THE STORMING OF INVERSNAID.
The eventful night proved dark and cloudy. The month was April, but
already the young buds had burst, and were in full leaf in the wild
woods that bordered Loch Lomond, when Rob clambered out of the deep
rocky fissure which formed the approach to his cavern, and sought the
place of tryst.
Sweeping down glen and corrie, the night wind came in squally gusts
to furrow up the waters of the Loch. About the bare summits of the
mighty mountains which overlooked it, the red sheet-lightning gleamed
at times, giving a weird aspect to the black and silent scenery, as
rock, hill, and tree came forth for a moment in dark outlines upon
the lurid background, and then vanished into obscurity.
No sound broke the solemn stillness save those gusts of wind, or the
rushing cascade of the mountain burn that brawled from Inversnaid
over rocks and stones towards the loch, while the MacGregors arriving
in parties of ten, twenty--even forty--from the banks of Loch Arclet,
from Glengyle, Glenstrae, and the braes of Balquhidder, mustered at
the appointed place, every man armed with sword and dirk, target and
pistol.
In addition to these (the invariable weapons of the Highlander) many
had long muskets with bayonets, taken from the troops, and the
terrible _tuagh_, or pole-axe, and each wore a sprig of pine in his
bonnet.
A wild and warlike yet resolute band, they were anxious for the
conflict, as they had the traditionary and actual wrongs of their
race to avenge--the violation of their clan territory; and, moreover,
many of them had suffered by the spoliation or appropriation of their
cattle and sheep, which had been taken or shot by the king's
garrison; for, as stated elsewhere, cattle were then the whole wealth
of our mountaineers. Forty head were a woman's dowry; the rents were
paid, daughters were portioned, and sons provided for in life by
herds and flocks.
With MacAleister, Greumoch, Alaster Roy, Rob found his eldest son
Coll already there. There, too, came even old Paul Crubach, armed
with the hiltless sword on which he had impaled the unfortunate cat;
and on reckoning his force, Rob found that it consisted of five
hundred and two claymores, all men resolute and true as the steel of
which their weapons were made.
The milky light of the stars glimmered at times through the flying
clouds, on their swords and round shields studded with polished nails
and bosses of brass and steel, as they sat or stood in picturesque
groups, muttering and whispering, and chewing the _muilcionn_, as the
Highlanders name the spignel, which they were wont to chew like
liquorice or quids of tobacco, in winter and spring.
Measures for the attack were soon resolved on by a force alike
destitute of cannon, petards, or scaling-ladders. They were simply
these: To advance to the gate in the ancient and classic form of a
wedge, led by Rob Roy; and if Oina had failed to remove or overcome
the sentinel, to trust to the sledge-hammer first and the sword-blade
after.
Those nearest in blood, highest in rank in the clan, and the best
armed, were to keep close by Rob in the conflict; so Coll,
MacAleister, and Greumoch were immediately in his rear, as the march
was begun in silence up the side of the stream, towards the point of
attack.
The cuarans, or shoes of untanned deerskin, then worn by-the
Highlanders, strapped sandalwise over the instep and ankles, enabled
this mass of men to advance over the rocky and rough ground as
silently and noiselessly as if they trod on the soft heather, or on
"the down of Cana," the cotton grass of which Ossian sang, and which
whitens the Highland mosses in spring, when the sheep crop it, before
it bursts into flower.
After a march of something less than a mile, before them, on an
eminence, rose the strong walls and black outline of the fort and
barrack they were about to assail.
Halting his men at some distance, MacGregor crept forward softly and
drew near the arched gate, on each side of which three pieces of
cannon frowned through embrasures of stone.
He listened intently for the step of the sentinel within, but heard
only the wind, as it moaned past the mouths of the cannon.
He uttered a shrill whistle like that of a curlew, a signal he had
agreed on with Oina, and her expected response, three knocks on the
gate, made his heart leap, for he now knew that the sentinel had
fallen into a snare, that she had succeeded in intoxicating him, and
that the outer barrier at least was open. Hastening back to his men,
he exclaimed,--
"Come on, my lads, and follow me; the path is clear!"
He drew his sword, and a gleam of light seemed to pass over all the
dusky mass as every man followed his example, and rushing on like a
living flood, they flung themselves against the gate, within which
the sentinel was lying in his box quite intoxicated.
