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Rob Roy Macgregor died on the farm of Inverloch-larabeg,
among the braes of Balquhidder, in 1735. When confined to bed, nearly
worn out by the laborious vicissitudes of a long and restless life, and
approaching dissolution stealing fast upon him, there occurred a scene
which was singularly characteristic of the man A person with whom he had
had a quarrel called to see him; and on being made aware of this, Rob
called to his attendants, “Raise me up; dress me in my best clothes; tie
on my arms; place me in the great chair! That fellow shall never see me
on a death-bed.” His attendants instantly complied, and he received his
visitor with cold civility. Before they parted the .priest arrived, and
conjured Rob, as he expected forgiveness from God, to bring his mind in
his last moments to forgive all his enemies. Rob at first demurred to
this expostulation; and the priest, to enforce it, quoted part of the
Lord’s prayer. On hearing this, Rob said, “Ay, now, ye ha’e gi’en me
baith law and gospel for’t. It’s a hard law; but I ken it’s gospel.”
Then, turning to Rob Oig (young Rob), his son, he addressed him thus—“My
sword and dirk lie there. Never draw them without reason, nor put them
up without honour. I forgive my enemies; but see you to them, or may”
and he expired. Rob Roy lies in the church-yard of Bal-quhidder, beneath
a plain stone, on the top of which is carved the outline of a sword, an
appropriate emblem of the man and the times—
“Clan Alpine’s omen, and her aid.”
In surveying the character of Rob Roy Macgregor, many
excellent traits appear, from which we cannot withhold our admiration.
There are no doubt some incidents in his extraordinary career which
deserve reprehension; but when we consider the time in which he lived—a
time when the whole northern parts of the kingdom were torn by civil
discord, and distracted by politics—the Government having neither
strength nor wisdom to arrest the evils that flowed from feudal
chieftainship, we cease to wonder at the deeds he performed, or the
liberties he took. Rob Roy was among the last of the true Highland
chiefs of the old stock, who gloried in supporting the ancient dignity
and independence of his race. For a long series of years his clan had
been subjected to the most fearful and cruel persecution at the hands of
Government and the more powerful neighbouring chiefs; and it seemed as
if Rob had been raised up by Providence to retrieve the fallen fortunes
of his clan, and to arrest the bloodshed of his kindred. Rob Roy had
five sons, viz., Coll, James, Ronald, Duncan, and Robert. Of Coll there
is very little known; he is, however, said to have been of a quiet and
gentlemanly demeanour, and, according to the rev. editor of the “History
of Stirlingshire,” to have possessed “every manly virtue.” James is said
to have been of great stature, and generally known as “James Mor” or
“Big Jamie.” He possessed largely the fiery dash of the original
Highlander; inherited, to a very considerable extent, the military
ardour of his father; and was a stanch supporter of the ill-fated house
of Stuart. In 1745, James, along with his cousin, Macgregor of Glengyle,
and twelve of his men, took the fort of Inversnaid, and made eighty-nine
of the soldiers prisoners. He held the rank of Major under Prince
Charles, and commanded six companies of Macgregors at the battle of
Prestonpans, where he had the misfortune to get his thigh bone broken.
On account of this accident, he was unable to follow his Prince in his
ill-fated march into England; but, on his return, he took an active part
in the concluding battle of Culloden, where he again commanded several
companies of Macgregors. In the year 1752, James was confined a prisoner
in the Castle of Edinburgh, for the part he took, along with his brother
Robert, in the abduction of Jean Keay; but effected his escape in the
following extraordinary manner:—His daughter, who had come to Edinburgh,
conceived a most admirable plan for his escape. Having previously
arranged her designs, she, on the evening of the 16th November, 1752,
dressed herself in the habit and character of a cobbler, and, with a
pair of old shoes in her hand, she went to his prison. Her father
instantly put on the disguise, and then commenced an angry dispute with
the supposed cobbler about an overcharge of the price, and loud enough
to be heard by the sentinels. Watching his opportunity, he hurriedly
left the room, and, under cover of the darkness of night, managed to
make his escape. Being afraid to return to the Highlands, he took the
road to England, and, after severe and fatiguing travel, on the evening
of the fourth day after his escape, he found himself benighted on a wild
and lonely moor in Cumberland. Travelling on through the darkness, he at
length left the moor and entered a large wood. Being unable to proceed
farther, he sat down at the foot of a tree, and bemoaned his condition.
