After the conclusion of his tale, Rob gave the harper a piece of Spanish gold, and permitted him to pursue his own way. The MacGregors saw him no more; he was killed three years after, in the September of 1722, when, by some of the MacKenzies, a party of the king's troops under a captain MacNeil were lured into an ambush, and so severely handled that they were compelled to retire to Inverness in great disorder.
The day after Gillian left them saw the MacGregors traversing Glenstrae, a wild and romantic valley which opens at the northern base of Stronmiolchoin, a lonely mountain that forms the eastern boundary of Glenorchy.
All these were possessions of which the clan had been deprived; and there every hill and rock, every thicket and ruin, was connected with some tradition of the past and of Clan Alpine.
The glen was desolate and lonely; for it had long since been swept of its people by the hostile tribes who had leagued against them.
"Seid svas do piob, vich Alpine!" ("Strike up your pipe, son of Alpine!") said Rob Roy, as they approached a mass of ruined walls which rose on a gentle eminence in the glen. "Here, to-day, let us remember the true and faithful dead, who bequeathed to us the task of avenging them!"
Then in the still and silent valley the wild lament of the MacGregors rang mournfully and shrill, as Rob and his men, with their swords drawn, advanced slowly to the ruins deisail-wise—by the way of the sun's course,—and marched thrice round them, and then departed, but with many a frowning glance and backward look.
This was the ruined residence of the chief, Alaster Roy of Glenstrae, before the clan had been broken up and suppressed. It had been destroyed amid the events subsequent to the battle of Glenfruin. At the time of which we write a portion of the walls were standing; now their foundations can scarcely be discerned above the blooming heather.
With these old ruins is connected a tradition of the clan which exhibits some of the strongest traits of the old Highland character.
Alaster Roy MacGregor of Glenstrae had but one son, a brave and handsome youth, named Evan, to whom he was deeply attached, and whom, as the future heir of all his possessions, he trained up with peculiar care, leaving nothing undone to make him perfect as a soldier and huntsman.
One day when Evan was deerstalking among the mountains he met the young Laird of Lamond, who, with two attendants, was travelling from Cowal towards the king's castle of Inverlochy, and they dined together at a little inn or changehouse, near the Blackmount at the mouth of Glencoe.
After dinner a dispute occurred; hot words ensued, for both were passionate and fiery in spirit; and, drawing his dirk, young Lamond killed Evan MacGregor by a single blow, and he fell across the table at which they had been seated.
Horrified at what he had done, Lamond leaped from a window and fled, but was pursued by Dugald Ciar Mhor and other MacGregors, who first made short work with his two attendants.
The flight and pursuit were maintained on foot; and with Lamond, who knew that he would be instantly sacrificed if taken, fear added wings to his speed, so that ultimately he outstripped the friends of him he had slain.
Ignorant of whither he went, as night was closing he found himself in a lonely glen, where at the base of a mountain stood a tower, at the gate of which he breathlessly demanded shelter, succour, and rest.
On being admitted, he asked what place this was?
"Stronmiolchoin—the house of Glenstrae!" replied the wondering gateward.
"The dwelling of Alaster Roy?"
"Yes."
"Then I am lost—utterly lost!" exclaimed the unhappy Lamond, as he sank exhausted on a seat.
"Lost! how—what mean you?" asked the laird of Glenstrae, coming hurriedly forward. "Who are you?"
"The son of Lamond of that Ilk."
"By whom are you pursued, that my house will fail to afford you succour?" asked Glenstrae.
"I am pursued by MacGregors," replied the sinking fugitive, "and I beseech you, by all the claims of hospitality and compassion, and by your authority, to save me from them."
"You are safe," said Alaster, kissing the blade of his dirk; "but what have you done—whom have you slain?"
"Whom?" reiterated Lamond, in a hollow voice.
"Yes; there is blood upon your hands, and on the hilt of your dirk."
"Alas!" said Lamond, and paused.
"Speak! for you are safe in the house of Glenstrae, whatever you have done," said the chief impetuously; but the unhappy fugitive clasped his hands, for a din of voices rang at the tower gate, and Dugald Ciar Mhor, with other pursuers, came rushing in, bearing with them the body of Evan, and after informing the unfortunate father of what had occurred, they loudly demanded that the assassin should be surrendered unto them.
"I have passed my word to protect him, and I must respect it, even in this moment of agony!" replied Glenstrae, while the tears rolled over his face; "never shall it be said that a MacGregor broke his word, even to an enemy!"
In their rage and sorrow for what had occurred, his wife and daughter besought him to yield the fugitive to the clansmen, that they might put him to death; but Glenstrae stood over him with his sword drawn, and said,—
"Let no man here dare to lay a hand upon him! MacGregor has promised him safety, and by the soul of my only and beloved son, whom he has slain, he shall be safe while under the roof of Glenstrae—safe as if beneath his own!"
And before the interment of Evan, when the sorrow and the angry passions of the assembled clan would be roused to their full height, the chief, with a chosen party, escorted young Lamond far across the mountains, and almost to within sight of his home in Cowal.
"Farewell, Lamond," said he, gravely and sternly; "on your own land you are now safe. Farther I will not and cannot protect you. Avoid my people, lest your father may have to endure the sorrow that wrings this heart of mine; and may God forgive you the woe you have brought on the house of Glenstrae!"
In a few years after this, the Field of Glenfruin was fought; the castle of Stronmiolchoin was destroyed, and Master of Glenstrae, then an aged man, and all his people were proscribed fugitives.
Homeless, nameless, and a wanderer, with the severe parliamentary acts of James VI. hanging over his head, the laird of Glenstrae had to lurk in the caves and woods among the glens that had once been his own, till he was captured by Sir James Campbell of Ardkinlass, from whom ne made an escape, and fled to Cowal, a peninsula of Argyle, that stretches far into the Firth of Clyde.
Here the young laird of Lamond found the poor old man, and received and protected him in his house, with many other fugitives of the Clan Gregor, saving them from Archibald Earl of Argyle and other powerful enemies.
To the earl, Glenstrae at last yielded himself, on the solemn promise that he should be sent out of Scottish ground—a promise which was truly but fearfully kept!
He was marched as far as the English side of Berwick, under an escort of the Scottish Horse Guard, commanded by David Murray, Lord Scone, and then brought back to Edinburgh, where, with eighteen devoted men of his surname, he was hanged on the 20th of January, 1604.
"Being a chief," says Birrel, "he was hanged his own height above the rest of his friends."
It was the memory of severities such as these, together with their local position, that fostered a spirit of resentment and ferocious resistance to all civil law in the tribe of MacGregor.
"When I asked a very learned minister in the Highlands," says Dr. Johnson, "which he considered the most savage clans,those, said he,which live next the Lowlands."
This was the mere force of circumstances and position; and hence the most warlike and predatory of the Lowland clans were those of the borders adjoining England.
