IT was not to be expected that the defeat of Culloden should pass over, without fatal consequences to those who had been principally concerned in the insurrection. A handful of men had disturbed the tranquillity of a peaceful people, who were demanding no change of their condition, had inflicted a deep wound upon the national strength, and what is seldom forgotten in the moment when revenge becomes possible, had inspired universal terror. It was to be expected, therefore, that those who had been most active in such rebellious and violent proceedings, should be called to answer with their lives for the bloodshed and disorder to which they had given occasion. They themselves well knew at what bloody risk they had played the deadly game of insurrection, and expected no less forfeit than their lives. But as all concerned in the rebellion had, in strictness, forfeited their lives to the law, it became fitting that Justice should so select her victims, as might, if possible, reconcile her claims with the feelings of humanity, instead of outraging them by a general and undistingnishing effusion of blood. Treason upon political accounts, though one of the highest crimes that can be committed against a state, does not necessarily infer any thing like the detestation which attends offences of much less general guilt and danger. He who engages in conspiracy or rebellion, is very often, as an individual, not only free from reproach, but highly estimable, in ins private character; such men, for example, as Lord Pitsligo, or Cameron of Lochiel, might be said to commit the crime for which they were obnoxious to the law, from the purest, though, at the same time, the most mistaken motives — motives which they had sucked in with their mother’s milk, and which urged them to take up arms by all the ties of duty and allegiance. The sense of such men’s purity of principles and intention, though not to be admitted in defence, ought, both morally and politically, to have limited the proceedings against them within the narrowest bounds consistent with the ends of public justice, and the purpose of intimidating others from such desperate courses. If so much could be said in favour of extending clemency even to several of the leaders of the insurrection, how much more might have been added in behalf of their simple and ignorant followers, who came out in ignorance of the laws of the civilized part of the nation, but in compliance with the unalienable tie by which they and their fathers had esteemed themselves bound to obey their chief. It might have been thought, that generosity would have overlooked such poor prey, and that justice would not have considered them as proper objects of punishment. Or, if a victorious general of subordinate rank had been desirous to display his own zeal in behalf of the reigning family at the expense of humanity, by an indiscriminate chastisement of the vanquished foe, of whatever degree of intellect and fortune, better things might have been expected from a Son of Britain-a Royal Prince, who, most of all, might have remembered, that the objects whom the fate of war had placed at his disposal, were the misguided subjects of his own royal house, and who might gracefully have pleaded their cause at the foot of a fathers throne which his own victory had secured.
Unfortunately for the Duke of Cumberland’s fame, he saw his duty in a different light. This Prince bore deservedly the character of a blunt, upright, sensible man, friendly and good-humoured in the ordinary intercourse of life. He was a brave soldier, and acquainted with the duties of war; but, both before and after the battle of Culloden, his campaigns were unfortunate; nor does it appear from his proceedings upon that occasion, that he merited better success. He had learned war in the rough school of Germany, where the severest infliction upon the inhabitants was never withheld, if it was supposed necessary, either to obtain an advantage, or to preserve one already gained. His Royal Highness understood, as well as any commander in Europe, the necessity, in the general case, of restraining that military license, which, to use the words of a revered veteran, renders an army formidable to its friends alone. In the march from Perth, an officer was brought to a court-martial, and lost his commission, by the Duke’s perfect approbation, because he had suffered a party under his command to plunder the house of Gask, belonging to Mr Oliphant, then in arms, and with the Prince’s army. This strict exercise of discipline renders us less prepared to expect the violences which followed the battle of Culloden. But unhappily the license which it was thought fit to check while the contest lasted, was freely indulged in when resistance was no more. The fugitives and wounded were necessarily the first to experience the consequences of this departure from the ordinary rules of war.
We have mentioned the merciless execution which was done upon the fugitives and on the wounded who remained on the field of battle. The first might be necessary to strike terror into an enemy so resolute and so capable of rallying as the Highlanders; the second might be the effect of the brutal rage of common soldiers flushed by victory, to which they had not been of late accustomed, and triumphant over an enemy before whom many of them had fled; but the excesses which followed, must, we fear, be imputed to the callous disposition of the Commander-inchief himself, under whose eye, and by whose command, a fearful train of ravages and executions took place. The Duke proceeded, in military phrase, to improve his victory, by it laying waste “ what was termed “ the country of the enemy;” and his measures were taken slowly, that they might be attended with more certain success. Proclamations had been sent forth for the insurgent Highlanders to come in and surrender their arms, with which very few complied. Several of the chiefs, indeed, had made an agreement among themselves to meet together and defend their country; but although a considerable sum of money, designed for the Chevalier’s use, reached Lochiel, and others his stanch adherents, the list of the slain and disabled chiefs had been so extensive, and the terror and dismay attending the dispersion so great, as to render the adoption of any general measures of defence altogether impossible.
