Rob Roy – Complete

“We are three to three,” said the lesser Highlander, glancing his eyes at our party: “if ye be pretty men, draw!” and unsheathing his broadsword, he advanced on me. I put myself in a posture of defence, and aware of the superiority of my weapon, a rapier or small-sword, was little afraid of the issue of the contest. The Bailie behaved with unexpected mettle. As he saw the gigantic Highlander confront him with his weapon drawn, he tugged for a second or two at the hilt of his shabble, as he called it; but finding it loth to quit the sheath, to which it had long been secured by rust and disuse, he seized, as a substitute, on the red-hot coulter of a plough which had been employed in arranging the fire by way of a poker, and brandished it with such effect, that at the first pass he set the Highlander’s plaid on fire, and compelled him to keep a respectful distance till he could get it extinguished. Andrew, on the contrary, who ought to have faced the Lowland champion, had, I grieve to say it, vanished at the very commencement of the fray. But his antagonist, crying “Fair play, fair play!” seemed courteously disposed to take no share in the scuffle. Thus we commenced our rencontre on fair terms as to numbers. My own aim was, to possess myself, if possible, of my antagonist’s weapon; but I was deterred from closing, for fear of the dirk which he held in his left hand, and used in parrying the thrusts of my rapier. Meantime the Bailie, notwithstanding the success of his first onset, was sorely bested. The weight of his weapon, the corpulence of his person, the very effervescence of his own passions, were rapidly exhausting both his strength and his breath, and he was almost at the mercy of his antagonist, when up started the sleeping Highlander from the floor on which he reclined, with his naked sword and target in his hand, and threw himself between the discomfited magistrate and his assailant, exclaiming, “Her nainsell has eaten the town pread at the Cross o’ Glasgow, and py her troth she’ll fight for Bailie Sharvie at the Clachan of Aberfoil – tat will she e’en!” And seconding his words with deeds, this unexpected auxiliary made his sword whistle about the ears of his tall countryman, who, nothing abashed, returned his blows with interest. But being both accoutred with round targets made of wood, studded with brass, and covered with leather, with which they readily parried each other’s strokes, their combat was attended with much more noise and clatter than serious risk of damage. It appeared, indeed, that there was more of bravado than of serious attempt to do us any injury; for the Lowland gentleman, who, as I mentioned, had stood aside for want of an antagonist when the brawl commenced, was now pleased to act the part of moderator and peacemaker.

“Hand your hands! haud your hands! – eneugh done! – eneugh done! the quarrel’s no mortal. The strange gentlemen have shown themselves men of honour, and gien reasonable satisfaction. I’ll stand on mine honour as kittle as ony man, but I hate unnecessary bloodshed.”

It was not, of course, my wish to protract the fray – my adversary seemed equally disposed to sheathe his sword – the Bailie, gasping for breath, might be considered as hors de combat, and our two sword-and-buckler men gave up their contest with as much indifference as they had entered into it.

“And now,” said the worthy gentleman who acted as umpire, “let us drink and gree like honest fellows – The house will haud us a’. I propose that this good little gentleman, that seems sair forfoughen, as I may say, in this tuilzie, shall send for a tass o’ brandy and I’ll pay for another, by way of archilowe,60 and then we’ll birl our bawbees a’ round about, like brethren.”

“And fa’s to pay my new ponnie plaid,” said the larger Highlander, “wi’ a hole burnt in’t ane might put a kail-pat through? Saw ever onybody a decent gentleman fight wi’ a firebrand before?”

“Let that be nae hinderance,” said the Bailie, who had now recovered his breath, and was at once disposed to enjoy the triumph of having behaved with spirit, and avoid the necessity of again resorting to such hard and doubtful arbitrament – “Gin I hae broken the head,” he said, “I sall find the plaister. A new plaid sall ye hae, and o’ the best – your ain clan-colours, man, – an ye will tell me where it can be sent t’ye frae Glasco.”

“I needna name my clan – I am of a king’s clan, as is weel ken’d,” said the Highlander; “but ye may tak a bit o’ the plaid – figh! she smells like a singit sheep’s head! – and that’ll learn ye the sett – and a gentleman, that’s a cousin o’ my ain, that carries eggs doun frae Glencroe, will ca’ for’t about Martimas, an ye will tell her where ye bide. But, honest gentleman, neist time ye fight, an ye hae ony respect for your athversary, let it be wi’ your sword, man, since ye wear ane, and no wi’ thae het culters and fireprands, like a wild Indian.”

