MacGregor

by Peter John Lawrie

Chapter 12

  Inversnaid to Callander - Monday September 9, 1745

  Next morning the provisions from the fort were packed into sacks for the prisoners to carry and into panniers for the garrons. Half a dozen older men would remain at Inversnaid. Glengyle had decided that the fort could be useful to them, though he had originally planned to destroy it. The column of prisoners and their escort moved away from the fort. The garrison stood outside, cheering.

  Glengyle set a brisk pace up the hillside. Rob and his tail of three men took up position at the rear of the column. Their route was by way of Bealach nam Manach and the shielings in the heights of Glen Gyle and from there on to Balqu­hidder by the Bealach nan Corp to join up with Glencarnaig. Rob thought back twenty- six years, to that warm summer day when, as a boy, he had met Rob Roy and James Mòr on their way back from Glen Shiel.

  As the column attained the summit of the bealach they view of Loch Katrine opened out to the East. Glengyle halted the column. He had changed his plan. At the present pace, it was already too late to reach the Kirkton of Balquhidder in time for the tryst with Glencarnaig. He would continue with thirty of the fastest moving and most reliable clansmen. Rob and James Mòr with seventy men and the forty-five prisoners should proceed along the North shore of Loch Katrine by way of Portnellan, then by Loch Achray and Loch Venachar to Callander. There, they should wait for Glencarnaig and Ranald from the Kirkton.

  So they continued for some miles. Then there was a disturbance in the column. Several men could be seen running for the cover of a patch of birch woodland.

  Rob realised they were deserters. He ordered, "Alasdair, Seamus, head them off."

  Rob deployed those that he thought he could trust and kept a close watch on the militia prisoners too. It was strange though, there did not seem to be the numbers that there should have been. He began a count.

  Soon Alasdair returned with his men. He had caught two of the desert­ers, but others had escaped. Rob ordered a count. Their forty-five prisoners were all still present but more than a dozen of their recruits had gone.

  Once more the column was on the move, down the hill and across the Glen Gyle water. They rounded the back of Glen Gyle House. Mary Hamilton, Rob’s mother, remained steadfastly indoors, refusing to ac­knowledge their presence. They continued eastward along the lochside. Among the most dependable of their band were Glengyle's own tenants. Families stood silently at the roadside watching them go, unsure if they would see their fathers, husbands and sons again.

  At the head of Loch Achray, Rob called a halt. Many of the men lay down, as food was distributed, cold cooked oatmeal and water. Sustaining, but unappetising. They were at the edge of a densely wooded and boggy area. The cuilagan were bothersome. The tiredness, accumulated over the last four days of constant action, foraging and recruiting crept up on Rob. James Mòr nudged him. "Wake up man, there is a long way to go yet.”

  Onward then. Rob surveyed their party. It was one problem to keep watch on forty-five prisoners. It was another to control their own men. "Wait!" He roared. "In the name of all the saints. Where are they?"

  True enough, they were diminished in numbers since they had stopped. Several had slipped away into the boggy woodland.

  "Damnation!" Rob swore, "shall we count again?"

  "No,” replied James Mòr, "there is poor sport in that and we could lose more while we count. Let us keep moving until Callander and count them there. In any case, Glengyle only wanted a large party to gain an advantage on Glen­carnaig. Whosoever had the largest tail was to be Colonel, so he thought. It seems, though, that there is little merit in having a tail, like the newt, that can be shed so easy."

  On they went, keeping up a brisk pace and not stopping again until they reached Callander, almost twenty-five miles march since the morning. Finally the party turned into the field above the little clachan where other parties had congregated.

  "Well then, shall we count what we have left?" Rob said.

  They sat their prisoners down, and grouped their remaining men around them. They compared the tally. Rob let out a whistle. "Glengyle will not be happy with this. We have but fifty left, apart from the prisoners. See over there, Glencarnaig has at least one hundred men."

  "Aye," James Mòr responded, "and ten more of these would run if they had the opportunity. I warned Glengyle of what would come of his ploy. But see, here comes Ranald, my brother, from the Kirkton and he looks to have a bonny tail with him."

