was to come, but whether of weal or woe was hid behind the veil of futurity. Their course was now taken. Victory or death was now their only watchword. Once again the claymore was to be drawn against friends and countrymen ; once more blood was to flow in a cause which had already been decided by the will of the people. No sooner had the Prince embraced the Highlanders than the door opened, and Lord George Murray, the Duke of Perth and others eutered, and the resolution of Lochiel and Clanranald was disclosed to them, and the whole sat down in council to settle as to their future movements.