Greumoch proposed that they should light a fire of dry heather-root and broil a collop from the dead lamb; but Rob Roy, as he re-loaded and primed his pistol, now detected a faint column of blue smoke that rose at the edge of the moor; and, after breakfasting on a little meal and water, he ordered all to advance, but cautiously, towards it.
"We shall have our collop after we have punished the caterans, Greumoch," said he, good-naturedly. "You remember what the Earl of Mar said after the battle of Inverlochy, when supping cold crowdy out of his own cuaran with the blade of his dagger?"
"'That hunger is ever the best cook.'"
"Yes; so now, lads, forward again; and remember the widow's son."
The appearance of some cattle grazing near the smoke made the unwearied pursuers certain that those they sought were not far off; but, after drawing stealthily nearer, they discovered that the fire was lighted to cook the food of a family of gipsies, or itinerant tinkers, who were about to take to flight on seeing Rob and his armed band approach. On the former calling aloud that they came thither as friends, the eldest of the wanderers turned to hear what their visitors required of them.
MacGregor inquired if they had seen anything of the spoilers.
"They passed us towards the hills, with twenty head of cattle, only two hours ago," replied the gipsy, "and, by the smoke that is now rising from yonder corrie, I am assured that there they have made a halt."
"Good!" said MacGregor, with grim satisfaction. "What is your name, friend?"
"Andrew Gemmil."
"You are a Southland man?"
"Yes," replied the wanderer, doffing his bonnet with reverence, for the aspect and bearing of Roll Roy awed and oppressed him.
"From whence?"
"Moffat-dale. I will show you a track in the hills that will lead you to the corrie unseen."
Rob promised the old gipsy two Scottish crowns, and two silver buttons from his coat, if this service were done. Dividing his band into two, he led one party straight up the face of the hill, on their hands and knees; the other, under Greumoch, guided by Gemmil, the gipsy, made a detour, for the purpose of entering the corrie or deep ravine on another point, and thus cutting off the retreat of the marauders.
The autumn morning stole in loveliness over the purple heather of the vast moor of Rannoch; the blue hills of Glenorchy, that rose in the distance, were brightened by the rising sun, and their grey mists were floating away on the skirt of the hollow wind.
The dark fir woods which then shrouded the base of that great spiral cone, the Black Mountain, tossed their branches in the breeze that swept through Glencoe—the Celtic "Vale of Tears"—Dutch William's Vale ofBlood! A blue stream poured down the mountain-side, past an old grey-lettered stone, whose carvings told of the deeds of other times. Many are these battle-stones over all the Highland hills, for—in foreign or domestic strife—every foot of the soil has been soaked in the blood of brave men.
Creeping on their hands and bare knees, like stalkers stealing on a herd of deer, Rob and his men advanced up the mountain slope, dragging their swords and Spanish guns after them.
The gipsy who acted as their guide was in front. Thus they continued to ascend for three hundred yards, and soon the sound of voices and of laughter was heard. Then came the unmistakeable odour of broiled meat, and in a few minutes Rob Roy, on peering over a ledge of rock, that was fringed by the red heather, could perceive the party they were in search of and their spoil.
Seated round a large fire of dry bog-roots, on the embers of which they were broiling a road-collop as it was named, were the twenty caterans, conversing merrily, making rough jests on the MacGregors, and passing their leathern flasks (containing usquebaugh, no doubt) from hand to hand, in a spirit of right good fellowship. All wore the green MacRae tartan, and conspicuous among them was Duncan nan Creagh; near whom lay his long pole-axe and brass-studded shield, on which was painted a hand holding a sword, the crest of his surname,—for this unscrupulous marauder was not without pretensions to gentle blood.
His ferocious aspect was greatly enhanced by his large and irregular teeth, which were visible when he laughed.
"I was right," said Rob in a whisper to his henchman, who always stuck close to him as his shadow; "'twas his fangs that left a death-mark in the flesh of Colin Bane, the widow's son."
MacAleister levelled the barrel of his long gun through the heather full at Duncan's head.
"Hold," said MacGregor, half laughing and half angry; "I shall meet Duncan in open fight; but take your will of the rest, thou son of the arrow-maker!"
The deep corrie or hollow wherein the caterans lurked was shaped like a basin or crater, but was open at one end. At the other, or inner end, were all the cattle; so Rob's plans were soon taken. He knew that the conflict would be a severe one, for the men of this tribe were so fierce and tumultuary that they were, as we have stated, named theWild MacRaes; but the clan almost disappeared from the West Highlands, when, a few years after, 600 of them enlisted in the Seaforth Fencibles, or old 78th Regiment.
Greumoch, with the rest of his party, now appeared creeping softly along the other side of the opening, where they set up the shout ofArd Choille!This is the war-cry of Clan Alpine, and a volley from five or six muskets formed the sequel to it, and speedily altered the aspect of the carousing party; for the whole MacGregors rushed on them in front and flank, with swords drawn, and heads stooped behind their targets.
With a thousand reverberations the jagged rocks gave back the sharp report of the muskets and pistols. A yell rose from the hollow, and in a moment the MacRaes, three of whom were bleeding from bullet-wounds, were up and ready with sword, dirk, and target. Hand to hand they all met in close and deadly strife, the long claymores whirling, flashing, and ringing on each other, or striking sparks of fire from the long pike with which the centre of every target was armed.
Swaying his pole-axe, the gigantic Duncan nan Creagh kept the sloping side of the corrie against all who came near him, hurling every assailant down by the ponderous blows he dealt on their shields, till Rob Roy hewed a passage towards him, just as MacAleister, by a fortunate shot from his gun, broke the shaft of the cateran's axe, on which he cast away the fragment and drew his sword. While he and Rob eyed each other for a minute, each doubtful where to strike or where to thrust, so admirably were both skilled in the use of their sword and shield, the strong cateran, who was a head taller than his muscular assailant, laughed grimly, and said,—"We have drawn the first blood in this feud, Robert Campbell: so it is vain to attack us."
"Coward! the first blood was drawn from the heart of a poor boy," replied Rob; sternly; "and remember that, though I may be Campbell at the cross of Glasgow, or at the fair of Callender—yea, or at the gallows of Crieff, if it came to that—HERE, upon the free hillside, I am no Campbell, but a MacGregor, as my father was before me, thou dog and son of a dog!"
Again the tall robber laughed loudly, and said with pride, as he parried a thrust,—"Beware, Red MacGregor—I am a MacRae!"
"And wherefore should I beware of that?" asked Rob, delivering another thrust which the cateran received by a circular parry, that made both their arms tingle to the shoulder-blade.
"It was said of the first of our name—Bhai Mac-ragh-aigh—that he was the son of Good Fortune, and his spirit is with us to-day."
"We shall soon see whether it is so, though I believe that his spirit is in a warmer place than the Braes of Rannoch," retorted Rob, pressing vigorously up the rough stony side of the corrie, his great length of arm giving him, when thrusting, a superiority over his antagonist, whose blade he met constantly by his target and claymore, so that he seemed invulnerable.
A wound in the sword-arm now deprived MacGregor of all patience. He flung his target full at his enemy's head, and grasping with both hands his claymore—the same claymore with which his father, the Colonel, slew Duncan of the Heads—he showered blow after blow upon MacRae, whose target soon fell in fragments from his wearied arm; and the moment that protection was gone, Rob closed in, and thrust his sword through and through him!