"Rob Roy had two especial qualities," says the "New Picture of Scotland" (published in 1807): "he spent his revenue generously, and was a true friend to the widow and the orphan."
On his return to Portnellan, he now hoped that, by the treasure which he had judiciously distributed among his people, they might, if the persecution of them ceased, stock their little farms and take to cattle-dealing, that they might all live in ease and comfort, and that his sons might learn some of the arts of peace without forgetting those of war.
Soon after his return from Glensheil, Rob heard that Grahame of Killearn, who always treated the tenantry of Montrose with great severity, had sequestrated, or distrained, the cows and furniture of a poor woman who lived near the Highland border.
As she was a widow, and more especially as she was the widow of Eoin Raibach, who had fallen at the storming of Inversnaid, he immediately visited her cottage, and she burst into tears when she beheld him, exclaiming,—
"MacGregor,mo comraich ort!" (my protection is thee.)
"And never was that appeal made to me in vain by the poor," replied Rob; "I shall be your buckler and your sword of vengeance if requisite, widow. How much do you owe Killearn?"
"Three hundred marks; for which he has seized upon my two cows, the food of my children—my spinning-wheel, which gives them clothing—our beds and everything."
"When comes he here?" asked Rob, grimly.
"To-morrow; to-morrow will see us desolate and forlorn."
"Not so, widow. Here are the three hundred marks; pay the greedy vulture, and be sure that you get a receipt duly signed."
Duly as the morrow came, the legal messengers of Killearn arrived, with carts to convey away the chattels of the widow, who paid them, and received a receipt; but about a mile distant from her house, they were met by Rob Roy, who, with a cocked pistol in his hand, forced them to hand over the money to him. He then gave them a severe beating with a heavy stick, advised them to choose another trade than the law, and returned the three hundred marks to the widow.
We are told that, under circumstances nearly similar, he relieved a tenant on the Montrose lands who was three years in arrear of rent. When the poor farmer offered to repay Rob's loan, the latter replied,—
"No, no; I will get it back from Grahame of Killearn—yes, every farthing, by Patrick of the Holy Crook! so keep the money, farmer."
MacGregor now leased some pasture-lands further among the mountains, in that place with which his name is much associated, the braes of Balquhidder, a name which signifies the dwelling-place where five glens open.
He occupied the farmhouse of Inverlochluvig, at the head of the braes, where there was excellent pasture for black-cattle and sheep; and there was born, in 1724, his youngest son, Robin Oig, whose stirring story and sad fate created a deep interest in future years.
Like all his brothers, young Robin was baptized in water brought by Paul Crubach from the holy well of St. Fillan; and during the ceremony was held over his father's broadsword, for it was a Highland superstition that the voices of children who died without receiving this warlike consecration were heard faintly wailing in the woods and other lonely places at night.
Robin grew a sturdy but wild young Highlander; and afterwards bore that sword with honour in the ranks of the 42nd Regiment.
At Muirlaggan, in Balquhidder, Rob built a comfortable house for his mother, then a very aged woman; and he began to hope that the government troops, the civil authorities, Athole, Montrose, and Killearn, had forgotten him, and that he would be permitted to spend a few years of his life in peace; but he hoped in vain!
To the land he now leased or occupied in Balquhidder he had an hereditary claim, as a descendant of Dugald Ciar Mhor; but the MacLarens of Invernentie had some similar right, and ere long this proved the cause of much strife and bloodshed.
With great generosity Rob offered a portion of his share of the Spanish treasure to redeem another bond which a neighbouring proprietor held over the lands of his nephew, MacGregor of Glengyle.
Hamish MacLaren of Invernentie had lent a sum of money to Glengyle, and by the tenor of the bond, the lands so held, or named therein, "if the money was not repaid within ten years, were to beforfeited to the lender, though the sum was less than half their value."
Knowing well that the utmost advantage would be taken of this unjust contract, Rob Roy gave his nephew money sufficient to repay Invernentie.
As the bond had but a few months now to run, Glengyle, with gratitude and joy, hastened to his creditor and offered the money so generously lent by his uncle.
Hamish MacLaren was a man of rough and forbidding exterior, with a low forehead and black eyebrows that were thick, shaggy, and joined in one. His face was one of the lowest of the Celtic type, and consequently expressed intense cunning, falsehood, and cruelty. He received Glengyle coldly—all the more so, perhaps, because he was a near kinsman of that MacLaren whom MacAleister had flung into the millrace at Comar.
"I cannot take the money," said he, bluntly.
"How—wherefore?" asked the other, with surprise.
"Because I cannot find our bond."
"It must and shall be found!" said Glengyle, impetuously.
"Must andshall!"
"Yes; there are but three months to run."
"Only three months?" repeated the other, with affected surprise.
"Yes—we have no time to lose."
"After the date at which the bond expires your lands will be forfeited to me."
"How can you prove that if the bond be lost?"
"Ha, ha! it is recorded in the books of the sheriff of the county. My friend Killearn looked to that."
"Here is your money—principal and interest," said Glengyle, crimsoned with fury; "bond or no bond, take it and give me a receipt in full, or woe unto you, Invernentie!"
But MacLaren was too wary either to accede or to lose his temper. By an exertion of cunning and flattery, he contrived to cajole Glengyle, who promised to wait until the actual bond could be found; and for the three following months MacLaren kept sedulously out of his way, avoiding all visits, and receiving all messages and letters with studied silence; and on the very day on which the stated time expired, he took legal means to get himselfinfeftin the lands which he alleged to be forfeited. At the same time, through Grahame of Killearn, he served notices upon young MacGregor to remove from these lands, with his family, tenants, and cattle, within eight days.
These proceedings were rendered darker by the circumstance that Glengyle was labouring under a severe illness, which made him totally incapable of defending himself.
Rob Roy was filled with rage on hearing of these lawless proceedings against his nephew; for to him they seemed but a repetition of those severities to which he had been subjected by Montrose.
"Greumoch," said he, "we cannot suffer Glengyle to be treated thus; get our lads together, and we shall teach Invernentie a lesson he is not likely to forget."
Theladswere soon collected, and at the head of two hundred of them Rob marched into Strathfillan, whither, he heard, MacLaren of Invernentie had gone to attend a fair which is usually held there on the 3rd of July.
He traversed the vast extent of the fair—for the strath was covered with great herds of cattle—searching in vain for Invernentie, until he ascertained that, having sold all his stock, he had taken his way homeward through Glendochart.
In those days nothing was paid for pasturing cattle; but as roads were made, fields inclosed, and grass became valuable, the armed drovers were forced to bargain for it in their routes to those fairs, and more especially to Falkirk and Carlisle—innovations which they bitterly hated.
A rapid march over the hills brought Rob and his men upon the homeward path, at a point where it is joined by the road from Tyndrum, some time before Invernentie could possibly have passed. Rob was assured of this, and ere long he saw a party of armed men, some of whom were mounted, coming along that beautiful valley which the Dochart traverses in its course to the Tay.
