CHAPTER I.

Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected

without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have

been retained as printed.

Words printed in italics are marked with underlines: _italics_.

The cover of this ebook was created by the transcriber and is hereby

placed in the public domain.

THE MANCHESTER REBELS

OF

THE FATAL '45.

[Illustration: Faithful unto Death

Page 246.]

THE MANCHESTER REBELS

OF

THE FATAL '45

BY

WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH

With faltering voice, she weeping said,

"O, Dawson, monarch of my heart!

Think not thy death shall end our loves,

For thou and I will never part!"

SHENSTONE.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY FREDERICK GILBERT

LONDON

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS

BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL

NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREET

1880

BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH.

_Uniform with this Volume, each with Six Illustrations._

THE TOWER OF LONDON.

WINDSOR CASTLE.

ROOKWOOD.

THE LANCASHIRE WITCHES.

GUY FAWKES.

SAINT JAMES'S; OR, THE COURT OF QUEEN ANNE.

OLD SAINT PAUL'S; A TALE OF THE PLAGUE AND THE FIRE.

CRICHTON.

THE FLITCH OF BACON; OR, THE CUSTOM OF DUNMOW.

MERVYN CLITHEROE.

THE MISER'S DAUGHTER.

JACK SHEPPARD.

BOSCOBEL; OR, THE ROYAL OAK.

OVINGDEAN GRANGE; A TALE OF THE SOUTH DOWNS.

THE SPENDTHRIFT; A TALE.

THE STAR-CHAMBER.

PRESTON FIGHT; OR, THE INSURRECTION OF 1715.

INSCRIBED

TO THE

RT. HON. THE EARL OF BEACONSFIELD,

K. G.,

WITH EVERY SENTIMENT

OF

RESPECT AND ADMIRATION.

PREFACE.

All my early life being spent in Manchester, where I was born, bred,

and schooled, I am naturally familiar with the scenes I have attempted

to depict in this Tale.

Little of the old town, however, is now left. The lover of antiquity--if

any such should visit Manchester--will search in vain for those

picturesque black and white timber habitations, with pointed gables

and latticed windows, that were common enough sixty years ago. Entire

streets, embellished by such houses, have been swept away in the

course of modern improvement. But I recollect them well. No great

effort of imagination was therefore needed to reconstruct the old town

as it existed in the middle of the last century; but I was saved from

the possibility of error by an excellent plan, almost of the precise

date, designed by John A. Berry, to which I made constant reference

during my task. Views are given in this plan of the principal houses

then recently erected, and as all these houses were occupied by Prince

Charles and the Highland Chiefs during their stay in Manchester, I

could conduct the Rebel leaders to their quarters without difficulty.

One of the houses, situated in Deansgate, belonged to my mother's

uncle, Mr. Touchet. This is gone, as is Mr. Dickenson's fine house in

Market Street Lane, where the Prince was lodged. Indeed, there is

scarcely a house left in the town that has the slightest historical

association belonging to it.

When I was a boy, some elderly personages with whom I was acquainted

were kind enough to describe to me events connected with Prince

Charles's visit to Manchester, and the stories I then heard made a

lasting impression upon me. The Jacobite feeling must have been still

strong among my old friends, since they expressed much sympathy with

the principal personages mentioned in this Tale--for the gallant

Colonel Townley, Doctor Deacon and his unfortunate sons, Jemmy Dawson,

whose hapless fate has been so tenderly sung by Shenstone, and, above

all, for poor Tom Syddall. The latter, I know not why, unless it be

that his head was affixed on the old Exchange, has always been a sort

of hero in Manchester.

The historical materials of the story are derived from the CHEVALIER

DE JOHNSTONE's _Memoirs of the Rebellion_, and DR. HIBBERT WARE's

excellent account of Prince Charles's sojourn in the town, appended to

the _History of the Manchester Foundations_. But to neither of these

authorities do I owe half so much as to Beppy Byrom's delightful

Journal, so fortunately discovered among her father's papers at Kersal

Cell, and given by DR. PARKINSON in the _Remains of John Byrom_,

published some twenty years ago, by the Chetham Society. Apart from

the vivid picture it affords of the state of Manchester at the period,

of the consternation into which the inhabitants were thrown by the

presence of the Rebel Army, and the striking description given in it

of the young Chevalier and his staff, the Journal is exceedingly

interesting, and it is impossible to read it without feeling as if one

were listening to the pleasant chat of the fair writer. Pretty Beppy

is before us, as sprightly and as loveable as she was in life. In no

diary that I have read is the character of the writer more completely

revealed than in this.

Of Beppy, the bewitching, and her admirable father, I have endeavoured

to give some faint idea in these pages.

While speaking of the Chetham Society, which has brought out so many

important publications, edited with singular ability by the learned

President MR. JAMES CROSSLEY, DR. HIBBERT WARE, MR. WILLIAM BEAMONT,

CANON RAINES, and others, I desire to express the great satisfaction I

feel at learning that a very large collection of the letters of

HUMPHREY CHETHAM, and some of his friends and contemporaries, have

been placed, for publication, in the hands--and in no better hands

could they have been placed--of CANON RAINES.

Unquestionably, this will be the crowning work of the Chetham Society,

and at last, from the able editor of _The Journal of Nicholas

Assbeton, of Downham_, we shall no doubt receive an adequate biography

of the great Lancashire worthy.

To return to my tale. I must not omit to mention that the tragic

incident I have connected with Rawcliffe Hall really occurred--though

at a much more remote date than is here assigned to it--at Bewsey

House, an old moated mansion, near Warrington, still, I believe, in

existence.

At one circumstance I must needs rejoice. Since the publication of

this Tale, and incited, I am told, by its perusal, MR. SAMUEL

BRIERLEY, of Rochdale, has put together a very interesting collection

of anecdotes relating to the visit of Lochiel, with a small portion of

the Highland Army, to Rochdale, in 1745.[1]

[1] "Rochdale in 1745 and 1746." By an Old Inhabitant.

Rochdale, John Turner, Drake Street, 1874.

These stories, I understand, were narrated to MR. BRIERLEY by his

great grandmother, who died in 1806, aged ninety-three. That they were

well worth preserving will be apparent from some extracts which I

propose to make from the little work.

Here is a well-told incident which might be entitled "Lochiel and the

Lancashire Lad."

"On the 25th November, 1745, the rebel army, supposed to be 5,000 or

6,000 strong, and composed of cavalry, infantry, and artillery,

arrived at Lancaster, under the personal command of Prince Charles,

who gave instructions that the greater portion of this force should,

on its arrival at Preston, proceed to Manchester by way of Wigan, and

the smaller part through Blackburn and Rochdale, and thus concentrate

the main body at Manchester. The latter portion was seen marching over

Ashworth Moor, under the command of Lochiel of Glengarry, where they

halted to have refreshment, which consisted of oatmeal steeped in

water. Most of the country people fled on their approach, but there

was one who stood looking on, and that was James Lomax, of

Woolstenholme; he was asked to join the army but feigned not to

understand the question, but said he would jump agen the measter

(pointing to Glengarry) o'er that big stone fence, for a gallon of

ale. The bet was accepted, and Lomax had the first jump. Being a lithe

and supple fellow, he cleared it at a bound, ran down the back of the

fence wall, and was no more seen. The officers and men laughed at this

incident; and Lochiel, on turning round, perceived a streak of smoke

rising from the top of Knowle Hill. This and Lomax disappearing so

suddenly, caused great perplexity to those in command; and suspecting

that there might be a surprise before they got to the town, the troops

were ordered to fall in and make ready, and the advanced scouts to

keep a watchful eye both right and left of the road."

Another very amusing story relates to a Highlander who was billeted at

the Union Hotel.

"One of the privates, a kilted man, went into the kitchen and spoke to

Betty the cook, told her she was a bonnie lassie, and said, 'Wull ye

let me put a piece of bread in the drippin?' pointing to the beef on

the spit; she replied, 'Naw, haw winnut,' but at the same time he

threw a piece of black bannock into the dripping pan, and cook said in

a loud voice, 'Hom noan gooin to hav ony o thaw impidunce,' at the

same time throwing out the bread with her basting spoon, into the

ashes. This so exasperated the Scot that he placed his hand on his

sword, but Betty, as quick as thought, got the basting spoon full of

hot dripping, and threw it at him, covering his face, hands, and bare

knees with it, thereby causing him to scream with the burning pain; at

the same moment Mally Garlick, who had been paring potatoes, said, 'Do

go away, for this dog is breakin out of his cage,'--she had privately

opened the door, and the dog rushed at the Scot, and chased him out of

the house, tore a large piece out of the back part of his kilt, which

he had to get repaired before he could decently attend another parade.

But the scalds or burns inflicted upon him proved more serious than

was anticipated, and he was placed under the medical skill of Doctor

Moult. The doctor recommended a short rest from his laborious duties;

this rest, with the unremitting attentions bestowed upon him by the

relenting cook, led to mutual affection, and when he recovered he

never rejoined the invading force, but married her who had caused his

injuries, settled in the town, became a thriving tradesman, and has

descendants here who are highly respectable and wealthy."

Our last extract describes the interview of Valentine Holt, a young

volunteer in the Stuart cause, with Prince Charles.

"After a little conversation, Lochiel wrote him a note and told him to

go to Manchester forthwith, and present it at the house of Mr.

Dickenson, at the top of Market Street Lane, which is now called the

Palace Inn, and wait for an answer--the interview lasted only a few

minutes. Clegg and Holt then went into the churchyard, and the latter

looked upon his native town and the hills surrounding, and said with a

sigh, 'I feel a presentiment that I shall never see my native town

again. Ah, my dear mother, do forgive the many faults of an erring

son. I confess I have caused thee many pangs of sorrow, and I leave

the town with an idea that if I get weaned from my wild companions, I

may become a wiser and a better man.' These and other sorrowful

thoughts came crowding upon his mind, and Clegg observing that he was

in deep thought, proposed to have a parting glass in the neighbouring

tavern; after which he departed for Manchester, along what are now

called the back lanes of Castleton, as at this time there was no road

by Pinfold. He arrived at Manchester late in the evening, and was

stirring early on the morrow; being at the house aforementioned at 10

a.m., he presented the letter given to him by Lochiel (which was

directed in such a way that Holt was unable to imagine who it was for)

to the orderly standing at the door; the latter appeared astonished,

looking at Holt with a scrutinising eye, and told him he must wait at

the door until he delivered the letter. He returned in a few minutes

and ushered Holt into a room in which was seated a young man, tall,

well-built, with a handsome face, auburn hair, and good eyes; the

latter speaking to Holt, said, 'You are the young man from Rochdale

(this was no less a person than the Prince himself) who has offered to

join our cause?' Holt replied 'I am.' 'I hear you use the rifle with

unerring aim.' The Prince taking up a loaded rifle that was in the

corner, said, 'You see that jackdaw on the ridge of the house

opposite, try to bring it down!' Holt fired, and it rolled down the

roof. 'Ah! very good,' exclaimed the Prince, and calling in the

orderly, said, 'Tell Dickson that he must enrol this man as Sergeant

in the Manchester contingent.'"

CONTENTS.

CHAP. PAGE

Book I.--Atherton Legh.

I. HOW THE INFANT HEIR WAS STOLEN 1

II. MANCHESTER IN 1745 6

III. INTRODUCES DR. DEACON, DR. BYROM, AND COLONEL TOWNLEY 9

IV. SIR RICHARD RAWCLIFFE 19

V. INTRODUCES OUR HERO 23

VI. ADVICE 26

VII. RENCOUNTER NEAR THE OLD TOWN CROSS 28

VIII. BEPPY BYROM 32

IX. THE TWO CURATES OF ST. ANN'S 37

X. CONSTANCE RAWCLIFFE 40

XI. THE BOROUGHREEVE OF MANCHESTER 44

XII. THE RESCUE 47

XIII. CONSTANCE MAKES A DISCOVERY 52

XIV. ST. ANN'S-SQUARE 57

XV. HOW SALFORD BRIDGE WAS SAVED FROM DESTRUCTION 63

XVI. TOM SYDDALL 67

XVII. HOW TOM SYDDALL WAS CARRIED HOME IN TRIUMPH 71

XVIII. THE MEETING IN THE GARDEN 76

XIX. MRS. BUTLER 79

XX. THE JACOBITE MEETING IN TOM SYDDALL'S BACK ROOM 86

XXI. BEN BIRCH, THE BELLMAN OF MANCHESTER 90

Book II.--Prince Charles Edward in Manchester.

I. HOW MANCHESTER WAS TAKEN BY A SERJEANT, A DRUMMER,

AND A SCOTTISH LASSIE 94

II. THE PROCLAMATION AT THE CROSS 99

III. FATHER JEROME 103

IV. GENERAL SIR JOHN MACDONALD 106

V. HELEN CARNEGIE'S STORY 112

VI. CAPTAIN LINDSAY 115

VII. A RESIDENCE IS CHOSEN FOR THE PRINCE 117

VIII. INTERVIEW BETWEEN SECRETARY MURRAY AND THE MAGISTRATES 120

IX. ARRIVAL OF THE FIRST DIVISION OF THE HIGHLAND ARMY.

LORD GEORGE MURRAY 122

X. THE DUKE OF PERTH 125

XI. ARRIVAL OF THE SECOND DIVISION 127

XII. THE YOUNG CHEVALIER 129

XIII. THE PRINCE'S INTERVIEW WITH MRS. BUTLER AND

THE TWO DAMSELS 134

XIV. THE PRINCE'S MARCH TO HEAD-QUARTERS 137

XV. THE PRINCE'S LEVEE 140

XVI. THE ILLUMINATIONS 148

XVII. A QUARREL AT SUPPER 151

XVIII. CAPTAIN WEIR 154

XIX. CAPTAIN WEIR IS INTERROGATED BY THE PRINCE 162

XX. THE DUEL 165

XXI. CASTLE FIELD 169

XXII. FATHER JEROME COUNSELS SIR RICHARD 176

XXIII. THE PRINCE ATTENDS SERVICE AT THE COLLEGIATE CHURCH 180

XXIV. THE PRINCE INSPECTS THE MANCHESTER REGIMENT 182

XXV. AN UNSATISFACTORY EXPLANATION 184

XXVI. THE RIDE TO RAWCLIFFE HALL 187

XXVII. RAWCLIFFE HALL 189

XXVIII. A STARTLING DISCLOSURE 192

XXIX. THE MYSTERIOUS CHAMBER 194

XXX. A TERRIBLE CATASTROPHE 197

XXXI. SIR RICHARD RAWCLIFFE'S CONFESSION 202

XXXII. ATHERTON'S DECISION IS MADE 208

Book III.--The March to Derby, and the Retreat.

I. AN OLD JACOBITE DAME 212

II. ATHERTON'S GIFT TO CONSTANCE 215

III. A RETREAT RESOLVED UPON 220

IV. HOW THE MANCHESTER REGIMENT WAS WELCOMED ON ITS RETURN 224

V. A FRESH SUBSIDY DEMANDED 227

VI. A FALSE MESSAGE BROUGHT TO HELEN 230

VII. A COURT-MARTIAL 235

VIII. HELEN PLEADS IN VAIN 239

IX. TOGETHER TO THE LAST 242

X. MR. JAMES BAYLEY 246

XI. THE VISION 249

XII. THE RETREAT FROM MANCHESTER TO CARLISLE 253

Book IV.--Carlisle.

I. COLONEL TOWNLEY APPOINTED COMMANDANT OF THE

CARLISLE GARRISON 256

II. ATHERTON TAKEN PRISONER 258

III. THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND 262

IV. SURRENDER OF CARLISLE TO THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND 264

Book V.--Jemmy Dawson.

I. THE ESCAPE AT WIGAN 270

II. THE MEETING AT WARRINGTON 274

III. ATHERTON TAKES REFUGE AT RAWCLIFFE HALL 276

IV. AN ENEMY IN THE HOUSE 281

V. A POINT OF FAITH 285

VI. A LETTER FROM BEPPY BYROM 288

VII. ATHERTON QUESTIONS THE PRIEST 292

VIII. THE SEARCH 295

IX. WHO WAS FOUND IN THE DISMANTLED ROOMS 298

X. A SUCCESSFUL STRATAGEM 301

XI. ATHERTON MEETS WITH DR. DEACON AT ROSTHERN 305

XII. A SAD COMMUNICATION IS MADE TO DR. DEACON 311

XIII. A JOURNEY TO LONDON PROPOSED 314

XIV. JEMMY DAWSON'S LETTER 316

XV. THE PARTING BETWEEN MONICA AND HER MOTHER 322

XVI. THE JOURNEY 326

Book VI.--Kennington Common.

I. MONICA VISITS JEMMY IN NEWGATE 330

II. COLONEL CONWAY 333

III. CUMBERLAND HOUSE 336

IV. THE TRIAL OF THE MANCHESTER REBELS 342

V. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE EXECUTIONS 346

VI. THE FATAL DAY 348

VII. FIVE YEARS LATER 353

THE MANCHESTER REBELS of THE FATAL '45.

BOOK I.

ATHERTON LEGH.

CHAPTER I.

HOW THE INFANT HEIR WAS STOLEN.

About midnight, in the autumn of 1724, two persons cautiously

approached an old moated mansion, situated in Cheshire, though close

to the borders of Lancashire. The night being almost pitch-dark, very

little of the ancient fabric could be distinguished; but the irregular

outline of its numerous gables showed that it was of considerable

size. It was, in fact, a large picturesque hall, built in the early

days of Elizabeth, and was completely surrounded by an unusually

broad, deep moat. The moat was crossed by a drawbridge, but this being

now raised, access to the mansion could only be obtained by rousing

the porter, who slept over the gateway. All the inmates of the house

seemed buried in repose. Not a sound was heard. No mastiff barked to

give the alarm.

A melancholy air had the old hall, even when viewed by daylight. Of

late years it had been much neglected, and portions were allowed to go

to decay. Several rooms were shut up. Its owner, who died rather more

than a year before the date of our story, preferred a town residence,

and rarely inhabited the hall. Extravagant, and fond of play, he had

cut down the fine timber that ornamented his park to pay his debts.

Death, however, put an end to his career before he had quite run

through his fortune. He left behind him a wife and an infant son--the

latter being heir to the property. As there would be a long minority,

the estates, by prudent management, might be completely retrieved. On

the demise of her husband, the widow quitted her town house, and took

up her abode with her child at the old hall. With a greatly reduced

establishment, she lived in perfect seclusion. As she was young, very

beautiful, and much admired, people wondered that she could thus tear

herself from the world. But her resolution remained unchanged. Her

affections seemed centred in her infant son. She had few visitors,

declined all invitations, and rarely strayed beyond the limits of the

park.

She had got it into her head that her child would be taken from her,

and would not, therefore, let him out of her sight. The infant was as

carefully watched as if he had been heir to a dukedom; and at night,

for fear of a surprise, the drawbridge was always raised. In the event

of the young heir dying under age, the estates passed to the brother

of her late husband, and of him she entertained dark suspicions that

did not seem altogether unwarranted.

Having offered this brief explanation, we shall return to the

mysterious pair whom we left making their way to the hall. As their

design was to enter the house secretly, they did not go near the

drawbridge, being provided with other means of crossing the moat. One

of them carried a coracle--a light boat formed of a wicker framework

covered with leather.

Though they had now reached the margin of the moat, which was fringed

with reeds and bulrushes, they did not put their plan into immediate

execution, but marched on in silence, till a light was observed

glimmering from one of the windows. A taper had been thus placed to

guide them, proving that they had a confederate in the house.

On perceiving this light, which streamed from the partly-opened

casement on the dusky water beneath it, the foremost of the twain

immediately halted. He was a tall man wrapped in a long black cloak,

with a broad-leaved hat pulled over his brows, and was well-armed.

As soon as the coracle was launched, he stepped into it, and was

followed by his attendant, who pushed the frail bark noiselessly

across the moat.

On reaching the opposite side, the chief personage sprang ashore,

leaving his follower in the boat, and made his way to a postern, which

he found open, as he expected. Before entering the house, he put on a

mask.

The postern communicated with a back staircase, up which the midnight

visitor quickly mounted, making as little noise as possible. The

staircase conducted him to a gallery, and he had not advanced far when

a door was softly opened, and a young woman, who had hastily slipped

on a dressing-gown, came forth, bearing a light. It was the nurse. She

almost recoiled with terror on beholding the masked figure standing

before her.

"What's the matter with you, Bertha? Don't you know me?" asked the

mysterious personage in a low voice.

"Yes, I know you now, sir," she rejoined in the same tone. "But you

look like--I won't say what."