Writhing his huge frame convulsively forward on the blade, MacRae made a terrible effort to get the victor within reach of the dirk that was chained to his left hand, but suddenly uttering a shriek which ended in a heavy sob, he sank down, to all appearance lifeless, with the blood gushing from his lips and nostrils.
This put an end to the fray, for all his followers fled down the hill-side, pursued by the MacGregors—all save one, a man of powerful form and ferocious aspect, who was naked to the waist, and had his kilt girdled round him by a belt of untanned bullhide.
This Celtic savage, whose name was Aulay MacAulay, flung himself upon MacAleister, who had stumbled and fallen. Seizing the henchman by the throat with his teeth, he grasped Greumoch MacGregor by the right foot, and with a fragment of his sword, which had been broken, endeavoured to despatch them both.
MacAleister strove vainly to release himself, and Greumoch struck MacAulay again and again on the head with his steel pistol clubbed; but finding that he might as well have hammered on a log of wood, he snatched a pistol from the belt of one who lay dead close by, and shot the marauder through the lower part of the head. He yelled and rolled away, biting the heather, and wallowing in blood; and from this wild man of the mountains—for, in truth, MacAulay was nothing better—that great literary foe of the Celtic race, the brilliant historian of England, was lineally descended.
Six of the MacRaes were left slain in or near the corrie, and several of those who escaped were severely wounded.
Alaster Roy and three other MacGregors were wounded, and one was killed by a musket shot. The cut on Rob's arm was deep, and, for a time, required all the medical skill of Helen to heal it.
It was thus that he avenged the foray of the MacRaes, and recovered the cattle, which he restored to their proper owners, who were poor cotters, to whom the loss would have been a severe one. All the weapons, ornaments, and spoil of the vanquished he gave to the widow whose son had been slain. On the coat of one they found a complete set of silver buttons, as large as pistol shot. Such buttons were frequently worn, even by the poorer classes, in the Highlands in those days, and came by inheritance through many generations. They were meant to serve as ornaments when living, and as the means of providing a decent funeral, if the owner fell in battle, or died far from the home of his kindred.
Rob Roy received considerable praise for this exploit, the scene of which was long marked by a cairn, and Mr. Stirling, of Carden, and many other gentlemen, whose estates lay near the Highland frontier, and who had been neglecting to pay their black-mail, now sent the tax in all haste to Inversnaid.
It was usually said of Rob that his sword was like the sword of Fingal, which was never required to give asecond blow; but Duncan nan Creagh was not slain, for such men were hard to kill. He was borne away by his followers, who returned on the departure of the MacGregors, and bound up his wounds; so Duncan lived to fight at the battles of Sheriffmuir and Glenshiel.
The preceding chapter will sufficiently have indicated that the clan of MacGregor was in a state of hostility with nearly all their neighbours, and that it proved a source of disquiet to Government.
We will now proceed to relate how this state of matters came to pass, and an explanation is the more necessary as it will serve to show thesecret springof many of Rob Roy's hostile actions,—why he took up arms against the Government, and how, from being a gentleman farmer and levier of black-mail, he gradually became a rebel, an outlaw, and yet a patriot, with a price set upon his head. The clan and surname of MacGregor are descended from Alpine MacAchai, who was crowned King of Scotland in 787, hence their motto, "'S Rioghal mo dhream,"—"My race is royal!" They are named the Clan Alpine, and from their antiquity comes the old Scottish proverb:—
The woods, the waters and Clan Alpine,Are the oldest things in Albyn.
Long before charters or parchments were known in the North, their possessions were great; for they held lands in Glendochart, Strathfillan, Glenorchy, Balquhidder, Breadalbane, and Rannoch, and, until 1490, Taymouth, too, was theirs. They had four strong castles: Kilchurn, which crowns an insular rock in Loch Awe, Finlarig, and Ballach, at the east end of Loch Tay; an old fortress on an isle in Loch Dochart, and many minor towers.
But when the kings of Scotland sought to introduce into the Highlands the same feudal system which existed in England, and in their Lowland territories, and endeavoured to subvert the Celtic or patriarchal law by substituting Crown charters, which made chiefs into barons, who, in their single person, thus became lords of all the land in which their clan had previously ajointright and share,—a right old as the days of the first settlers on British soil,—a bloody strife ensued between those who accepted such charters and those who refused and despised them.
Feuds and local wars began, and all who resisted the King were termed broken clans, and to be thus stigmatized was tantamount to a denunciation of outlawry. By their sturdy adherence to the system of their forefathers, the Clan Alpine soon became eminently obnoxious to James VI., the meanest monarch that ever occupied a European throne; the more so, that in 1602, a long and bitter quarrel between them and the Colquhouns of Luss (who had murdered two wandering MacGregors) came to a terrible issue in a place called Glenfruin. Its name signifies the Glen of Sorrow, and it is a deep vale intersected by the Fruin, and overlooked by ridges of dark heathy mountains, that are more than eighteen hundred feet in height.
Here, then, on the 9th of February Sir Humphry Colquhoun, of Luss, at the head of a great force of horse and foot, composed of his own clan, the Grahames, and the burghers of Dumbarton, under Tobias Smollet, their provost,—met Alaster Roy MacGregor of Glenstrae, who had only four hundred swordsmen; but his superior bravery and skill soon decided the disastrous conflict.
Glenstrae divided his little force into two parties. Reserving two hundred to himself, he gave two hundred to his brother Ian MacGregor, with orders to make a long circuit, and attack Luss in the rear.
This manoeuvre was most successfully executed, and a dreadful hand-to-hand conflict ensued in the narrow vale. The Clan Gregor cast aside their shields, and plying their sharp claymores, with both hands clenched in the iron hilts, assailed both horse and foot in front and rear, threw them into confusion, and swept them in rout and dismay down Glenfruin towards Loch Lomond.
Two hundred Buchanans and Colquhouns were slain on the field, and though many of the Clan Alpine were wounded in their furious charge, it is remarkable that only Ian MacGregor and another of the clan were slain.
They lie buried on the field, under a large block, which is named "The Grey Stone of MacGregor."
A little rivulet near it is still named "the stream of ghosts;" for there Fletcher of Cameron, a follower of the Clan Alpine, is said to have slaughtered a number of clerical scholars, who had come from Dumbarton to see the battle; and it is still believed that if a MacGregor crosses it after sunset he will be scared by dreadful spectres. Yet, to preserve these boys from bullets and arrows in the hour of battle, it is alleged that Alaster of Glenstrae humanely enclosed them in a little church, the thatched roof of which was fired accidentally by the wadding of a musket, and they all perished in the flames. Others say they were all dirked by Dugald Ciar Mhor, from whom Rob Roy was lineally descended, and that he slew them like sheep, at a large stone, from which the blood can never be effaced.
Being mounted on a powerful horse, Sir Humphry Colquhoun, minus sword and helmet, escaped from the field, and fled to the castle of Bannochar, where he was afterwards slain, when concealed in one of the vaults, not by MacGregors, but by some of the MacFarlanes, though the blame of the deed was unjustly thrown on the former.
To James VI., his successor and friends made a doleful report of the battle, in their own fashion, and there came before that monarch, at Stirling, a strange procession of eleven score of women, bearing each, upon a spear, a bloody shirt, purporting to be that of a husband or kinsman slain in Glenfruin.
