MacGregor by Peter John Lawrie
Chapter 9
Balquhidder - Friday 30th August, 1745
[ The MacGregor tartan is first documented, like many others, at the very end of the 18th century. It is no more than a strong probability that it was based on setts in existence prior to that. I sometimes wear a belted plaid in a reproduction of the “Moy” tartan. That had a 42-inch sett which must have been a commonplace before the widespread use of the stitched feile beag which required smaller sett repeats. The ‘Rob Roy’ sett of alternating red/black squares features in a number of early 18th century portraits – including the MacLeod chief. We do not what Clan Gregor wore in 1745, but it is more than probable that it would be muted red/green. It was possibly a district tartan and the speciality of the local weavers. That is the only description I have given for Glengyle’s kilt.]
Glengyle and Rob strode along the track by the head dyke above the margin of Loch Voil by Stronvar in Balquhidder. In the distance they could see the bell tower of the Kirk appointed for the tryst. Glengyle’s once entirely red hair and beard were streaked with grey, under his bonnet with its two proud eagle feathers. His eyes were brown, and gave an impression of honesty and friendliness. His garb was a feilidh beag, or short kilt, in the muted red of Clan Gregor, cut well above his knees, one of which was disfigured by a black birth mark. He had an ornate buckled belt, from which hung a dirk on his right side and a silver chased powder horn on his left. A fashionable velvet waistcoat with silvered buttons was partly covered by a wide sword belt hung over his right shoulder. He had a fine Andrea Ferrara broadsword in its scabbard on his left hip. Under his left armpit hung two blue steel Doune pistols, chased in silver, with ram’s horn butts. His finery and weapons were protected by a separate plaid, secured at the shoulder by a saucer sized brooch and covering his left side while leaving his sword arm free. At his belt was a tooled leather case for his pistol balls. He wore simple untanned brogans on his feet. His fine, silver buckled shoes hung on a line over his shoulder. The rocky and boggy trek from Glen Gyle, by the flank of Stob a’chon, to Balquhidder were no place for fine shoes.
Rob matched his father in the openness of his expression, his height and his auburn/red hair. He wore the breacan feilidh, or belted plaid. A scabbarded broadsword on his left side was partly hidden by the folds of his plaid. He carried across his back a musket, recently gifted by a careless soldier, pistols under his left armpit, and sheathed dirk by his right hip. The men of Clan Gregor had been on a spreidh, and several regretful redcoats in the garrison at Stirling had been left wishing they had faced Rob Roy himself rather than explain their loss to their own commanders.
The Brown Bess flintlock appeared almost new and gleamed in the sun. It had the lines of a gentleman's fowling piece, and for ease of handling and performance it was the finest smooth bore musket in any army in the world. The stock was light but strong and well-shaped. It had well-shaped, moulded brass furnishings, and a firing lock which had the reputation of giving fewer misfires or "flashes in the pan,” than any other military firearm. The barrel was 46 inches in length, with a bore of 11, or a shade over .75 inch. Its round lead bullets weighed over an ounze. The buttplate was a heavy brass moulding, and in conjunction with a light fore-end, served to keep the balance of the gun fairly well back in spite of the long barrel. The escutcheon, which was on the top of the small of the butt, was engraved with the number of the regiment and the service number of the unfortunate soldier who had 'lost' it. The iron lock plate bore the crowned Royal cipher, and the word 'TOWER' denoting it had been assembled in the factory at the Tower of London. The cartridges were stored in the leather pouch at Rob's side. They consisted of a tube of stout cartridge paper, sealed at both ends with pack thread. Each one contained six to eight drams of fine black powder and a leaden bullet.
Gregor and Rob paused in the scrub woodland at the head of Loch Voil. There was nothing untoward to be seen. A man approached them, basket hilted broadsword with its thirty-inch blade at his side, but clad for work in the fields. He hailed them in Gaelic. "Well met, cousin, I expected you later, you are the first.” They exchanged greetings with Ranald, second son to Rob Roy. Ranald was first cousin and also son-in-law to Glengyle, being married to Jean his second daughter. Ranald had a farm close by the Kirkton of Balquhidder and also owned the alehouse. They continued over the wooden planking of the bridge at Tomnadrochit over the river Balvaig.
