CHAPTER 6

The King Across the Water

BUT NOW THE dark clouds of strife and civil war began to bank up ominously on Scotland’s horizon. The English government and parliament were determined that there should be an end to trouble with Scotland, once and for all. They wanted to incorporate it in a union with England, not merely as a united kingdom with the same monarch, but as one state under the same parliament and government, to make an end of the separate nation of Scotland – one of the oldest in Europe actually, which had already been a kingdom when England and France were mere groups of warring petty principalities.

The people of Scotland, needless to say, did not want any such thing – especially after the Darien Scheme and similar examples of rule from London. But the Scottish Whig leaders, including a great many of the nobles who depended on royal and government favours for their continued prosperity, were prepared to go at least halfway. They did not want Scotland to be swallowed up in England in what is called an incorporating union, but they were prepared to have a parliamentary union, so long as Scotland remained a separate country with its own laws, church, and so on. This idea was most unpopular with the people, but negotiations with the nobles went on. Actually, never had relations between England and Scotland been so bad, so bitter, as now, even in all the centuries of Border fighting. Possibly some in the London government believed that the proposed union would help to heal this enmity; some of the Scots nobles also. Not all were actuated by hatred, prejudice and avarice. Nevertheless, debates in the English parliament on the subject make just as unpleasant reading as does the correspondence of certain Scots lords selling their country for absurdly low prices.

On October 3rd, 1706, two months after Gregor MacGregor’s epic of Gallangad, the Scottish parliament met for the last time. It was a grim and angry session, sometimes almost degenerating into sword-fighting. It took three months to pass the Treaty of Union – and all that time Parliament House had to be guarded by soldiers against the angry Edinburgh crowds demonstrating outside. Many were the impassioned speeches made for Scotland’s continued independence, but it was not a democratic assembly as we know it nowadays; the ordinary people had hardly any representation, and the Highlands had little or no voice at all. The great lords were grievously split on the subject – but sufficient were in favour to obtain a majority. The Treaty of Union was finally passed on January 16th, 1707, despite the Queen’s Commissioner being stoned in the streets of Edinburgh, riots in Glasgow, and the treaty being publicly burned in Dumfries.

The English attitude, official as well as popular, was that they had bought the Scots and could now do as they liked with them. Indeed, Harley, English Secretary of State, said in the House of Commons when Scots were objecting to the new Linen Tax being imposed upon them: ‘Have we not bought the Scots, and did we not acquire the right to tax them?’

That there was a grain of truth in this, as far as the nobility is concerned, is revealed by the bribes paid to all the lords who would accept them, to vote for the union. It is extraordinary that men should sell their country in this way – but even more extraordinary that they should accept such paltry sums for their honour. We read that, of the nobles, Montrose got £200, Roxburghe £500, and Atholl (our old friend Murray) £1000. Of the Earls, Cromartie was paid £300, Balcarres £500, Dunmore £200, Glencairn £100, Seafield (the Lord Chancellor) £490, and Lord Banff only £112s. How these curiously fixed sums were worked out would be interesting to know; the Earl of Marchmont, for instance, got £1104 15s. 7d.

Now it was Scotland’s turn to do the paying.

Trade was taken away, goods had to be carried overseas only in English ships, new taxes were imposed, laws passed blatantly discriminating against the Scots, and hordes of minor English government officers descended upon Scotland to enforce the flood of new regulations and orders, men specially recruited and often of the poorest type and loosest character. It was a current English joke that everyone could ride safely anywhere in the English countryside because all the highwaymen and cut-purses had gone north to rule the Scots.

Scotland seethed therefore, and the Jacobites would have been fools had they not taken advantage of it all. Unfortunately for them, they were handicapped by one very grave liability – the character of the exiled Stewart, King James III and VIII. He was now 19, a somewhat depressed and depressing youth, hesitant and melancholy, anything but optimistic, highly unlike the usual run of the Stewart men who, whatever else they may have been, normally were a spirited and colourful lot. James would set no heather on fire. When decisive action was needed, he dithered. The Jacobites in Scotland, with opportunity knocking at their door, could get neither guidance nor real encouragement from their king across the water. They particularly wanted the promised military and financial help from the king of France. No-one in France, however, seemed to be terribly interested.

In all this turmoil Rob Roy was still involved, but secretly. The first we actually hear of him coming out into the open was when an authoritative envoy, Colonel Nathaniel Hooke, an Irishman, at last arrived from France. He came through northern England disguised as a cattle drover, and Rob was almost certainly concerned in this procedure. He came to make preliminary arrangements for a rising, and conducted a series of interviews with groups of prominent Jacobite supporters up and down the land. Whether Rob Roy helped to conduct Hooke around the country we can only surmise, but he did help to organise the largest and most important meeting of all, a ‘tinchel’ as it was called – that is a great Highland hunting match at Kinloch Rannoch in northern Perthshire, Breadalbane’s country, to be attended by most of the Highland chiefs and north country lairds. Little hunting was done at this colourful affair, but much talking and some bargaining. Hooke eventually got promises of support from the chiefs, mainly in men, in their hundreds and thousands – but he himself was very circumspect about when King J ames would arrive to lead the attempt, and how many troops, ships, guns and French gold louis might be expected from the King of France. Eventually the usual bond was signed by all present pledging themselves to the cause, and asking King Louis to send at least 8,000 regular troops. Rob Roy’s signature appears amongst the rest, simply as ‘Ro: MacGregor’. For once he had been able to drop the extra name of Campbell which the government required him to use – for now he was defying the government in something greater than words.