These females had been mostly hired at so much per head, in Glasgow, for the pageant, and the blood on the woollen shirts was that of a cow, bled expressly for the purpose; but this melo-dramatic exhibition was singularly successful.
James was so incensed that, without further inquiry, he issued letters of fire and sword against the MacGregors; and then the Colquhouns, the Buchanans, the Camerons, and the Clan Ronald joined with others, in a species of crusade, to crush them. They were hunted throughout the land, like wild animals, but could never be suppressed; for, whenever a MacGregor fell, the sword of another appeared to avenge him.
Captured by treachery, Alaster of Glenstrae, the gallant victor of Glenfruin, was ignominiously hanged, at the cross of Edinburgh, with all his nearest kinsmen, the sole honour awarded to him being a loftier gibbet than the rest.
By an Act of the Scottish Legislature, the surname of MacGregor was abolished, and they were compelled to adopt others. Some called themselves Gregory and Gregorson, and some Mallet, of whom the grandfather of the poet of that name was one. Many took the name of Grahame, but many more allied themselves with the powerful House of Argyle, taking the surname of "the Great Clan;" hence, a hundred years after the grass had grown above the graves of the dead in Glenfruin, we find Rob Roy designating himselfCampbell, the name of his mother!
The same Act ordained that none of the race of Alpine should have in their possession any other weapon than a pointless knife, wherewith to cut their food; yet, in defiance of the Act, the Clan Gregor went armed to the teeth as usual.
Bloodhounds were employed to track them in their retreats; and their very children were abstracted, and brought up in hatred of the blood they inherited. But the Celtic nature was soon averse to such modes of suppressing a warlike and time-honoured clan; and the Camerons alone maintained the war against the MacGregors, who, on being joined by the MacPhersons, met them in battle in Brae Lochaber, and gave one-half of them a lesson in charity, by cutting the other to pieces.
After the battle of Glenfruin, seven MacGregors, who were pursued by a body of Colquhouns, came over the mountains of Glencoe and Glenorchy, down by the lone and lovely shore of Lochiel and the birchen woods that border on the wild waters of the Spean, till they found a brief shelter in the farmhouse of Tirindrish, which was then occupied by a Cameron.
Alarmed by the approach of the Colquhouns, they fled again, and took shelter in a cavern, which the Cameron, actuated either by treachery or timidity, pointed out to the pursuers. The toil-worn fugitives were attacked with sword and pistol. Six were slain, and lie buried, where some pines, the badge of their clan, were lately planted, in memory of the event. The seventh fled to a little distance, but was overtaken, beheaded, and buried beside a stream, where a friend of the author lately found his skull, which the water had laid bare, by washing away the bank, in which the other bones lie yet embedded.
After their slaughter, the Colquhouns went back to Luss; but the farmhouse of Tirindrish was now said to be haunted from time to time by a headless figure. The Cameron became alarmed, and brought thither aTaischatr, or seer, who saw it also—the dim outline of a shadowy and bare-legged Highlander, without a head, but with a remarkable swelling on the right knee, a disease of which the treacherous farmer had long complained; and hence the seer intimated that the figure representedhimself!
It proved but the shadow of a coming event; for soon after a party of MacGregors, true to the old Celtic instinct of revenge, came to Tirindrish, and, to punish the Cameron for having discovered the cavern to the Colquhouns, struck off his head, by order of Dugald Ciar Mhor. The place where the six fugitives perished is still named the MacGregor's Cave, and a cairn was built there by the MacDonalds in memory of the event.
Hundreds of such episodes followed the battle of Glenfruin; and more fully to suppress the fated surname, no minister of the church could, at baptism, give the name of Gregor to a child, under pain of banishment and deprivation; and the heads of the Clan Alpine became a marketable commodity under King William III., as the story of Duncan nan Cean remains to testify.
Yet in spite of all these savage laws the clan grew and flourished in the fastnesses of the Highlands, and in the battles of Montrose their shout ofArd Choillewas heard farthest amid the ranks of the routed Covenanters. Hence the spirit of their Gathering—
The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the bay,And the clanhas a namethat isnamelessby day—Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!* * * * * *While there's leaves on the forest, or foam on the river,MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever!Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!
Hence in 1645 they could muster a thousand swordsmen; a hundred years later seven hundred swordsmen, and when the Highland regiment of Clan Alpine was raised by the chief in 1799, one thousand two hundred and thirty of the clan and their kindred enlisted to fight for George III.
So little do tyranny and oppression avail in the end! They served but to bind Clan Alpine together like bands of steel; but they were never restored to their ancient rights, surname, or liberty, till an Act of the British Parliament was passed in their favour,only twenty-fouryears before the regiment was embodied.
The wrongs of his name and kindred made a deep impression on Rob Roy, and he thirsted for an opportunity of seeing them righted, either by the restoration of the House of Stuart, or by the destruction of their more immediate oppressors.
He knew and writhed under the unjust laws by which the whole clan, for the deeds of a few, so long ago as the field of Glenfruin, were stigmatized as cut-throats and traitors, and by which they were nominally disarmed—the deepest disgrace that could be inflicted upon a Highlander; by which they were degraded in name and station, and only permitted to live as Campbells, Grahames, or Drummonds—a landless and broken race.
In his soul he longed for an opportunity of avenging all this on the King and Parliament, and for becoming a champion of the old Scottish patriarchal system, and opposing the new, which made feudal lords of Celtic chiefs, with power of gallows and dungeon, over free men—but these were visions wild and vain!
Proud of the past, however vague, the Red MacGregor, like all his Celtic countrymen, believed in the words of the bard, that—
Ere ever Ossian raised his song,To tell of Fingal's fame;Ere ever from their sunny climeThe Roman eagles came:
The hills had given to heroes birth,Brave e'en amid the brave;Who taught, above tyrannic dust,The thistle tufts to wave!
And this belief in a lofty and warlike ancestry has ever been the Highlander's greatest incentive to moral character and heroic bearing.
In the days of Rob Roy there were no police, troops, or garrisons in his part of the Highlands, and no law was recognized save that of the sword.
William III. had recently been placed on the throne, and he exasperated the MacGregors by restoring all the oppressive Acts passed against them—Acts which had been cancelled for a time by Charles II. Thus they were again compelled to assume other names than their own, or forfeit land, arms, and all means of livelihood. The memory of William of Orange is still abhorred by the Highlanders. He was a king whose cowardice lost the battle of Steinkirke, and by whose behest torture was last judicially used, on Neville Payne, an Englishman, in a Scottish court of law. He introduced flogging into the army, keelhauling into the navy; "and he," says Sir William Napier, "is theonlygeneral on record to whom attaches the detestable distinction of sporting with men's lives by wholesale; and who fought the battle of St. Denis with the Peace of Nimeguen in his pocket, because he would not deny himself asafelesson in his trade;" and he it was who, by his own sign manual, condemned the whole inhabitants of a Scottish valley to be slaughtered in their beds at midnight, and this wasafterhe hadratifiedthe Treaty of Achalader!
Hatred of this king and of those who adhered to him determined Rob Roy to punish some of the Whigs in his neighbourhood, and remembering how active the Buchanans had made themselves since the days of Glenfruin, he resolved to fall upon them.
