The duke's suggestion of establishing military forts in the district which Rob infested, was partly carried into effect, and a small fort, with a garrison, was established on Rob's old estate at Inversnaid. Rob and his men, however, attacked and dispersed the garrison; and it was not re-established till shortly before the rebellion of 1745. The duke also tried to obtain an advantage over his troublesome adversary by distributing firearms among his tenants; but in the course of a few weeks Rob had possessed himself of every musket sent into the neighbourhood. Except, therefore, for the chance of an occasional rencontre with marching parties of the king's troops, or after some specially daring exploit, Rob led a life of tolerable security. Not only was he free to wander at will through the extensive possessions of his patron the Duke of Argyle, but he could also confident in his own coolness and sagacity, the popularity of his character, and the power of his noble protector, the duke-be absent for days on distant excursions into various parts of the Lowlands. Rob had many hair'sbreadth escapes from being taken. About the year 1719, when the duke seems to have been particularly zealous in the pursuit of his tormentor, but without success, Rob, by way of joke, composed a challenge to the duke, copies of which he circulated among his friends, in order, he says, that they might "divert themselves and comrades with it when taking their bottle." The challenge is addressed to the "Hie and Mighty Prince, James, Duke of Montrose;" it is written in a good hand, and the spelling and grammar are such as would have been highly creditable to any Scotch laird of the early part of the eighteenth century.

Rob, however, was actually once a prisoner in the duke's hands, and in great danger of a speedy conclusion to his career. The story of his capture and escape is told by Sir Walter Scott both in the introduction to "Rob Roy" and in the novel itself; and as Sir Walter heard it from the grandson of the person who assisted Rob to escape, his version is likely to be the true one. Marching through Balquidder with a party of his tenants, the duke surprised Rob by himself, and making him prisoner, committed him to the charge of one of his followers, a large and powerful man, called in the novel Ewan of Brigglands.† Rob was mounted behind this man, and fastened to him by a horse-girth, and the party marched away with their prize. They had to cross the Forth at a place where the descent to the river was precipitous, and where only one could enter the river at a time. "While huddled together on the bank, Rob whispered to the man behind whom he was placed on horseback, Your father, Ewan,

The tourist passes the ruins of this fort in travelling along the wild Highland road between Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond; the surrounding district being still called Rob Roy's country.

The real name of the man who had the charge of Rob was James Stewart.

6

wadna hae carried an auld friend to the shambles like a calf for a' the dukes in Christendom.' Ewan returned no answer, but shrugged his shoulders, as one who meant that what he was doing was none of his own choice. And when the Macgregors come down the glen,' continued Rob, and ye see empty folds, and a bloody hearthstane, and the fire flashing out between the rafters o' your house, ye may be thinking then, Ewan, that were your friend Rob alive, you would hae had that safe which it will make your heart sair to lose.' Ewan of Brigglands again shrugged and groaned, but remained silent. 'It's a sair thing,' continued Rob, that Ewan o' Brigglands, whom Roy Macgregor has helped with hand, sword, and purse, should mind a gloomy look from a great man mair than a friend's life.' Ewan seemed sorely agitated, but was silent. The duke's voice was now heard from the opposite bank, 'Bring over the prisoner.' Ewan put his horse in motion, and just as Rob said, 'Never weigh a Macgregor's blood against a broken whang o' leather, for there will be another accounting to give for it baith here and hereafter,' they dashed into the water. Many had crossed, some were in the water, and the rest were preparing to follow, when a sudden splash showed that Macgregor's eloquence had prevailed on Ewan to give him a chance of escape. The duke heard the sound, and instantly guessed its meaning; 'Dog!' he exclaimed to Ewan as he landed,where is your prisoner?" and before Ewan could falter out an apology, he drew a steel pistol, and struck him down with a blow on the head. 'Disperse and pursue,' he then cried; ‘a hundred guineas for Rob Roy!'"* but Rob had escaped.

