"The winds shall whistle in my grey hair and not awake me. The sons of future years shall pass away—another race shall rise, for the people are like the waves of ocean: like the leaves of woody Morven, they pass away in the rustling blast, and other leaves lift their green heads on high.* Now, Helen—wife," he added, "all is over! Strike up, Alpine, Ha til mi tulidh! (We return no more!)"
* Berrathon.
Old and blind almost, like his dying leader, Alpine, while the hot tears streamed over his withered cheeks, played that solemn dirge, and ere it was over Rob Roy had passed away, and Helen MacGregor and her five sons were on their knees around a breathless corpse.
He expired on the 28th of December, 1734, in about the eightieth year of his age, and his demise is recorded thus simply in the Caledonian Mercury newspaper of 9th January following:—
"On Sunday se'nnight died at Balquhidder, in Perthshire, the famous Highland partizan, ROB ROY."
* * * * *
His funeral was the last in Perthshire at which a piper was employed, according to General Stewart.
Helen did not survive him long.
The future of their sons—that future which had filled the soul of poor Rob Roy with so many fears and anxieties—was varied, and the fate of two was dark and tragic.
History tells us that Hamish commanded the MacGregors in the army of Prince Charles, and that he had his leg broken by a cannon-ball at the battle of Gladsmuir. He escaped from the Castle of Edinburgh with characteristic daring, and fled to France, where a free pardon was offered him if he would betray another fugitive, named Allan Breac Stewart; but he declined, saying,—