  Rob and James Mòr stood in the shade of a tall Scots Pine and watched Ranald's party approach. Rob Roy was of the Glengyle family, even though, in his latter days he had settled in Balquhidder.

  Ranald called out. "Ciamar a tha, brother, I heard that you had a regiment with you. I do not see them!"

  "Well, I would say each of us had a tail as long as the other and that may have to suffice,” James Mòr responded. “See too, we have our prisoners and we have reduced Inversnaid."

  "Well done, brother, but is Glengyle not with you?" Ranald asked.

  "No, he left us at the head of Glen Gyle with thirty men bound to meet with you in Balquhidder. If truth be told, Glengyle swept up every able bodied man from Loch Lomond-side to bring here. On the march we lost some of them. Rob and I have had the devil of a time watching out for desertion.”

  “Have you seen Glenbuckie? " Rob asked, “He had promised forty men.”

  “Glenbuckie arrived with us and when Arnprior met with him, he went up to Leny House. He wanted another night on feathers instead of heather. His men are encamped up at Leny and will join us again with Arnprior tomorrow.”

  “What news of the Prince?” Rob asked Ranald.

  “There was a messenger here from the Duke of Perth. The Prince and his army remain at Perth, where we are now expected to join them. The Duke had expected that we would join the army at Dunblane, but his command is now that we march tomorrow by Glenartna to Comrie. At Crieff he expects us to join his regiment and together we shall continue on to Perth.”

  Rob and James Mòr saw to it that their men and prisoners had a place for the night. Nearby, above Leny House, they found a suitable place, which had been cut from the hillside by the action of a turbulent burn tumbling from Creag Bheithe. At one time this had been a small loch until the outfall had cut its way through the rock that now formed the narrow ravine-like entrance to the flat, dry area that formed the site. It was sheltered from the wind by the rising slopes around it. The burn provided water for the men and garrons. The raised beach on the escarpment above gave a clear view on which picquets were stationed to watch for escape attempts. They allocated watch duties to their most reliable men. A full moon was expected. As night fell Glengyle and his thirty men arrived. They had marched by the Kirkton of Balquhidder, too late for the tryst. Once Glengyle had satisfied himself that Glencarnaig, Glenbuckie and Ranald were on their way, he had continued down Strathyre and the shores of Loch Lubnaig to join them.

  Several kyloes were roasted over the fire in their hides. Portions of meat were distributed among them all. Arnprior had provided a barrel of small beer. They settled for the night. No further desertions troubled them.

  The next morning, the 10th of September, all were quickly up and ready to move with the minimum of preparation. Glengyle had his column formed up for the march.

  A messenger from the Stewarts came up. “Himself has been shot,” he blurted out. “We are taking him home.”

  Rob was shocked at the news of Stewart of Glenbuckie’s death. Jean Stewart, his new wife, was Glenbuckie's sister.

  Glengyle questioned the messenger. James Mòr, Rob and Ranald stood close by. It appeared that Glenbuckie had been found in his bed with a pistol ball in his head. The pistol lay close beside the bed. Arnprior had claimed that he had committed suicide. The Stewarts accused Arnprior of murder. It had almost come to blows between them, but the suspicious Stewarts had backed off and even now they had begun their march back up Strathyre, taking turns of four to carry Glenbuckie’s body
home. The messenger had been commanded to inform Glengyle and then to rejoin his companions.

  “What of Arnprior?” Glengyle asked. “Is he still with us?”

  “The door of Leny House is bolted and his men are within, their muskets primed. He refuses to satisfy us,” the Stewart messenger answered as he left.

  "I doubt whether they will be back,” Glengyle mused, “nor Arnprior for now. James and Rob, take some men and round up a few kyloes. If he will not join us, he can feed us instead.”

  "See, Rob," James Mòr said, "the promises melt like morning dew."

  Rob was silent. He had not been a close friend to his good-brother, but the thought of Glenbuckie taking his own life shocked him. He thought of Jean back in Stronachlachar. Perhaps he should be back there comforting her on the death of her brother rather than marching away. He felt more sympathetic towards the men who had deserted Glengyle’s standard on their march here.