“Conscience!” replied the Bailie, “every man maun do as he dow. My sword hasna seen the light since Bothwell Brigg, when my father that’s dead and gane, ware it; and I kenna weel if it was forthcoming then either, for the battle was o’ the briefest – At ony rate, it’s glued to the scabbard now beyond my power to part them; and, finding that, I e’en grippit at the first thing I could make a fend wi’. I trow my fighting days is done, though I like ill to take the scorn, for a’ that. – But where’s the honest lad that tuik my quarrel on himself sae frankly? – I’se bestow a gill o’ aquavitae on him, an I suld never ca’ for anither.”

The champion for whom he looked around was, however, no longer to be seen. He had escaped unobserved by the Bailie, immediately when the brawl was ended, yet not before I had recognised, in his wild features and shaggy red hair, our acquaintance Dougal, the fugitive turnkey of the Glasgow jail. I communicated this observation in a whisper to the Bailie, who answered in the same tone, “Weel, weel, – I see that him that ye ken o’ said very right; there is some glimmering o’ common sense about that creature Dougal; I maun see and think o’ something will do him some gude.”

Thus saying, he sat down, and fetching one or two deep aspirations, by way of recovering his breath, called to the landlady – “I think, Luckie, now that I find that there’s nae hole in my wame, whilk I had muckle reason to doubt frae the doings o’ your house, I wad be the better o’ something to pit intill’t.”

The dame, who was all officiousness so soon as the storm had blown over, immediately undertook to broil something comfortable for our supper. Indeed, nothing surprised me more, in the course of the whole matter, than the extreme calmness with which she and her household seemed to regard the martial tumult that had taken place. The good woman was only heard to call to some of her assistants – “Steek the door! steek the door! kill or be killed, let naebody pass out till they hae paid the lawin.” And as for the slumberers in those lairs by the wall, which served the family for beds, they only raised their shirtless bodies to look at the fray, ejaculated, “Oigh! oigh!” in the tone suitable to their respective sex and ages, and were, I believe, fast asleep again, ere our swords were well returned to their scabbards.

Our landlady, however, now made a great bustle to get some victuals ready, and, to my surprise, very soon began to prepare for us in the frying-pan a savoury mess of venison collops, which she dressed in a manner that might well satisfy hungry men, if not epicures. In the meantime the brandy was placed on the table, to which the Highlanders, however partial to their native strong waters, showed no objection, but much the contrary; and the Lowland gentleman, after the first cup had passed round, became desirous to know our profession, and the object of our journey.

“We are bits o’ Glasgow bodies, if it please your honour,” said the Bailie, with an affectation of great humility, “travelling to Stirling to get in some siller that is awing us.”

I was so silly as to feel a little disconcerted at the unassuming account which he chose to give of us; but I recollected my promise to be silent, and allow the Bailie to manage the matter his own way. And really, when I recollected, Will, that I had not only brought the honest man a long journey from home, which even in itself had been some inconvenience (if I were to judge from the obvious pain and reluctance with which he took his seat, or arose from it), but had also put him within a hair’s-breadth of the loss of his life, I could hardly refuse him such a compliment. The spokesman of the other party, snuffing up his breath through his nose, repeated the words with a sort of sneer; – “You Glasgow tradesfolks hae naething to do but to gang frae the tae end o’ the west o’ Scotland to the ither, to plague honest folks that may chance to be awee ahint the hand, like me.”

“If our debtors were a’ sic honest gentlemen as I believe you to be, Garschattachin,” replied the Bailie, “conscience! we might save ourselves a labour, for they wad come to seek us.”

“Eh! what! how!” exclaimed the person whom he had addressed, – “as I shall live by bread (not forgetting beef and brandy), it’s my auld friend Nicol Jarvie, the best man that ever counted doun merks on a band till a distressed gentleman. Were ye na coming up my way? – were ye na coming up the Endrick to Garschattachin?”

“Troth no, Maister Galbraith,” replied the Bailie, “I had other eggs on the spit – and I thought ye wad be saying I cam to look about the annual rent that’s due on the bit heritable band that’s between us.”

“Damn the annual rent!” said the laird, with an appearance of great heartiness – “Deil a word o’ business will you or I speak, now that ye’re so near my country. To see how a trot-cosey and a joseph can disguise a man – that I suldna ken my auld feal friend the deacon!”

“The Bailie, if ye please,” resumed my companion; “but I ken what gars ye mistak – the band was granted to my father that’s happy, and he was deacon; but his name was Nicol as weel as mine. I dinna mind that there’s been a payment of principal sum or annual rent on it in my day, and doubtless that has made the mistake.”

