ATHERTON'S DECISION IS MADE.
It was with strange sensations that Atherton looked back at the
darkling outline of the old mansion, and when it became
undistinguishable in the gloom, he felt as if he had been indulging in
an idle dream.
But no! the broad domains that spread around him on either side were
his own. All he could discern belonged to him.
His meditations were not disturbed by either of his attendants, for
the sergeant was a short distance behind him, and the groom about
twenty or thirty yards in advance. As they trotted on quickly they
were soon out of the park, and were now making their way somewhat more
slowly along the road leading to Warrington. Presently they turned off
on the right, in order to reach the ford, and were skirting the banks
of the Mersey, when Holden came back and said that he perceived some
men armed with muskets guarding the ford.
A brief consultation was then held. As the groom declared that the
river was only fordable at this point, Atherton resolved to go on at
all hazards.
As they drew near the ford they found it guarded--as Holden had
stated--by half a dozen armed militia-men, who were evidently
determined to dispute their passage.
"Stand! in the king's name!" cried the leader of the party in an
authoritative voice. "We can discern that one of you is a Highlander,
and we believe you are all rebels and traitors. Stand! I say!"
"Rebels and traitors yourselves!" thundered the sergeant in reply. "We
own no sovereign but King James the Third."
"Out of our way, fellows!" cried Atherton. "We mean to pass the ford!"
Drawing his sword as he spoke, he struck spurs into his steed, and
dashed down the bank, followed closely by the sergeant and Holden--the
former having likewise drawn his claymore.
The militia-men drew back, but fired at them as they were crossing the
river, though without doing them any harm.
Having escaped this danger, they proceeded at the same rapid pace as
before, and in the same order, the groom riding about twenty yards in
advance. The few travellers they met with got out of their way.
By the time they reached Chat Moss the moon had risen, and her beams
illumined the dreary swamp.
The scene looked far more striking than it did by daylight, but
Atherton gazed at it with a different eye. Other thoughts now occupied
his breast, and he seemed changed even to himself. When he tracked
that road, a few hours ago, he was a mere adventurer--without
name--without fortune--now he had a title and large estates.
Reflections on this sudden and extraordinary change in his position
now completely engrossed him, and he fell into a reverie which lasted
till he reached Pendleton, and then waking up, as if from a dream, he
was astonished to find he had got so far.
From this elevation the town of Manchester could be descried, and as
the houses were again illuminated, and bonfires were lighted in
different quarters, it presented a very striking appearance.
Just as Atherton crossed Salford Bridge, the clock of the collegiate
church told forth eleven; and so crowded were the streets, owing to
the illuminations, that nearly another quarter of an hour was required
to reach the prince's head-quarters.
Atherton was attended only by the groom, the sergeant having gone to
report himself on his return to the Chevalier de Johnstone.
Dismounting at the gate, he entered the mansion, and orders having
been given to that effect he was at once admitted to the prince, who
was alone in his private cabinet.
Charles instantly inquired if he had brought Sir Richard Rawcliffe
with him.
"He is unable to obey your royal highness's summons," replied the
other.
"How?" exclaimed the prince, frowning.
"He is lying dead at Rawcliffe, having perished by his own hand. But
he has left a written confession, wherein he acknowledges that he has
wrongfully deprived me of my inheritance."
"This is strange indeed!" exclaimed the prince. "His extraordinary
conduct to you is now explained, and the mystery that hung over your
birth is solved. You are the lost son of the former baronet. I
suspected as much, and meant to force the truth from Sir Richard.
However, he has spared me the trouble. Pray let me know all that has
occurred?"
Atherton then commenced his relation, to which the prince listened
with the greatest interest, and when the story was brought to a
conclusion he said:
"I will not affect to pity your unhappy uncle. He has escaped earthly
punishment, and perhaps the deep remorse he appears to have felt may
obtain him mercy on High. Let us hope so--since he has striven at the
last to make some amends for his heavy offences. But to turn to
yourself. Your position is now materially changed. You entered my
service as an unknown adventurer, and not as a wealthy baronet.
Considering this, and feeling, also, that I am under great personal
obligation to you, I will not wait for any solicitation on your part,
but at once release you from your engagement to me."
Atherton was much moved.
"Your royal highness overwhelms me by your kindness," he said. "But
though Rawcliffe Hall and its domains may be mine by right, I do not
intend to deprive Constance of the property. Furthermore, I shall not
assume my real name and title till the close of the campaign. For the
present I shall remain Atherton Legh. I trust your highness will
approve of the course I intend to pursue?"
"I do approve of it," replied Charles, earnestly. "The resolution you
have taken does you honour. Since you are determined to join me, it
shall not be as a mere officer in the Manchester Regiment, but as one
of my aides-de-camp. All needful explanation shall be given to Colonel
Townley. I shall march at an early hour in the morning. But no matter.
You can follow. You must see Constance before you leave, and if you
are detained by any unforeseen cause, I will excuse you. Nay, no
thanks. Good-night."
End of the Second Book.
BOOK III.
THE MARCH TO DERBY, AND THE RETREAT.
CHAPTER I.
AN OLD JACOBITE DAME.
Next morning the prince quitted Manchester, marching on foot at the
head of two regiments of infantry which formed the advanced guard. The
main body of the army, with the cavalry and artillery, was to follow
at a later hour.
As the two regiments in question, which were composed of remarkably
fine men, marched up Market Street Lane, preceded by a dozen pipers,
they were accompanied by a vast concourse of people, who came to
witness the prince's departure, and shouted lustily as he came forth
from his head-quarters, attended by Sir Thomas Sheridan and Colonel
Ker.
Designing to make Macclesfield the limit of his first day's march,
Charles took the road to Cheadle, and several hundred persons walked,
or rather ran, by the side of the Highlanders for a mile or two, when
they dropped off and returned, being unable to keep up with the active
mountaineers.
Parties of men had been sent on previously to make a temporary bridge
across the Mersey by felling trees; but the bridge not being completed
on his arrival, the prince forded the river at the head of his troops.
On the opposite bank of the Mersey, several Cheshire gentlemen of good
family were waiting to greet him, and wish him success in his
enterprise.
Among them was an aged dame, Mrs. Skyring, who, being very infirm, was
led forward by a Roman Catholic priest. Kneeling before the prince,
she pressed his hand to her lips.
Much impressed by her venerable looks, Charles immediately raised her,
and on learning her name, told her he had often heard of her as a
devoted adherent of his house.