"A truce to this folly. Where is the child?"

"In his mother's bed. I offered to take him, but she would not part

with him to-night."

"She will be obliged to part with him. I must have him."

"Oh, sir! I beseech you to abandon this wicked design. I am certain it

will bring destruction upon all concerned in it. Do not rob her of her

child."

"These misgivings are idle, Bertha. Bring me the child without more

ado, or I will snatch it from its mother's arms."

"I cannot do it. The poor soul will go distracted when she finds she

has lost her darling."

"What means this sudden change, Bertha?" he said, surprised and angry.

"You had no such commiseration for her when we last talked over the

matter. You were willing enough to aid me then."

"You tempted me by your offer; but I now repent. I understand the

enormity of the offence, and will not burden my soul with so much

guilt."

"You have gone too far to retreat. Having made a bargain you must

fulfil it."

"Swear to me that you will not injure the child, or I will not bring

it to you."

"I have already told you I do not mean to harm it."

"But swear by all you hold sacred that you have no design upon the

child's life. Do this, or I will give the alarm."

"Attempt to utter a cry and I will kill you," he said, sternly. "I

have not come here to be thwarted in my purpose. Go in at once."

Terrified by the menacing tone in which the order was given, Bertha

obeyed, and returned to the room from which she had issued. Perhaps

she might have fastened the door if time had been allowed, but the man

in the mask followed her too quickly.

It was an antechamber which she occupied as nurse. A door

communicating with the inner apartment stood partly open, and in

obedience to an imperious gesture from the terrible intruder, she

passed through it.

She was now in a large antique bed-chamber, imperfectly lighted up by

a lamp placed on a small table near the bed, in which lay one of the

fairest creatures imaginable. The contour of the sleeper's countenance

was exquisite, and her raven tresses, which had not been confined,

flowed over her neck, contrasting strongly with its dazzling

whiteness.

Close beside her, with its little head resting upon a rounded arm that

might have served a sculptor as a model, slept her babe. A smile

seemed to play upon the slumbering mother's lips, as if her dreams

were pleasant.

The sight of this picture smote Bertha to the heart. Only a fiend, it

seemed to her at that moment, could mar such happiness. Could she turn

that smile to tears and misery? Could she requite the constant

kindness shown her, and the trust placed in her, by the basest

ingratitude and treachery? She could not do it. She would rather die.

She would return to the terrible man who was waiting for her, and

brave his fury.

But she found herself quite unequal to the effort, and while she

remained in this state of irresolution he entered the room with his

drawn sword in his hand.

He signed to her to go to the bed and take the child, but she did not

obey. Half paralysed with terror, she could neither move nor utter a

cry.

At once comprehending the state of the case, he determined to act

alone, and stepping softly forward he extinguished the lamp that was

burning on a small table beside the bed, and seizing the child

enveloped it in his cloak.

The daring deed was so rapidly executed that the poor lady did not

wake till she was robbed of her treasure. But becoming instantly aware

that her child was gone, and hearing footsteps in the room, she raised

herself, and called out in accents of alarm, "Is it you, Bertha?"

"Make no answer, but follow me quickly," whispered the terrible

intruder to the nurse.

But she had now burst the spell that had hitherto bound her, and

seizing him before he could reach the door held him fast.

Finding his departure effectually prevented, the remorseless villain

unhesitatingly liberated himself by plunging his sword into Bertha's

breast.

The wound was mortal. The unfortunate woman fell speechless, dying,

just as her mistress, who had sprung from the couch, came up; while

the assassin escaped with his prize.

The poor lady understood what had happened, but fright almost deprived

her of her senses. She uttered scream after scream, but before any of

the household came to her assistance all was silent.

When they ventured into the room a shocking spectacle greeted them.

Their young mistress was lying in a state of insensibility by the side

of the slaughtered nurse. The child could not be found.

How the perpetrator of this dark and daring deed entered the house

remained a mystery. No one supposed that poor murdered Bertha, who had

paid the penalty of her crime with life, had been his accomplice. On

the contrary, it was believed that she had flown to her mistress's

assistance, and had perished in the attempt to save the child.

How the murderer had crossed the moat was likewise a mystery, for the

coracle was carried away when its purpose had been fulfilled. On

examination, the postern-door was found to be locked and the key taken

out. Nothing had been seen of the terrible visitor, the gloom of night

shrouding his arrival and departure. Thus he remained wholly

undiscovered.

When the poor lady recovered from the fainting fit into which she had

fallen, her senses were gone. Nor did she long survive the dreadful

shock she had sustained.

CHAPTER II.

MANCHESTER IN 1745.

When Dr. Stukeley visited Manchester in 1724, he described the town,

from personal observation, as "the largest, most rich, populous, and

busy village in England." In twenty years from that date, it could no

longer be called a village. Its population had doubled, and the number

of houses had greatly increased. Many new streets had been completed,

an Exchange built, and a fine new square laid out.

But though the town had thus grown in size and wealth, it had not yet

lost its provincial air. The streets had a cheerful, bustling look,

denoting that plenty of business was going on, but they were not

crowded either with carts or people. The country was close at hand,

and pleasant fields could be reached in a few minutes' walk from the

market-place.

Seen from the ancient stone bridge spanning the Irwell, the town still

presented a picturesque appearance. The view comprehended the old

collegiate church (which wore a much more venerable air than it does

now, inasmuch as it had not been renovated), the old houses on Hunt's

Bank, Chetham Hospital crowning the red sandstone banks of the Irk,

just beyond its junction with the larger river, the old water-mill,

and the collection of black and white plaster habitations in the

neighbourhood of the church.

This was the oldest part of the town, and its original features had

not been destroyed. In all the narrow streets surrounding the

collegiate church the houses bore the impress of antiquity, having

served as dwelling-places for several generations. In Mill-gate, in

Toad-lane, in Hanging Ditch, and Cateaton-street, scarcely a modern

habitation could be descried. All the houses, with their carved

gables, projecting upper stories, and bay-windows, dated back a couple

of centuries. In Deansgate similar picturesque old structures

predominated. Two new churches formed part of the picture--Trinity

Church in Salford, and St. Ann's in the square we have already

mentioned--and of course many other modern buildings were discernible,

but from the point of view selected the general air of the place was

ancient.

From this glance at Manchester in 1745, it will be seen that it formed

an agreeable mixture of an old and new town. The rivers that washed

its walls were clear, and abounded in fish. Above all, the atmosphere

was pure and wholesome, unpolluted by the smoke of a thousand factory

chimneys. In some respects, therefore, the old town was preferable to

the mighty modern city.

The inhabitants are described by a writer of the period "as very

industrious, always contriving or inventing something new to improve

and set off their goods, and not much following the extravagance that

prevails in other places, by which means many of them have acquired

very handsome fortunes, and live thereupon in a plain, useful, and

regular manner, after the custom of their forefathers."

Their manners, in fact, were somewhat primitive. The manufacturers

kept early hours, and by ten o'clock at night the whole town might be

said to be at rest. There were two political clubs, Whig and Tory, or

Jacobite, the latter being by far the most numerous and important. The

members met at their favourite taverns to drink punch, and toast King

or Pretender, according to their predilections. Only four carriages

were kept in the town, and these belonged to ladies. There were no

lamps in the streets, lanterns being carried by all decent folks on

dark nights.

In regard to the amusements of the place it may be mentioned that the

annual horse-races, established at Kersal Moor in 1730, had latterly

been discontinued, but they were soon afterwards revived. Under the

patronage of Lady Bland--a person of great spirit--public assemblies

were given at a ball-room in King-street--then, as now, the most

fashionable street. A famous pack of hounds, of the old British breed,

was kept near the town, and regularly hunted in the season. The

leading merchants lived in a very unostentatious manner, but were

exceedingly hospitable. Many of them were far more refined and much

more highly educated than might have been expected; but this is easily

accounted for when we state that they belonged to good county

families. It had been the custom for a long period with the Lancashire

and Cheshire gentry, who could not otherwise provide for their younger

sons, to bring them up to mercantile pursuits, and with that object

they apprenticed them to the Manchester merchants. Thenceforward a

marked improvement took place in the manners and habits of the class.

CHAPTER III.

INTRODUCES DR. DEACON, DR. BYROM, AND COLONEL TOWNLEY.

Descended from Cavaliers, it was certain that the Manchester merchants

would embrace the political opinions of their fathers, and support the

hereditary claims of the House of Stuart. They did so enthusiastically.

All were staunch Jacobites, and more or less concerned in a plot which

had long been forming for the restoration of James the Third to the

throne. Constant meetings were held at a small inn at Didsbury, near

the ferry, where the conspirators drank "The King over the Water."

A secret correspondence was kept up with the exiled court, and

assurances were given to the Chevalier de St. George that the whole

population of the town would rise in his favour whenever the expected

invasion took place.

The great spread of Jacobite opinions throughout the town could be

traced to two or three influential individuals. Chief among these was

Dr. Deacon--a very remarkable man, whose zeal and earnestness were

calculated to extend his opinions, and make converts of those opposed

to him. Dr. Deacon had been concerned in the former rebellion, and in

his quality of a Nonjuring priest had assisted at the dying moments of

the Reverend William Paul and Justice Hall, who were executed in 1716.

The declaration delivered by them to the sheriff was written by Dr.

Deacon, and produced an immense effect from its force and eloquence.

Having incurred the suspicion of the Government, Dr. Deacon deemed it

expedient to change his profession. Repairing to Manchester, he began

to practise as a physician, and with considerable success. But this

did not prevent him from carrying on his spiritual labours. He founded

a Nonjuring church, of which he was regarded as the bishop. His

fervour and enthusiasm gained him many disciples, and he

unquestionably produced an effect upon the clergy of the collegiate

church, all of whom, except the warden, Dr. Peploe, adopted his

opinions, and inculcated Jacobitism from the pulpit. Though a

visionary and mystic, Dr. Deacon was a man of great erudition, and a

profound theologian. He had three sons, all of whom shared his

political and religious opinions.

Another person quite as zealous as Dr. Deacon in promoting the cause

of the Pretender, though he observed much greater caution in his

proceedings, was Dr. John Byrom, whose name is still held in the

greatest respect in Manchester. A native of the town, and well

connected, Dr. Byrom occupied an excellent social position. He was a

man of great versatility of talent--a wit, a scholar, a linguist, and

a charming poet. But his witty sayings were playful, and, though

smart, entirely divested of ill-nature. Clever at most things, he

invented a new system of short-hand, which he taught, so long as it

was necessary for him to improve his income; but on the death of his

elder brother he succeeded to the family property, Kersal Cell,

situated in the neighbourhood of the town. His diary and

correspondence, published by the Chetham Society, give a complete

insight into his truly amiable character, and not only display him in

the most pleasing colours, but place him in the first rank as a

letter-writer. Dr. Byrom contributed two papers to the _Spectator_,

and wrote many delightful songs and humorous poems, but he will be

best remembered by his admirable letters. He was fortunate in his

wife, and equally fortunate in his children--a son and daughter--and

it is to these members of his family, to whom he was tenderly

attached, that most of his letters are addressed.

At the time of our story, Dr. Byrom was between fifty and sixty--a

striking-looking person, tall, thin, erect. Without being handsome,

his features were pleasing and benevolent in expression. His manner

was singularly courteous, and his temper so even that it could

scarcely be ruffled.

A third person, who made his appearance in Manchester immediately

after the outbreak of the rebellion in Scotland, was Colonel Francis

Townley. He belonged to an old Lancashire Roman Catholic family, the

head of which, Richard Townley, of Townley Hall, took part in the

rebellion of 1715, and was tried before Judge Powis, but acquitted.

Born at his father's house near Wigan, Frank Townley, at the period of

our story, was just thirty-eight. Some seventeen years previously he

went over to France, and being remarkably handsome, made a figure at

the court of Versailles. Befriended by the Duke of Berwick, he

received a commission from Louis the Fifteenth, served at the siege of

Philipsburg, and was close beside the duke when the latter was killed

by a cannon-shot. Subsequently he served under Marshal de Broglie in

the campaign against Austria, and was present at several sieges and

actions, in all of which he displayed great spirit and intrepidity,

and acquired a very brilliant military reputation.

Frank Townley continued in the French service for fifteen years, and

then returned to England, living for some little time in retirement.

When the young Chevalier landed in Scotland, and an invasion was

meditated by France, Louis sent him a colonel's commission to enable

him to raise forces for the prince. With this design he came to

Manchester, thinking he should have no difficulty in raising a

regiment, but he was not so successful as he anticipated.

A simultaneous rising of the Jacobites in the northern counties and in

some of the larger towns had been confidently looked for by the

partisans of the House of Stuart, but as this did not take place, the

excitement in the prince's behalf, which had been roused in

Manchester, began quickly to subside. The intelligence that the victor

of Preston Pans was marching southward at the head of an army of five

thousand Highlanders, though it raised the hopes of some of the bolder

spirits, carried consternation among the bulk of the towns-people--not

only among those who were loyal, but among the disaffected. The

Jacobites wished well to the Pretender, but declined to fight for him.

Numbers left the town, and the shopkeepers began to remove their goods

and valuables. The Presbyterians were especially alarmed, and sent

away their wives and families.

News that the prince had reached Carlisle increased the excitement.

The militia was quartered in the town for its defence; but the men

were disbanded before the insurgent army appeared. The bridge at

Warrington was destroyed to impede the march of the rebels; other

bridges were blown up; and Salford Bridge was threatened, but escaped

destruction.

In the midst of the general alarm and confusion now prevailing in the

place, Colonel Townley found it impossible to enrol a sufficient

number of men to form a regiment. All those who had been lavish in

promises made excuses, or got out of the way.

By this time Carlisle had surrendered, and the prince, whose army

moved in two divisions, was marching southward. Greatly disappointed

by his ill success, Colonel Townley resolved to set out and meet him

at Lancaster, in order to prepare him for his probable reception at

Manchester.

On the night before his departure on this errand, the colonel had a

conference with Dr. Deacon and Dr. Byrom at the Bull's Head in the

market-place--a tavern frequented mainly by the High Church Tories and

Jacobites; just as the Angel Inn in Market Street Lane was resorted to

by Whigs and Presbyterians.

The party met in a private room at the back of the house. A cheerful

fire blazed on the hearth--it must be borne in mind that it was then

in November--and a flask of claret stood on the table; but the serious

looks of the three gentlemen betokened that they had not met merely

for convivial purposes.

With the tall, thin figure, benevolent countenance, and courteous

manner of Dr. Byrom, we have endeavoured to familiarise the reader.

The doctor was attired in a murrey-coloured coat with long skirts, and

wore a full-bottomed tie-wig, and a laced cravat, but had laid aside

his three-cornered hat.

Dr. Deacon was somewhat advanced in years, but seemed full of vigour,

both of mind and body. He had a highly intellectual physiognomy, and a

look about the eyes that bespoke him an enthusiast and a visionary. He

was dressed in black, but his costume was that of a physician, not a

divine. Still, the Nonjuring priest could not be wholly disguised.

Colonel Townley had a very fine presence. His figure was tall,

well-proportioned, and commanding. He might easily have been taken for

a French officer; nor was this to be wondered at, considering his

fifteen years' service in France. A grey cloth riding-dress faced with

purple displayed his lofty figure to advantage. An aile-de-pigeon wig,

surmounted by a small cocked hat edged with silver lace and

jack-boots, completed his costume.

"Now, gentlemen," said the colonel, drawing his chair closer to them,

"before I join the prince at Lancaster, I desire to have your candid

opinion as to the chance of a rising in his favour in this town.

Latterly I have met with nothing but disappointment. The conduct of

your leading merchants fills me with rage and disgust, and how they

can reconcile it with the pledges they have given his royal highness

of support, I cannot conceive. Still, I hope they will act up to their

professions, and maintain the honourable character they have hitherto

borne. How say you, gentlemen? Can the prince calculate on a general

declaration in his favour? You shake your heads. At least he may count

on a thousand recruits? Five hundred? Surely five hundred Manchester

men will join his standard?"

"A few weeks ago I firmly believed half the town would rise," replied

Dr. Deacon. "But now I know not what to say. I will not delude the

prince with any more false promises."

"'Twill be an eternal disgrace to Manchester if its inhabitants desert

him at this critical juncture," cried the colonel, warmly. "Is this to

be the miserable conclusion of all your plots and secret meetings? You

have invited him, and now that he has complied with the invitation,

and is coming hither with an army, you get out of the way, and leave

him to his own resources. 'Tis infamous!"

"I still hope my fellow-townsmen may redeem their character for

loyalty," said Dr. Deacon. "Perchance, when his royal highness

appears, he may recall them to their duty."

"I doubt it," observed the colonel.

"I will not attempt to defend the conduct of the Manchester

Jacobites," observed Dr. Byrom; "but they are not quite so culpable as

they appear. They ought not to have invited the prince, unless they

were resolved to support him at all hazards. But they have become

alarmed, and shrink from the consequences of their own rashness. They

wish him every success in his daring enterprise, but will not risk

their lives and fortunes for him, as their fathers did in the

ill-starred insurrection of 1715."

"In a word, they consider the prince's cause hopeless," said the

colonel.

"That is so," replied Dr. Byrom. "You will do well to dissuade his

royal highness from advancing beyond Preston, unless he is certain of

receiving large reinforcements from France."

"Dissuade him from advancing! I will never give him such dastardly

counsel. Were I indiscreet enough to do so, he would reject it. His

royal highness is marching on London."

"So I conclude. But I fear the Duke of Cumberland will never allow him

to get there."

"Bah! He will beat the Duke as he beat Johnnie Cope at Preston Pans.

But he need not hazard a battle. He can easily elude the duke if he

thinks proper."

"Not so easily, I think; but, should he do so, he will find the

Elector of Hanover prepared for him. The guards and some other

regiments are encamped at Finchley, as we learn by the last express,

for the defence of the capital."

"You are just as timorous as the rest of your fellow-townsmen, sir.

But no representations of danger will deter the heroic prince from his

projected march on London. Ere long, I trust he will drive out the

usurper, and cause his royal father to be proclaimed at Westminster."

"Heaven grant it may be so!" exclaimed Dr. Deacon, fervently. "'Twill

be a wondrous achievement if it succeeds."

"I do not think it can succeed," said Dr. Byrom. "You think me a

prophet of ill, colonel, but I am solely anxious for the prince's

safety. I would not have him fall into the hands of his enemies. Even

retreat is fraught with peril, for Field-Marshal Wade, with a strong

force, is in his rear."

"Better go on, then, by your own showing, sir. But retreat is out of

the question. I am at a loss to understand how you can reconcile your

conduct with the principles you profess. The prince has need of

zealous adherents, who will sacrifice their lives for him if required.

Yet you and your friends, who are pledged to him, keep aloof."

"I am too old to draw the sword for the prince," said Dr. Deacon; "but

I shall identify myself with his cause, and I have enjoined my three

sons to enrol themselves in the Manchester Regiment."

"You have done well, sir, but only what might have been expected from

you," said Colonel Townley. "Your conduct contrasts favourably with

that of many of his self-styled adherents."

"I can bear the taunt, colonel," said Dr. Byrom, calmly. "Whatever

opinion you may entertain to the contrary, my friends and myself are

loyal to the House of Stuart, but we are also discreet. We have had

our lesson, and mean to profit by it. To be plain with you, Colonel

Townley, we don't like the Highlanders."

"Why not, sir? They are brave fellows, and have done no mischief. They

will do none here--on that you may depend."

"Maybe not, but the people are desperately afraid of them, and think

they will plunder the town.

"Mere idle fears," exclaimed Colonel Townley.

"Have you a list of recruits, colonel?" inquired Dr. Deacon.

Colonel Townley replied in the affirmative, and produced a

memorandum-book.

"The list is so brief, and the names it comprises are so unimportant,

that I shall feel ashamed to present it to the prince," he said. "The

first person I have set down is James Dawson."

"Jemmy Dawson is a young man of very respectable family--in fact, a

connexion of my own," observed Dr. Byrom. "He belongs to St. John's

College, Cambridge."

"Next on the list is Mr. Peter Moss, a gentleman of this county,"

pursued the colonel. "Then come Mr. Thomas Morgan, a Welshman, and Mr.

John Saunderson, a Northumberland gentleman. All those I have

enumerated will be officers, and with them I shall couple the names of

your sons, Dr. Deacon--Thomas Theodorus, Charles, and Robert."

"All three are prepared to lay down their lives in asserting the

rights of their only lawful sovereign, King James the Third," said the

doctor. "They have constantly prayed that Heaven may strengthen him so

that he may vanquish and overcome all his enemies, that he may be

brought to his kingdom, and the crown be set upon his head."