Assembling about two hundred men, and attended by MacAleister and Greumoch, he marched from Inversnaid towards Kippen, giving out that he went "in the name of King James VII. to plunder the rebel Whigs." After a fifteen miles' march, they halted for the first night on the northern shore of the Loch of Monteith, amid the thick groves of oak, chestnut, and ancient plane-trees which flourish there. They shot some deer, lighted fires, and proceeded to cook and regale themselves on the venison, with all the greater relish that it belonged to their hereditary enemies the Grahames of Monteith; and after posting sentinels, they passed the night in carousing, and singing those long songs still so common in the Highlands, where the air and the theme have been carried down, from the days perhaps of the Druids, who, when seeking to cultivate the people by music and poetry, framed their songs with long choruses in which all could join.
And now, under the rustling leaves of the old forest, the MacGregors, wrapped in their red tartan plaids, sat round the glowing watch-fires, and made the dingles echo, as they sang one of the ballads of the female bard of Scarba—Mary, the daughter of Red Alister. Two hours before daybreak they were all on the march again, and eight miles or so further brought them, in the early dusk of the autumn morning, to Kippen. This village lies within ten miles of the guns of Stirling Castle, and for centuries it had belonged to the Buchanans. Here the fertile valley through which the Forth flows was studded with prosperous farms and handsome country seats, surrounded by luxuriant crops in some places, by the stubble-fields in others—a rural scene, amid which the rocky bluff of the Abbeycraig and the wooded summit of Craigforth start up boldly and abruptly, with their faces to the west; and Rob Roy took care to choose the time of his invasion when most of the crops were stored in the barn, and when the cattle and sheep were gathered in pen and fold.
On the approach of the MacGregors, the old castle of Ardfinlay (of which no trace now remains) and the tower of Arnprior were abandoned by the Buchanans, without a shot being fired, while the village of Kippen was evacuated by its inhabitants, who fled towards Stirling, with whatever they could carry. Carts and horses were now seized by the MacGregors, and loaded with grain, food, furniture, and whatever they could lay their hands upon. The cattle, horses, and sheep were collected in herds and flocks; and after sweeping the parish, Rob's men were about to depart for Inversnaid, with pipes playing triumphantly in front, when a body of men, armed with muskets and bayonets, swords and pikes, appeared with drums beating, ready to oppose them, about an hour after sunrise.
These men had been hastily collected and armed by Sir James Livingstone, a gentleman who had served in foreign wars, and who was resolved that Rob Roy should not harry the district without a blow being struck in its defence. On the open ground known as the Moor of Kippen, they came in sight of each other.
Rob halted his men with the spoil they had collected, and resolutely advanced to the front, attended by his henchman, by Greumoch, Alaster Roy, and a few others on whom he most relied. By his bearing and the richness of his weapons, as well as by his ruddy-coloured hair and beard, and the two eagle feathers in his blue bonnet, Sir James Livingstone recognized the Laird of Inversnaid, and he also came forward from his line, attended by a faithful servant, who was well armed.
Under his ample red coat, which was open, Sir James wore a cuirass of polished steel; his hat was cocked up by gold cord, and his full, white periwig flowed over his shoulders. Under the cuirass he wore a buff waistcoat, which reached nearly to his knees; he had his sword drawn in his right hand, and carried a brace of loaded pistols in his girdle, to which they hung by steel hooks.
"Have I the honour of addressing MacGregor of Inversnaid?" said he, politely lifting his hat when within ten paces of Rob Roy, who replied sternly—
"I am MacGregor. Had you styled me by another name than that which my father left me, I would have killed you on the instant. And you——"
"I am Sir James Livingstone. I have nothing to do with the laws which seek the suppression of your name and the destruction of your clan, save that I reprobate them; but I demand by what right you have broken the King's peace, and come hither in arms to plunder a peaceful district?"
"For three sufficient causes," replied Rob; "first, I have the old Highland right by which we can at any time make a warlike inroad on our enemies, which the Buchanans of Kippen and Arnprior have been since that black day in Glenfruin; secondly, I break the peace of him you name a king because I deem him a Dutch usurper; and thirdly, I take from cowards that which they have not the heart to defend."
"I regret to hear all this," replied Sir James, persuasively, "for there will be much blood shed, MacGregor, if you do not yield up the spoil your people have collected."
"Yield it—to whom?" asked MacGregor, loftily.
"To me."
"Little care we for bloodshed," said the other, bitterly; "your foreign kings and Lowland laws have made Clan Alpine like the Arabs of the desert, whose hands are against all men, because the hands of all men are uplifted against them. Yet I, personally, have no wish to slay any of your people. You are a gentleman and a soldier, whose character I value and honour; thus, if you choose, I will fight with you here, hand to hand, with target and claymore, in front of our men, and the spoil shall belong to him who draws thefirst blood."
"Agreed," replied Sir James, sternly; "but, though expert enough in the use of the sword, I am unused to such a defence as the target."
"That shall be no hindrance," said Rob, as he handed to MacAleister his round shield, which was composed of triple bull's-hide, stretched over wood, covered with antique brass bosses, and had a long spike of steel screwed into its centre.
The friends of Sir James now crowded around him, and bade him be wary, and remember the vast strength of Rob Roy; the great skill he possessed, the weight of his sword, and the advantage his length of arm gave him over others. These warnings were not without effect on Sir James, who was too brave to be without prudence. He came forward, and, lifting his little three-cocked hat, the edge of which was bound with feathers, like those of all the officers who served in King William's wars, he said,—
"I agree to meet you, MacGregor, as a gentleman, on the distinct understanding that the entire spoil shall remain with him who is fortunate enough to draw the first blood; but, as being the person challenged, I claim the right to choose my weapon, and for many reasons prefer the pistol."
"Be it so," replied Rob, laughing, as Sir James divested himself of his glittering cuirass: "I am not an old trooper like you, yet am a good marksman nevertheless."
"Are your pistols loaded?"
"The pistols of a MacGregor are seldom otherwise, in these times," said Rob, as his countenance darkened; "and yours?"
"Are loaded, too."
"Shall we fire together, or toss up for the first shot?" asked MacGregor.
"We will toss for the first shot, if you please," replied Livingstone, who, aware that he was a deadly marksman, and had fought several duels in France and Flanders with terrible success, had no fears as to the result, if the lot fell to him.
"Then, Sir James, toss for me, but remain where you are," said MacGregor, with indifference.
"And you will take my word for the coin—for the result!" exclaimed Livingstone, with something of admiration in his tone and face.
"Had I doubted your word, I would not fight with you. On equal terms I meet none but gentlemen."
A servant of Sir James, a man in livery, armed with a musket, now came hastily forward to suggest some trickery, which his master repelled with scorn—even with anger.
He threw up the coin—a crown piece; it glittered in the air, and then fell on the grass.
"A head!" said MacGregor.
"I regret to say it is not a head," replied Sir James, touching his hat, while his cheek flushed with triumph: "so I have won the first shot!"
A shout of anger burst from the MacGregors on hearing this; but Livingstone's followers waved their bonnets and clapped their hands in exultation.
It was strange, the scene which took place on that morning, on the wide moor of Kippen. On one side the grim band of armed MacGregors, in their red tartans, with drawn swords, Lochaber axes, and long muskets, guarding the whole spoil of the parish, and keeping together the herds of lowing cattle and tethered horses, laden with bags of bedding, and household utensils.