“Weel, the devil take the mistake and all that occasioned it!” replied Mr. Galbraith. “But I am glad ye are a bailie. Gentlemen, fill a brimmer – this is my excellent friend, Bailie Nicol Jarvie’s health – I ken’d him and his father these twenty years. Are ye a’ cleared kelty aff? – Fill anither. Here’s to his being sune provost – I say provost – Lord Provost Nicol Jarvie! – and them that affirms there’s a man walks the Hie-street o’ Glasgow that’s fitter for the office, they will do weel not to let me, Duncan Galbraith of Garschattachin, hear them say sae – that’s all.” And therewith Duncan Galbraith martially cocked his hat, and placed it on one side of his head with an air of defiance.

The brandy was probably the best recommendation of there complimentary toasts to the two Highlanders, who drank them without appearing anxious to comprehend their purport. They commenced a conversation with Mr. Galbraith in Gaelic, which he talked with perfect fluency, being, as I afterwards learned, a near neighbour to the Highlands.

“I ken’d that Scant-o’-grace weel eneugh frae the very outset,” said the Bailie, in a whisper to me; “but when blude was warm, and swords were out at ony rate, wha kens what way he might hae thought o’ paying his debts? it will be lang or he does it in common form. But he’s an honest lad, and has a warm heart too; he disna come often to the Cross o’ Glasgow, but mony a buck and blackcock he sends us doun frae the hills. And I can want my siller weel eneugh. My father the deacon had a great regard for the family of Garschattachin.”

Supper being now nearly ready, I looked round for Andrew Fairservice; but that trusty follower had not been seen by any one since the beginning of the rencontre. The hostess, however, said that she believed our servant had gone into the stable, and offered to light me to the place, saying that “no entreaties of the bairns or hers could make him give any answer; and that truly she caredna to gang into the stable herself at this hour. She was a lone woman, and it was weel ken’d how the Brownie of Ben-ye-gask guided the gudewife of Ardnagowan; and it was aye judged there was a Brownie in our stable, which was just what garr’d me gie ower keeping an hostler.”

As, however, she lighted me towards the miserable hovel into which they had crammed our unlucky steeds, to regale themselves on hay, every fibre of which was as thick as an ordinary goose-quill, she plainly showed me that she had another reason for drawing me aside from the company than that which her words implied. “Read that,” she said, slipping a piece of paper into my hand, as we arrived at the door of the shed; “I bless God I am rid o’t. Between sogers and Saxons, and caterans and cattle-lifters, and hership and bluidshed, an honest woman wad live quieter in hell than on the Hieland line.”

So saying, she put the pine-torch into my hand, and returned into the house,

CHAPTER TWELFTH

              Bagpipes, not lyres, the Highland hills adorn,              MacLean’s loud hollo, and MacGregor’s horn.John Cooper’s Reply to Allan Ramsay.

I stopped in the entrance of the stable, if indeed a place be entitled to that name where horses were stowed away along with goats, poultry, pigs, and cows, under the same roof with the mansion-house; although, by a degree of refinement unknown to the rest of the hamlet, and which I afterwards heard was imputed to an overpride on the part of Jeanie MacAlpine, our landlady, the apartment was accommodated with an entrance different from that used by her biped customers. By the light of my torch, I deciphered the following billet, written on a wet, crumpled, and dirty piece of paper, and addressed – “For the honoured hands of Mr. F. O., a Saxon young gentleman – These.” The contents were as follows: —

“Sir,

“There are night-hawks abroad, so that I cannot give you and my respected kinsman, B. N. J., the meeting at the Clachan of Aberfoil, whilk was my purpose. I pray you to avoid unnecessary communication with those you may find there, as it may give future trouble. The person who gives you this is faithful and may be trusted, and will guide you to a place where, God willing, I may safely give you the meeting, when I trust my kinsman and you will visit my poor house, where, in despite of my enemies, I can still promise sic cheer as ane Hielandman may gie his friends, and where we will drink a solemn health to a certain D. V., and look to certain affairs whilk I hope to be your aidance in; and I rest, as is wont among gentlemen, your servant to command, R. M. C.”

I was a good deal mortified at the purport of this letter, which seemed to adjourn to a more distant place and date the service which I had hoped to receive from this man Campbell. Still, however, it was some comfort to know that he continued to be in my interest, since without him I could have no hope of recovering my father’s papers. I resolved, therefore, to obey his instructions; and, observing all caution before the guests, to take the first good opportunity I could find to procure from the landlady directions how I was to obtain a meeting with this mysterious person.