The Duke of Cumberland-so much maybe said in his justification-entered what was certainly still a hostile, but an unresisting country, and, fixing his own headquarters in a camp near Fort Augustus, extended his military ravages, by strong parties of soldiery, into the various glens which had been for ages the abode of the disaffected clans. The soldiers had orders to exercise towards the unfortunate natives the utmost extremities of war. They shot, therefore, the male inhabitants who fled at their approach; they plundered the houses of the chieftains; they burnt the cabins of the peasants; they were guilty of every kind of outrage towards women, old age, and infancy; and where the soldier fell short of these extremities, it was his own mildness of temper, or that of some officer of gentler mood, which restrained the license of his hand. There can be no pleasure in narrating more particularly such scenes as this devastation gave rise to. When the men were slain, the houses burnt, and the herds and flocks driven off, the women and children perished from famine in many instances, or followed the track of the plunderers, begging for the blood and offal of their own cattle, slain for the soldier’s use, as the miserable means of supporting a wretched life. Certainly; such instances lead us to join in the observation of Monluc, that those engaged in war have much occasion for the mercy of the Deity, since they are, in the exercise of their profession, led to become guilty of so much violence towards their fellow-creatures. One remarkable narrative of this melancholy time is worth telling you; and I willingly consign to silence many others, which could only tend to recall hostile feelings better left to slumber.
A gamekeeper of MacDonald of Glengarry, returning from the forest to his home, found it had been visited by a party of the English troops, who had laid waste and burnt his house, and subjected his wife to the most infamous usage. The unfortunate husband vowed revenge. The principal author of the injury, who commanded the party, was described to him by the circumstance of his riding upon a grey horse. The detachment had to pass by the side of Loch Arkaig, through the wild rocks of Lochaber; lurking in a thicket, the MacDonald, a marksman by profession, took aim at the person whom he saw mounted on the grey horse, and shot him dead. His revenge, however, was disappointed; the person who had perpetrated the crime happened to have committed his horse to the charge of a groom, or individual of inferior rank, who suffered the penalty of the officer’s outrage. The avenger, having learned his mistake, again waylaid the line of march, and once more seeing an officer ride upon the fatal grey horse, between the advanced guard and the main body of the troops, he again took aim, and his bullet again proved fatal-but he had a second time mistaken his victim. The person whom he shot was not the author of the injury, but a gentleman generally esteemed in the Highlands, Captain George Monro of Culcairn (the same who escaped so remarkably at Glenshiel, by the fidelity of his foster brother). Upon learning this second mistake, the MacDonald broke his gun, and renounced further prosecution of his revenge. “ It was not the will of Heaven,” he said, “ that the man who had injured him should perish by his hands; and he would spill no more innocent blood in the attempt.”
During the prosecution of these severities, no man experienced more keen regret than President Forbes, whose active zeal had made such an important stand in favour of Government, and who, by determining the wavering purpose of Sir Alexander MacDonald of Sleat, and the Laird of MacLeod, must be considered as having contributed so materially to the suppression of the rebellion. It is said, that in venturing to quote to the Commander-inchief the law of the country, he was repulsed, with the reply, “ That a brigade should give laws.” He was deeply affected by the miseries which civil war had brought upon his country; nor had he any reason to congratulate himself individually, on having obtained personal favour by the part he had acted. It is certain that at his death his estate was embarrassed by debts contracted in behalf of Government, during 1745–6. All we can say on the subject is, that justice was not so profuse in its rewards on this remarkable occasion as in its punishments.
Other persons, who had given sufficient proof of their loyalty in the course of the rebellion, fell, nevertheless, into disgrace with the Commander-inchief, for expressing the slightest sympathy with the distress of the vanquished, or uttering any censure of the severities inflicted on them. The late Lord Forbes, than whom a man more loyal to the King’s government was not to be found, had served in the field of Preston, and done all that an officer could do to prevent the flight of the cavalry; notwithstanding this, he found that his preferment in the military profession was so much impeded as to render his retirement advisable. The only reason which could be assigned was, that this nobleman, the Premier Baron of Scotland, had ventured to interfere with the course of ravage practised upon the offending districts.
