ant were at this time living in a hut in a
wood close to Loch Arkaig. It was early on the morning of August 25, the
Prince and young Clunes were asleep in the hut, while Patrick Grant kept
watch. He must have got drowsy, for waking with a start he saw a party
of men approaching. He rushed into the hut and roused the Prince and his
companion. Charles had long lived in expectation of such moments. He
kept his presence of mind completely, decided that it was too late to
fly, and prepared to defend himself. The fowling-pieces were loaded and
got into position, and they very nearly received their friends with a
volley. Dr. Cameron in his narrative describes the Prince's appearance
thus: 'He was barefoot; had an old black kilt coat on and philibeg and
waistcoat, a dirty shirt and a long red beard, a gun in his hand and a
pistol and dirk at his side; still he was very cheerful and in good
health.'

Another week they all waited in the neighbourhood of Auchnacarry (the
ruined home of the Lochiels). At last a message reached them from
Benalder that the passes were free and that they might safely try to
join Lochiel. Having parted with his devoted friend Glenaladale, who
returned to the coast, the Prince, with Dr. Cameron and Lochgarry,
arrived on August 30 at Mellaneuir, at the foot of Benalder. People in
hiding have no means of discriminating their friends from their enemies
at a little distance. Lochiel seeing a considerable party approaching
believed that he was discovered and determined to make a good fight for
it. He as narrowly missed shooting Charles as Charles had missed
shooting Dr. Cameron the week before. When, however, he recognised the
figure in the coarse brown coat, the shabby kilt, and the rough red
beard, he hobbled to the door and wanted to receive the Prince on his
knees. 'My dear Lochiel,' remonstrated Charles as he embraced him, 'you
don't know who may be looking down from these hills.'

In the hut there was a sufficiency of mutton, beef sausages, bacon,
butter, cheese, &c., and an anker of whisky, and the Prince was almost
overwhelmed by such an excess of luxury. 'Now, gentlemen,' he said with
a cheerful air, 'now I _live like a Prince_.' Charles's wardrobe was as
usual most dilapidated, and Cluny's three sisters set at once to work to
make him a set of six shirts with their own fair hands, doubtless sewing
the most passionate loyalty and infinite regret into their 'seams.'

The hiding-place where the Prin