How I fared in my attempt to recover the stolen money, and how Father O'Rourke and I came face to face with unlooked-for company in the Inn at Portree.

We, in company with my kinsmen, pushed our way rapidly towards Knoidart. Although it had been perfectly plain to us both—for Father O'Rourke had picked up no mean bit of soldiering in his campaigning—that any successful stand was out of the question—for the cordon was every day tightening round Lochiel, and, worse than this, some of the principals, like Lovat, were disheartened, and only anxious to make their peace on any terms—Murray, who was to some extent the representative of the Prince, was badly frightened, and most of the Highlanders were wearying to return home. This was all patent to us, and yet we could not help feeling a sense of dejection with the others, most of whom knew no reason whatever for anything they did, beyond that they were ordered to it by their chiefs.
But nothing like a spice of danger will cheer a lagging spirit, and for the first twelve hours we had enough of it and to spare. But though at times nearly surrounded, being able to scatter on any approach, we had an advantage over what troops we met, and were not slow to avail ourselves of our opportunities. "Faith, I've not done so much running away since I was at school!" Father O'Rourke declared; and, indeed, to see him one would swear he had the heart of a school-boy in him still.
However, we were soon beyond actual danger, and now made our way openly enough, until one evening we stood on the highway, and before us I pointed out to Father O'Rourke the chimnies of Crowlin, my father's house, which I had left as a boy of twelve, six years before.
 
"THERE! THAT IS CROWLIN"
Eighteen may not seem a great age to my reader, and does not to me to-day, when I can cap it with fifty years and more, but on that June day in the year '46, when I stood and knocked the dust of the road off my shoes, I felt like a man who had spent a lifetime away from all he had known as a boy, and my heart grew so big within me that I could hardly say the words, "There! that is Crowlin."
"Aye, Giovannini, and the man is blessed that has a Crowlin to come back to," Father O'Rourke said, laying his hand on my shoulder.
"Oh, I don't mean that, Father; 'tis a poor place enough," I answered, for fear he should think I was vaunting it.
"And I didn't mean that either, Giovannini," he said, smiling. "But let us be going."
So on we went, each familiar object breaking down the first feeling of separation until the years between vanished before a voice within, saying, "I saw you yesterday! I saw you yesterday!" as we passed the big rock by the bend of the road, and followed the little path with the same turns across the fields and over the brook, with the same brown water slipping between the same stepping-stones. "You crossed o'er yesterday! You crossed o'er yesterday!" it seemed to say; and so on, until the dogs rushed out barking at us from the house itself.
"Go in first, lad—go in. I'll stay and make friends with the collies," said Father O'Rourke, seating himself, and I left him.
I found my father sadly changed; much more so than I had gathered from the news I had received; indeed, it was easy to see that his disease was fast nearing its end. He was greatly brightened by my return, and heartily welcomed Father O'Rourke, the more so when he learned his true character, and they took to each other at once.
When I saw the great, bare house—all the more forlorn for the lot of rantipole boys and girls, children of my poor Uncle Scottos—wanting the feeling of a home, that somehow seems absent without a woman about—for my sister Margaret was the same as adopted by Lady Jane Drummond—and my poor father waiting his end among his books, alone, year in year out, I first realized something of what my absence had meant to him, and of the effort it had cost him to send me away.