That the men on foot were well equipped was evident, for the long barrels of their Spanish muskets glittered in the sunshine, which streamed athwart the winding valley, bathing in gold and purple light the hills on one side, and casting into deep-blue shadow those on the other.
The travellers, who were about twenty in number, on seeing the MacGregors posted on the highway, began to prepare for service, by loading their muskets; the footmen unslung their targets; the horsemen loosened their swords in the sheaths, and looked to the priming of their pistols, as they all came briskly up; and on Rob Roy stepping forward to meet them, he found among the mounted men the identical laird of Invernentie whom he sought, with Campbell of Aberuchail, Stirling of Carden, and another gentleman whom he did not recognize, but who was followed closely by several well-armed gillies on foot.
"What does this meeting bode, MacGregor?" asked the baronet of Aberuchail; "peace or war?"
"That is as may be," replied Rob; "my present business is with Hamish MacLaren of Invernentie."
The latter smiled grimly, and under his black brows his keen, fierce, hazel eyes glared forth like those of a polecat, as he said,—
"You must first speak with one who has travelled a long way to see you, and who moreover is a friend of mine."
"A bad recommendation; but to whom do you refer?" asked MacGregor.
"He refers tome," said the strange traveller. "I have indeed come a long way to see you, MacGregor, and we meet most opportunely."
Rob surveyed the speaker with some surprise. He was a man of great stature and apparent strength, handsome, athletic, and in the prime of life. His sword, pistols, dirk, and powder-horn were richly mounted with silver; he had three feathers in his bonnet, indicating that he was a chief; but MacGregor recognized neither his badge nor his tartan.
"And who may you be, sir, that have been so desirous to see me?" he asked, haughtily.
"I am Roderick MacNeil of Barra," replied the other, on which Rob saluted him by uncovering his head; for the MacNeils of Barra were an old family in the Western Isles, famous for their antiquity—which dated back to the days of the first Scottish settlers—for their valour, and for their vanity: thus one of them, named Rory the Turbulent, who lived in the days of James VI., in the vastness of his Highland bombast, had a herald who proclaimed, in Gaelic, daily, from the summit of his castle,—
"Hear ye people, and listen all ye nations! MacNeil of Barra having finished his dinner, all the kings and princes of the earth have liberty to dine."
The chief who now confronted Rob Roy was considered one of the best swordsmen in Scotland; and certainly he was the first in his native Hebrides. He was possessed of a high spirit, with a romantic love of adventure. He had heard of Rob Roy's skill in the use of his weapons and his renown in arms; so he determined with his own hands to pub his skill and valour to the test.
"And so," said he, while surveying him from head to foot, "you are Rob Roy MacGregor, whom I have so long wished to meet."
"For what purpose?" asked the other, haughtily; "I never saw you before, MacNeil, and by your bearing I care little if I never see you again."
"I have heard much of your fame, MacGregor, and I have come hither—I, Roderick MacNeil of Barra—to prove myself a better swordsman than you!"
At these words he leaped from his horse, tossed the bridle to one of his gillies, and drew his sword and dirk.
"Roderick MacNeil," said Rob, calmly, "I have no doubt of your being what you assert—the Chief of Barra, and of a noble and ancient lineage; a better swordsman, and it may be a better man, than I; but I have no wish to prove it. My business is with Invernentie here, and I never fight a man without a reason. With you I have no quarrel; so keep your sword for the service of Scotland and her king."
"I do so keep my sword; but you must fight me, nevertheless," said the other, imperiously.
"Fie, sir!" replied Rob, whose temper was rising; "this is a bad trade you have taken to."
"Trade?"
"Dioul, yes!—molesting honest people on the open highway."
"Truly the taunt comes well from you—you, who have kept the whole Highland border in hot water since Dundee fell at Rin Ruari!"
On the face of MacLaren of Invernentie there was a malicious smile, which compelled Rob to seem calm; for he feared that if he fell in this impending conflict, his nephew's interest would infallibly suffer by the wiles and roguery of Invernentie and Killearn, especially if aided by the bad influence of Athole and Montrose.
"Barra," said he, "I never draw my sword without a just cause of quarrel. Go your way in peace, and leave me to pursue mine."
Then Barra is recorded to have taunted him by saying,—
"You are afraid—your valour is in words."
"You shall have more than words," replied MacGregor, furiously, as he unsheathed his sword. "You have come a long way to see me, and shall not go back without having done a portion of your errand. My hand is strong."
"And my sword sharp and sure."
"Neither sharper nor surer than mine, Barra," replied Rob Roy.
"That we shall see, MacGregor Campbell."
"And deeply shall you feel," said Rob, more than ever enraged at being named Campbell. "Greumoch," he added, "stand by the side of Invernentie, and if he attempts either escape or foul play, slice him down with your axe. And now, Barra, have at you!"
While all who were on the pathway which traversed the glen assembled in a large and excited circle around them, the two combatants engaged with great fury, and not a sound was heard but the clash of their blades and their deep breathing. Both were brave to the utmost, and both were equally skilled in the use of their weapons; but while sentiments of mere family pride and military bravado animated Barra, MacGregor was inspired by just indignation at being thus baited and molested by a total stranger, and forced into an unexpected duel, at a time so critical to the interests of his household and his nephew, who by illness was unable to protect himself.
Both were so exceedingly well matched in strength and skill, that for more than twenty minutes neither had in any way the advantage of the other, till Barra made a feint, and then a fierce thrust at Rob's bare throat; but he parried it by a circular whirl of his claymore, which nearly wrenched the other's weapon away.
During a second thrust Rob caught the blade of Barra in the iron loops of his basket-hilt, but being a younger man, the latter bounded agilely back, and released his sword in time to save it, ere Rob could snap the blade, or lock in and use his dirk.
After a time Barra's sword shook in his hand and bent—it was soon full of deep notches; and fatigue rendered his arm weary, He was compelled to give ground step by step, till at last MacGregor tossed aside his shield, and throwing all his strength into one tremendous double-handed stroke, beat down his guard, snapped his blade like a withered reed, and gave him a wound so severe that he "nearly cut off his sword-arm, which confined him to the village of Killearn for three months."
"When next we meet," cried Barra, as he fell into the arms of Stirling of Carden, "our parting shall be different!"
But, fortunately, they never chanced to meet again.
Great was the exultation of the MacGregors, and with wild halloos of triumph they crowded about their leader, who, with his characteristic generosity, was one of the first to proffer assistance to the wounded chief.
As the parties separated, Invernentie was whipping up his Highland garron, preparatory to taking a speedy leave, when Greumoch inserted the hook of his Lochaber axe in the collar of his coat, and roughly tumbled him on the roadway.
Enraged by such treatment, MacLaren drew his dirk, and was rushing on his captor, when the latter charged the pikehead of the axe full at his breast, and would have killed him without mercy, but for the interference of Campbell of Aberuchail and Rob Roy, who desired his followers to seize and convey him to a small inn which stood at the head of the strath; and there, as night was closing, MacLaren found himself abandoned by his companions, helpless, and a prisoner of the easily exasperated MacGregors, all somewhat excitable Celts,
whose patienceWas apt to wear out on trifling occasions.
