Chapter XXVI: Paul Crubach

Before collecting his followers, or making preparations to storm Inversnaid, and expel the royal troops from his patrimony, Rob Roy resolved to make himself well acquainted with the strength and resources of the garrison, and with the number of men and cannon at Major Huske's disposal; and for this service he availed himself of Oina, who brought him daily intelligence of the enemy.

Moreover, he had another very efficient spy in the person of Paul Crubach, whose grotesque figure and quaint conduct made him a welcome visitor to the soldiers, who jested and made fun with him, as a half-witted being; but as usual with such characters in Scotland, there was a "method in the madness" of Paul Crubach.

One night as he sat by the fireside, in the little farmhouse of Portnellan, where Ronald's absence formed a source of perpetual grief, he urged that before attacking Inversnaid the oracle of the "House of Invocation" should be consulted; but Rob Roy though brave as man could be, shrunk from seeking intercourse with the world of spirits.

"Are you afraid?" exclaimed Paul Crubach, striking his cross-staff fiercely on the floor with indignation.

"Afraid, Paul--yes, of the devil."

"Then I shall face the King of the Cats for you, and from him I shall extort the knowledge whether ever again _the three glens_ shall be ours."

The eyes of MacGregor sparkled.

"The old inheritance of Clan Alpine!" said he; "yes; Glenlyon, Glendochart, and Glenorchy, shall again be ours, Paul, but first I must root out and raze this nest of Saxon hornets at Inversnaid!"

"And set free my red-cheeked Ronald," added Helen, weeping with sorrow and anger, as she twirled her spindle on the clay floor.

"But look before you leap, MacGregor; before marching learn what the oracle may tell," urged the old man; "but I shall learn for you, if I have not, as in past times, a vision before the hour, when, as the bard of Cona says, 'the hunter awakes from his noon-day slumber, and hears in his vision the spirits of the hill.'"

Rob shuddered as Paul spoke, for a strange wild glare flashed in the eyes of this old man, who was supposed to be a seer, possessing the gift of the second sight.

"If the time serves, Paul," resumed MacGregor, who wished to change the subject, "I will inscribe on the rocks of Craigrostan and Inversnaid, in Gaelic letters, my indisputable right thereto, in defiance of the elector and his redcoats."

"Ah! thou art right," said Paul, grinding his teeth and brandishing his cross-staff; "do so, even as MacMillan of South Knapdale, and the MacMurachies of Terdigan and Kilberrie, had their charters carved upon the rocks of their land."

"But alas, Paul, that time may never, never come," said Helen, with a sad smile.

"And little would such charters avail me, good wife, if the good claymore fails," said Rob, with irony in his eye and tone.

"Then," observed Greumoch, who sat in a corner smoking his pipe and oiling his gun, "we have the fair sleek skins of the Saxons whereon to write the story of our wrongs with a pen of pointed steel."

"Enough of this," said Paul Crubach, rising and drawing a deerskin over his shoulders; "the sooner my task begins 'twill be the sooner ended."

"Whither go you, Paul, and at this hour?" asked Rob, attempting to detain his strange guest.

"To consult the _Tighghairm_. Meet me at sunset on the second day from this, at the Ladders, above Loch Katrine, and you will there learn what the future has in store for us; whether we shall be the victors at Inversnaid, whether your boy shall be freed, and whether we shall again possess the three glens, which are the heritage of Clan Alpine, or be vanquished and destroyed."

And before MacGregor, Helen, or Greumoch could interpose, Paul had snatched his cross-staff, and, with his long white hair streaming behind him in elf-locks, had rushed forth into the darkness.

MacGregor, whose intercourse with Englishmen and Lowlanders had made him somewhat more a man of the world than his followers, was nevertheless too strongly imbued with the old superstitions and native predilections of his race and country not to await with considerable interest, though mingled with doubt, the result of those spells which all in the district believed the half-witted Paul Crubach was capable of weaving, or the visions with which he was supposed to be visited.

Accordingly, about the sunset of the second day, MacGregor, well armed as usual, repaired alone to the appointed place of tryst.

The Ladders was the name of a dangerous and difficult track, which then formed the only access to Loch Katrine from Callendar.

He entered the narrow pass, which is half a mile in length. There the rocks are stupendous in height, in some places seeming to impend over the head of the wayfarer; in others, aged weeping birches hang their drooping foliage over the basaltic cliffs from which they spring, adding a wild beauty to the rugged gorge.

Across the summits of this pass, which is a portion of the famous Trossachs, the dying sunlight shone in red and uncertain gleams, through stormy clouds of dusky and saffron tints, for all the preceding night loud peals of thunder had shaken the mountains, and even yet the atmosphere was close and sulphurous.

At last Rob reached the Ladders, which consisted of steps roughly hewn out of the solid rock. By means of these, and ropes suspended from the trees, to be grasped by the hand, the bold and hardy natives of this part of the Highlands were wont to traverse the pass, which, in time of war, one swordsman could defend against a thousand.

Rob slung his target on his shoulder, grasped the ropes, and from step to step swung himself lightly up the beetling rocks until he reached the summit, from whence he could see, far down below, Loch Katrine, a lovely sheet of water ten miles in length, gleaming redly in the last light of the sun, whose rays lingered yet on the vast peak of Benvenue, and on the beautiful hills of Arroquhar, that closed the view to the west.

In the loch is an islet, wherein, during the invasion of Scotland by Oliver Cromwell, the Clan Gregor had placed all their aged men, their women and children, for security. On finding that the only boat remaining was moored at the islet, an English soldier swam across to seize it, but was stabbed to the heart by Iole MacGregor, the grandmother of Rob's foster-brother, Callam MacAleister.

The scenery was alike wild and grand, and the great masses of lurid and dun-coloured thunder-clouds that overhung the darkening hills added to its effect.

With his keen and glittering eyes fixed on the place where the sun had set, Paul Crubach sat on a fragment of volcanic rock. He seemed wan, pale, and weary; his masses of tangled hair and his primitive garb of deerskin seemed to have been scorched by fire, and his bare legs and arms were covered with scars and bruises.

Propping himself on his cross-staff, he arose with apparent difficulty on the approach of MacGregor, who said, with anxiety,--

"In Heaven's name, what has happened--what have you done, Paul?"

"I have opened the House of Invocation. I have consulted the oracle of the _Tighghairm_," said he, solemnly.

"Did it speak?" asked Rob, with growing wonder.

"Listen; I passed the night in the Coir nan Uriskin."

"In the cave of the wild shaggy men!" exclaimed the other, starting with more of actual fear than astonishment in his manner.

"Yea, even there," replied Paul, closing his eyes for a moment, and sighing deeply.

"What did you see--what did you hear?"

"Listen, and I shall tell you what happened."