It was decided we should remain where we were for the present, until something definite was heard from the Prince, which might lead to further action. As it would only have courted danger, which I hold a man has no right to do, we put off our uniforms and soon were transformed by the Highland dress.
To me it was nothing, this change to a kilt and my own short hair, replacing the bag wig with a blue bonnet, but Father O'Rourke would fain have returned to the cassock he had left behind him on board the Swallow, and was most uncomfortable for many days until he learned to manage the kilt "with decency, if not with grace," as he said himself.
"Oh, Isaiah, Isaiah!" he groaned; "little did I dream you were preaching at me when you commanded, 'Uncover thy locks, make bare the leg' (Discooperi humerum, revela crura)," and he would pretend to cover up his great knees with his short kilt, to the delight of the children, who were hail-fellow-well-met with him from the hour of his arrival.
Many was the pleasant talk he had with my father, who was full of his remembrances of Rome and the College he so loved in the via delle Quattro Fontane. With him he stopped all his tomfooleries, and I was surprised to see what excellent reason he would discourse, and take a pleasure in it too. But it must not be taken he only amused himself and my father, for more than one weary journey did he make into the hills to minister to some wounded unfortunate there in hiding, sore needing the spiritual consolation he alone could carry. As the "Sagairt an t-Saighdeir" (the Soldier Priest) he was soon known and demanded far and near, and no request ever met with a refusal, no matter what danger might offer.

I may mention it was now the common people began to speak of me as "Spanish John," a name that has stuck fast to the present; indeed, such names serve a purpose useful enough where a whole country-side may have but one family name, and I can assure you, the McDonells never wanted for Johns. There were Red Johns, and Black Johns, and Fair Johns, and Big Johns, and Johns of every size and colour and deformity. Had they known a little more geographically, they might have come nearer the mark; but it is not for me to quarrel with the name they saw fit to fasten upon me, as most of them knew as little difference between Spain and Italy as between Mesopotamia and Timbuctoo.

The English were about at times, and more than once we had to take to the heather, and lie skulking for days together in the hills; but no harm came to Crowlin. Indeed, I thought but little of the ravages committed, though they have been made much of since, for waste many a mile of country had I helped to lay, and that a country like to the Garden of Eden compared with this tangle of heath and hill. It was only the fortune of war; and, after all, there was many a one who lived on without being disturbed, always ready to lend a hand to those less fortunate.
 
"MANY WAS THE PLEASANT TALK HE HAD WITH MY FATHER"
Early in June we heard the news of the capture of old Lord Lovat, in Loch Morar, and before the end of the month that Mr. Secretary Murray had also fallen into the hands of the Government, About this time too we heard some ugly reports of one Allan McDonald Knock, of Sleat, in the Isle of Skye, and, though a cousin of our own, it was said he was the head of the informers and spies, and from the description we suspected that Creach was his coadjutor.

As soon as our country began to get more settled, I resolved to go North and see if I could come on any chance of recovering the stolen money; for now the Prince would need it more than ever, as the last news we had of him was in South Uist, in great straits for every necessity. Accordingly, I set out alone, and, on arriving in the McKenzie country, I put up for a night with a Mr. McKenzie, of Torridon, who had been out as a Lieutenant-Colonel in my cousin Coll Barisdale's regiment.
I made some inquiries, and found old Colin Dearg was still in the country, but was careful not to disclose the object of my visit, which was an easy enough matter, as our talk ran on the troubles of our friends and the Prince.
The next morning, while the lady of the house was ordering breakfast, I went for a solitary stroll, to turn over my plans and decide how I might best approach the matter. I had not gone far before I met a well-dressed man, also in Highland clothes, taking the morning air, and with him, after civil salutations, I fell into discourse about former happenings in the country.
What was my astonishment to hear him of his own accord begin the story of the French officers who came to Loch Broom, and how the thousand guineas had been cut out of their portmanteau by Colin Dearg and the others, Major William McKenzie of Killcoy, and Lieutenant Murdock McKenzie, from Dingwall, both officers of Lord Cromarty's regiment.
"A pretty mess they made of the matter," he said, "and were well despised through all the country for their behaviour; but had they only taken my advice there would never have been a word about it."
"Indeed!" said I, astonished beyond measure. "And pray, sir, what did you advise?"
"Och, I would have cut off both their heads and made a sure thing of it, and there never would have been another word about the matter."
I looked at him with a good deal of curiosity, for I can assure you it gives a man a strange feeling to hear his taking off talked over to his face as a matter of course.
"Who were they," I asked, "and from what country?"
"The oldest, and a stout-like man, was Irish. The youngest, and very strong-like, was a McDonell, of the family of Glengarry," he answered.
"How did they know the money was there? Did these officers speak of it?" I asked, thinking I might as well get at the whole story.
"No," said he, "but another officer, who had been with old Colin since the battle, went on board their ship when they landed and told him the youngest one was sure to have money."
"Was his name Creach or Graeme," I went on.
"I don't just remember, but his face was as white as a sick woman's," was the answer, which fixed my man for me beyond a doubt.
"And what was done with the money?"
"Colin Dearg got three hundred guineas, William Killcoy three hundred, and Lieutenant Murdock McKenzie three hundred."
"And what of the other hundred?"
"Two men who stood behind the Irish Captain with drawn dirks, ready to kill him had he observed Colin Dearg cutting open the portmanteau, got twenty-five guineas each, and I and another man, prepared to do the like to the young Captain McDonell, got the same," he answered, very cool, as if it were a piece of business he did every day.
"Now, are you telling the truth?" I asked, sternly.
"As sure as I shall answer for it on the Last Day," he said, warmly.
"And do you know to whom you are speaking?"
"To a friend, I suppose, and one of my own name."
"No, you damned rascal!" I roared, and caught him by the throat with my left hand, twitching out my dirk in my right, and throwing him on his back. "I am that very McDowell you stood ready to murder!" And I was within an ace of running him through the heart, when I suddenly reflected that I was quite alone, in a place where I was in a manner a stranger, and among people whom I had every reason to distrust. I got up, thrust my dirk into its sheath, and walked off without a word, leaving the fellow lying where I had thrown him.

