JOINS KING JAMES.
The brave Earl of Mar had now unfurled the standard of the exiled
king at Braemar, as lieutenant-general of his forces, and after
sending the "cross of fire" through the Highlands, in a few days he
found himself at the head of ten thousand men, and half the peers of
Scotland, with all those chiefs and gentlemen who had signed the Bond
of Union, which Rob Roy had so luckily taken from Captain Huske, in
Glendochart.
Mar's standard was of blue silk; it bore a thistle and the words NO
UNION.
The Duke of Argyle, anxious to evince his attachment to the House of
Hanover, hastened from London, to put himself at the head of his own
clan, tenants, vassals, and all the troops then in Scotland--and a
motley force they were, of English, Dutch, Switzers, and Lowland
volunteers.
That branch of the Clan Alpine which is named the race of Dugald Ciar
Mhor, was not commanded by Rob Roy at this momentous crisis, but by
his young nephew, Gregor MacGregor, of Glengyle, who was lineal head
of the house. Thus Rob served under him. Glengyle is best
remembered in Scotland by his patronymic of Glun Dhu, or
"Black-knee," from the remarkable spot, which his kilt rendered
visible, on his left knee.
He was but a youth when the insurrection of 1715 took place, so there
can be little doubt that, on most occasions, he would act under the
eye and advice of a captain so skilful and bold as his uncle.
On the latter joining the insurgent camp in Braemar, he was at once
despatched by the earl to Aberdeen, to raise in arms the descendants
of 300 MacGregors, who had been forcibly conveyed there in 1624 by
James Stewart, Earl of Murray, to fight in the feuds in which he
became involved with the Grants, MacIntoshes, and others. In this
mission Rob was pretty successful, for the popularity of his name,
among his own clan and others made him an excellent recruiting
officer at this crisis; and so little did he value the Whig
Government and their proclamations that he walked openly about the
streets of the Granite City, and on more than one occasion dined with
Professor James Gregory, who was by descent a MacGregor, but had thus
altered his name to elude the Act which proscribed it.
He joined the Earl of Mar in time to be present with his clan at the
great battle of Sheriffmuir, where the insurgents met the king's
forces led by the Duke o' Argyle, who was then lieutenant-general,
knight of the garter, and commander-in-chief of the troops in
Scotland.
It is no part of our plan to give any history of that indecisive
battle, which was severe and bloody to both parties. Both armies
wheeled upon their centres, and each routed the other's left wing, so
that it is impossible to say with whom lay the victory.
On that day, Rob Roy, who commanded a body of MacGregors and
MacPhersons, was accused of unwillingness to engage. His enemies
went further, and asserted that, not wishing to offend his patrons
the powerful Duke of Argyle and Earl of Breadalbane, save for whom he
would have been crushed long ago by the Duke of Montrose, he remained
almost aloof from the action. Lack of interest in King James's
cause, or lack of courage could not be laid to his charge; yet on
this great day the conduct of Rob Roy was incomprehensible.
Scott relates in his History, that when ordered to charge by one of
Mar's _aides-de-camp_, he replied--
"If the earl cannot win the field without me _now_, he cannot win it
with me."
From this it may be supposed that he considered the decisive moment
past, and wished to spare his men; but, it is said, that on hearing
this answer, a brave man of the Clan Vurich, named Alaster
MacPherson, cast his plaid on the ground, drew his claymore, and
called to the MacPhersons--
"Advance--advance!--follow _me_!"
"Halt, Alaster," said Rob, interposing; "were this a question about a
drove of sheep you might know something; but as the matter concerns
the leading of armed men, you must allow _me_ to judge."
"Were the question about the foraying of a drove of Glen Eigas stots,
the question with you, Rob, would not be who should be last, but who
should be _first_," was the stinging retort of MacPherson.
This nearly produced a quarrel between them; already their brows were
knitted and their swords menaced each other, even while shells were
bursting and shot of every kind were tearing up the turf about them;
but finding the inexpedience of coming to blows when under the fire
of an enemy, they gave each other a grim smile, and exchanged their
snuff-mulls in token of amity, yet many of their men now joined the
MacLeans, who at this moment made a tremendous charge upon the
regulars.
The appearance of this clan in the field, numbering 800 swordsmen, is
a memorable instance of the power of the _patriarchal_ system over
the _feudal_.
The chief had lived for years a banished loyalist in France, and
their lands in Mull had been gifted to the House of Argyle; yet, in
opposition to the latter, the whole fighting force of the clan were
in the field against the duke, their legal landlord, and under their
long-exiled chief, the venerable Sir John MacLean, fought valiantly.
With the best born, the best armed, and the bravest of the Clan
Gillian in front, he led them on three ranks deep.
"Gentlemen," he exclaimed, "this is the day we have long wished for.
Yonder stands Argyle for King George; _here_ stands MacLean for King
James! God bless him! Charge, gentlemen, charge!"
