FLORA MACDONALD.

Otago Witness, Issue 2996, 16 August 1911, Page 88

FLORA MACDONALD.

By Jessie Mackay

(Concluded.) Flora had nob gone far on her perilous errand when she fell into the hands of a party of militia, who made her their prisoner. A welcome surprise awaited her in the guardroom, where she found her own stepfather in command. In private she unfolded her tale, was gravely set at liberty, and furnished with a passport for herself, her. faithful kinsman Neil M'Eachan, and “her servant, Betty Bourke, an Irish girl,” all travelling to Skye. ' On her release she sought Lady Olanranald, and found the spirited old chieftainess ready to fall in with their design. When all was ready, she repaired to tire Prince’s hiding place, with all needful things for the journey. Charles, in the guise of “Betty Bourke,” set out towards nightfall with Flora Neil, and a band of picked rowers. At the very outset they narrowly escaped four large boats of soldiers, and, wet as they were, bad to crouch in the heather till the enemy passed out of sight. On the sea at last, .Nature seemed as rude and unkind as man to the breathless fugitives. A ter rifle storm raised the 'billows high around their little craft, and the boatmen only by tremendous exertions brought it through the perils of that dreadful night. When dim dawn revealed the misty headlands of Skye, it also revealed the hostile presence of the Miaoleod Militia, who held the coast, while several mcn-of-war were in the distance. They were near enough to land to be raked by the suspicious Hanoverians, whose fire made havoc with helm .and sail, the rowers escaping as by miracle. The Stuart courage now showed itself well in the disguised Prince, who stood up and cheered the boatmen as they strained rft their oars, at the same time entreating Flora to lie down in the bottom of the boat, which she refused <o do till he also stooped to seek shelter. Wind and tide now turned in their favour, and they escaped further scrutiny till they landed in a quiet place near the residence of Sir Alexander Macdonald, a man of great mark in the Isles. Here boldness had perforce to be her policy, and she sought the chief’s house with her servant Neil, only to meet the uncivil queries of a Captain Macleod, head of a military party. But Flora played the feminine cards of tact and patience with such winning effect that her followers, including “Betty Bourke,” escaped search, and late that evening the party reached the friendly mansion of Kingshurgh, that in days td come owned Flora herself for mistress. After a night spent under that hospitable roof, Flora and the Prince were conducted to Portree. At Portree they parted for ever. “Adieu, Mademoiselle Flora,” said the Prince with a lightness that perhaps be scarcely felt. “We shall meet soon, I trust, in France.” B'ut Flora did not echo the wish; her heart was in her native Hebrides. Charles had yet some painful wanderings before him ere he found safety ; and for Flora there remained a State imprisonment in London. When she was arrested, she made no pretence of concealment, but frankly confessed that she had aided the Prince, and maintained that she had acted rightly in so doing. The whole country took up her cause, and though imprisoned in the Tower, she was treated with courtesy and consideration, while her romantic story and pleasing personality won her the homage of London. In 1747 she was released, and returned to Skye, where, some time later, she became the wife of her young kinsman, Allan Macdonald, of Kingshurgh. An honoured and happy life opened up before her, first at Flodigarry, then as lady of the ancestral mansion of Kingshurgh. Here she won the love of all by her wise conduct and her active benevolence. To Kingshurgh repaired many a famous guest.to pay homage to the heroins of Skye ; it was there that Dr Johnson visited her, and paid her a lasting literary tribute—a graceful act that should discount something of the pettish feeling he showed otherwise to Scotland. .

Flora was not only a stately chatelaine ; she was a noble wife, and a wise, loving mother. Ten children were born to her in Skye, and all of them were trained in the bes ttraditions of their name and race. Long years after, when her son Charles was laid in his grave, the chief of the clan said with deep emotion, “There lies the most finished gentleman of my family and name.” Most, if not all, of "her eons were soldiers ; one .at least was an author and a scholar; and her daughters lived to grace homes of their own with their mother’s inherited virtues.

It might seem that Flora had had enough of war and wild adventure in her life, but more of that was yet in store for her. The family felt the pinch of these lean years that followed the Forty-five, and after long thought they decided to emigrate to America. - Flora was then 54 —an over-ripe age to colonise readily, perhaps, under any circumstances. They arrived in 1774, the year before the outbreak of the War of Independence. The Macdonalds had long forgotten their Jacobite leanings, and taken to the Hanoverian Government with more or less heartiness. Flora, fresh from the semi-feu-dalism of Skye, could not enter into the spirit of the colonists, and at once set her face against what she deemed rank rebellion and sinful contumacy.

North Carolina, where the exiles made their home, was found to he a hotbed of hostility to English rule. When war blazed ont at last Flora called round her the Highlanders of North Carolina, and, like another Boadicea, fired them to rise for Britain by her fiery eloquence. The clansmen could not but follow the voice of their heroic lady. Her husband and sons took the field for King George, and suffered wounds and captivity in the losing cause. These were bitter days of loss and anxiety for Flora and her daughters, but no rarrmur of complaint was head’d from

them, nor did she hesitate to obey her imprisoned husband’s final command to return to Skye, since America had mended their fortunes so ill.

There, in the old house of Kingsburgh, did Flora spend the last years of her eventful life. Two at least of her brave sons died before her; but their mother sorrowed for them softly, upheld by the deep religious convictions that had shaped her life. She could even smile as she said simply in later days, “I have fought both for Stuarts and Hanoverians, and have been beaten both times.”

Flora was adored as the “gentle lady” of Skye still in these later years. She died at the age of 68. And that was a day of mourning in the Isles. Not only from Skye, bait from all the Hebrides, the people came to pay their last sad duty to the heroine who had been their idol so long.

And still the monument keeps her memory green in Inverness. But more enduring yet was the airy memorial of song that Scotland reared to the deathless name of Flora Macdonald.