by Walter Scott
I humbly begged leave to remonstrate respecting the honourable mission imposed on me, and touched upon the obvious danger attending it, when the noble commander replied, ‘that, such being the case, I might send my servant.’
‘The deil be in my feet,’ said Andrew, without either having respect to the presence in which he stood, or waiting till I replied—‘the deil be in my feet, if I gang my tae’s length. Do the folk think I hae another thrapple in my pouch after John Highlandman’s sneckit this ane wi’ his joctaleg? or that I can dive doun at the tae side of a Highland loch and rise at the tother, like a shell-drake? Na, na— ilk ane for himsell, and God for us a’. Folk may just mak a page o’ their ain age, and serve themsells till their bairns grow up, and gang their ain errands for Andrew. Rob Roy never came near the parish of Dreepdaily, to steal either pippin or pear frae me or mine.’
Silencing my follower with some difficulty, I represented to the Duke the great danger Captain Thornton and Mr. Jarvie would certainly be exposed to, and entreated he would make me the bearer of such modified terms as might be the means of saving their lives. I assured him I should decline no danger if I could be of service; but from what I had heard and seen, I had little doubt they would be instantly murdered should the chief of the outlaws suffer death.
The Duke was obviously much affected. ‘It was a hard case,’ he said, ‘and he felt it as such; but he had a paramount duty to perform to the country—Rob Roy must die!’
I own it was not without emotion that I heard this threat of instant death to my acquaintance Campbell, who had so often testified his good-will towards me. Nor was I singular in the feeling, for many of those around the Duke ventured to express themselves in his favour. ‘It would be more advisable,’ they said, ‘to send him to Stirling Castle, and there detain him a close prisoner, as a pledge for the submission and dispersion of his gang. It were a great pity to expose the country to be plundered, which, now that the long nights approached, it would be found very difficult to prevent, since it was impossible to guard every point, and the Highlanders were sure to select those that were left exposed.’ They added, that there was great hardship in leaving the unfortunate prisoners to the almost certain doom of massacre denounced against them, which no one doubted would be executed in the first burst of revenge.
Garschattachin ventured yet farther, confiding in the honour of the nobleman whom he addressed, although he knew he had particular reasons for disliking their prisoner. ‘Rob Roy,’ he said, ‘though a kittle neighbour to the Low Country, and particularly obnoxious to his Grace, and though he maybe carried the catheran trade farther than ony man o’ his day, was an auld-farrand carle, and there might be some means found of making him hear reason; whereas his wife and sons were reckless fiends, without either fear or mercy about them, and, at the head of a’ his limmer loons, would be a worse plague to the country than ever he had been.’
‘Pooh! pooh!’ replied his Grace, ‘it is the very sense and cunning of this fellow which has so long maintained his reign—a mere Highland robber would have been put down in as many weeks as he has flourished years. His gang, without him, is no more to be dreaded as a permanent annoyance—it will no longer exist—than a wasp without its head, which may sting once, perhaps, but is instantly crushed into annihilation.’
Garschattachin was not so easily silenced. ‘I am sure, my Lord Duke,’ he replied, ‘I have no favour for Rob, and he as little for me, seeing he has twice cleaned out my ain byres, beside skaith amang my tenants; but, however——’
‘But, however, Garschattachin,’ said the Duke, with a smile of peculiar expression, ‘I fancy you think such a freedom may be pardoned in a friend’s friend, and Rob’s supposed to be no enemy to Major Galbraith’s friends over the water.’
‘If it be so, my lord,’ said Garschattachin, in the same tone of jocularity, ‘it’s no the warst thing I have heard of him. But I wish we heard some news from the clans, that we have waited for sae lang. I vow to God they’ll keep a Hielandman’s word wi’ us—I never kend them better—it’s ill drawing boots upon trews.’
‘I cannot believe it,’ said the Duke; ‘these gentlemen are known to be men of honour, and I must necessarily suppose they are to keep their appointment. Send out two more horsemen to look for our friends. We cannot, till their arrival, pretend to attack the pass where Captain Thornton has suffered himself to be surprised, and which to my knowledge, ten men on foot might make good against a regiment of the best horse in Europe—Meanwhile let refreshments be given to the men.’
I had the benefit of this last order, the more necessary and acceptable, as I had tasted nothing since our hasty meal at Aberfoil the evening before. The videttes who had been dispatched, returned without tidings of the expected auxiliaries, and sunset was approaching, when a Highlander belonging to the clans whose co-operation was expected, appeared as the bearer of a letter, which he delivered to the Duke with a most profound congé.
‘Now will I wad a hogshead of claret,’ said Garschattachin, ‘that this is a message to tell us that these cursed Highlandmen, whom we have fetched here at the expense of so much plague and vexation, are going to draw off, and leave us to do our own business if we can.’