Hamish MacLaren, a dark, fierce, and resolute fellow, asked Rob Roy, sternly, "for what purpose he had been separated from his friends, disarmed, and brought as a prisoner to this solitary house?"
"Because, in the first place," said Rob, calmly, "I wish to speak with you; and, in the second place, to punish you if you do not take my advice."
"In what matter—dioul!—in what matter?" demanded MacLaren, knitting his black brows till his gleaming eyes were almost hidden by them.
"The matter of the bond——"
"Which I hold over the lands of Grahame of Glengyle?"
"No; I know nothing ofthatdocument," replied Rob, twirling one of his pistols ominously round his forefinger by the trigger guard.
"Then to what do you refer?"
"To the bond which you allege to hold over the lands of my sick nephew, GregorMacGregorof Glengyle."
"Well—well?"
"Hamish MacLaren of Invernentie," said Rob, making a great effort to appear calm, "I have here the money to release this bond."
"But I decline it—the time has expired," said MacLaren, doggedly.
"It may have expirednow," said Rob Roy; "but it had not expired when, more than three months ago, Glengyle offered you the money, principal and interest."
"I told him——"
"A falsehood—a black lie, Invernentie! You told him the bond was lost, when it was, and still is, in your charter-box; and now I swear, by the Grey Stone of MacGregor, that until you produce that bond, we part not company, in life at least!"
MacLaren's breast swelled with rage and spite. His face grew ashy white, and the veins of his forehead were swollen like whipcord, with the baffled avarice and passion he strove in vain to conceal.
"Allow me to return to Invernentie," said he, in a husky voice and with averted eyes, "and I shall send hither the bond, if I can find it."
"Nay, we part not company until it is producedhere; and if that fails to be done, you shall go back to Invernentie heels foremost."
"How mean you?"
"In your coffin," replied MacGregor, with a dark and terrible frown.
Aware that he had to deal with one who did not stand on trifles, MacLaren, apprehensive for the result, agreed that two of his servants (who had ventured to the inn), accompanied by Coll and Greumoch, should go to the house of Invernentie and get the bond, while he remained as Rob's hostage in Strathfillan.
They were absent some time, as Invernentie (which means the conflux of dark waters) was several miles distant; but on the evening of the second day they returned with the bond, and placed it in the hands of MacLaren, who, without opening it, tossed it across the table to Rob Roy, saying, sullenly,—
"Here is your precious document, and now let me begone."
"Not quite so fast—tarry, I pray you," said Rob, as he read over the paper, examined it in every particular, tore it into minute fragments, and scattered them over the clay floor of the room.
"Now," he added, "here is the money of Glengyle."
"I shall record the discharge of the debt in the books of the sheriff," said MacLaren, rising and putting on his bonnet.
"You and the sheriff may do exactly as you please," said Rob; "in fact you have my full permission to hang yourselves, if it suits your fancy; but, in the meantime, give me a discharge in full for the money which you lent my nephew, GregorMacGregorof Glengyle."
Invernentie, who had some other roguish scheme in his head, most unwillingly wrote and signed the required quittance, which Rob carefully read, folded, and put in his pocket, togetherwith the bag of money, telling him that now he would not pay him a farthing—"that the sum lost was too small a fine for the outrage he had attempted to perpetrate in form of law, and that he might be thankful that he escaped with a sound skin."
They separated. MacLaren was choking with resentment, and vowed to have a terrible revenge; but Rob and his men merely laughed at him, as they marched off towards their new home on the braes of Balquhidder.
Rob having retired further north-west, was living in comparative peace and ease at Balquhidder, though ever armed, watchful, and on the alert; but now his old and wanton enemy, the Duke of Athole—an enemy despite the cavalier sentiments of Tullibardine and his other sons, and the sympathies of the gentle Duchess Katherine—during the middle of 1724, made no less thanthreevigorous attempts to capture him, for he was still outlawed, and the warrants for his apprehension were yet in full force against him, with ample rewards for those who could achieve this hitherto perilous and difficult task. Of Athole's final attempts we shall briefly relate the success.
In retaliation for the trick so basely played him at the castle of Blair, Rob had certainly more than once ravaged the estates of the Duke of Athole, carried off the cattle, and put to the sword several Drummonds who resisted.
Though he had drawn these reprisals on himself, Athole could as little forgive such proceedings as his Grace of Montrose; and on his return from a visit to London he secretly despatched a party of Lord Polworth's Light Horse up the glens to Balquhidder, at a time when most of the MacGregors were absent at fairs, or on the mountains herding cattle.
MacLaren of Invernentie is said to have given them exact information of Rob's movements, for they came upon him most unexpectedly, during a fine summer evening when he was superintending a few of his people, who were cutting turf with theceaba, a long, narrow spade of peculiar form, used by the Highlanders and Irish. Suddenly there was a cry of—
"The Redcoats! the Redcoats!" and the women threw down their keallochs, or creels, as a party of troopers, on light active horses, dashed round the shoulder of a rocky ridge, and came pellmell among them, with swords flashing in the sunshine.
Rob had only three men with him, and save their dirks, each was armed only with a turf-spade. While he swung one of these implements aloft, to use it like a poleaxe, resolved on making a desperate defence, its shaft was shattered in his hand, as a trooper adroitly broke it by a pistol-shot, and then spurred his horse right over him.
Rob lost his dirk, but plunged his skene-dhu deep into the bowels of the animal, which reared wildly and threw his rider head downward into the soft bog, where his spurred jack-boots stood upper-most in the air.
Beaten down again under a shower of sword-blades and clubbed carbines, MacGregor was made prisoner. He was then mounted on a horse and carried off, amid the yells, screams, and lamentations of the women. He was threatened with instant death if he attempted to resist or escape; and, fortunately, on this occasion, they were without a rope to bind him; but the officer in command, an Irish captain, held a cocked pistol in his right hand, and rode by the side of the prisoner.
"Remember," said he, "that yourheadmay be more easily carried than your body, if you prove troublesome. Forward—away for Stirling—away at full speed!" were the orders; and the Light Horse disappeared with MacGregor, while the turf-cutters flew to arms and to muster others for rescue and revenge.
This, however, was unnecessary; for, when passing through a glen or ravine which lies between the church of Balquhidder and Glendochart, at a place where, on the side of the former, the ground is steep and rugged, but on the latter has a long and gradual slope towards the Dochart, Rob suddenly wrenched away the Irishman's pistol, which exploded in the air, and slipping over his horse's crupper, sprang up the rocks, where not a single trooper could follow him.
Enraged by the sudden escape of his prisoner, the officer spurred his horse till the steel rowels tore the flesh; it bounded madly upward against the rocks, and fell back upon its haunches, half-stunning its rider; and to this day the place bears the name ofShiam an Erinich, or the "Irishman's Leap."
