ROB ROY ESCAPED any direct reprisals for his part in this inglorious affair. Probably, indeed, there was no proof that he had been present. Anyway, if the authorities could not lay hands on him, there was no reason to believe that they could do better on a charge of treason. He seems to have returned quietly to business as usual and the work of the Watch, while the government had to look the other way.
The years that followed were not eventful ones, as far as written history is concerned – for Rob himself or for the generality of folk in Scotland. From 1720 until the outbreak of the great Jacobite Rising of 1745, led by Bonnie Prince Charlie, King James’s son, comparative peace settled on a troubled Scotland. Undoubtedly the country was sick and tired of civil war. Nevertheless, legends and traditions continue to tell a colourful story of Rob Roy’s exploits for many a year yet – the same kind of dashing adventures and shrewd manoeuvres as before, only without political significance. However, Rob was not so young as he once had been, and it is probable that he did indeed begin to take life a little more easily. He was now a man of over 50 – and, though still vigorous and active, must frequently have longed for a more settled life. More and more, it is clear, Gregor of Glengyle was taking over the day-to-day direction of the Watch.
Rob was now firmly established at Inverlochlarig Beg in Balquhidder – presumably still in the name of the tenant put in by Atholl, for there is no word of him having made official peace with the duke. It was an extraordinary situation – but then these were extraordinary times, to our eyes. If Atholl had no effective means of expelling Rob from his land, and was quite unable to bring him to what passed for justice in those days, then I suppose he was wise just to shut his eyes to Rob’s activities on one of his farms especially as this more or less guaranteed the safety of the Atholl flocks and herds from the attentions of cattlelifters. It became a case of live and let live. Besides, Atholl, like Rob himself, was not so young as he had been, and was a sick man. He died in 1724. His Jacobite sons, of course, were well-disposed towards Rob Roy, and unlikely to wish to dispossess him. At any rate, he remained at Inverlochlarig Beg in Balquhidder for the remainder of his life.
I said that Rob escaped any direct reprisals for his participation in the 1719 Jacobite affair at Glen Shiel. Indirect repercussions did, however, affect him, as they did all the Highlands. For, as an eventual result of this attempt, in 1724 the government made a really serious and calculated effort to pacify and subdue the wild Highlands – and this time they were much more successful than hitherto. Wisely, although they did it by means of soldiers, this was not so much a military campaign as an engineering one. They decided, and rightly, that so long as the Highlands remained a roadless and trackless wilderness, the government would be unable to exert any real authority over them and the clans which inhabited them. So they appointed Major-General Wade as Commander-in-Chief in Scotland, and sent him north into the Highlands to build roads and bridges.
Wade was a remarkable man. He may well have been an excellent soldier and tactician since he was promoted to field-marshal in due course. His enduring fame, however, rests not on his soldiering but on his road-making. For years he laboured patiently, firmly, vigorously, despite all the setbacks of a most difficult terrain, a harsh climate and a hostile population, to drive his roads through that area, more than half of all Scotland, where hitherto the only kind of roads known were deer tracks, pony tracks and drove roads – these last, of course, mere routes over which herds of cattle might be driven, not actual roadways. As everyone who knows the Highlands even a little is well aware, it is a land of high mountains, steep rocky glens, peat moss, great lochs and innumerable rushing torrents. Roads meant bridges – bridges by the hundred, the thousand – cuttings, embankments, ferries, endless surveying, quarrying, designing and endless labour.
For years Wade and his engineers worked away, even though floods washed away their efforts, Highlanders destroyed the bridges and attacked his roadmen, bogs swallowed up his materials, rain and snow reduced his labour force. It is to the credit of the government that, weak and feeble as it was, it did support Wade for so long in this seemingly hopeless and endless task, year after year. One could write a long and exciting book about General Wade and his Highland roadbuilding. Here, all that can be said is that eventually he was successful. And for the first time in history, the Scottish Highlands were largely opened up to travellers from outside.
At first, of course, it was almost wholly soldiers who travelled over these new and dangerous roads. No longer were the clans secure in their mountains. Military posts and forts were set up at intervals along the main routes, to defend them and keep the areas in submission – and though the roads and especially the bridges were constantly attacked and damaged by the clansmen, they were repaired, and severe examples made of those caught or suspected of sabotage. Wade could be harsh as well as patient and industrious. Gradually, the Redcoats, as the government troops were called, began to penetrate all but the most remote glens and straths of the far North-west. The days of fairly complete Highland immunity to southern law and order were nearly over.
