Samuel and his family. They had 'no other food than oatmeal, and
no other drink than the water of the stream which ran through the glen.
We breakfasted every morning on a piece of oatmeal bread which we were
enabled to swallow by draughts of water; for dinner we boiled oatmeal
with water, till it acquired a consistency, and we ate it with horn
spoons; in the evening, we poured boiling water on this meal in a dish,
for our supper.'[18] Even this frugal diet could not be swallowed long
in peace, for shortly after their arrival, Samuel's daughter, who lived
at the mouth of the glen, came to inform her father that some English
troops had been seen in the neighbourhood, and whenever there was any
chance of their appearing in the glen Johnstone and his friends had to
take refuge in the mountains.

One day this woman arrived with the news that the soldiery were hovering
dangerously near, and had taken several notable prisoners. Upon this the
fugitives decided to leave their shelter at daybreak the following
morning and to make the best of their way to the Highlands, where they
would be sure of finding some rocks and caverns to hide them from their
foes.

This resolution once taken, they all went early to bed, and there
Johnstone had a dream which he relates with many apologies for his
superstition. He fancied himself in Edinburgh safe from the snares of
his enemies, and with no fears for the future, and describing his
adventures and escapes since the battle of Culloden to his old friend
Lady Jane Douglas. The impression of peace and happiness and relief from
anxiety was so strong that it remained with him after he woke, and
after lying turning the matter over in his mind for another hour,
informed Samuel (who had come to rouse him with the intelligence that
his companions had already set off for the mountains) that he had
altered his plans and intended to go straight to Edinburgh. In vain the
old man argued and entreated. Johnstone was determined, and that same
evening he set forth on horseback with Samuel for his guide, and made
straight for the nearest arm of the sea, which he describes, though
quite wrongly, as being only eight miles from Cortachy.

To reach this, they were obliged to pass through Forfar, a town which,
being a Calvinistic stronghold, the Chevalier can never mention without
an abusive epithet. But here poor Samuel, whose nerves had doubtless
been strained by the perpetual watching and waiting of the last f