This was not the only time when Rob and death shook hands. Once his band, dispersed by a party of dragoons, were baffling their pursuers by running off in different directions. A wellmounted dragoon dashed after Rob, and struck him a blow on the head with his broadsword, which, but for the plate of iron which he had in his bonnet, would have killed him. As it was, Rob was stunned, and fell. At this moment Rob's lieutenant or sergeant appeared with a gun in his hand. "Oh, Macanaleister," cried Rob from the ground, "is there naething in her?" (in the gun). "Your mother never wrought that nightcap," cried the dragoon, and was coming down with a second stroke, when a ball whistled from Macanaleister's gun, and he fell, shot through

the heart.

At the very time when Rob was thus defying the law, the Duke of Montrose, and the military, he seems to have enter tained a hankering after a more quiet and respectable mode of life. The spirit of the Highland cearnach never appears to have been so strong in him as to make him prefer the bonnet and the kilt to the Lowland broad-cloth, if only he had been free to choose between them. Gladly, now that he was getting an old man,

* "Rob Roy."

would he have resumed his old profession of cattle-dealing. Accordingly, in the year 1720, we find old Rob addressing a letter to Field-Marshal Wade, who was then marching through the Highlands, receiving the submission of such clans as had been concerned in the rebellion of 1715, offering to become once more a good subject of King George. The letter is very humble and submissive, and by no means ill-written; alluding, however, more to his conduct as a rebel in the year 1715, than to the lawless exploits for which subsequently to' that time he had become notorious. No notice seems to have been taken of this letter; and Rob appears to have come to the conclusion that he must die as he had lived-an outlaw.

From this time our information about his movements becomes more scanty; and the probability is, that his joints were growing stiff, and his arm less powerful than before, and that he began to feel a rough and violent occupation less fitted to his strength and years. His fame had already extended far enough. He was known in England as well as in Scotland. In London he had been made the subject of a catch-penny tract, entitled "The Highland Rogue," full of the most extravagant stories of his strength and sagacity; and it is not impossible but his name may have even figured in conversation in circles where Pope and Addison were present. But Rob's days of activity and enterprise were over; and even his unmatched skill as a swordsman could not always avail him when his antagonist had youth on his side. For the last ten or twelve years, therefore, of his life, he refrained as much as possible from his former habits. During the first period of his long life, and down to the time of his absconding, he had been a Protestant, and, it is said, a regular attendant at the parish church. After turning cearnach, his visits to church, though they were not altogether given up, became fewer; but now, in his old age, beginning to think of serious subjects, he saw fit to give up attendance on the Presbyterian worship, and became a Roman Catholic. Rob, however, never appears to have clung with any remarkable tenacity to the faith which he professed.

This remarkable, and, as we must call him, unfortunate personage, died a very old man about the year 1738. When he was on his deathbed, one of his enemies, a Maclaren, came to see him. Before admitting him, the old man insisted on being lifted up, with his plaid put round him, and his broadsword, pistols, and dirk placed beside him; for, said he, "No Maclaren shall ever see Rob Macgregor unarmed." He received his foeman's inquiries coldly and civilly. As they were together the priest came in. Taking the opportunity afforded him by the meeting of the two hostile clansmen on so solemn an occasion, the priest exhorted Rob to forgive his enemies, and quoted the appropriate passage in the Lord's Prayer. "Ay," says Rob, "ye hae gien me baith law and gospel for it. It's a hard law, but I ken it's gospel." Then turn

ing to his son Robert, who was standing near, "My sword and dirk lie there, Rob: I forgive my enemies; but see you to them, or may "The priest checked the rest, and Rob grew calm. When Maclaren had left the house, the dying man-the Highland spirit burning brighter in him at this the last moment than it had ever done before-said, after a little pause, “Now it is all over; tell the piper to play Ha til mi tulidh!-[We return no more!]" The piper obeyed. With the music of this Gaelic dirge in his ears Rob Roy breathed his last. He was buried in the churchyard of Balquidder. His grave is covered with a simple tombstone, without an inscription, but with a broadsword rudely carved on it.

ROB ROY'S SONS, JAMES AND ROBERT.

