How Father O'Rourke kept the Black Pass; of the escape of the Prince and my own mischance that followed, but of how the Day of Reckoning between me and Creach came at last.
We felt that Skye was not the safest place for us after my brush with Creach, for, with such a creature in leash with Allan Knock, no decent man's liberty was worth a rush in days when a whisper was sufficient to secure his arrest, so we made our trip a short one and returned to the main-land.
We and all felt relieved that the Prince had returned from the Islands, whither he had gone much against the wishes of his best friends, and his escape might have been effected long since had he not taken wrong advice from those who knew nothing of the country. And if I may criticize, without blame however, His Royal Highness, perhaps from too great an openness in his own temper, was not a discerning judge of those about him, many of whom were men of no character whatever, and to-day I can see the truth of Father O'Rourke's words which I had resented so heartily in Rome.
But such advantage as he now gained from being amongst his friends was in a measure balanced by the nearness of his enemies, and he was obliged to lie exceeding close, and at times ran narrow chances of capture. This was the more evident as but few now knew his whereabouts, and while on the Islands his movements were known so wide that at times I have been tempted to think it was possible the English were not in truth over anxious for his capture. Indeed, I cannot think what they would have done with him had he fallen into their hands. To execute him would be an impossibility, for we felt such a murder as that of King Charles was something the civilized world would never see again, and the horrid crimes of the French in these last days were as then undreamed of; and to imprison him would have been to place him on the highest possible pinnacle of martyrdom, the last thing his enemies could desire.
Be this as it may, we found the activity of the troops had been greatly increased, and it was only with the greatest caution we could visit Crowlin; so we kept moving about the country, seldom passing two nights in the same place, keeping as near the coast as possible to be on the outlook for friendly ships.
We soon had evidence, too, that Creach was at work, for even before we left Skye it was clear we were spied upon, and now it was only the scarcity of troops that prevented him and Allan Knock from carrying out their private revenge. We were dogged night and day, and knew an attempt would be made upon us the moment the necessary men could be spared for such service.
It was on the first of September that we got news of a vessel off the coast, near Loch Carron, where we were then hiding on a property which belonged to our family, and we forthwith sent word to Glenaladale—Alexander McDonald—who had just left the Prince in charge of Cluny Macpherson among the hills, that all was ready. We made a night visit to Crowlin and bade good-bye to my father, whom I never expected to see again on earth, while over the sleeping children Father O'Rourke said a prayer in Irish, and left his blessing on the house. We slipped out into the night again and made our way to the coast to find that the vessel had gone out to sea, but had signalled she would stand in again after dark the next day.
This we spent most anxiously among the hills. We knew we were watched in every movement and an attempt would be made to prevent our embarking, if possible; and, to add to our anxiety, word was brought from Glenaladale saying he had no knowledge of where the Prince was, as Cluny had moved away from the hiding-place he last knew, but that we were all to be aboard and lie to until the last possible hour in the morning, and then, if he did not appear with the Prince, to sail without him, instructing any other vessel spoken, to stand in farther to the south near Arisoig, so he might prepare and get word into the hills in time.
Shortly before midnight we saw the signal of a red light low on the water shewn twice for a moment, and made our way to the beach, where the boats met us, and we embarked without molestation. We found her to be the Alerte privateer, and her Captain fully prepared to run any reasonable risk to bring off the Prince. We met with a numerous company of gentlemen and some ladies on board, who had been picked up at different points along the coast, and together we watched in the greatest anxiety for some signal from the shore; but our hopes vanished as the dawn grew stronger in the east, until we could not justify a longer delay, and made ready to return in our boat, which we had kept alongside. Such was their devotion that some, when they heard of our resolution, were only deterred from joining us by my assurance that I was charged with a special commission by the Duke, and their presence would only endanger the safety of the Prince as well as our own; on this they allowed us to depart, with many a prayer both in Gaelic and English. With dull anger in our hearts we climbed the hills, eying all the cover whence we knew false eyes were following us; but not a bush moved, nor was there a sound, as we lay on the open hill-top and from our old hiding-place saw the sun redden the sails of the privateer as she stood on her way towards France and safety.