Thereafter the Jacobites waited and waited. No orders came from France to mobilise, no word of the king moving, of ships, guns or money forthcoming. The summer passed, then autumn, with Scotland in a ferment and conditions never more hopeful for a rising. Then it was winter, and no campaigning weather. The temperature dropped in more than the climate. Rob Roy was disgusted, and said so.

At least the delay allowed time for young Gregor of Glengyle to get married. He had fallen headlong in love with lovely Mary Hamilton of Bardowie. They were wed in that winter of waiting.

At last, in March, word reached Scotland that all was ready in France. King Louis’ aid was not entirely disinterested, of course. There was an English army campaigning in Flanders under Marlborough, and the French gesture towards Scotland was as much to draw off this English threat to themselves as to aid the Stewart cause. Twelve battalions of troops were to embark in eight ships of the line at Dunkirk, the force was to be under the command of the Admiral Comte de Forbin, and King James was about to join it.

There was great excitement in Scotland. Rob and his nephew were very busy, acting as couriers to co-ordinate the mobilisation arrangements of the clan regiments and Lowland forces. They had their own MacGregor Regiment to raise, train and equip – although the training had in fact been going on quietly for a long time. To equip their men adequately, they both mortgaged their estates of Craigrostan and Glengyle. This move was not only to raise ready money to buy arms and ammunition, of course; Rob could probably have raised the funds otherwise. It was something of a precaution too, in the state that Scotland was in. If the rising failed, their estates would be likely to be forfeited anyway, in the usual manner.

It was not a bad idea to have them mortgaged to somebody reasonably sympathetic but who certainly would take no part in the hostilities, and who could therefore claim to be legal owner of the property if its true laird was forfeited – and possibly hand it back eventually to the original owner, by a special gentleman’s agreement, at some later date when things would settle down again. Such an arrangement had the added advantage that if the rising was successful, the holder of the mortgage could then claim that what he had done was in the patriotic interest, and could hand back the estate to its rightful laird with a flourish, and so put himself in good odour with the new authorities.

For some time Rob had been working quietly with the Marquis of Montrose, who was a coming man in Scotland, and ambitious. He was of a very commercial mind, and indeed had actually invested some of his own money in Rob’s cattle-dealing business. Now, with Atholl out of office and in the political shadows, and Breadalbane a committed Jacobite, although a slippery one, Montrose might well be the new power in Scotland; he was already Lord High Admiral, and a dukedom was just around the corner. Rob approached the marquis about his mortgage, therefore, and Montrose cooperated.

Scotland rang with the slogan, ‘King James, and No Union!’ March slipped into April, and still no sign of the French, or of King James. Then word came at the beginning of May that the French fleet had sailed. Tension grew in Scotland, as men mobilised. Then another courier arrived. The French had put back to Dunkirk. King James had the measles.

The effect of this news on the mustering Jacobites, especially on the fiery clan chiefs, can be imagined. It would have been utterly laughable had it not been tragic also. What could be the fate of a cause led by a youth who had caught the measles as he set out to face his destiny – and then insisted on turning back, putting off the entire enterprise to have his measles in comparative comfort ashore? Rob Roy’s comments, mercifully, are not recorded. The tidings were like a wave of cold water over the rising Jacobite hopes. Urgent messages, remonstrations and demands were sent post-haste to France. Things had gone much too far for turning back now. Large numbers of men were mobilised. The government knew it all too well. If the rising was to fizzle out now, there would be serious repercussions and reprisals against those who were known to have mustered for the Stewarts.

These representations seem to have had their effect on James and his advisers. The French men-of-war, with an escort of frigates and lesser craft to the number of 30 vessels, set off from Dunkirk once more, with the king convalescent. It should not take many days to reach the shores of Scotland. Up and down the land men, government and Jacobite supporters, stood to arms again – the latter much more hopeful and indeed numerous than the former. The government was, in fact, exceedingly weak in troops in Scotland, weak in support altogether, and weak in morale. The commander, the former General Leslie, now Earl of Leven, was almost prepared to throw in his hand.