Rob had five sons-Coll, Ronald, James, Duncan, and Robert. Of these, James and Robert had the most singular history. It does not appear that they followed their father's lawless mode of life after his death. All the five were engaged, with the rest of their clan, in the rebellion of 1745. James, who was a tall and very handsome man, held a major's or captain's commission in the Pretender's army, and particularly distinguished himself by his bravery and ability. At the battle of Prestonpans, when advancing to the charge at the head of his company, not a few of whom had belonged to his father's band, he fell to the ground with his thigh-bone broken. Immediately lifting himself up, by resting his head on his elbow, he cried out, "I am not dead, my lads, and I shall see who among you does not do his duty!" After the suppression of the rebellion, James and his brothers contrived to elude the penalties inflicted by the government, although James was at first included in the list of the attainted. At this time James was a married man, and had fourteen children. Robert, who had married a daughter of Graham of Drunkie, was now a widower.

Robert, of all the brothers, seems to have been the most wild and reckless. He was described by one who knew him as "mad and quarrelsome, and given to pranks." Shortly after his father's death, he killed one of the Maclarens, was outlawed for it, and had gone abroad; and now that, in consequence of the inefficient administration of justice at that period, he was allowed to resume his place in society, he resolved on another Macgregorlike outrage on its laws. Instigated partly by passion, partly by a desire of retrieving his fallen fortunes, he determined to carry off Jean Key or Wright, a young woman nineteen years of age, whose husband was just dead, leaving her a property of 16,000 merks. The practice of carrying off women and marrying them, which we know to have been not uncommon among the ancient nations, and of which we have instances of not very late date in Ireland, was quite consistent with old Highland manners, and is celebrated in many ballads. In fact, when a Highlander was

smitten by the charms of a Lowland lass, carrying her away by force was in many cases the only way of obtaining her; and the abduction of a girl seems to have been regarded not as a crime, but as a bold and manly action. In many cases, too, the parties had agreed beforehand; and the violence used by the bridegroom was only a make-believe, to increase the piquancy and éclat of the marriage; or, at most, a means of overcoming the maiden's scruples about disobeying her parents when they disliked the match. Nor even where the abduction was entirely without the knowledge, and against the will of the bride, was the transaction regarded as very blameworthy. Sir Walter Scott was once severely taken to task by an old lady for expressing his disapprobation of the practice in a particular instance. "I assure you," said the venerable lady, "they made the happiest marriages these carryings awa o' lasses-far happier than folk mak now-adays. My mither never saw my father till the nicht that he carried her awa wi' ten head o' black cattle, and there wasna a happier couple in a' the Highlands.".

In Rob Oig's case, however, there seems to have been none of those redeeming circumstances alluded to by the worthy lady. On the night of the 8th of December 1750, he went, accompanied by his brothers James and Duncan, to the house of Edinbelly, in Balfron, Stirlingshire, where Jean Key was residing with her mother. Rushing in with pistols and dirks, the brothers terrified the males of the family into submission, and dragging the poor girl out, placed her on horseback, and rode away, stopping at several houses on the road. Next day the marriage between Rob Oig and his victim was performed at Rowerdennan by a priest named Smith, who had been brought from Glasgow for the purpose, the bride being forced by threats to give her assent. The brothers seem to have expected that the unfortunate woman would soon become reconciled to her condition, and that in this way they would escape the punishment annexed by law to the crime of which they had been guilty; but the continued manifestation of repugnance and aversion on her part, and the assiduity of her relations, began to alarm them. Their cousin, Macgregor of Glengyle, too, would give them no countenance; and the property of their victim had been sequestrated by a warrant of the supreme civil court. Extracting a solemn promise that she would never appear in a court of law to prosecute them, James Macgregor conveyed her to Edinburgh, where he remained for some time, both to prevent her from adopting the legal steps which he knew her relations would advise, and also to see whether it were possible to get the sequestration of her effects removed. But at length the Court of Session interfered, and took her in charge, and Macgregor left town. Free now from the restraint which the presence of the Macgregors had put upon her, Jean Key reluctantly yielded to the solicitations of her friends, and made an affidavit or written