"Give ear to me for a few moments, I pray you, most gracious prince,"
she said, in faltering accents. "Eighty-five years ago, when an
infant, I was lifted up in my mother's arms to see the happy landing
at Dover of your great uncle, King Charles the Second. My father was a
staunch Cavalier, served in the Civil Wars, and fought at Worcester.
My mother was equally attached to the House of Stuart. I inherited
their loyalty and devotion. When your grandsire, King James the
Second, was driven from the throne, I prayed daily for his
restoration."
"You did more than pray, madam," said the prince. "I am quite aware
that you remitted half your income to our family; and this you have
done for more than fifty years. I thank you in my grandsire's name--in
my father's name--and in my own."
Sobs checked the old lady's utterance for a moment, but at length she
went on:
"When I learnt that you were marching on England at the head of an
army, determined to drive out the Hanoverian usurper, and regain your
crown, I was filled with despair that I could not assist you; but I
sold my plate, my jewels, and every trinket I possessed. They did not
produce much--not half so much as I hoped--but all they produced is in
this purse. I pray your royal highness to accept it as an earnest of
my devotion."
While uttering these words, which greatly touched Charles, she again
bent before him, and placed the purse in his hands.
"Pain me not by a refusal, I implore you, most gracious prince," she
said. "And think not you are depriving me of aught. I cannot live
long, and I have no children. 'Tis the last assistance I shall be able
to render your royal house--for which I have lived, and for which I
would die."
"I accept the gift, madam," replied Charles, with unaffected emotion,
"with as much gratitude as if you had placed a large sum at my
disposal. You are, indeed, a noble dame; and our family may well be
proud of a servant so loyal! If I succeed in my enterprise, I will
recompense you a hundred fold."
"I am fully recompensed by these gracious words, prince," she
rejoined.
"Nay, madam," he cried, pressing her hand to his lips; "mere thanks
are not enough. You have not confined yourself to words."
"My eyes are very dim, prince," said the old dame; "and what you say
to me will not make me see more clearly. Yet let me look upon your
face, and I will tell you what I think of you. I am too old to
flatter."
"You will not offend me by plain speaking," said Charles, smiling.
"You are a true Stuart," she continued, trying to peruse his features.
"But there are some lines in your comely countenance that bode----"
"Not misfortune, I trust?" said Charles, finding she hesitated.
She regarded him anxiously, and made an effort to reply, but could
not.
"What ails you, madam?" cried the prince, greatly alarmed by the
deathly hue that overspread her features.
Her strength was gone, and she would have fallen, if he had not caught
her in his arms.
Her friends, who were standing near, rushed forward to her assistance.
"Alas, all is over!" exclaimed Charles, mournfully, as he consigned
her inanimate frame to them.
"She is scarcely to be pitied, prince," said the Romish priest. "'Tis
thus she desired to die. May the angels receive her soul, and present
it before the Lord!"
"The sum she has bestowed upon me shall buy masses for the repose of
her soul," said Charles.
"Nay, prince," rejoined the priest. "Her soul is already at rest.
Employ the money, I beseech you, as she requested."
Much affected by this incident, Charles continued his march through a
fine champaign country, well-timbered and richly cultivated,
containing numerous homesteads, and here and there an old hall of the
true Cheshire type, and comprehending views of Bowden Downs and Dunham
Park on the left, with Norbury and Lyme Park on the right.
At Headforth Hall he halted with his body-guard, and claimed the
hospitality of its owner; while his troops marched on to Wilmslow, and
forced the inhabitants of that pretty little village to supply their
wants.
From Wilmslow the prince's march was continued to Macclesfield, where
he fixed his quarters at an old mansion near the Chester Gate.
CHAPTER II.
ATHERTON'S GIFT TO CONSTANCE.
The prince's departure from Manchester took place on Sunday, December
the 1st; but as the main body of the army did not leave till the
middle of the day, and great confusion prevailed in the town, no
service took place in the churches.
The cavalry was drawn up in St. Ann's Square; the different regiments
of infantry collected at various points in the town; and the
Manchester Regiment assembled in the collegiate churchyard.
While the troops were thus getting into order, preparatory to setting
out for Macclesfield, a great number of the inhabitants of the town
came forth to look at them--very much increasing the tumult and
confusion.
The Manchester Regiment got into marching order about noon, and was
one of the first to quit the town. Officers and men were in high
spirits, and looked very well.
As the regiment passed up Market Street Lane, with Colonel Townley
riding at its head, the colours borne by Ensign Syddall, and the band
playing, it was loudly cheered.
The regularity of the march was considerably interfered with by the
number of persons who accompanied their friends as far as Didsbury,
and supplied them rather too liberally with usquebaugh, ratifia, and
other spirituous drinks.
The courage of the men being raised to a high pitch by these
stimulants, they expressed a strong anxiety for an early engagement
with the Duke of Cumberland's forces, feeling sure they should beat
them.
After a short halt at Didsbury, their friends left them, and their
courage was somewhat cooled by fording the river below Stockport. They
were likewise obliged to wade through the little river Bollin, before
reaching Wilmslow, where they halted for the night.
Atherton had not yet left Manchester. He had some business to transact
which obliged him to employ a lawyer, and he was engaged with this
gentleman for two or three hours in the morning. He had previously
written to Constance to say that it was necessary he should see her
before his departure, and as soon as his affairs were arranged he rode
to Mrs. Butler's house in Salford.
Leaving his horse with Holden, by whom he was attended, he entered the
garden, and was crossing the lawn, when he encountered Jemmy Dawson,
who, having just parted with Monica, looked greatly depressed.
In reply to his anxious inquiries, Jemmy informed him that Constance
had borne the shock better than might have been expected, and had
passed the night in prayer. "I have not seen her," he said, "but
Monica tells me she is now perfectly composed, and however much she
may suffer, she represses all outward manifestation of grief. In this
respect she is very different from Monica herself, who, poor girl! has
not her emotions under control, and I left her in a state almost of
distraction."
Without a word more he hurried away, while Atherton entered the house,
and was shown into a parlour on the ground floor. No one was in the
room at the time, and his first step was to lay a packet on the table.
Presently Constance made her appearance. Her features were excessively
pale, and bore evident traces of grief, but she was perfectly
composed, and Atherton thought he had never seen her look so
beautiful.
She saluted him gravely, but more distantly than before.
"I cannot condole with you on the terrible event that has occurred,"
he said; "but I can offer you my profound sympathy. And let me say at
once that I freely and fully forgive your unfortunate father for all
the wrong he has done me."
"I thank you for the assurance," she rejoined. "'Tis an infinite
relief to me, and proves the goodness of your heart."
