Chapter 4
Glen Gyle - First week of October 1742
The earlier smirr of rain had become a steady downpour by the time John MacGregor left the fields where his sub-tenants comtinued their labours. John, the master of Glengyle, was elder brother to Rob. The temperature had dropped even lower since the morning and the first snows of the winter threatened. It had been a good growing summer but a poor autumn. There had been lengthy spells of almost continual rain although no snow or frost until now. The level of Loch Katrine had risen higher than usual for the time of year and already the lowest parts of the arable lands were becoming flooded. The bere (barley) crop had failed to ripen properly although two months earlier it had looked promising, better indeed, than it had for several years past.
Not all of the cattle had been brought down from the high pastures yet, although there was little sustenance left for them on the tops. The economy of the township depended on the breeding herd, and it had to be brought into shelter before the first snows fell. This could not be done until the last of the bere had been harvested. The better part of the crop had already been cut and brought in to the granary, but much of it still lay tangled and sodden where the rains and winds had left it. The remaining grains on the sparse ears were blackening or sprouting rather than ripening.
The entire population of Glengyle's small estate at the head of Loch Katrine were dotted around in the fields. They had toiled since dawn today and for most of the past week. Through the curtains of rain, they were like brown hummocks moving about the dirty grey scenery. Their clothes were sodden. The skin of their hands was white and pinched. Children of three years old and upwards toiled beside their mothers, past crying now, they carried small bundles of bere stalks to the heaps at the rig-ends. Older children tied the cut stalks into bundles. Their mothers, stooped painfully low, grasped and pulled up the prone stalks so they could cut them with their sickles. The work continued almost in silence. The usual sound of co-operative song was absent. Only the protests of the garrons and working bullocks could be heard as the men stacked the heaps of bere and oats on sledges yoked to the animals. Three or four men and as many animals would haul the sledge over the saturated ground, splashing through the streams, normally almost dry at harvest, which carried the rain off the hillside down to the Loch.
As the skies darkened and the last sledge load was completed, the children and their mothers plodded wearily up the hillside to their homes. In the distance could be heard the remaining men and boys of the township. Their yells could be distinguished above the bellowing of the cattle as the herds coming down from the high pastures were directed towards the gaps in the head dykes that encircled the arable land.
John reached the porch of Glen Gyle House, a well-proportioned whitewashed building with two stories beneath a thatched roof out of which dormer windows peaked shyly. Almost at the same time, his father Gregor and brother Rob arrived. Rob’s crop had already been harvested and his cattle folded. He had brought his two subtenants over to Glen Gyle to assist and had, himself, been on the hill ground for several days bringing down the cattle. All three men were tired, soaking wet and plastered with mud. They wore belted plaids, leaving their legs bare up to mid thigh, the sodden material gave their upper bodies some protection against the cold and the driving rain, but their legs were bare down to their mud encrusted brogans, untanned leather gathered with thongs to protect their soles from the roughest of the rock and whin.
Gregor was proprietor of the estate of Glengyle and tacksman to the Duke of Montrose for holdings in Buchanan parish. Though undisputed chief of Clann Dùbhghaill Ciar, he was one of several claimants to the Chieftainship of Clan Gregor. In his early fifties, he was a well-made man and over 6 feet in height. His hair and beard were now streaked with grey and the strain of the late harvest could be seen in his eyes. The black birthmark on his right knee, which gave him the byname Glùn Dubh, could clearly be seen. John, his eldest son was a little shorter and less powerfully made than his father. He had briefly attended the College in Glasgow, although he did not graduate, but he had been abroad to France and Italy, bearing correspondence to and from the Jacobites. Perhaps this had made him more worldly wise and cynical than his father and brother.
Rob, the second son, matched his father for height and physique. He had travelled with the droves all over the Highlands and down to the annual trysts at Crieff and Falkirk. Each autumn the cattle dealers came to the trysts to buy lean Highland cattle that would be driven south to the rich grazing lands of Eastern England where they would be fattened up and sold at Smithfield at great profit. Several times Robert had taken a contract with his men and walked with the cattle through Clydesdale, over the Lowther hills into Annandale. From thence Southwards into Cumbria, Lancashire and down through Staffordshire and Warwickshire into Cambridgeshire where they had delivered their charges to the buyer's fields. He had seen the broad flat acres of deep fertile land and marvelled at the sight. He and his men had travelled back with other Highland drovers in groups, forty or fifty strong, keeping to the drove trails and sleeping in the same encampments which they had used on the way down. Three younger brothers were away at sea, involved in the West India trade out of Greenock with their cousins, the Hamiltons of Bardowie.