Our first thought was to get back to Crowlin, for, now the Prince had failed to appear, we held our duty was to my father until another opportunity offered.
We were quite unable to approach the house in daylight, as it lay in the hollow well open to observation; and when we at last made our way down and entered, we were shocked at the change that had taken place in my father's condition.
"It was a kind Providence that led us back, Giovannini," said Father O'Rourke, as we knelt beside the plainly dying man, "for these hours will mean much to him and to you afterwards."
When my father recovered from the shock of seeing us, it was with the greatest thankfulness I saw Father O'Rourke go into him alone, and when he appeared again his face was that of the holy man he was.
"SHE STOOD ON HER WAY TOWARDS FRANCE AND SAFETY"
"Now, Giovannini," he said, "I am going to your cousin"—this was Dr. McDonald, of Kylles—"for I have done all that is in my power for your father. He wants you now, my son, and he wants such relief as the Doctor may perhaps give him."
"But, Father," I said, "that is impossible; you do not know the road over the hills well enough, and the country is alive with troops you can never pass."
"Nonsense," he said, with a short laugh, "I can pass anything on a night such as this. Let me take Neil with me, and we will be back before daybreak."
Knowing that argument was useless, I sent for Neil, as good and safe a man as there was in the country, and who spoke English perfectly, gave him his directions to go by the Ghlach Dubh—the Black Pass—saw they both were well armed and supplied with cakes and whiskey, bade them god-speed, and then turned back into the dark house.
The poor little ones, soon to be fatherless for a second time, were sleeping quietly, knowing nothing of the great sorrow creeping over them, and I passed on into the chamber of death, sending old Christie, the servant, to keep her lonely watch in the kitchen.
That last night alone with my father is as distinct to me to-day as if it were but just passed; it is full of things that are sacred—too sacred to be written about—and at the change of the night into day, I closed his eyes and prayed over his remains in peace.
When I could, I rose, and, calling Christie, opened the door softly and stole out into the cool, clearing morning air. It was so still that a great peace seemed over everything, and only the cheep of distant birds came to me; but soon I made out a moving figure on the hill-side, and, remembering Father O'Rourke with a start, I set off and hurried to meet him. But as I drew nearer I could make out that it was Neil alone, and hurried forward much alarmed, and, as I saw him better, my fears grew.
He was running at his best, without plaid or bonnet, and when we met all he could gasp out was, "Oh! the Soldier Priest! the Soldier Priest!"
"Stop, man!" I said, sternly. "Neil, Neil! What new trouble do you bring?"
"He is dead!" he cried, with a groan. "No, not dead, God forgive me! but dying there alone, and him the finest swordsman I ever stood beside."
"Come!" I said, and he turned with me, and as we went he gave out his story in gasps:
"The Doctor was not at home. Skulking in the hills again. We left our message and started back. Just at the top of the Black Pass they met us, and he never thinking of them at all! An officer and six men. We were too quick for them, though, and had our swords out and our backs to the hill-side before they could stop us.
"They called to him to surrender, taking him to be you.
"'Come, come, Mr. McDonell!' says the officer. 'Give up your sword like a gentleman!'
"And oh! Master John! With his death before him he laughed. And what do you think were the words he said? 'Sir,' says he, 'I never knew a McDonell yet who could give up his sword like a gentleman!'
"And then he warned the officer to be off and leave such work to the likes of Allan Knock and Creach, and the hot words flew back and forth between them till we were all at it together.
"He ran the officer through as cool as if he was at practice; he put two others down, and we were making grand play, when there was a flash, and down he went, shot like a dog!