A story is told, that after the battle of Culloden, the Grants of Glenmoriston, who had been in the rebellion, came into Inverness to surrender themselves to the chief of their own name. They were armed cap-a-pee. “ Who are these men? “ said the Duke of Cumberland. He was informed by the Laird of Grant that they were the Grants of Glenmoriston. “ And to whom have they surrendered? ” — “To me,” answered their chief; “and to no man in Britain, but me, would they have submitted.” — “ No?” replied the Duke, after a pause; “ I will let them know that they are the King’s subjects, and must likewise submit to me.” He ordered the Grants of Glenmoriston to be instantly surrounded and disarmed; which might be a very proper check to the spirit of clanship. But when we learn that they were shipped off for the colonies we cannot wonder that the example of submission afforded small encouragement to such surrenders as this.
On most occasions these proceedings by martial law would have attracted animadversion in England, whoever were the sufferers. But the truth is, that the English nourished a very false idea respecting the political opinions of the Scots, and were much disposed to conceive that the whole inhabitants of that kingdom were at heart their enemies; or at least to entertain violent suspicions against such as expressed the least sympathy with the sufferings of a Jacobite, or supposed that his punishment might, by possibility, be more severe than the crime deserved. There was something of consolation in such an opinion, in so far as it seemed a justification for the extent of the alarm of which, by this time, the English people had become ashamed, since it sounded more respectable to have feared the whole force of Scotland, than that of a few Highland clans, much inferior in number to those of their own nation who embraced the side of the Government. Nor would it be just to blame the English alone for these severities. It must be confessed, that Scottish officers were found willing to escape from the suspicion of Jacobitism, so fatal to preferment, at the expense of becoming the agents of the cruelties practised on their unfortunate countrymen. At length, and slowly, the military operations began to be relaxed. After residing at Fort Augustus from the 24th of May till the 18th of July, the Duke of Cumberland returned towards Edinburgh.
That town had, in the mean time, witnessed a procession of fourteen of the rebel standards, borne by as many chimney-sweepers, to be publicly burnt by the hands of the common hangman. A Jacobite might have observed, like a captive who received a blow after he was bound, that there was little gallantry in this insult. The Duke was received with all the honours due to conquest, and all the incorporated bodies of the capital, from the guild brethren to the butchers,1 desired his acceptance of the freedom of their craft or corporation. From Edinburgh his Royal Highness proceeded to London, to reap the full harvest of honours and rewards, which would not have been less richly deserved, if he had mingled more clemency with a certain degree of severity.
After this period the military executions, slaughters, and ravages, were in a great measure put an end to. The license of the soldiery was curbed; courts of civil justice asserted the wholesome superiority of the law over violence; the aggressions of the parties of soldiery were punished with damages in the usual course of justice; and the ordinary rules of civilized society were in a great measure replaced. We now dismiss the consideration of the calamitous consequences brought on the country by general military execution, and proceed to consider the fate of those chiefs whose insurrection had been the cause of so much evil. The first in rank, in misfortune, and in the temerity which led to the civil war, was, unquestionably, Charles Edward himself. A reward of L.30, 000 was offered for the discovery and seizure of this last scion of a royal line. It was imagined, that in a country so poor as the Highlands, lawless in a sense, so far as the law of property was concerned, and where the people were supposed to be almost proverbially rapacious, a much smaller reward would have insured the capture of the Pretender to the throne. His escape, however, so long delayed, and effected through so many difficulties, has been often commemorated as a brilliant instance of fidelity. I shall only here touch upon its general outlines, leaving you to acquire farther details from other authors.
During the battle of Culloden, Charles had his share of the dangers of the field. The cannon, specially directed against his standard, made some havoc among his guards, and killed one of his servants who held a led horse near to his person. The Prince himself was covered with the earth thrown up by the balls. He repeatedly endeavoured to rally his troops, and in the opinion of most who saw him, did the duties of a brave and good commander. When he retreated from the field, be was attended by a large body of horse, from whom, being perhaps under some doubt of their fidelity, he disengaged himself, by dismissing them on various errands, but particularly with instructions to warn the fugitives that they were to rendezvous at Ruthven, in Badenoch; for such had been the reckless resolution to fight, and such perhaps the confidence in victory, that no place of rendezvous had been announced to the army in case of defeat. Having dismissed the greater part of his horsemen, Charles retained around his person only a few of the Irish officers, who had been his constant followers, and whose faith he considered as less doubtful than that of the Scots, perhaps because they were themselves more loud in asserting it. He directed his flight to Gortuleg, where he understood Lord Lovat was residing. Perhaps he expected to find counsel in the renowned sagacity of this celebrated nobleman; perhaps he expected assistance from his power; for the Master of Lovat, and Cluny Macpherson, Lovat’s son-in-law, were neither of them in the action of Culloden, but both in the act of bringing up strong reinforcements to the Prince’s army, and on the march thither when the battle was lost.