They approached the alehouse at the settlement of of Kirkton of Balquhidder. Mr Ferguson, the Presbyterian minister of Balquhidder passed them on the other side of the track. He knew them all, indeed Ranald was his parishioner, but he chose to ignore them. Perhaps he already had a good idea of what was afoot. The Kirk was strongly opposed to the return of the Stewarts. The Presbyterian party was overwhelmingly in favour of the Whigs and their Glorious Constitution of Church and State. They had triumphed over the Episcopal Tories in the religious wars of the previous century. The revolution settlement following the overthrow of James VII and II, grandfather of Prince Charles had guaranteed and established their position. The Kirk had supported the Union in exchange for further guarantees of its position. The opposition of the Kirk to the Jacobites could be assured. The Hanoverian Duke William of Atholl, the patron, supported him and paid a regular stipend in addition to the produce of his farm. Though he was able to preach in Gaelic as well as English, there had been a school sponsored by the Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge in the parish for almost thirty years. Teaching was only in English and many of the younger people could now understand English. Some were beginning to accept their proper position in society and show due deference and respect for their betters. The minister’s friends in Edinburgh often remarked on the conceit of the bare-arsed idle Highlander who lived in a hovel and had not two pennies to his name and yet conceived himself as the equal of gentlemen of substance.
Gregor Glùn dubh, seventh chief of Clann Dùghaill Ciar, looked through the door of the alehouse. "We are the first,” he said to Rob. He stooped to put his shoes on. As the sun continued to shine, the three men settled themselves on rocks outside the alehouse. Ronald gave them tankards of small beer.
“So Ferguson, the minister, noticed us though he took care to pay no attention. What think you Ronald? Does he spy for the Government?” Glengyle said.
“Have no doubt of it, Glengyle,” answered Ronald. “He is Atholl’s spy here. The factor visits him regularly and he has a commission as captain in the Duke’s militia regiment.”
“How are the crops, Ranald?” asked Grengyle.
“Fair, though they could be better.” Ranald answered. “The potatoes are coming on. The cottars bless them, for they can feed their family on the produce of their garden ground, which they could not when they only grew bere and oats. Duke William knew what he was about when he insisted on them being grown. It is not long since Perth did the same, but I had planted some beforehand.”
“It is just two years since Rob here planted some,” Glengyle said. “Jean’s brother offered a bag of seed from Glen Buckie and they grew well. Now some of my tenants have planted them also.”
“It is a different matter persuading people to eat them!” laughed Rob, “they say God did not intend man to eat lumps of earth. But how do your turnips grow this year? ”
“Ochone,” said Ranald in mock sorrow, “What a work is in the turnips, with the weeding and the preparation. It is a great trial to my labourers. They complain the bere is far easier to grow. Though I confess it is a godsend to the cattle in the winter. Last year I was able to winter six more kyloes and twenty more sheep than I did before. The Duke told me I must plant turnips. The Duke knows the benefit they bring and he has raised my rent so as to share in it.”
“Now there ye have it!” Glengyle said. “Our noble Dukes are never slow at raising the rent whenever they can achieve it. Are you able to plant sufficient flax for the women’s spinning, with all this ground given over to turnips and potatoes?”
“There is never enough flax and i
t takes so much time to prepare it for spinning. Have you had packmen call on you with flax already prepared for spinning? One came here recently and told us that merchants in Dundee have imported a cargo of flax from Russia. They say that it can be sold for less than our own produce. Jean and the other women did not like it. She said it was dirty and the fibres break too easily. I heard some of the people in Strathyre and Glen Beich bought it”
They continued to chat, putting the time in over their small beer. The sun shone, though there was a pleasant breeze. They waited outside the alehouse, watching for activity in the glen.
After some time, there was a stir from along the North side of Loch Voil. A party of men were approaching. Gregor pointed them out. "The man in the lead there is Robert Murray of Glencarnaig. He claims himself to be twenty first chief of Clan Gregor, since the death of his father, Iain Og, last year.”
