After the battle of Culloden, which proved the ruin of his hopes, Charles Edward was obliged to fly, to escape the government of George II. A price was put on his head, and a reward of £30,000 sterling was offered for his discovery and capture. “One would have supposed,” says Scott, “that in a country so poor as the highlands of Scotland, where laws concerning property are almost unknown, and among a people whose propensities to pillage had almost passed into a proverb, a reward far less considerable would have sufficed to awake the cupidity of some traitor, and to have ruined the Pretender. That was not, however, the case; and the escape of this prince, so long retarded by the agents of the victorious power, and effected with so much difficulty and amid a thousand obstacles, must be cited to the honour of Scotland, as a striking and brilliant example of good faith.”

During the battle of Culloden, Charles Edward had exposed himself to considerable danger. He was several times covered with earth thrown up by the bullets; he made repeated attempts to rally his troops, and according to the testimony of most of those who witnessed his conduct, he showed himself a brave and efficient commander. On quitting the field of battle he dismissed, under various pretexts, the greater number of the gentlemen who followed him—doubting, possibly, their fidelity—and kept with him only a few Irish officers, on whom he thought he could count. He directed his flight at first towards the residence of Lord Lovat, thinking, perhaps, that this person, who was renowned for his sagacity, could advise him as to his future course, and, perhaps, even give him some material help; for his son, the Master of Lovat, and Cluny MacPherson, another relative, had both raised considerable reinforcements, and they were on the march to join the prince’s army, when the battle took place. Charles and Lovat met for the first and last time, both of them a prey to the fears and embarrassments of a desperate situation. Charles spoke only of the distress into which Scotland was plunged, Lovat occupied himself solely with his personal dangers. The prince soon perceived that he had neither advice nor help to expect from his host, and he went away after hastily taking some refreshment. The place was dangerous, on account of the proximity of the victorious army; and, perhaps, even the fidelity of Lovat was to be suspected. Charles next halted at Invergarry—a castle belonging to the laird of Glengarry, where he was served with an excellent repast of fresh-caught salmon. As a punishment for this isolated act of hospitality, the English soldiers shortly afterwards pillaged and sacked the castle.

From Invergarry the fugitive made his way to a village in the western mountains, near the place where he had disembarked on coming from France. He there resolved to abandon his enterprise, and he accordingly sent a message to the chiefs and the soldiers assembled at Ruthven, thanking them for their services, and urging them to provide for their own safety, since no other course was left to him but to try to make his escape to France. His partisans in vain implored him to suffer them to expose themselves to new dangers for his sake. Charles saw too clearly that all was lost, and he refused to be the means of sacrificing the lives of brave men, who he knew were only taking counsel of their own devotion and despair.

Separated from his faithful supporters and friends, Charles wandered about the Hebrides in the hope of finding a ship for France. But the very elements seemed to have declared against him; no ship appeared; and his daily life was fast becoming almost purposeless. He at length arrived at the spot where he had formerly disembarked. He was met by Clanronald, who had been the first to declare for him, and who remained faithful to him in this his dire distress. The prince was lodged in a miserable hut belonging to a woodcutter named Corradale, and situated upon the rugged mountain which bears the same name.

Meanwhile the agents of the English government were making a keen search for the fugitive in every place that seemed to offer him the possibility of an asylum. General Campbell went to the very extremity of the isle of St. Kilda, which might be termed the boundary of the habitable world, and from thence passing to the other extremity of the Hebrides, he found the chiefs of Skye and of MacLeod engaged in a similar search. Two thousand men in all were employed in this undertaking, while the coasts of the island were constantly watched by ships of war. It seemed absolutely impossible for the prince to escape; yet he was saved by the courage of a woman.

That woman was Flora Macdonald, and her name is still honoured in the land of her birth. She was a relative of Clanronald, and she was at the time visiting that chief. Her father-in-law, who was of the clan of Sir Alexander MacDonald, was consequently an enemy of the Pretender, and he commanded the militia of the name of MacDonald, which was then exploring South Uist.

Having hastily formed a plan for saving the prince, Flora had sufficient address to obtain from her father-in-law permission to engage a male attendant and a servant girl, whom she named Betty Burke. The part of Betty was to be played by the prince dressed as a woman. Charles did in fact assume this disguise, and after having been several times in danger of capture, he arrived at Kilbride, in the Isle of Skye. But he was still in Sir Alexander MacDonald’s county, and he ran almost as great risks as before. Here, however, the courage and presence of mind of Flora were displayed anew in favour of the man thus so strangely placed under the protection of a young girl. She resolved to confide her secret to Lady Margaret MacDonald, wife of Sir Alexander, and to trust to the natural compassion of the sex, and to that enthusiasm for the Jacobite cause then common among nearly all the women of the Highlands.