Although the MacGregor Regiment – its true name was the Glengyle Regiment, since it was founded upon the nucleus of the Glengyle Highland Watch, and there were of course other MacGregors who were not connected with Clan Dougal Ciar – stood to arms with the others, waiting. Rob Roy strangely enough was not waiting with it; that was left to young Gregor. Rob was far away on a special mission, in fact. Two French officers had been sent by King James’s headquarters at St Germains as special envoys to those two great Highland chiefs of Skye, Sir Donald MacDonald of Sleat and MacLeod of MacLeod. These two, though Jacobite in sentiment, were luke-warm in the extreme, and had not attempted to bring out their clans for the rising. This was serious, for they were most influential with other island clans, and each could field perhaps a couple of thousand fighting men. So the French officers had been despatched to try to convince them, bringing money and promises of high honours and position in the new Scotland.

Unfortunately, however, owing to some mistake in navigation or other cause, the visitors had been landed not in Jacobite Skye but far south on the Firth of Lorne, near Oban, in the heart of the Duke of Argyll’s Whig country. Argyll and his main branch of Clan Campbell, unlike Breadalbane, were strongly pro-government and anti-Jacobite. The French envoys and their gold were in dire danger. Rob Roy, as half a Campbell himself, and as nimble in his wits as in his person, was asked to go to the rescue.

It was a most hazardous business, for Argyll, a veteran soldier, was very well-informed, being high in the government service, and the Campbell militia were mobilising all over his vast domains against the Jacobite threat. Nothing could be done for the Frenchmen by force; it had to be by stealth and cunning. We have no clear details of Rob’s enterprise, exactly where and how he found the missing envoys – who presumably had at least escaped capture. All we know is that he successfully managed to extricate them from their difficulties, got them out of the Campbell country, escorted them across the huge and desolate Moor of Rannoch into Glen Coe, and there passed them on to his friend MacIan. From here they could sail in a small boat down Loch Leven, and across the arm of the sea called Loch Linnhe to the Cameron country, safe Jacobite territory and on the long road to Skye. Whether they ever got to MacDonald of Sleat or the MacLeod, is uncertain; neither of these two great chiefs did, in the end, join the active cause. But Rob, his duty done, turned for the south and home, hurrying to place himself at the head of his regiment.

He need not have hurried. The French expeditionary force got as far as the mouth of the Firth of Forth by May 23rd, 1708. In Leith, the port of Edinburgh, the government general, Lord Leven, was preparing to abandon town and city with the two or three regiments that he had to face the enemy, so alarmed was he at the situation, so confident that the Jacobites would be walking the streets. But an English naval squadron under Sir George Byng had trailed the Frenchmen north. Now it hove into sight, and worked into the mouth of the Forth behind Forbin. Some accounts say that it had kept pretty well behind because it was a much weaker force than the French one; others say that it was more powerful. A fairly circumstantial source gives the number of English ships as 28 all told. The French had more than 30 – but of course so much depends on the size and number of guns.

Not that it came to guns. The French admiral had never been very enthusiastic about this whole venture; in fact he had at first refused to lead it. Now he decided that he did not want to be cooped up in the Firth of Forth with the English fleet, whatever their relative size. He therefore took advantage of a favourable south-west wind to make a sudden veer round to the north and east, and slipped out into the open sea once more, turning his back on Edinburgh, on all Scotland, before Byng could come to grips with his fleet – although Byng was demonstrating no hurry to do so.

Having once started running, Forbin went on running – northwards, allegedly towards Inverness. King James, passenger on the flagship, may have been no hero, but at least he had not expected this, and having come so far, desired at least to set foot on his own land. He pleaded that the admiral should turn, and do what he was sent to do – to no effect. He demanded to be set ashore and was refused. He requested then that he be given at least one small boat, and with one or two of those near to him to be allowed to row for the Fife coast, only a mile or two off. To no avail. Forbin said that it was dangerous – which to this naval warrior was evidently sufficient excuse for doing nothing. His majesty’s royal person must not be endangered, and would not be, so long as he was in his care. In vain did James plead, here in plain sight of his own ancient realm. He even went down on his knees on the deck, it is said. The Comte de Forbin was adamant – at least at fleeing. He did not long sail northwards. When poor weather blew up, he decided that this was an excellent time to dodge the trailing English squadron. This presumably expected him to continue sailing north – so he put about in the rain squalls and set full sail for the south. With his 30 ships, 6,000 soldiers, his guns, ammunition and money, plus the helpless King James, he made a swift and highly successful voyage back to Dunkirk.

It is said that there was great rejoicing in France at the safe return of the expeditionary force with this absolute minimum of casualties. Not a shot had in fact been fired. In England there was equal joy. In Scotland there was complete bewilderment, almost disbelief, followed by black fury on the one hand and hysterical relief on the other. The assemblies of men dissolved, bold men abruptly became diffident, dumps of arms were hastily dispersed, and the clans slipped quietly back into their most remote heather.

The MacGregors’ heather was not quite so remote as some; and Rob Roy’s business did not permit him to remain hidden in it indefinitely.