"Do not dwell upon this, Constance," he said. "Hereafter we will talk
over the matter--not now. Should you feel equal to the journey, I hope
you will immediately return to Rawcliffe."
"I will return thither, with your kind permission, to see my poor
father laid in the family vault. That sad duty performed, I shall quit
the house for ever."
"No, Constance--that must not be," he rejoined. "My object in coming
hither this morning is to tell you that I do not design to dispossess
you of the house and property. On the contrary, you will be as much
the mistress of Rawcliffe Hall as ever--more so, perhaps. Nay, do not
interrupt me--I have not finished. Many things may happen. I may meet
a soldier's fate. The hazardous enterprise I am bent upon may fail--I
may be captured--may die as a rebel on the scaffold. If I should not
return, the house and all within it--all the domains attached to
it--are yours. By that deed I have made them over to you."
And he pointed to the packet which he had laid upon the table.
Constance was greatly moved. Tears rushed to her eyes, and for a few
minutes she was so overpowered that she could not speak.
Atherton took her hand, which she did not attempt to withdraw.
"I am profoundly touched by your generosity," she said. "But I cannot
accept your gift."
"Nay you must accept it, dearest Constance," he said. "You well know
you have my heart's love, and I think you will not refuse to be mine."
"'Twould be too great happiness to be yours," she rejoined. "But
no--no--I ought not to consent."
By way of reply, he pressed her to his heart, and kissed her
passionately.
"Now will you refuse?" he cried.
"How can I, since you have wrested my consent from me?" she rejoined.
"But how am I to address you?"
"You must still call me Atherton Legh," he replied.
"Well, then, dearest Atherton, my heart misgives me. In urging you to
join this expedition I fear I have done wrong. Should any misfortune
happen to you I shall deem myself the cause of it. I tremble to think
of the consequences of my folly. Must you go?" she added, looking
imploringly at him.
"Yes," he replied. "Not even you, dearest Constance, can turn me from
my purpose. The prince has relieved me from my engagement, but I
cannot honourably retire. Come what may, I shall go on."
"I will not attempt to dissuade you from your purpose," she rejoined.
"But I find it doubly hard to part now. And your danger seems
greater."
"Mere fancy," he said. "You love me better than you did--that is the
cause of your increased apprehension."
For some moments they remained gazing at each other in silence.
At last Atherton spoke.
"'Tis with difficulty that I can tear myself away from you, dearest
Constance. But I hope soon to behold you again. Meantime, you will
remain at Rawcliffe Hall as I have suggested."
"I will do whatever you desire," she rejoined.
"I hope you will induce Mrs. Butler and Monica to stay with you, and
that I shall find them at Rawcliffe on my return. I would not
anticipate disaster--but 'tis desirable to be prepared for the worst.
Should ill success attend our enterprise, and I should be compelled to
seek safety in flight, I might find a hiding-place in Rawcliffe Hall."
"No doubt," she rejoined. "You could easily be concealed there--even
should strict search be made. All necessary preparations shall be
taken. Whenever you arrive at Rawcliffe you will find all ready for
you. I will go there to-morrow, and I trust Mrs. Butler and Monica
will be able to follow immediately. Will you not see them?"
"Not now," he replied. "Bid them farewell for me. If I stay longer, my
resolution might give way. Remember what I have said to you. In any
event you are mistress of Rawcliffe. Adieu!"
Pressing her again to his breast, he rushed out of the room.
CHAPTER III.
A RETREAT RESOLVED UPON.
Mounting his horse, which he had left at the gate of Mrs. Butler's
residence, and followed by Holden, Atherton rode towards the
bridge--being obliged to pass through the town in order to gain the
Stockport road.
The place was still in a state of great confusion--none of the cavalry
having as yet departed; but he contrived to make his way through the
crowded thoroughfares, and was soon in the open country.
At Didsbury he overtook the Manchester Regiment and had a long
conversation with Colonel Townley, who explained to him that he meant
to pass the night at Wilmslow.
Atherton then pursued his journey, crossed the Mersey at Cheadle, and
came up with the prince and the advanced guard about four miles from
Macclesfield. He was then sent on to make preparations for his royal
highness, and executed his task very satisfactorily.
On the following day, while the prince, with the infantry, continued
his march to Leek, Lord George Gordon, with his regiment of horse,
proceeded to Congleton, and Captain Legh received orders from his
royal highness to accompany him.
At Congleton information being obtained that the Duke of Cumberland
was posted at Newcastle-under-Lyne, with ten thousand men, Lord George
went thither to reconnoitre, and found that the duke, on hearing of
the onward march of the insurgent forces, had retired with his army on
Lichfield.
With marvellous despatch Atherton rode across the country and brought
the intelligence to Charles, who had arrived at Leek.
No change, however, was made in the prince's plans. He did not desire
an engagement with the duke, but rather to elude him.
Accordingly, he pressed on, and on the fourth day after leaving
Manchester, arrived with his entire forces at Derby.
Charles was still full of confidence, and as he was now a day's march
nearer London than the enemy, he persuaded himself that he should be
able to reach the capital without hazarding a battle. Though he had
been coldly received at all places since he left Manchester, and had
not obtained any more recruits, he was not discouraged.
He fixed his head-quarters at a large mansion in Full Street, which
has since been demolished.
On the morning after his arrival at Derby, he rode round the town,
attended only by Colonel Ker and Captain Legh, and was very coldly
received by the inhabitants--no cheers attending his progress through
the streets, and many of the houses being shut up.
Much dispirited by this unfavourable reception, he returned to his
head-quarters, where a council of war was held, which was attended by
all the leaders of his army.
The general aspect of the assemblage was gloomy, and far from
calculated to raise his spirits. Sir Thomas Sheridan alone seemed to
retain his former confidence.
Graciously saluting them all, Charles said:
"I have summoned you, my lords and gentlemen, simply to inform you
that after halting for another day in Derby to refresh my troops, I
shall proceed with all possible despatch, and without another halt, if
I can avoid it--to London--there to give battle to the usurper. From
the feeling evinced towards me, I doubt not I shall obtain many
recruits during the hurried march, and perhaps some important
reinforcements--but be this as it may, I shall persevere in my
design."
He then looked round, but as he encountered only gloomy looks, and all
continued silent, he exclaimed sharply:
"How is this? Do you hesitate to follow me further?"
"Since your royal highness puts the question to us," replied Lord
George Gordon, gravely, "I am bound to answer it distinctly. We think
we have already done enough to prove our devotion. Feeling certain we
have no chance whatever of success, we decline to throw away our
lives. We have now reached the very heart of England, and our march
has been unopposed, but we have obtained none of the large
reinforcements promised us, and only a single regiment at Manchester.
