THE FORDS OF FREW.
In his exultation at having personally made captive a prisoner so
important to the State, and for whose seizure a reward had been so
long offered, as a rebel, traitor, outlaw, and robber, the Duke of
Montrose ordered his trumpets to play and his kettledrummers to beat,
when the smoke, the steep ridge, the castled rock, and grey old walls
of Stirling appeared in the distance rising amid the green and lovely
valley of the Forth.
MacGregor gazed sullenly and fiercely at the distant fortress,
wherein, for a brief time, he would be a prisoner, if he could not
escape by the way.
They had now crossed Lanrick Mead and the green Braes of Doune, and
before them lay the long snaky windings of the Forth, which the duke
ordered his troopers to pass by the Fords of Frew--those deep and
treacherous fords which Rob knew so well that, as history tells us,
and as already related, he guided the army of Mar through them after
the battle of Sheriffmuir.
As they drew near the river, the duke, for the greater security of
his prisoner, ordered him to be bound anew with a horse-girth to
Quartermaster James Stewart, one of the most powerful and resolute of
his followers, adding, as he saw the buckle secured under his own
eye,--
"And you shall keep him company thus until we have him in the care of
the captain of Stirling Castle, or the goodman of the Tolbooth."
Stewart evinced some repugnance to this mode of conducting the
prisoner, for the latter and he were old acquaintances, who had
frequently trafficked in cattle in more peaceful and happy times.
Rob submitted in silence to this new arrangement; again the brass
trumpets sounded shrilly, and the kettledrums rang, as the horse
began their march towards the fords; but Rob heeded little this
display of pride and triumph, for all his thoughts were
elsewhere,--at the fireside of Portnellan, with his aged mother, his
wife, and children.
Again a prisoner! Oh, how his brave heart yearned for them, and
trembled for their future, all the more that now the faithful and
unflinching MacAleister was gone.
Coll was now a man, strong, brave, and active; but had he sufficient
skill or strategy to maintain with success the desperate career which
his father might bequeath to him from the scaffold at Stirling?
And then there were Duncan and Hamish, with little Ronald, who was
always in scrapes and turmoils, and exhibited more scars and bruises
than even Greumoch, or the most veteran of the clan, what might their
fate--their future be?
Their ruddy sunburnt faces, their hearty boyish voices, all came
vividly to memory with the terrible question,--How were their lives
to end?
By a tender succession of links in his boys, he had beheld a future
life _beyond_ his own; for by the natural course of events they were
to see what he could never hope to see, or feel, or share in--the
coming time, which they were to enjoy (or endure) when his strong
hand was lying in the grave, when his sword had returned to the
anvil, and when on earth he could avail them no more. But what an
heritage of danger had he to bequeath them!
Then the future plans of the Jacobites (with whose success he
identified the restoration of his people to their own name, and of
his patrimony to himself) came before him, for he was deeply involved
in their intrigues; and about the very time of this most unexpected
capture he was to have met a messenger from the Marquis of Seaforth,
as that noble was styled by the loyalists in Scotland--a messenger
who was to precede an invasion of the Highlands from Spain.
Twilight stole over the scenery. The eagle had gone to its eyry in
the rocks; the lazy cormorant and the long-legged heron had forsaken
the shore, and all was silent, or nearly so, for no sound broke the
stillness now, save the tramp of the horses, or at times a loud
shriek that rung upon the wind, and wailed away in the distance.
It was the melancholy cry of the night-owl.
Darkness had set in when the leading files of the duke's column began
with great deliberation and care to cross the Forth at Frew. Recent
rains had swollen the river, which made a brawling sound at the
fords, though it usually rolls silently and even somewhat sluggishly
through its lovely valley, a winding course of ninety miles towards
the sea.
While the centre and rear of the horsemen were halted by the margin
of the river, the others crossed, half-fording and half-swimming, and
thereafter scrambling up the rugged bank on the opposite side, Rob
Roy began to converse in low tones with the quartermaster, James
Stewart.
The grandson of the latter was some years ago an innkeeper at Loch
Katrine, and a guide to tourists; and it was to his relation of this
adventure that Sir Walter Scott was indebted for one of the most
stirring passages in his novel, wherein, however, he designates the
trooper to whom Rob was bound "Evan of the Brigglands."
Taking advantage of the darkness, the splashing, the shouting, and
noise as the troopers crossed cautiously by two at a time, Rob
implored Stewart, "by all the ties of old acquaintance, of common
humanity, and good neighbourhood, to give him some chance of escape
from an assured doom--a death of ignominy."
For some time Stewart heard him unmoved, till MacGregor began to
remind him that a day of terrible vengeance would assuredly come
anon, as he would leave to his sons and followers the task of
destroying all who were in any way accessory to his capture and
execution.
Stewart knew too well what the MacGregors were capable of attempting
and performing, to hear this without alarm, or to consider it an
empty threat; and to some emotions of compassion for Rob as an old
friend, and a sorely wronged and oppressed man, were now added those
of fear for himself and his possessions.
He made no reply; but when the voice of the duke was heard, as he
called from the opposite bank to bring over the prisoner, the
quartermaster guided his horse down the bank, and entered the dark
stream, which, with a loud rushing sound, was flowing rapidly past.
Overhead the stars shone clearly and coldly, yet the river and its
wooded banks were involved in gloom and obscurity; and when in the
middle of the stream, the quartermaster reined in his horse, as if
uncertain of its footing.
At that moment MacGregor felt the girth which secured them together
relaxed, as the buckle was parted, and the cord which bound his
wrists was cut, by the friendly hand of Stewart.
"'Tis well," he whispered, as he pressed the latter's hand; "you will
never repent the deed of to-night--never, if you live for a thousand
years!"
Slipping over the crupper of the horse, he dived into the river, and
swam under its surface for some yards, till he could emerge with
safety under the shade of a clump of willows, where he crept ashore,
quietly and unseen, exactly as described in the splendid novel which
bears his name.
On Stewart ascending the opposite bank, where the horsemen were
getting into their ranks, and forming in order under Colonel Grahame,
the duke instantly missed Rob Roy.
"Villain!" he exclaimed, "where is your prisoner?"
Stewart began to falter out something by way of explanation or
excuse, when the duke, blind with rage and fury, drew a long
horse-pistol from his holsters, and dealt him a blow on the head with
the steel butt--a blow from the effects of which his descendant (the
innkeeper) said he never recovered.
Carbines were now discharged up and down the stream, flashing in the
darkness and waking the echoes of the rocks. A close search was made
on both banks by troopers on horse and foot, but vainly, till day
broke, for no trace could be discerned of the fugitive, who knew the
country better than his pursuers, and by that time had reached in
safety the hill of Vaigh-mhor, amid the rocks of which is a secret
cavern, the haunt of outlaws and robbers so lately as 1750.
There he lurked in safety until nightfall, after which he proceeded
with all speed back to the banks of Loch Katrine, and reached his
household at Portnellan, where his family were in despair, and where
Greumoch, his future henchman, was arraying five hundred men, for the
purpose of falling down into Stirlingshire to rescue or revenge him.
But now a messenger arrived who warned them that their swords were
required for another purpose, a third rising in the Highlands for
King James VIII., as he was named by the Scottish cavaliers.