It did not take years for the chiefs of the Central Highland clans to see all this, whatever those in the secure North-west and the islands might say. The government did not want trouble, and made it clear that written submissions to General Wade, and promises of future good conduct, would be accepted from all chiefs, even those deeply concerned in the late risings, with no reprisals or further persecutions. The chiefs were not so foolish as to refuse. A letter of submission, especially in the despised foreign English language, meant no more than the paper on which it was written – not like a good Gaelic oath sworn on a sword hilt, for instance. Almost with one accord the chiefs began to write their letters to the Commander-in-Chief, all in the most florid and fulsome style of the times, as though all dictated by the same servile pen. They did not mean a lot, for most of the writers or their sons were out again in Prince Charlie’s rising 20 years later. Nevertheless, they represented the end of a chapter in Highland history.
It is here that we must deal with Rob Roy’s own much criticised letter of submission to Wade, undated but apparently written some time in 1725. Scott quotes it in the appendix to his Rob Roy, saying that it was addressed to Field-Marshal Wade which of course is an error, for he was not made a field-marshal until many years later. He adds in a footnote: ‘This curious epistle is copied from an authentic narrative of Marshal Wade’s proceedings in the Highlands, communicated by the late eminent antiquary, George Chalmers Esq., to Mr Robert Jamieson of the Register House, Edinburgh and published in the Appendix to an Edition of Burt’s Letters From the North of Scotland.’
There seems to be at least the possibility that this letter is not genuine. It was an age of forgery and written deceit. But assuming that it is genuine, even so I do not think that we ought to take it literally or to put upon it the interpretation that Scott has done, and as so many have automatically followed him in doing – namely that Rob Roy was either betraying, or preparing to betray the Jacobite cause at the time of Sheriffmuir. I think it is only fair to quote the entire letter, long as it is – for if I have herein portrayed Rob Roy MacGregor as very much a man in the heroic mould it is honest to add this very unheroic letter also. Here it is:
Sir – The great humanity with which you have constantly acted in the discharge of the trust reposed in you, and your ever having made use of the great powers with which you were vested, as the means of doing good and charitable offices to such as ye found proper objects of compassion, will, I hope, excuse my importunity in endeavouring to approve myself not absolutely unworthy of that mercy and favour which your Excellency has so generously procured from his Majesty for others in my unfortunate circumstances. I am very sensible nothing can be alleged sufficient to excuse so great a crime as I have been guilty of that of Rebellion. But I humbly beg leave to lay before your Excellency some particulars in the circumstance of my guilt, which, I hope, will extenuate it in some measure. It was my misfortune, at the time the Rebellion broke out, to be liable to legal diligence and caption, at the Duke of Montrose’s instance, for debt alleged due to him. To avoid being flung into prison, as I must certainly have been, had I followed my real inclinations in joining the King’s troops at Stirling I was forced to take party with the adherents of the Pretender; for the country being all in arms, it was neither safe nor indeed possible for me to stand neuter. I should not, however, plead my being forced into that unnatural Rebellion against his Majesty King George, if I could not at the same time assure your Excellency, that I not only avoided acting offensively against his Majesty’s forces upon all occasions, but on the contrary, sent his Grace the Duke of Argyll all the intelligence I could from time to time of the strength and situation of the Rebels; which I hope his Grace will do me the justice to acknowledge. As to the debt to the Duke of Montrose, I have discharged it to the utmost farthing. I beg your Excellency would be persuaded that, had it been in my power, as it was in my inclination, I should always have acted for the service of his Majesty King George, and that one reason of my begging the favour of your intercession with his Majesty for the pardon of my life, is the earnest desire I have to employ it in his service, whose goodness, justice, and humanity, are so conspicuous to all mankind.
I am, with all duty and respect,
Your Excellency’s most &c,
ROBERT CAMPBELL
As to comment on this extraordinary and unpleasing effusion from the man who had been one of the most active and vigorous Jacobites all his life, and an enemy of King George’s government from its inception, responsible for acting offensively against his Majesty’s forces at every opportunity right up to the time of writing and long after, all that can be said is that the letter is so untruthful, so ridiculously so, as to make it almost pointless to argue over the details of parts which may conceivably be true. I shall not attempt to do so, being quite content that Rob’s whole life, and attitude to life, give the lie to what is written here, even if he wrote it himself.
