around Rob Roy at Craig Royston, and swore obedience to him as their
chieftain. The country was kept in continual awe by these marauders, who
broke into houses and carried off the inmates to Craig Royston, there to
remain until heavy ransoms were paid. Their chieftain, meantime, laughed
at justice, and defied even the great Montrose. He had spies in every
direction, who brought him intelligence of all that was going on. No
person could travel near the abode of this mountain bandit without risk
of being captured and carried to Craig Royston. In many instances the
treatment of the prisoners is said to have been harsh; in some it was
tempered by the relentings of Rob Roy. On one occasion, having seized
upon a gentleman whose means had been reduced by great losses, he not
only set him at liberty, but gave him money to pay his travelling
expenses, and sent him in one of his own boats as far as he could travel
by water.
The incursions of this Scottish Robin Hood were contrived with the
utmost caution and secrecy, and executed with almost incredible
rapidity. No one knew when he would appear, nor in what direction he
would turn his dreaded attention. He is even said to have threatened the
Duke of Montrose in his own residence at Buchanan. His enterprises were,
however, not always contrived for a serious end, but sometimes partook
of the love of a practical joke, which is a feature in the Scottish
character.
"The Highland Rogue" gives the following account of one of his
exploits:--[111]
"Rob Roy's creditors now grew almost past hopes of recovering their
money. They offered a large reward to any that should attempt it
successfully; but not an officer could be found who was willing to run
such a hazard of his life; till at length a bailiff, who had no small
opinion of his own courage and conduct, undertook the affair.
"Having provided a good horse and equipt himself for the journey, he set
out without any attendance, and in a few hours arrived at Craigroiston,
where, meeting with some of Rob Roy's men, he told them he had business
of great importance to deliver to their master in private. Rob Roy
having notice of it, ordered them to give him admittance. As soon as he
came in, the Captain demanded his business. 'Sir,' (says the other)
'tho' you have had misfortunes in the world, yet knowing you to be in
your nature an honourable gentleman, I made bold to visit you upon
account of a small debt, which I don't doubt but you will discharge if
it lies in your power.' 'Honest friend,' (says M'Gregor) 'I am sorry
that at present I cannot answer your demand; but if your affairs will
permit you to lodge at my house to-night, I hope by to-morrow I shall be
better provided.' The bailiff complied, and was overjoyed at the success
he had met with. He was entertained with abundance of civility, and went
to bed at a seasonable time.
"Rob Roy then ordered an old suit of clothes to be stuffed full of
straw, not wholly unlike one of the Taffies that the mob dress up and
expose upon the 1st of March, in ridicule of the Welshmen; only, instead
of a hat with a leek in it, they bound his head with a napkin. The
ghastly figure being completely formed, they hung it upon the arm of a
tree directly opposite to the window where the officer lay: he rising in
the morning and finding his door locked, steps back to the window and
opens the casement, in expectation of finding some of the servants,
when, to his great astonishment, he cast his eye upon the dreary object
before him: he knew not what to make of it; he began to curse his
enterprise, and wished himself safe in his own house again. In the midst
of his consternation, he spied one of the servants, and calling to him,
desired him to open the door. The fellow seemed surprised at finding it
locked, begged his pardon, and protested it was done by mistake. As soon
as the bailiff got out, 'Prithee friend,' (says he) 'what is it that
hangs upon yonder tree?' 'O sir,' (says the other) ''tis a bailiff, a
cursed rogue that has the impudence to come hither to my master, and dun
him for an old debt; and therefore he ordered him to be hanged there
for a warning to all his fraternity. I think the impudent dog deserved
it, and in troth, we have been commended by all his neighbours for so
doing.' The catchpole was strangely terrified at this account, but
hoping that the servant did not know him to be one of the same
profession, he walked away with a seeming carelessness, till he thought
himself out of sight, and then looking round and finding the way clear,
he threw off his coat and ran for his life, not resting, nor so much as
looking behind him, till he came to a village about three or four miles
off; where, when he had recovered breath, he told the story of his
danger and escape, just as he apprehended it to be. Rob Roy was so
pleased with the success of his frolic, that the next day he sent home
the bailiff's coat and horse, and withal let his neighbours know that it
was only a contrivance to frighten him away; by which means the poor
rogue became the common subject of the people's diversion."