A few days after this, Rob escaped again by mere coolness and presence of mind, when in Glenalmond he encountered the same party of Polworth's Light Horse, who instantly knew and greeted him with a shout; while some drew their swords, others loaded their carbines, and all spurred their horses on. Rob was quite alone; he had been separated from his eldest son and followers, with twenty of whom he had been purchasing cattle at a neighbouring fair.
No succour was near. The place of thisrencontreis a savage and solitary pass, overlooked by hills about fourteen hundred feet in height, the steep sides being pressed so close together as barely to leave space at the bottom for a narrow path and the brawling river's bed. On their sides some meagre shrubs sprout from the fissured rocks, beneath the shadow of which the Almond looks sombre, dark, and inky, save when churned into brown foam, as it thunders over a linn, or chafes on the obstructing boulders.
At the upper end of this lonely pass stands a grey and time-worn block of stone, eight feet in height, which marks the grave of the Scottish Homer—Ossian, the son of Fingal.
In the wildest and narrowest path of this mountain gorge, Rob suddenly found himself confronted, about nightfall, by the same Irish captain and his party of horse. In an angle of the narrow way, where an overhanging rock protected him on one side and the deep river's bed on the other, he stood facing them, sword in hand, and covered by his round shield; thus the troopers could see nothing beyond him.
As only one at a time could attack him, the leading trooper was somewhat impressed by the resolute expression of his well-bearded face, his stature, and firm posture of defence.
"I know whom you seek," said he, sternly; "but I swear that if you do not instantly depart, not one of you shall return alive! In less than half an hour my men will have possession of the bridge of Buchanty, and your retreat will be cut off."
On hearing this, the soldiers began to rein back their horses.
"Retire in time," resumed MacGregor, "and tell him who sent you that, if any more of his pigmy race come hither, by the bones of our dead, I will hang them up to feed the eagles!"
He then placed his horn to his mouth and blew a loud and ringing blast, to which hill and river echoed.
On this, believing that the whole clan were concealed among the rocks, from, whence a fire would be opened upon them, the troopers seized by a panic, wheeled round their horses and retired at full gallop, while Rob ascended the cliffs, and leisurely pursued his way in another direction.
The government, in despair perhaps, were now ceasing to molest Rob Roy, and the last time troops were sent against him was the sudden despatch of a strong force of infantry from the castle of Stirling, under Colonel Grahame.
This party were seen on their march to Callendar by some MacGregors, who were driving a herd of cattle along the banks of the Forth, so Rob was immediately apprised of the unwelcome visitors. In an hour, the whole fighting men of the braes of Balquhidder were in arms, and had scouts posted at every pass and avenue; but as Rob had no wish to subject his people to severity on his own account—for it washealone whom Grahame had orders to capture—he retired further off into the mountains, a precaution he would not have adopted in his younger and more fiery years.
The soldiers met with every opposition, and frequently with bloody resistance from the MacGregors; and they had a four days' fruitless search, toiling, with knapsacks and accoutrements, cocked hats, pipe-clayed breeches, and long gaiters, up steep mountains, down ravines, where they floundered, and sunk knee-deep among wet heather, fern, and rushes; stumbling over precipices, and always misled by the guides, who took the bribes of the officers, and then vanished into the mist or a thicket, leaving them to shift for themselves, till the evening of the fourth day found Colonel Grahame and his detachment, starving, weary, and worn, occupying a deserted house on the verge of the Lowlands, near the hills of Buchanan.
The rain was falling in torrents, and no sentinels were posted without; so there Rob came upon them in the night, and, by throwing in combustibles, set the house on fire about their ears.
This immediately dislodged the enemy. As they rushed forth in disorder and dismay, many were severely injured by bruises and by the explosion of the ammunition in their pouches. Many lost their weapons, and "one man was killed by the accidental discharge of a musket. The military, thus thrown into confusion, broken down by fatigue, and almost famished by want of provisions, withdrew from the country of the MacGregors, happy that they had escaped so well."
This was—as we have stated—thelastencounter of Rob Roy with the forces of the government.
It was the Lammas now of 1724, when the gool or wild marigold began to make its appearance among the little corn patches on the sunny side of the Highland hills; and in this month the mother of Rob Roy (a daughter of the house of Glenfalloch), then in extreme old age, being nearly a century old, expired at Muirlaggan, the house which he had built for her.
Though her passing away had been long expected, her death was accompanied by the omens and mysterious warnings then and still so universally believed in among the Highlanders. Rob's grey staghounds howled mournfully the livelong night, a sure sign that they had seen what the eyes of men could not—the shadow of Death enter the house of Muirlaggan; and Paul Crubach, now aged, half-blind, and bent with years, averred that on last Midsummer-eve he had beheld her figure pass before him into the churchyard of Balquhidder with a shroudhighupon her breast, a certain token that her death was close at hand.
On the day preceding the funeral, and before the clan, tenants, and gillies assembled to drink the dredgie, he came close to the chair of Rob, who was seated at window, full of thought.
"Paul, you have been absent some days," said Rob kindly to the old man, "and at your years——"
"I have been on Inchcailloch, and there I spent three nights," said he, with unusual solemnity.
"Three dreary nights they must have been," said Rob, with a sad smile; "a ruined church for shelter and the graves of the dead below you."
"But I slept thereon, knowing that the dead would give me counsel just and true; and in my dreams there appeared unto me twice one whom I knew to be Dugald Ciar Mhor."
"How knew you this?"
"By his mouse-coloured hair and beard, and he told me—told me——"
"What—what?" asked Rob, impatiently; "oh, Paul—Paul—Dugald lies in his grave in Glenlyon."
"It matters not—he told us tobeware of Athole!"
"Paul, is not this mockery, and at such a time? Beware of Athole? We have done little else for these twenty years past."
"Above the graves of the dead we get counsel just and true," repeated poor, old, half-witted Paul, ignorant that, sixteen centuries before, Pomponius Mela recorded a similar idea.
The escapes of Rob had been so numerous and so desperate that they became a byeword—a joke in the Highlands, where the people were wont to say,—"You might as well attempt to say MacNab thrice with your mouth shut as attempt to catch Rob Roy;" and believing himself to be singularly favoured by fortune in that matter, he paid but little attention to the warning of Paul till about sunset, when his son Ronald came running in bareheaded and breathless from a cattle-fold to announce that a party of soldiers were rapidly approaching the house!
The natural grief which Rob was enduring for the death of his mother turned into exasperation. He now kept fewer men about him than had been his wont in other times, and it chanced that, though some hundreds would muster for the funeral on the morrow, there were not ten in the house at this desperate crisis!
He buckled on his sword, thrust his loaded pistols in his belt, threw his target on his arm, kissed Helen and the babe Robin at her breast, and was rushing from the house to seek shelter on the hills, when the Duke of Athole, with two hundred and fifty of his tenantry, all mounted and armed with sword, pistol, and musketoon, drew up before the door.
