PAUL CRUBACH.
Before collecting his followers, or making preparations to storm
Inversnaid, and expel the royal troops from his patrimony, Rob Roy
resolved to make himself well acquainted with the strength and
resources of the garrison, and with the number of men and cannon at
Major Huske's disposal; and for this service he availed himself of
Oina, who brought him daily intelligence of the enemy.
Moreover, he had another very efficient spy in the person of Paul
Crubach, whose grotesque figure and quaint conduct made him a welcome
visitor to the soldiers, who jested and made fun with him, as a
half-witted being; but as usual with such characters in Scotland,
there was a "method in the madness" of Paul Crubach.
One night as he sat by the fireside, in the little farmhouse of
Portnellan, where Ronald's absence formed a source of perpetual
grief, he urged that before attacking Inversnaid the oracle of the
"House of Invocation" should be consulted; but Rob Roy though brave
as man could be, shrunk from seeking intercourse with the world of
spirits.
"Are you afraid?" exclaimed Paul Crubach, striking his cross-staff
fiercely on the floor with indignation.
"Afraid, Paul--yes, of the devil."
"Then I shall face the King of the Cats for you, and from him I shall
extort the knowledge whether ever again _the three glens_ shall be
ours."
The eyes of MacGregor sparkled.
"The old inheritance of Clan Alpine!" said he; "yes; Glenlyon,
Glendochart, and Glenorchy, shall again be ours, Paul, but first I
must root out and raze this nest of Saxon hornets at Inversnaid!"
"And set free my red-cheeked Ronald," added Helen, weeping with
sorrow and anger, as she twirled her spindle on the clay floor.
"But look before you leap, MacGregor; before marching learn what the
oracle may tell," urged the old man; "but I shall learn for you, if I
have not, as in past times, a vision before the hour, when, as the
bard of Cona says, 'the hunter awakes from his noon-day slumber, and
hears in his vision the spirits of the hill.'"
Rob shuddered as Paul spoke, for a strange wild glare flashed in the
eyes of this old man, who was supposed to be a seer, possessing the
gift of the second sight.
"If the time serves, Paul," resumed MacGregor, who wished to change
the subject, "I will inscribe on the rocks of Craigrostan and
Inversnaid, in Gaelic letters, my indisputable right thereto, in
defiance of the elector and his redcoats."
"Ah! thou art right," said Paul, grinding his teeth and brandishing
his cross-staff; "do so, even as MacMillan of South Knapdale, and the
MacMurachies of Terdigan and Kilberrie, had their charters carved
upon the rocks of their land."
"But alas, Paul, that time may never, never come," said Helen, with a
sad smile.
"And little would such charters avail me, good wife, if the good
claymore fails," said Rob, with irony in his eye and tone.
"Then," observed Greumoch, who sat in a corner smoking his pipe and
oiling his gun, "we have the fair sleek skins of the Saxons whereon
to write the story of our wrongs with a pen of pointed steel."
"Enough of this," said Paul Crubach, rising and drawing a deerskin
over his shoulders; "the sooner my task begins 'twill be the sooner
ended."
"Whither go you, Paul, and at this hour?" asked Rob, attempting to
detain his strange guest.
"To consult the _Tighghairm_. Meet me at sunset on the second day
from this, at the Ladders, above Loch Katrine, and you will there
learn what the future has in store for us; whether we shall be the
victors at Inversnaid, whether your boy shall be freed, and whether
we shall again possess the three glens, which are the heritage of
Clan Alpine, or be vanquished and destroyed."
And before MacGregor, Helen, or Greumoch could interpose, Paul had
snatched his cross-staff, and, with his long white hair streaming
behind him in elf-locks, had rushed forth into the darkness.
MacGregor, whose intercourse with Englishmen and Lowlanders had made
him somewhat more a man of the world than his followers, was
nevertheless too strongly imbued with the old superstitions and
native predilections of his race and country not to await with
considerable interest, though mingled with doubt, the result of those
spells which all in the district believed the half-witted Paul
Crubach was capable of weaving, or the visions with which he was
supposed to be visited.
Accordingly, about the sunset of the second day, MacGregor, well
armed as usual, repaired alone to the appointed place of tryst.
The Ladders was the name of a dangerous and difficult track, which
then formed the only access to Loch Katrine from Callendar.
He entered the narrow pass, which is half a mile in length. There
the rocks are stupendous in height, in some places seeming to impend
over the head of the wayfarer; in others, aged weeping birches hang
their drooping foliage over the basaltic cliffs from which they
spring, adding a wild beauty to the rugged gorge.
Across the summits of this pass, which is a portion of the famous
Trossachs, the dying sunlight shone in red and uncertain gleams,
through stormy clouds of dusky and saffron tints, for all the
preceding night loud peals of thunder had shaken the mountains, and
even yet the atmosphere was close and sulphurous.
At last Rob reached the Ladders, which consisted of steps roughly
hewn out of the solid rock. By means of these, and ropes suspended
from the trees, to be grasped by the hand, the bold and hardy natives
of this part of the Highlands were wont to traverse the pass, which,
in time of war, one swordsman could defend against a thousand.
Rob slung his target on his shoulder, grasped the ropes, and from
step to step swung himself lightly up the beetling rocks until he
reached the summit, from whence he could see, far down below, Loch
Katrine, a lovely sheet of water ten miles in length, gleaming redly
in the last light of the sun, whose rays lingered yet on the vast
peak of Benvenue, and on the beautiful hills of Arroquhar, that
closed the view to the west.
In the loch is an islet, wherein, during the invasion of Scotland by
Oliver Cromwell, the Clan Gregor had placed all their aged men, their
women and children, for security. On finding that the only boat
remaining was moored at the islet, an English soldier swam across to
seize it, but was stabbed to the heart by Iole MacGregor, the
grandmother of Rob's foster-brother, Callam MacAleister.
The scenery was alike wild and grand, and the great masses of lurid
and dun-coloured thunder-clouds that overhung the darkening hills
added to its effect.
With his keen and glittering eyes fixed on the place where the sun
had set, Paul Crubach sat on a fragment of volcanic rock. He seemed
wan, pale, and weary; his masses of tangled hair and his primitive
garb of deerskin seemed to have been scorched by fire, and his bare
legs and arms were covered with scars and bruises.
Propping himself on his cross-staff, he arose with apparent
difficulty on the approach of MacGregor, who said, with anxiety,--
"In Heaven's name, what has happened--what have you done, Paul?"
"I have opened the House of Invocation. I have consulted the oracle
of the _Tighghairm_," said he, solemnly.
"Did it speak?" asked Rob, with growing wonder.
"Listen; I passed the night in the Coir nan Uriskin."
"In the cave of the wild shaggy men!" exclaimed the other, starting
with more of actual fear than astonishment in his manner.
"Yea, even there," replied Paul, closing his eyes for a moment, and
sighing deeply.
"What did you see--what did you hear?"
"Listen, and I shall tell you what happened."