This adventure was immediately recounted to the Governor of Stirling
Castle by the messenger, who hastened to that fortress. A party of
soldiers was ordered out to seize Rob Roy; but the chieftain gained
intelligence of their approach, and Rob Roy retreated to the hills;
whilst the country of the Macgregors was roused, and put into a state of
defence. The soldiers, meantime, worn out with their search among the
hills, took possession of an empty house and filled it with heath for
beds. The Macgregors, always active and watchful, set fire to the house,
and drove their enemies from their post. Thus Rob Roy escaped the
pursuit of justice, the troopers being obliged to return to Stirling
Castle. He was not always so fortunate as to avoid imminent danger; yet
he had a faithful friend who watched over his safety, and who would have
willingly sacrificed his life for that of Macgregor. This was the
chieftain's lieutenant, Fletcher, or Macanaleister, "the _Little John_
of his band," and an excellent marksman. "It happened," writes Sir W.
Scott, "that MacGregor and his party had been surprised and dispersed by
a superior force of horse and foot, and the word was given to 'split and
squander.' Jack shifted for himself; but a bold dragoon attached himself
to pursuit of Rob Roy, and overtaking him, struck at him with his
broadsword. A plate of iron in his bonnet saved Mac Gregor from being
cut down to the teeth; but the blow was heavy enough to bear him to the
ground, crying as he fell, 'O Macanaleister, there is naething in her,'
(_i.e._ in the gun:) the trooper at the same time exclaiming, 'D--n ye,
your mother never brought your nightcap;' had his arm raised for a
second blow, when Macanaleister fired, and the ball pierced the
dragoon."
His feats had, however, in most instances, the character of an
unwarrantable oppression, notwithstanding that they were sometimes
accompanied by traits of a generous and chivalric spirit. Very few of
those who lived in his neighbourhood could depend upon an hour's
security, without paying the tax of black mail, which he audaciously
demanded; and the licentiousness of his reckless troop was the theme of
just reprobation, and the cause of terror to many innocent and peaceable
inhabitants in the west of Perth and Stirlingshire. On one occasion
Campbell, of Abernchile, who had found it convenient to submit to the
assessment of the black mail, neglected the regular payment of the tax.
Rob Roy, angry at his disobedience, rode up to his house, knocked at the
door, and demanded admittance. A party of friends was at dinner with the
host, and the door was closed against Macgregor. Rob Roy sounded his
horn; instantly his followers appeared in view. Rob Roy ordered them to
drive off the cattle from the estate: Abernchile was forced to make an
humble apology in order to avert his wrath, and to pay the exaction.
Another enterprise of Rob Roy's was directed to the welfare of his ward
and relative, Macgregor of Glengyle. The estates of Glengyle were
pledged, or, as it is called in Scotland, "under a contract of wadset."
The creditor was a man of influence and fortune; but, like most other
Scottish proprietors who were enabled to take advantage of the wadset
rights, he was grasping and merciless. It was not uncommon, in those
times, for men to whom estates had been pledged, to take the most unfair
advantages of small and needy proprietors; and from the great
superiority which a superior claimed over his vassals, it became almost
impossible for his inferiors to resist his rapacity, or to defeat his
cunning.
Some months before the period of redemption had expired, Rob Roy, aware
of the danger to which his ward was exposed, raised a sum of money in
order to redeem the pledge. It was pretended by the creditor, that the
bond securing the power of redemption was lost; and since a few months
only of the period remained, a plan was formed by him for protracting
the settlement of the affair. Rob Roy, unhappily, was elsewhere
occupied: the period expired; the young Macgregor ceased, therefore, to
be the proprietor of his estate; he was ordered to leave it, and to
remove his attendants, cattle, and tenants within eight days. "But law,"
as Dr. Johnson observes, "is nothing without power." Before those eight
days had elapsed, Rob Roy had assembled his _gillies_, had followed his
creditor into Argyleshire, had met him, nevertheless, in Strathfillan,
and had carried him prisoner to an inn. There the unjust creditor was
desired to give up the bond, and told to send for it from his castle.