With shouts of "Dhia agus ar duthaich! Bigh Hamish gu bragh!" ("God
and our country! King James for ever!") the MacGregors burst into
the fort; but, unknown to them, there was, an inner gate of iron,
which secured the passage to the barracks. This, Captain Clifford,
the officer commanding the main guard, instantly shut and secured;
and through the bars of it his men opened a fire of musketry, that in
five minutes brought the whole garrison under arms.
Swinging ponderous sledge-hammers, Rob Roy, MacAleister, and others,
strove in vain to beat or break down the malleable iron bars of this
unexpected barrier, through which the musketry flashed incessantly,
and many of their men were falling killed or wounded, while others
returned the fire with their long guns, which they discharged through
the barrier right into the faces of the redcoats.
The outworks of Inversnaid were completely in possession of the
MacGregors, but the inner wall, by its height, defied their efforts,
and Rob knew that from it and the barrack windows ere long there
would be opened a fire of musketry, which would decimate and destroy
his men, unless the heart of the place was entered, while
consternation existed in the garrison.
Already the windows were full of lights, as the soldiers were
dressing and arming in haste. Sharply and rapidly the long roll was
beaten on the drum, and scores of voices were heard in clamour and
confusion within, while without rang the wild cheers of his men and
the pipes of Alpine, who played,--
Oh that I had _three_ hands,--
One for the sword and two for the pipe!
The red explosion of muskets and pistols echoed on both sides of the
barrier, which Captain Clifford, a resolute officer, who shared with
his men a hatred and fear of the Celts, defended with resolution;
expecting only extermination if taken, the King's Fusiliers acted
with great vigour and courage.
From an angle of the inner wall, which his men were now rapidly
lining, Major Huske shot off a number of lighted shells or bombs from
a little brass howitzer. These soared through the air, forming long
and dazzling arcs of light, which enabled his Fusiliers to see the
number and disposition of the attacking force, and to direct their
fire upon the tumultuous mass of men wedged below the walls, where
the long blades of their brandished swords seemed to flash sharply up
from a sea of blue bonnets, red tartans, and round targets.
The soldiers, in their square-skirted red coats, white cross-belts,
and three-cornered hats, were rapidly lining all the walls, firing at
random as they came upon the platforms, till Huske lighted three
_cercles goudronnes_, by the blaze of which they directed their aim.
These are old gunmatches, pieces of rope dipped in pitch and tar,
made up in the form of a circle, to be placed upon ramparts during a
night attack.
The clear light they cast upon the strife, together with the sharp
and destructive explosion of three or four well directed
hand-grenades, were causing great consternation among the MacGregors,
some twenty or thirty of whom had fallen killed or wounded when the
bewildering cry of "_fire! fire!_" in the heart of the garrison,
produced a panic among the soldiers, and a red blaze was seen to
start above the roof of the barracks. In fact, Oina, to create a
diversion, and distract the attention of the defenders, had thrown a
lighted candle into the lofts, where the hay and straw for the
officers' horses were stored.
A part of the wall was thus left undefended by Huske drawing off his
men to extinguish the flames. At this part, the faithful and devoted
Oina threw down a ladder, up which the Highlanders scrambled with the
activity of wild cats; but at the same moment a stray bullet pierced
her head, and she fell lifeless across the wall with her arms and her
long dark hair spread over it.
Rob Roy was the first man in!
As he placed a foot upon the parapet, he stumbled and fell; but his
figure and red beard had been recognized by the light of the blazing
_cercles goudronnes_.
"The red MacGregor! down with him," exclaimed an officer; "at him, my
lads, with your bayonets breast high!"
Four soldiers rushed forward, and Rob's life had likely ended there,
had not Eoin Raibaich (John the Grizzled) a MacPherson who bore his
standard (for the Clan Vurich were the hereditary banner-bearers of
Clan Alpine), devotedly flung himself before him; and after thrusting
the point of the standard pole into the heart of one soldier,
received the bayonet of a second on his target, and those of the
other two in his own gallant breast.
"Righ Hamish gu bragh!" he exclaimed, and expired, as Greumoch
snatched the banner from his hand. Then Rob Roy leaped down into the
heart of the place, and with shouts of triumph and fury, his men
spread over the whole barrack.
Paul Crubach was seen hobbling hither and thither, yelling like a
fiend; his cross-staff uplifted in one hand, his rusty sword-blade in
the other, and his long white hair streaming behind, and glittering
like hoar frost in the blaze of the burning haylofts, and the
flashing of the musketry.
