MacGregor by Peter John Lawrie
Chapter 22
Crieff - Tuesday October 8, 1745
Rob approached the normally busy annual Tryst at Crieff with some trepidation. Behind him, driven by some twenty Gregarach, was a herd of almost three hundred head of cattle. The drove was strung out over some distance. Droving was a chancy business in these unsettled times. The intelligence that Glengyle had indicated that most of the Scots drovers would be present and that some of the usual buyers from the South had obtained safe-conducts from the authorities to travel in rebel-occupied Scotland. Whether they would have money in their purses was another matter.
Glengyle was presently with the army at Holyrood but much of the Clan Gregor regiment had gone home with their booty after Gladsmuir or lay idling in Doune castle. The Prince, influenced by his Irish staff, had deprecated the lack of discipline and loyalty shown by the deserters, but their leaders had assured him that this was the Highland way. It was to be expected that most of the army would soon return to the colours. For now the Prince and his senior officers had to content themselves with the regular round of glittering levees at Holyrood. Glencarnaig had sent most of his officers to Balquhidder and Rannoch in order to muster as many men as possible for the march into England. Rob was to remain with Glengyle at Doune, but the need to maintain their force was just as pressing.
Rob had a further commission from his father. Glengyle remembered only too well the aftermath of the ‘15 and ‘19 risings. A vengeful Hanoverian administration had swept the Highlands, burning houses and driving away livestock. Although his house of Glen Gyle had required much expensive rebuilding, most Highland black houses could be rebuilt in a few days. Of more importance were the herds of black cattle. Some could be hidden away for the summer in the remote corries up in the trackless mountains, provided there was grazing for them. Already some hay and winter fodder had been hidden away, but there was no possibility of preserving all the stock this way. The obvious policy was to turn as many beasts as possible into cash. In the event of defeat and the desolation called peace that could be expected to follow, that cash could save the clan.
Rob and his small band of drovers had gathered together most of the herds from the farms of Glengyle’s people. This time they had taken many of the younger cattle too, leaving just the milking cows, the smallest of their calves and the best of the bulls. Here they were, lean and hardy, a mixture of black, dun, red and brindled. In the process of collection more than a few of the Duke of Montrose’s stock had joined the drove. Since the Duke and his household had fled to England, his Grace would not miss a few beasts. Some of the Duke’s tenants had taken the opportunity of Glengyle’s preoccupation to hold back their annual mail payments to the Highland Watch. Rob had sent a few men dressed as MacFarlanes to drive off a few beasts here and there from the non-payers. He had even escorted the odd beast back to its erstwhile owners, to prove that the Watch still functioned! However, most of the herd strung out along Loch Earnside were their own beasts.
They took up their places at the Tryst, situated in many acres of flattish ground around the little Drummond town of Crieff. Once the drove had been settled, Rob looked around at the crowds, mainly Highlanders of course, in their belted plaids. There were more weapons in evidence than in past years, otherwise little seemed to have changed. Droves for England were usually taken there by Scots. However, in recent years English buyers had been appearing with their herdsmen. Rob could identify one or two of them making their rounds.
“Eeh Up, Rob,” a buyer, dressed in the English style called out. He spoke with the broad flat vowels of Lancashire. “Eeh, lad, Ah hadna expected thee. What beasts have thee?”
So the buyers were here, Rob thought, but what was in their purses? “Aye, Gregson,” he replied, “Had ye a time of it reaching us?”
“Eeh, lad.” Abraham Gregson, the buyer from Bolton-le-moors, in Lancashire, replied. “Ah thowt Wade’s men wud hinder me, but Ah show’d me license and pass’d. Thy Pretender’s horsemen, begging yor pardon Rob, held us at Biggar, but thur officer let us pass on.”
Rob allowed the dealer to look over his drove. Several others also examined the beasts. Notably Thomas Bell of Dumfries, who was one of the biggest dealers in Scotland. Most of the faces were well known to Rob from previous Trysts, though some were missing. There were fewer cattle here than normally, so the shortage could counterbalance the lack of buyers. Last year, Rob had heard that over thirty thousand head of cattle had changed hands. Rob scanned his neighbours. He could identify many of the drovers at their stances. Most were from clans favouring the Jacobite cause, but there were some who had not come out and some representatives of the Whig clans too, particularly MacKays from Sutherland.
Gregson offered him one pound sterling a head for the lot. Rob demurred. Last year the best had fetched nearly three pounds sterling a head, thirty-five pounds Scots. Others joined in with their offers. The price rose slowly.
