The memoirs of the son of a Highland Jacobite who died at Culloden offer an unusual perspective on the period. John Macdonald was the second youngest of a family of five. When their mother died, their father joined Prince Charles’s army, and was last heard of by letter from Goolen’s Inn and Livery Stables in the Canongate in Edinburgh. One child was taken in by a local family, but the other four were left in the care of a maid who soon went off with her lover.
My sister had it in her head to go to Edinburgh, to see my father. She got all the money she could get together, which was fourteen pounds Scots, or twenty-three shillings and four-pence English. With this, the letter from my father in her bosom, and her three brothers in her hand, out she sets for Edinburgh, from the parish of Urquhart, about the middle of September, 1745. Now our ages were as follows: Kitty, fourteen; Duncan, that was left with Boyd, between ten and eleven; Daniel, seven; I, four and a half; and my brother Alexander, two years and a half. She chose for her departure a moonlight night, that the people should not stop her; and so she got into Inverness about breakfast, having travelled nine miles. My sister carried the child on her back, Daniel carried the bundle, and I ran along side of both. In this manner we travelled from Inverness to Edinburgh, which is one hundred and fifty measured miles, in the pace of two months.
Now you shall see the providence of God towards helpless orphans that are left to his care alone. As we travelled, we were the surprise of every one, as we were so young. Our money being expended, we were obliged to beg our bread. We were kindly used by some and harshly by others that were against the Prince. One kind woman equipped us with a little bag for oatmeal, for people that would not take us in would give us a handful of meal. She gave us a round wooden dish also, which my sister put our pottage in when she met with good people that would let her bake it or bake cakes of oatmeal on their grid-iron. The chief of our food was pottage and milk, or cakes and milk; and sometimes, if we met with good friends at a farmhouse, we got a bit of meat. If it rained, we waited at a farmhouse sometimes for two or three days. On the journey we had two things to recommend us, although begging from house to house: the things we had on were all plaid, and of the finest kind, for an extravagant father cares not what he buys. Our apparel looked like that of a gentleman’s children, and we had a great share of beauty …
We never marched when it rained, if it had been two or three days; and, on a fine sun-shining day, we played on the road till near night, when we continued to shuffle forward. If we could not reach a house, my sister would cover us with our plaids, and cut the tops of brooms with her knife to lay on and cover our plaids. In this manner we lay at nights for weeks, and always set off in the morning. When we had any brook to cross, or small river, my sister would carry over my young brother, then come for me, and afterwards come back to take my brother’s hand. One time, as she was wading a river with Alexander, when she came near the other side, the water overpowered her and carried her and my brother into a whirlpool, where they floated, till a man who was digging potatoes at a little distance saw her distress, and ran to her relief …
When it was fine weather and we came to a rivulet, my sister washed our second shirt and stockings, for we either had no more at first, or else she did not chuse to bring any more with her. When we came to a river where was a ferry-boat, we begged our passage over. Then we came to Perth, where we stayed a week or two. The letter from my father was now so worn, with fretting and chaffing, that it was scarce legible; but a gentleman made shift to copy it for us afresh. From Perth we travelled to Kinghorn, where we staid a few days till we could get our passage to Leith. A gentleman who was a passenger in the same boat with us, paid our fare. Before we left the boat the same gentleman made a collection for us. He raised half-a-crown. As we passed through Leith we went into an eating-house, and had plenty of bread, meat and broth, for five-pence. In those days a working-man could dine well for two-pence. After dinner, we set out for Edinburgh on a fine walk, a mile and a half in length.
Now, my readers, let me tell you, that for what I have wrote hitherto I have been obliged to my sister; for I was too young to remember it. As we were passing onward to Edinburgh by Leith Walk, a countrywoman of ours spoke to us, and asked my sister where we were going and from whence we came. My sister told her. She answered that Prince Charles was gone from Edinburgh, and all his army with him. On hearing this, we sat down and cried; and the woman cried out of pity. Then she took us to Goolen’s Inn. Mr Goolen and every one in the house was surprised and sorry to see us in such a situation. Mr Goolen gave us some victuals, and told my sister he would get us into the workhouse.… My sister would not hear of the workhouse, nor of any confinement, but took us away immediately. We strayed down towards the bottom of the Canongate, staring at the signs, coaches, and fine horses. At the house below the Duke of Queensberry’s, in the Canongate, a woman who stood at the door, seeing us strangers, and in the Highland dress, took us in, and asked us several questions concerning our situation.… She was a widow and let lodgings; her husband, before he died was a master-chairman, of the name of Macdonald, born near the place where we were born. The woman let us sleep in a lumber garret on an old mattress, and gave us an old blanket or two.
Next morning we set out again, and returned at night; and in this manner continued to live for some time.… Brother Daniel and I, when we got up one day in the morning, went out to play with the boys, and would not be kept under command by my sister, who had the young child to take care of; so that, in the day-time, we were seldom together. We went on in this manner for some time, till an unlucky accident happened, which separated us all. One day, as the Countess of Murray, who resided in the Canongate, was returning from an airing with her coach-and-six, my sister and the child on her back, crossing the street, were both run over by the carriage. My sister and brother screaming for fear, and the people calling ‘Stop! stop!’, made the Countess faint away. Kitty and Alexander were taken from under the horses, and, as God would have it, no bones were broken. They were both taken into the lady’s house, and duly taken care of. When they recovered, the boy was put to nurse by Lady Murray; and one Mr Vernon, an Englishman who had been butler to Lord Murray and by him placed in a good office in the Excise, took my sister for a servant, and clothed her. Thus my sister and Alexander were done for. As to Daniel and me, we both of us begged, and played our time away; strolling round the country, and stopping sometimes in the barnyards, and at other times in a barn. In town we lay in the stairs; for about Edinburgh, as in Paris and Madrid, many large families live upon one staircase. They shut their own door, but the street-door is always open. There was an opinion at that time very prevalent amongst us poor children, of whom, after the Rebellion there were a great many, that the doctors came at night to find poor children asleep, and put sticking-plasters to their mouth, that they might not call out, and then to take them away to be dissected.… So when we passed the night in a stair or at a door one slept and the other kept watch.
John Macdonald went on to serve as a valet, footman and hairdresser to the nobility throughout Europe. He made his name as the pioneer of the umbrella in London.