The part which sticks in so many throats, of course, is where he declares that he sent to Argyll all the intelligence he could of the strength and situation of the rebels. This, at first glance, does seem like a damning admission of treachery. But is it so? Is it not much more likely, and in accord with Rob’s amply revealed character and his long standing loyalties, that he was here admitting, for political purposes, what he knew that the government already knew – that he had indeed been in touch with Argyll at that time, but that this had not been in the government interest but in the Jacobite? In other words, that the treachery was not on Rob’s part but on the duke’s. His addition to this sentence, ‘which I hope his Grace will do me the justice to acknowledge’, is, I think, significant. If all along Rob was in touch with Argyll, as the government itself alleged, helping to keep him at least half a Jacobite, and enabling him as Commander-in-Chief to be gentle towards the Jacobite cause, then Rob should have earned the thanks of all Jacobites, not their condemnation. The fact that Mar and the other leaders, including King James himself, continued to trust him and use his services thereafter at every opportunity, seems to substantiate this. That Rob used these circumstances to commend himself to the government 10 years afterwards, in this spate of formal submissions to Wade, may seem to us neither ethical nor suitable – but nevertheless, the quirk of it, the cunning turning of the tables, could be very typically Rob Roy. No harm would be done to any, and he might turn the situation to his own advantage.
I have gone into this vexed matter at great length, for this letter, if genuine, is vastly important in any assessment of Rob Roy’s complicated character. None of us is all white or all black, wholly good or wholly bad; this is especially so of men of tremendous enthusiasm and energy, and in times of perpetual civil strife, oppression, weak government and lawlessness. I think that I may leave the reader to make his own judgement: whether in fact Rob Roy was a hero or a scoundrel – or something of both.
Whether this letter served Rob any useful purpose is not known. It may have helped in the reversal of the old sentence of outlawry although it is uncertain if this was ever officially reversed, however little it appears to have troubled Rob Roy hereafter.
The last 10 years of Rob’s life are not well documented or written up. But undoubtedly he did not merely fade away, as old soldiers are said to do. Local traditions are very clear on that. He went on to the end, more or less as he had always done, if less vigorously. He seems to have come to a kind of truce with the Duke of Montrose. The duke, of course, was more and more in London, and Rob’s activities doubtless infuriated him the less; and for Rob’s part, the Watch, under Gregor’s strong hands, was growing ever more respectable and profitable, so that the urge to bait Montrose would be largely gone. Moreover, Rob was no longer driven to humiliate and score off Killearn.
Nevertheless, there are innumerable legends detailing Rob’s continuing adventures during this period of his life. Many of them, no doubt, are pure or part fiction, but there are enough to indicate that the old fiery spirit still burned brightly. After recounting so many, it would be a weariness to relate more of them here. Two last deathbed stories must suffice, to prove that Rob Roy was himself to the end.
One is significant in that it implies that, although all along an upholder of the Kirk of Scotland, in the Presbyterian faith, he was at heart a Catholic. For, at the age of 64, he fell seriously ill and decided that his last hours had come, he got Mary to send for a priest, but not the parish minister, rather one Father Drummond, chaplain of the Jacobite Earl of Perth at Drummond Castle. The story goes that the priest, when he realised that Rob was indeed mortally ill, said that the sick man must make his confession. Rob seems to have been slightly reluctant to do this – as well he might – but the priest gently insisted. So the old freebooter confessed carefully to sundry small sins that were hardly of the sort that could be held seriously against him if he got better, and the priest appeared to be satisfied. Except for one point; he asserted that before he could shrive him, Rob must declare that he forgave all his enemies. This seemed to Rob to be carrying things altogether too far, and he began to argue. But his strength was failing, and he could not battle against Father Drummond’s determination, insistent on Rob’s salvation. At length he mumbled that he forgave various individuals, whom he named, for all that they had done against him. The priest listened – and when Rob had obviously finished, mentioned that he had not heard the name of a certain John MacLaren. Rob had recently quarrelled violently with this man over the tenancy of the farm of Invernenty, which he wanted for one of his MacGregors and which MacLaren had managed to gain. There was probably more to it than this, from what transpired later – but at any rate MacLaren had been left out of Rob’s forgiveness. The priest was adamant, however; no benediction until MacLaren was forgiven. Rob it is claimed, then raised his eyes to the foot of the bed, where his younger son Robin Og stood watching.
‘I forgive my enemies, especially John MacLaren,’ he panted. To add, catching Robin’s eye. ‘But see you to him!’
He got his blessing.
It is thought to have been the same John MacLaren who featured in the second story, which presumably happened almost immediately afterwards. A large number of Rob’s friends and neighbours, hearing of his sudden and serious illness, came hurrying to his bedside to see him and pay their respects. After the long queue of them had filed past, and the dying man lay back exhausted, it was revealed to him that one more man waited outside to see him – John MacLaren. With a last spurt of energy, Rob’s eyes lit up with something of their old fire. He would not have any MacLaren gloating over his weakness and downfall.