Keeping his hand on his sword, Rob saluted the duke, saying, with that suave irony which a Highlander can so well assume,—
"I am obliged to your grace for coming unasked with such a goodly company to attend my mother's funeral. Glenfalloch and Breadalbane will alike deem it an honour which neither they nor I expected."
"I have not come here for any such purpose," replied Athole, haughtily, as he shook the long curls of his peruke, and kept his horse well in hand, while keenly eyeing every motion of MacGregor. "I have come but to crave the pleasure of your company so far as the Tolbooth of Perth, where we shall settle some old scores at leisure."
"Indeed!" said Rob, sternly. "Had I received sufficient notice of your grace's visit, we had met at the pass of Loch Ard, not at my own door, and I should have resorted to other means than temporising. Within that chamber, duke, lies my mother in her coffin—a woman old in years—yea, so old that she remembered the earliest days of Charles I., to whom your grandsire, Earl John of Athole, was a steadfast man mid true; so, should I die for it here upon the threshold, I shall neither yield nor go to Forth your prisoner; for now in death, as in life, my place shall be by my mother's side!"
"Enough of this," said Athole, coarsely; "the funeral may go on very well without you."
Taken at vantage, however, Rob gradually perceived that he could gain nothing by resistance; and, as the duke dismounted, and stood by the bridle of his horse, he affected to comply with his wish. Then shrill screams and cries of lamentation rose from the women of the tribe, great numbers of whom had already assembled at Muirlaggan; and within the doorway of the house were seen the dark and scowling faces of men, with the gleam of arms, as swords and skenes were drawn and muskets loaded; for there Greumoch, Alaster Roy, and Rob's sons, Coll, Duncan, Hamish, and Ronald, prepared, like brave youths, to defend or die beside him.
A babel of hoarse and guttural Gaelic tongues rang on all sides, and many of the duke's yeomanry had unsheathed their swords and unslung their musketoons preparatory to carrying off the prisoner.
The voices of his sons, the lamentations of the women, thoughts of Helen with the babe at her breast, and his mother lying dead in her coffin, filled MacGregor's soul with desperation. Thrusting aside by main strength of arm half a dozen of the troopers who had begirt him, he drew forth his claymore, and called upon them all to stand back—back, upon their lives!
On this, snatching a pistol from his holsters, Athole fired it full at the head of Rob, who at the same moment fell to the ground. He had only slipped a foot, but on seeing him fall a mingled yell pierced the welkin, and before the smoke had cleared away, the duke found himself in the grasp of a woman.
This was a sister of Rob, who had married her cousin Glenfalloch. A strong and active woman, of a fiery and affectionate temper, on seeing her brother fall, she believed he was killed, and making a furious spring at Athole, clutched his throat with such energy that his grace was soon speechless. He reeled and staggered, while his followers, none of whom dared to use their pistol-butts or clenched hands to a lady, were unable to release him, till Rob seized his sister's wrist, and rescued him. On this the lady fainted.
This strange and unseemly scuffle fortunately caused some delay. For a time the duke was unable to mount his horse; and ere he did so, the mustering MacGregors, summoned by Greumoch, Paul, and the shrieking women, from farm and clachan, came pouring in with brandished swords and axes in such numbers that Colonel Grahame, who was present, deeming discretion the better part of valour, seized the duke's horse by the bridle, and gave the order to retire as fast as possible.
Rob permitted Athole to do so unmolested, and now, for a time, the house of Muirlaggan, where the dead woman lay, presented that which was not uncommon then in the Highlands in cases of either sorrow or joy, a scene of fearful wrath and noisy uproar.
Had Athole come next day, he might have experienced a warmer reception; for when Glengyle came in, more than seven hundred armed men, with twenty pipers, attended the funeral, and thus the old lady was born to her long home by her four grandsons; for in the Highlands it was ever a boy's pride, and one of the tests of manhood, to be permitted to act as bearer of a coffin, perhaps for many miles over steep and rugged mountain-paths.
On this occasion, Paul Crubach stumbled and fell on his face as the funeral procession approached the church of Balquhidder,deisail-wise, and then the old superstition was whispered, that he who stumbled at a burial was certain to be thenextwhose coffin would be borne that way; and this was fully realized when poor old Paul was found dead in bed next morning.
The duke never again had an opportunity of molesting Rob Roy, as on the 14th November of this year his grace paid the debt of nature at his castle of Blair, in Athole.
From this time forward the life of the Red MacGregor was passed in ease and contentment; around him his sons grew to manhood, brave, active, and hardy; while the sons of those who had followed him to the battles of Sheriffmuir and Glensheil, to the storming of Inversnaid, the pass of Loch Ard, and to many a desperate conflict, became, under his care and advice, thriving cattle-dealers and industrious farmers. Yet neither he nor they were permitted entirely to let their swords rest, or forget the warlike lessons of their forefathers, for the battle of Culloden had not yet been fought, and in disposition and character the secluded Highland clans were little different from what their ancestors were when they routed the Romans on the Grampians, and hemmed them within the wall of Agricola—as their songs have it, "forcing the King of the World to retire beyond hisgathered heaps."
In 1727, George II. was crowned, and six months after it was known in the Highlands that another "stranger filled the Stuarts' throne," and perhaps as many years elapsed before it was known in some of the Scottish isles, so dilatory was the transmission of news in the last century.
Even Montrose had now ceased to molest Rob Roy, who in his prosperity no longer "drew his grace's rents," but, extending his possessions beyond Balquhidder, leased some mountain-farms from the Duke of Argyle. On learning this, Montrose, in whose breast the old emotion of animosity still rankled, before the Lords of the Privy Council in London, accused his grace, who was the famous Field-Marshal John Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, of "fostering and protecting an outlaw."
"I do neither," replied he, angrily; "I only supply Rob Roy with the wood of the forest, the fish of the stream, the grass of the glen, and the deer of the hill—the common heritage of all Highlanders. But you have afforded him cattle, corn, and meal; moreover, we are informed that he is your grace's factor, and that on more than one occasion he has collected your rents, especially at Chapelerroch."
Montrose, who felt the taunt implied his own inability to defend himself, bit his lip in angry silence.
About this time Rob would seem to have visited England.
It is also said that he went so far south as London, as aprotégéof the Duke of Argyle, who was then in the zenith of his military and political influence. The story adds, that the duke requested Rob, in his full Highland dress and arms, to promenade for some time before St. James's Palace, where the attention of George II. was drawn to him—his garb being somewhat unusual in such a locality, and more especially in those days.
Some time after, when Argyle attended a royal levee, the king observed that he had "lately seen a handsome Scots Highlander near the palace."
"He was Robert MacGregor," replied the duke; "the identical outlaw who has long kept the Highlands of Perthshire in a turmoil by his resistance and resentments."