On the other, the well-armed retainers of Sir James Livingstone, cross-belted and armed with pike and musket; and midway between, the striking and picturesque figures of the two combatants, who were to decide the affray, standing about twelve paces apart, with a pistol in each hand.
Sir James drew up his tall and soldier-like figure to its full height, and buttoning to the throat his long-skirted scarlet coat, the breast of which was covered with broad bars of silver lace, he fixed his keen dark eyes steadily on the figure of Rob Roy. He then levelled a pistol at the full length of his right arm, and every eye was bent upon the muzzle from which death was expected to issue.
Rob's coat was of rough, home-made, brown stuff, destitute of lace or ornament; but his great belted plaid of scarlet tartan filled up the eye. His pistols were bright as silver, and came from the famous workshop established at Doune, so long ago as 1646, by Thomas Cadell. A silver chain suspended his splendidly carved powder-horn, and his dirk and broadsword were elaborately mounted with silver. Sir James covered him with his pistol and fired!
A shout of rage and dismay burst from the MacGregors, as Rob's bonnet was turned round on his head, and, cut by the bullet, one of his eagle feathers floated away on the breeze.
"That was a good shot, Sir James," said Rob, smiling, as he replaced his bonnet; "an inch lower, and there would have been one MacGregor less in the world to persecute. Under favour, sir, it is now my turn."
Raising one of the claw-butted, steel, Highland pistols, he cocked and levelled it straight at the head of Livingstone, whose eye never quailed, and whose gallant spirit never flinched. Then suddenly lowering the weapon, he said, "One cannot always be a hero like Fingal, but one may always be a gentleman. I am, as you know, Sir James, a deadly shot, and at this moment could kill you without reloading. I have no desire to slay men unnecessarily—brave men like you, who may live to serve their mother, Scotland, least of all! In short, I wish to spare you; but as the creagh must belong to him who sheds the first blood, I must send this bullet either through your head or your hand. If you prefer the latter, please to hold it up."
Scarcely knowing what he did, Sir James held up his left hand. Rob fired, and his bullet whistled through the palm of the upheld hand, which was instantly covered with blood, when Livingstone uttered an exclamation of pain and suddenly lowered his arm.
"We now part on the first blood drawn—your own terms, Livingstone. To the hills, lads!" exclaimed MacGregor; "to the hills with the gear of the Dutch king's rebel Whigs!"
A yell of triumph from the MacGregors rent the sky, the pipes struck up "The Battle of Glenfruin," and the whole cavalcade moved off towards the mountains. But the matter did not end here, for as Rob tarried a moment, to take a more courteous farewell of his adversary, and to bind up his wounded hand, Livingstone's liveried valet levelled a pistol at his head. Fortunately it flashed in the pan; and MacAleister, who was close by, shot him dead with his musket!
"Only one man, a servant to Sir James Livingstone, was killed on this occasion," says the statistical account; "and this depredation was remembered by the fathers of several persons still living, and is known as the 'Her'ship of Kippen.'"
It does not appear that any means were taken to recover the cattle and goods thus carried to the fastnesses of the MacGregors; but at this time the whole Highlands, from the German to the Atlantic Ocean, were full of those scenes of war and plunder which succeeded the victory of the loyal clans at Killycrankie, and the fall of their idol, the gallant Dundee.
All hope of restoring the exiled House of Stuart having ceased for a time, Rob Roy, for some years subsequent to the establishment of the Revolution, lived quietly on his estate of Inversnaid; only assuming the sword to protect himself, his neighbours, or those whose properties lay south of the Highland frontier, and who paid the usual tax of black-mail for that security of life and goods which he and others afforded them. He dealt largely in cattle, and speculated so fortunately, that before the year 1707 he had cleared the lands of Craigrostan from certain bonds held over them by James, Marquis of Montrose; and he generously relieved the estate of Glengyle, the property of his nephew, Gregor MacGregor, famous in Scottish history asGlun dhu, or the Black-knee, from similar incumbrances of a heavy kind; and being, by law, the guardian, or, as it is termed in Scotland, the tutor of Glengyle, Rob had great influence over the whole clan, though nameless, broken, and scattered.
Rob and his gillies, clad in their red tartans, and armed with sword, dirk, and pistol, and with a target slung on the left shoulder, each carrying, moreover, a heavy cudgel, driving some thousand head of cattle, with pipers playing in front, to the fair of Callender, or the Trysts of Falkirk, which were then held on the Reddingrig Moor, and had been so since 1701, presented an appearance so animated, and an aspect so formidable, that few cared to meddle with the Red MacGregor and his followers.
Affrays were frequent at those fairs, and, indeed, everywhere else in Scotland: political and religious differences made men rancorous, and arms were readily resorted to. It was not until 1727 that the Provost of Edinburgh prohibited wearing of pistols and daggers openly in the streets of the city, for brawls had become incessant.
"It may well be supposed that in those days no Lowland, and much less English drovers,ventured into the Highlands," says Scott. "The cattle, which were the staple commodity of the mountains, were escorted down to the fairs by a party of Highlanders, with all their arms rattling about them, and who dealt, however, in all honour and faith with their southern customers. A fray, indeed, would sometimes arise, when the Lowland men, chiefly Borderers, who had to supply the English market, used to dip their bonnets in the next brook, and wrapping them round their hands, oppose the cudgels to the naked broadsword, which had not always the superiority. I have heard from aged persons who had been in such affrays, that the Highlanders used remarkably fair play, never using the point of the sword, far less their pistols or daggers; so that a slash or two, or a broken head, was easily accommodated; and as the trade was of benefit to both parties, trifling skirmishes were not allowed to interrupt its harmony."
King William having restored all the severe laws against the clan, Rob was compelled to resume the name of Campbell, when in 1703, his nephew, Gregor Glun Dhu, who was likewise compelled to call himself James Graham, was married to Mary Hamilton of Bardowie, in the November of that year, and our hero signed their contract as "Robert Campbell of Inversnaid."
While he was acquiring wealth and popularity of a local and peaceful kind by his frequent visits to the Borders, his wife, Helen Mary, managed his household at Inversnaid, and earned the reputation of being a thrifty, active, and careful housewife. Gentle in manner, and gently bred, she could play the old Highland harp with great skill, as she had been taught by Rori Dall, or Blind Roderick, who was bard to MacLeod of that Ilk, and was, moreover, thelastharper of the Hebrides.
A Highland housewife had plenty of occupation in those days. The corn was then dressed in an ancient fashion by the women. The straw was fired, that the heat might parch the grain, which, though blackened, was gathered into the handmills, or querns, and ground into meal or flour, just as the Israelites ground theirs of old. They had also the management of the sheep. No flocks were then kept in the Highlands; but every family had from the Hebrides a few sheep of a small breed, which were never permitted to range the mountain but were carefully housed at night.
In the household of Inversnaid the spinning-wheels were never idle; hence there was plenty of industry and comfort, but few luxuries. All the furniture was of black oak, or Scottish pine; the only piece of mahogany being an oval teaboard, a portion of Helen's "plenishing," when she left her father's house at Comar. On ordinary days her dress was linsey-woolsey and a tartan plaid; and though dignified with the title ofladyin Gaelic, as being the wife of a chieftain, and on certain occasions, such as birthdays or anniversaries (the Gowrie conspiracy, the Restoration, or the imaginary succession of James VIII.), wearing silk and fine lace, they were all made up at home, for in those sequestered regions the name and business of a milliner were unknown. Of their five sons, only four had as yet been born,—Coll, Ronald, Hamish, and Duncan.
