THE DESPATCHES CAPTURED.
The summits of the hills, behind which the sun was setting, were dark
and sombre, while a ruddy purple hue tinged those on which his light
was falling.
Concealing themselves among some tufts of high fern and dwarf
alder-trees, the MacGregors watched the advance of those whom they
deemed the chief tools of their tormentors--the unsuspecting soldiers
of the line.
The brightly-burnished musket-barrels of the men, and the pikes then
carried by the officer and his sergeant, were seen to flash and
glitter as they advanced through the deep hollow, along which the
narrow foot-track wound; and soon the bright red of their
square-skirted coats, and their white crossbelts, breeches, and
gaiters appeared in strong relief upon the dun heather of the glen.
Rob counted that there was an officer, a sergeant, and twenty rank
and file. From his ambush he could with ease have shot down the
whole party, had he been cruelly disposed; but, that even his enemies
might not be taken unprepared, he ordered young Coll, MacAleister,
and the rest to keep out of sight, but to start up at a given signal;
and then, rising from his hiding-place, he advanced alone towards the
marching soldiers.
The appearance of a fully-armed Highlander, with sword, dirk,
pistols, and target, excited no comment then; for, on Rob drawing
near, the officer coldly returned his salute, and the sergeant
inquired "how far it was from thence to the head of Loch Lomond?"
"About twenty miles, if you pass through Glenfalloch." The soldiers,
who were a mixed party of the 15th Foot and the South British
Fusiliers, muttered something which sounded very like oaths. In
those days an officer's escort accompanied every Government letter or
message through the Highlands, as smaller parties were liable to be
cut off.
"It will be mirk midnight before you get half way through the glen,"
resumed Rob, with a mocking smile; "and people say that Glenfalloch
is haunted."
"By what?" asked the officer, who wore a Ramillie wig, a
three-cornered hat, and red rocquelaure.
"Spirits."
"Indeed--whisky, I suppose?" said the sergeant, laughing.
"Loud voices are heard talking in the air overhead, when nothing can
be seen but the sailing clouds."
"Voices!" exclaimed Captain Huske.
"Yes, as if one hill-top was talking to the other."
"Bah! I can bid our drummer beat the 'Point of War.' I warrant
he'll scare away all your Highland goblins, even Rob Roy himself,
whom I wish was as near me as you are."
"You have had him near enough once before," said MacGregor, gravely,
as he suddenly recognized the officer, though some time had elapsed
since they last met.
"Hah--when?"
"In Moffatdale, where he gave you a lesson in humanity, and in good
manners, too."
"Zounds, sirrah, what do you mean?" asked Captain Huske, cocking his
hat fiercely over his right eye, and stepping forward a pace.
"Simply, that he ran you through the body, as he is quite prepared to
do again, if you do not instantly yield up your packet of despatches!"
The officer sprang back, threw off his rocquelaure, and brought his
pike to the charge; Rob parried the thrust by his claymore, but he
uttered a shrill whistle on seeing the soldiers fixing their bayonets
and cocking their muskets.
"Shoot down the Highland dog!" cried Captain Huske, choking with
passion; but his soldiers paused, for a yell now pierced the welkin,
and fifty MacGregors, armed with sword and target, and each with the
badge of his forbidden clan in his bonnet--a sprig of the mountain
pine--rushed down with a shout of "Ard choille! ard choille!
'Srioghal mo dhream!" Perceiving that he was outnumbered, the
officer withdrew his pike, and by outstretched sword-arm Rob kept
back his own people, who glared over their shields at the unfortunate
party of soldiers, who thought their doom was sealed, and that a
hopeless and bloody struggle was about to ensue.
"Are you all robbers?" asked the officer, fiercely.
"No more than your citizens of London or Carlisle may be," replied
MacGregor. "You might be shot by a cowardly footpad on Hounslow
Heath--ay, or London Bridge, or in the High Street of Edinburgh; but
who there would stop a band of armed soldiers as I this day stop you?
Here, in front of your men, sir, I will fight you, with sword and
pistol, or with sword and dirk; whichever please you."
"Neither please me--I am a king's officer, and may not risk my life,
like a roadside bully, thus," said the captain, haughtily. "Am I
right in supposing that you are the outlaw Rob Roy, for whose capture
a high reward is offered?"
"You are right; I am the Laird of Inversnaid, and instantly require
your despatches."
"For what purpose?"
"The service of his Majesty, King James VIII., whom God preserve!"
replied MacGregor, lifting his bonnet with reverence.
"I must either give up my life and the despatches together, or the
despatches alone," said the officer, bewildered and exasperated.
"What you may do is nothing to me."
"But there is one of vast importance."
"The very one I wish, captain; so surrender it at once, or I shall
cut you and your men into collops for the fox and the raven."
Captain Huske opened the breast-pocket of his regimentals, and
unwillingly gave to Rob a large sealed packet, addressed, "To the
most noble Prince, James, Duke of Montrose, Secretary of State for
Scotland. On His Majesty's Service."
Rob's eyes sparkled with resentment on seeing the name of his enemy;
but he tore open the envelope, and taking out the well-known bond of
the Highland chiefs, restored the packet to the English officer.
He then offered him and his men a dram each, and marched off into the
darkening mountains, leaving the captain to proceed towards
Dumbarton, or return to Colonel Hill at Fort William, whichever
suited his orders or his fancy.
By this bold exploit Rob preserved secret the plans of the
forthcoming insurrection, and saved from the scaffold, captivity, or
exile, many brave nobles and gentlemen, whom otherwise the merciless
Government of George I. would have seized and destroyed in detail.