My next business was to seek out Andrew Fairservice, whom I called several times by name, without receiving any answer, surveying the stable all round, at the same time, not without risk of setting the premises on fire, had not the quantity of wet litter and mud so greatly counterbalanced two or three bunches of straw and hay. At length my repeated cries of “Andrew Fairservice! Andrew! fool! – ass! where are you?” produced a doleful “Here,” in a groaning tone, which might have been that of the Brownie itself. Guided by this sound, I advanced to the corner of a shed, where, ensconced in the angle of the wall, behind a barrel full of the feathers of all the fowls which had died in the cause of the public for a month past, I found the manful Andrew; and partly by force, partly by command and exhortation, compelled him forth into the open air. The first words he spoke were, “I am an honest lad, sir.”

“Who the devil questions your honesty?” said I, “or what have we to do with it at present? I desire you to come and attend us at supper.”

“Yes,” reiterated Andrew, without apparently understanding what I said to him, “I am an honest lad, whatever the Bailie may say to the contrary. I grant the warld and the warld’s gear sits ower near my heart whiles, as it does to mony a ane – But I am an honest lad; and, though I spak o’ leaving ye in the muir, yet God knows it was far frae my purpose, but just like idle things folk says when they’re driving a bargain, to get it as far to their ain side as they can – And I like your honour weel for sae young a lad, and I wadna part wi’ ye lightly.”

“What the deuce are you driving at now?” I replied. “Has not everything been settled again and again to your satisfaction? And are you to talk of leaving me every hour, without either rhyme or reason?”

“Ay, – but I was only making fashion before,” replied Andrew; “but it’s come on me in sair earnest now – Lose or win, I daur gae nae farther wi’ your honour; and if ye’ll tak my foolish advice, ye’ll bide by a broken tryste, rather than gang forward yoursell. I hae a sincere regard for ye, and I’m sure ye’ll be a credit to your friends if ye live to saw out your wild aits, and get some mair sense and steadiness – But I can follow ye nae farther, even if ye suld founder and perish from the way for lack of guidance and counsel. To gang into Rob Roy’s country is a mere tempting o’ Providence.”

“Rob Roy?” said I, in some surprise; “I know no such person. What new trick is this, Andrew?”

“It’s hard,” said Andrew – “very hard, that a man canna be believed when he speaks Heaven’s truth, just because he’s whiles owercome, and tells lees a little when there is necessary occasion. Ye needna ask whae Rob Roy is, the reiving lifter that he is – God forgie me! I hope naebody hears us – when ye hae a letter frae him in your pouch. I heard ane o’ his gillies bid that auld rudas jaud of a gudewife gie ye that. They thought I didna understand their gibberish; but, though I canna speak it muckle, I can gie a gude guess at what I hear them say – I never thought to hae tauld ye that, but in a fright a’ things come out that suld be keepit in. O, Maister Frank! a’ your uncle’s follies, and a’ your cousin’s pliskies, were naething to this! Drink clean cap out, like Sir Hildebrand; begin the blessed morning with brandy sops, like Squire Percy; swagger, like Squire Thorncliff; rin wud amang the lasses, like Squire John; gamble, like Richard; win souls to the Pope and the deevil, like Rashleigh; rive, rant, break the Sabbath, and do the Pope’s bidding, like them a’ put thegither – But, merciful Providence! take care o’ your young bluid, and gang nae near Rob Roy!”

Andrew’s alarm was too sincere to permit me to suppose he counterfeited. I contented myself, however, with telling him, that I meant to remain in the alehouse that night, and desired to have the horses well looked after. As to the rest, I charged him to observe the strictest silence upon the subject of his alarm, and he might rely upon it I would not incur any serious danger without due precaution. He followed me with a dejected air into the house, observing between his teeth, “Man suld be served afore beast – I haena had a morsel in my mouth, but the rough legs o’ that auld muircock, this haill blessed day.”

The harmony of the company seemed to have suffered some interruption since my departure, for I found Mr. Galbraith and my friend the Bailie high in dispute.

“I’ll hear nae sic language,” said Mr. Jarvie, as I entered, “respecting the Duke o’ Argyle and the name o’ Campbell. He’s a worthy public-spirited nobleman, and a credit to the country, and a friend and benefactor to the trade o’ Glasgow.”

“I’ll sae naething against MacCallum More and the Slioch-nan-Diarmid,” said the lesser Highlander, laughing. “I live on the wrang side of Glencroe to quarrel with Inverara.”

“Our loch ne’er saw the Cawmil lymphads,” 61 said the bigger Highlander.