We are now rapidly approaching those events which scattered Helen's happy household, and drove her brave and trusty, generous and humane husband "to the hillside, to become a broken man," branded as an outlaw and traitor, with a price upon his head. King James VII. was dead, and his son, though in exile, had assumed the title of James III. of England and VIII. of Scotland.
In 1707 the English endeavoured toforcethe Scots into a union; and, as a preliminary, very unwisely seized all their merchant ships that were in southern ports. On this Scotland prepared for war by strengthening her garrisons, and proposing to raise sixty thousand infantry; so England resorted to other means, and by bribery achieved the measure so long desired. Thus that which was hitherto a weak and federal union, became a powerful and combined one; each country, however, retaining its own church and laws.
Before this great treaty was complete, the Scottish Government restricted the importation of cattle into England; but free intercourse being one of the happy results of the Union, various persons speculated in this traffic. Among others, Rob Roy engaged in a joint adventure with James, Marquis of Montrose, who had received a sum of money for his Union vote, and in the monthprecedingthat measure had been created a duke, with the office of Lord Privy Seal for Scotland.
"The capital to be advanced," says Dr. Browne, in his "History of the Highlands," "was fixed at ten thousandmerkseach, and Rob Roy was to purchase cattle therewith, and drive them to England for sale."
The Duke's money he received from his factor or chamberlain, John Grahame of Killearn, partly in cash and partly in bills of exchange, drawn through the Bank of Scotland on Grahame of Gorthy. He soon collected a vast herd, and leaving his trusty henchman and foster-brother, MacAleister, in charge of his household, departed for Carlisle.
The system of fosterage, which consisted in the mutual exchange of children for the purpose of being nursed and bred, was a custom peculiar to the Scots and Irish, who were wont to allege that there was no love or faith in the world like that which existed between foster-brethren; so Rob departed in confidence on his important mission with a herd worth twenty thousand Scottish merks.
Prior to his leaving Inversnaid, Paul Crubach had come there, and sprinkled all the cattle with water from his holy well. On such occasions he was always provided with certain flint arrow-heads, which he had found where a battle had been fought, long, long ago. Theseelfshotshe duly dipped in the water of his well, and then sprinkled it over the herd to prevent any spell an evil eye, or another elfshot, might cast upon them before they reached the great market at "Merry Carlisle."
The trade of cattle-dealing was liable at that time, as at every other, to sudden depressions and miscalculations; thus, on his arrival at Carlisle, Rob Roy—unfortunately for the success of the joint speculation in which he was engaged—found the southern markets, where Highland cattle had been so long in great demand, completely overstocked. Many other speculators were now in the field. The prices fell lower than they had ever been before, and he was compelled to dispose of the whole stock of cattle far below prime cost. As his herds diminished, he gradually sent all his drovers and gillies home to the Highlands. The last he despatched was Greumoch MacGregor, with whom he entrusted a letter (dated from an hostelry in Castle Street, where he lodged) addressed to the Duke of Montrose, detailing their mutual loss.
When the last cow was sold, Rob secured the money which remained for the Duke and himself in his sporan, as the pouch worn in front of the kilt is named. It was made of the skin of an otter, shot by himself in the Dochart, and was adorned by its face and claws, and closed by a curious steel clasp.
With his pistols carefully primed and loaded (as the roads were then infested by footpads, mounted highwaymen, and gipsies), he left Carlisle by the Scottish gate, and in very low spirits took his homeward way, mounted on a stout little Highland horse.
Carlisle was then, and for long after, girt by walls and towers as a defence against the Scots, whom the English could scarcely view yet as fellow-subjects.
Without any occurrence he travelled about forty-five miles, and on the evening of the second day found himself entering Moffatdale, a deep and pastoral valley, which is overshadowed by mountains of great height, at the foot of which the Evan and the Annan unite their waters in one. The sunlight had faded from the green summits of the Moffat Alps—of Hartfell and Queensberry, and the deep shady valleys were growing dark. The night-hawk was winging its way towards the lonely banks of Loch Skene; the shrill whistle of the curlew as he rose from among the green waving fern or purple heather bells, and the coo of the sweet cushat dove in the birchen thicket, were alone breaking the silence, when Rob Roy drew his bridle near the village of Moffat to consider where he should quarter himself for the night.
He was in a strange place, and had about him more money than he cared to lose. There were several ruins of old peel-houses, towers, and cattle-sheilings on the hills, and in one of these a hardy Highlander could sleep comfortably enough when rolled in his plaid; but there was no necessity for faring so roughly.
A meteor which shot across the darkening sky, near the spire of a distant village church, made Rob thoughtful; for it is an old Celtic superstition, that when a falling star is seen by any one near a burying-ground, it portends that death is near. At the moment he paused a cry of distress pierced the air. He listened intently and instinctively, and drawing forth a pistol, glanced at the flint and priming, to be prepared for any emergency. Again the cry reached him, and it seemed to be uttered by a female in distress. Urging his strong and active Highland garron in the direction from whence the cries came, he entered a deep and savage dell named Gartpool Linn, where he beheld a very startling sight.
A large and gnarled tree spread its broad branches like a leafy arch above this dell, and beneath them the last red gleam of the western sky shone full into the hollow. There an officer and a party of soldiers were deliberately preparing to hang four peasants on the lower limb of the old chestnut. At the foot of the latter, on her knees, with hair dishevelled and disordered dress, there knelt a young girl, who was alternately bewailing the fate of the four victims, and imploring mercy for them; and, from what she said, they proved to be her father and three brothers.
In the oldest peasant MacGregor almost immediately recognized Andrew Gemmil, the gipsy wanderer who had acted as his guide when he followed Duncan nan Creagh to the Braes of Rannoch. Being single-handed, ignorant of the crime of which the prisoners were accused, and finding himself before eighteen soldiers and an officer, who were all fully armed, and who by their jack-boots, buff breeches, and blue coats, evidently belonged to a Border militia regiment, Rob Roy stood by for some time in bewilderment, and soon saw the four unfortunates flung in succession off a ladder, and all swinging and writhing in the agonies of death between him and the ruddy western sky.
The officer now commanded his men to seize the girl, who had cast herself with her face on the grass, that she might shut out the dreadful scene; he added they were to bind her hands and feet together, and then throw her head foremost into the stream, which then swept in full flood through this savage ravine, and was all the more fierce and deep that heavy rains had fallen of late. Rob's blood began to boil. He thought, perhaps, upon the words of Ossian:—"Within this bosom is a voice—it comes not to other ears—that bids Ossian succour the helpless in their hour of need."
Four soldiers tied her hands and feet, and were about to obey the order of the officer, when Rob, exasperated by such unmanly cruelty, commanded them in a loud voice to pause, and then he demanded sternly, "Why do you treat a helpless female in a manner so barbarous?"
Perceiving that he was plainly attired in a rough coat of Galloway frieze, with a tartan plaid thrown over his left shoulder, and a broad blue bonnet drawn down close to his eyes, and perhaps unaware that he had a good sword by his side and pistols at his girdle, the officer replied haughtily,—
"Sir, you had better begone about your own business, whatever it may be, less we add you to the goodly company who await the crows on that branch, if you dare to interrupt those who act in the Queen's name and under her authority."