Scarcely any person of distinction has joined us--and very few have
sent us funds. Since we left Manchester we have been everywhere coldly
received--and here, at Derby, we are regarded with unmistakable
aversion. The populace are only held in check by our numbers. Further
south, the disposition would probably be still more unfavourable, and
retreat would be out of the question. If your royal highness can show
us letters from any persons of distinction promising aid, or can
assure us that a descent upon the English shores will be made from
France, we are willing to go on. If not, we must consult our own
safety."
"What do I hear?" cried the prince, who had listened in the utmost
consternation. "Would you abandon me--now that we have advanced so
far--now that victory is assured?"
"Our position is critical," replied Lord George. "If we advance
further, our retreat will be cut off by Marshal Wade, who is close in
our rear, and by the Duke of Cumberland, who has an army doubling our
own in number, only a few leagues from us. If we hazard a battle, and
obtain a victory, the losses we should necessarily sustain would so
weaken our forces, that without reinforcements, we could not hope to
vanquish the large army which we know is encamped at Finchley to
secure the capital. Retreat is, therefore, unavoidable."
"Is this the unanimous opinion?" demanded Charles, looking anxiously
round at the assemblage.
With the exception of Mr. Murray, the secretary, Sir Thomas Sheridan,
and the Marquis d'Eguilles, every voice answered:
"It is."
"Then leave me," cried the prince, fiercely and scornfully. "Leave me
to my fate. I will go on alone."
"If your royal highness will view the matter calmly, you will perceive
that we are not wanting in fidelity and attachment to your person in
making this proposition," said Lord Kilmarnock. "The cause here is
hopeless. Let us return to Scotland, where we shall find
reinforcements and obtain aid and supplies from France."
"No; I will not return to Scotland ingloriously," cried Charles.
"Listen to me, prince," said the Duke of Perth. "There is every
inducement to return to Scotland, where a large force awaits you. I
have just received intelligence that my brother, Lord John Drummond,
has landed at Montrose with his regiment newly raised in France. With
the Highlanders whom we left behind, this will make a large
force--probably three thousand men."
"And no doubt there will be large additions," said Sir Thomas
Sheridan. "By this time the Irish Brigade must have embarked from
France, with the promised French regiments."
"There is nothing for it but a retreat to Scotland," said Lord
Pitsligo. "It would be madness to face an army of thirty thousand
men."
"You are a traitor like the rest, Pitsligo," cried the prince,
fiercely.
The old Scottish noble flushed deeply, and with difficulty mastered
his indignation.
"I never thought to hear that opprobrious term applied to me by one of
your royal house, prince," he said. "But since you have stigmatised
all these loyal gentlemen in the same manner, I must bear the reproach
as best I can."
"Forgive me, my dear old friend," cried Charles, seizing his hand, and
pressing it warmly. "I meant not what I said. No one could possess
stauncher friends than I do--no one could appreciate their devotion
more profoundly than myself. But my heart is crushed by this bitter
and unexpected disappointment. It has come upon me like a clap of
thunder--at the very moment when I anticipated success. Since it must
be so, we will retreat, though it will half kill me to give the word.
Leave me now, I pray of you. I will strive to reconcile myself to the
alternative."
Thus enjoined, they all quitted the chamber, and Charles was left
alone.
Flinging himself into a chair he remained for some time with his face
buried in his hands.
When he raised his eyes, he saw Atherton standing beside him.
"I knew not you were here," said the prince.
"I came to learn your royal highness's commands," replied the other.
"Something, I fear, has greatly disturbed you."
"Disturbed me! ay!" cried Charles. "I am forced to retreat."
"By the enemy?" exclaimed Atherton.
"By my generals," replied Charles. "We shall advance no further. You
may prepare to return to Manchester."
CHAPTER IV.
HOW THE MANCHESTER REGIMENT WAS WELCOMED ON ITS RETURN.
Charles could not shake off the bitter disappointment he experienced
at this sudden and unlooked-for extinction of his hopes. He had made
up his mind to march on London, and he thought his Highland army would
follow him. But he now discovered his mistake.
He did not go forth again during the day, but shut himself up in his
room, and left Lord George Gordon and the Duke of Perth to make all
arrangements necessary for the retreat.
They decided to pass through Manchester on the way to Carlisle. The
men were kept in profound ignorance of the change of plan, but when
they discovered that they were retreating their rage and
disappointment found vent in the wildest lamentations. "Had they been
beaten," says the Chevalier de Johnstone, "their grief could not have
been greater." It was almost feared they would mutiny.
On the Manchester Regiment the retreat had a most dispiriting effect.
Officers and men had joined on the understanding that they were to
march to London, and they were deeply mortified when they found they
were to retreat to Scotland.
The men looked sullen and downcast, and so many desertions took place
that the ranks were perceptibly thinned. It was certain that two or
three of the officers only waited a favourable opportunity to escape.
On the third day the Manchester Regiment, which formed part of the
advanced guard, arrived at Macclesfield. Next morning, at an early
hour, they proceeded to Manchester. Alarming reports had been spread
that the Duke of Cumberland was in hot pursuit with his whole army;
but the rumour turned out to be false.
If the officers and men composing the insurgent army expected a
reception like that they had previously experienced in Manchester,
they were greatly mistaken. No sooner was the town cleared of the
invading army, than the Whigs and Presbyterians resumed their
influence, and the fickle mob changed with them.
Tumultuous crowds now went about the town shouting "Down with the
Pretender! Down with the Jacobites!" Nor did the authorities
interfere, but let them have their own way.
In consequence of this license great mischief was done. The mob
threatened to pull down Dr. Deacon's house in Fennel-street, broke his
windows, and might have proceeded to frightful extremities if they had
laid hands upon him.
Two days afterwards a rumour was designedly spread by the
Presbyterians that Marshal Wade had arrived at Rochdale with his army,
and would shortly enter Manchester; and this had the effect intended
of exciting the mob to further violence. The rumour, however, had no
foundation, and the tumult began to subside.
Meantime, the magistrates and many of the important personages who had
quitted the town, began to return, thinking the danger was past, and
something like order was restored.
The position, however, of the Jacobites was by no means secure, since
disturbances might at any time occur, and they were afforded very
little protection.
After the lapse of a week, during which reliable intelligence had been
received that the Highland army had arrived at Derby without
encountering any opposition, and even staunch Whigs had began to think
that the intrepid young prince would actually succeed in reaching
London, news came that the rebels were retreating without a battle,
and were then at Leek on their way back.
At first this news, which appeared improbable, was received with
incredulity, but it was speedily confirmed by other messengers.
