Pictures and the Picturegoer (Jan-Dec 1924)

FEBRUARY 1924 Pictures and Pict\jre$oer 31 BoFMAie Prince Ckajlie JOHN FLEMING On an afternoon in the early summer of the memorable year 1745, a solitary speck of a man might have been observed ascending the rough cliff on a point of the coast of Scotland immediately opposite to the Isle of Skye, hurrying, stumbling, immensely conscious of his own importance, or perhaps the importance of his mission ; a man long vanished from a history as a name, and yet in a sense for ever immortal. For he it was, this remembered unknown, who first brought to Scotland's shores the news of the coming of the Young Pretender, Charles Edward Stuart. At the cliff top he was met by a little group of men, tense and expectant. " See," cried he, pointing far across the water to a tiny black blur that smudged the horizon — " in yon privateer comes the Prince, and he lands to-night. Tomorrow we march on Edinburgh. Are the lads in readiness?" In bushes nearby a score of lads were in readiness to carry the news of the landing into every corner of Scotland. Now they came from their place of concealment and hastened off on their mission. The first bearer of the tidings drew from his pocket a folded paper and pressed it upon one of the others. " See that it gets into the proper hands," he commanded. " 'Tis the first dispatch of our cause, signed by the very hand of the Prince himself— see there is his signature!" " God bless his bonnic face ! We'll to the sea edge to meet him." Gravely they descended by the cliff path to the beach, gravely as became their standing and great importance in this northern land, for they were heads and leaders of the seven great Highland clans. On the beach they stood waiting through the long hours and towards nightfall were rewarded by the sight of a boat putting off from the privateer. Nearer and nearer it drew and at last sprang from it, stood before them, shaking their hands and smiling into their faces, their handsome young leader and hero, Bonnie Prince Charlie. When the greeting was over, emotional and affecting, and the Highland chiefs could stand off and properly appreciate the reality of it all, for the first time there crossed their rugged faces a shade of disappointment. Here, truly, was their Prince, their beloved leader. But he was here alone. " I bring no foreign troops," he explained. " French support failed me, but well do I know that support in my own country will not fail me." Horses were waiting upon the hill. With Prince Charles at their head the chiefs set off upon their triumphal march to the capital. The personality of the Young Chevalier captured the hearts of the staunch Highlanders and the march to Edinburgh was in the nature of a bloodless victory. Recruiting proceeded apace and in every mile the army of the Prince grew. The entry into the capital itself was a triumph capping the triumphs that had gone before, and culminated in the pomp and elegance of a civic ball, attaining almost to the dignity and ceremony of a Court. Here Charles met the rest of the staunch men who were to be his greatest aid through the dramatic days to come. Here also he met Flora Macdonald. Flora was the modest protegee of Lady Clanranald, an ardent supporter of the Jacobite cause, to whose efforts not a little of the success of this secret landing and uprising had been due. Flora was as sweet as Scotland's heather, as noble as her glorious native hills. But as the cloud will touch the sun, so ever attendant on Flora in the Scottish capital was Robert Fraser, a suitor whose gold was yet not the key to Flora's heart. " Do you not realise," he had urged, " that as my wife you'd be received at the English Court?" " What has the English Court tae do wi' a Hieland lassie's love?" she had demanded. But even that had not driven him