This undertaking was the more dangerous, as the husband of Lady Margaret was already suspected of having at first offered his services to the prince. Lady Margaret was alarmed at Flora’s revelation. Her husband was absent, and her house was full of officers of militia. She could think of no other way of providing for the safety of the prince than to confide him to the care of MacDonald of Kingsburgh, a brave and intelligent man, who acted as agent or steward to Sir Alexander. Flora undertook to conduct the prince to MacDonald’s house; and the prince was fortunate enough to avoid recognition on the road, although the awkwardness of his air, dressed as he was like a woman, more than once excited suspicion.

From Kingsburgh he went to Raasay, where he was in the greatest distress; the isle having been pillaged because the laird had taken part in the insurrection. During this period of his flight he passed for the servant of his guide. He then took refuge for a time in the country of the laird of MacKinnon; but notwithstanding all the efforts of this chief in his favour, he could find neither rest nor safety in that part of the Isle of Skye, and was obliged to return once more to the mainland of Scotland, on the borders of Loch Nevis. He was there exposed to new dangers, and was very nearly taken. A great number of soldiers were overrunning the district which was the cradle of the insurrection, the country of Lochiel, of Keppoch, of Glengarry, and of other Jacobite chiefs. The prince and his guide soon found themselves in the midst of a circle of sentinels, and were scarcely able to move for fear of detection. After having passed two days surrounded by enemies, and without daring to light a fire to cook their food, they at length avoided the threatened danger by passing through a narrow defile, which separated the posts of two sentinels. Living thus in misery and nakedness, often without food, without fire, and without shelter, the unfortunate prince, sustained alone by the hope of learning that some French vessel was approaching the coast, arrived at length at the mountains of Strath-glass; And with Glen Allandale, who was then his only companion, was obliged to take shelter in a cavern which was shared by seven robbers. These men, however, were not ordinary outcasts; but like Charles himself, they had been obliged to hide because they had taken part in the insurrection. They willingly granted shelter to the fugitive, and recognising the prince for whom they had so often exposed their lives, they renewed to him their oaths of devotion. Among his most obedient and attached subjects, Charles Edward never found more zeal, fidelity, and effective help, than he met with at the hands of these men who had become the enemies of the world and of its laws. Wishing to give him all the assistance in their power, they undertook to procure him a suit of clothes, a change of linen, some provisions, and news. They executed their design with a strange mixture of that simplicity and ferocity which then formed the basis of the Highland character. Two of them lay in ambush for the servant of an officer who was going to Fort Augustine with his master’s baggage, and killed him. This was the means of furnishing the prince with clothes. Then another, in disguise, ventured to enter Fort Augustine, managed to obtain valuable information as to the movement of troops, and wishing to fulfil his mission of aid in all its integrity, brought away for the unfortunate prince a small piece of spiced bread of the value of a halfpenny. Charles Edward passed more than three weeks in this cave, and it was with great reluctance that his hosts suffered him to depart. “Stay with us,” they said. “The mountains of gold which the government has promised for your head will perhaps lead some gentleman to betray you; for it will be easy for him to go in a distant land, and live upon the price of his infamy. But we are under no such temptation. We know no other language but our own; we cannot live in any other country; and if we were to harm a hair of your head, our own mountains would fall upon us and crush us.” Another remarkable example of enthusiasm and devotion aided at about this time the escape of the prince. The son of a goldsmith of Edinburgh, named Robert Mackenzie, who had been an officer in the Jacobite army, was then hidden in the country of Glen Moriston. He was of about the same height as Charles, and he resembled him very much, both in face and figure. He was discovered by a party of soldiers, and attacked. He defended himself bravely; and wishing by a last effort of heroism to render his death useful to the cause he had served, he cried as he fell mortally wounded, “Oh, wretches, you have killed your prince!” His generous plan succeeded. He was taken for Charles Edward, and his head was sent to London. Some time elapsed before the deception was discovered; and as most persons believed that the real prince was killed, the government began to relax the rigour of its search. Profiting by this momentary respite, Charles Edward sought an interview with Lochiel, Cluny MacPherson, and some others of his faithful partisans said to be hidden in a neighbouring district. He therefore bid farewell to his faithful banditti, two of whom, however, he kept with him to serve as guides and as an escort. He at length succeeded in reaching Lochiel and MacPherson, though not without running very great risks. They lived for some time in a hut called the cage, sheltered by a very thick copse on the slope of the mountain Benalder. But they were in the midst of abundance; and for the first time since his flight the prince had enough to eat.

Towards the middle of September, Charles Edward learned that two French frigates had arrived at Loch Lannagh to convey him to France. He embarked on the twentieth, with a hundred of his partisans, and touched the coast of Brittany on the twenty-ninth, at a spot near Morlaix. For five months he had wandered a fugitive; leading a precarious life in the midst of fatigues and of dangers surpassing anything recorded in history. During this time his secret had been confided to hundreds of persons of both sexes, of all ages, and of all conditions, without one of them, even among the thieves who lived at the risk of their lives, having for a moment thought of enriching himself with the wages of the informer.