n his boyhood in Italy the Prince had been a keen
sportsman, and had purposely inured himself to fatigue and privations.
These habits stood him now in good stead; he could rival even the
light-footed Highlanders on long marches over rough ground; the
coarsest and scantiest meals never came amiss to him; he could sleep on
the hard ground or lie hid in bogs for hours with a stout heart and a
cheerful spirit.

Here on the night of Saturday, the 19th, among the mountains that
surround Loch Morar, no better shelter could be found than a shieling
used for shearing sheep.

The next day, Sunday, the 20th, they came down to the coast and found
refuge in the hospitable house of Borodale, belonging to Mr. Angus
Macdonald, a clansman of Clanranald's. Nine months before, when the
Prince had landed from France and had thrown himself without arms or
following on the loyalty of his Highland friends, this Angus Macdonald
had been proud to have him as his guest. One of his sons, John, had
joined the Prince's army and had fought under his own chief, young
Clanranald. This young man was at this time supposed to have been killed
at Culloden, though in fact he had escaped unhurt. When the Prince,
therefore, entered this house of mourning he went up to Mrs. Macdonald
and asked her with tears in his eyes if she could endure the sight of
one who had caused her such distress. 'Yes,' said the high-hearted old
Highland-woman, 'I would be glad to have served my Prince though all my
sons had perished in his service, for in so doing they would only have
done their duty.'[5]

While resting here at Borodale, Charles sent his final orders to the
remnant of his gallant army, which under their chiefs had drawn to a
head at Ruthven. They were to disperse, he wrote, and secure their own
safety as best they could; they must wait for better times, when he
hoped to return bringing foreign succours. Heartbreaking orders these
were for the brave men who had lost all in the Prince's cause, and who
were now proscribed and homeless fugitives.

Charles and the handful of men who accompanied him had expected that,
once safely arrived at the coast, their troubles would be over and the
way to France clear. But at Borodale they learned that the Western seas
swarmed with English ships of war and with sloops manned by the local
militia. A thorough search was being made of every bay and inlet of the
mainland, and of every island, even to the Outer Hebrides, and further