Captain Clifford finding the rear turned, and the foe in the heart of
the garrison, opened the inner gate, and at the head of the main
guard forced a passage through and escaped.
By this avenue the whole garrison also escaped or were expelled,
being driven forth at the point of the sword. Many cast aside their
muskets and belts, and fled down the glen of Inversnaid, they knew
not whither; but had they been pursued in the old Highland fashion,
not one could have escaped; however, Rob was merciful, and would not
permit a man to follow the fugitives.
Greumoch in the _mêlée_ caught Major Huske by his queue at the moment
he was rushing sword in hand through the gate of the fort. The Celt
was about to hew the Saxon down, when the wig of the latter came off,
so he escaped bareheaded, while Greumoch fell heavily on his face.
"Oich," muttered he; "prutt-trutt! he has a sliddery grip that takes
an eel by the tail."
MacAleister soon discovered the cell wherein Ronald was confined, and
he rushed forth to embrace his father ere the fray was well over.
Rob's plaid was torn to pieces by bayonet thrusts and musket balls,
and he had a severe wound in his left shoulder, where a captain,
named Dorrington, stabbed him through the gate with his spontoon, a
pike then carried by all officers.
Save about fifteen or twenty soldiers who lay killed or wounded
(chiefly near the iron gate), not one of the garrison remained in
Inversnaid; but the barrack-yard was strewed with muskets, swords,
cartridge-boxes, blankets, haversacks, hats, and wigs; and there also
lay two drums, for the fugitives in their panic and desire to escape
abandoned everything, even to their regimental colour, for a standard
of the South British Fusiliers was found in Major Huske's quarters by
young Coll MacGregor, having the English rose embroidered upon it,
together with the white horse of Hanover, and the motto, _Nec aspera
terant_.
"Carry this to the farm of Portnellan, my boys," said Rob to his
sons, "and give it to your mother as a trophy of this night's work.
She has wept and wearied long for you, Ronald."
As there was no time to be lost, he gave orders to destroy the fort
utterly. The wounded were carefully removed, and the slain
MacGregors he sent by a boat for interment on Inchcailloch, beside
the ruined church, which had been disused since 1621.
Among these was Oina, whom her husband had rolled in his plaid, as
the only shroud and coffin he had time to procure her.
The whole of the plunder found in the barracks and stores--arms,
powder, clothing, food, and money--Rob Roy, with his characteristic
generosity, gave to his poor and faithful followers, which completely
consoled them for many a stab, slash, and bruise received in the
attack.
To himself he reserved only the captured standard and a little
child--a boy of about three years of age--who was found asleep
peacefully in his bed amid all the horrid din and hurly-burly of the
night assault and capture.
On inquiring among the wounded soldiers whose boy this was, Rob was
informed that he was the only son of Major Huske; so he gave the
little fellow in care of his foster-brother, MacAleister, saying--
"Well, major, turn about is fair play. You took my son--I now take
yours. Carry him to Portnellan, Callam, and give him to Helen. Tell
her (but it is needless) to keep the little Saxon tenderly, as if he
were our own, till such time as we can restore him to his father."
So MacAleister wrapped his plaid about the child, who screamed with
terror on seeing the Highlanders; for it was a common belief then in
England, and for long after, that they were wont to eat children,
like the ogres of the fairy tales.
Rob next ordered the cannon to be spiked and the barracks to be set
on fire.
"Alpine, strike up the _Brattach Ghael_!" said he to the piper, who
at once began the "White Banner," a famous pibroch of the Jacobite
clans. "By the deed of to-night I shall teach these robber Whigs and
truckling Lowlanders to consider well ere again they build a fort on
our land; this will be the worst twist in their cow's-horn!"
Rob now gave orders to retire, with the wounded slung in plaids over
the shoulders of their comrades, who applied handfuls of nettles to
stop the bleeding of cuts and stabs; and the retreating MacGregors
saw the flames of the burning barrack and fort rising like a pyramid
of fire above the walls, as the daylight stole down the vast steeps
of Ben Lomond into its solemn glens and rocky corries.
The blaze was yet shining across the grey morning sky, when they
retreated to their fastnesses at the head of Loch Katrine, by the
wild way of Loch Arclet, whither MacGregor believed the bravest men
in the castles of Stirling or Dumbarton dared not follow him!