The affrighted man promised all that could be required of him; Rob Roy
would not trust him, but sent two of his followers for the bond, which
was brought at the end of two days. When it was delivered to Macgregor,
he refused to pay the sum of redemption, telling the creditor that the
money was too small a fine for the wrong which he had inflicted; and
that he might be thankful to escape as well as he might.
Against all acts of oppression, except those which he thought proper to
commit himself, Rob Roy waged war. He was the avenger of the injured,
and the protector of the humble; and lest his own resources should prove
insufficient for these purposes, a contract was entered into with
several neighbouring proprietors to combine, for the purposes of
defence, and protection to others.
The Duke of Montrose and his agent, Graham of Killearn, were still the
especial objects of Macgregor's hatred. When a widow was persecuted by
the merciless factor, and distrained for rent, Rob Roy intercepted the
officers who went out against her, and gave them a severe chastisement;
and a similar excursion was made in favour of any poor man who was
obliged to pay a sum of money for rent. The collectors of the rent were
disarmed, and obliged to refund what they had received. Upon the same
principle of might against right, Rob Roy supported his family and
retainers upon the contents of a meal-store which Montrose kept at a
place called Moulin; and when any poor family in the neighbourhood were
in want of meat, Rob Roy went to the store-keeper, ordered the quantity
which he wanted, and directed the tenants to carry it away. There was no
power either of resistance or complaint. If the parks of Montrose were
cleared of their cattle, the Duke was obliged to bear the loss in
silence. At length, harassed by constant depredations, Montrose applied
to the Privy Council for redress, and obtained the power of pursuing and
repressing robbers, and of recovering the goods stolen by them. But, in
this act, such was the dread of Rob Roy's power, that his name was
intentionally omitted in the order in Council.
The retreat into which Rob Roy retired, in times of danger, was a cave
at the base of Ben Lomond, and on the borders of the Loch. The entrance
to this celebrated recess is extremely difficult from the precipitous
heights which surround it. Mighty fragments of rock, partially overgrown
with brushwood and heather, guard the approach. Here Robert de Bruce
sheltered himself from his enemies; and here Rob Roy, who had an
enthusiastic veneration for that monarch, believed that he was securing
to himself an appropriate retirement. It was, indeed, inaccessible to
all but those who knew the rugged entrance; and here, had it not been
for the projects which brought the Chevalier St. George to England, Rob
Roy might have defied, during his whole lifetime, the vengeance of
Montrose. From this spot Macgregor could almost command the whole
country around Loch Lomond; a passionate affection to the spot became
the feeling, not only of his mind, but of that of his wife, who, upon
being compelled to quit the banks of Loch Lomond, gave way to her grief
in a strain which obtained the name of "Rob Roy's Lament."
Of the exquisite beauty, and of the grandeur and interest of the scene
of Rob Roy's seclusion, thousands can now form an estimate. Dr. Johnson
was no enthusiast when he thus coldly and briefly adverted to the
characteristics of Loch Lomond. "Had Loch Lomond been in a happier
climate, it would have been the boast of wealth and vanity to own one
of the little spots which it incloses, and to have employed upon it all
the arts of embellishment. But as it is, the islets which court the
gazer at a distance, disgust him at his approach, when he finds instead
of soft lawns and shady thickets, nothing more than uncultivated
ruggedness."[112]
From this retreat Rob Roy frequently emerged upon some mission of
destruction, or some errand of redress. His name was a terror to all who
had ever incurred his wrath; his depredations were soon extended to the
Lowlands. One night a report prevailed in Dumbarton, that Rob Roy
intended to surprise the militia and to fire the town. It was resolved
to anticipate this attack, and accordingly the militia made their way to
Craig Royston; and having secured the boats on Loch Lomond, which
belonged to the Macgregors, they proceeded to seek for Rob Roy. But the
chieftain had collected his followers, and, retreating into his cave, he
laughed at his enemies, who were forced to retire without encountering
him, the object of their search.