"In that prayer we all join," said the colonel. "I shall not fail to

mention your sons to the prince. Then we have a young parson named

Coppock, who desires to be chaplain of the regiment. From his

discourse he seems to be a good specimen of the church militant."

"He will give up a good benefice if he joins you," remarked Dr. Byrom.

"He will be rewarded with a bishopric if we succeed. With a few

exceptions, the rest are not persons of much rank--Andrew Blood,

George Fletcher, John Berwick, Thomas Chadwick, and Thomas Syddall.

The last is a member of the Nonjuring church, I believe, Dr. Deacon?"

"I am proud of him, though he is only a barber," replied the doctor.

"He has never sworn allegiance to the usurper, and never will. He is

the son of that Thomas Syddall who was put to an ignominious death in

1716, and his head fixed on the market-cross of this town. Thomas

Syddall, the younger, inherits his father's loyalty and courage."

"He shall be an ensign," said the colonel. "Next, there is a young

man, whom I have put down, though I don't feel quite sure of him. He

is the handsomest young fellow I have seen in Manchester, and

evidently full of spirit."

"I think I can guess whom you mean," said Dr. Byrom. "'Tis Atherton

Legh."

"Right! that is the youngster's name. He was introduced to me by

Theodore Deacon. Who is he? He looks as if he belonged to a good

family."

"Atherton Legh is Atherton Legh--that is all I know of his family

history, and I believe it is all he knows himself," replied Dr.

Deacon.

"I can tell you something more about him," said Dr. Byrom. "He was

brought up by a small tradesman, named Heywood, dwelling in Deansgate,

educated at our grammar-school under Mr. Brooke, and afterwards

apprenticed to Mr. Hibbert, a highly respectable merchant; but as to

his parentage, there is a mystery. Beyond doubt, he has some wealthy

relative, but he has prudently abstained from making inquiries, since

it has been intimated to him that, if he does so, the present liberal

allowance, which is regularly paid by some person who styles himself

his guardian, will cease."

"A very good reason for remaining quiet," observed the colonel. "But I

suppose Heywood is acquainted with the guardian?"

"He has not even heard his name. Atherton's allowance is paid through

a banker, who is bound to secrecy. But you shall hear all I know about

the matter. Some eighteen years ago, an elderly dame, who described

herself as Madame Legh, having the appearance of a decayed

gentlewoman, and attired in mourning, arrived in Manchester, and put

up at this very inn. She had travelled by post, it appeared, from

London, and brought with her a very pretty little boy, about three

years old, whom she called her grandson, stating that his name was

Atherton Legh. From this, it would seem, there was no disguise about

the old dame, but there is every reason to believe that the names

given by her were fictitious. Having made some preliminary inquiries

respecting the Heywoods, and ascertained that they had no family,

Madame Legh paid them a visit, taking her little grandson with her,

and after some talk with Mrs. Heywood, who was a very kind-hearted

woman, easily prevailed upon her to take charge of the child. All the

arrangements were very satisfactorily made. Mrs. Heywood received a

purse of fifty guineas, which she was told came from the boy's

guardian--not his father. She was also assured that a liberal

allowance would be made by the guardian for the child's maintenance

and education, and the promise was most honourably fulfilled. All

being settled, Madame Legh kissed her little grandson and departed,

and was never seen again. The child quickly attached himself to the

worthy pair, who became as fond of him as if he had been their own

son. In due time, Atherton grew into a fine spirited lad, and, as I

have just intimated, was sent to the grammar-school. When his

education was completed, in compliance with the injunctions of his

mysterious guardian, conveyed through the banker who paid the

allowance, the youth was apprenticed to Mr. Hibbert--the fee being

five hundred pounds, which, of course, was paid. Thenceforth, Atherton

resided with Mr. Hibbert.

"Such is the young man's history, so far as it is known, and it is

certainly curious. No wonder you have been struck by his appearance,

colonel. He has decidedly a fine physiognomy, and his look and manner

proclaim him the son of a gentleman. Whether he will venture to enrol

himself in your regiment without his guardian's consent, which it is

next to impossible for him to obtain, is more than I can say.

"It does not seem to me that he is bound to consult his guardian on

the point," remarked Dr. Deacon. "I have told him so; but he has some

scruples of conscience, which I hope to remove."

"If his guardian is a Hanoverian, he ought to have no authority over

him," said the colonel. "You must win him over to the good cause,

doctor. But let us have a glass of claret," he added, helping himself,

and pushing the bottle towards Dr. Byrom, who was nearest him.

CHAPTER IV.

SIR RICHARD RAWCLIFFE.

"By-the-bye," continued Colonel Townley, looking at his watch. "I

forgot to mention that I expect Sir Richard Rawcliffe, of Rawcliffe

Hall, to-night. He will be here anon. 'Tis about the hour he named.

You know him, I think?"

"I knew him slightly some years ago," replied Dr. Byrom. "But I dare

say he has quite forgotten me. He rarely, if ever, comes to

Manchester. Indeed, he leads a very secluded life at Rawcliffe, and,

as I understand, keeps no company. He has the character of being

morose and gloomy, but I daresay it is undeserved, for men are

generally misrepresented."

"Sir Richard Rawcliffe is certainly misrepresented, if he is so

described," said Colonel Townley. "He is haughty and reserved, but not

moody. When I left for France he had only just succeeded to the title

and the property, and I knew little of him then, though he was an

intimate friend of my uncle, Richard Townley of Townley."

"He was not, I think, engaged in the insurrection of 1715?" remarked

Dr. Deacon.

"Not directly," replied the colonel. "His father, Sir Randolph, who

was friendly to the Hanoverian succession, was alive then, and he did

not dare to offend him."

"I thought the Rawcliffes were a Roman Catholic family?" remarked Dr.

Deacon.

"Sir Randolph abjured the faith of his fathers," said Colonel Townley;

"and his elder son, Oswald, was likewise a renegade. Sir Richard, of

whom we are now speaking, succeeded his brother Sir Oswald on the

failure of the heir."

"It has never been positively proved that the heir is dead," observed

Dr. Byrom. "Sir Oswald Rawcliffe married the beautiful Henrietta

Conway, and had a son by her, who was carried off while an infant in a

most mysterious manner, and has never been heard of since. This

happened in '24, but I cannot help thinking the true heir to Rawcliffe

Hall may yet be found."

"Meantime, Sir Richard is in possession of the title and property,"

said Colonel Townley.

As he spoke, the door was opened by the landlord, who ushered in a

tall personage, whom he announced as Sir Richard Rawcliffe.

Bowing to the company, all of whom rose on his entrance, Sir Richard

sprang forward to meet Colonel Townley, and a hearty greeting passed

between them.

It would have been difficult to determine the new-comer's age, but he

was not fifty, though he looked much older. His features were

handsome, but strongly marked, and had a sombre expression, which,

however, disappeared when he was animated by converse. His eyes were

dark and penetrating, and overhung by thick black brows. His pallid

complexion and care-worn looks seemed to denote that he was out of

health. Altogether, it was a face that could not be regarded without

interest. He wore a dark riding-dress, with boots drawn above the

knee. A black peruke descended over his shoulders, and a sword hung by

his side.

Habitually, Sir Richard Rawcliffe's manner was haughty, but he was

extremely affable towards the present company, expressing himself

delighted to meet Dr. Byrom again. Towards Dr. Deacon he was almost

deferential.

While they were exchanging civilities, Diggles, the landlord,

re-appeared with a fresh bottle of claret and clean glasses; and

bumpers being filled, Colonel Townley called out, "Here's to our

master's health!"

The toast having been drunk with enthusiasm, Diggles, preparatory to

his departure, inquired whether the gentlemen desired to be private.

"No," replied Colonel Townley. "I will see my _friends_. I don't think

you will introduce a Hanoverian, Diggles."

"You may trust me, colonel," said the landlord. "No Whig shall enter

here."

After another glass of wine, Colonel Townley said to the baronet--

"Now, Sir Richard, let us to business. I hope you bring us some

recruits. We are terribly in want of them."

"I am surprised to hear that," replied Sir Richard; "and I regret that

I cannot supply your need. All my tenants refuse to go out. 'Tis to

explain this difficulty that I have come to Manchester. Money I can

promise his royal highness, but not men."

"Well, money will be extremely useful to him. How much may I venture

to tell him you will furnish?"

"A thousand pounds," replied Sir Richard. "I have brought it with me.

Here 'tis," he added, giving him a pocket-book.

"By my faith, this is very handsome, Sir Richard, and I am sure the

prince will be much beholden to you. I am about to join him at

Lancaster, and I will place the money in the hands of his treasurer,

Mr. Murray. If every Jacobite gentleman in Cheshire would contribute a

like sum his royal highness would not lack funds."

Both Dr. Byrom and Dr. Deacon expressed their sense of the baronet's

liberality.

"I am amazed by what you just stated about your want of recruits,"

said Sir Richard. "I understood that some thousands had been enrolled

in Manchester."

Significant looks passed between the others, and Colonel Townley

shrugged his shoulders.

"I am sorry to be obliged to undeceive you, Sir Richard," he said.

"The enrolment has proceeded very badly."

"But you have the leading merchants with you. They are all pledged to

the House of Stuart."

"They are indifferent to their pledges."

"Zounds!" exclaimed Sir Richard. "I was wholly unprepared for this. At

all the Jacobite meetings I have attended, the boldest talkers were

your Manchester merchants. How many campaigns have they fought over

the bottle! But are there no young men in the town who will rally

round the prince's standard?"

"Plenty, I am sure, Sir Richard," replied Dr. Deacon. "When the drum

is beaten, numbers will answer to the call."

"Better they should enrol themselves beforehand, so that we might know

on whom we can count. You have so much influence, Dr. Deacon, that you

ought to be able to raise a regiment yourself. Your sons might lend

you aid. They must have many friends."

"Theodore Deacon has already found me a fine young fellow, whom I

should like to make an officer," observed Colonel Townley.

"Ah! who may that be?"

"You will be little the wiser when I mention his name, Sir Richard.

'Tis Atherton Legh."

"Atherton Legh. Is he of a Lancashire family?"

"I am unable to answer that question, Sir Richard. In fact, there is a

mystery about him. But he is a gentleman born, I'm certain. You would

say so yourself were you to see him. Ah! the opportunity offers--here

he is."

As he spoke the door was opened, and the young man in question was

ushered in by the landlord.

CHAPTER V.

INTRODUCES OUR HERO.

Atherton Legh had a fine, open, intelligent countenance, clear grey

eyes, classically moulded features, a fresh complexion, and a tall

graceful figure. His manner was frank and prepossessing. His

habiliments were plain, but became him well, and in lieu of a peruke,

he wore his own long, flowing, brown locks. His age might be about

one-and-twenty.

Such was the tall, handsome young man who stood before the company,

and it may be added that he displayed no embarrassment, though he felt

that a scrutinising look was fixed upon him by the baronet.

"Was I not right, Sir Richard?" whispered Colonel Townley. "Has he not

the air of a gentleman?"

The baronet assented; adding in an undertone, "Tell me, in a word, who

and what he is?"

"I have already stated that a mystery attaches to his birth, and so

carefully is the secret kept, that, although he has a guardian who

supplies him with funds, he is not even acquainted with his guardian's

name."

"Strange!" exclaimed the baronet.

"Shall I present him to you, Sir Richard?"

"By all means," was the reply.

Colonel Townley then went up to the young man, shook hands with him,

and after a little talk, brought him to Sir Richard, who rose on his

approach, and received him very graciously.

But though the baronet's manner was exceedingly courteous, Atherton

felt unaccountably repelled. Sir Richard's features seemed familiar to

him, but he could not call to mind where he had seen him.

"I hope you have come to signify to Colonel Townley your adhesion to

the cause of King James the Third?" remarked Sir Richard.

"Yes, yes, he means to join us," cried Colonel Townley, hastily. "I am

enchanted to see him. Say that you will belong to the Manchester

Regiment, Mr. Atherton Legh--say the word before these gentlemen--and

I engage that you shall have a commission."

"You are too good, sir," said the young man.

"Not at all," cried the colonel. "I could not do his royal highness a

greater service than to bring him such a fine young fellow."

"I shall seem but ill to repay your kindness, colonel," said Atherton,

"when I decline the honourable post you offer me. I would serve in the

ranks were I a free agent. You are aware that I have a guardian, whom

I feel bound to obey as a father. Since you spoke to me this morning I

have received a letter from him, peremptorily forbidding me to join

the prince. After this interdiction, which I dare not disobey, I am

compelled to withdraw the half promise I gave you."

"Were I in Colonel Townley's place I should claim fulfilment of the

promise," observed Sir Richard. "As a man of honour you cannot

retract."

"Nay, I must say Mr. Atherton Legh did not absolutely pledge himself,"

said Colonel Townley; "and he is perfectly at liberty, therefore, to

withdraw if he deems proper. But I hope he will reconsider his

decision. I shall be truly sorry to lose him. What is your opinion of

the matter, sir?" he added, appealing to Dr. Deacon. "Is Mr. Atherton

Legh bound to obey his guardian's injunctions?"

"Assuredly not," replied the doctor, emphatically. "Duty to a

sovereign is paramount to every other consideration. A guardian has no

right to impose such restraint upon a ward. His authority does not

extend so far."

"But he may have the power to stop his ward's allowance, if his

authority be set at defiance," remarked Dr. Byrom. "Therefore, I think

Mr. Atherton Legh is acting very prudently."

"My opinion is not asked, but I will venture to offer it," observed

Sir Richard. "Were I in Mr. Atherton Legh's place, I would run the

risk of offending my guardian, and join the prince."

"I am inclined to follow your counsel, Sir Richard," cried the young

man.

"No, no--you shall not, my dear fellow," interposed Colonel Townley.

"Much as I desire to have you with me, you shall not be incited to

take a step you may hereafter repent. Weigh the matter over. When I

return to Manchester you can decide. Something may happen in the

interim."

Atherton bowed, and was about to retire, when Sir Richard stopped him.

"I should like to have a little talk to you, Mr. Atherton Legh," he

said, "and shall be glad if you will call upon me to-morrow at noon. I

am staying at this inn."

"I will do myself the honour of waiting upon you, Sir Richard,"

replied the young man.

"I ought to mention that my daughter is with me, and she is an ardent

Jacobite," remarked Sir Richard.

"If I have Miss Rawcliffe's assistance, I foresee what will happen,"

remarked Colonel Townley, with a laugh. "Her arguments are sure to

prove irresistible. I consider you already enrolled. Au revoir!"

CHAPTER VI.

ADVICE.

Atherton Legh had quitted the inn, and was lingering in the

market-place, not altogether satisfied with himself, when Dr. Byrom

came forth and joined him.

"Our road lies in the same direction," said the doctor. "Shall we walk

together?"

"By all means, sir," replied the young man.

It was a beautiful night, calm and clear, and the moon shone brightly

on the tower of the collegiate church, in the vicinity of which Dr.

Byrom resided.

"How peaceful the town looks to-night," observed Byrom. "But in a few

days all will be tumult and confusion."

"I do not think any resistance will be offered to the insurgents,

sir," replied Atherton; "and luckily the militia is disbanded, though

I believe a few shots would have dispersed them had they attempted to

show fight."

"No, there will be no serious fighting," said Byrom. "Manchester will

surrender at discretion. I don't think the prince will remain here

long. He will raise as many recruits as he can, and then march on. I

have no right to give you advice, young sir, but I speak to you as I

would to my own son. You have promised to call upon Sir Richard

Rawcliffe to-morrow, and I suppose you will be as good as your word."

"Of course."

"Then take care you are not persuaded to disobey your guardian. There

is a danger you do not apprehend, and I must guard you against it.

Miss Rawcliffe is exceedingly beautiful, and very captivating--at

least, so I have been informed, for I have never seen her. Her father

has told you she is an ardent Jacobite. As such she will deem it her

duty to win you over to the good cause, and she will infallibly

succeed. Very few of us are proof against the fascinations of a young

and lovely woman. Though Sir Richard might not prevail, his daughter

will."

"I must go prepared to resist her," replied Atherton, laughing.

"You miscalculate your strength, young man," said Byrom, gravely.

"Better not expose yourself to temptation."

"Nay, I must go," said Atherton. "But I should like to know something

about Sir Richard Rawcliffe. Has he a son?"

"Only one child--a daughter. Besides being very beautiful, as I have

just described her, Constance Rawcliffe will be a great heiress."

"And after saying all this, you expect me to throw away the chance of

meeting so charming a person. But don't imagine I am presumptuous

enough to aspire to a wealthy heiress. I shall come away heart-whole,

and bound by no pledges stronger than those I have already given."

"We shall see," replied Dr. Byrom, in a tone that implied considerable

doubt.

They had now arrived at the door of the doctor's residence--a

tolerably large, comfortable-looking house, built of red brick, in the

plain, formal style of the period.

Before parting with his young companion, Dr. Byrom thought it

necessary to give him a few more words of counsel.

"It may appear impertinent in me to meddle in your affairs," he said;

"but believe that I am influenced by the best feelings. You are

peculiarly circumstanced. You have no father--no near relative to

guide you. An error now may be irretrievable. Pray consult me before

you make any pledge to Sir Richard Rawcliffe, or to Dr. Deacon."

There was so much paternal kindness in his manner that Atherton could

not fail to be touched by it.

"I will consult you, sir," he said, in a grateful tone; "and I thank

you deeply for the interest you take in me."

"Enough," replied Dr. Byrom. "I shall hope to see you soon again. Give

me your impressions of Constance Rawcliffe."

He then bade the young man good-night, rang the door bell, and entered

the house.

CHAPTER VII.

RENCOUNTER NEAR THE OLD TOWN CROSS.

A path led across the south side of the large churchyard surrounding

the collegiate church, and on quitting Dr. Byrom, Atherton took his

way along it, marching past the old gravestones, and ever and anon

glancing at the venerable pile, which, being completely lighted up by

the moonbeams, presented a very striking appearance. So bright was the

moonlight that the crocketed pinnacles and grotesque gargoyles could

have been counted. The young man was filled with admiration of the

picture. On reaching the western boundary of the churchyard, he paused

to gaze at the massive tower, and having contemplated its beauties for

a few minutes, he proceeded towards Salford Bridge.

It has already been stated that this was the oldest and most

picturesque part of the town. All the habitations were of timber and

plaster, painted black and white, and those immediately adjoining the

collegiate church on the west were built on a precipitous rock

overlooking the Irwell.

Wherever a view could be obtained of the river, through any opening

among these ancient houses--many of which were detached--a very

charming scene was presented to the beholder. The river here made a

wide bend, and as it swept past the high rocky bank, and flowed on

towards the narrow pointed arches of the old bridge, its course was

followed with delight, glittering as it then did in the moonbeams.

The old bridge itself was a singular structure, and some of the old

houses on the opposite side of the river vied in picturesque beauty

with those near the church.

Atherton was enraptured with the scene. He had made his way to the

very edge of the steep rocky bank, so that nothing interfered with the

prospect.

Though the hour was by no means late--the old church clock had only

just struck ten--the inhabitants of that quarter of the town seemed to

have retired to rest. All was so tranquil that the rushing of the

water through the arches of the bridge could be distinctly heard.

Soothed by the calmness which acted as a balm upon his somewhat

over-excited feelings, the young man fell into a reverie, during which

a very charming vision flitted before him.

The description given him of the lovely Constance Rawcliffe had

powerfully affected his imagination. She seemed to be the ideal of

feminine beauty which he had sought, but never found. He painted her

even in brighter colours than she had been described by Dr. Byrom, and

with all the romantic folly of a young man was prepared to fall madly

in love with her--provided only she deigned to cast the slightest

smile upon him.

Having conjured up this exquisite phantom, and invested it with charms

that very likely had no existence, he was soon compelled to dismiss

it, and return to actual life. It was time to go home, and good Widow

Heywood, with whom he lodged, would wonder why he stopped out so late.

Heaving a sigh, with which such idle dreams as he had indulged

generally end, he left the post of vantage he had occupied, and, with

the design of proceeding to Deansgate, tracked a narrow alley that

quickly brought him to Smithy Bank. The latter thoroughfare led to the

bridge. Lower down, but not far from the point of junction with

Deansgate, stood the old Town Cross.

Hitherto the young man had not seen a single individual in the streets

since he left the Bull's Head, and it therefore rather surprised him

to perceive a small group of persons standing near the Cross, to which

allusion has just been made.

Two damsels, evidently from their attire of the higher rank, attended

by a young gentleman and a man-servant--the latter being stationed at

a respectful distance from the others--were talking to a well-mounted

horseman, in whom Atherton had no difficulty in recognising Colonel

Townley. No doubt the colonel had started on his journey to Lancaster.