I met Mr. McKenzie in the entry, who asked me where I had been.
"Taking a turn," said I.
"Have you met with anything to vex you?"
"No," said I, smiling.
"Sir," said he, "I ask your pardon, but you went out with an innocent and harmless countenance, and you come in with a complexion fierce beyond description."
"Come, come, Mr. McKenzie," said I, laughing, "none of your scrutinizing remarks; let us have our morning."
"With all my heart," said he, pouring out the whiskey.
I made some cautious inquiries about the man of my morning adventure, to which Torridon replied he was a stranger to the place, but he believed him to be probably a soldier in Lord Cromarty's regiment.
As soon as I could decently do so, I took leave of my host and hastened to put into execution a plan I had formed.
My cousin John, Glengarry, was the head of our family and my chief, and to him I determined to apply. I therefore set out at once for Invergarry, where I found the castle entirely dismantled and abandoned, so that when the Duke of Cumberland appeared somewhat later he found only bare walls to destroy; but destroy them he did, so completely that he did not even leave a foundation.
I found Glengarry easily enough, living in retirement in a safe place among his own people, and paid my respects to him with great good will; indeed, few chiefs had greater claims than he.
His father, Alastair Dubh, was one of the best warriors of his day, and had performed feats at Killiecrankie that a man might well be proud of. There, too, the chief's elder brother, Donald Gorm, fell gloriously, having killed eighteen of the enemy with his own sword.
His eldest son, Alastair, was now in the Tower of London, a prisoner, and Æneas, his second, had been accidentally shot at Falkirk six months before, whilst in arms for the Prince.
He, himself, had not been out, but no more had Clanranald; indeed, in many cases it was thought best the heads of the families should not be involved, in the event of the rising not proving favourable; but this turned out to be a sorry defence in more cases than one, amongst which was Glengarry's own.
After hearing my story, he said, laughing, "Man! but this would make a pretty quarrel with the McKenzies if we only had these troubles off our hands. I would send with you men enough to turn their whole country upside down, and you might consider the money as safe as if you had it in your own sporran. But what can I do? You dare not take any body of men across the country, and, more than that, I haven't them to send, even if you could. But let us sleep over it, and we will see what can be done in the morning."
I told him my plan was to go straight to Dundonald, who was an honourable man, and through him try and work on his uncle, old Colin Dearg; and could he but provide me with five or six men, by way of a life-guard, it was all I would ask.
When we parted on the morrow, Glengarry said: "There are your men! but pr............