With all his duplicity and cunning, Killearn must have been a bold fellow in attempting to enforce, in those days of dirks and broadswords—and more especially in the country of Rob Roy—the same harsh measures which similar factors carry out so successfully among the now unarmed population of the North; spreading desolation through Rossshire, Sutherland, and Breadalbane. Yet, anomalous as it may appear, he did so. It is said that on the night before this visit, Rob's staghounds howled in a melancholy and ominous manner, for the old grey Highland dog possesses a sagacity so remarkable, and an attachment so strong for his master, that the people believe he can foresee approaching evil and death with the eyes of a seer.
Of the interview which took place bekveen Mr. Grahame and Helen MacGregor, only traditional accounts have been preserved; but all who have written on the subject assert that he forcibly entered the house of Inversnaid, and roughly and summarily expelled her, with her four children and all her servants; and that his bearing was harsh, brutal, and unjustifiable.
"Grahame of Killearn," says the "History of Stirlingshire," "over-zealous in his master's service, had recourse to a mode of expulsion inconsistent with the rights of humanity, by insulting Mrs. Campbell in her husband's absence."
The furniture, crops, farm-stock, food, clothing, and everything were carried off to be sold at Glasgow or Dumbarton, and the door of the empty house was closed upon the now homeless family. The poor huts of Greumoch, Alaster Roy, and their more immediate followers, were burned or levelled, that they too might be without shelter; and re-embarking, after achieving these outrageous proceedings, Killearn, with all his plunder, spread his sails, and proceeded down Loch Lomond with all speed.
More than once the long Spanish gun of Rob's foster-brother covered the dapper figure of the duke's chamberlain; but Greumoch arrested the weapon, and bade him tarry in his vengeance till the Red MacGregor returned.
On beholding the total ruin of her household, Helen MacGregoi is said to have cast her plaid around her little boys, as they shrunk to her side, and exclaimed, in a piercing voice, "Oh! St. Mary, now with the archangels, look here!" For a time she abandoned herself to the wildest grief; then, when thoughts more fierce and bitter came, she wiped away her tears, and registered a terrible vow for vengeance on their oppressors.
"It is certain," says Scott, "that she felt extreme anguish on being expelled from the banks of Loch Lomond, and gave vent to her feelings in a fine piece of pipe music, which she composed, and which is still well known by the name of 'Rob Roy's Lament.'"
One of the children was sickly and feeble, and thus they were all thrust forth upon the mountain side, in the last days of autumn, when a Highland winter, with all its severities, was at hand, and when the forest of pine—the badge of their name—would be their only shelter; so Helen longed for the return of her husband, and for the vengeance that was sure to follow!