With him was a groom, who, like his master, was well mounted and well

armed.

Even at that distance, Atherton remarked that Colonel Townley's manner

was extremely deferential to the young ladies--especially towards the

one with whom he was conversing. He bent low in the saddle, and

appeared to be listening with deep interest and attention to what she

said. Both this damsel and her fair companion were so muffled up that

Atherton could not discern their features, but he persuaded himself

they must be good-looking. A fine shape cannot easily be disguised,

and both had symmetrical figures, while the sound of their voices was

musical and pleasant.

Atherton was slowly passing on his way, which brought him somewhat

nearer the group, when Colonel Townley caught sight of him, and

immediately hailed him.

By no means sorry to have a nearer view of the mysterious fair ones,

the young man readily responded to the summons, but if he expected an

introduction to the damsels he was disappointed.

Before he came up, it was evident that the colonel had been told that

this was not to be, and he carefully obeyed orders.

The young lady who had especially attracted Atherton's attention

proved to be very handsome, for, though he could not obtain a full

view of her face, he saw enough to satisfy him she had delicately

formed features, magnificent black eyes, and black tresses.

These splendid black eyes were steadily fixed upon him for a few

moments, as if she was reading his character; and after the rapid

inspection, she turned to Colonel Townley, and made some remark to him

in a whisper.

Without tarrying any longer, she then signed to her companions, and

they all three moved off, followed by the manservant, leaving Atherton

quite bewildered. The party walked so rapidly that they were almost

instantly out of sight.

"If it is not impertinent on my part, may I ask who those young ladies

are?" inquired Atherton.

"I am not allowed to tell you, my dear fellow," replied the colonel,

slightly laughing. "But I dare say you will meet them again."

"I must not even ask if they live in Manchester, I suppose?"

"I cannot satisfy your curiosity in any particular. I meant to present

you to them, but I was forbidden. I may, however, tell you that the

young lady nearest me made a flattering observation respecting you."

"That is something, from so charming a girl."

"Then you discovered that she is beautiful!"

"I never beheld such fine eyes."

Colonel Townley laughed heartily.

"Take care of yourself, my dear boy--take care of yourself," he said.

"Those eyes have already done wonderful execution."

"One question more, colonel, and I have done. Are they sisters?"

"Well, I may answer that. They are not. I thought you must have known

the young man who was with them."

"I fancied he was Jemmy Dawson. But I own I did not pay much attention

to him."

"You were engrossed by one object. It was Jemmy Dawson. He is to be

one of my officers, and I feel very proud of him, as I shall be of

another gallant youth whom I count upon. But I must loiter no longer

here. I shall ride to Preston to-night, and proceed to-morrow to

Lancaster. Fail not to keep your appointment with Sir Richard

Rawcliffe. You will see his daughter, who will put this fair unknown

out of your head."

"I scarcely think so," replied Atherton.

"Well, I shall learn all about it on my return. Adieu!"

With this, the colonel struck spurs into his horse and rode quickly

across the bridge, followed by his groom, while Atherton, whose

thoughts had been entirely changed within the last ten minutes,

proceeded towards his lodgings in Deansgate.

CHAPTER VIII.

BEPPY BYROM.

Next morning, in the drawing-room of a comfortable house, situated

near the collegiate church, and commanding from its windows a view of

that venerable fabric, a family party, consisting of four persons--two

ladies and two gentlemen--had assembled after breakfast.

Elegantly furnished in the taste of the time, the room was fitted up

with japanned cabinets and numerous small brackets, on which china

ware and other ornaments were placed. A crystal chandelier hung from

the ceiling, and a large folding Indian screen was partly drawn round

the work-table, beside which the two ladies sat. The gentlemen were

standing near the fireplace.

The mistress of the house, though no longer young, as will be guessed

when we mention that her daughter was turned twenty-one, while her son

was some two or three years older, still retained considerable

personal attractions, and had a most agreeable expression of

countenance.

We may as well state at once, that this lady, who had made the best

helpmate possible to the best of husbands, was the wife of our worthy

friend Dr. Byrom, who had every reason to congratulate himself, as he

constantly did, on the possession of such a treasure.

Very pretty, and very lively, was the younger lady--Elizabeth

Byrom--Beppy as she was familiarly called. We despair of giving an

idea of her features, but her eyes were bright and blue, her

complexion like a damask rose, her nose slightly retroussé, and her

teeth like pearls. When she laughed, her cheek displayed the prettiest

dimple imaginable. Her light-brown locks were taken from the brow, and

raised to a considerable height, but there were no artificial tresses

among them.

Her costume suited her extremely well--her gown being of grey silk,

looped round the body; and she wore a hoop petticoat--as every other

girl did at the time who had any pretension to fashion.

Beppy was not a coquette--far from it--but she tried to please; nor

was she vain of her figure, yet she liked to dress becomingly.

Accomplished she was, undoubtedly; sang well, and played on the

spinet; but she was useful as well as ornamental, and did a great many

things in the house, which no girl of our own period would condescend

to undertake.

With much gaiety of manner, a keen sense of the ridiculous, and a turn

for satire, Beppy never said an ill-natured thing. In short, she was a

very charming girl, and the wonder was, with so many agreeable

qualities, that she should have remained single.

Our description would be incomplete if we omitted to state that she

was an ardent Jacobite.

Her brother, Edward, resembled his father, and was gentleman-like in

appearance and manner. He wore a suit of light blue, with silver

buttons, and a flaxen-coloured peruke, which gave him a gay look, but

in reality he was very sedate. There was nothing of the coxcomb about

Edward Byrom. Nor was he of an enthusiastic temperament. Like all the

members of his family, he was well inclined towards the House of

Stuart, but he was not disposed to make any sacrifice, or incur any

personal risk for its restoration to the throne. Edward Byrom was

tall, well-made, and passably good-looking.

Mrs. Byrom was dressed in green flowered silk, which suited her: wore

powder in her hair, which also suited her, and a hoop petticoat, but

we will not say whether the latter suited her or not. Her husband

thought it did, and he was the best judge.

"Well, papa," cried Beppy, looking up at him from her work, "what do

you mean to do to-day?"

"I have a good deal to do," replied Dr. Byrom. "In the first place I

shall pay a visit to Tom Syddall, the barber."

"I like Tom Syddall because he is a Jacobite, and because his father

suffered for the good cause," said Beppy. "Though a barber is the

least heroic of mortals, Tom Syddall always appears to me a sort of

hero, with a pair of scissors and a powder-puff for weapons."

"He has thrown dust in your eyes, Beppy," said the doctor.

"He has vowed to avenge his father. Is not that creditable to him,

papa?"

"Yes, he is a brave fellow, no doubt. I only hope he mayn't share his

father's fate. I shall endeavour to persuade him to keep quiet."

"Is it quite certain the prince will come to Manchester?" asked Mrs.

Byrom, anxiously.

"He will be here in two or three days at the latest with his army. But

don't alarm yourself, my love."

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "I think we had better leave the town."

"You are needlessly afraid, mamma," cried Beppy. "I am not frightened

in the least. It may be prudent in some people to get out of the way;

but depend upon it _we_ shan't be molested. Papa's opinions are too

well known. I wouldn't for the world miss seeing the prince. I dare

say we shall all be presented to him."

"You talk of the prince as if he had already arrived, Beppy," observed

Edward Byrom, gravely. "After all, he may never reach Manchester."

"You hope he won't come," cried his sister. "You are a Hanoverian,

Teddy, and don't belong to us."

"'Tis because I wish the prince well that I hope he mayn't come," said

Teddy. "The wisest thing he could do would be to retreat."

"I disown you, sir," cried the young lady. "The prince will never

retreat, unless compelled, and success has hitherto attended him."

"Are you aware that the townspeople of Liverpool have raised a

regiment seven hundred strong?"

"For the prince?"

"For King George. Chester, also, has been put into a state of defence

against the insurgents, though there are many Roman Catholic families

in the city."

"I won't be discouraged," said Beppy. "I am certain the right will

triumph. What do you think, papa?"

Dr. Byrom made no response to this appeal.

"Your papa has great misgivings, my dear," observed Mrs. Byrom; "and

so have I. I should most heartily rejoice if the danger that threatens

us could be averted. Rebellion is a dreadful thing. We must take no

part in this contest. How miserable I should have been if your brother

had joined the insurgents!"

"Happily, Teddy has more discretion," said Dr. Byrom, casting an

approving look at his son. "Some of our friends, I fear, will rue the

consequences of their folly. Jemmy Dawson has joined the Manchester

Regiment, and of course Dr. Deacon's three sons are to be enrolled in

it."

"Were I a man I would join likewise," cried Beppy.

"My dear!" exclaimed her mother, half reproachfully.

"Forgive me if I have hurt your feelings, dearest mamma," said Beppy,

getting up and kissing her. "You know I would do nothing to displease

you."

"Jemmy Dawson will incur his father's anger by the step he has taken,"

remarked Edward Byrom. "But powerful influence has been brought to

bear upon him. A young lady, quite as enthusiastic a Jacobite as you

are, Beppy, to whom he is attached, has done the mischief."

"Indeed! I should like to know who she is?" said his sister.

"Nay, you must not question me. You will learn the secret in due time,

I make no doubt."

"I have guessed it already," said Beppy. "'Tis Monica Butler. I have

seen Jemmy with her. She is just the girl who could induce him to join

the insurrection, for she is heart and soul in the cause."

"You are right. Monica Butler is Jemmy's fair enslaver. His assent was

to be the price of her hand. I believe they are affianced."

"I hope the engagement will end well, but it does not commence

auspiciously," said Dr. Byrom. "Their creeds are different. Monica is

a Roman Catholic--at least, I conclude so, since her mother belongs to

that religion."

"Mrs. Butler is a widow, I believe?" remarked Mrs. Byrom.

"She is widow of Captain Butler, and sister of Sir Richard Rawcliffe.

Consequently, Monica is cousin to the beautiful Constance Rawcliffe.

Though so well connected, Mrs. Butler is far from rich, and lives in

great privacy, as you know, in Salford. She is very proud of her

ancient descent, and I almost wonder she consented to Monica's

engagement to young Dawson. By-the-bye, Sir Richard Rawcliffe and his

daughter are now in Manchester, and are staying at the Bull's Head. I

met Sir Richard last night. He is very anxious to obtain recruits for

the prince, and tried hard to enlist Atherton Legh. The young man

resisted, but he will have to go through a different ordeal to-day,

for he will be exposed to the fascinations of the fair Constance. I

shall be curious to learn the result."

"So shall I," said Beppy, with some vivacity.

"Do you take any interest in the young man?" asked her father.

"I think him very handsome," she replied, blushing. "And I think he

would be a very great acquisition to the prince. But it would

certainly be a pity----"

"That so handsome a young fellow should be executed as a rebel,"

supplied the father. "I quite agree with you, Beppy, and I therefore

hope he will remain firm."

CHAPTER IX.

THE TWO CURATES OF ST. ANN'S.

Just then a female servant ushered in two young divines, both of them

assistant curates of St. Ann's--the Rev. Thomas Lewthwaite and the

Rev. Benjamin Nichols. Mr. Hoole, the rector of St. Ann's, was

inclined to Nonjuring principles, which he had imbibed from Dr.

Deacon, and was very popular with the High Church party, but his

curates were Whigs, and belonged to the Low Church, and had both

preached against rebellion. Mr. Lewthwaite was a suitor to Beppy, but

she did not give him much encouragement, and, indeed, rather laughed

at him.

Both the reverend gentlemen looked rather grave, and gave a

description of the state of the town that brought back all Mrs.

Byrom's alarms.

"An express has just come in," said Mr. Lewthwaite, "bringing word

that the rebels have reached Lancaster, and that Marshal Wade has

turned back to Newcastle. The rebel force is estimated at seven

thousand men, but other accounts affirm that it now amounts to thirty

thousand and upwards."

"I hope the latter accounts are correct," observed Beppy.

"We shall certainly have the Pretender here in a couple of days,"

pursued the curate.

"Pray don't call him the Pretender, sir," cried Beppy. "Speak of him

with proper respect as Prince Charles Edward."

"I can't do that," said Mr. Lewthwaite, "being a loyal subject of King

George."

"Whom some people regard as a usurper," muttered Beppy.

"The news has thrown the whole town into consternation," said Mr.

Nichols. "Everybody is preparing for flight. Almost all the warehouses

are closed. Half the shops are shut, and as Mr. Lewthwaite and myself

passed through the square just now, we didn't see half a dozen

persons. Before night the place will be empty.

"Well, we shan't go," said Beppy.

"The Earl of Warrington has sent away all his plate," pursued Mr.

Nichols.

"I have very little plate to send away," observed Dr. Byrom. "Besides,

I am not afraid of being plundered."

"You may not feel quite so secure, sir, when I tell you that the

magistrates have thrown open the doors of the House of Correction,"

said Mr. Nichols.

"Very considerate of them, indeed," said Dr. Byrom. "The townspeople

will appreciate their attention. Have you any more agreeable

intelligence?"

"Yes; the postmaster has started for London this morning to stop any

further remittances from the bankers, lest the money should fall into

the hands of the rebels."

"That looks as if the authorities were becoming really alarmed,"

observed Edward Byrom.

"They are rather late in bestirring themselves," said Mr. Nichols.

"The boroughreeve and constables have learnt that a good deal of

unlawful recruiting for the Pretender has been going on under their

very noses, and are determined to put an end to it. Colonel Townley

would have been arrested last night if he had not saved himself by a

hasty departure. But I understand that an important arrest will be

made this morning."

"An arrest!--of whom?" inquired Dr. Byrom, uneasily.

"I can't tell you precisely, sir," replied Mr. Nichols. "But the

person is a Jacobite gentleman of some consequence, who has only just

arrived in Manchester."

"It must be Sir Richard Rawcliffe," mentally ejaculated Dr. Byrom. "I

must warn him of his danger without delay. Excuse me, gentlemen," he

said, "I have just recollected an appointment. I fear I shall be

rather late."

And he was hurrying out of the room, but before he could reach the

door, it was opened by the servant, and Atherton Legh came in.

Under the circumstances the interruption was vexatious, but quickly

recovering from the confusion into which he was thrown, the doctor

exclaimed, "You are the person I wanted to see."

Seizing the young man's arm, he led him to a small adjoining room that

served as a study.

"You will think my conduct strange," he said, "but there is no time

for explanation. Will you take a message from me to Sir Richard

Rawcliffe?"

"Willingly," replied Atherton, "I was going to him after I had said a

few words to you."

"Our conference must be postponed," said the doctor.

He then sat down and tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper,

directed and sealed the note, and gave it to Atherton.

"Take this to Sir Richard, without loss of time," he said. "You will

render him an important service."

"I shall be very glad to serve him," replied the young man. "But may I

not know the nature of my mission?"

"Be satisfied that it is important," said the doctor. "I shall see you

again later on. Perhaps Sir Richard may have a message to send to me."

Dr. Byrom then conducted the young man to the hall-door, and let him

out himself; after which he returned to the study, not caring to go

back to the drawing-room.

Great was Beppy's disappointment that Atherton was carried off so

suddenly by her father; but she had some suspicion of the truth. As to

the two curates, they thought the doctor's conduct rather singular,

but forebore to make any remarks.

CHAPTER X.

CONSTANCE RAWCLIFFE.

On quitting Dr. Byrom's house, Atherton proceeded quickly along Old

Mill Gate towards the market-place.

This street, one of the oldest and busiest in the town, presented a

very unwonted appearance--several of the shops being shut, while carts

half-filled with goods were standing at the doors, showing that the

owners were removing their property.

Very little business seemed to be going on, and there were some

symptoms of a disturbance, for a band of rough-looking fellows, armed

with bludgeons, was marching along the street, and pushing decent

people from the narrow footway.

In the market-place several groups were collected, eagerly discussing

the news; and at the doors of the Exchange, then newly erected, a few

merchants were assembled, but they all had an anxious look, and did

not seem to be engaged on business.

Except the Exchange, to which we have just adverted, there was not a

modern building near the market-place. All the habitations were old,

and constructed of timber and plaster. In the midst of these, on the

left, stood the Bull's Head. The old inn ran back to a considerable

distance, and possessed a court-yard large enough to hold three or

four post-chaises and an occasional stage-coach.

Entering the court-yard, Atherton sought out Diggles, the landlord,

and inquired for Sir Richard Rawcliffe, but, to his great

disappointment, learnt that the baronet had just gone out.

"That is unlucky," cried the young man. "I have an important

communication for him."

"He will be back presently," said the landlord. "But perhaps Miss

Rawcliffe will see you. She is within. Her cousin, Miss Butler, is

with her."

Atherton assented to this proposition, and was conducted by the host

to a room on the first floor, and evidently situated in the front part

of the house.

Tapping at the door Diggles went in, and almost immediately returned

to say that Miss Rawcliffe would be happy to receive Mr. Atherton

Legh.

Atherton was then ushered into the presence of two young ladies--one

of whom rose on his appearance and received him very courteously.

Could he believe his eyes? Yes! it must be the fair creature he had

seen on the previous night, who had made such a powerful impression

upon him. But if he had thought her beautiful then, how much more

exquisite did she appear now that her charming features could be fully

distinguished.

While bowing to the other young lady, whose name he had learnt from

the landlord, he felt equally sure that she had been Miss Rawcliffe's

companion on the previous night.

Monica Butler offered a strong contrast to her cousin--the one being a

brunette and the other a blonde. But each was charming in her

way--each set off the other. Constance's eyes were dark as night, and

her tresses of corresponding hue; while Monica's eyes were tender and

blue as a summer sky, and her locks fleecy as a summer cloud.

"I see you recognise us, Mr. Atherton Legh," said Miss Rawcliffe,

smiling. "It would be useless, therefore, to attempt any disguise. My

cousin, Monica Butler, and myself were talking to Colonel Townley when

you came up last night. He would fain have presented you to us, but I

would not allow him, for I did not think it quite proper that an

introduction should take place under such peculiar circumstances. As

you may naturally wonder why two young damsels should be abroad so

late, I will explain. Wishing to have Monica's company during my stay

at this inn, I went to fetch her, escorted by your friend Jemmy

Dawson. As we were coming back, we accidentally encountered Colonel

Townley near the Cross. All the rest you know."

"I am very agreeably surprised," said Atherton. "I have been dying to

know who you both were, for Colonel Townley refused to gratify my

curiosity."

"I am glad to find he obeyed my orders," observed Miss Rawcliffe,

smiling. "At that time I did not imagine I should ever see you again.

But this morning papa told me he had made an appointment with you at

noon. I ought to apologise for his absence--but you are rather before

your time."

"'Tis I who ought to apologise," said Atherton. "But I am the bearer

of a note to Sir Richard," he added, handing it to her. "'Tis from Dr.

Byrom, and I believe it contains matter of urgent importance. At all

events, Dr. Byrom requested me to deliver it without delay."

"I hope it contains good news," said Constance. "Pray take a seat. You

must please to await papa's return. He much wishes to see you; and I

may tell you he hopes to induce you to join the prince's army. We are

all ardent Jacobites, as you know, and anxious to obtain recruits. If

I had any influence with you I would urge you to enrol yourself in

Colonel Townley's regiment. Jemmy Dawson has just joined. Why not

follow his example?"

"I have already explained to Colonel Townley why it is impossible for

me to comply with his request."

"Your reasons have been mentioned to me, but I confess I do not see

their force. Jemmy Dawson has not been swayed by such feelings, but

has risked his father's displeasure to serve the prince. He did not

hesitate when told that a young lady's hand would be the reward of his

compliance with her request."

"Till this moment I did not know why Jemmy had joined, having heard

him express indifference to the cause. May I venture to ask the name

of the fair temptress?"

"Excuse me. You will learn the secret in due time."

"He shall learn it now," interposed Monica. "I do not blush to own

that I am the temptress. I am proud of my Jemmy's devotion--proud,

also, of having gained the prince so important a recruit."

"You may well be proud of Jemmy, Monica," said Constance. "He has many

noble qualities and cannot fail to distinguish himself."

"He is as brave as he is gentle," said Monica--"a veritable preux et

hardi chevalier, and will live or die like a hero."

"You are an enthusiastic girl," said Constance.

"In my place you would be just as enthusiastic, Constance," rejoined

the other.

Atherton listened with a beating heart to this discourse, which was

well calculated to stir his feelings.

Just then, however, an interruption was offered by the entrance of Sir

Richard Rawcliffe.