Rob replied, "I recognise Glencarnaig, but is that Evan beside him? I have not seen him in since we were boys."
Ronald interrupted, "he has been away in the French service, and that is their brother Duncan behind.”
They waited patiently until the three men reached the alehouse and exchanged greetings.
"Any news of Perth?” Glengyle asked.
"None,” Glencarnaig answered, “but the tryst was promised for today. I heard Lochiel and Clanranald have their men in arms with the Prince and intend to cross Corrieyaraick by the new road to Dalnacardoch"
Eventually a small party on horseback appeared from the direction of Strathyre. James, Lord Drummond, titular third Duke of Perth in the Jacobite peerage was thirty-three years old, slim and pallid. He was descended from a noble line conspicuous by its unswerving loyalty to the Stewart dynasty. The third Earl had fought alongside Montrose at Philiphaugh. The fourth Earl had been Lord Chancellor to James VII and II. Imprisoned after the Revolution, he had gone into exile when released, and had been created Duke by the James, the Old Chevalier. His eldest son, attaining the dignity of second Duke on his father's death, had led the unsuccessful attempt to capture Edinburgh Castle in the 1715 rising. He had fled to France with the Chevalier de St. George afterwards. By a legal stratagem, the family estates had been saved from forfeiture. Now James, third Duke, was prepared to risk his broad acres on yet enough attempt to restore the rightful King. He looked unwell, stunted by a childhood accident. This outdoor skullduggery did not agree with his constitution. Years of plotting over the brandy bottle did not build physique.
With the Duke of Perth was Alexander Stewart of Glenbuckie, tending to corpulence, and now Rob's brother in law, but ten years older. He was a life-long Jacobite. Alongside him was Francis Buchanan of Arnprior, well known to Rob as a customer of Glengyle’s Highland Watch. Arnprior was a tacksman of the Duke of Perth for his lands in Strathyre, north of Callander. "Glengyle,” he said, raising his hand in greeting, "I trust my herds will continue safe during this business.”
Gregor returned his greeting, "May all our herds gain from this ploy, Arnprior, I have sons to endow also."
Glengyle asked the Duke, “My Lord, how does it go with the Prince’s army, we have not had true intelligence since Rob left them at Glen Finnan.”
“Excellently,” replied the Duke. “The army crossed the pass of Corrieyaraick on Tuesday, expecting to engage in battle, except that Cope turned marched his army north to Ruthven in Badenoch. Our latest intelligence is that he intends to make for Inverness. On Wednesday, the Prince and the army reached Garvamore, and now they are making for Perth, while Lord George is raising his recruits in Atholl. I have also received a report that your son Rob and James Mòr, your cousin, have already pledged their allegiance at Glen Finnan. The Prince was glad of your attendance among the Northern clans. This improved his confidence in the support he might receive on the march south. Tell me then, how many men can you raise for the cause?”
These men were all aware of the risks they ran in declaring for the Jacobites. Glencarnaig was tacksman to the Duke of Atholl for the lands he held in Balquhidder. Lord George Murray, one of the Jacobite leaders, had been passed over in the succession to the Duchy of Atholl in favour of his Hanoverian younger brother William. Glencarnaig therefore owed his services to the Whig Duke William and not the Jacobite Duke George. Duke William would give Glencarnaig and his followers short shrift if the rising failed. Glenbuckie was in a similar position.
Although, Glengyle had a heritable charter to his estate, he held further tacks of land on rent from the Whig Duke of Montrose and also owed Montrose feudal services. His lands too, despite the stratagem of conveying them to John, his son and heir, were vulnerable to retribution from Montrose as well as action by the Government, should the rising fail.
So the discussions continued. Clan Gregor could raise its manpower for the Prince, but there was a little matter of support for the families behind and some assurance of the righting of old wrongs needed.
"Well, gentlemen,” concluded the Duke. "We tryst again here in eight days with all the men we can muster, suitably armed and clad for the campaign.”
