Biographical fiction; Historical fiction; Outlaws -- Fiction; Rob Roy, 1671-1734 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 1689-1745 -- Fiction
"When that day comes, the lamb shall share the lair of the lion, and
the cushat-dove shall seek the nest of gled and iolar," replied the
harper, still smiling.
"Whence come you, and where is your home?"
"The Isle of the Pigmies, in the west--far away amid the sea,"
replied the harper with a sigh; "and would, MacGregor, I were there
now, where its black rocks are covered with sheets of snowy foam,
where the wild sea-birds wheel and scream above the breakers, and
where the level sunshine and the rolling sea go far together into its
gloomy caves and weedy chasms."
The harper referred to one of the Western Isles, a little solitary
place, where stand the ruins of a chapel, and where it was believed a
dwarfish race were buried of old; "for many strangers digging deep
into the earth have found, and do yet find," says Buchanan, "little
round skulls and the bones of small human bodies, that do not in the
least differ from the ancient reports concerning pigmies."
"I am grieved, harper, that you should die so far from your kindred
and their burial-place," said Rob, gravely.
"_Die!_ wherefore should I die?" asked the harper, starting, while
his countenance fell.
"Oogh ay!" exclaimed several MacGregors, who were yawning and
crowding round; "just let the bodach be hanged at once, and then we
shall go to sleep again."
"Or would you prefer to be drowned?" said Greumoch; "Loch Arkeig is
close by, and the water there is warm and deep."
"Neither is my wish," said the harper, fiercely; "I am a guiltless
man, and demand my freedom!"
"Why were you in the ranks of the king's rebels at Glensheil?" asked
Rob, sternly.
"I was _not_ in their ranks!"
"You played them into battle."
"But I fought not--nor was I even girded with a sword."
"By my father's soul, that mattered little! A minstrel--a
harper--should not play the traitor like a glaiket gilly."
"I went but to sing of the fight, that the story of it might go down
to future times, even as the battles of our forefathers have come
down by the songs of the bards to us. I went but as Ian Lom went
with Montrose to Inverlochy. Had he fought there and fallen, who
would have told us how he,
The bard of their battles, ascended the height
Where dark Inverlochy o'ershadowed the fight,
And saw the clan Donnell resistless in might!"
"Have you so committed to song our victory at Glensheil?" asked
MacGregor, with a sharp glance; but the harper hung his head. "Ha!
then what sought you _here_ to-night?"
"Was it to spy upon us?" added several MacGregors, with scowling
brows; "answer, Islesman, while your skin is whole!"
"By the Black Stones of Iona, I swear that I knew not you were in the
land of Lochiel!" said the harper, earnestly; "and beware how you
spill my blood, for my mother was one of the Camerons, the sons of
the Soldier of Ovi. I was peacefully pursuing my way to the fair of
Kill-chuimin."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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