At this reply the king was very much incensed; but be the story as it may, there appeared in London, about this time, a pretended memoir of Rob, under the flattering title ofThe Highland Rogue. "It is," says the groat novelist, "a catch-penny publication, bearing in front the effigy of a species of ogre, with a beard a foot long, and therein his actions are as much exaggerated as his personal appearance."
It was during his absence in the south that Helen MacGregor enacted the only bold and masculine part she is known to have played on the stage of real life.
The proprietor of Achenriach, near the clachan of Campsie, having refused to pay his arrears of black-mail, Helen, as her two eldest sons were absent, being lieutenants in the Highland Watch under Glune Dhu, mounted on horseback, with a pair of loaded pistols at her saddlebow, and attended by Greumoch and twelve tall gillies fully armed, with targets on their backs and long muskets sloped on their shoulders, crossed the Campsie Fells, and presenting herself at the gate of Achenriach, demanded of the laird the tax which was due to her absent husband.
He speedily came forth with the money, saying, "Madam, I can refuse a lady nothing—neither would I have the hardihood to oppose you."
In this district Rob's nephew levied black-mail till within little more than a hundred years ago.
As time stole on and ripening age wrinkled the brow and whitened the beard of Rob Roy, he lived a quiet and inoffensive life. A change came gradually over him. Time with its mellowing influences rendered him less fierce, less irritable, and in the events that marked the close of his career he showed less inclination to meet half-way those who would seek a quarrel with him.
In the winter of 1727, while purchasing some cattle at the fair of Doune, he obtained among others a cow from a woman who offered it for sale.
On the following Sunday he happened to attend the parish church. The sermon of the minister was directed against the sin of covetousness, fraud, and roguery; and his text was the Eighth Commandment.
Emphatically and amply did the divine expatiate upon his subject; and with his eyes fixed resolutely on MacGregor, threw out so many offensive hints, which were evidently meant forhim, that Rob soon found himself the centre of observation; and his heart swelled with rage, while he could not but admire the daring of the man who thus bearded one who might have fired both church and manse about his ears.
However, smothering his wrath, Rob waited quietly until the sermon was over and the congregation had dispersed. He then repaired to the manse, and requested to see the minister, who met him with a calm and unflinching front.
"Reverend sir," said he, "I was present, as you no doubt perceived, at sermon this morning, and heard your discourse, every word of which I understood, but should like to know what youmeantby it. I am an old man now, and have lived a bold and perilous life, but I shall thank you to point out a single instance of fraud or roguery that has dishonoured it. If you cannot, as you have made me a spectacle to your parishioners, by the souls of those who died in Glenfruin! I will compel you to retract your words in your own pulpit."
Unmoved by the stern bearing of Rob, whose right hand clutched his dirk, the minister replied,—
"I own, MacGregor, that I alluded to you."
"Dioul, to me!" exclaimed Rob, furiously.
"To you. Did you not buy a cow from a poor widow at the fair of Doune—a cow at little more than half its value?"
"Sir, I was ignorant that she was poor, that she was a widow, and considered her cow worth double what she asked for it; but is my whole life to be slandered thus, and about a miserable cow?"
"Her family are starving—that cow was the last of her herd, for the others all died of disease."
"If this be the case," said Rob, "I shall restore to her the cow with double the sum I paid for it; here," he added, laying the bank-notes on the table, "I leave the money with your reverence. I shall do more; she shall have eight cows, the best in my herd, and money to stock her farm anew, for never shall it be said that a widow appealed in vain to the sympathy of Rob Roy!"
After this time he passed nearly seven years in perfect peace; but in 1734 he became embroiled with a very powerful enemy, Stewart of Appin.
The clan of MacLaren laid claim to the land of Invernentie in Balquhidder; to this the MacGregors also had a right, which they enforced by the blades of their swords, expelling therefrom Hamish MacLaren. A portion of Balquhidder was certainly the ancient patrimony of the Clan Laren, and their feud with the MacGregors was embittered by the memory that the latter, in 1604, had slainforty-sixof their householders, with all their wives and children, as the criminal record has it.
In 1734, they appealed to Appin, chief of the Stewarts, a powerful tribe, which could always muster from seven to eight hundred swordsmen. General Stewart of Garth, so lately as 1821, reckoned the fighting force of this name at four thousand men.
The MacLarens assembled in great numbers; Appin reinforced them with four hundred chosen men, and together they marched into Balquhidder, where Rob Roy with all his kindred was in arms to oppose them.
The summer sun shone brightly on the grey walls of the old kirk of Balquhidder, shaded by its dark yew-trees, and its quaint old burial-ground studded with mossy head-stones, when close by it the hostile clans approached each other in two lines, each man with his round shield braced upon his left arm, and his sword brandished in his right hand.
All the Stewarts had thistles in their bonnets; the MacLarens had laurel leaves, and their war-cry, "Craig Tuirc! Craig Tuirc!" was shouted fiercely by a hundred tongues, for they were eager to engage.
Conspicuous in front of the MacGregors stood Rob Roy, in his waving tartans; his once ruddy beard was now white with time, but his strong form was erect as ever. Anxious to avoid bloodshed, when the adverse clans were about a hundred yards apart he stepped resolutely forward, sheathed his sword and requested Stewart of Appin to meet him half-way. Stewart accordingly sheathed his weapon, and also stepped forward from his line.
"Appin," said Rob, "I am deeply grieved that those who bear the royal name should come as invaders into the land of Clan Alpine, whose race is also royal. Our forefathers were friends, and stood side by side in battle on the braes of Rannoch. The same inscription is on both our sword-blades—see," he added, showing the favourite legend, usually carved on all Scottish swords between 1707 and 1746,—
"PROSPERITY TO SCOTLAND, AND NO UNION."
"I have come but to right my kinsman Invernentie, and restore to him the lands of which your people have reft him," replied Appin.
"Those lands were ours of old, Appin. But hearken! we are all loyal men tothe King, and it were a pity we should weaken our mutual strength by mortal conflict, so I shall consent that Hamish MacLaren hold the lands of Invernentie at an easy quit-rent."
"To that will I agree blythely," said Appin, who was a tall, brave, and handsome man, dressed in scarlet Stewart tartan, with a grass-green coat covered with gold lace, and who had in his bonnet a white rose, with the three feathers of his rank.
"'Tis well—so there's my thumb on't," said Rob, as they shook hands. "But now," he added, "as we have here so many gallant men in arms, it will be a shameful thing if we all separate 'thout a trial of skill; so I here take the liberty of inviting any gentleman Stewart to exchange a few blows with me for the honour of our respective clans."
On this, Appin's brother-in-law, Alaster of Invernahyle, sprang forward, exclaiming,—
"I accept the challenge!"
"Good; and we shall lower our swords when the first blood is drawn."
The pipers struck up on both sides, as the two combatants engaged with claymore, dirk, and target; but in a few minutes the red blood spirted from the sword-arm of Rob Roy, who immediately lowered his blade, and said,—
"I congratulate you, Alaster of Invernahyle, on being one of the very few who have drawn blood from the veins of Rob Roy."