They raised their brandy glasses, not for the first time, having earlier toasted the King across the water, the gentleman in velvet, the bonny white rose of Scotland and each other. Then finally, "To the Prince, Gentlemen, may he confound his enemies.”
Balquhidder - Friday 30th August, 1745
[ The MacGregor tartan is first documented, like many others, at the very end of the 18th century. It is no more than a strong probability that it was based on setts in existence prior to that. I sometimes wear a belted plaid in a reproduction of the “Moy” tartan. That had a 42-inch sett which must have been a commonplace before the widespread use of the stitched feile beag which required smaller sett repeats. The ‘Rob Roy’ sett of alternating red/black squares features in a number of early 18th century portraits – including the MacLeod chief. We do not what Clan Gregor wore in 1745, but it is more than probable that it would be muted red/green. It was possibly a district tartan and the speciality of the local weavers. That is the only description I have given for Glengyle’s kilt.]
Glengyle and Rob strode along the track by the head dyke above the margin of Loch Voil by Stronvar in Balquhidder. In the distance they could see the bell tower of the Kirk appointed for the tryst. Glengyle’s once entirely red hair and beard were streaked with grey, under his bonnet with its two proud eagle feathers. His eyes were brown, and gave an impression of honesty and friendliness. His garb was a feilidh beag, or short kilt, in the muted red of Clan Gregor, cut well above his knees, one of which was disfigured by a black birth mark. He had an ornate buckled belt, from which hung a dirk on his right side and a silver chased powder horn on his left. A fashionable velvet waistcoat with silvered buttons was partly covered by a wide sword belt hung over his right shoulder. He had a fine Andrea Ferrara broadsword in its scabbard on his left hip. Under his left armpit hung two blue steel Doune pistols, chased in silver, with ram’s horn butts. His finery and weapons were protected by a separate plaid, secured at the shoulder by a saucer sized brooch and covering his left side while leaving his sword arm free. At his belt was a tooled leather case for his pistol balls. He wore simple untanned brogans on his feet. His fine, silver buckled shoes hung on a line over his shoulder. The rocky and boggy trek from Glen Gyle, by the flank of Stob a’chon, to Balquhidder were no place for fine shoes.
Rob matched his father in the openness of his expression, his height and his auburn/red hair. He wore the breacan feilidh, or belted plaid. A scabbarded broadsword on his left side was partly hidden by the folds of his plaid. He carried across his back a musket, recently gifted by a careless soldier, pistols under his left armpit, and sheathed dirk by his right hip. The men of Clan Gregor had been on a spreidh, and several regretful redcoats in the garrison at Stirling had been left wishing they had faced Rob Roy himself rather than explain their loss to their own commanders.
The Brown Bess flintlock appeared almost new and gleamed in the sun. It had the lines of a gentleman's fowling piece, and for ease of handling and performance it was the finest smooth bore musket in any army in the world. The stock was light but strong and well-shaped. It had well-shaped, moulded brass furnishings, and a firing lock which had the reputation of giving fewer misfires or "flashes in the pan,” than any other military firearm. The barrel was 46 inches in length, with a bore of 11, or a shade over .75 inch. Its round lead bullets weighed over an ounze. The buttplate was a heavy brass moulding, and in conjunction with a light fore-end, served to keep the balance of the gun fairly well back in spite of the long barrel. The escutcheon, which was on the top of the small of the butt, was engraved with the number of the regiment and the service number of the unfortunate soldier who had 'lost' it. The iron lock plate bore the crowned Royal cipher, and the word 'TOWER' denoting it had been assembled in the factory at the Tower of London. The cartridges were stored in the leather pouch at Rob's side. They consisted of a tube of stout cartridge paper, sealed at both ends with pack thread. Each one contained six to eight drams of fine black powder and a leaden bullet.