Charles and Lovat met, for the first and last time, in mutual terror and embarrassments The Prince exclaimed upon the distresses of Scotland; Lord Lovat had a more immediate sense of his own downfall. Having speedily found that neither counsel nor aid was to be obtained at Lovat’s hands, the Prince only partook of some slight refreshment, and rode on. He thought Gortuleg dangerous, as too near the victorious army; perhaps also he suspected the faith of its principal inmate. Invergarry, the castle of the Laird of Glengarry, was the next halt, where the chance success of a fisherman who had caught a brace of salmon, afforded him a repast. The mansion-house suffered severely for the temporary reception of the Prince, being wasted and destroyed by the English soldiery with unusual rigour. From Invergarry the fugitive Prince penetrated into the West Highlands, and took up his abode in a village called Glenbeisdale, very near the place where he had first landed. By this time he had totally renounced the further prosecution of his enterprise, his sanguine hopes being totally extinguished in the despair which attended his defeat. Charles despatched a message to those chiefs and soldiers who should rendezvous at Ruthven in obedience to his order, to acquaint them that, entertaining deep gratitude for their faithful attention and gallant conduct on all occasions, he was now under the necessity of recommending to them to look after their own safety, as he was compelled by circumstances to retire to France, from whence he hoped soon to return with succours.
Although not above one thousand men had attended at the appointed rendezvous, a great many of these thought that there was still hopes of continuing the enterprise, and were disposed to remonstrate with the Prince on his resolution of abandoning it. Lord George Murray was of this opinion, and declared that, as for provisions, if he was intrusted with any direction, they should not want as long as there were cattle in the Highlands, or meal in the Lowlands. John Hay was despatched to wait upon the Prince, and entreat him even yet to resume his post at the head of his army. It must be owned that these were the thoughts of desperate men; the enterprise had been despaired of by all sensible persons ever since the retreat from Stirling, if not since that from Derby. It was not to be supposed that an army with little hope of supplies or reinforcement, and composed of clans each independent of the others, and deprived of a great many of the best and boldest chiefs, while others, like Lochiel, were disabled by wounds, should adhere to an alliance in which there was no common object; and it is much more likely, that, divided as they were by jealousies, they would have broken up as on former occasions, by each clan endeavouring to make its separate peace. When John Hay, therefore, came to Charles at Glenbeisdale, to convey Lord George Murray’s expostulation and request, he received from the Prince a letter in answer, declaring^ in stronger and plainer words, his determined intention to depart for France, from which he hoped soon to return with a powerful reinforcement. Each behaved according to his character. The stubborn resolution of Lord George Murray demonstrated the haughty obstinacy of his rough and indomitable character, which had long looked on the worst as an event likely to arrive, and was now ready to brave it; while the Prince, whose sanguine hopes could not be taught to anticipate a defeat, now regarded it with justice as an irretrievable evil. From this time Charles must be regarded as providing for his own escape, and totally detached from the army which he lately commanded. With this view he embarked for the Long Island, on the coast of which he hoped to find a French vessel. Contrary winds, storms, disappointments of several sorts, attended with hardships to which he could be little accustomed, drove him from place to place in that island and its vicinity, tilt he gained South Uist, where he was received by Clanranald, who, one of the first who joined the unfortunate Prince, was faithful to him in his distresses. Here, for security^ sake, Charles was lodged in a forester’s hut of the most miserable kind, called Corradale about the centre of the wild mountain so named. But every lurking place was now closely sought after, and the islands in particular were strictly searched, for the purpose of securing the fugitive Prince, suspected of being concealed in their recesses. General Campbell sailed as far as the island of St Kilda, which might well pass for the extremity of the habitable world. The simple inhabitants had but a very general idea of the war which had disturbed all Britain, except that it had arisen from some difference between their master, the Laird of MacLeod, and a female on the continent — probably some vague idea about the Queen of Hungary’s concern in the war.