A consultation was then held by the boroughreeve, constables, and
other magistrates, as to the possibility of offering any resistance;
but as the militia had been disbanded, and it was doubtful whether
Marshal Wade would come to their assistance, the idea was given up.
But after some discussion Dr. Mainwaring and Justice Bradshaw sent the
bellman round to give notice that, as the rebels might be speedily
expected, all the loyal inhabitants were enjoined to rise and arm
themselves with guns, swords, halberts, pickaxes, shovels, or any
other weapons, to resist the rebels, and prevent them from entering
the town until the arrival of the king's forces.
In consequence of this notice several thousand persons, armed in the
manner suggested, assembled in the open fields beyond Market Street
Lane, where they were harangued by Dr. Mainwaring, who urged them to
spoil the roads by breaking them up, and throwing trees across them,
and promised to send the country folk to their aid.
Having uttered this he left the defence of the town to the
inhabitants, and rode off; but he fulfilled his promise, and sent a
number of country folk armed with scythes and sickles, but these rough
fellows caused such a tumult that another notice had to be given by
the bellman commanding the mob to lay down their arms and disperse,
and the country folk to return to their domiciles.
These contradictory orders produced considerable dissatisfaction, and
were not obeyed.
One party more valiant than the rest marched to Cheadle ford, under
the leadership of Mr. Hilton, with the intention of destroying the
temporary bridge contrived by the insurgents, but before they could
accomplish their task, they were disturbed and ignominiously put to
flight by Colonel Townley and the Manchester Regiment.
On arriving at Manchester, Colonel Townley and his men were welcomed
by a shower of stones and other missiles from the mob assembled at the
top of Market Street Lane. Upon this the colonel called out that if
another stone was thrown, and the mob did not quietly disperse, he
would fire upon them.
Alarmed by the menacing looks of the soldiers, who were greatly
incensed by this treatment on the part of their fellow-townsmen, the
mob took to their heels.
During a subsequent disturbance Ensign Syddall was taken prisoner, but
was rescued by his comrades.
CHAPTER V.
A FRESH SUBSIDY DEMANDED.
On the arrival of the prince with the main body of the army,
comparative tranquillity was restored. But it was evident that the
feeling of the inhabitants was totally changed. There were no joyful
demonstrations--no bonfires--no illuminations.
Charles returned to his former residence at the top of Market Street
Lane; the Duke of Perth, Lord Tullibardine, Lord George Murray, Lord
Pitsligo, and the other Scottish nobles and chiefs repaired to the
houses they had previously occupied; and the men billeted themselves
in their old quarters. But so unfriendly were the inhabitants to the
Manchester Regiment that it was with difficulty that the officers and
men could find quarters.
As night drew on, and a tendency to riot was again manifested, the
bellman was sent round to warn the inhabitants that not more than two
persons would be allowed to walk together in the streets after dark,
unless guarded by the prince's troops, and that any attempt at tumult
or disturbance would be severely punished.
In addition to this, pickets of men patrolled the streets throughout
the night, so that the town was kept tolerably quiet.
On the same evening about eight o'clock a meeting of the principal
inhabitants took place at the Bull's Head--a warrant having been sent
to the magistrates by the prince's secretary, Mr. Murray, commanding
them, on pain of military execution, to raise a subsidy of five
thousand pounds from the town by four o'clock on the following day.
"What is to be done?" demanded Mr. Walley. "I fear it will be
impossible to raise the large sum required by the appointed time--and
if we fail we are to be held responsible with our lives. You must help
us, gentlemen."
And he looked round at the assemblage, but no offer was made.
"Surely you won't allow us to be shot?" cried Mr. Fowden.
"This is a mere threat," said old Mr. James Bayley, an eminent
merchant of the town. "The prince cannot be in earnest."
"You are mistaken, Mr. Bayley," rejoined Mr. Fowden. "It is no idle
threat. The prince is so highly offended by the reception given him
that he has laid this heavy tax upon the town--and he will have it
paid."
"The contributions must be levied by force," observed Mr. Walley. "We
shall never get the money in any other way."
"Such a course will render you extremely unpopular," observed Mr.
Bayley.
"Better be unpopular than be shot, Mr. Bayley," rejoined Mr. Fowden.
"Try to place yourselves in our position, gentlemen. Will you help us
to pay the money in case we should be driven to extremity?"
But no answer was made to the appeal, and the magistrates were in
despair.
At this moment the door opened, and Colonel Townley, attended by
Captain Dawson, Captain Deacon, and Ensign Syddall, entered the room.
The magistrates rose in consternation, wondering what was the meaning
of the visit.
"Pardon my intrusion, gentlemen," said the colonel, saluting them.
"But I think I can help you out of a difficulty. I am aware that five
thousand pounds must be raised from the town by to-morrow afternoon.
Feeling certain you will never be able to accomplish this task
unassisted, I beg to offer you my aid. You shall have a party of men,
under the command of these officers, to go round with you, and help
you to make the collection."
"We gladly accept your offer, colonel," cried both magistrates
eagerly.
"The plan will relieve you from all personal responsibility," said
Colonel Townley, "and will secure the contributions."
The magistrates were profuse in their thanks, and it was then arranged
that the party should commence their rounds at an early hour next
morning.
CHAPTER VI.
A FALSE MESSAGE BROUGHT TO HELEN.
Helen Carnegie had not accompanied her lover in the march to Derby,
but had been persuaded by Beppy Byrom to remain with her at
Manchester. Thinking that an immediate engagement with the Duke of
Cumberland was inevitable, the sergeant consented to the arrangement;
but he missed his faithful companion sadly. He had become so
accustomed to having her by his side that it seemed as if he had lost
his right hand. He tried to occupy his thoughts by strict attention to
his duty--but it would not do. So miserable did he feel at the
separation, that he was half reconciled to the retreat from Derby by
the thought that he should soon see her again.
Helen suffered quite as much--perhaps more. Independently of being
constantly near her lover, it had been her pride and pleasure to be
with the Highland army, and when the troops moved off without her,
she felt as if her heart would break; and she would certainly have
followed, if she had not been restrained by Beppy. Familiar as she was
with all the various incidents of a march, she pictured them to
herself with the greatest distinctness, and spoke of all that the
sergeant was doing.
"Oh! he win miss me sairly," she cried. "He win want me to cheer him
up, when his spirits are low. I ought not to have left him. And what
if he shouldna come back!"
"Don't make yourself uneasy, Helen," said Beppy. "He is certain to
return. Papa says the prince's army will be forced to retreat."
