see the next move in the game.  The carriage stopped full in the moonlight, near the margin of the water.  A signal was given by the cavalier, and in response the long black shadow of a man-of-war’s galley shot from behind a creek of rocks, and pulled straight for the spot where the carriage stood.  Her stern was backed towards the shore.  A lady alighted from the carriage, and as she descended the doctor observed that she bore in her arms some object which she held with great solicitation.  An officer at the same time leaped from the boat and hastened towards the travellers.  The doctor did not discern his face, but, from the glimmer of the moonlight upon his shoulders, saw that he wore double epaulettes.  It may therefore be conjectured that this was Commodore O’Haleran himself.  He made a brief but profound salute to the lady, and led her towards the galley.  Then, says the doctor,—­

“As they approached the lady unfolded her mantle, and I heard the faint cry of an infant, and distinguished for a moment the glisten of a little white mantle and cap, as she laid her charge in the arms of her companion.  The officer immediately lifted her into the boat, and as soon as she was seated the cavalier delivered to her the child; and, folding it carefully in her cloak, I heard her half-suppressed voice lulling the infant from its disturbance.  A brief word and a momentary grasp of the hand passed between the lady and the cavalier; and, the officer lifting his hat, the boat pushed off, the oars fell in the water, and the galley glided down the creek with a velocity that soon rendered her but a shadow in the grey tide.  In a few minutes I lost sight of her altogether; but I still distinguished the faint measured plash of the oars, and the feeble wail of the infant’s voice float along the still water.

“For some moments I thought I had seen the last of the little bark, which seemed to venture, like an enchanted skiff, into that world of black waters.  But suddenly I caught a glimpse of the narrow boat, and the dark figures of the men, gliding across the bright stream of moonlight upon the tide; an instant after a faint gleam blinked on the white mantle of the lady and the sparkle of the oars, but it died away by degrees, and neither sound nor sight returned again.

“For more than a quarter of an hour the tall black figure of the cavalier continued fixed upon the same spot and in the same attitude; but suddenly the broad gigantic shadow of the frigate swung round in the moonshine, her sails filled to the breeze, and, dimly brightening in the light, she bore off slow and still and stately towards the west.”

So much for the birth.  Doctor Beaton, at least, says that Louisa de Stolberg, the lawful wife of the young pretender, gave birth to a child at St. Rosalie in 1773, and that it was carried away three days afterwards in the British frigate “Albina,” by Commodore O’Haleran.