Gregor and Rob paused in the scrub woodland at the head of Loch Voil. There was nothing untoward to be seen. A man approached them, basket hilted broadsword with its thirty-inch blade at his side, but clad for work in the fields. He hailed them in Gaelic. "Well met, cousin, I expected you later, you are the first.” They exchanged greetings with Ranald, second son to Rob Roy. Ranald was first cousin and also son-in-law to Glengyle, being married to Jean his second daughter. Ranald had a farm close by the Kirkton of Balquhidder and also owned the alehouse. They continued over the wooden planking of the bridge at Tomnadrochit over the river Balvaig.
They approached the alehouse at the settlement of of Kirkton of Balquhidder. Mr Ferguson, the Presbyterian minister of Balquhidder passed them on the other side of the track. He knew them all, indeed Ranald was his parishioner, but he chose to ignore them. Perhaps he already had a good idea of what was afoot. The Kirk was strongly opposed to the return of the Stewarts. The Presbyterian party was overwhelmingly in favour of the Whigs and their Glorious Constitution of Church and State. They had triumphed over the Episcopal Tories in the religious wars of the previous century. The revolution settlement following the overthrow of James VII and II, grandfather of Prince Charles had guaranteed and established their position. The Kirk had supported the Union in exchange for further guarantees of its position. The opposition of the Kirk to the Jacobites could be assured. The Hanoverian Duke William of Atholl, the patron, supported him and paid a regular stipend in addition to the produce of his farm. Though he was able to preach in Gaelic as well as English, there had been a school sponsored by the Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge in the parish for almost thirty years. Teaching was only in English and many of the younger people could now understand English. Some were beginning to accept their proper position in society and show due deference and respect for their betters. The minister’s friends in Edinburgh often remarked on the conceit of the bare-arsed idle Highlander who lived in a hovel and had not two pennies to his name and yet conceived himself as the equal of gentlemen of substance.
Gregor Glùn dubh, seventh chief of Clann Dùghaill Ciar, looked through the door of the alehouse. "We are the first,” he said to Rob. He stooped to put his shoes on. As the sun continued to shine, the three men settled themselves on rocks outside the alehouse. Ronald gave them tankards of small beer.
“So Ferguson, the minister, noticed us though he took care to pay no attention. What think you Ronald? Does he spy for the Government?” Glengyle said.
“Have no doubt of it, Glengyle,” answered Ronald. “He is Atholl’s spy here. The factor visits him regularly and he has a commission as captain in the Duke’s militia regiment.”
“How are the crops, Ranald?” asked Grengyle.
“Fair, though they could be better.” Ranald answered. “The potatoes are coming on. The cottars bless them, for they can feed their family on the produce of their garden ground, which they could not when they only grew bere and oats. Duke William knew what he was about when he insisted on them being grown. It is not long since Perth did the same, but I had planted some beforehand.”
“It is just two years since Rob here planted some,” Glengyle said. “Jean’s brother offered a bag of seed from Glen Buckie and they grew well. Now some of my tenants have planted them also.”
“It is a different matter persuading people to eat them!” laughed Rob, “they say God did not intend man to eat lumps of earth. But how do your turnips grow this year? ”
“Ochone,” said Ranald in mock sorrow, “What a work is in the turnips, with the weeding and the preparation. It is a great trial to my labourers. They complain the bere is far easier to grow. Though I confess it is a godsend to the cattle in the winter. Last year I was able to winter six more kyloes and twenty more sheep than I did before. The Duke told me I must plant turnips. The Duke knows the benefit they bring and he has raised my rent so as to share in it.”
“Now there ye have it!” Glengyle said. “Our noble Dukes are never slow at raising the rent whenever they can achieve it. Are you able to plant sufficient flax for the women’s spinning, with all this ground given over to turnips and potatoes?”
“There is never enough flax and i
They continued to chat, putting the time in over their small beer. The sun shone, though there was a pleasant breeze. They waited outside the alehouse, watching for activity in the glen.
After some time, there was a stir from along the North side of Loch Voil. A party of men were approaching. Gregor pointed them out. "The man in the lead there is Robert Murray of Glencarnaig. He claims himself to be twenty first chief of Clan Gregor, since the death of his father, Iain Og, last year.”
Rob replied, "I recognise Glencarnaig, but is that Evan beside him? I have not seen him in since we were boys."