"Miscreant!" exclaimed Rob, "the good Queen Anne never gave you warrant for such deeds as these."
"Then the Lords of her Council do—so it matters not to me."
"Who are these people?" asked Rob, firmly.
"Enemies of Church and State," replied the officer, "and therefore they must suffer. Throw in the woman!"
"Hold, I command you!" exclaimed MacGregor, with a voice like a trumpet, and leaping from his saddle, he unsheathed his claymore. The fury and indignation which filled his heart added such strength to his muscular arm, that in an incredibly short time he had tossed eight of the soldiers into the stream, and rescued the girl, waving his bare blade in a circle between her and the rest, who dared not advance. Confounded by the audacity of the man, by his sudden onslaught, and the whole catastrophe, the officer remained for a moment gazing alternately at the bold intercessor, and at his men, who were struggling, shouting, swearing, and scrambling to the river bank as they best could. With a slash of his skene dhu Rob cut the cords which bound the girl's hands and feet, and bade her "begone and God-speed."
By this time the officer had rallied his energies, and drawing his sword, attacked Rob, who instantly ran him through the body, on which the soldiers, believing that some large force of assailants was at hand, fled without firing a shot, and left him in possession of the field.
He then cut down those who had just been executed. All were motionless and still; but not all dead, for ere long one who had been last thrown off the ladder showed signs of life, and began to revive.
Rob committed him and the girl, his sister, to the care of the peasantry, some of whom were now assembled. He did more, for he carefully bound up the wound of the officer, who was borne away to the village; and then MacGregor, not knowing how the matter might end, or ofwhatthe persons rescued were accused, put some money into the hands of the half-dead girl, and remounting his horse, galloped through Moffatdale as fast as its heels could bear him.
The author who relates this adventure of Rob Roy, terms the persons who were executed "fanatics;" but it is much more probable that they were all Border gipsies, against whom there were then, and for long after, laws in existence even as severe as those which oppressed the Clan Gregor.
On receipt of Rob Roy's letter, containing intelligence that the cattle speculation had been a failure, and that their money was nearly lost, his Grace the Duke of Montrose burst into a very undignified fit of indignation, and instantly summoned his chamberlain, John Grahame of Killearn, who was a remote relation of his own, and in every sense a devoted and unscrupulous follower.
Poor Greumoch, whose rough and weather-beaten exterior, with homespun Highland dress, with a target slung on his back, all combined to gain him but little favour with Montrose's pampered valets, was speedily bowed out by them, and had the door shut in his face, notwithstanding the eagle's feather in his bonnet, which evinced his claim, when on the mountain side, to be considered a gentleman.
Then the angry duke laid the letter of Rob before his chamberlain, who in the Scottish fashion was simply named always by the title of his property.
"Well, Killearn," said Montrose, grimly; "here is a braw business! Ten thousand merks nearly have been made away with by this Highland limmer, and am I to be at the loss of them?"
"Assuredly not, your grace—assuredly not," replied Killearn. "Rob has property; there are both Inversnaid and Craigrostan."
"Craigrostan—bah! it is only a tract of grey rock and red heather, where even the deer can scarcely find shelter," replied the duke, contemptuously.
"But Inversnaid has a comfortable house, with steading, barn, and byre, forbye garden and meadow ground."
"Then, by heaven, I shall take Inversnaid, though all that bear the surname of MacGregor were on the hills to oppose me!" exclaimed the duke, passionately.
Killearn seemed uneasy as the duke made this outburst, and he twisted his well-powdered wig to and fro, as if the heat of it oppressed him. He was a dapper little personage, who was always accurately attired in a square-skirted coat, having immense cuffs and pocket flaps, a long-bodied vest and small clothes all of black velvet. His cravat, wig, and ruffles were always white as snow; he did not approve of swords, and never wore one, though for more than sixty years after this time every gentleman in Scotland did.
In one huge pocket he carried a silver snuff-box, and in the other a small thick breeches Bible, which he produced on every occasion; for he was one of those religious pretenders of whom Scotland has always produced a plentiful crop.
To describe his face would be difficult; but it expressed a singular combination of suavity, secret ferocity, cunning, and meanness. Montrose was the chief of his name; hence Killearn regarded him as a demigod, and all the more so because he was a duke, and one who paid him well.
So between them it was arranged, that as Rob Roy was absent—luckily for their scheme—possession, in the meantime, should be taken of all the moveables in his house and on his estate; that a warrant for his apprehension should be procured, and a reward offered for his capture by advertisements in the Edinburgh newspapers. Such lawless and arbitrary proceedings were as easily managed as proposed in those days.
"Take a well-armed party of my own people with you," said the duke; "Rob has many enemies in Dumbarton and the Lennox, who have long been resenting his collection of black-mail, and you will find plenty of hands willing enough to aid you in driving his men farther into the hills. There is Stirling of Carden will help you if required; and I dare say MacDougal's Dragoons could be marched up Loch Lomond side, with the Buchanans of Kippen; and," he added, with a sour smile, "perhaps the Laird of Luss may move in the matter, if he has not forgotten the battle of Glenfruin, and the blood that yet stains the floor of a certain vault in the castle of Bannochar. See to this, Killearn, and bring me news when all is arranged."
Killearn was somewhat aghast on hearing this rapid sketch of a campaign in which he was to figure as leader. He had no desire to head an armed raid into the MacGregors' country if he could avoid it; but he resolved to proceed in regular form of law; and in the duke's name he did so, with marvellous rapidity.
All Rob Roy's farm stock and furniture, and ultimately his house and estates, Inversnaid and Craigrostan, were unjustifiably made objects for arrest and sale; and while he was lingering in Glasgow, endeavouring to raise money to repay the duke, the "warrant of distress," as it would be called in England, was enforced with great strictness and even barbarity.
Another account of these proceedings would make it appear that Rob was compelled to assign his possessions in mortgage to the Duke of Montrose, under a solemn promise that they should revert to him when he could restore the money lost in the transaction at Carlisle; that afterwards, when his finances improved, he offered the sum for which the two little properties were held in hand; but Montrose and Killearn replied that, besides the principal, there was now interest thereon, and various other expenses, so that much time would be required to make up a statement of the whole sum, and that, in "this equivocal manner, he was amused, and ultimatelydeprived of all his property." Whatever their proceedings were, of thelatter factthere is no doubt.
With a band of well-armed followers to support the officers of the law, Killearn appeared at the house of Inversnaid, when, fortunately for himself and for those who accompanied him, the men of the village were absent—some with the cattle on the mountains, others cutting peat in the bogs; some fishing in the loch, and others hunting in the woods.
Rob's crops of barley, rye, peas, and small black oats were all stored in his granary; and stacks of dark brown peats, drawn from the bog on sledges for winter fuel, were piled before the door. The young women of the village were busy carrying manure to the fields in conical baskets, for now the little wooden ploughs were at work on the upland slopes; and the old people sat at their doors, knitting, spinning, or basking in the autumn sun, that poured his yellow glory down the rugged glen, where the voices of the children rang merrily, for a band of bare-headed and bare-legged urchins were having a boisterous and gleeful game, with clubs and balls, in the middle of the clachan, when, to the terror of all, John Grahame of Killearn appeared with his followers.