"Very glad to see you, sir," cried the baronet, shaking hands with

Atherton. "I perceive you have already made the acquaintance of my

daughter and her cousin, Miss Butler, so I needn't introduce you. Are

you aware that my niece is engaged to your friend, Jemmy Dawson?"

"Yes, Mr. Atherton Legh knows all about it, papa," said Constance. "He

has brought you a letter from Dr. Byrom," she added, giving it to him.

"Excuse me," said Sir Richard, opening the note.

As he hastily scanned its contents, his countenance fell.

"Has something gone wrong, papa?" cried Constance, uneasily.

"I am threatened with arrest for treasonable practices," replied Sir

Richard. "Dr. Byrom counsels immediate flight, or concealment. But

where am I to fly?--where conceal myself?" he added, looking quite

bewildered.

"You had better leave the inn at once, papa," said Constance, who,

though greatly alarmed, had not lost her presence of mind.

At this moment, a noise was heard outside that increased the

uneasiness of the party.

CHAPTER XI.

THE BOROUGHREEVE OF MANCHESTER.

Situated in the front of the house, the room commanded the

market-place. Atherton rushed to the window to ascertain what was

taking place, and was followed by the baronet.

"Do not show yourself, Sir Richard," cried the young man, motioning

him to keep back. "The chief magistrates are outside--Mr. Fielden, the

boroughreeve, and Mr. Walley and Mr. Fowden, the constables. They have

a posse of peace-officers with them."

"They are come to arrest me!" exclaimed Sir Richard.

"Save yourself, papa!--save yourself!" cried Constance. "Not a moment

is to be lost."

Her exhortations were seconded by Monica and Atherton, but Sir Richard

did not move, and looked quite stupefied.

"'Tis too late!" cried Atherton. "I hear them on the stairs."

As he spoke the door burst open, and Diggles rushed in--his looks

betokening great alarm.

"The magistrates are here, Sir Richard, and their purpose is to arrest

you. Flight is impossible. Every exit from the house is guarded. I

could not warn you before."

"If you have any letters or papers that might compromise you, papa,

give them to me," said Constance.

Sir Richard hesitated for a moment, and then produced a packet,

saying, as he gave it to her, "I confide this to you. Take every care

of it."

She had just concealed the packet when the magistrates entered the

room. The officers who followed them stationed themselves outside the

door.

Mr. John Fielden, the boroughreeve, who preceded the two constables,

was a man of very gentleman-like appearance and deportment. After

saluting the baronet, who advanced a few steps to meet him, he said,

in accents that were not devoid of sympathy--

"I have a very unpleasant duty to discharge, Sir Richard, but I must

fulfil it. In the king's name I arrest you for treasonable practices."

"Of what treasonable practices am I accused, sir?" demanded the

baronet, who had now gained his composure.

"You are charged with wickedly and traitorously conspiring to change

and subvert the rule and government of this kingdom; with seeking to

depose our sovereign lord the king of his title, honour, and royal

state; and with seeking to raise and exalt the person pretending to

be, and taking upon himself the style and title of King of England, by

the name of James the Third, to the imperial rule and government of

this kingdom."

"What more, sir?" said Sir Richard.

"You are charged with falsely and traitorously inciting certain of his

Majesty's faithful subjects to rebellion; and with striving to raise

recruits for the son of the Popish Pretender to the throne, who is now

waging war against his Majesty King George the Second."

"I deny the charges," rejoined the baronet, sternly.

"I trust you can disprove them, Sir Richard," said the boroughreeve.

"To-morrow your examination will take place, and, in the meantime, you

will be lodged in the Old Bailey."

"Lodged in a prison!" exclaimed Constance, indignantly.

"It must be," said the boroughreeve. "I have no option. But I promise

you Sir Richard shall undergo no hardship. His imprisonment, I hope,

may be brief."

"I thank you for your consideration, sir," said the baronet. "May I be

allowed a few minutes to prepare?"

"I am sorry I cannot grant the request, Sir Richard."

"Then farewell, my dear child!--farewell, Monica!" cried the baronet,

tenderly embracing them. "My captivity will not be long," he added, in

a low voice to his daughter. "I shall be set at liberty on the

prince's arrival--if not before."

Constance maintained a show of firmness which she did not feel, but

Monica was much moved, and could not repress her tears.

After bidding adieu to Atherton, Sir Richard signified to the

boroughreeve that he was ready to attend him, and passed out.

As he did so, the officers took charge of him, and the door was shut.

Constance's courage then entirely forsook her, and uttering a cry, she

sank into a chair. Monica strove to comfort her--but in vain.

"I shall go distracted," she cried. "I cannot bear the thought that

papa should be imprisoned."

"Make yourself easy on that score, Miss Rawcliffe," said Atherton.

"Imprisoned he shall not be. I will undertake to rescue him."

"You!" she exclaimed, gazing at him through her streaming eyes. "If

you could save him this indignity, I should be for ever beholden to

you. But no!--you must not attempt it. The risk is too great."

"I care not for the risk," cried Atherton. "I will do it. You shall

soon learn that your father is free."

And he rushed out of the room.

"A brave young man," cried Monica. "He has all my Jemmy's spirit. I

feel sure he will accomplish what he has undertaken."

"I hope no harm will befall him," said Constance.

Shortly afterwards a great disturbance was heard in the market-place,

and flying to the windows, they witnessed a very exciting scene.

CHAPTER XII.

THE RESCUE.

The visit of the boroughreeve and constables to the Bull's Head

attracted a considerable crowd to the market-place--it being rumoured

that the magistrates were about to arrest an important Jacobite

gentleman.

A political arrest at this juncture, when the town was in such an

inflamed state, seemed to most persons, whatever their opinions might

be, an exceedingly ill-advised step, and the magistrates were much

blamed for taking it.

Murmurs were heard, and some manifestations of sympathy with the

luckless Jacobite would undoubtedly have been made by the assemblage

had they not been kept in awe by the strong body of constables drawn

up in front of the inn.

As might be expected, the lower orders predominated in the concourse,

but there were some persons of a superior class present, who had been

brought thither by curiosity. The crowd momently increased, until the

market-place, which was not very spacious, was more than half full,

while the disposition to tumult became more apparent as the numbers

grew.

At length a large old-fashioned coach was seen to issue from the

entrance of the court-yard, and it was at once conjectured that the

prisoner was inside the vehicle, from the fact that a constable was

seated on the box beside the coachman, while half a dozen officers

marched in front, to clear a passage through the throng.

But this could not be accomplished without the liberal use of staves,

and the progress of the coach was necessarily slow. Groans, hootings,

and angry exclamations arose from the crowd, but these were directed

against the constables and not at the prisoner, who could be seen

through the windows of the coach. Sir Richard was recognised by some

of the nearest spectators, and his name being called out to those

further off, it speedily became known to the whole assemblage, and the

noise increased.

At this moment Atherton Legh rushed from the door of the inn and

shouted in a loud voice, "A rescue!--a rescue!"

The cry thus raised was echoed by a hundred voices, and in another

minute all was confusion.

"A rescue!--a rescue!" resounded on all sides. The coachman tried to

extricate himself from the throng, but the heads of the horses being

seized, he could not move on.

The constables endeavoured to get near the coach, as well to guard the

prisoner as to protect the magistrates, who were inside the roomy

vehicle with him.

But Atherton, who was remarkably athletic, snatched a truncheon from

one of them, and laying about him vigorously with this weapon, and

being supported by the crowd, soon forced his way to the door, and was

about to pull it open, when the boroughreeve thrust his head through

the window, and called out to him to forbear.

"Beware how you violate the law, young man," cried Mr. Fielden, in a

firm and authoritative voice, that showed he was not daunted. "You

must be aware that in constituting yourself the leader of a riotous

mob, and attempting to rescue a prisoner, you are committing a very

grave offence. Desist, while there is yet time. You are known to me

and my brother magistrates."

"We do not intend you any personal injury, Mr. Fielden--nor do we mean

to injure your brother magistrates," rejoined Atherton, resolutely.

"But we are determined to liberate Sir Richard Rawcliffe. Set him

free, and there will be an end to the disturbance. You must plainly

perceive, sir, that resistance would be useless."

While this was going on, the band of desperadoes, already alluded to,

had hurried back to the market-place, and now came up flourishing

their bludgeons, and shouting, "Down with the Presbyterians!" "Down

with the Hanoverians!" And some of them even went so far as to add

"Down with King George!"

These shouts were echoed by the greater part of the concourse, which

had now become very turbulent and excited.

Mr. Fielden called to the constables to keep back the mob, and move

on, but the officers were utterly powerless to obey him. If a riot

commenced, there was no saying where it would end; so, addressing a

final remonstrance to Atherton, which proved as ineffectual as all he

had said before, the boroughreeve withdrew from the window.

Atherton then opened the coach door, and told Sir Richard, who had

been anxiously watching the course of events, that he was free.

On this the baronet arose, and bade a polite adieu to the magistrates,

who made no attempt to prevent his departure.

As Sir Richard came forth and stood for a short space on the step of

the carriage, so that he could be seen by all the assemblage, a

deafening and triumphant shout arose.

"I thank you, my good friends, for delivering me," vociferated the

baronet. "I have been illegally arrested. I am guilty of no crime. God

bless the king!"

"Which king?" cried several voices, amid loud laughter and applause.

"Choose for yourselves!" responded Sir Richard. "You have rendered me

a great service; but if you would serve me still more, and also serve

the good cause which I represent, you will retire quietly. Bide your

time. 'Twill soon come."

This short harangue was greeted by a loud cheer, amid which the

baronet descended, and shook hands heartily with Atherton, who was

standing near him.

"I owe my deliverance to you," he said; "and be sure I shall ever feel

grateful."

Just then a rush was made towards them by the constables, who were,

however, kept back by the crowd.

"Meddle not with us, and we won't meddle with you," cried Atherton.

Prudently acting upon the advice, the constables kept quiet.

Every facility for escape was afforded Sir Richard by the concourse. A

narrow lane was opened for him, through which he passed, accompanied

by Atherton.

Without pausing to consider whither they were going, they hurried on,

till they reached Smithy Doer--a narrow street, so designated, and

leading from the bottom of the market-place, in the direction of

Salford Bridge.

Feeling secure, they then stopped to hold a brief consultation.

"It won't do for me to return to the inn," observed Sir Richard. "Nor

is it necessary I should return thither. My daughter and her cousin

are in no danger, and I shall easily find some means of communicating

with them. They will know I am safe."

"Were I able to do so, I would gladly take a message from you to Miss

Rawcliffe, Sir Richard," said Atherton. "But I am now in as much

danger as yourself. I am known to the magistrates, and they will

certainly send the officers in search of me."

"You shall run no more risk on my account," said Sir Richard. "My

daughter is so courageous that she will feel no alarm when she learns

I have escaped. You must find a hiding-place till the prince arrives

in Manchester, and then all will be right. If I could procure a horse,

I would ride on to Preston. I have a couple of hunters in the stables

at the Bull's Head, but they are useless to me now."

As he spoke, a young man was seen approaching them, mounted on a

strong roadster. Both recognised the horseman, who was no other than

Jemmy Dawson, of whom mention has already been made.

A very handsome young fellow was Jemmy Dawson--tall, rather slightly

built, but extremely well made, and looking to advantage in the

saddle.

On this occasion Jemmy wore a green cloth riding-dress, made in the

fashion of the time, with immense cuffs and ample skirts; the coat

being laced with silver, and having silver buttons. His cocked hat

surmounted a light bob peruke. He had a sword by his side, and carried

a riding-whip in his hand.

On descrying Sir Richard, he instantly accelerated his pace, and no

sooner learnt how the baronet was circumstanced than he jumped down,

and offered him his horse.

Sir Richard unhesitatingly sprang into the saddle which the other had

just quitted.

"Here is the whip," said Jemmy, handing it to him. "But the horse

needs neither whip nor spur, as you will find, Sir Richard. He will

soon take you to Preston."

"I hope to bring him back safe and sound, Jemmy," said the baronet.

"But if aught happens, you shall have my favourite hunter in exchange.

As soon as the crowd in the market-place has dispersed, go to the

Bull's Head, and let the girls know how well you have mounted me, and

whither I am gone."

Addressing a few parting words to Atherton, he then dashed off,

clattering over the stones as he shaped his course towards Salford

Bridge.

"I envy you your good fortune, Atherton," said Jemmy, as they were

left together. "The part you have played belonged of right to me, but

I should not have performed it half so well. I wish you could go back

with me to receive Constance Rawcliffe's thanks for the service you

have rendered her father; but that must not be. Where shall I find

you?"

"I know not, for I cannot return to my lodgings. You will hear of me

at Tom Syddall's. He will help me to a hiding-place."

"Ay, that he will. Our Jacobite barber is the trustiest fellow in

Manchester. You will be perfectly safe with him. But take care how you

enter his shop. 'Tis not unlikely you may be watched. We must not have

another arrest."

They then separated--Atherton proceeding quickly towards the bridge,

not far from which the barber's shop was situated, while Jemmy Dawson

mingled with the crowd in the market-place. The magistrates were gone,

but the constables blocked up the approaches to the Bull's Head.

However, they readily allowed him to enter the inn.

CHAPTER XIII.

CONSTANCE MAKES A DISCOVERY.

From the deep bay-windows of the old inn Constance and Monica

witnessed all that had occurred, and were both filled with admiration

at the gallantry and spirit displayed by Atherton.

Miss Rawcliffe especially was struck by the young man's courageous

deportment as he confronted the boroughreeve, and without reflecting

that he was violating the law, saw in him only her father's deliverer.

"Look, Monica!" she cried. "Has he not a noble expression of

countenance? He is taller than any of those around him, and seems able

to cope with half a dozen such varlets as have beset him."

"He has certainly shown himself more than a match for the constables,

if you mean to describe them as 'varlets,'" rejoined Monica.

"They did not dare to lay hands upon him," cried Constance. "But see,

papa is coming out of the coach, and is about to address the

assemblage. Let us open the window to hear what he says."

This was done, and they both waved their handkerchiefs to Sir Richard

when he concluded his harangue.

Atherton looked up at the moment, and received a similar greeting.

Constance's eloquent glances and approving smiles more than repaid him

for what he had done.

From their position the two damsels could discern all that

subsequently took place. They beheld Sir Richard and the gallant youth

who had rescued him pass safely through the crowd, and disappear at

the lower end of the market-place.

Then feeling satisfied that the fugitives were safe, they retired from

the window, nor did they look out again, though the shouting and

tumult still continued, till Jemmy Dawson made his appearance. Both

were delighted to see him.

"Oh, I am so glad you are come, Jemmy!" cried Monica. "What is going

on? I hope there won't be a riot?"

"Have you seen papa and Mr. Atherton Legh?" asked Constance.

"Yes, I have seen them both; and I am happy to be able to relieve your

anxiety respecting Sir Richard. He is out of all danger. By this time

I trust he is a mile or two on the road to Preston. I have provided

him with a horse."

"Heaven be thanked!" she exclaimed. "But what of young Atherton Legh?

I hope there is no chance of his falling into the hands of the enemy.

I should never forgive myself if anything were to happen to him, for I

feel that I incited him to this hazardous attempt."

"No doubt you did, Constance," observed Monica.

"You need not make yourself uneasy about him," said Jemmy. "He will

easily find a secure retreat till the prince appears."

There was a moment's pause, during which the lovers exchanged tender

glances, and Constance appeared preoccupied.

"Who is Atherton Legh?" she inquired, at length. "I begin to feel

interested about him."

"I would rather you didn't ask me the question," replied Jemmy. "I

can't answer it very readily. However, I will tell you all I know

about him."

And he proceeded to relate such particulars of the young man's history

as the reader is already acquainted with.

Constance listened with great interest.

"It appears, then, from what you say, that he is dependent upon a

guardian whom he has never seen, and of whose very name he is

ignorant."

"That is so," replied Jemmy. "But I am convinced he is a gentleman

born."

"The mystery attaching to his birth does not lessen my interest in

him," said Constance.

"I should be surprised if it did," observed Monica. "You can give him

any rank you please. I am sorry to disturb your romantic ideas

respecting him, but you must recollect he has been an apprentice to a

Manchester merchant, and has only just served his time."

"His career now may be wholly changed, and he may never embark in

trade," said Constance. "But if he were to do so I cannot see that he

would be degraded, any more than he is degraded by having been an

apprentice."

"Cadets of our best Lancashire and Cheshire families are constantly

apprenticed, so there is nothing in that," remarked Jemmy. "I repeat

my conviction that Atherton is a gentleman born. Dr. Byrom is of the

same opinion."

"Dr. Byrom may be influenced by partiality. I fancy he would like the

young man as a son-in-law," said Monica. "Beppy Byrom certainly would

not object to the arrangement," she added, with a significant smile

that conveyed a good deal.

"Is Beppy Byrom pretty?" asked Constance.

"Decidedly so--one of the prettiest girls in Manchester," rejoined

Monica.

"And is Mr. Atherton Legh insensible to her attractions?" inquired

Constance, as carelessly as she could.

"That I can't pretend to say," returned her cousin. "But I should

scarcely think he can be so."

"At all events, he pays her very little attention," remarked Jemmy.

Constance cast down her magnificent eyes, and her countenance assumed

a thoughtful expression that seemed to heighten its beauty.

While she remained thus preoccupied, Monica and her lover moved

towards the window and looked out, or appeared to be looking out, for

it is highly probable they only saw each other.

Presently Constance arose, and saying she desired to be alone for a

few minutes, left them together.

Proceeding to her own chamber, she sat down and began to review as

calmly as she could the strange and hurried events of the morning, in

which Atherton Legh had played a conspicuous part, and though the rest

of the picture presented to her mental gaze appeared somewhat

confused, his image rose distinctly before her.

The young man's singular story, as related by Jemmy Dawson, had

greatly stimulated her curiosity, and she indulged in many idle

fancies respecting him--such as will flash through a young girl's

brain--sometimes endeavouring to account for the mystery of his birth

in one way, sometimes in another, but always feeling sure he was

well-born.

"If any one ever proclaimed himself a gentleman by look and manner, it

is Atherton Legh," she thought. "And as to his courage it is

indisputable. But I have been thinking only of this young man all the

time," she reflected, with a feeling of self-reproach, "when I ought

to have been thinking of papa. I ought to have locked up the packet of

important papers that he confided to me before his arrest. I will

repair my neglect at once."

With this resolve she arose, and taking out the packet was about to

place it in her writing-case, when a letter fell to the ground.

The letter was partly open, and a name caught her eye that made her

start.

The impulse to glance at the contents of the letter was irresistible,

and she found, to her infinite surprise, that the communication

related to Atherton Legh, and was addressed by a Manchester banker to

Sir Richard Rawcliffe, leaving no doubt whatever on her mind that her

father was the young man's mysterious guardian.

In fact, Mr. Marriott, the banker in question, stated that, in

compliance with Sir Richard's order, he had paid a certain sum to Mr.

Atherton Legh, and had also delivered the letter enclosed by the

baronet to the young man.

Astonishment at the discovery almost took away her breath, and she

remained gazing at the letter as if doubting whether she had read it

aright, till it dropped from her hands.

"My father Atherton's guardian!" she exclaimed. "How comes it he has

never made the slightest allusion to his ward? Why have I been kept so

completely in the dark? Till I came to Manchester last night I had

never heard there was such a person as Atherton Legh. Chance seems to

have revealed the secret to me. Yet it must have been something more

than chance. Otherwise, the letter could never have fallen into my

hands at this particular juncture. But what have I discovered? Only

that my father is Atherton's mysterious guardian--nothing respecting

the young man's parentage. That is the real secret which I fear will

never be cleared up by my father--even if I venture to question him.

Let me reflect. The reason why this young man has been brought up thus

must be that he belongs to some old Jacobite family, the chief members

of which have been banished. That would account for all. My father

corresponds with several important persons who were engaged in the

last rebellion, and are now abroad. I need not seek further for an

explanation--yet I am not altogether satisfied. I must not breathe a

word to Monica of the singular discovery I have made, for the secret,

I feel, would not be safe with her. But methinks my father might have

trusted me. Till I see him again, my lips shall be sealed--even to

Atherton, should I happen to meet him. Doubtless these letters," she

continued, taking up the packet, and examining it, "would afford me

full information respecting the young man, but, though strongly

tempted, I will read nothing more, without my father's sanction."

She then replaced the letter she had dropped with the others, and had

just locked up the packet in a small valise, when her cousin came in

quest of her.

CHAPTER XIV.

ST. ANN'S SQUARE.

"The crowd in the market-place has dispersed, and all seems quiet,"

said Monica. "Shall we take an airing in St. Ann's Square? Jemmy will

escort us. 'Tis a fine day--as fine a day, at least, as one can expect

in November."