Alone, far from home and all that were dear to him, weary and hungry, he
knew not what to do. The thought of his wife and little ones at home
almost broke his heart; and the recollection of his own early and happy
days, spent among the green braes of his native Craigroystan, and the
sunny banks of Loch-Lomond, harrowed his soul. Happy would he have been,
if, on the death of his father, instead of fighting for “Prince
Charlie,” he had
“Hung his weapons in the hall.”
Now, hunted by the most gross persecution, and punished
for imaginary crimes to satisfy a weak but cruel and ill-advised
Government, his goods had become the prey of envious and devouring
neighbours. James had been but a short time in the wood when he was
suddenly aroused by a wild halloo that echoed far through the dark
forest, followed by the sound of several voices. Taking this for his
pursuers, he started to his feet, clutched his dagger, cocked the
pistols his faithful daughter had folded in the cobbler’s apron, and
swore to himself that he would die rather than be taken. Listening for a
little, the voices began to grow faint, and he saw at a short distance
the glimmering of a light. Anxious to know who these night marauders
were, and what might be their errand, he crept cautiously up to the
light, and beheld an old woman holding a torch to three men, who were
loading panniers on their horses’ backs. Fancy his surprise to hear one
of the, men speak in the broken accents of his own native Loch-Katrine!
and, standing beside the old woman with the torch, he imagined he saw
the form of old Billy Marshall, the tinker, whom he often had befriended
in Glengyle! After the horsemen had ridden off, Macgregor stepped up to
the hut, and, tapping at the door, it was opened by Marshall himself.
Although in the poor disguise of a cobbler, he instantly recognised
James, and gave him hearty welcome. Marshall hoped James would at
present excuse the poverty of his abode, as it was only temporary, until
some ill-will he had gotten to himself in Galloway, for burning a
stack-yard, would blow over. James was kindly entertained by the tinker
for two days; and on the third he and his host set out on horseback for
Whitehaven, where he got a fisherman’s boat for the Isle of Man. From
thence he went to Ireland, where he sailed for France. James died in
France, poverty-stricken and broken-hearted, in October 1754; and with
him passed away one of his clan’s most able and enthusiastic supporters.
We might follow the chequered career of the sons of Rob
Roy through a long list of varied adventures and trials, but as none of
these are closely connected with the locality, we shall confine
ourselves to a few of the daring exploits of “Young Rob,” as he was
called, as they are of strong local interest, and eventually cost him
his life. Young Rob was the youngest son of Rob Roy, and said to be only
seventeen years of age at his father’s death. Scarcely had his father
been dead than he began his adventures by shooting his cousin, and ended
his days on the scaffold. Young Rob is said to have been tall, but of
slender build, and he inherited to a considerable degree his father’s
dexterity at the sword. He appears to have been reckless and easily
advised—the tool of his more cautious brothers, and, if taunted, would
face a multitude single-handed; but was altogether sadly wanting in the
great moral sagacity that distinguished his father, and that took him
out of so many difficulties. That the sons of Rob Roy were sadly
persecuted, there remains not a shadow of a doubt; that they committed
excesses there can be no denial; but the fate of James and Robert was
peculiarly severe. After the alleged murder of his cousin, Robert fled
to France, and was present at the battle of Fontenoy, in Flanders, on
nth May 1745; and after his return he never was brought to trial for the
supposed crime, and it was only for his part in the abduction of Jean
Keay that he was brought to the scaffold. The evidence in that case
being of the most conflicting kind, the rev. editor of the “ History of
Stirlingshire” says, Rob was executed “ostensibly on that score.” As a
proof of the manner in which these men were treated, I have only to
mention one instance. James and Ronald were tried at Perth for their
share in the murder of their cousin, but were declared “not guilty” by
the jury; the judge, however, bound them over to keep the peace for
seven years, under a penalty of two hundred pounds. |