"Na! na! that win never be!" cried Helen. "The prince win never turn
back! The Highlanders may be all kilt, but turn back!--never!"
The rumour, however, at length reached Manchester that the prince was
actually retreating, and Helen's delight at the thought of seeing her
lover again quite overcame her vexation at what she looked upon as a
disgrace.
But the regiment to which the sergeant belonged, and which was
commanded by the Chevalier de Johnstone, did not reach Manchester till
late in the day, and Erick having a great deal to do on his arrival,
could not present himself to Helen.
She had been in quest of him, but had encountered Captain Lindsay, who
addressed her more boldly than ever, and to escape his persecutions
she was compelled to return.
As evening came her anxiety increased, and she was in all the agony of
expectation, when a message came from her lover.
It was brought by Rollo, who informed her that the sergeant had just
arrived with his regiment, and wished to see her immediately.
"Where is he?" asked Helen. "Why does he not come to me, himself?"
"He would come, if he could," replied Rollo; "but he is busy with the
men in St. Ann's Square. Come with me and I will take you to him."
Wholly unsuspicious of ill, Helen instantly prepared to accompany the
messenger, and they quitted the house together.
The night was dark but clear, and, as they crossed the churchyard, she
perceived a tall Highland officer advancing towards her, and guessing
who it was, she stopped, and said to Rollo, "What is Captain Lindsay
doing here?"
"How should I know?" rejoined the other. "He won't meddle with us.
Come on. I'll take care of you."
"I don't feel sure of that," she cried. "I shall go back."
"No, you won't," said Rollo, seizing her arm, and detaining her.
"Ah! you have basely betrayed me," she cried. "But Sergeant Dickson
will punish you."
Rollo replied by a coarse laugh, and the next moment Captain Lindsay
came up.
"Free me from this man," she cried.
"He is acting by my orders, Helen," said Lindsay. "This time I have
taken such precautions that you cannot escape me."
"You cannot mean to carry me off against my will, Captain Lindsay,"
she cried. "I winna believe it of ye."
"I hope you will come quietly, Helen," he said, "and not compel me to
resort to force. But come you shall."
"Never!" she rejoined. "Ye ken fu' weel that I am Erick Dickson's
affianced wife. 'Twad be an infamy if ye were to tae me frae him."
"I care not," replied Lindsay. "I am determined to make you mine.
Fleet horses and trusty men are waiting outside the churchyard to bear
you off. In half-an-hour you will be far from Manchester, and out of
Erick's reach."
"If ye hae the heart o' a man, Rollo, ye will not aid in this wicked
deed," cried Helen.
But Rollo shook his head, and she made another appeal to Captain
Lindsay.
"Let me gae for pity's sake," she cried. "I wad kneel to you, if I
could."
"No, no, Helen," he rejoined. "I don't mean to part with you. But we
waste time. Bring her along."
Finding all entreaties unavailing, and that she could not extricate
herself from Rollo, who was a very powerful man, the unfortunate girl
uttered a loud shriek; but her cries were instantly stifled by Captain
Lindsay, who took off his scarf, and threw it over her head.
But her cry had reached other ears than they expected. As they were
hurrying her towards the spot where the horses were waiting for them,
a well-known voice was heard, exclaiming:
"Haud there, ye waur than rievers. When I saw the horses outside the
kirkyard, and noticed that one on 'em had a pillion, I suspected
something wrang; but when I heard the cry, I felt sure. Set her down,
ye villains!" cried Sergeant Dickson, rushing towards them.
"Heed him not, Rollo," said Captain Lindsay. "Place her on the pillion
and ride off with her. Leave me to deal with the noisy fool."
And, as he spoke, he drew his sword, planted himself in Dickson's way,
while Rollo moved off with his burden.
"Ye had better not hinder me, captain," cried the half-maddened
sergeant, drawing a pistol. "Bid that dastardly ruffian set her down
at once, or I'll send a bullet through your head."
"You dare not," said Lindsay, contemptuously.
"I will not see her stolen from me," cried the sergeant, furiously.
"Set her down, I say."
But finding his cries disregarded, he fired, and Captain Lindsay fell
dead at his feet.
On hearing the report of the pistol, Rollo looked round, and seeing
what had happened, instantly set down Helen and fled. Extricating
herself from the scarf, Helen rushed towards the spot where the
unfortunate officer was lying. Her lover was kneeling beside the body.
"Wae's me, Helen!" he exclaimed. "Wae's me, I hae kilt the captain."
"Ye canna be blamed for his death, Erick," she rejoined. "He brought
his punishment on himsel."
"I shall die for it, nevertheless, lassie," he rejoined.
"Die! you die, Erick, for savin' me frae dishonour!" she cried.
"Ay, ay, lass. He was my superior officer, and by the rules of war I
shall die. No escape for me."
"Oh! if you think sae, Erick, let us flee before ye can be taken," she
cried. "Come wi' me."
"Na! na!" he rejoined, gently resisting her. "I maun answer for what I
hae done. Leave me, lassie; gae back to the young leddy. Tell her what
has happened, and she will take care of you."
"Na, Erick, I winna leave you," she rejoined. "If ye are to dee, I'se
e'en dee wi' ye. Och!" she exclaimed, "here they come to tak ye! Get
up, lad, and flee!"
As a file of soldiers could be seen approaching, the sergeant rose to
his feet, but did not attempt to fly.
Immediately afterwards the soldiers came up. With them were two or
three men bearing torches, and as these were held down, the
unfortunate officer could be seen lying on his back, with his skull
shattered by the bullet.
The sergeant averted his gaze from the ghastly spectacle.
The soldiers belonged to the Manchester Regiment, and at their head
was Captain Dawson.
"How did this sad event occur, sergeant?" demanded Jemmy, after he had
examined the body.
"Captain Lindsay fell by my hand," replied Dickson. "I surrender
myself your prisoner, and am ready to answer for the deed."
"You must have done it in self-defence," said Jemmy. "I know you too
well to suppose you could have committed such a crime without some
strong motive."
"The deed was done in my rescue," cried Helen. "Captain Lindsay was
carrying me off when he was shot."
"I trust that will save him from the consequences of the act," replied
Jemmy, sadly. "My duty is to deliver him to the provost-marshal."
"That is all that I could desire," said the sergeant. "I ask no
greater favour from you."
"Oh! let me gae wi' him--let me gae wi' him," cried Helen,
distractedly. "I am the sad cause of it a'."
"Ye canna gang wi' me, lassie, unless you compose yersel," said the
sergeant, somewhat sternly.
"Dinna fear me--dinna fear me--I winna greet mair," she cried,
controlling her emotion by a powerful effort.