‘Raise me in this bed,’ he commanded Mary. ‘Put my plaid around me. Bring my sword, my dirk and my pistol. It shall never be said that an enemy saw Rob Roy MacGregor defenceless and unarmed.’
So when the visitor was led in, it was to find the dying man looking as fierce as ever, indeed almost ready to do battle there and then with any interloping and upstart MacLaren. Much put out, the latter blurted out a few condolences, indicating that he had been misled about the state of Rob’s health, while the sick man maintained a cold and haughty politeness. As the astonished visitor was led away, Rob succumbed.
He whispered to Mary. ‘The piper a risk. And yet bring him in a risk. And yet to play I Return No More.’ This was the traditional parting tune.
Rob is reputed to have died before the dirge was finished.
These stories may not be entirely factual although it would be a brave man who attempted to deny them in the Rob Roy country. They have been handed down over the generations as a very vital tradition; at least they are in keeping with the known character of the man and it would not be in the least surprising if they were quite true. What is surprising, of course, is that Rob Roy MacGregor should have died in his bed, at all. Few men can have led a life of more continual risk, danger and excitement. It seems improbable, to say the least of it, that he should have lived to be the then ripe old age of 64, and ended up in his own house at Inverlochlarig Beg, between the sheets.
He died on the last day of 1734, and was buried in the little churchyard of the Kirk of Balquhidder, where his grave is pointed out to this day.
Rob Roy MacGregor was a strange man, quite a little larger than life, living in a strange period in Scotland’s history. His virtues probably have been exaggerated, as undoubtedly his faults have been. But whatever else he was, he was a MAN, dynamic, vehement, positive as well as picturesque. He has stamped his name indelibly on the colourful history of Scotland – which is quite a feat in itself, in a land which has produced so many outstanding and dramatic characters, a race of individualists. All over the world the name of Rob Roy is known, when practically all the others of his day and generation are forgotten. That is perhaps as good an epitaph as any.
It is perhaps relevant to add that just 10 years after Rob Roy’s death there at last broke out the great Jacobite Rising of 1745, so much more impressive an affair than its predecessors, when Prince Charles Edward, with better leadership and greater forces, so nearly gained the throne for his melancholy father, marching victoriously from the Highlands as far south as Derby, with King George all packed and ready to flee London – but at Derby to turn back, much against his own wishes, on the advice of his generals. That Rising ended in the disaster of Culloden a year later and the subsequent savageries of the victorious Duke of Cumberland which forever earned him the title of ‘Butcher’. That was to be the last of militant Jacobitism.
Yet still today in Scotland, the people have an affection for that lost and squandered cause. Moreover, even yet, the worth and advantages of the Union with England are a constant matter for debate; a great many Scots urging not so much its cancellation but its amendment, for the evils and neglects of long-range government are as real today as in the 18th century, and in many respects Scotland feels herself to suffer from a lack of understanding and interest on the part of London government, an inability to make the most of her own resources of men, skills and materials, and the lack of self-respect of an ancient, proud people who are not allowed to manage their own affairs. A majority now feel that Scotland would make a better partner in the United Kingdom if she once again had her own legislature in Edinburgh. Perhaps our memories are too long?
Bonnie Prince Charlie’s campaign still raises the tempers and voices in Scotland, and the date 1745 sounds an ominous note in every Scots ear. In that last campaign, Colonel Gregor MacGregor of Glengyle led the Glengyle Regiment throughout with bravery and success. In fact he was one of the few Jacobite leaders that survived to come out of it all with a quite untarnished reputation.
The same cannot be said of Rob’s eldest son, Major James Mor MacGregor, who despite some brilliant and gallant military feats stained his name at the end by turning against his former comrades-in-arms. As for Robin Og, he led a wild and undisciplined life, unredeemed by the chivalry and glamour of his father’s character. He shot John MacLaren dead whilst the man was ploughing at Invernenty a few months after Rob’s death. For this, he seems to have escaped justice but, after serving as a soldier, he was eventually apprehended for other disgraceful activities, tried and executed in 1754. The rest of Rob’s family do not seem to have distinguished themselves. In fact, his sons were little credit to him. Perhaps their father was partly to blame for this – for he always seems to have preferred his nephew, Gregor Black Knee, to any of them; and their upbringing must have been a very difficult one.
But then, who can name the heroes’ sons who turn out to be heroes, in the long tale of history?