AFTER the victory of the Highlanders and the drowning of Morris the spy,
it was for some little while touch-and-go whether the Bailie and Frank
should be made to follow him to the bottom of the loch. But at last
Frank was ordered to go as an ambassador to those who had captured Rob
Roy, while the Bailie with Captain Thornton and all the other prisoners
remained as hostages in the hands of the victorious Helen.
This was the message he was to carry to the Sassenach.
The whole district of the Lennox would be ravished if the Mac-Gregor
were not set free within twelve hours. Farmhouses would be burned,
stack-yard and byre made desolate. In every house there would be a
crying of the death wail--the coronach of sorrow. Furthermore, to begin
with, Helen Mac-Gregor promised that if her request was not granted
within the time specified, she would send them this Glasgow Bailie, with
the Saxon Captain, and all the captive soldiers, bundled together in a
plaid, and chopped into as many pieces as there were checks in the
tartan!
When the angry Chieftainess paused in her denunciations, the cool level
voice of the soldier struck in: "Give my compliments--Captain Thornton's
of the Royal's--to the commanding officer, and tell him to do his duty
and secure his prisoner, without wasting a thought on me. If I have been
fool enough to let myself be led into this trap, I am at least wise
enough to know how to die for it without disgracing the service. I am
only sorry for my poor fellows," he added, "fallen into such butcherly
hands!"
But the Bailie's message was far different in tone.
"Whisht, man, whisht," he cried, "are ye weary of your life? Ye'll gie
_my_ service, Bailie Nicol Jarvie's service--a magistrate o' Glasgow, as
his father was before him--to the commanding officer, and tell him that
there are here a wheen honest men in sore trouble, and like to come to
mair. And tell him that the best thing he can do for the common good is
just to let Rob come his ways up the glen, and nae mair about it! There
has been some ill done already, but as it has lighted mostly on the
exciseman Morris it will not be muckle worth making a stir about!"
So young Hamish Mac-Gregor led Frank Osbaldistone across the mountains
to the place where his father's captors, the horsemen of the Lennox, had
taken up their position on a rocky eminence, where they would be safe
from any sudden attack of the mountaineers.
Before parting he made Frank promise not to reveal, either who had
guided him thither, or where he had parted from his conductor. Happily
Frank was not asked either of these questions. He and Andrew (who, in a
tattered cloak and with a pair of brogues on his feet, looked like a
Highland scarecrow) were soon perceived by the sentries and conducted to
the presence of the commanding officer, evidently a man of rank, in a
steel cuirass, crossed by the ribband of the Thistle, to whom the
others seemed to pay great deference. This proved to be no other than
his Grace the Duke of Montrose, who in person had come to conduct the
operations against his enemy, Rob Roy.
Frank's message was instantly listened to, and very clearly and
powerfully he pointed out what would occur if Rob Roy were not suffered
to depart. But the Duke bade him return to those who sent him, and tell
them that if they touched so much as a hair upon the heads of their
hostages, he would make their glens remember it for a hundred years. As
for Rob Roy, he must surely die!
But Frank Osbaldistone pointed out that to return with such a message
would be to go to certain death, and pleaded for some reply which might
save the lives of Captain Thornton, the Bailie, and the soldiers who
were captive in Helen Mac-Gregor's hands upon the hostile shores of Loch
Ard.
"Why, if you cannot go yourself, send your servant!" returned the Duke.
At which Andrew burst forth. He had had, he said, enough and to spare of
Highland hospitality.
"The deil be in my feet," quoth Andrew, "if I go the length of my toe
on such an errand. Do the folk think I have a spare windpipe in my
pocket, after John Highlandman has slit this one with his jocteleg? Or
that I can dive down at one side of a Highland loch and come up at the
other like a sheldrake? Na, na, every one for himself, and God for us
all! Folk may just go on their own errands. Rob Roy is no concern of
mine. He never came near my native parish of Dreepdaily to steal either
pippin or pear from me or mine!"
The Duke seemed much affected by the hard case of the King's officer,
but he replied that the state of the country must come first, and it was
absolutely necessary that Rob Roy should die. He held to this resolution
even when Galbraith of Garschattachin and others of his followers seemed
inclined to put in a good word for Rob. He was about to examine the
prisoner further, when a Highlander brought him a letter which seemed to
cause the great man much annoyance. It announced that the Highland
clans, on whom the Lowlanders had been relying, had made a separate
peace with the enemy and had gone home.
As the night was now fast coming on, the Duke ordered Garschattachin to
draw off his party in one direction, while he himself would escort the
prisoner to a place called Duchray.
"Here's auld ordering and counter-ordering," growled Garschattachin
between his teeth, "but bide a wee--we may, ere long, play at Change
Seats--for the King's coming!"
The two divisions of cavalry began to move down the valley at a slow
trot. One party, that commanded by Galbraith, turned to the right, where
they were to spend the night in an old castle, while the other, taking
along with them Frank Osbaldistone, escorted the prisoner to a place of
safety. Rob Roy was mounted behind one of the strongest men present, one
Ewan of Brigglands, to whom he was fastened by a horse-belt passed round
both and buckled before the yeoman's breast. Frank was set on a
troop-horse and placed immediately behind. They were as closely
surrounded by soldiers as the road would permit, and there were always
one or two troopers, pistol in hand, riding on either side of Rob Roy.
Nevertheless the dauntless outlaw was endeavouring all the time to
persuade Ewan of Brigglands to give him a last chance for his life.
"Your father, Ewan," he said, so low that Frank had difficulty in
catching the words, "would not thus have carried an old friend to the
shambles, like a calf, for all the dukes in Christendom!"
To this Ewan returned no answer--only shrugging his shoulders as a sign
that what he was doing was by no choice of his own.
"And when the Mac-Gregors come down the glen," the voice of the tempter
went on in Ewan's ear, "and ye see empty folds, a bloody hearthstone,
and the fire flashing out between the rafters of your house, ye may be
thinking then, Ewan, that were your friend Rob Roy to the fore, you
might have had that safe, which it will make your heart sore to lose!"
They were at this time halted on the river-bank, waiting for the signal
to bring over the Mac-Gregor. Rob made one last attempt.
"It's a sore thing," said Rob Roy, still closer in the ear of his
conductor, "that Ewan of Brigglands, whom Rob Roy has helped with hand,
sword, and purse, should mind a gloom from a great man more than a
friend's life."
Ewan, sorely agitated, was silent.
Then came the Duke's loud call from the opposite bank, "Bring over the
prisoner!"
Dashing forward precipitately, Ewan's horse, with the two men on his
back, entered the water. A soldier kept back Frank from following. But
in the waning light he could see the Duke getting his people into order
across the river, when suddenly a splash and a cry warned him that Rob
had prevailed on Ewan of Brigglands to give him one more chance for
life.