air, attended only by one servant, and was received with the utmost
professions of regard, but was requested to lay aside his dirk and
sword, as the Countess of Athole would not suffer any armed man to enter
the castle. Rob Roy complied with Lord Athole's entreaty. What was his
surprise when the first remark made by Lady Athole was her surprise at
his appearing unarmed; Rob Roy then felt that he was betrayed. Angry
words, followed by a scuffle, ensued: the freebooter was overpowered;
for sixty men, armed, entered before he could strike a blow.

Rob Roy was carried towards Edinburgh. He had proceeded as far as
Logierait, under a strong guard, when he contrived, with his usual
address and good luck, to make his escape. But the dangers which
attended his eventful career were not at an end. He was surprised as he
retired to the farm of Portnellan, near the head of Loch Katrine, by his
old enemy, the factor of Montrose, with a party of men, who surrounded
the house in which Rob Roy slept before he was out of bed; yet, the
moment that he appeared, sword in hand, they fled in dismay. These, and
many other incidents, rest so much upon tradition, and are so little
supported by authority, that they belong rather to romance than to
history. It is with the part which Rob Roy took in the actual concerns
of his country that his biographer has most concern.

This brave but reckless individual was exactly the man to adopt a
dangerous cause, and to play a desperate game. Proscribed, hunted,
surrounded by enemies, burning under the consciousness of wrong, and
unable to retrace his path to a peaceable mode of life, Rob Roy was a
ready partisan of the Jacobite cause.

In 1713, he had transactions with two emissaries of the house of Stuart,
and was called to account for that negotiation before the
commander-in-chief in Edinburgh. He escaped punishment; and prepared, in
1715, to lead his clans to the field, headed by Macgregor of Glengyle,
his nephew.[113] Upon Michaelmas day, having made themselves masters of
the boats in Loch Lomond, seventy of the Macgregors possessed themselves
of Inch-murrain, a large island on the lake. About midnight they went
ashore at Bonhill, about three miles above Dumbarton. Meantime the alarm
was spread over the country; bells were rung, and cannon fired from
Dumbarton Castle. The Macgregors, therefore, thought fit to scamper away
to their boats, and to return to the island. Here they indulged
themselves in th