“Mr. Bell,” Rob said to the dealer from Dumfries. “Surely these beasts are worth more. Look, those stirks are in prime condition and worth at least three pounds sterling, if not three guineas.”
“Nay, lad”, the buyer answered. “There was distemper that killed whole herds. Farmers have lost much money and cannot afford to buy more.”
“Surely,” Rob responded. “If cattle were dying of distemper, and there was a shortage, the prices ought to be higher.”
“Nah,” Gregson said, “Thy cattle may drop dead afore Ah can sell them on. The price must allow for my losses.”
The haggling continued. By noon Rob had found buyers for most of his drove, but now the argument had changed. He had agreed prices that had averaged above two pounds sterling per head, but he insisted on cash in payment rather than promissory notes and discounted bills of exchange. The Royal Bank secretary at the Tryst joined the discussions. In return for fifteen percent of the face value of the bills proffered by the dealers he was able to let Rob have coin - in total 500 English guineas, equivalent to 6300 pounds Scots, though the banker had profited by 75 guineas on the deal.
“Well then, Mr. MacGregor,” Drummond, the bank’s representative said. “You claim that mine is a better paying trade than that of the MacFarlanes lifting honest men’s beasts in the moonlight. I know nothing of cattle lifting, but the bank is taking a great risk with the shareholder’s funds and I have allowed you an advantageous rate.”
Rob came to the Tryst with the ambition of achieving seven thousand Scots pounds, but the expectation of six thousand. He had not made enough to let the dealers think that he was pleased, but he was near enough to the target.
He sent off some of his men to drum up more recruits around the ale booths and dram sellers. They returned almost without success. The Duke of Perth, in whose lands they were, had already swept up most of the likely men. Most of the Highland drovers, were keeping close together, resisting the blandishments of the various Jacobite tacksmen who roamed the stances of the great cattle mart with the same object as Rob.
Nightfall found the Gregarach band trotting steadily back along the side of Loch Earn, retracing their steps. It had been difficult raising this band, from their reduced numbers at the army camp at Holyrood, but Glengyle had convinced Lord George Murray that it had been intended solely for recruiting. So now Rob had to think about this objective too.
By now the moonless night made it too dark for them to see their way. Rob picked a spot for the night where a bare rock outcrop rising from the side of Loch Earn sheltered a small shingle beach. Soon they had a fire going and made a meal from a bag of oatmeal. As the fire died away, they each wrapped themselves in their plaids and slept.
The next day, they passed through Balquhidder, where Glencarnaig had already drummed up all available men. Rob went up to Glen Buckie house, where the family still mourned for the laird who had died at Leny House a month earlier. Rob paid his respects to his wife’s nephew, the new laird, and succeeded in obtaining a couple of men, out of the forty or more that his late good-brother had promised. r />
On they went over the hill to Strath Gartney and Glen Gyle. Rob took great care to hide some of the money, as his father had instructed him while retaining some for expenses. The rest he distributed among the tenants and those of Montrose’s who had contributed beasts to the drove. Even if Glengyle was prepared to forego rents in this year of unrest, it was certain that Montrose’s factors would not. Rob’s wife and mother were at Glen Gyle House, anxious for news. His men dispersed to their homes, for one night only, on their honour to muster the next day with as many more as could be found.
More of the men who had been with them at Gladsmuir were found. Most were willing to return. The bere crop was stored in the granaries. Potatoes secured in pits. The turnips harvested ready for the remaining livestock. One or two more men were picked up on the way to clachan of Aberfoyle. By the time they descended at the Port of Menteith to the low levels of the infant Forth, Rob had eighty men behind him.
Now they had to splash their way through the hidden paths of the great moss. Sometimes they almost doubled back on themselves. Recent rains had raised the level of the great spongy morass that filled the flat land between the Campsie Fells and the Lennox. However, before nightfall, they reached the drier southern slopes at Gargunnock. Here Rob found it necessary to set additional sentinels. Although there were no Government forces of any consequence left in Scotland, many of the local lairds were of the Whig persuasion, and it would not pay to be careless, even though eighty Gregarach would be a daunting prospect for a potential assailant.
With the dawn they were on their way at a steady mile-consuming trot. The roads, pot-holed cart-tracks though they were, allowed them to make good progress, and by nightfall on Friday, October 11th, they had covered the forty miles to the Jacobite camp at Holyrood. In a single day, they had covered the same ground that the army had taken six days to cover just three weeks earlier.