General Campbell, returning from Kilda, landed upon South Uist, with the purpose of searching the Long Island from south to north, and he found the MacDonalds of Skye, and MacLeod of MacLeod, as also a strong detachment of regular troops, engaged in the same service. While these forces, in number two thousand men, searched with eagerness the interior of the island, its shores were surrounded with small vessels of war, cutters, armed boats, and the like. It seemed as if the Prince’s escape from a search so vigorously prosecuted was altogether impossible; but the high spirit of a noble-minded female rescued him, when probably every other means must have failed. This person was the celebrated Flora MacDonald; she was related to the Clanranald family, and was on a visit to that chiefs house at Ormaclade, in South Uist, during the emergency we speak of. Her stepfather was one of Sir Alexander MacDonald’s clan, an enemy to the Prince of course, and in the immediate command of the militia of the name of MacDonald, who were then in South Uist.
Notwithstanding her stepfather’s hostility, Flora MacDonald readily engaged in a plan for rescuing the unfortunate Wanderer. With this purpose she procured from her stepfather a passport for herself, a man servant, and a female servant, who was termed Betty Burke — the part of Betty Burke being to be acted by the Chevalier in woman’s attire. In this disguise, after being repeatedly in danger of being taken, Charles at length reached Kilbride, in the Isle of Skye; but they were still in the country of Sir Alexander MacDonald, and, devoted as that chief was to the service of the Government, the Prince was as much in danger as ever. Here the spirit and presence of mind of Miss Flora MacDonald were again displayed in the behalf of the object, so strangely thrown under the protection of one of her sex and age. She resolved to confide the secret to Lady Margaret MacDonald, the wife of Sir Alexander, and trust to female compassion, and the secret reserve of Jacobitism which lurked in the heart of most Highland women.
The resolution to confide in Lady Margaret was particularly hardy, for Sir Alexander MacDonald, the husband of the lady to be trusted with the important secret, was, as you will recollect, originally believed to be engaged to join the Prince on his arrival, but had declined doing so, under the plea, that the stipulated support from France was not forthcoming; he was afterwards induced to levy his clan on the side of Government. His men had been at first added to Lord Loudon’s army, in Inverness-shire, and now formed part of those troops from which the Chevalier had with difficulty just made his escape.
Flora MacDonald found herself under the necessity of communicating the fatal secret of her disguised attendant to the lady of a person thus situated. Lady Margaret MacDonald was much alarmed. Her husband was absent, and as the best mode for the unfortunate Prince’s preservation, her house being filled with officers of the militia, she committed him to the charge of MacDonald of Kingsburgh, a man of courage and intelligence, who acted as factor or steward for her husband. Flora MacDonald accordingly conducted Charles to MacDonald of Kingsburgh’s house; and he was fortunate enough to escape detection on the road, though the ungainly and awkward appearance of a man dressed in female apparel attracted suspicion on more than one occasion.
From Kingsburgh the Wanderer retired to Rasa, where he suffered great distress, that island having been plundered on account of the laird’s accession to the rebellion. During this period of his wanderings he personated the servant of his guide, and the country of the Laird of MacKinnon became his temporary refuge; but notwithstanding the efforts of the chief in his favour, that portion of Skye could afford him neither a place of repose or safety, so that he was compelled once more to take refuge on the mainland, and was by his own desire put ashore on Loch Nevis.