‘It is even so, gentlemen,’ said the Duke, reddening with indignation, after having perused the letter, which was written upon a very dirty scrap of paper, but most punctiliously addressed, ‘For the much-honoured hands of Ane High and Mighty Prince, the Duke, &c. &c. &c.’ ‘Our allies,’ continued the Duke, ‘have deserted us, gentlemen, and have made a separate peace with the enemy.’
‘It’s just the fate of all alliances,’ said Garschattachin; ‘the Dutch were gaun to serve us the same gate, if we had not got the start of them at Utrecht.’
‘You are facetious, sir,’ said the Duke, with a frown which showed how little he liked the pleasantry, ‘but our business is rather of a grave cast just now.—I suppose no gentleman would advise our attempting to penetrate farther into the country, unsupported either by friendly Highlanders or by infantry from Inversnaid?’
A general answer announced that the attempt would be perfect madness.
‘Nor would there be great wisdom,’ the Duke added, ‘in remaining exposed to a night-attack in this place. I therefore propose that we should retreat to the house of Duchray and that of Gartartan, and keep safe and sure watch and ward until morning. But before we separate, I will examine Rob Roy before you all, and make you sensible, by your own eyes and ears, of the extreme unfitness of leaving him space for farther outrage.’ He gave orders accordingly, and the prisoner was brought before him, his arms belted down above the elbow, and secured to his body by a horse-girth buckled tight behind him. Two non-commissioned officers had hold of him, one on each side, and two file of men with carabines and fixed bayonets attended for additional security.
I had never seen this man in the dress of his country, which set in a striking point of view the peculiarities of his form. A shock-head of red hair, which the hat and periwig of the Lowland costume had in a great measure concealed, was seen beneath the Highland bonnet, and verified the epithet of Roy, or Red, by which he was much better known in the Low Country, than by any other, and is still, I suppose, best remembered. The justice of the appellation was also vindicated by the appearance of that part of his limbs, from the bottom of his kilt to the top of his short hose, which the fashion of his country dress left bare, and which was covered with a fell of thick, short, red hair, especially around his knees, which resembled in this respect, as well as from their sinewy appearance of extreme strength, the limbs of a red-coloured Highland bull. Upon the whole, betwixt the effect produced by the change of dress, and by my having become acquainted with his real and formidable character, his appearance had acquired to my eyes something so much wilder and more striking than it before presented, that I could scarce recógnize him to be the same person.
His manner was bold, unconstrained unless by the actual bonds, haughty, and even dignified. He bowed to t
he Duke, nodded to Garschattachin and others, and showed some surprise at seeing me among the party.
‘It is long since we have met, Mr. Campbell,’ said the Duke.
‘It is so, my Lord Duke; I could have wished it had been,’ (looking at the fastening on his arms,) ‘when I could have better paid the compliments I owe to your Grace—but there’s a gude time coming.’
‘No time like the time present, Mr. Campbell,’ answered the Duke, ‘for the hours are fast flying that must settle your last account with all mortal affairs. I do not say this to insult your distress; but you must be aware yourself that you draw near the end of your career. I do not deny that you may sometimes have done less harm than others of your unhappy trade, and that you may occasionally have exhibited marks of talent, and even of a disposition which promised better things. But you are aware how long you have been the terror and the oppressor of a peaceful neighbourhood, and by what acts of violence you have maintained and extended your usurped authority. You know, in short, that you have deserved death, and that you must prepare for it.’
‘My lord,’ said Rob Roy, ‘although I may well lay my misfortunes at your Grace’s door, yet I will never say that you yourself have been the wilful and witting author of them. My lord, if I had thought sae, your Grace would not this day have been sitting in judgment on me; for you have been three times within good rifle distance of me when you were thinking but of the red deer, and few people have kend me miss my aim. But as for them that have abused your Grace’s ear, and set you up against a man that was ance as peacefu’ a man as ony in the land, and made your name the warrant for driving me to utter extremity,—I have had some amends of them, and, for a’ that your Grace now says, I expect to live to hae mair.’
‘I know,’ said the Duke, in rising anger, ‘that you are a determined and impudent villain, who will keep his oath if he swears to mischief; but it shall be my care to prevent you. You have no enemies but your own wicked actions.’
‘Had I called myself Grahame, instead of Campbell, I might have heard less about them,’ answered Rob Roy, with dogged resolution.
‘You will do well, sir,’ said the Duke, ‘to warn your wife and family and followers, to beware how they use the gentlemen now in their hands, as I will requite tenfold on them, and their kin and allies, the slightest injury done to any of his majesty’s liege subjects.’
‘My lord,’ said Roy in answer, ‘none of my enemies will allege that I have been a bloodthirsty man, and were I now wi’ my folk, I could rule four or five hundred wild Hielanders as easy as your Grace those eight or ten lackeys and foot-boys. But if your Grace is bent to take the head away from a house, ye may lay your account there will be misrule amang the members.—However, come o’t what like, there’s an honest man, a kinsman o’ my ain, maun come by nae skaith.—Is there ony body here wad do a gude deed for MacGregor?—he may repay it, though his hands be now tied.’