And with a wild yell, in which their pibroch mingled, the clan rushed
on, and the levelled bayonets of the soldiers of the line went down
before their whirling swords, like straw before the flames.
At that moment, through the smoke of the action there rushed an
English officer towards the MacGregor's line. His sword was broken
in his hand, and left him at the mercy of a gigantic Highlander, who
pursued him with a tuagh, or Lochaber axe. He was bareheaded also,
having lost his hat.
A stone caught the foot of this fugitive, who fell almost at the feet
of Rob Roy. With a shout of triumph the fierce pursuer uplifted his
axe, and was about to cleave the defenceless head of the Englishman,
when the stroke was arrested by the interposed shield of MacGregor.
The man with the axe uttered a hoarse Gaelic oath, and turned
furiously on the intercessor; but each drew back with an emotion of
surprise that seemed quite mutual.
He was Duncan nan Creagh, the tall MacRae, from Kintail na Bogh, whom
Rob believed he had killed on the hills of Glenorchy, and who, on
finding himself now among the MacGregors, uttered a shout of "Righ
Hamish gu bragh!" and rushed amid the smoke and carnage to rejoin the
fierce MacRaes, who, sword in hand, with the caber-feidh, or banner
of Seaforth, flying over them, flung themselves in headlong charge
upon the Swiss battalion of Brigadier Grant, and hewed a long and
terrible pathway through it.
Rob now lifted up the man he had saved, and to his astonishment found
him to be Captain Huske, the same officer whom he had last met in
Glendochart; so he sent him to the rear, a prisoner, in charge of his
son Coll, from whom the captain was retaken a few minutes after by a
detachment of Captain MacDougal's dragoons.
This confused battle of Sheriffmuir, or Slia Thirra, as the Celts
name it, was claimed by both parties as a victory; but Mar found
himself compelled to retire towards Perth, and to Rob Roy was
assigned the onerous task of guiding his army through the deep and
treacherous Fords of Frew, when they crossed the river Forth.
For a time after this battle Rob and his MacGregors garrisoned the
fine old royal palace of Falkland, which lies at the foot of the
Lomond hills, and the memory of that occupation still lingers in
Fifeshire; for they "harried the pharisaical Whigs" to some purpose,
laying the whole country under military contribution for miles around
the palace, from which they retired at last with considerable booty,
and after a sojourn of several weeks of jollity and ease.
Their shoes being much worn by marching, "they did not scruple to
strip the feet of any civic and clerical functionaries with whom they
chanced to meet, and whom they consoled with the jocular assurance
that his gracious majesty James VIII. would be happy to afford them
full compensation."
As the honour and advantage of the battle remained with Argyle, and
as Mar's unpaid army began to disperse from want of food and
subsistence, the insurrection soon came to an end, and the Government
acted with a merciless barbarity upon the fallen. Their severity was
worthy of the orientals alone, and in the hearts of the Highland
youth a hatred was instilled that found a terrible vent in the future
rising of 1745.
It was on the Lowland lords, however, that the hands of the Ministry
fell most heavily; for, by retreating into their mountain fastnesses,
the Highlanders defied as yet all efforts at coercion.
The following story is told of Duncan-nan-Creagh a short time after
the battle of Sheriffmuir.
A tall and powerful Highlander, who had brought a drove of cattle
into the south Lowlands, sought a night's shelter at the house of
Captain MacDougal, who, as we have stated, commanded a troop of horse
in that field.
The captain asked his Highland guest from what part of the north he
came?
"Kintail na Bogh," replied the other, with some reserve.
"Know you a place called Corrie Choing?"
"I do, captain; but why do you ask?"
"I will tell you," replied the officer; "after the battle,
accompanied by two of the best men of my troop, I overtook a strong
and athletic Highlander, who by the blood on his tartans and the
white rose in his bonnet, had evidently stood by King James on that
unhappy day. As we came up at a canter he took off his plaid, folded
it with great deliberation, placed it on the ground, and then he
stood upon it to give him firmer footing. I was anxious to take this
man prisoner, so we three rode round him in a circle, with our swords
brandished; but one who unfortunately and unwisely ventured within
reach of the clansman's sword, was cloven through his grenadier cap
and slain. He slew the other, on which, sooth to say, I thought he
had fairly earned his life and liberty, and so left him to his fate,
simply asking him his name, and saying that he was a brave fellow.
'I am from Corrie Choing,' said he; 'but my name I may not tell you.'"
"I know him well, captain," said the drover; "we call him Duncan Mhor
nan Creagh."
"The wars are over now, thank Heaven, and I wish him no harm,"
replied MacDougal, "for he is a brave and resolute fellow."
"I shall be sure to tell him so," said the drover, as he departed;
but warily kept his own council, for he was no other than the
identical Big Duncan of the Forays, from whom Rob Roy had saved
Captain Huske during the battle of Sheriffmuir.