Constance assented, and they forthwith prepared for a walk--each

arraying herself in a black hood and scarf, and each taking a large

fan with her, though the necessity for such an article at that late

season of the year did not seem very obvious. But at the period of

which we treat, a woman, with any pretension to mode, had always a fan

dangling from her wrist.

Attended by Jemmy Dawson, who was looked upon as one of the beaux of

the town, they sallied forth, and passing the Exchange, where a couple

of porters standing in the doorway were the only persons to be seen,

they took their way through a narrow alley, called Acres Court, filled

with small shops, and leading from the back of the Exchange to the

square.

Usually, Acres Court was crowded, but no one was to be seen there now,

and the shops were shut.

Not many years previous to the date of our history, St. Ann's Square

was an open field--Acres Field being its designation.

The area was tolerably spacious--the houses surrounding it being some

three or four stories high, plain and formal in appearance, with small

windows, large doorways, and heavy wooden balustrades, meant to be

ornamental, at the top. Most of them were private residences.

On either side of the square was a row of young plane trees. At the

further end stood the church, of the architectural beauty of which we

cannot say much; but it had its admirers in those days, and perhaps

may have admirers in our own, for it still stands where it did. In

fact, the square retains a good deal of its original appearance.

Here the beau monde of the town was wont to congregate in the middle

of the last century--the ladies in their hoop petticoats, balloon-like

sacques, and high-heeled shoes, with powder in their locks, and

patches on their cheeks; and the gentlemen in laced coats of divers

colours, cocked hats, and periwigs, ruffles at the wrist, and

solitaires round the throat, sword by the side, and clouded cane in

hand. Here they met to criticise each other and talk scandal, in

imitation of the fine folks to be seen on the Mall at St. James's.

But none of these triflers appeared in St. Ann's Square when Miss

Rawcliffe and her companions entered it. Only one young lady, attended

by a couple of clergymen, could be descried pacing to and fro on the

broad pavement.

In this damsel Monica at once recognised Beppy Byrom, but she made no

remark on the subject to Constance, and stopped Jemmy, who was about

to blab.

Presently, Beppy turned and advanced towards them, and then Constance

could not fail to be struck by her good looks, and inquired who she

was?

"Can't you guess?" cried Monica.

"Is it Beppy Byrom?" said Constance, colouring.

Monica nodded. "What do you think of her?"

Before a reply could be made, Beppy came up, and an introduction took

place. Beppy and Constance scrutinised each other with a rapid glance.

But no fault could be detected on either side.

"Allow me to congratulate you on Sir Richard's escape, Miss

Rawcliffe," said Beppy. "Papa sent a warning letter to him, as no

doubt you know, but Sir Richard did not receive it in time to avoid

the arrest. How courageously Mr. Atherton Legh seems to have behaved

on the occasion."

"Yes, papa owes his deliverance entirely to Mr. Legh," rejoined

Constance. "We have good reason to feel grateful to him."

"'Tis perhaps a superfluous offer," said Beppy. "But since Sir Richard

has been compelled to fly, can we be of any service to you? Our house

is roomy, and we can accommodate you without the slightest

inconvenience."

"You are extremely kind," said Constance. "I shall probably remain at

the inn; but if I do move, it will be to my Aunt Butler's."

"Yes, mamma would be hurt if my Cousin Constance did not come to her,"

interposed Monica. "We are going to her presently. She is out of the

way of these disturbances, and has probably never heard of them."

"Your mamma, I believe, is a great invalid, Miss Butler?" remarked

Beppy. "I have heard Dr. Deacon speak of her."

"Yes, she rarely leaves the house. But she has a most capital

nurse--so that I can leave her without the slightest apprehension."

"That is fortunate," said Beppy. "I hope you will soon have good

tidings of Sir Richard, Miss Rawcliffe?"

"I don't expect to hear anything of him till he re-appears with the

prince," replied Constance, in a low tone. "I am under no alarm about

him."

"Well, perhaps, the person in greatest jeopardy is Atherton Legh,"

said Beppy. "I should like to feel quite sure he is safe."

"Then take the assurance from me, Miss Byrom," observed Jemmy.

"Do tell me where he is?" she asked.

"He has taken refuge with Tom Syddall," was the reply, in an

undertone.

"She takes a deep interest in him," thought Constance.

The two clergymen, who were no other than Mr. Nichols and Mr.

Lewthwaite, and who had stood aside during this discourse, now came

forward, and were presented to Miss Rawcliffe.

The conversation then became general, and was proceeding pleasantly

enough, when a very alarming sound put a sudden stop to it.

It was a fire-bell. And the clangour evidently came from the tower of

the collegiate church.

The conversation instantly ceased, as we have said, and those who had

been engaged in it glanced at each other uneasily.

"Heaven preserve us!" ejaculated Mr. Lewthwaite. "With how many

plagues is this unfortunate town to be visited? Are we to have a

conflagration in addition to the other calamities by which we are

menaced?"

Meantime, the clangour increased in violence, and shouts of "Fire!

fire!" resounded in all directions.

But the alarm of the party was considerably heightened when another

fire-bell began to ring--this time close to them.

From the tower of St. Ann's Church the warning sounds now

came--stunning and terrifying those who listened to them; and bringing

forth many of the occupants of the houses in the square.

"It must be a great fire!--perhaps the work of an incendiary!" cried

Mr. Nichols. "I will not attribute the mischief to Jacobite plotters,

but I fear it will turn out that they are the instigators of it."

"It looks suspicious, I must own," remarked Mr. Lewthwaite.

"You have no warrant for these observations, gentlemen," said Jemmy,

indignantly.

Still the fire-bells rang on with undiminished fury, and numbers of

people were seen running across the square--shouting loudly as they

hurried along.

"Where is the fire?" cried Beppy.

"It must be in the neighbourhood of the collegiate church," replied

Mr. Lewthwaite. "All the houses are old in that quarter, and built of

timber. Half the town will be consumed. That will be lamentable, but

it will not be surprising, since the inhabitants have assuredly called

down a judgment upon their heads from their propensity to rebellion."

Jemmy Dawson, who had great difficulty in controlling his anger, was

about to make a sharp rejoinder to this speech, when a look from

Monica checked him.

Just then several men ran past, and he hailed one of them, who

stopped.

"Can you tell me where the fire is?" he asked.

"There be no fire, sir," replied the man, with a grin.

"No fire!" exclaimed Jemmy, astounded. "Why, then, are the fire-bells

being rung thus loudly?"

"To collect a mob, if yo mun know," rejoined the man.

"For what purpose?" demanded Jemmy.

"Rebellion! rebellion! Can you doubt it?" said Mr. Lewthwaite.

"Ay, yo may ca' it rebellion an yo like, but this be the plain truth,"

said the man. "T' magistrates ha' just gi'en orders that Salford

Bridge shan be blowed up to hinder t' Pretender, as yo ca' him, or t'

prince, as we ca' him, fro' comin' into t' town, wi' his army. Now we

Jacobites won't let the bridge be meddled with, so we han had the

fire-bells rung to rouse the townsfolk."

"And you mean to resist the authorities?" cried Mr. Lewthwaite.

"Ay, that we do," rejoined the man, defiantly. "They shan't move a

stone of the bridge."

"Beware what you do! You are rebelling against your lawful sovereign

as represented by the magistrates. Forget not that rebellion provokes

the Lord's anger, and will bring down his vengeance upon you."

"I canna bide to listen to a sarmon just now," rejoined the man,

hurrying off.

"Can't we obtain a sight of what is going on at the bridge from the

banks of the river?" said Constance.

"Yes, I will take you to a spot that commands a complete view of the

bridge," rejoined Jemmy; "where you can see all that is to be seen,

and yet not run the slightest risk."

"Shall we go, Monica?" said Constance.

"By all means," cried the other.

"I should like to make one of the party," said Beppy, who had just

recollected that Tom Syddall's shop, where she knew Atherton had taken

refuge, adjoined the bridge, and she thought it almost certain the

young man would take part in this new disturbance.

"I advise you not to go, Miss Byrom," said Mr. Lewthwaite. "Neither

Mr. Nichols nor myself can sanction such a lawless proceeding by our

presence."

"As you please," said Beppy.

"Pray come with us, Miss Byrom," cried Jemmy. "I will engage that no

harm shall befall you."

So they set off, leaving the two curates behind, both looking very

much disconcerted.

CHAPTER XV.

HOW SALFORD HOUSE WAS SAVED FROM DESTRUCTION.

By this time the fire-bells had ceased to ring, but the effect had

been produced, and a great crowd, much more excited than that which

had previously assembled in the market-place, was collected in the

immediate neighbourhood of the bridge.

Salford Bridge, which must have been a couple of centuries old at the

least, was strongly built of stone, and had several narrow-pointed

arches, strengthened by enormous piers. These arches almost choked up

the course of the river. Only a single carriage could cross the bridge

at a time, but there were deep angular recesses in which

foot-passengers could take refuge. It will be seen at once that such a

structure could be stoutly defended against a force approaching from

Salford, though it was commanded by the precipitous banks on the

Manchester side. Moreover, the Irwell was here of considerable depth.

Before commencing operations, the magistrates, who were not without

apprehension of a tumult, stopped all traffic across the bridge, and

placed a strong guard at either extremity, to protect the workmen and

engineers from any hindrance on the part of the populace.

A couple of large caissons, containing, it was supposed, a sufficient

quantity of powder to overthrow the solid pier, had been sunk under

the central arch of the bridge. Above the spot, in a boat, sat two

engineers ready to fire the powder-chests when the signal should be

given.

But the preparations had been watched by two daring individuals, who

were determined to prevent them. One of these persons, who was no

other than Tom Syddall, the Jacobite barber--a very active, resolute

little fellow--ran up to the collegiate church, which was at no great

distance from his shop, and soon found the man of whom he was in

search--Isaac Clegg, the beadle.

Now Isaac being a Jacobite, like himself, was easily persuaded to ring

the fire-bell; and the alarm being thus given, a mob was quickly

raised. But no effectual opposition could be offered--the approach to

the bridge from Smithy Bank being strongly barricaded. Behind the

barricades stood the constables, who laughed at the mob, and set them

at defiance.

"The boroughreeve will blow up the bridge in spite of you," they

cried.

"If he does, he'll repent it," answered several angry voices from the

crowd, which rapidly increased in number, and presented a very

formidable appearance.

Already it had been joined by the desperadoes armed with bludgeons,

who had figured in the previous disturbance in the market-place, and

were quite ready for more mischief.

The usual Jacobite cries were heard, but these were now varied by

"Down with the boroughreeve!" "Down with the constables!"

Mr. Fielden himself was on the bridge, with his brother magistrates,

superintending the operations, and irritated by the insolent shouts of

the mob, he came forward to address them.

For a few minutes they would not listen to him, but at last he

obtained a hearing.

"Go home quietly," he cried, in a loud voice. "Go home like loyal and

peaceful subjects of the king. We mean to destroy the bridge to

prevent the entrance of the rebels."

On this there was a terrific shout, accompanied by groans, yells, and

hootings.

"Down with Fielden!--down with Fielden!" cried a hundred voices. "He

shan't do it!"

"Mark my words," vociferated the boroughreeve, who remained perfectly

unmoved amid the storm, "in five minutes from this time the central

arch will be blown up."

"We will prevent it," roared the mob, shaking their hands at him.

"You can't prevent it," rejoined the boroughreeve, contemptuously.

"Two large boxes filled with gunpowder are sunk beneath the arch, and

on a signal from me will be fired."

Surprise kept the mob quiet for a moment, and before another outburst

could take place, the boroughreeve had turned on his heel, and marched

off.

Meantime, the three young damsels, under the careful guidance of Jemmy

Dawson, had made their way, without experiencing any annoyance, to the

precipitous rock on which Atherton Legh had stood, while contemplating

the same scene on the previous night.

From this lofty position, as the reader is aware, the bridge was

completely commanded. Another person was on the rock when they reached

it. This was Isaac Clegg, the beadle, who was well known to Beppy. He

instantly made way for her and her friends, and proved useful in

giving them some necessary information.

He told them exactly what was going on on the bridge--explained how

the angry mob was kept back by the barricade--pointed out the

boroughreeve--and finally drew their attention to the engineers in the

boat beneath the arch ready to fire the caissons.

As will readily be supposed, it was this part of the singular scene

that excited the greatest interest among the spectators assembled on

the rock. But, shortly afterwards, their interest was intensified to

the highest degree.

A boat was suddenly seen on the river, about a bow-shot above the

bridge. It must have been concealed somewhere, for its appearance took

all the beholders by surprise. The boat was rowed by two men, who

seemed to have disguised themselves, for they were strangely muffled

up. Plying their oars vigorously, they came down the stream with great

swiftness.

From the course taken it would almost seem as if they were making for

the central arch, beneath which the engineers were posted. Evidently

the engineers thought so, for they stood up in their boat and shouted

lustily to the others to keep off. But the two oarsmen held on their

course, and even increased their speed.

Though the two men had disguised themselves, they did not altogether

escape detection, for as they dashed past the rock on which Constance

and the others were stationed, the foremost oarsman momentarily turned

his head in that direction, and disclosed the features of Atherton

Legh; while Isaac Clegg declared his conviction that the second

oarsman was no other than Tom Syddall.

"'Tis Tom, I be sartin," said Isaac. "He has put on a different sort

of wig from that he usually wears, and has tied a handkerchief over

his keven-huller, but I'd swear to his nose. What can have induced him

to make this mad attempt?"

It was a moment of breathless suspense, for the purpose of the daring

oarsmen could no longer be doubted. Not only were they anxiously

watched by the spectators on the rock, but the gaze of hundreds was

fixed upon them.

Mingled and contradictory shouts were raised--"Keep off!" "Go on!" But

the latter predominated.

The engineers prepared to receive the shock they could not avert. In

another instant, the boat propelled by all the force the rowers could

exert, dashed into them, and staved in the side of their bark.

No longer any question of blowing up the arch. The engineers were both

precipitated into the river by the collision, and had to swim ashore.

Leaving them, however, to shift for themselves, the two daring oarsmen

continued their rapid course down the stream, amid the deafening

shouts of the crowd on Smithy Bank.

Such excitement was caused by this bold exploit that the mob could no

longer be kept back.

Breaking through the barricade, and driving off the guard, after a

short struggle, they took possession of the bridge--declaring their

fixed determination not to allow it to be damaged. Compelled to beat a

hasty retreat into Salford, the magistrates were glad to escape

without injury.

CHAPTER XVI.

TOM SYDDALL.

For some time the two oarsmen rowed on as swiftly as they could,

fancying they should be pursued, but finding this was not the case,

they began to relax their efforts, and liberated themselves from their

disguises.

When divested of the handkerchief tied round his head, and of some

other coverings concealing the lower part of his visage, Tom Syddall

was fully revealed.

'Twas a physiognomy not easily to be mistaken, owing to the size of

the nose, which, besides being enormous, was singularly formed.

Moreover, Tom's face was hatchet-shaped.

He had a great soul in a small body. Though a little fellow, he was

extremely active, and full of spirit--capable, in his own opinion, of

great things. A slight boaster, perhaps, but good-tempered, rarely

taking offence if laughed at. Tom despised his vocation, and declared

he was cut out for a soldier, but he also declared he would never

serve King George--so a barber he remained.

Though there was something ludicrous in his assumption, no one who

knew him doubted that he would fight--and fight manfully, too--for the

Stuarts, should the opportunity ever be offered him.

Ordinarily, Tom Syddall's manner was comic, but he put on a sombre and

tragic expression, when alluding to his father, who was executed for

taking part in the rebellion of 1715--his head being fixed upon a

spike in the market-place. Tom had vowed to avenge his father, and

frequently referred to the oath. Such was Tom Syddall, whose personal

appearance and peculiarities rendered him a noticeable character in

Manchester at the time.

His companion, it is scarcely necessary to say, was Atherton Legh.

As they rested for a moment upon their oars they both laughed

heartily.

"We may be proud of the exploit we have performed," cried Tom. "We

have served the prince, and saved the bridge. Three minutes later and

the arch would have been blown up. The scheme was well-designed, and

well-executed."

"You deserve entire credit both for plan and execution, Tom," rejoined

Atherton.

"Nay, sir," said Syddall with affected modesty. "'Twas a bold and

well-conceived scheme I admit, but I could not have carried it out

without your aid. I trust we may always be successful in our joint

undertakings. With you for a leader I would not shrink from any

enterprise, however hazardous it might appear. I was struck with your

coolness. 'Tis a good sign in a young man."

"Well, I think we are both taking it easily enough, Tom," said

Atherton. "We are loitering here as calmly as if nothing had happened.

However, I don't think any pursuit need be apprehended. The

boroughreeve will have enough to do to look after the mob."

"Ay, that he will," said Syddall. "He has but a very short tenure of

office left. The prince will soon be here, and then all will be

changed. Did you notice those ladies on the rock near the bridge? They

seemed greatly excited, and cheered us."

"Yes, I saw them, and I am glad they saw us, Tom. One of them was Sir

Richard Rawcliffe's daughter. I felt my arm strengthened when I found

she was watching us. I think I could have done twice as much as I

did."

"You did quite enough, sir," observed Syddall, smiling. "But shall we

land, or drop quietly down the river for a mile or two, and then

return by some roundabout road?"

"Let us go on," said Atherton. "I don't think it will be safe to

return just yet."

By this time, though they had not left the bridge much more than

half-a-mile behind, they were completely in the country. On the right

the banks were still high and rocky, narrowing the stream, and

shutting out the view.

But though the modern part of the town extended in this direction, two

or three fields intervened between the houses and the river. On the

left, the banks being low, the eye could range over pleasant meadows

around which the Irwell meandered, forming a charming prospect from

the heights overlooking the wide valley through which it pursued its

winding course.

So nearly complete was the circle described by the river, that the

upper part of the stream was here not very far distant from the lower.

But our object in depicting this locality is to show how wonderfully

it is changed. The meadows just alluded to, intersected by hedgerows,

and with only two or three farm-houses to be seen amidst them, are now

covered with buildings of all kinds--warehouses, mills, and other vast

structures. Bridges now span the river; innumerable houses are reared

upon its banks; and scarce a foot of ground remains unoccupied.

In a word, an immense and populous town has sprung up, covering the

whole area encircled by the Irwell, and the pleasing country scene we

have endeavoured to describe has for ever vanished. Few persons would

imagine that the polluted river was once bright and clear, and its

banks picturesque, and fringed with trees. Yet such was the case

little more than a century ago.

Salford at that time was comprised within very narrow limits, and only

possessed a single street, which communicated with the old bridge. In

Manchester, between the upper part of Deansgate and the river, there

were fields entirely unbuilt upon, and a lane bordered by hedges ran

down through these fields to the quay.

The quay itself was very small, and consisted of a wharf with a house

and warehouse attached to it.

It seems astonishing that a town so important as was Manchester in

1745, should not have had a larger storehouse for goods, but

apparently the merchants were content with it. Barges were then towed

up the river as far as the quay, but not beyond.

As Atherton and his companion rowed slowly down the river, they did

not encounter a single boat till they came in sight of the wharf,

where a barge and a few small craft were moored. They now debated with

themselves whether to land here or go lower down: and at length

decided upon halting, thinking there could be no danger. But they were

mistaken. As they drew near the wharf, three men armed with muskets

suddenly appeared on the deck of the barge, and commanded them to

stop.

"You are prisoners," cried one of these persons. "We have just

received information by a mounted messenger of the occurrence at

Salford Bridge, and we know you to be the men who ran down the

engineers. You are prisoners, I repeat. Attempt to move off and we

will fire upon you."

As the muskets were levelled at their heads from so short a distance,

Atherton and his companion felt that resistance would be useless, so

they surrendered at discretion, and prepared to disembark. Some other

men, who were standing by, took charge of them as they stepped ashore.

CHAPTER XVII.

HOW TOM SYDDALL WAS CARRIED HOME IN TRIUMPH.

In another minute the person who had addressed them from the barge

came up, and Tom Syddall, who now recognised him as Matthew Sharrocks,

the wharf-master, inquired what he meant to do with them.

"Detain you till I learn the magistrates' intentions respecting you,"

replied Sharrocks. "The boroughreeve will be forthwith acquainted with

the capture. The messenger is waiting. Do you deny the offence?"

"No, I glory in the deed," rejoined Syddall."'Tis an action of which

we may be justly proud. We have saved the bridge from destruction at

the risk of our own lives."

"You will be clapped into prison and punished for what you have done,"

said Sharrocks.