"May she walk by my side to the guard-room, Captain Dawson?" asked the
sergeant.
"She may," replied the other, adding to the men, "conduct the prisoner
to the guard-room near the prince's quarters."
The sergeant was then deprived of his arms, and the pistol with which
he had fired the fatal shot was picked up, and preserved as evidence
against him.
As Erick and Helen were marched off in the midst of the guard, another
file of men entered the churchyard, took up the body of the
unfortunate Captain Lindsay, and conveyed it to the quarters of the
commanding officer.
CHAPTER VII.
A COURT-MARTIAL.
Delivered over to the custody of the provost, the unfortunate Sergeant
Dickson was placed in the guard-room near the prince's head-quarters,
and a sentinel was stationed at the door. Helen was allowed to remain
with him. The greatest sympathy was felt for the sergeant, for he was
a universal favourite.
Full of anxiety, Captain Dawson sought an interview with the prince,
who, though engaged on business, immediately received him.
Charles looked very grave.
"I am greatly distressed by what has happened," he said. "There is not
a man in my whole army for whom I have a greater regard than Erick
Dickson, but I fear his sentence will be death. However, I will do
what I can for him. A court-martial shall be held immediately, and I
have sent for Lord George Murray to preside over it, and we must wait
the result of the investigation. As yet I cannot interfere."
As the prince had ordered that the examination should take place
without delay, a court-martial was held in a room on the ground floor
of the mansion occupied by his royal highness. Lord George Murray
presided, and with him were Lord Elcho, Lord Pitsligo, Colonel
Townley, and the Chevalier de Johnstone; Captain Legh, Captain Deacon,
Captain Dawson, and several other officers were likewise present.
The president occupied a raised chair at the head of the table, round
which the others were seated. The room was only imperfectly lighted.
After a short deliberation, the prisoner was brought in by two
soldiers, who stood on either side of him.
Bowing respectfully to the court, he drew himself up to his full
height, and maintained a firm deportment throughout his examination.
"Sergeant Dickson," said Lord George Murray, in a stern and solemn
voice, "you are charged with the dreadful crime of murder--aggravated
in your instance, because your hand has been raised against your
superior officer. If you have aught to state in mitigation of your
offence, the court will listen to you."
"My lord," replied Dickson, firmly, "I confess myself guilty of the
crime with which I am charged. I did shoot Captain Lindsay, but
perhaps the provocation I received, which roused me beyond all
endurance, may be held as some extenuation of the offence. Nothing, I
am well aware, can justify the act. My lord, I could not see the girl
I love carried off before my eyes, and not demand her release. Captain
Lindsay refused--mocked me--and I shot him. That is all I have to
say."
Brief as was this address, it produced a most powerful effect. After a
short deliberation by the court, Lord George thus addressed the
prisoner:
"Sergeant Dickson, since you acknowledge your guilt, it is not
necessary to pursue the examination, but before pronouncing sentence,
the court desires to interrogate Helen Carnegie."
"She is without, my lord," replied the sergeant.
On the order of Lord George, Helen was then introduced, and as she was
well known to the president, and to every member of the council, the
greatest sympathy was manifested for her.
She was very pale, and did not venture to look at the sergeant, lest
her composure should be shaken, but made a simple reverence to the
president and the council.
"Sergeant Dickson has confessed his guilt, Helen," observed Lord
George. "But we desire to have some information from your lips. How
came you to meet Captain Lindsay in the churchyard?"
"I did na meet him, my lord," she replied, with indignation. "It was a
base and dishonourable trick on his part. Little did I ken that he was
lyin' in wait for me. Rollo Forbes brought me word that Erick wished
me to come to him, and when I went forth into the kirkyard, Captain
Lindsay seized me, and wad have carried me aff. He has long persecuted
me wi' his addresses, but I ha' gi'en him nae encouragement, and wad
ha' shunned him if I could. A scarf was thrown over my head by the
captain to stifle my cries, and had not Erick came to my rescue I
should ha' been carried off. Captain Lindsay deserved his fate, and so
all men will feel who prize their sweethearts. Erick was bound to
defend me."
"His first duty was to observe the rules of war," remarked Lord George
sternly. "We are willing to believe your story, Helen, but we have no
proof that you did not voluntarily meet Captain Lindsay."
"That fawse villain, Rollo, has fled, but there is a young leddy
without, my lord--Miss Byrom--who will testify to the truth of my
statement, if you will hear her."
"Let her come in," said the president.
Beppy Byrom was then introduced.
She was accompanied by her father, who remained near her during her
brief examination.
Though looking very pale, Beppy was perfectly self-possessed, and
quite confirmed Helen's statement that she had been lured from the
house by a supposed message from the sergeant; adding emphatically:
"I am sure she would never have gone forth to meet Captain Lindsay,
for I know she detested him."
"Ay, that I did!" exclaimed Helen, unable to control her feelings, and
wholly unconscious that she was guilty of disrespect.
Lord George then ordered the court to be cleared, and Beppy and Dr.
Byrom went out, but Helen, scarcely comprehending the order, did not
move, till her arm was touched by the officer.
She then cast an agonised look at Erick, and would have flung herself
into his arms if she had not been prevented.
As she went out, she turned to the judges and said:
"Be merciful to him, I pray you, my lords."
The court then deliberated for a short time, during which Lord George
was earnestly addressed in a low tone both by Colonel Townley and the
Chevalier de Johnstone, but his countenance remained very grave.
At last, amid profound silence, he addressed the prisoner in the
following terms: "Sergeant Dickson, the court has taken into
consideration your excellent character, and the strong provocation
that impelled you to commit this desperate act, and which certainly
mitigates the offence; and such is our pity for you, that, were it in
our power; we would pardon your offence, or at all events would visit
it with a slight punishment; but we have no option--leniency on our
part would be culpable. You have murdered an officer, and must die.
Sentence of death is therefore passed upon you by the court."
"I expected this, my lord," observed the sergeant firmly, "and am
prepared to meet my fate. But I would not die as a murderer."
"The crime you have committed is murder," said Lord George; "and I can
hold out no hope whatever of pardon. You are too good a soldier not to
know that if your life were spared it would be an ill example to the
army, besides being a violation of the law."
An awful pause ensued.
The profound silence was then broken by the prisoner, who said, in a
low, firm voice:
"All the grace I will ask from your lordship and the court is, that
execution of the sentence you have passed upon me, the justice of
which I do not deny, may not be delayed."
"We willingly grant your request," replied Lord George. "The execution
shall take place at an early hour in the morning."