It is indeed remarkable, that outrages so audacious, and a power so
imperative as that of Rob Roy, should have defied all control within
forty miles of the city of Glasgow, an important and commercial city.
"Thus," as Sir Walter Scott observes, "a character like his, blending
the wild virtues, the subtle policy, and unconstrained licence of an
American Indian, was flourishing in Scotland during the Augustan age of
Queen Anne and George the First. Addison, it is probable, and Pope,
would have been considerably surprised if they had known that there
existed, in the same island with them, a personage of Rob Roy's peculiar
habits and profession."
To the various other traits in the character of Rob Roy, there was added
that tenacity of purpose, that obstinate and indefatigable hatred, which
were common to the Highlanders. Their feuds were, it is true,
hereditary, and were implanted in their minds before the reason could
calm the passions. The fierce, implacable temper of the Macgregors had
been aggravated by long-standing injuries and insults; among those who
might be considered the chief foes of their race were the heads of the
house of Athole. An uncontrolled, vehement spirit of revenge against
that family burned in the breast of Rob Roy Macgregor; nor did he lose
any opportunity of proving the sincerity of his professions of hatred.
Hitherto the wild feats of the marauder had met with continual success;
no reverse had lessened his control over his followers, nor lowered his
individual pride. But at length his enemy, the Earl of Athole, had a
brief, but signal triumph over the dreaded chief. The circumstances
under which it occurred are the following:--
Emboldened by his continued success, Rob Roy had descended into the
plains, and headed an enterprise which was attended with the direst
consequences: so desolating were its effects, that it is known by the
name of the "Herriship of Kilrane." The outrage was severely taken up by
Government, and a reward was offered for the head of the freebooter. It
was even resolved to explore his cave. One day, when on the banks of
Lochearn, attended by two of his followers, Rob Roy encountered seven
men, who required him to surrender; but the freebooter darted from their
view, and climbed a neighbouring hill, whence he shot three of the
troopers, and dispersed the rest. This occurrence drove him, for some
time, from his stronghold on Loch Lomond.
The Earl of Athole had deeply felt the insults of Rob Roy, and he now
took advantage of this temporary change of fortune to ensnare him. On a
former occasion he had made an ineffectual attempt to overcome
Macgregor. The scene had taken place on the day of the funeral of Rob
Roy's mother. This was at Balquhidder: when Rob Roy had beheld the party
of the Earl's friends approaching, he grasped his sword, yet met the
Earl with a smile, and affected to thank him for the honour of his
company. The Earl replied, that his was not a visit of compliment: and
that Rob Roy must accompany him to Perth. Remonstrance was vain, and Rob
Roy pretended compliance; but, whilst his friends looked on indignant
and amazed, Macgregor drew his sword; the Earl instantly discharged a
pistol at him: it missed its mark, and, during a momentary pause, the
sister of Rob Roy, and the wife of Glenfalloch, grasped Athole by the
throat and brought him to the ground. The clan meantime assembled in
numbers, and the Earl was thankful to be released from the fierce amazon
who held him, and to retire from the country of the Macgregors.
The Earl of Athole now judged force to be unavailing, and he resolved to
try stratagem. After wandering, in consequence of the proclamation of
Government, from place to place, Rob Roy was greeted by a friendly
message from the Earl of Athole, inviting him to Blair Athole. Macgregor
had not forgotten the day of his mother's funeral. He acted, on this
occasion, with the frankness of an honest and unsuspecting nature. He
doubted the Earl's sincerity; and he wrote to him, freely stating that
he did so. He was answered by the most solemn assurances of protection,
notwithstanding that all this time Athole was employed by Government to
bring Rob Roy to justice. Macgregor was, however, deceived: he rode to
Blair, attended only by one servant, and was received with the utmost
professions of regard, but was requested to lay aside his dirk and
sword, as the Countess of Athole would not suffer any armed man to enter
the castle. Rob Roy complied with Lord Athole's entreaty. What was his
surprise when the first remark made by Lady Athole was her surprise at
his appearing unarmed; Rob Roy then felt that he was betrayed. Angry
words, followed by a scuffle, ensued: the freebooter was overpowered;
for sixty men, armed, entered before he could strike a blow.