"'Neil! Neil!' he shouted, 'go, for the love of God!' and I broke through and rolled over the side of the cliff; but by God's help I caught and held myself just when I thought I was lost. And I held there while they crawled to the edge and threw a torch down—making sure I had gone with the stones that rolled till they struck the black water below—and until I heard them gather up their wounded and tramp. Then I climbed to the top again, and left him only when I found he was still breathing, and remembered he meant I was to carry his message to you.
"Oh, Master John! never, never did man fight better, and you may comfort your heart with the name he made for you this night."
"'GIVE UP YOUR SWORD LIKE A GENTLEMAN'"
I could see it all clearly: that scoundrel, Allan Knock, set on by Creach, had been on our track ever since we left Skye, and knowing of our return from the ship through his spies, had thought to have taken me, or both of us, at Crowlin; the rest was plain from Neil's story, and it was only through the mistake of the English captain that my father had closed his eyes in my arms.
By the goodness of God, when I knelt beside the man so dear to me, I found him still alive, though wounded so that at the first sight, I saw even to raise him meant a quicker death.
The moment I spoke he opened his eyes. "Ah, Giovannini, my son," he said, in a voice surprisingly strong, "it was a grand fight!" And then, after a moment, "It was a pretty fight until they put an end to it with their shooting. But, poor creatures, I drove them to it. They couldn't get in at me in any other way."
"Oh, Father," I cried, "why didn't you tell them who you were?"
"I've been borrowing names all along," he said, drowsily; "tell Lynch I kept his. I didn't make a bad use of yours either," he said, very slowly, and seemed to doze.
We raised his head more and covered him with the plaids.
In a little while he woke up quite clear. "Giovannini, lad, what of things at home?"
I told him, and he muttered a short prayer to himself, and then went on: "I am thankful I have neither kith nor kin, and not a soul to give a thought to my going to-night save yourself. But that is much—is dear to me. What claim has a wandering priest save on his God, and your being with me is the excess of His goodness.
"Now don't be fretting about the way my end has come; it was as much God's work to bar the door by my sword, and keep the father in peace with the son, as to stand beside His Altar."
And then the drowsiness began to steal on him again, but he roused himself to say, as if in answer to my sorrow, "Courage, lad, courage; the sun has not gone because a rushlight is snuffed out."
It was a long time before he spoke again, and then it was in the same quiet voice.
"'Tis a strange pass to come to a man who a few years ago thought of nothing more dangerous than the sunny side of a street! But, do you know, I always believed I had a bit of the soldier in me. Many a time have my fingers itched for a sword-hilt when I thought I might have done more than praying, and now it has been given to me, and I have done it well. I can say with St. Paul, 'I have fought a good fight' (Bonum certamen certavi)"—and these were the last words that brave heart said on earth.
We bore him home to Crowlin on our shoulders, and laid him and my father side by side in the one grave, where my tears and those of the children fell on both alike.
Broken as I was in every way, I had to think and act, for the same necessities were before me. So after seeing my uncles, Allan and Alexander, the nearest relations left to the children, and making some provision for their safety, I returned again to the coast near Loch Carron, for I could now move with greater freedom until such time as the real facts of my supposed death at the Black Pass might be discovered.
Not more than ten days went by before I had news of two ships hanging off the land, and I arranged to board them should they come close enough to signal. This they did, and I found them to be the Princesse de Conti and L'Hereux, from St. Maloes, under command of Colonel Warren, of Dillon's Regiment, expressly come and determined to carry the Prince back with him at all hazards.
I told him of our disappointment of the Alerte, and, in accordance with the instructions from Glenaladale, we stood south for Arisoig, and I was put on shore near Loch-na-Neugh. I found Glenaladale without difficulty, but to our uneasiness there was still the same uncertainty about the Prince; and at first the search brought no result, but by chance he got the information necessary, and the joyful news of the vessels' arrival was carried in all haste to the "Wanderer."
It was late at night—the night of the nineteenth of September—when we came to Borodale, where a numerous company had gathered awaiting him. He was accompanied by Lochiel, now nearly recovered, his brother the Doctor, and others; but my heart was sore when I heard of the condition he............