  Rob and James Mòr selected twenty fat kyloes from Arnprior’s herd. Glengyle wrote out a receipt, in the name of the Prince and Duke of Perth, requisitioning them for their use. He handed it to the frightened herd boy to give to Arnprior.

  The march began. They descended the short distance to Callander, meeting up with Glencarnaig’s band. Now, Glengyle and Glencarnaig had two hundred and fifty-five men under their joint command, even if forty-five of them were prisoners from Inversnaid.

  The column, slowed by the necessity to drive the cattle, took the hill road north from Callander. In the distance lay Ben Vorlich. After two hours they descended to the Ruchill river. Heading northeast now, they continued through the mist and swirling rain, beating the cattle to keep them moving at a trot.

  They continued along Glen Artney, the going easier now that the rain had stopped. At noon they rested the cattle and the prisoners before crossing the River Earn at Comrie. Now they kept to the north edge of the strath.

  Glengyle halted his column before they entered Crieff. Though the Duke of Perth was a staunch Jacobite, Crieff, his own town, was a great disappointment to him. In the 1715 Rising the Jacobites had looted it and burned it to the ground, with the full approval of the father of the present Duke of Perth. The strongly Whig townsfolk had refused to provide him with more than four recruits in 1715, and it appeared that the Crieff folk had not changed their attitude in thirty years. Clan Gregor and the town of Crieff were old acquaintances. More than a few unfortunates of the Clan had been hung from the town’s gibbets over the years. Men of Clan Gregor were of course regular visitors, escorting some of the vast droves of kyloes that congregated in Crieff each October at the Michaelmas tryst. Though the town profited from the trade, it suffered too. Drunken drovers looted and despoiled any property that was not well guarded. Whether guilty or not, the townsfolk took summary revenge on any Highland drover who through drink or mischance could be taken at a disadvantage.

  Formed into a tight fighting wedge, Glengyle, James Mòr and Rob marched behind the leading pipers. They secured the cattle and the prisoners in the centre. Glencarnaig commanded the rearguard. They marched through the little town. Sullen townsfolk watched from their windows and the church belfry. The provost and his councilmen peered down from the upper floor of the tolbooth. The streets were deserted. The skies were leaden. The pipers continued to play “MacGregor’s Gathering.”

  They continued to march beyond the little town. Glengyle finally commanded the column to halt at Connuchan near the mouth of the Sma’ Glen beside the Monzie burn. Ahead of them could be seen an encampment.

  Glengyle spoke to Rob, “Take a few lads and ascertain who is stationed here. Take care.”

  Rob moved forward. All his men were well armed with muskets, pistols and broadswords. They stopped a little short of the encampment as a group of men, equally bristling with weapons blocked their path.

  “Rob, is it? How is it with you? Is your father, Glengyle, there?” the leader asked.

  Rob recognised him almost at the same time. This was MacIain of Glencoe. He was son to the MacIain foully massacred by Campbell of Glen Lyon in 1692 at the instigation of the Earl of Stair. The murdered MacIain chief had been married to Sarah MacGregor, sister of Rob Roy, and hence the present chief was first cousin to Glengyle.

  “Well met, Glencoe, what finds you here? Are you for the Prince’s army?”

  It was soon established that Glencoe had sent a party of his men ahead to Perth to join the Jacobite army a few days earlier. He had followed on with this band of sixty more. They had shortly before received a message that the army would march in the morning, following the River Almond from Perth via Crieff to Dunblane. Rather than retrace their steps Glencoe had decided to camp here for the night.

  “I had selected this site as defensible,” Glencoe explained. “I was about to send a few men out to find our dinner. How many have you and have you provisions for them?”

  Glengyle came up to join them and greeted his cousin warmly. Though there had been occasions when his Highland watch had disputed the possession of straying Lennox cattle with the men of Glen Coe, they remained on good terms. Glengyle had not known his Aunt. She had been murdered when he was but three years old. Glencoe was a little older than Glengyle, having been saved from the massacre by his foster father when but a boy.

  “Will you join us in our repast, Glencoe?” Glengyle asked. “We have beef from Arnprior who sends his compliments but asked to be excused from our journey.”