Rob Roy was carried towards Edinburgh. He had proceeded as far as
Logierait, under a strong guard, when he contrived, with his usual
address and good luck, to make his escape. But the dangers which
attended his eventful career were not at an end. He was surprised as he
retired to the farm of Portnellan, near the head of Loch Katrine, by his
old enemy, the factor of Montrose, with a party of men, who surrounded
the house in which Rob Roy slept before he was out of bed; yet, the
moment that he appeared, sword in hand, they fled in dismay. These, and
many other incidents, rest so much upon tradition, and are so little
supported by authority, that they belong rather to romance than to
history. It is with the part which Rob Roy took in the actual concerns
of his country that his biographer has most concern.
This brave but reckless individual was exactly the man to adopt a
dangerous cause, and to play a desperate game. Proscribed, hunted,
surrounded by enemies, burning under the consciousness of wrong, and
unable to retrace his path to a peaceable mode of life, Rob Roy was a
ready partisan of the Jacobite cause.
In 1713, he had transactions with two emissaries of the house of Stuart,
and was called to account for that negotiation before the
commander-in-chief in Edinburgh. He escaped punishment; and prepared, in
1715, to lead his clans to the field, headed by Macgregor of Glengyle,
his nephew.[113] Upon Michaelmas day, having made themselves masters of
the boats in Loch Lomond, seventy of the Macgregors possessed themselves
of Inch-murrain, a large island on the lake. About midnight they went
ashore at Bonhill, about three miles above Dumbarton. Meantime the alarm
was spread over the country; bells were rung, and cannon fired from
Dumbarton Castle. The Macgregors, therefore, thought fit to scamper away
to their boats, and to return to the island. Here they indulged
themselves in their usual marauding practices, "carrying off deer,
slaughtering cows, and other depredations." Soon afterwards they all
hurried away to the Earl of Mar's encampment at Perth; here they did not
long remain, but returned to Loch Lomond on the tenth of October.[114]
They now mustered their forces. Such was the terror of their name, that
both parties appear to have been afraid of the Macgregors, and to think
"it would be their wisdom to part peaceably with them, because, if they
should make any resistance, and shed the blood of so much as one
Macgregiour, they would set no bounds to their fury, but burn and slay
without mercy." This was the opinion held by some; by others resistance
was thought the more discreet as well as the more honourable part. A
body of volunteers was brought from Paisley, and it was resolved, if
possible, to retake the boats captured by the Macgregors, who could now
make a descent wherever they pleased. A singular spectacle was beheld on
the bosom of Loch Lomond: four pinnaces and seven boats, which had been
drawn by the strength of horses up the river Levin, which, next to the
Spey, is the most rapid stream in Scotland, were beheld, their sails
spread, cleaving the dark waters which reflected in their mirror a sight
of armed men, who were marching along the side of the loch, in order to
scour the coast. Never had anything been seen of the kind on Loch Lomond
before. "The men on the shore," writes an eyewitness, "marched with the
greatest ardour and alacrity. The pinnaces on the water discharging
their patararoes, and the men their small arms, made so very dreadful a
noise thro' the multiply'd rebounding echoes of the vast mountains on
both sides the loch, that perhaps there never was a more lively
resemblance of thunder." This little fleet was joined in the evening by
the enemy of the Macgregors, Sir Humphrey Colquhoun of Luss, followed by
"fourty or fifty stately fellows, in their short hose and belted plaids,
armed each of 'em with a well-fixed gun on his shoulder." At Luss a
report prevailed that the Macgregors were reinforced by Macdonald of
Glengarry, and had amounted to fifteen hundred strong: but this proved
to be an idle rumour; their numbers were only four hundred.
This falsehood did not dishearten the men of Paisley. "They knew," says
the chronicler of their feats, "that the Macgregiours and the devil are
to be dealt with after the same way; and that if they be resisted, they
will flee."