In the entrance hall of the house they dropped their sodden clothes and took up the dry homespun garments which Mary Hamilton, wife of Gregor and mother of his large family had left out for them. They turned into the room on the right, where they each collapsed into armchairs. Against the wall stood a small glass-fronted bookcase containing a number of volumes, many of them worn and well used. Amongst the furniture were several pieces of fine lowland craftsmanship, but the armchairs they used were of simple but hardwearing Highland manufacture. A sturdy oak cabinet at the back of the room, with a large brass lock, held the best of Gregor's pistols, muskets and broadswords as well as his charters and rental books. The stone-flagged floor was covered with hides, mainly deerskins, but with softer marten and badger pelts near where Mary and her daughters normally sat at their needlework - some of which hung on the walls.
A tray had been provided with several bottles of port and pewter mugs. Gregor emptied the contents of a bottle into the three mugs. John was slumped in his chair, aching from the work in the fields. Gregor and Rob had recovered a little more quickly. They had covered many miles, but this had been somewhat less wearing than the relentless work, bent double in the sodden fields.
"Iain,” Gregor began, addressing his son, John, in the Gaelic form of his name, "there is some business which must be settled."
John, almost asleep in his chair, the warmth of the port easing his aches, barely stirred. Gregor rose from his chair and prodded him. "I regret this cannot wait. You will catch your rest later."
John reluctantly sat up and listened to what his father had to say. "When we were over at Rowardennan, I received some intelligence which makes it more certain there will be another rising. I do not know when it will be, but there are several agents newly arrived from France, who call upon the Friends of King James. I may have to raise the clan once again and there will be consequences for us all. I expect to have these visitors here soon and I need to set our affairs in order before they arrive. I sent a messenger off by boat to Dumbarton to fetch a notary who is sympathetic to our cause and I expect he will reach us tomorrow. Rob, he will be arriving at Inversnaid in the morning, I want you to meet him and bring him here. I met with James Mòr at Coire Arclet on our way here and asked him to come in the morning. I shall need him as witness."
"So it can all wait for the morning then," said John, "and I can sleep now.”
"No,” his father replied, "there is more and I want you both to hear this now. The Highlands have been more or less quiet since the '19 and in any case, Rob Roy, your Great Uncle, was the target of any retribution in those days. This house was burned in 1715 and my lands were nearly forfeited. We have to ensure Mary, your mother and your wives and your son James, are not left t
o suffer a winter up in the shielings. You can imagine how this matter may resolve itself. The Jacobites are too split by plots and dissension to succeed. If they do, then James on the throne might turn out to be no more a friend to Clan Gregor than George of Hanover. But we owe our loyalty to our rightful King, anointed by God, and we have no choice but to support this attempt. With Glencarnaig, the clan can bring out between two and three hundred men, but he and I have to consider the consequences. You both know your mother's attitude. I shall have to go and stay with Rob at Stronachlachar once she gets to hear of what is afoot. That is a further reason for you not taking a part, Iain. She might tolerate me taking my part, but you are her favourite and she would dirk me rather than let you go."
At this point Rob interrupted, "You spoke of Glencarnaig, but surely you have the right to lead Clan Gregor. We have had no Chief since Archibald of Kilmanan died. Rob Roy was Captain, but you should be Chief. William of Balhaldie is not a war leader."
"No, Rob," answered Gregor. "Balhaldie has a colonelcy from King James, but there are few who would follow him. Glencarnaig believes he has the better right and he might be able to raise more followers than I. I will dispute the right with him, but you see the clan is riven before we start, as will be Clan Donald and Clan Leod. Even some of Clan Diarmaid may rise with us though Argyll is in the government. I cannot command those of the Clan who live on the estates of Lord Perth, nor may I call out those in Strathspey that your great-uncle visited. But I am losing the point."
Once more he reached over and prodded at John. "Iain," he said, "When the notary arrives I intend to transfer the estates to you. You shall take no part in the rising. As proprietor of the estate, you shall remain here like a good farmer tending his lands."