“She’ll speak her mind and fear naebody – She doesna value a Cawmil mair as a Cowan, and ye may tell MacCallum More that Allan Iverach said sae – It’s a far cry to Lochow.” 62

Mr. Galbraith, on whom the repeated pledges which he had quaffed had produced some influence, slapped his hand on the table with great force, and said, in a stern voice, “There’s a bloody debt due by that family, and they will pay it one day – The banes of a loyal and a gallant Grahame hae lang rattled in their coffin for vengeance on thae Dukes of Guile and Lords for Lorn. There ne’er was treason in Scotland but a Cawmil was at the bottom o’t; and now that the wrang side’s uppermost, wha but the Cawmils for keeping down the right? But this warld winna last lang, and it will be time to sharp the maiden63 for shearing o’ craigs and thrapples. I hope to see the auld rusty lass linking at a bluidy harst again.”

“For shame, Garschattachin!” exclaimed the Bailie; “fy for shame, sir! Wad ye say sic things before a magistrate, and bring yoursell into trouble? – How d’ye think to mainteen your family and satisfy your creditors (mysell and others), if ye gang on in that wild way, which cannot but bring you under the law, to the prejudice of a’ that’s connected wi’ ye?”

“D – n my creditors!” retorted the gallant Galbraith, “and you if ye be ane o’ them! I say there will be a new warld sune – And we shall hae nae Cawmils cocking their bonnet sae hie, and hounding their dogs where they daurna come themsells, nor protecting thieves, nor murderers, and oppressors, to harry and spoil better men and mair loyal clans than themsells.”

The Bailie had a great mind to have continued the dispute, when the savoury vapour of the broiled venison, which our landlady now placed before us, proved so powerful a mediator, that he betook himself to his trencher with great eagerness, leaving the strangers to carry on the dispute among themselves.

“And tat’s true,” said the taller Highlander – whose name I found was Stewart – “for we suldna be plagued and worried here wi’ meetings to pit down Rob Roy, if the Cawmils didna gie him refutch. I was ane o’ thirty o’ my ain name – part Glenfinlas, and part men that came down frae Appine. We shased the MacGregors as ye wad shase rae-deer, till we came into Glenfalloch’s country, and the Cawmils raise, and wadna let us pursue nae farder, and sae we lost our labour; but her wad gie twa and a plack to be as near Rob as she was tat day.”

It seemed to happen very unfortunately, that in every topic of discourse which these warlike gentlemen introduced, my friend the Bailie found some matter of offence. “Ye’ll forgie me speaking my mind, sir; but ye wad maybe hae gien the best bowl in your bonnet to hae been as far awae frae Rob as ye are e’en now – Od! my het pleugh-culter wad hae been naething to his claymore.”

“She had better speak nae mair about her culter, or, by G – ! her will gar her eat her words, and twa handfuls o’ cauld steel to drive them ower wi’!” And, with a most inauspicious and menacing look, the mountaineer laid his hand on his dagger.

“We’ll hae nae quarrelling, Allan,” said his shorter companion; “and if the Glasgow gentleman has ony regard for Rob Roy, he’ll maybe see him in cauld irons the night, and playing tricks on a tow the morn; for this country has been owre lang plagued wi’ him, and his race is near-hand run – And it’s time, Allan, we were ganging to our lads.”

“Hout awa, Inverashalloch,” said Galbraith; – “Mind the auld saw, man – It’s a bauld moon, quoth Bennygask – another pint, quoth Lesley; – we’ll no start for another chappin.”

“I hae had chappins eneugh,” said Inverashalloch; “I’ll drink my quart of usquebaugh or brandy wi’ ony honest fellow, but the deil a drap mair when I hae wark to do in the morning. And, in my puir thinking, Garschattachin, ye had better be thinking to bring up your horsemen to the Clachan before day, that we may ay start fair.”

“What the deevil are ye in sic a hurry for?” said Garschattachin; “meat and mass never hindered wark. An it had been my directing, deil a bit o’ me wad hae fashed ye to come down the glens to help us. The garrison and our ain horse could hae taen Rob Roy easily enough. There’s the hand,” he said, holding up his own, “should lay him on the green, and never ask a Hielandman o’ ye a’ for his help.”

“Ye might hae loot us bide still where we were, then,” said Inverashalloch. “I didna come sixty miles without being sent for. But an ye’ll hae my opinion, I redd ye keep your mouth better steekit, if ye hope to speed. Shored folk live lang, and sae may him ye ken o’. The way to catch a bird is no to fling your bannet at her. And also thae gentlemen hae heard some things they suldna hae heard, an the brandy hadna been ower bauld for your brain, Major Galbraith. Ye needna cock your hat and bully wi’ me, man, for I will not bear it.”