"Nay," said Stewart, as he offered his handkerchief to bind up the wound, "without the advantages which youth and its agility give me, I had come off with neither honour nor safety."
"I thank you, MacGregor," said Appin, "that your brave blood has alone been shed here to-day. Farewell!—we go back to the braes of Appin. If I survive you, this hand shall lay the first stone of your cairn and bid it speak to future times."
"To you, Appin, thanks! you must indeed survive me. The Red MacGregor isredonly in name now—his hair is white as the snows on Ben Lomond."
This was hislastappearance in arms.
Some time after this, in a trial of strength with Stewart of Ardsheil, finding his eyesight dim, his sword-arm weak, and that he was compelled to give ground, his cheek—a wrinkled cheek now—flushed red with shame; tears stood in his eyes, and he flung his old and faithful blade upon the heather.
"Never have I drawn thee without honour," he exclaimed; "but alas! never shall I draw thee more!"
Ardsheil, a generous and high-spirited gentleman, was deeply moved by the grief of the old warrior for his own decay of strength. Picking up the claymore, and presenting the hilt to Rob Roy, he politely raised his bonnet, and said,—
"Shame on me, shame that I should have drawn on years and bravery such as yours! But give me your hand, MacGregor—your hand, and henceforth let us be friends."
"Alas!" said Rob, sadly; "I am too old now to be your enemy!"
The health and strength of Rob Roy decayed rapidly after this, and the winter of 1734, with its unusual severity, sorely affected his shattered form. Helpless as a child, he was confined to bed at last by extreme old age rather than illness, at his house of Inverlochluvig.
On an evening towards the end of December he sunk rapidly. Helen, then an aged woman, was his constant attendant, and he requested her to throw open the windows that he might take a last farewell of the sun, then setting in his ruddy splendour, and casting the purple shadows of Ben More far across the snowclad braes of Balquhidder.
In the clear, frosty atmosphere of the winter eve he could hear the cattle lowing in the fold, and the laughter of the children ringing merrily from the adjacent clachan, and both were music to the old man's ear.
"Death is at hand, Helen—close—close!" said he, sadly, to his wife; "I may at times have been harsh—sharp with you."
"Oh, never—never to me, Rob," said she, sobbing heavily.
"If ever so, forgive me!"
"Forgive you, my poor old Rob!" she exclaimed, and threw her arms around him.
"I have never asked forgiveness save from those I loved, and most of them have gone before us, Helen. The hands of my forefathers beckon me; I can see their dim forms amid the blue mist on the hill! Has the sun set, Helen?"
"No—why?"
"It is growing so dark—so very dark—open the window!"
"Itisopen," said Helen, in a broken voice.
"Oh that I could but have again the sweet perfume of the yellow broom and purple heather-bell; or hear the hum of the mountain-bee and the voice of the cushat-dove! But who comes?" he added, as a step approached softly.
'Twas old Alpine, who entered to say that MacLaren of Invernentie had called to inquire for him.
Then there came over Rob Roy something of the same impulse which, according to the English legend, animated the brave freebooter Robin Hood, when he was propped up on his death-bed, to shoot a last clothyard shaft with his trusty yew.
"MacLaren!" he exclaimed, rallying all his failing powers, while his sunken eyes flashed with light; "raise me up, Helen! Coll! Hamish! Robin Oig! bring me my bonnet and plaid, my pistols, dirk, and claymore, andthenadmit him; for never shall it be said that a foeman saw Rob Roy defenceless and unarmed!"
His commands were immediately obeyed. MacLaren entered and paid his compliments by inquiring after the health of his formidable neighbour, who maintained a cold and haughty civility during their brief conference.
After MacLaren's departure Rob still sat up in bed, with his plaid about him, and his sword in his hand, and he muttered scraps of Ossian with his prayers.
"The winds shall whistle in my grey hair and not awake me. The sons of future years shall pass away—another race shall rise, for the people are like the waves of ocean: like the leaves of woody Morven, they pass away in the rustling blast, andotherleaves lift their green heads on high.* Now, Helen—wife," he added, "all is over! Strike up, Alpine,Ha til mi tulidh!(We return no more!)"
* Berrathon.
Old and blind almost, like his dying leader, Alpine, while the hot tears streamed over his withered cheeks, played that solemn dirge, and ere it was over Rob Roy had passed away, and Helen MacGregor and her five sons were on their knees around a breathless corpse.
He expired on the 28th of December, 1734, in about the eightieth year of his age, and his demise is recorded thus simply in theCaledonian Mercurynewspaper of 9th January following:—
"On Sunday se'nnight died at Balquhidder, in Perthshire, the famous Highland partizan, ROB ROY."
* * * * *
His funeral was the last in Perthshire at which a piper was employed, according to General Stewart.
Helen did not survive him long.
The future of their sons—that future which had filled the soul of poor Rob Roy with so many fears and anxieties—was varied, and the fate of two was dark and tragic.
History tells us that Hamish commanded the MacGregors in the army of Prince Charles, and that he had his leg broken by a cannon-ball at the battle of Gladsmuir. He escaped from the Castle of Edinburgh with characteristic daring, and fled to France, where a free pardon was offered him if he would betray another fugitive, named Allan Breac Stewart; but he declined, saying,—
"I was born a Highland gentleman, and can never accept that which would make me the disgrace of my family and the scoff of my country."
Shortly afterwards he died ofstarvationin the streets of Paris, when George III. was king.
In his thirteenth year Robin Oig shot MacLaren of Invernentie dead between the stilts of his plough, for insulting his mother; and the gun with which he perpetrated this terrible act is now at Abbotsford. He fled, became a soldier in the 42nd Regiment, and fought gallantly at Fontenoy, where he was wounded and taken prisoner by the French; but five years after the battle, by an overstrained power of the officers of the Crown, he died on the scaffold at Edinburgh. For the others, I must refer my readers to Burke's "Landed Gentry."
"Happily, now-a-days," says a recent writer, "the Celt and the Sassenach—Scotsman and Englishman—fight side by side, under one standard.Howthe brave soldiers of the Highlands fight has been shown in many a glorious struggle—at Talavera, Salamanca, and Waterloo; nor will history forgetthe thin red lineof Balaclava, or the shrill pibroch of Havelock's small but gallant force, which came like home-music to the ears and hearts of those who defended Lucknow!"
* * * * *
At the east end of the old church of Balquhidder, within an enclosure formed by the foundations of the more ancient Catholic place of worship, lies the grave of Rob Roy.
It is covered by a rough stone of hard mica, on which a number of emblems are rudely sculptured. Among these the figure of a Highlander and a large broadsword can be distinctly traced.
Under this stone, in February, 1754, were also interred the remains of his son, Robin Oig.
Such is the story of ROB ROY the Outlaw.
THE END.
WYMAN AND SONS, PRINTERS, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LONDON.