"If we should be imprisoned, Sharrocks, which I doubt," rejoined

Syddall, confidently, "the people will deliver us. Know you who I am?"

"Well enough; you are Tom Syddall, the barber," said the other.

"I am the son of that Tom Syddall who approved his devotion to the

royal House of Stuart with his blood."

"Ay, I recollect seeing your father's head stuck up in the

market-place," said Sharrocks. "Take care your own is not set up in

the same spot."

He then marched off to despatch the messenger to the boroughreeve, and

on his return caused the prisoners to be taken to the great

storehouse, from an upper window of which was suspended a flag,

emblazoned with the royal arms.

"I tell you what, Sharrocks," said Syddall, "before two days that flag

will be hauled down."

"I rather think not," rejoined the wharf-master dryly.

Atherton Legh took no part in this discourse, but maintained a

dignified silence.

The prisoners were then shut up in a small room near the entrance of

the storehouse, and a porter armed with a loaded musket was placed as

a sentinel at the door.

However, except for the restraint, they had no reason to complain of

their treatment. A pint of wine was brought them, with which they

regaled themselves, and after drinking a couple of glasses, Tom, who

had become rather downcast, felt his spirits considerably revive.

Knocking at the door, he called out to the porter, "I say, friend, if

not against rules, I should very much like a pipe."

The porter being a good-natured fellow said he would see about it, and

presently returned with a pipe and a paper of tobacco. His wants being

thus supplied, Tom sat down and smoked away very comfortably.

Atherton paid very little attention to him. Truth to say, he was

thinking of Constance Rawcliffe.

Rather more than an hour had elapsed, and Mr. Sharrocks was expecting

an answer from the boroughreeve, when he heard a tumultuous sound in

the lane, already described as leading from the top of Deansgate to

the quay.

Alarmed by this noise, he hurried to the great gate, which he had

previously ordered to be closed, and looking out, perceived a mob,

consisting of some three or four hundred persons, hurrying towards the

spot.

If he had any doubt as to their intentions it would have been

dispelled by hearing that their cry was "Tom Syddall!" Evidently they

were coming to liberate the brave barber.

Hastily shutting and barring the gate, and ordering the porters to

guard it, he flew to the room in which Tom and his companion were

confined, and found the one tranquilly smoking his pipe, as we have

related, and the other seated in a chair opposite him, and plunged in

a reverie.

"Well, Sharrocks," said Tom, blowing a whiff from his mouth, and

looking up quietly at him, "have you come to say that the boroughreeve

has ordered us to be clapped in prison? ha!"

"I have come to set you free, gentlemen," said the wharf-master,

blandly. "You are quite at liberty to depart."

"Ho! ho!" cried Tom. "You have altered your tone, methinks,

Sharrocks."

"I am in no hurry," said Atherton. "I am quite comfortable here."

"But you _must_, and _shall_ go," cried Sharrocks.

"Must! and shall!" echoed Atherton. "Suppose we refuse to stir!--what

then?"

"Yes, what then, Sharrocks?" said Tom, replacing the pipe in his

mouth.

The wharf-master was about to make an angry rejoinder, when a loud

noise outside convinced him that the porters had yielded to the mob,

and thrown open the gates.

"Zounds! they have got into the yard!" he exclaimed.

"Who have got in?" cried Atherton, springing to his feet.

"Your friends, the mob," replied Sharrocks.

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Syddall, jumping up likewise, and waving his pipe

over his head. "I knew the people would come to release us. Hurrah!

hurrah!"

Almost frantic with delight, he ran out into the yard, followed by

Atherton--Sharrocks bringing up the rear.

Already the yard was half-full of people, most of whom were gathered

thickly in front of the storehouse, and the moment they perceived Tom

Syddall and Atherton, they set up a tremendous shout.

But Tom was their especial favourite. Those nearest placed him on the

top of an empty cask, so that he could be seen by the whole

assemblage, and in reply to their prolonged cheers, he thanked them

heartily for coming to deliver him and his companion, telling them

they would soon see the prince in Manchester, and bidding them, in

conclusion, shout for King James the Third and Charles, Prince

Regent--setting them the example himself.

While the yard was ringing with treasonable shouts and outcries, Tom

quitted his post, but he soon reappeared. He had made his way to the

upper room of the building, from the window of which the obnoxious

flag was displayed. Hauling it down, he tore off the silken banner in

sight of the crowd, and replacing it with a white handkerchief,

brought down the rebel flag he had thus improvised, and gave it to one

of the spectators, who carried it about in triumph.

Hitherto the mob had behaved peaceably enough, but they now grew

rather disorderly, and some of them declared they would not go away

empty-handed.

Fearing they might plunder the store-house, which was full of goods of

various kinds, Sharrocks came up to Tom Syddall and besought him to

use his influence with them to depart peaceably.

"I'll try what I can do, Sharrocks," replied Tom. "Though you made

some uncalled-for observations upon me just now, I don't bear any

malice."

"I'm very sorry for what I said, Mr. Syddall," rejoined the

wharf-master, apologetically--"very sorry, indeed."

"Enough. I can afford to be magnanimous, Sharrocks. I forgive the

remarks. But you will find you were wrong, sir--you will find that I

_shall_ avenge my father."

"I have no doubt of it, Mr. Syddall," rejoined Sharrocks. "But in the

meantime, save the storehouse from plunder, and you shall have my good

word with the boroughreeve."

"I don't want your good word, Sharrocks," said Tom, disdainfully.

With Atherton's assistance he then once more mounted the cask, and the

crowd seeing he was about to address them became silent.

"I have a few words to say to you, my friends," he cried, in a voice

that all could hear. "Don't spoil the good work you have done by

committing any excesses. Don't let the Hanoverians and Presbyterians

have the power of casting reproach upon us. Don't disgrace the good

cause. Our royal prince shoots every Highlander who pillages. He won't

shoot any of you, but he'll think better of you if you abstain from

plunder."

The commencement of this address was received with some murmurs, but

these ceased as the speaker went on, and at the close he was loudly

cheered, and it was evident from their altered demeanour that the

crowd intended to follow his advice.

"I am glad to find you mean to behave like good Jacobites and honest

men. Now let us go home quietly, and unless we're assaulted we won't

break the peace."

"We'll carry you home safely," shouted several of the bystanders. "A

chair! a chair! Give us a chair!"

These demands were promptly complied with by Sharrocks, who brought

out a large arm-chair, in which Tom being installed, was immediately

hoisted aloft by four sturdy individuals.

Thus placed, he bowed right and left, in acknowledgement of the cheers

of the assemblage.

Not wishing to take a prominent part in these proceedings, Atherton

had kept aloof, but he now came up to Syddall, and shaking hands with

him, told him in a whisper that he might expect to see him at night.

The brave little Jacobite barber was then borne off in triumph,

surrounded by his friends--a tall man marching before him carrying the

white flag.

The procession took its way up the lane to Deansgate, along which

thoroughfare it slowly moved, its numbers continually increasing as it

went on, while the windows of the houses were thronged with

spectators.

Thus triumphantly was Tom conveyed to his dwelling. Throughout the

whole route no molestation was offered him--the magistrates prudently

abstaining from further interference.

Before quitting him, the crowd promised to come to his succour should

any attempt be made to arrest him.

Atherton did not join the procession, but took a totally different

route.

Leaving the boat with the wharf-master, who volunteered to take care

of it, he caused himself to be ferried across the river, and soon

afterwards entered a path leading across the fields in the direction

of Salford.

He walked along very slowly, being anxious to hold a little

self-communion; and stopped now and then to give free scope to his

reflections.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE MEETING IN THE GARDEN.

From these fields, the town, which was scarcely a mile distant, could

be seen in its full extent. In saying "town," we include Salford, for

no break in the continuity of the houses was distinguishable. The

buildings on either side of the Irwell seemed massed together; and the

bridge was entirely hidden.

It was not a very bright day--we must recollect it was November--but

the lights chanced to be favourable, and brought out certain objects

in a striking manner. For instance, the collegiate church, which

formed almost the central part of the picture, stood out in bold

relief, with its massive tower against a clear sky. A gleam of

sunshine fell upon St. Ann's Church and upon the modern buildings near

it, and Trinity Church in Salford was equally favoured. Other charming

effects were produced, which excited the young man's admiration, and

he remained gazing for some time at the prospect. He then accelerated

his pace, and soon reached the outskirts of Salford.

At the entrance of the main street stood Trinity Church, to which we

have just alluded--a modern pile of no great beauty, but possessing a

lofty tower ornamented with pinnacles, and surmounted by a short

spire. The row of houses on the right side of the street formed

pleasant residences, for they had extensive gardens running down to

the banks of the river.

Opposite the church, but withdrawn from the street, stood an

old-fashioned mansion with a garden in front, surrounded by high

walls. The place had a neglected air. Large gates of wrought iron,

fashioned in various devices, opened upon the garden. Recollecting to

have heard that this old mansion was occupied by Mrs. Butler--Monica's

mother and Constance's aunt--Atherton stopped to look at it, and while

peering through the iron gates, he beheld Miss Rawcliffe herself in

the garden.

She was alone, and the impulse that prompted him to say a few words to

her being too strong to be resisted, he opened the gates and went in.

She had disappeared, but he found her seated in an arbour.

On beholding him she uttered a cry of surprise, and started up. For a

moment the colour deserted her cheek, but the next instant a blush

succeeded.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Atherton Legh," she said. "But how did you

learn I was here?"

"Accident has brought me hither," he replied. "While passing the

garden gates I chanced to see you, and ventured in. If I have been too

bold, I will retire at once."

"Oh, no--pray stay! I am delighted to see you. But you are very

incautious to venture forth. You ought to keep in some place of

concealment. However, let me offer you my meed of admiration. I was

wonderstruck by your last gallant exploit."

"You helped me to accomplish it."

"_I_ helped you--how? I was merely a spectator."

"That was quite sufficient. I felt your eyes were upon me. I fancied I

had your approval."

"I most heartily wished you success," she rejoined, again blushing

deeply. "But I think you are excessively rash. Suppose the caissons

had been fired, you would have been destroyed by the explosion."

"In that case I might have had your sympathy."

"Yes, but my sympathy would have been worth very little. It would not

have brought you to life."

"It would have made death easy."

"With such exalted sentiments, 'tis a pity you did not live in the

days of chivalry."

"If I had I would have maintained the peerless beauty of the dame I

worshipped against all comers."

"Now you are beginning to talk high-flown nonsense, so I must stop

you."

But she did not look offended.

Presently she added, "Do you desire to win distinction? Do you wish to

please me?"

"I desire to please you more than any one on earth, Miss Rawcliffe,"

he rejoined, earnestly. "I will do whatever you ask me."

"Then join the prince. But no! I ought not to extort this pledge from

you. Reflect! reflect!"

"No need of reflection. My decision is made. I will join the

Manchester Regiment."

"Then I will place the sash on your shoulder, and gird on your sword,"

she said.

A fire seemed kindled in the young man's breast by these words.

Casting an impassioned glance at the fair maiden, he prostrated

himself at her feet, and taking her hand, which she did not withhold,

pressed it to his lips.

"I devote myself to you," he said, in a fervent tone.

"And to the good cause?" she cried.

"To the good cause," he rejoined. "But chiefly to you."

Before he could rise from his kneeling posture, Monica and Jemmy

Dawson, who had come forth from the house, approached the arbour, but

seeing how matters stood, they would have retired; but Constance, who

did not exhibit the slightest embarrassment, advanced to meet them.

[Illustration: CONSTANCE RAWCLIFFE GAINS A RECRUIT

Page 78.]

"I have gained another recruit for the prince," she said.

"So I see," replied Monica. "His royal highness could not have a

better officer."

"I am sure not," said Jemmy Dawson.

And embracing his friend, he cried, "I longed for you as a

companion-in-arms, and my desire is gratified. We shall serve

together--conquer together--or die together. Whatever it may be,

apparently our destiny will be the same."

"You are certain of a rich reward," said Atherton. "But I----"

"Live in hope," murmured Constance.

"Not till I have discovered the secret of my birth will I presume to

ask your hand," said the young man.

Constance thought of the packet confided to her by her father--of the

letter she had read--and felt certain the mystery would be soon

unravelled.

Just then Monica interposed.

"Pray come into the house, Mr. Atherton Legh," she said. "Mamma will

be much pleased to see you. We have been extolling you to the skies.

She is a great invalid, and rarely leaves her room, but to-day, for a

wonder, she is downstairs."

Atherton did not require a second bidding, but went with them into the

house.

CHAPTER XIX.

MRS. BUTLER.

In a large, gloomy-looking, plainly-furnished room might be seen a

middle-aged dame, who looked like the superior of a religious

house--inasmuch as she wore a conventual robe of dark stuff, with a

close hood that fell over her shoulders, and a frontlet beneath it

that concealed her locks--blanched by sorrow more than age. From her

girdle hung a rosary. Her figure was thin almost to emaciation, but it

was hidden by her dress; her cheeks were pallid; her eyes deep sunk in

their sockets; but her profile still retained its delicacy and

regularity of outline, and showed she must once have possessed rare

beauty. Her countenance wore a sweet, sad, resigned expression.

Mrs. Butler--for she it was--suffered from great debility, brought on,

not merely by ill-health, but by frequent vigils and fasting. So

feeble was she that she seldom moved beyond a small room, adjoining

her bed-chamber, which she used as an oratory; but on that day she had

been induced by her daughter to come down-stairs.

She was seated in a strong, oaken chair, destitute of a cushion, and

propped up by a pillow, which she deemed too great an indulgence, but

which was absolutely requisite for her support. Her small feet--of

which she had once been vain--rested on a fauteuil. On a little table

beside her lay a book of devotion.

On the opposite side of the fireplace sat a thin, dark-complexioned

man, in age between fifty and sixty, whose black habiliments and full

powdered wig did not indicate that he was a Romish priest. Such,

however, was the case. He was Sir Richard Rawcliffe's confessor,

Father Jerome. At the time when we discover them, the priest was

addressing words of ghostly counsel to the lady, who was listening

attentively to his exhortations.

They were interrupted by the entrance of the party.

As Atherton was conducted towards her, Mrs. Butler essayed to rise,

but being unequal to the effort, would have immediately sunk back if

her daughter had not supported her.

She seemed very much struck by the young man, and could not remove her

gaze from him.

"Who is this, Monica?" she murmured.

"He is the young gentleman, mamma, of whose courage Constance has been

speaking to you in such glowing terms--who so gallantly liberated Sir

Richard from arrest this morning, and subsequently preserved Salford

Bridge from destruction. It is Mr. Atherton Legh. I felt sure you

would like to see him."

"You judged quite right, my dear," Mrs. Butler replied, in her soft,

sweet accents. "I am very glad to see you, sir. Pardon my gazing at

you so fixedly. You bear a strong resemblance to one long since

dead--a near relation of my own. Do you not remark the likeness,

father?" she added to the priest.

"Indeed, madam, I am much struck by it," replied Father Jerome.

"I am sure you mean my uncle, Sir Oswald," observed Constance.

"True. But as Mr. Legh has probably never heard of him, I did not

mention his name."

"I think you have a miniature of my uncle?" said Constance.

"I had one," returned Mrs. Butler. "But I know not what has become of

it."

"Strange! I never saw a portrait of him," remarked Constance. "There

is not one at Rawcliffe. Nor is there a portrait of his beautiful

wife, who did not long survive him."

"There you are mistaken, Miss Rawcliffe," observed Father Jerome.

"Portraits of both are in existence, for I myself have seen them. But

they are locked up in a closet."

"Why should they be locked up?" cried Monica.

"Probably Sir Richard does not care to see them," said her mother,

sighing deeply. "But let us change the subject. We are talking on

family matters that can have no interest to Mr. Atherton Legh."

Atherton would have been pleased if more had been said on the subject,

but he made no remark. Constance was lost in reflection. Many strange

thoughts crossed her mind.

At this juncture Jemmy Dawson interposed.

"You will be glad to learn, madam," he said to Mrs. Butler, "that my

friend Atherton Legh has decided on joining the Manchester Regiment.

Constance has the credit of gaining him as a recruit."

"That a young man of so much spirit as your friend should support the

cause of the Stuarts cannot fail to be highly satisfactory to me, in

common with every zealous Jacobite," said Mrs. Butler. "May success

attend you both! But it is for you, father, to bless them--not for

me."

Thus enjoined, the two young men bent reverently before the priest,

who, extending his hands over them, ejaculated fervently:

"May the Lord of Hosts be with you on the day of battle, and grant you

victory! May you both return in safety and claim your reward!"

To this Mrs. Butler added, with great earnestness and emotion:

"Should Heaven permit them to be vanquished--should they be taken

captive--may they be spared the cruel fate that befel so many, who, in

by-gone days, fought in the same righteous cause, and suffered death

for their loyalty and devotion."

This supplication, uttered in sorrowful tones, produced a powerful

impression upon all the hearers.

"Why have you drawn this sad picture, mamma?" said Monica, half

reproachfully.

"I could not repress my feelings, my child. A terrible scene

perpetually rises before me, and I feel it will haunt me to the last."

"Have you witnessed such a scene, mamma?" cried her daughter,

trembling. "You have never spoken of it to me?"

"I have often wished to do so, but I felt the description would give

you pain. Are you equal to it now, do you think?"

"Yes," she replied, with attempted firmness, but quivering lip.

"And you, Constance?" said Mrs. Butler.

"I can listen to you, aunt," rejoined Constance, in tones that did not

falter.

Before commencing, Mrs. Butler consulted Father Jerome by a glance,

and his counsel to her was conveyed in these words, "Better relieve

your mind, madam."

"I was very young," she said, "younger than you, Monica, when the

greatest sorrow of my life occurred. At the time of the former rising

in 1715, my faith was plighted to one who held a command in the

insurgent army. I will not breathe his name, but he belonged to a

noble family that had made great sacrifices for King James the Second,

and was prepared to make equal sacrifices for the Chevalier de St.

George. The brave and noble youth to whom I was betrothed was sanguine

of success, and I had no misgivings. I was with him at Preston during

the battle, and when the capitulation took place, he confided me to a

friend whom he loved as a brother, saying to him, 'Should my life be

taken by our bloodthirsty foes, as I have reason to fear it will, be

to her what I would have been. Regard her as my widow--wed her.' His

friend gave the promise he required, and he kept his word."

Here she paused for a short time, while Monica and Constance--neither

of whom had ever heard of this singular promise, or of the betrothal

that preceded it--looked at each other.

Meanwhile, a change came over Mrs. Butler's countenance--the

expression being that of horror.

Her lips were slightly opened, her large dark eyes dilated, and though

they were fixed on vacancy, it was easy to perceive that a fearful

vision was rising before her.

"Ay, there it is," she cried, in tones and with a look that froze the

blood of her hearers--"there is the scaffold!" stretching out her

hand, as if pointing to some object. "'Tis there, as I beheld it on

that fatal morn on Tower Hill. 'Tis draped in black. The block is

there, the axe, the coffin, the executioner. A vast concourse is

assembled--and what an expression is in their faces! But where is he?

I see him not. Ah! now he steps upon the scaffold. How young, how

handsome he looks! How undaunted is his bearing! Every eye is fixed

upon him, and a murmur of pity bursts from the multitude. He looks

calmly round. He has discovered me. He smiles, and encourages me by

his looks. Some ceremonies have to be performed, but these are quickly

over. He examines the block--the coffin--with unshaken firmness--and

feels the edge of the axe. Then he prays with the priest who attends

him. All his preparations made, he bows an eternal farewell to me, and

turns---- Ha! I can see no more--'tis gone!"

And she sank back half fainting in the chair, while her daughter and

niece sought to revive her.

So vivid had been the effect produced, that those present almost

fancied they had witnessed the terrible scene described.

For a brief space not a word was spoken. At the end of that time, Mrs.

Butler opened her eyes, and fixing them upon the young men, exclaimed:

"Again, I pray Heaven to avert such a fate from you both!"

Monica burst into tears. Her lover flew towards her, and as she seemed

about to swoon, he caught her in his arms.

"Ah! Jemmy," she exclaimed, looking up at him tenderly, "how could I

live if I lost you! You must not join this perilous expedition."

"Nay, I cannot honourably withdraw," he replied. "My promise is given

to the prince. Were I to retire now I should be termed a coward. And

all my love for you would not enable me to bear that dreadful

reproach."

"'Tis I who induced you to join," she cried. "If you perish, I shall

be guilty of your death. You must not--shall not go."

"How is this?" he cried. "I cannot believe you are the brave Jacobite

girl who urged me to take arms for the good cause."

