Chapter XXIX: The Storming of Inversnaid

The eventful night proved dark and cloudy. The month was April, but already the young buds had burst, and were in full leaf in the wild woods that bordered Loch Lomond, when Rob clambered out of the deep rocky fissure which formed the approach to his cavern, and sought the place of tryst.

Sweeping down glen and corrie, the night wind came in squally gusts to furrow up the waters of the Loch. About the bare summits of the mighty mountains which overlooked it, the red sheet-lightning gleamed at times, giving a weird aspect to the black and silent scenery, as rock, hill, and tree came forth for a moment in dark outlines upon the lurid background, and then vanished into obscurity.

No sound broke the solemn stillness save those gusts of wind, or the rushing cascade of the mountain burn that brawled from Inversnaid over rocks and stones towards the loch, while the MacGregors arriving in parties of ten, twenty--even forty--from the banks of Loch Arclet, from Glengyle, Glenstrae, and the braes of Balquhidder, mustered at the appointed place, every man armed with sword and dirk, target and pistol.

In addition to these (the invariable weapons of the Highlander) many had long muskets with bayonets, taken from the troops, and the terrible _tuagh_, or pole-axe, and each wore a sprig of pine in his bonnet.

A wild and warlike yet resolute band, they were anxious for the conflict, as they had the traditionary and actual wrongs of their race to avenge--the violation of their clan territory; and, moreover, many of them had suffered by the spoliation or appropriation of their cattle and sheep, which had been taken or shot by the king's garrison; for, as stated elsewhere, cattle were then the whole wealth of our mountaineers. Forty head were a woman's dowry; the rents were paid, daughters were portioned, and sons provided for in life by herds and flocks.

With MacAleister, Greumoch, Alaster Roy, Rob found his eldest son Coll already there. There, too, came even old Paul Crubach, armed with the hiltless sword on which he had impaled the unfortunate cat; and on reckoning his force, Rob found that it consisted of five hundred and two claymores, all men resolute and true as the steel of which their weapons were made.

The milky light of the stars glimmered at times through the flying clouds, on their swords and round shields studded with polished nails and bosses of brass and steel, as they sat or stood in picturesque groups, muttering and whispering, and chewing the _muilcionn_, as the Highlanders name the spignel, which they were wont to chew like liquorice or quids of tobacco, in winter and spring.

Measures for the attack were soon resolved on by a force alike destitute of cannon, petards, or scaling-ladders. They were simply these: To advance to the gate in the ancient and classic form of a wedge, led by Rob Roy; and if Oina had failed to remove or overcome the sentinel, to trust to the sledge-hammer first and the sword-blade after.

Those nearest in blood, highest in rank in the clan, and the best armed, were to keep close by Rob in the conflict; so Coll, MacAleister, and Greumoch were immediately in his rear, as the march was begun in silence up the side of the stream, towards the point of attack.

The cuarans, or shoes of untanned deerskin, then worn by-the Highlanders, strapped sandalwise over the instep and ankles, enabled this mass of men to advance over the rocky and rough ground as silently and noiselessly as if they trod on the soft heather, or on "the down of Cana," the cotton grass of which Ossian sang, and which whitens the Highland mosses in spring, when the sheep crop it, before it bursts into flower.

After a march of something less than a mile, before them, on an eminence, rose the strong walls and black outline of the fort and barrack they were about to assail.

Halting his men at some distance, MacGregor crept forward softly and drew near the arched gate, on each side of which three pieces of cannon frowned through embrasures of stone.

He listened intently for the step of the sentinel within, but heard only the wind, as it moaned past the mouths of the cannon.

He uttered a shrill whistle like that of a curlew, a signal he had agreed on with Oina, and her expected response, three knocks on the gate, made his heart leap, for he now knew that the sentinel had fallen into a snare, that she had succeeded in intoxicating him, and that the outer barrier at least was open. Hastening back to his men, he exclaimed,--

"Come on, my lads, and follow me; the path is clear!"

He drew his sword, and a gleam of light seemed to pass over all the dusky mass as every man followed his example, and rushing on like a living flood, they flung themselves against the gate, within which the sentinel was lying in his box quite intoxicated.