Here also he encountered imminent danger, and narrowly escaped being taken. There were a number of troops engaged in traversing this district, which being the country of Lochiel, Keppoch, Glengarry, and other Jacobite chiefs, was the very cradle of the rebellion. Thus the Wanderer and his guides soon found themselves included within a line of sentinels, who, crossing each other upon their posts, cut them off from proceeding into the interior of the province. After remaining two days cooped up within this hostile circle, without daring to light a fire, or to dress any provisions, they at length escaped the impending danger by creeping down a narrow and dark defile, which divided the posts of two sentinels. Proceeding in this precarious manner, his clothes reduced to tatters, often without food, fire, or shelter, the unfortunate Prince, upheld only by the hope of hearing of a French vessel on the coast, at length reached the mountains of Strathglass, and with Glenaladale, who was then in attendance upon him, was compelled to seek refuge in a cavern where seven robbers had taken up their abode (by robbers you are not in the present case to understand thieves, but rather outlaws, who dared not show themselves, on account of their accession to the rebellion) — and lived upon such sheep and cattle as fell into their hands. These men readily afforded refuge to the Wanderer, and recognising the Prince, for whom they had repeatedly ventured their lives, in the miserable suppliant before them, they vowed unalterable devotion to his cause: Among the flower of obedient and attached subjects, never did a Prince receive more ready, faithful, and effectual assistance, than he did from those who were foes to the world and its laws. Desirous of rendering him all the assistance in their power, the hardy freebooters undertook to procure him a change of dress, clean linen, refreshments, and intelligence. They proceeded in a manner which exhibited a mingled character of ferocity and simplicity. Two of the gang way-laid and killed the servant of an officer, who was going to Fort Augustus with his masters baggage. The portmanteau which he carried fell into the robbery hands, and supplied the articles of dress which they wanted for the Chevalier’s use. One of them, suitably disguised, ventured into Fort Augustus, and obtained valuable information concerning the movements of the troops; and desirous to fulfil his purpose in every particular, he brought back, in the singleness of his heart, as a choice regale to the unhappy Prince, a pennyworth of gingerbread! With these men Charles Edward remained for about three weeks, and it was with the utmost difficulty they would permit him to leave them. “Stay with us,” said the generous robbers; “ the mountains of gold which the Government have set upon your head may induce some gentleman to betray you, for he can go to a distant country and live on the price of his dishonour; but to us there exists no such temptation. We can speak no language but our own — we can live nowhere but in this country, where, were we to injure a hair of your head, the very mountains would fall down to crush us to death.”
A singular instance of enthusiastic devotion happened about this time (August 2d), which served to aid the Prince’s escape. A son of a goldsmith in Edinburgh, one Roderick MacKenzie, late an officer in the Prince’s army, happened to be lurking in the braes of Glenmoriston. He was about the same size as the Prince, and was reckoned like him both in person and features. A party of soldiers set upon the young man in his hiding-place; he defended himself gallantly; and, anxious to render his death useful to the cause which he must no longer serve in life, he said in his mortal agony,” Ah, villains! you have slain your Prince!” His generous design succeeded. MacKenzie’s head was cut off, passed for that of Charles Edward, and was sent as such up to London. It was some time ere the mistake was discovered, during which the rumour prevailed that Charles was slain; in consequence of which the search after him was very much relaxed. Owing to this favourable circumstance, Charles became anxious to see his adherents, Lochiel and Cluny MacPherson, who were understood to be lurking in Badenoch with some other fugitives; and in order to join these companions of his councils and dangers, he took leave of the faithful outlaws, retaining, however, two of them, to be his guard and guides.
After many difficulties he effected a junction with his faithful adherents, Cluny and Lochiel, though not without great risk and danger on both sides. They took up for a time their residence in a hut called the cage, curiously constructed in a deep thicket on the side of a mountain called Benalder, under which name is included a great forest or chase, the property of Cluny. Here they lived in tolerable security, and enjoyed a rude plenty, which the Prince had not hitherto known during his wandering.
About the 18th of September, Charles received intelligence that two French frigates had arrived at Lochnanuagh, to carry him and other fugitives of his party to France. Lochiel embarked along with him on the 20th, as did near one hundred others of the relics of his party, whom the tidings had brought to the spot where the vessel lay. Cluny MacPherson remained behind, and continued to skulk in his own country for several years, being the agent by means of whom Charles Edward long endeavoured to keep up a correspondence with his faithful Highlanders. A letter is in my possession, by which the Prince expressed his senses of the many services which he had received from this gentleman and his clan. I give it as a curiosity in the note below. The Prince landed near Morlaix, in Brittany, on the 29th of September. His short but brilliant expedition had attracted the attention and admiration of Europe, from his debarkation in Boradale, about the 26th of August, 1745, until the day of his landing in France, a period of thirteen months and a few days, five months of which had been engaged in the most precarious, perilous, and fatiguing series of flight, concealment, and escape, that has ever been narrated in history or romance. During his wanderings, the secret of the Adventurer’s concealment was intrusted to hundreds of every sex, age, and condition; but no individual was found, in a high or low situation, or robbers even who procured their food at the risk of their lives, who thought for an instant of obtaining opulence at the expense of treachery to the proscribed and miserable fugitive. Such disinterested conduct will reflect honour on the Highlands of Scotland while their mountains shall continue to exist.
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