John, suddenly more awake, sat up in his chair. "If the clan rises, then my place is at its head, not sitting at home like an old woman. You stay here by the fire, not I."
"Iain," Gregor responded, "my mind is made up. I am already tainted and past my best years, I have spent my life in these ploys. There are great changes coming to the Highlands. I could not adapt to that which I see is coming, but you can. You have seen many harvests here before, though this has been worse than some. However you cannot remember the terrible years when King Billy was on the throne, when people scraped the lichen off the stones and boiled them with nettles to make broth. Thousands died of starvation in those years. That is not arable land out there," he said, motioning his hand towards the window where through the curtains of sleet could be perceived the sodden fields stretching down to Loch Katrine. "But it could support better cattle and maybe even sheep if there were fewer people on it. You know our survival has depended on the past on our manpower, on the number of blades that would follow us, whenever we demanded it. They may not be so able to protect us in the future. Already the military roads cross the land. English sheep masters have been brought onto the lowland estates of Atholl, Montrose and Argyll. They are dispossessing the old tenantry by offering higher rents. I shall bring the clan out in this rising, there is no choice, but I am determined you shall keep this estate, poor patrimony though it is compared to the lands the Clan Diarmaid took from us."
A servant entered the room with a burning taper and lit the candles. Gregor looked at the gilt candelabra that had been a gift from Balhaldie when he had wanted manpower for some ploy or other. Around the room were a few other accumulated luxuries. It was so tempting to sit back and let others take the risks, or maybe to keep the clan at home. What chance had the Stewarts anyway? This affair could well turn out like the '15, when bobbing Johnny, Earl of Mar, in a fit of pique when he was out of favour with the court of George I in London, had thrown in his lot with the Jacobites. In place of the Duke of Berwick, a superb soldier, and illegitimate son of King James, Mar had led the rising himself. Though a devious plotter and consummate politician, he was no soldier and the rising collapsed at Sherrifmuir. John of Argyll, “Red John of the battles” as he was known, had been clearly beaten and retreated with the remnants of his army to Dunblane, but it was Mar's army that fell apart. “We ran and they ran; We all ran awa’, man” mused Gregor as he thought of the anonymous ballad of that battle. King James himself arrived too late, without the promised French army and treasure and promptly turned tail and sailed back to France. Uncle Rob Roy, eight years in his grave now, had known exactly what was to be done, protecting the clan, preserving this estate, gaining credit for his actions where few others could, despite calumnious accusations of treachery, from those who had more to be ashamed of than he had. In the '19, when Tullibardine and Seaforth brought in a few Spaniards and achieved almost nothing, Rob Roy did his best for the cause, but made sure, once again that Glen Gyle had been protected.
"Iain," Gregor said, after a long pause, "my mind is made up. I have never led our people in war as I wanted to when I was your age. This time I shall, and you will have the estate. Rob, you will be my lieutenant. Your wife and son will be safe enough here with your mother."
Rob grinned at his brother. He had chafed at those times in the past when John had been entrusted with important tasks, while he had been left with the cattle. Already he fantasised at leading the clan into battle, broadsword held high as the redcoats fled before him. Perhaps there was a prospect of being knighted by the Prince at Holyrood for his valour. The tales of his great-uncle had been related so many times they seemed almost to have been his own experiences, though Rob had never seen any real conflict. True, there was the occasional excitement on the Watch, recovering stolen cattle, but it was dull compared to the tales of the past. In any case, Gregor's Highland Watch was now looked on with even less favour than it had been in earlier years by the authorities. The military garrisons had intimidated most of the caterans who used to prey on the farmlands below the Highland line. So the farmers were less inclined to pay the Clan Gregor for protection.
John looked at his father, torn between his filial duty and his long held expectation that he would lead the clan, despite his cynicism born of real experience of the Jacobite leadership in France. Still his blood warmed at the prospect of real action, which he might never see.
The three men were silent, wrapped up in their own thoughts as the rain battered at the window. Vaguely through the walls of the room could be heard the sound of Mary Hamilton directing the servants in the kitchen. Dinner would soon be served. Gregor had stated his position and would not change his mind, they all knew that, but he wanted John's agreement.