Crieff - Tuesday October 8, 1745
Rob approached the normally busy annual Tryst at Crieff with some trepidation. Behind him, driven by some twenty Gregarach, was a herd of almost three hundred head of cattle. The drove was strung out over some distance. Droving was a chancy business in these unsettled times. The intelligence that Glengyle had indicated that most of the Scots drovers would be present and that some of the usual buyers from the South had obtained safe-conducts from the authorities to travel in rebel-occupied Scotland. Whether they would have money in their purses was another matter.
Glengyle was presently with the army at Holyrood but much of the Clan Gregor regiment had gone home with their booty after Gladsmuir or lay idling in Doune castle. The Prince, influenced by his Irish staff, had deprecated the lack of discipline and loyalty shown by the deserters, but their leaders had assured him that this was the Highland way. It was to be expected that most of the army would soon return to the colours. For now the Prince and his senior officers had to content themselves with the regular round of glittering levees at Holyrood. Glencarnaig had sent most of his officers to Balquhidder and Rannoch in order to muster as many men as possible for the march into England. Rob was to remain with Glengyle at Doune, but the need to maintain their force was just as pressing.
Rob had a further commission from his father. Glengyle remembered only too well the aftermath of the ‘15 and ‘19 risings. A vengeful Hanoverian administration had swept the Highlands, burning houses and driving away livestock. Although his house of Glen Gyle had required much expensive rebuilding, most Highland black houses could be rebuilt in a few days. Of more importance were the herds of black cattle. Some could be hidden away for the summer in the remote corries up in the trackless mountains, provided there was grazing for them. Already some hay and winter fodder had been hidden away, but there was no possibility of preserving all the stock this way. The obvious policy was to turn as many beasts as possible into cash. In the event of defeat and the desolation called peace that could be expected to follow, that cash could save the clan.
Rob and his small band of drovers had gathered together most of the herds from the farms of Glengyle’s people. This time they had taken many of the younger cattle too, leaving just the milking cows, the smallest of their calves and the best of the bulls. Here they were, lean and hardy, a mixture of black, dun, red and brindled. In the process of collection more than a few of the Duke of Montrose’s stock had joined the drove. Since the Duke and his household had fled to England, his Grace would not miss a few beasts. Some of the Duke’s tenants had taken the opportunity of Glengyle’s preoccupation to hold back their annual mail payments to the Highland Watch. Rob had sent a few men dressed as MacFarlanes to drive off a few beasts here and there from the non-payers. He had even escorted the odd beast back to its erstwhile owners, to prove that the Watch still functioned! However, most of the herd strung out along Loch Earnside were their own beasts.
They took up their places at the Tryst, situated in many acres of flattish ground around the little Drummond town of Crieff. Once the drove had been settled, Rob looked around at the crowds, mainly Highlanders of course, in their belted plaids. There were more weapons in evidence than in past years, otherwise little seemed to have changed. Droves for England were usually taken there by Scots. However, in recent years English buyers had been appearing with their herdsmen. Rob could identify one or two of them making their rounds.
“Eeh Up, Rob,” a buyer, dressed in the English style called out. He spoke with the broad flat vowels of Lancashire. “Eeh, lad, Ah hadna expected thee. What beasts have thee?”
So the buyers were here, Rob thought, but what was in their purses? “Aye, Gregson,” he replied, “Had ye a time of it reaching us?”
“Eeh, lad.” Abraham Gregson, the buyer from Bolton-le-moors, in Lancashire, replied. “Ah thowt Wade’s men wud hinder me, but Ah show’d me license and pass’d. Thy Pretender’s horsemen, begging yor pardon Rob, held us at Biggar, but thur officer let us pass on.”
Rob allowed the dealer to look over his drove. Several others also examined the beasts. Notably Thomas Bell of Dumfries, who was one of the biggest dealers in Scotland. Most of the faces were well known to Rob from previous Trysts, though some were missing. There were fewer cattle here than normally, so the shortage could counterbalance the lack of buyers. Last year, Rob had heard that over thirty thousand head of cattle had changed hands. Rob scanned his neighbours. He could identify many of the drovers at their stances. Most were from clans favouring the Jacobite cause, but there were some who had not come out and some representatives of the Whig clans too, particularly MacKays from Sutherland.
Gregson offered him one pound sterling a head for the lot. Rob demurred. Last year the best had fetched nearly three pounds sterling a head, thirty-five pounds Scots. Others joined in with their offers. The price rose slowly.