The Highlander who had delivered the letter to the Duke replied, ‘I’ll do your will for you, MacGregor; and I’ll gang back up the glen on purpose.’
He advanced, and received from the prisoner a message to his wife, which, being in Gaelic, I did not understand, but I had little doubt it related to some measures to be taken for the safety of Mr. Jarvie.
‘Do you hear the fellow’s impudence?’ said the Duke; ‘he confides in his character of a messenger. His conduct is of a piece with his masters’, who invited us to make common cause against these freebooters, and have deserted us so soon as the MacGregors have agreed to surrender the Balquidder lands they were squabbling about.
“No truth in plaids, no faith in tartan trews!
Cameleon-like, they change a thousand hues.”’
‘Your great ancestor never said so, my lord,’ answered Major Galbraith; ‘and, with submission, neither would your Grace have occasion to say it, wad ye but be for beginning justice at the well-head—Gie the honest man his mear again—Let every head wear its ain bannet, and the distractions o’ the Lennox wad be mended wi’ them o’ the land.’
‘Hush! hush! Garschattachin,’ said the Duke; ‘this is language dangerous for you to talk to any one, and especially to me; but I presume you reckon yourself a privileged person. Please to draw off your party towards Gartartan; I shall myself see the prisoner escorted to Duchray, and send you orders tomorrow. You will please grant no leave of absence to any of your troopers.’
‘Here’s auld ordering and counter-ordering,’ muttered Garschattachin between his teeth. ‘But patience! patience! —we may ae day play at Change seats, the king’s coming.’
The two troops of cavalry now formed, and prepared to march off the ground, that they might avail themselves of the remainder of daylight to get to their evening quarters. I received an intimation, rather than an invitation, to attend the party; and I perceived, that, though no longer considered as a prisoner, I was yet under some sort of suspicion. The times were indeed so dangerous,—the great party questions of Jacobite and Hanoverian divided the country so effectually,—and the constant disputes and jealousies between the Highlanders and Lowlanders, besides a number of inexplicable causes of feud which separated the great leading families in Scotland from each other, occasioned such general suspicion, that a solitary and unprotected stranger was almost sure to meet with something disagreeable in the course of his travels.
I acquiesced, however, in my destination with the best grace I could, consoling myself with the hope that I might obtain from the captive freebooter some information concerning Rashleigh and his machinations. I should do myself injustice did I not add, that my views were not merely selfish. I was too much interested in my singular acquaintance not to be desirous of rendering him such services as his unfortunate situation might demand, or admit of his receiving.
CHAPTER XXXIII
And when he came to broken brigg,
He bent his bow and swam;
And when he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.
Gil Morrice
THE echoes of the rocks and ravines, on either side, now rang to the trumpets of the cavalry, which, forming themselves into two distinct bodies, began to move down the valley at a slow trot. That commanded by Major Galbraith soon took to the right hand, and crossed the Forth, for the purpose of taking up the quarters assigned them for the night, when they were to occupy, as I understood, an old castle in the vicinity. They formed a lively object while crossing the stream, but were soon lost in winding up the bank on the opposite side, which was clothed with wood.
We continued our march with considerable good order. To ensure the safe custody of the prisoner, the Duke had caused him to be placed on horseback behind one of his retainers, called, as I was informed, Ewan of Brigglands, one of the largest and strongest men who were present. A horse-belt, passed round the bodies of both, and buckled before the yeoman’s breast, rendered it impossible for Rob Roy to free himself from his keeper. I was directed to keep close beside them, and accommodated for the purpose with a troop-horse. We were as closely surrounded by the soldiers as the width of the road would permit, and had always at least one, if not two, on each side with pistol in hand. Andrew Fairservice, furnished with a Highland pony of which they had made prey somewhere or other, was permitted to ride among the other domestics, of whom a great number attended the line of march, though without falling into the ranks of the more regularly trained troopers.
In this manner we travelled for a certain distance, until we arrived at a place where we also were to cross the river. The Forth, as being the outlet of a lake, is of considerable depth, even where less important in point of width, and the descent to the ford was by a broken precipitous ravine, which only permitted one horseman to descend at once. The rear and centre of our small body halting on the bank while the front files passed down in succession, produced a considerable delay, as is usual on such occasions, and even some confusion; for a number of those riders; who made no proper part of the squadron, crowded to the ford without r
egularity, and made the militia cavalry, although tolerably well drilled, partake in some degree of their own disorder.
It was while we were thus huddled together on the bank that I heard Rob Roy whisper to the man behind whom he was placed on horseback, ‘Your father, Ewan, wadna hae carried an auld friend to the shambles, like a calf, for a’ the Dukes in Christendom.’
Ewan returned no answer, but shrugged, as one who would express by that sign that what he was doing was none of his own choice.
‘And when the MacGregors come down the glen, and ye see toom faulds, a bluidy hearth-stane, and the fire flashing out between the rafters o’ your house, ye may be thinking then, Ewan, that were your friend Rob to the fore, you would have had that safe which it will make your heart sair to lose.’