Finally John spoke. "Well then, it is settled, I shall remain here with the women, while you two get yourselves killed. And when it is all over I shall still be John Graham and our people, such as are allowed to live, shall still be nameless. Should his grace of Montrose be so minded he may even let Grissel keep your little patch over on Arklet. There may be a big enough patch of deep soil there to bury you Rob."
Rob rose to his feet, clutching for a non-existent weapon at his waist, a port bottle sent crashing off the table. His father was on his feet too. "Enough, both of you," he said, his voice raised in command. "There is honour for both of you in this. The needs of the clan come before your desires, Iain. Rob knows if he lives, he has to leave here, no matter what the outcome of this ploy. Now put your pride aside, Iain of Glengyle, and let us go through for dinner."
The next morning Rob made his way up Glen Gyle. He turned southwards over the ridge near the summit. His route kept out of sight of the Government fort near the ruins of Rob Roy's former house at Inversnaid as he made his way to the edge of Loch Lomond. A small pier had been constructed by the military and usually a guard was posted there to keep watch on the traffic on the loch. A mile further south was a small natural landing place excavated over centuries by a waterfall. He waited beside the water for a short time until the boat appeared, keeping close into the shoreline. Two of Glengyle's tenants rowed as they had done steadily since leaving Balmaha in darkness. Crouched under a waterproof at the back of the boat was the Dumbarton notary. Though symp
athetic to the Jacobites, like most lawyers, he was happy to take his fee no matter who paid it.
As the boat grounded noisily on the gravel, Rob assisted in beaching it. Hauled rapidly off the beach into the birch scrub, they covered it with green branches. Ostensibly it was government property, but it had been unofficially borrowed and it would be needed for the return journey. Soon the party were making their way up the hillside through the oak and birch scrub. They scrambled through the dying, wet bracken and across tumbling rivulets. The notary was distantly related to Rob, and he was not a stranger to these hills and trackless routes, but nevertheless, he found the climb harder work than his companions did and was soon breathing heavily. They continued on in silence, still wary of the risk of meeting a patrol from the garrison. They crossed the Snaid Burn below the fort and followed a path through the woodland until they were well clear of being sighted. Only then did they climb the hills beyond. Eventually they stopped to allow their visitor time to recover his wind.
The notary, who used the name of James Campbell, though he was as much a MacGregor as the rest of them, stood up from his temporary seat. "Too much port, I do not doubt, and not enough time on these hills. Thank you, Master Robert, for your patience I feel a little more able to cross the hill now."
Several hours later, Rob with the notary and his small escort arrived at Glen Gyle House. The rain still fell steadily. Across the hill it had been more wintry. In a few days the hill track would become impassable. Glengyle, or Old Glengyle as he had now told his people he intended to be called, welcomed them at the door. "Well met, Seamus," he called out. "I knew you would not desert your old friend."
"Ha, Glengyle,” Seamus responded as he entered the reception room, "You give me more trouble than all my other clients together. What is it you wish of me?"
Glengyle briefly explained his intention. Mr Campbell well understood his reasons. "Ach, Glengyle," he said, "If the Secretary for Scotland had his wits about him, he would have the clerk at the Court of Session notify him of every landowner who was settling his estate on his firstborn, while still alive himself. In that way he would have a muster of King James's Colonels before the first of them came out." "But it is a legal stratagem and you have a right to use it, though it may not prevent the Government altering the law if it sees fit."
Mr Campbell laid out his papers, well protected in oiled wrappings on the journey. "I have a pro-forma document for such matters. It will not take me long to copy out a suitable document of transfer. I would welcome a bottle of port to keep company with while I do so."
By the time the document had been completed James Mòr of Coire Arclet, eldest son of Rob Roy, arrived. Gregor and John signed the deeds of transfer for the lands and estate of Glen Gyle. Gregor signed himself ‘James Graham, formerly of Glengyle’ while his son used his adopted alias of John Graham. James Mòr witnessed the deed, signing himself James Drummond.
They toasted each other on conclusion of the business. "Now sir," Gregor said, "We have prepared the guest room for you. Do you travel tomorrow or can we have your company longer?"
John Campbell looked out of the window through the driving rain. The clouds hung heavily on the hills. "If I tarry too long, I may spend the winter here. It does not look promising for the Crieff Tryst next week. I must travel tomorrow."
"Well then," his host answered, "If you would travel with me by Aberfoyle, I have some business to attend and I can go with you to Drymen."
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