Ronald interrupted, "he has been away in the French service, and that is their brother Duncan behind.”
They waited patiently until the three men reached the alehouse and exchanged greetings.
"Any news of Perth?” Glengyle asked.
"None,” Glencarnaig answered, “but the tryst was promised for today. I heard Lochiel and Clanranald have their men in arms with the Prince and intend to cross Corrieyaraick by the new road to Dalnacardoch"
Eventually a small party on horseback appeared from the direction of Strathyre. James, Lord Drummond, titular third Duke of Perth in the Jacobite peerage was thirty-three years old, slim and pallid. He was descended from a noble line conspicuous by its unswerving loyalty to the Stewart dynasty. The third Earl had fought alongside Montrose at Philiphaugh. The fourth Earl had been Lord Chancellor to James VII and II. Imprisoned after the Revolution, he had gone into exile when released, and had been created Duke by the James, the Old Chevalier. His eldest son, attaining the dignity of second Duke on his father's death, had led the unsuccessful attempt to capture Edinburgh Castle in the 1715 rising. He had fled to France with the Chevalier de St. George afterwards. By a legal stratagem, the family estates had been saved from forfeiture. Now James, third Duke, was prepared to risk his broad acres on yet enough attempt to restore the rightful King. He looked unwell, stunted by a childhood accident. This outdoor skullduggery did not agree with his constitution. Years of plotting over the brandy bottle did not build physique.
With the Duke of Perth was Alexander Stewart of Glenbuckie, tending to corpulence, and now Rob's brother in law, but ten years older. He was a life-long Jacobite. Alongside him was Francis Buchanan of Arnprior, well known to Rob as a customer of Glengyle’s Highland Watch. Arnprior was a tacksman of the Duke of Perth for his lands in Strathyre, north of Callander. "Glengyle,” he said, raising his hand in greeting, "I trust my herds will continue safe during this business.”
Gregor returned his greeting, "May all our herds gain from this ploy, Arnprior, I have sons to endow also."
Glengyle asked the Duke, “My Lord, how does it go with the Prince’s army, we have not had true intelligence since Rob left them at Glen Finnan.”
“Excellently,” replied the Duke. “The army crossed the pass of Corrieyaraick on Tuesday, expecting to engage in battle, except that Cope turned marched his army north to Ruthven in Badenoch. Our latest intelligence is that he intends to make for Inverness. On Wednesday, the Prince and the army reached Garvamore, and now they are making for Perth, while Lord George is raising his recruits in Atholl. I have also received a report that your son Rob and James Mòr, your cousin, have already pledged their allegiance at Glen Finnan. The Prince was glad of your attendance among the Northern clans. This improved his confidence in the support he might receive on the march south. Tell me then, how many men can you raise for the cause?”
These men were all aware of the risks they ran in declaring for the Jacobites. Glencarnaig was tacksman to the Duke of Atholl for the lands he held in Balquhidder. Lord George Murray, one of the Jacobite leaders, had been passed over in the succession to the Duchy of Atholl in favour of his Hanoverian younger brother William. Glencarnaig therefore owed his services to the Whig Duke William and not the Jacobite Duke George. Duke William would give Glencarnaig and his followers short shrift if the rising failed. Glenbuckie was in a similar position.
Although, Glengyle had a heritable charter to his estate, he held further tacks of land on rent from the Whig Duke of Montrose and also owed Montrose feudal services. His lands too, despite the stratagem of conveying them to John, his son and heir, were vulnerable to retribution from Montrose as well as action by the Government, should the rising fail.
So the discussions continued. Clan Gregor could raise its manpower for the Prince, but there was a little matter of support for the families behind and some assurance of the righting of old wrongs needed.
"Well, gentlemen,” concluded the Duke. "We tryst again here in eight days with all the men we can muster, suitably armed and clad for the campaign.”
They raised their brandy glasses, not for the first time, having earlier toasted the King across the water, the gentleman in velvet, the bonny white rose of Scotland and each other. Then finally, "To the Prince, Gentlemen, may he confound his enemies.”