“Mr. Bell,” Rob said to the dealer from Dumfries. “Surely these beasts are worth more. Look, those stirks are in prime condition and worth at least three pounds sterling, if not three guineas.”
“Nay, lad”, the buyer answered. “There was distemper that killed whole herds. Farmers have lost much money and cannot afford to buy more.”
“Surely,” Rob responded. “If cattle were dying of distemper, and there was a shortage, the prices ought to be higher.”
“Nah,” Gregson said, “Thy cattle may drop dead afore Ah can sell them on. The price must allow for my losses.”
The haggling continued. By noon Rob had found buyers for most of his drove, but now the argument had changed. He had agreed prices that had averaged above two pounds sterling per head, but he insisted on cash in payment rather than promissory notes and discounted bills of exchange. The Royal Bank secretary at the Tryst joined the discussions. In return for fifteen percent of the face value of the bills proffered by the dealers he was able to let Rob have coin - in total 500 English guineas, equivalent to 6300 pounds Scots, though the banker had profited by 75 guineas on the deal.
“Well then, Mr. MacGregor,” Drummond, the bank’s representative said. “You claim that mine is a better paying trade than that of the MacFarlanes lifting honest men’s beasts in the moonlight. I know nothing of cattle lifting, but the bank is taking a great risk with the shareholder’s funds and I have allowed you an advantageous rate.”
Rob came to the Tryst with the ambition of achieving seven thousand Scots pounds, but the expectation of six thousand. He had not made enough to let the dealers think that he was pleased, but he was near enough to the target.
He sent off some of his men to drum up more recruits around the ale booths and dram sellers. They returned almost without success. The Duke of Perth, in whose lands they were, had already swept up most of the likely men. Most of the Highland drovers, were keeping close together, resisting the blandishments of the various Jacobite tacksmen who roamed the stances of the great cattle mart with the same object as Rob.
Nightfall found the Gregarach band trotting steadily back along the side of Loch Earn, retracing their steps. It had been difficult raising this band, from their reduced numbers at the army camp at Holyrood, but Glengyle had convinced Lord George Murray that it had been intended solely for recruiting. So now Rob had to think about this objective too.
By now the moonless night made it too dark for them to see their way. Rob picked a spot for the night where a bare rock outcrop rising from the side of Loch Earn sheltered a small shingle beach. Soon they had a fire going and made a meal from a bag of oatmeal. As the fire died away, they each wrapped themselves in their plaids and slept.
The next day, they passed through Balquhidder, where Glencarnaig had already drummed up all available men. Rob went up to Glen Buckie house, where the family still mourned for the laird who had died at Leny House a month earlier. Rob paid his respects to his wife’s nephew, the new laird, and succeeded in obtaining a couple of men, out of the forty or more that his late good-brother had promised.
On they went over the hill to Strath Gartney and Glen Gyle. Rob took great care to hide some of the money, as his father had instructed him while retaining some for expenses. The rest he distributed among the tenants and those of Montrose’s who had contributed beasts to the drove. Even if Glengyle was prepared to forego rents in this year of unrest, it was certain that Montrose’s factors would not. Rob’s wife and mother were at Glen Gyle House, anxious for news. His men dispersed to their homes, for one night only, on their honour to muster the next day with as many more as could be found.
More of the men who had been with them at Gladsmuir were found. Most were willing to return. The bere crop was stored in the granaries. Potatoes secured in pits. The turnips harvested ready for the remaining livestock. One or two more men were picked up on the way to clachan of Aberfoyle. By the time they descended at the Port of Menteith to the low levels of the infant Forth, Rob had eighty men behind him.
Now they had to splash their way through the hidden paths of the great moss. Sometimes they almost doubled back on themselves. Recent rains had raised the level of the great spongy morass that filled the flat land between the Campsie Fells and the Lennox. However, before nightfall, they reached the drier southern slopes at Gargunnock. Here Rob found it necessary to set additional sentinels. Although there were no Government forces of any consequence left in Scotland, many of the local lairds were of the Whig persuasion, and it would not pay to be careless, even though eighty Gregarach would be a daunting prospect for a potential assailant.
With the dawn they were on their way at a steady mile-consuming trot. The roads, pot-holed cart-tracks though they were, allowed them to make good progress, and by nightfall on Friday, October 11th, they had covered the forty miles to the Jacobite camp at Holyrood. In a single day, they had covered the same ground that the army had taken six days to cover just three weeks earlier.