With shouts of "Dhia agus ar duthaich! Bigh Hamish gu bragh!" ("God and our country! King James for ever!") the MacGregors burst into the fort; but, unknown to them, there was, an inner gate of iron, which secured the passage to the barracks. This, Captain Clifford, the officer commanding the main guard, instantly shut and secured; and through the bars of it his men opened a fire of musketry, that in five minutes brought the whole garrison under arms.

Swinging ponderous sledge-hammers, Rob Roy, MacAleister, and others, strove in vain to beat or break down the malleable iron bars of this unexpected barrier, through which the musketry flashed incessantly, and many of their men were falling killed or wounded, while others returned the fire with their long guns, which they discharged through the barrier right into the faces of the redcoats.

The outworks of Inversnaid were completely in possession of the MacGregors, but the inner wall, by its height, defied their efforts, and Rob knew that from it and the barrack windows ere long there would be opened a fire of musketry, which would decimate and destroy his men, unless the heart of the place was entered, while consternation existed in the garrison.

Already the windows were full of lights, as the soldiers were dressing and arming in haste. Sharply and rapidly the long roll was beaten on the drum, and scores of voices were heard in clamour and confusion within, while without rang the wild cheers of his men and the pipes of Alpine, who played,--

Oh that I had _three_ hands,--
One for the sword and two for the pipe!

The red explosion of muskets and pistols echoed on both sides of the barrier, which Captain Clifford, a resolute officer, who shared with his men a hatred and fear of the Celts, defended with resolution; expecting only extermination if taken, the King's Fusiliers acted with great vigour and courage.

From an angle of the inner wall, which his men were now rapidly lining, Major Huske shot off a number of lighted shells or bombs from a little brass howitzer. These soared through the air, forming long and dazzling arcs of light, which enabled his Fusiliers to see the number and disposition of the attacking force, and to direct their fire upon the tumultuous mass of men wedged below the walls, where the long blades of their brandished swords seemed to flash sharply up from a sea of blue bonnets, red tartans, and round targets.

The soldiers, in their square-skirted red coats, white cross-belts, and three-cornered hats, were rapidly lining all the walls, firing at random as they came upon the platforms, till Huske lighted three _cercles goudronnes_, by the blaze of which they directed their aim.

These are old gunmatches, pieces of rope dipped in pitch and tar, made up in the form of a circle, to be placed upon ramparts during a night attack.

The clear light they cast upon the strife, together with the sharp and destructive explosion of three or four well directed hand-grenades, were causing great consternation among the MacGregors, some twenty or thirty of whom had fallen killed or wounded when the bewildering cry of "_fire! fire!_" in the heart of the garrison, produced a panic among the soldiers, and a red blaze was seen to start above the roof of the barracks. In fact, Oina, to create a diversion, and distract the attention of the defenders, had thrown a lighted candle into the lofts, where the hay and straw for the officers' horses were stored.

A part of the wall was thus left undefended by Huske drawing off his men to extinguish the flames. At this part, the faithful and devoted Oina threw down a ladder, up which the Highlanders scrambled with the activity of wild cats; but at the same moment a stray bullet pierced her head, and she fell lifeless across the wall with her arms and her long dark hair spread over it.

Rob Roy was the first man in!

As he placed a foot upon the parapet, he stumbled and fell; but his figure and red beard had been recognized by the light of the blazing _cercles goudronnes_.

"The red MacGregor! down with him," exclaimed an officer; "at him, my lads, with your bayonets breast high!"

Four soldiers rushed forward, and Rob's life had likely ended there, had not Eoin Raibaich (John the Grizzled) a MacPherson who bore his standard (for the Clan Vurich were the hereditary banner-bearers of Clan Alpine), devotedly flung himself before him; and after thrusting the point of the standard pole into the heart of one soldier, received the bayonet of a second on his target, and those of the other two in his own gallant breast.

"Righ Hamish gu bragh!" he exclaimed, and expired, as Greumoch snatched the banner from his hand. Then Rob Roy leaped down into the heart of the place, and with shouts of triumph and fury, his men spread over the whole barrack.

Paul Crubach was seen hobbling hither and thither, yelling like a fiend; his cross-staff uplifted in one hand, his rusty sword-blade in the other, and his long white hair streaming behind, and glittering like hoar frost in the blaze of the burning haylofts, and the flashing of the musketry.

