Next morning Frank rose in his old quarters, firmly determined to keep
to his decision. It was very kind and generous of the Prince, he felt;
but his position would be intolerable, and his mother would not be able
to bear an existence fraught with so much misery; and, full of the
intention to see her and beg her to prevail on the Princess to let them
leave, he waited his time.
But it did not come that day. He had to return to his duties in the
Prince's anteroom, and at such times as he was free he found that his
mother was engaged with her royal mistress.
The next day found him more determined than ever; but another, a
greater, and more unexpected obstacle was in the way. He went to his
mother's apartments, to find that, worn out with sorrow and anxiety, she
had taken to her bed, and the Princess's physician had seen her and
ordered complete rest, and that she should be kept free from every
anxiety.
"How can I go now!" thought the boy; "and how can she be kept free from
anxiety!"
It was impossible in both cases, while with the latter every scrap of
news would certainly be brought to her, for the Palace hummed with the
excitement of the troubles in the north; and as the day glided by there
came the news that the Earl of Mar had set up the standard of the
Stuarts in Scotland, and proclaimed Prince James King of Great Britain;
but the Pretender himself remained in France, waiting for the promised
assistance of the French Government, which was slow in coming.
Still the Scottish nobles worked hard in the Prince's cause, and by
degrees the Earl of Mar collected an army of ten thousand fighting men,
including the staunch Highlanders, who readily assumed claymore and
target at the gathering of the clans.
It was over the English rising that Frank was the more deeply
interested, and he eagerly hungered for every scrap of news which was
brought to the Palace, Captain Murray hearing nearly everything, and
readily responding to the boy's questions, though he always shook his
head and protested that it would do harm and unsettle him.
"You'd better shut up your ears, Frank lad, and go on with your duties,"
he said one day. "But tell me first, what is the last news about Lady
Gowan?"
"Ill, very ill," said the boy wearily. "All this is killing her."
"Then the bad news ought to be kept from her."
"Bad news!" gasped Frank. "Is it then so bad?"
"Of course; isn't it all bad?"
"Oh!" ejaculated the boy; "I thought there was something fresh--
something terrible. But how can the news be kept from her? The
Princess goes and sits with her every day, and then tells her
everything. She learns more than I do, and gets it sooner; but I can't
go and ask her, for I always feel as if it were cruel and torturing her
to make her speak about our great trouble while she is so ill. Now,
tell me all you know."
"It is not much, boy. The Duke of Argyle is busy; he is now appointed
to the command of the King's forces in Scotland, and some troops are
being landed from Ireland to join his clans."
"Yes, yes; but in England?" cried the boy. "My father is not in
Scotland. It is about what is going on in England that I want to know."
It was always the same, and by degrees, as the days went by, Frank
learned that his father had, with other gentlemen, joined the Earl of
Derwentwater, and that they were threatening Newcastle.
It seemed an age before the next tidings came, and Frank's heart sank,
while those in the Palace were holding high festival, for the
Pretender's little army there had been beaten off, and was in retreat
through Cumberland on the way to Lancashire.
A little later came news that in the boy's secret heart made him rejoice
and brought gloom into the Palace. For it soon leaked out that the
county militias had been assembled hastily to check the Pretender's
forces, but only to be put to flight and scattered in all directions.
Then despatch after despatch reached the Palace from the north, all
containing bad news. The rebels had marched on, carrying everything
before them till they neared Preston in triumph.
"Then they'll go on increasing in strength," whispered Frank, as he sat
with Captain Murray on the evening of the receipt of that news, "and
march right on to London!"
"Want them to?" said the captain drily.
"Yes--no--no--yes--I don't know."
"Nice loyal sort of a servant the Prince has got," said the captain.
"Don't talk to me like that, Captain Murray," said the boy passionately.
"I feel that I hate for the rebels to succeed; but how can I help
wishing my father success?"
"No, you cannot," said the captain quietly. "But he will not succeed,
my lad. He and the others are in command of a mere rabble of
undisciplined men, and before long on their march they will be met by
some of the King's forces sent to intercept them."
"Yes, yes," cried the boy, with his cheeks flushing, "and then?"
"What is likely to happen in spite of the training of the leaders? The
undrilled men cannot stand against regular troops, even if they are
enthusiastic. No: disaster must come sooner or later, and then there is
only one chance for us, Frank."
"For us? I thought you said that the King's troops would win."
"Yes, and they will. I as a soldier feel that it must be so. We shall
win; but I say there is only one chance for us as friends--a quick
escape for your father to the coast and taking refuge in France. We
must not have him taken, Frank, come what may."
"Thank you, Captain Murray," said the boy, laying his hand on his
friend's sleeve. "You have made me happier than I have felt for days."
"And it sounds very disloyal, my boy; but I can't help my heart turning
to my old friend to wish him safe out of the rout."
"Then you think it will be a rout?" panted Frank.
"It must be sooner or later. They may gain a few little advantages by
surprise, or the cowardice of the troops; but those successes can't
last, and when the defeat comes it will be the greater, and mean a
complete end to a mad scheme."