"My love, I find, is stronger than my loyalty," she replied. "Do not

leave me, Jemmy. A sad presentiment has come over me, and I dread lest

you should perish by the hand of the executioner."

"This idle foreboding of ill is solely caused by your mother's fancied

vision. Shake it off, and be yourself."

"Ay, be yourself, Monica," said Constance, stepping towards them.

"This weakness is unworthy of you. 'Tis quite impossible for Jemmy to

retreat with honour from his plighted word. Those who have embarked in

this hazardous enterprise must go through it at whatever risk."

And she glanced at Atherton, who maintained a firm countenance.

But Monica fixed a supplicating look on her lover, and sought to move

him.

Fearing he might yield to her entreaties, Constance seized his hand.

"For your sake I am bound to interpose, Jemmy," she said. "You will

for ever repent it, if you make a false step now. What is life without

honour?"

"Heed her not!" exclaimed Monica. "Listen to me! Till now I never knew

how dear you are to me. I cannot--will not part with you."

Both Mrs. Butler and Father Jerome heard what was passing, but did not

deem it necessary to interfere--leaving the task to Constance.

"Take him hence!" said Constance, in a low tone to Atherton. "She may

shake his determination. Ere long she will recover her energies, and

think quite differently."

After bidding adieu to Mrs. Butler and the priest, Atherton tried to

lead Jemmy gently away. But Monica still clung to him.

"Come with me," said Atherton. "I want to say a few words to you in

private."

"Say what you have to tell him here," observed Monica.

"This is mere childishness, Monica," observed Constance. "Let him go

with his friend."

Monica offered no further resistance, and the two young men quitted

the room together.

No sooner were they gone than Monica flew towards Mrs. Butler, and

throwing herself at her feet, exclaimed:

"Oh, mother! let us pray that Jemmy may not share the tragical fate of

him you have mourned so long. Let us pray that he may not die the

death of a traitor!"

"A traitor!" exclaimed Mrs. Butler. "He whom I mourn was no traitor."

"Listen to me, daughter," said Father Jerome, in a tone of solemn

rebuke. "Should he to whom you are betrothed fall a sacrifice to

tyranny, oppression, and usurpation--should he suffer in the cause of

truth and justice--should he lay down his life in asserting the right

of his only lawful sovereign, King James the Third--then be assured

that he will not die a traitor, but a martyr."

Monica bore this reproof well. Looking up at her mother and the

priest, she said, in penitential tones:

"Forgive me. I see my error. I will no longer try to dissuade him, but

will pray that he may have grace to fulfil the task he has

undertaken."

CHAPTER XX.

THE JACOBITE MEETING IN TOM SYDDALL'S BACK ROOM.

Tom Syddall's shop was situated on Smithy Bank, in the immediate

neighbourhood both of the Cross and of Salford Bridge.

The house was a diminutive specimen of the numerous timber and plaster

habitations, chequered black and white, that abounded on the spot; but

it was quite large enough for Tom. The gables were terminated by

grotesquely-carved faces, that seemed perpetually grinning and

thrusting out their tongues at the passers-by; and a bay-window

projected over the porch, the latter being ornamented with a large

barber's pole and a brass basin, as indications of Tom's calling,

though his shop was sufficiently well-known without them.

The door usually stood invitingly open, even at an early hour in the

morning, and the barber himself could be seen in the low-roofed room,

covering some broad-visaged customer's cheeks with lather, or plying

the keen razor over his chin, while half-a-dozen others could be

descried seated on benches patiently waiting their turn.

At a somewhat later hour the more important business of wig-dressing

began, and then Tom retired to a back room, where the highest

mysteries of his art were screened from the vulgar gaze--and from

which sacred retreat, when a customer emerged, he appeared in all the

dignity of a well-powdered peruke, a full-bottomed tie-wig, a bob, a

bob-major, or an apothecary's bust, as the case might be.

Tom did a great deal of business, and dressed some of the best "heads"

in Manchester--not only ladies' heads, but gentlemen's--but, of

course, he attended the ladies at their own houses.

But Tom Syddall, as we have seen, was not only a perruquier, but an

ardent politician. Frequent Jacobite meetings were held in his back

room, and plots were frequently hatched when it was thought that

perukes alone were being dressed.

Perfectly loyal and trustworthy was Tom. Many secrets were confided to

him, but none were ever betrayed. Every opportunity was afforded him

for playing the spy, had he been so minded, but he would have scorned

the office.

However, he had his special objects of dislike, and would neither

dress the wig of a Whig, nor shave a Presbyterian if he knew it.

Equally decided was Tom on his religious opinions, being a zealous

member of Dr. Deacon's True British Catholic Church.

After his great exploit at the bridge, and his subsequent deliverance

by the mob, several Jacobites came in the evening--when his shop was

closed--to offer him their congratulations, and were introduced--as

they arrived singly, or two or three at a time--to the back room, of

which we have just made mention.

By-and-by a tolerably large party assembled, all of whom being very

decided Jacobites, a good deal of treason was naturally talked.

As there were not chairs for all, several of the company sat where

they could, and a droll effect was produced in consequence of their

being mixed up with the wig-blocks, one of which, from its elevated

position, seemed to preside over the assemblage, and caused much

laughter.

Among the persons present were Dr. Byrom and Dr. Deacon, the latter of

them having with him his three sons, all of whom were fine-looking

young men.

Besides these there was the Rev. Thomas Coppock, who, it may be

remembered, had been promised the appointment of chaplain to the

Manchester Regiment by Colonel Townley. Though the young Jacobite

divine wore his cassock and bands, he looked as if martial

accoutrements would have suited him better. His big looks and

blustering manner did not harmonise with his clerical habit. Vain and

ambitious, Parson Coppock fully believed--if the expedition proved

successful--he should be created Bishop of Chester, or, at least, be

made warden of the collegiate church.

With those we have particularised were four other young men who had

been promised commissions--Thomas Chadwick, John Berwick, George

Fletcher, and Samuel Maddocks.

When we have added the names of Jemmy Dawson and Atherton Legh, the

list of the party will be complete.

An important communication had been made to the meeting by Dr. Deacon,

who had just received an express informing him that the prince had

arrived at Preston with the first division of his army, so that Lord

Pitsligo's regiment of horse might be expected to reach Manchester on

the morrow.

"Of this information, gentlemen," pursued Dr. Deacon, "you alone are

in possession, for precautions have been taken to prevent any other

express from being sent from Preston to the authorities of Manchester.

The magistrates, therefore, will be in complete ignorance of the

prince's approach till he is close at hand. It will now be apparent to

you how great has been the service rendered by Mr. Atherton Legh and

our brave Tom Syddall. Had Salford Bridge been destroyed--according to

the boroughreeve's plan--the prince could not have entered Manchester,

without making a lengthened and troublesome détour, that might have

exposed him to some unforeseen attack, whereas he will now march into

the town at the head of his army without encountering any obstacle."

Expressions of approval were heard on all sides, and Syddall appeared

quite elated by the commendations bestowed upon him.

"Since the prince will be here so soon it behoves us to prepare for

him," he said. "Care must be taken that he does not want food for his

men and forage for his horses. As you are all no doubt aware, a great

quantity of provisions has been sent out of the town. This must be

stopped."

"You are right, Tom," cried Dr. Byrom. "But how stop it?"

"Very easily," replied Syddall. "We must engage Ben Birch, the

bellman, to go round to-night, and warn the townsfolk not to remove

any more provisions."

"A good plan," cried Dr. Byrom. "But will Ben Birch obey the order?"

"If he won't I'll seize his bell and go round myself," rejoined

Syddall. "But never fear, doctor; Ben will do it if he's well paid."

"But where is he to be found?" cried Dr. Byrom. "'Tis getting late."

"I know where to find him," replied Tom. "Before going home to bed he

always takes his pot of ale and smokes his pipe at the Half Moon in

Hanging Ditch. He's there now I'll warrant you."

Everybody agreed that the plan was excellent, and ought to be carried

out without delay, and Syddall, who undertook the entire management of

the affair, was just preparing to set off to Hanging Ditch, which was

at no great distance from his dwelling, when a knock was heard at the

outer door.

The company looked at each other. So many strange things occurred at

this juncture that they could not help feeling some little uneasiness.

"Don't be alarmed, gentlemen," said Tom. "I'll go and reconnoitre."

So saying, he hurried up a staircase that quickly brought him to an

upper room overlooking the street.

CHAPTER XXI.

BEN BIRCH, THE BELLMAN OF MANCHESTER.

It was a fine moonlight night, almost as bright as day, and when Tom

looked out he saw that the person who had just knocked was no other

than Ben Birch.

Now the bellman was a very important functionary at the time, and it

seemed as if the town could not get on without him. Whenever anything

was to be done the bellman was sent round. The magistrates constantly

employed him, and he paced about the streets ringing his bell, and

giving public notices of one kind or other, all day long.

Tall and stout, with a very red face, Ben Birch looked like a beadle,

for he wore a laced cocked hat and a laced great-coat. Fully aware of

the importance of his office, he was consequential in manner, and his

voice, when he chose to exert it, was perfectly stentorian. Ben Birch,

we ought to add, was suspected of being a Jacobite.

"Why, Ben, is that you?" cried Tom, looking at him from the window.

"Ay, Mester Syddall, it's me, sure enough," replied the bellman. "I've

got summat to tell you. Some mischievous chaps has been making free

with your pow, and what dun yo think they've stuck on it?"

"I can't tell, Ben."

"Why, your feyther's skull. Yo can see it if yo look down. I noticed

it as I were passing, and thought I'd stop and tell you."

"I should like to hang the rascal, whoever he may be, that has dared

to profane that precious relic," cried Tom, furiously. "It must have

been stolen, for I kept it carefully in a box."

"Well, it's a woundy bad joke, to say the least of it," rejoined Ben,

with difficulty repressing a laugh. "Luckily, there's no harm done."

So saying, he took the pole and handed up the skull to the barber, who

received it very reverently.

"Much obliged to you, Ben," he said, in a voice husky with emotion.

"If I can only find out the rascal who has played me this trick he

shall bitterly repent it."

"A Presbyterian, no doubt," cried the bellman.

"Ay, those prick-eared curs are all my enemies," said Syddall. "But we

shall soon have a change. Wait a moment, Ben, I've got a job for you."

He then restored the relic to the box from which it had been

abstracted, and went down-stairs.

On returning to the room where the company was assembled, he explained

to them that the bellman was without, but said nothing about the

indignity he himself had undergone.

"Shall I settle matters with him, or bring him in?" he asked.

"Bring him in," cried the assemblage.

In another moment Ben was introduced. Greatly surprised to find the

room thus crowded, he stared at the party.

"What is your pleasure, gentlemen?" he said, removing his cocked hat

and bowing.

"We have heard with great concern, Ben," said Mr. Coppock, gravely,

"that provisions are beginning to run short in the town. We,

therefore, desire that you will go round this very night, and give

notice to the inhabitants that no victuals or stores of any kind must

be removed on any pretext whatsoever."

"I am very willing to obey you, gentlemen, particularly as such a

notice can do no harm," said Ben; "but I ought to have an order from

the magistrates."

"This will do as well, I fancy," said Coppock, giving him a guinea.

"I'll do the job," rejoined the bellman, pocketing the fee. "I shan't

fail to end my proclamation with 'God save the king!' but I shall

leave those who hear me to guess which king I mean."

Wishing the company good-night he then went out, and shortly

afterwards the loud ringing of his bell was heard in the street.

His first proclamation was made at the corner of Deansgate, and by

this time--though the street had previously appeared quite empty--he

had got a small crowd round him, while several persons appeared at the

doors and windows.

"No more provisions to be taken away!" cried one of the bystanders;

"that means the town is about to be besieged."

"That's not it," cried another. "It means that the young Pretender and

his army will soon be here."

"Whatever it means you must obey the order," said the bellman. "And

so, God save the king!"

"God save King James the Third!" "Down with the Elector of Hanover!"

shouted several persons.

And as these were violently opposed by the supporters of the reigning

monarch, and a fight seemed likely to ensue, the bellman marched off

to repeat his proclamation elsewhere.

Meanwhile, the party assembled in Tom Syddall's back room had

separated, but not before they had agreed upon another meeting at an

early hour on the morrow.

End of the First Book.

BOOK II.

PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD IN MANCHESTER.

CHAPTER I.

HOW MANCHESTER WAS TAKEN BY A SERGEANT, A DRUMMER, AND A SCOTTISH

LASSIE.

Manchester arose next day in a state of great ferment. No one exactly

knew what was about to occur, but everybody felt something was at

hand.

The proclamation made overnight by the bellman, and the studiously

guarded answers given by that discreet functionary to the questions

put to him, had caused considerable anxiety. No news had been received

from Preston--except the secret express sent to the heads of the

Jacobite party--but a notion prevailed that the prince would make his

appearance in the course of the day.

Any real defence of the town was out of the question, since the

militia was disbanded, but some staunch Whigs and zealous

Presbyterians declared they would certainly make a stand. This,

however, was looked upon as mere idle bravado. Most of those who had

delayed their departure to the last moment now took flight. At an

early hour on that very morning all the justices and lawyers had

quitted the town. The boroughreeve had gone, but the constables

remained at their post. As on the previous day, no business whatever

was transacted, and the majority of the shops continued closed.

As the day went on the total want of news increased the public

anxiety, for the few who were in possession of authentic information

took care to keep it to themselves. The excitement, therefore, was

increased by a variety of contradictory rumours, none of which had any

foundation in truth, the Hanoverians doggedly maintaining that the

young Pretender had turned back at Preston, and was now in full

retreat to Scotland; while the Jacobites declared with equal warmth

that the prince was within half a day's march of Manchester, and would

soon present himself before the town.

Whatever might be the feelings of others, it is quite certain that all

the prettiest damsels were impatiently expecting the handsome prince,

and would have been sadly disappointed if he had turned back.

As the weather chanced to be fine, and no business was going on, a

great many persons were in the streets, and the town had quite a

holiday air.

Towards the afternoon, the crowds that had been rambling about during

the morning had returned to their mid-day meal, when a cry arose from

Salford that the advanced guard of the rebel army was in sight.

The report proved incorrect; yet it was not entirely without

foundation. Three persons in Highland dresses, and no doubt belonging

to the insurgent army, had actually entered the town by the Preston

road, and were riding slowly along, looking about them in a very easy

and unconcerned manner. All the beholders stared in astonishment, but

nobody meddled with them, for it was naturally concluded that the

regiment they belonged to must be close behind.

From its singularity, the little party was sufficient in itself to

attract general attention. It consisted of a sergeant, a drummer, and

an exceedingly pretty Scottish lassie. All three were well mounted,

though the state of their horses showed they had ridden many miles.

Both the men were in full Highland dress, wore plumed caps, and were

armed with claymore, dirk, and target. Moreover, the sergeant had a

blunderbuss at his saddle-bow, but his comrade was content with the

drum.

Sergeant Erick Dickson, a young Highlander, and bold as a lion, was

handsome, well-proportioned, and possessed of great strength and

activity. Sandy Rollo, the drummer, was likewise a very daring young

fellow.

Helen Carnegie, the Scottish damsel, deserves a few more words. Her

beauty and virtue were constant themes of praise among officers and

men in the Highland army. Having given her heart to Erick Dickson,

Helen Carnegie had accompanied him in the march from Edinburgh, after

the victory at Preston Pans--or Gladsmuir, as the Highlanders called

it--but her character was without reproach. Any man who had breathed a

word against her fair fame would have had a quick reckoning with

Erick.

Helen Carnegie was not yet nineteen, and perhaps her charms were not

fully developed, but she was very beautiful notwithstanding. Her

golden locks had first set the sergeant's heart on fire, and her

bright blue eyes had kept up the flame ever since. Yet, after all, her

exquisite figure was her greatest beauty. No nymph was ever more

gracefully proportioned than Helen, and no costume could have suited

her better than the one she adopted--the kilt being as long as a

petticoat, while a plaid shawl was thrown over her knee when she was

on horseback. The blue bonnet that crowned her golden locks was

adorned with a white cockade.

Such was the little party that had entered Salford, and they all

seemed much amused by the curiosity they excited.

Leaving them on their way to the bridge, it may now be proper to

inquire what had brought them thither.

At Preston, on the previous evening, Sergeant Dickson came up to the

Chevalier de Johnstone, his commanding officer, and aide-de-camp to

Lord George Murray, lieutenant-general of the Highland army, and

saluting him, said:

"May I have a word with you, colonel? I have been beating about

Preston for recruits all day without getting one, and I am the more

vexed, because the other sergeants have been very lucky."

"You ought to have taken Helen Carnegie with you, Erick," said Colonel

Johnstone, laughing.

"That's exactly what I propose to do, colonel," said Dickson. "I've

come to ask your honour's permission to set out an hour before dawn

to-morrow for Manchester, and so get a day's march ahead of the army.

I shall then be able to secure some recruits."

"I cannot grant your request," rejoined Colonel Johnstone. "What would

you do alone in a strange town? You will be instantly taken

prisoner--if you are not killed."

"Your honour needn't alarm yourself about me," replied Erick, in a

wheedling voice, which, however, did not produce the desired effect.

"I know how to take care of myself. If I get leave to go I'll take

Helen Carnegie with me, and Rollo, the drummer."

Again the colonel shook his head.

"No, no, you mustn't think of it, Erick," he cried. "Go to your

quarters, and don't stir out again to-night."

Sergeant Dickson retired, resolved to disobey orders, feeling certain

the offence would be overlooked if he proved successful.

He therefore set out from Preston in good time next morning,

accompanied by Helen and Rollo.

We left them riding towards Salford Bridge, and when they were within

fifty yards of it, they came to a halt, and Rollo began to beat the

drum vigorously. The din soon brought a great number of persons round

them, who began to shout lustily, when the sergeant, judging the

fitting moment had arrived to commence operations, silenced the drum,

and doffing his plumed cap--his example being followed by his

companions--called out in a loud voice, "God save King James the

Third!"

Some cheers followed, but they were overpowered by angry outcries, and

several voices exclaimed, "Down with the rebels!"

Judging from these menacing expressions that he was likely to be

assailed, Erick, whose masculine visage had begun to assume a very

formidable expression, placed himself in front of Helen so as to

shield her from attack, and then hastily putting on his target, and

getting his blunderbuss ready for immediate use, he glared fiercely

round at the assemblage, roaring out:

"Keep off!--if ye wadna ha' the contents of this among ye."

Alarmed by his looks and gestures, the concourse held back; but only

for a few moments. Some of them tried to lay hands on Helen, but they

were baffled by the rapidity with which the sergeant wheeled round,

dashing them back, and upsetting half-a-dozen of them.

But he had instantly to defend himself from another attack, and this

he did with equal vigour and address, receiving all blows aimed at him

on his target, and pointing the blunderbuss at those who attempted to

seize him. However, he was careful not to fire, and shortly afterwards

gave the blunderbuss to Helen and drew his claymore.

Meantime, Rollo, who was a very courageous fellow, though he had not

the sergeant's activity, rendered what aid he could; but he was now

beginning to be sorely pressed on all sides.

The conflict had lasted two or three minutes without any disadvantage

to the sergeant, when several persons called upon him to yield. To

this summons he answered disdainfully that he had never yet yielded,

and never would, while his hand could grasp a sword.

"I have come to raise recruits for the yellow-haired laddie," he

cried. "Will none of you join me? Will none of you serve the prince?"

Some voices answered in the affirmative, but those who called out were

at a distance.

"Here, friends, here!" shouted Dickson, waving his claymore to them.

"I want recruits for the yellow-haired laddie. Ye ken weel whom I

mean."

"Ay, ay. We'll join!--we'll join!" cried twenty voices.

And the speakers tried to force their way toward Erick, but were

prevented by the Presbyterians in the crowd.

The tumult that ensued operated in the sergeant's favour, and enabled

him to keep his assailants at bay till assistance really arrived in

the shape of a band of some fifty or sixty Jacobites, mustered on the

instant, and headed by Tom Syddall.

[Illustration: ERICK, WITH HELEN AND ROLLO, PROCLAIM KING JAMES AT

MANCHESTER

Page 99.]

It was now a scene of triumph and rejoicing. Since his opponents had

taken to flight, and he was so numerously supported, Sergeant Dickson

declared he would take possession of the town in the name of his

sovereign, King James the Third, and the proposition was received with

loud shouts. These shouts, with the continuous beating of the drum by

Rollo, soon brought large additions to the numbers friendly to the

Jacobite cause; and Dickson, with Helen by his side, and attended by

Syddall on foot, crossed the bridge at the head of a victorious host,

who made the air ring with their acclamations.