Captain Clifford finding the rear turned, and the foe in the heart of the garrison, opened the inner gate, and at the head of the main guard forced a passage through and escaped.

By this avenue the whole garrison also escaped or were expelled, being driven forth at the point of the sword. Many cast aside their muskets and belts, and fled down the glen of Inversnaid, they knew not whither; but had they been pursued in the old Highland fashion, not one could have escaped; however, Rob was merciful, and would not permit a man to follow the fugitives.

Greumoch in the _mêlée_ caught Major Huske by his queue at the moment he was rushing sword in hand through the gate of the fort. The Celt was about to hew the Saxon down, when the wig of the latter came off, so he escaped bareheaded, while Greumoch fell heavily on his face.

"Oich," muttered he; "prutt-trutt! he has a sliddery grip that takes an eel by the tail."

MacAleister soon discovered the cell wherein Ronald was confined, and he rushed forth to embrace his father ere the fray was well over.

Rob's plaid was torn to pieces by bayonet thrusts and musket balls, and he had a severe wound in his left shoulder, where a captain, named Dorrington, stabbed him through the gate with his spontoon, a pike then carried by all officers.

Save about fifteen or twenty soldiers who lay killed or wounded (chiefly near the iron gate), not one of the garrison remained in Inversnaid; but the barrack-yard was strewed with muskets, swords, cartridge-boxes, blankets, haversacks, hats, and wigs; and there also lay two drums, for the fugitives in their panic and desire to escape abandoned everything, even to their regimental colour, for a standard of the South British Fusiliers was found in Major Huske's quarters by young Coll MacGregor, having the English rose embroidered upon it, together with the white horse of Hanover, and the motto, _Nec aspera terant_.

"Carry this to the farm of Portnellan, my boys," said Rob to his sons, "and give it to your mother as a trophy of this night's work. She has wept and wearied long for you, Ronald."

As there was no time to be lost, he gave orders to destroy the fort utterly. The wounded were carefully removed, and the slain MacGregors he sent by a boat for interment on Inchcailloch, beside the ruined church, which had been disused since 1621.

Among these was Oina, whom her husband had rolled in his plaid, as the only shroud and coffin he had time to procure her.

The whole of the plunder found in the barracks and stores--arms, powder, clothing, food, and money--Rob Roy, with his characteristic generosity, gave to his poor and faithful followers, which completely consoled them for many a stab, slash, and bruise received in the attack.

To himself he reserved only the captured standard and a little child--a boy of about three years of age--who was found asleep peacefully in his bed amid all the horrid din and hurly-burly of the night assault and capture.

On inquiring among the wounded soldiers whose boy this was, Rob was informed that he was the only son of Major Huske; so he gave the little fellow in care of his foster-brother, MacAleister, saying--

"Well, major, turn about is fair play. You took my son--I now take yours. Carry him to Portnellan, Callam, and give him to Helen. Tell her (but it is needless) to keep the little Saxon tenderly, as if he were our own, till such time as we can restore him to his father."

So MacAleister wrapped his plaid about the child, who screamed with terror on seeing the Highlanders; for it was a common belief then in England, and for long after, that they were wont to eat children, like the ogres of the fairy tales.

Rob next ordered the cannon to be spiked and the barracks to be set on fire.

"Alpine, strike up the _Brattach Ghael_!" said he to the piper, who at once began the "White Banner," a famous pibroch of the Jacobite clans. "By the deed of to-night I shall teach these robber Whigs and truckling Lowlanders to consider well ere again they build a fort on our land; this will be the worst twist in their cow's-horn!"

Rob now gave orders to retire, with the wounded slung in plaids over the shoulders of their comrades, who applied handfuls of nettles to stop the bleeding of cuts and stabs; and the retreating MacGregors saw the flames of the burning barrack and fort rising like a pyramid of fire above the walls, as the daylight stole down the vast steeps of Ben Lomond into its solemn glens and rocky corries.

The blaze was yet shining across the grey morning sky, when they retreated to their fastnesses at the head of Loch Katrine, by the wild way of Loch Arclet, whither MacGregor believed the bravest men in the castles of Stirling or Dumbarton dared not follow him!