"But the Prince must be with them by this time, sir."
"The Pretender? No; he is still in France without coming forward, and
leaving the misguided men who would place him on the throne to be
slaughtered for aught he seems to care."
Captain Murray proved to be a true prophet, for he had spoken on the
basis of his experience of what properly trained men could do against
troops hastily collected, and badly armed men whose discipline was of
the rudest description.
Sooner even than the captain had anticipated the news came in a despatch
brought from the north of England. The Pretender's forces, under Lords
Derwentwater, Kenmuir, and Nithsdale, were encountered by the King's
troops; and before the two bodies joined battle a summons was sent to
the rebel army calling upon the men to lay down their arms or be
attacked without mercy.
The Pretender's generals tried to treat the summons to surrender with
contempt, laughed at it, and bade their followers to stand fast and the
victory would be theirs. But, in spite of the exhortations of their
officers, the sight of the King's regular troops drawn up in battle
array proved too much for the raw forces. Probably they were wearied
with marching and the many difficulties they had had to encounter.
Their enthusiasm leaked out, life seemed far preferable to death, and
they surrendered at discretion.
There was feasting and rejoicing at Saint James's that night, when the
news came of the bloodless victory; while in one of the apartments
mother and son were shut up alone in the agony of their misery and
despair, for whatever might be the fate of the common people of the
Pretender's army, the action of the King toward all who opposed him was
known to be of merciless severity. The leaders of the rebellion could
expect but one fate--death by the executioner.
"But, mother, mother! oh, don't give way to despair like that," cried
Frank. "We have heard so little yet. Father would fight to the last
before he would fly; but when all was over he would be too clever for
the enemy, and escape in safety to the coast."
"No," said Lady Gowan, in tones which startled her son. "Your father,
Frank, would never desert the men he had led. It would be to victory or
death. It was not to victory they marched that day."
"But his name is not mentioned in the despatch."
"No," said Lady Gowan sadly. "Nor is that of Colonel Forbes."
"Ah!" cried Frank; "and poor Drew, he would be there."
At last he was compelled to quit the poor, suffering woman; but before
going to his own chamber, he went over to the officers' quarters, to try
and see Captain Murray.
There was a light in his room, and the sound of voices in earnest
conversation; and Frank was turning back, to go and sit alone in his
despair, when he recognised the doctor's tones, and he knocked and
entered.
The eager conversation stopped on the instant, as the two occupants of
the room saw the boy's anxious, white face looking inquiringly from one
to the other.
"Come in and sit down," said Captain Murray, in a voice which told of
his emotion; "sit down, my boy."
Frank obeyed in silence, trying hard to read the captain's thoughts.
"You have come from your mother?"
"Yes; she is very ill."
"She has heard of the disaster, then?"
"Yes. The Princess went and broke it to her as gently as she could."
"And she told you?"
"Yes; she sent for me as soon as she heard."
"Poor lady!" said the captain.
"Amen to that," said the doctor huskily; and he pulled out his
snuff-box, and took three pinches in succession, making himself sneeze
violently as an excuse for taking out his great red-and-yellow silk
handkerchief and using it to a great extent.
"Hah!" he said at last, as he looked across at Frank, with his eyes
quite wet; "and poor old Robert Gowan! Rebel, they call him; but we
here, Frank, can only look upon him more as brother than friend."
"But," cried the boy passionately, "there is hope for him yet. He is
not taken, in spite of what my mother said. He would have escaped to
the coast, and made again for France."
"What did your mother say?" asked Captain Murray, looking at the boy
fixedly.
"My mother say? That my father would never forsake the men whom he was
leading to victory or death."
"Yes; she was right, Frank, my lad. He would never turn his back on his
men to save himself."
"Of course not, till the day was hopelessly lost."
"Not when the day was hopelessly lost," said Captain Murray, so sternly
that Frank took alarm.
"Why do you speak to me like that?" he cried, rising from his seat.
"His name was not in the despatch. Ah! you have heard. There is
something worse behind. Oh, Captain Murray, don't say that he was
killed."
"I say," said that officer sadly, "it were better that he had been
killed--that he had died leading his men, as a brave officer should
die."
"Then he did not," cried Frank, with a hoarse sigh of relief.
"No, he escaped that."
"And to liberty?"
"No, my boy, no," said the doctor, uttering a groan.
"But I tell you that his name was not in the despatch. He couldn't have
been taken prisoner."
There was silence in the room, and the candles for want of snuffing were
very dim.
"Why don't you speak to me?" cried Frank passionately. "Am I such a boy
that you treat me as a child?"
"My poor lad! You must know the truth," said Captain Murray gently.
"Your father's and Colonel Forbes's names are both in the despatch as
prisoners."
"No, no, no!" cried Frank wildly. "The Princess--"
"Kept the worst news back, to try and spare your poor mother pain. It
is as I always feared."
"Then you are right," moaned Frank; and he uttered a piteous cry. "Yes,
it would have been better if he had died."
For the headsman's axe seemed to be glimmering in the black darkness
ahead, and he shuddered as he recalled once more what he had seen on
Temple Bar.