He had come up Loch Lomond, with one or two large boats, armed with brass swivel-guns, accompanied by several of the Buchanans, and, as some say, by Stirling of Carden, who hated Rob Roy, and dreaded him too, as he had long and unjustly withheld the tax of black-mail.
With all his duplicity and cunning, Killearn must have been a bold fellow in attempting to enforce, in those days of dirks and broadswords—and more especially in the country of Rob Roy—the same harsh measures which similar factors carry out so successfully among the now unarmed population of the North; spreading desolation through Rossshire, Sutherland, and Breadalbane. Yet, anomalous as it may appear, he did so. It is said that on the night before this visit, Rob's staghounds howled in a melancholy and ominous manner, for the old grey Highland dog possesses a sagacity so remarkable, and an attachment so strong for his master, that the people believe he can foresee approaching evil and death with the eyes of a seer.
Of the interview which took place bekveen Mr. Grahame and Helen MacGregor, only traditional accounts have been preserved; but all who have written on the subject assert that he forcibly entered the house of Inversnaid, and roughly and summarily expelled her, with her four children and all her servants; and that his bearing was harsh, brutal, and unjustifiable.
"Grahame of Killearn," says the "History of Stirlingshire," "over-zealous in his master's service, had recourse to a mode of expulsion inconsistent with the rights of humanity, by insulting Mrs. Campbell in her husband's absence."
The furniture, crops, farm-stock, food, clothing, and everything were carried off to be sold at Glasgow or Dumbarton, and the door of the empty house was closed upon the now homeless family. The poor huts of Greumoch, Alaster Roy, and their more immediate followers, were burned or levelled, that they too might be without shelter; and re-embarking, after achieving these outrageous proceedings, Killearn, with all his plunder, spread his sails, and proceeded down Loch Lomond with all speed.
More than once the long Spanish gun of Rob's foster-brother covered the dapper figure of the duke's chamberlain; but Greumoch arrested the weapon, and bade him tarry in his vengeance till the Red MacGregor returned.
On beholding the total ruin of her household, Helen MacGregoi is said to have cast her plaid around her little boys, as they shrunk to her side, and exclaimed, in a piercing voice, "Oh! St. Mary, now with the archangels, look here!" For a time she abandoned herself to the wildest grief; then, when thoughts more fierce and bitter came, she wiped away her tears, and registered a terrible vow for vengeance on their oppressors.
"It is certain," says Scott, "that she felt extreme anguish on being expelled from the banks of Loch Lomond, and gave vent to her feelings in a fine piece of pipe music, which she composed, and which is still well known by the name of 'Rob Roy's Lament.'"
One of the children was sickly and feeble, and thus they were all thrust forth upon the mountain side, in the last days of autumn, when a Highland winter, with all its severities, was at hand, and when the forest of pine—the badge of their name—would be their only shelter; so Helen longed for the return of her husband, and for the vengeance that was sure to follow!
Ignorant of what had passed—that the fire on his hearth was extinguished—and that his household had been driven forth like beasts of prey—Rob Roy, after failing to procure in Glasgow a sum requisite to gratify the avarice of Montrose, appeared one afternoon at the residence of the latter, the castle of Mugdock, which is nine miles distant from Glasgow, and is situated in Strathblane.
The valets muttered among themselves of what their titled master had done, and marvelled what might be the object of this visit from MacGregor; the latter, especially since his inroad into Kippen, had been somewhat used to be treated with a respect that was not unmingled with fear, so the sudden interest his appearance excited was unnoticed by him, as he was ushered into the library.
The castle of Mugdock, now a ruin, was then a regularly fortified tower. It is of great antiquity, and was protected on the east and north by the water of a lake, which was drawn round it in the manner of a fosse.
The central keep or donjon was surrounded by a barbican, built so as to form an obtuse angle with the latter, so that a cross shower of missiles would protect the arched gateway from any besiegers who might assail it, fordefencewas the first principle of Scottish architecture in the olden time.
Through the grated windows of the library poor Rob gazed wistfully down Strathblane, "the vale of the warm river," as it is named in the figurative language of his native country. He could see the wooded landscape stretching to the westward far away, the gentle uplands, the pine thickets, the shining lochlets and the winding stream; the insulated cone of Dumgoaic, covered to its summit with waving foliage, and in the distance, closing the familiar view, the vast outline of Ben Lomond, that overshadowed its lake of the Twenty-four Isles, and looked down on Inversnaid, where, as he fondly believed, Helen, their little ones, MacAleister, and the household awaited his return!
Alas! how little he knew of all that had happened there within the last few weeks; and as little dared his titled host to tell him.
A step fell on his ear, as a person in high-heeled riding-boots, with gilt maroquin gambadoes and gold spurs, trod on the polished oak floor. Rob turned, and found himself face to face with the chief of "the gallant Grahams," the Duke of Montrose.
The latter was not a little startled on finding himself, during such a crisis in their affairs, confronted by a man of such known resolution as the Red MacGregor, so he blushed redly to the roots of his ample periwig.
He wore the square-cut coat with buckram skirts and the long-flapped waistcoat of Queen Anne's reign. These were of dark blue silk, covered with gold embroidery, and he looked every way the great-grandson of the High Cavalier Marquis, whose portrait, by Anthony Vandycke, in wig and armour, with sword and scarlet baton, hung upon the wall—the same great Montrose who had been so cruelly butchered by the Covenanters in 1650.
As the duke entered, he had in his hand a newspaper, which he hastily crushed and concealed in his pocket, changing colour as he did so, for that identical paper was theEdinburgh Evening Courant, containing the advertisement offering a reward for Rob's seizure, dead or alive, a copy of which Grahame of Killearn had just sent to Mugdock by a special messenger.
Though armed with sword, dirk, and pistols, the bearing of Rob Roy assured the startled duke in an instant that his visit was not hostile, and that he was ignorant, or as yet happily unconscious, of the wreck of his peace and honour, the destruction of his property, and the desolation of his home; so Montrose bowed courteously with a courtier's greeting.
"I salute you, gentleman," said Rob, as in Gaelic there are no terms descriptive of rank. The duke, whose right hand was still buried in his pocket, clutching the paper, as if he dreaded that it would fly out and unfold itself, held forth the other; but Rob drew back with a lofty air of offended dignity, saying,—
"My father's son would not take thelefthand of a king—nay, not even of him who is far away in France; God save and send him safely to his own again! And so, duke, why should I takeyours?"
"Please yourself, MacGregor," replied the duke, with chillinghauteur; "but remember that I have good reason to be offended."
"Offended!" echoed Rob, with surprise.
"You have used me ill."
"You got my letter from Carlisle by the hand of my most trusted kinsman, Greumoch?" asked Rob, hastily.
"A gillie—a drover," sneered Montrose.
"Aduinewassalof the Clan Alpine, James Grahame, name him as you will," said Rob Roy, becoming flushed with anger.
"What is all this to me?" asked Montrose, haughtily.
"Dioul!" exclaimed Rob, passionately; "did you not get my letter?"
"I did."
"Then it fully explained all."
"It explained that being undersold in the southern markets, or something to that effect, you had parted with our cattle below prime cost."
"Far below it, as I can assure your grace."
"Well, MacGregor Campbell?"
"'Sdeath! MacGregor only!" interrupted Rob, whose fury was fast rising, and he stamped his foot on the floor.
"I decline to bear my share in this loss, and have insisted upon repayment of thewhole sumoriginally subscribed, with the interest due thereon."