"I humbly thank your lordship," said Dickson. "But I would further
pray that my affianced wife, who has been unwittingly the cause of
this disaster, be permitted to bear me company during the few hours I
have left; and that she also be permitted to attend my execution."
"To the former part of the request there can be no objection," said
Lord George. "Helen shall remain with you during the night, but she
can scarcely desire to be present at your execution."
"She will never leave me to the last," said the sergeant.
"Be it as you will," replied Lord George.
The sergeant was then removed by the guard, and given in charge of the
provost, and the court broke up.
CHAPTER VIII.
HELEN PLEADS IN VAIN.
Immediately after the breaking up of the court, Lord George Murray and
the other members of the council waited upon the prince to acquaint
him with their decision.
Though greatly pained, he thought they were right, and after some
discussion they retired and left him alone.
But the prince was so much troubled, that though excessively fatigued
he could not retire to rest, but continued to pace his chamber till
past midnight, when Captain Dawson entered and informed him that Miss
Byrom earnestly craved an audience of him.
"She is not alone," added Jemmy. "Helen Carnegie is with her."
Charles hesitated for a short time, and said, "I would have avoided
this, if possible. But let them come in."
Beppy was then ushered in by Jemmy, and made a profound obeisance to
the prince.
Behind her stood Helen, who seemed quite overwhelmed with grief.
"I trust your highness will pardon me," said Beppy. "I have consented
to accompany this poor heart-broken girl, and I am sure you will
listen to her, and if possible grant her prayer."
"I will readily listen to what she has to say," replied the prince, in
a compassionate tone; "but I can hold out little hope."
"Oh, do not say so, most gracious prince!" cried Helen, springing
forward, and catching his hand, while he averted his face. "For the
love of Heaven have pity upon him! His death win be my death, for I
canna survive him. Ye haven a mair leal subject nor a better sodger
than Erick Dickson. Willingly wad he shed his heart's bluid for ye!
Were he to dee, claymore in hand, for you, I should not lament
him--but to dee the death o' a red-handed murtherer, is not fit for a
brave man like Erick."
"I feel the force of all you say, Helen," replied Charles, sadly.
"Erick is brave and loyal, and has served me well."
"Then show him mercy, sweet prince," she rejoined. "He is no
murtherer--not he! Pit the case to yersel, prince. Wad ye hae seen the
mistress o' yer heart carried off, and not hae slain the base villain
who took her? I ken not."
"'Tis hard to tell what I might do, Helen," observed Charles. "But the
rules of war cannot be broken. A court-martial has been held, and has
pronounced its sentence. I must not reverse it."
"But you are above the court-martial, prince," she cried. "You can
change its decree. If any one is guilty--'tis I! Had I not come wi'
Erick this wad never have happened. He has committed no other fawt."
"On the contrary, he has always done his duty--done it well," said the
prince. "Both Colonel Johnstone and Colonel Townley have testified
strongly in his favour. But I required no testimony, for I well know
what he has done."
"And yet ye winna pardon him?" she cried, reproachfully.
"I cannot, Helen--I cannot," replied Charles. "My heart bleeds for
you, but I must be firm."
"Think not you will set an ill example by showing mercy in this
instance, prince," she said. "Erick's worth and valour are known. Sae
beloved is he, that were there time, hundreds of his comrades wad beg
his life. If he be put to death for nae fawt, men win think he has
been cruelly dealt with."
"You go too far, Helen," said the prince, compassionately, "but I do
not blame your zeal."
"Pardon me, sweet prince--pardon me if I have said mair than I ought.
My heart overflows, and I must gie vent to my feelings, or it will
break! Oh, that I were able to touch your heart, prince!"
"You do touch it, Helen. Never did I feel greater difficulty in acting
firmly than I do at this moment."
"Then yield to your feelings, prince--yield to them, I implore you,"
she cried, passionately. "Oh, madam!" she added to Beppy, "join your
prayers to mine, and perchance his highness may listen to us!"
Thus urged, Beppy knelt by Helen's side, and said, in an earnest
voice:
"I would plead earnestly with you, prince, to spare Erick. By putting
him to death you will deprive yourself of an excellent soldier, whose
place you can ill supply."
"Very true," murmured Charles. "Very true."
"Then listen to the promptings of your own heart, which counsels you
to spare him," she continued.
For a moment it seemed as if Charles was about to yield, but he
remained firm, and raising her from her kneeling posture, said:
"This interview must not be prolonged."
Helen, however, would not rise, but clung to his knees, exclaiming,
distractedly:
"Ye winna kill him! ye winna kill him!"
Jemmy removed her gently, and with Beppy's aid she was taken from the
room.
CHAPTER IX.
TOGETHER TO THE LAST.
For a few minutes after her removal from the cabinet, Helen was in a
state of distraction, but at length she listened to Beppy's
consolations and grew calmer.
She then besought Captain Dawson to take her to the guard-chamber,
where Erick was confined. Before going thither she bade adieu to
Beppy. It was a sad parting, and drew tears from those who witnessed
it.
"Fare ye weel, dear young leddy!" she said. "May every blessing leet
upon your bonnie head, and on that ov yer dear, gude feyther! Most
like I shan never see you again on this airth, but I hope you win
sometimes think o' the puir Scottish lassie that loo'd ye weel!"
"Heaven strengthen you and support you, Helen!" cried Beppy, kissing
her. "I trust we shall meet again."
"Dinna think it," replied the other, sadly. "I hope and trust we may
meet again in a better world."
Beppy could make no reply--her heart was too full.
Embracing the poor girl affectionately, she hurried to her father, who
was waiting for her, and hastily quitted the house.
Helen was then conducted to the guard-room in which the sergeant was
confined.
Erick was seated on a wooden stool near a small table, on which a
light was placed, and was reading the Bible. He rose on her entrance,
and looked inquiringly at her.
"Na hope, Erick," she said, mournfully.
"I had nane, lassie," he replied.
They passed several hours of the night in calm converse, talking of
the past, and of the happy hours they had spent together; but at last
Helen yielded to fatigue, and when the guard entered the chamber he
found her asleep with her head resting on Erick's shoulder.
The man retired gently without disturbing her.
Meanwhile, the warrant, signed by Lord George Gordon, appointing the
execution to take place at seven o'clock in the morning, had been
delivered to the Chevalier de Johnstone, as commander of the corps to
which the unfortunate sergeant belonged, and all the necessary
preparations had been made.
There was some difficulty in arranging the execution party, for the
sergeant was so much beloved that none of his comrades would undertake
the dreadful task, alleging that their aim would not be steady. No
Highlander, indeed, could be found to shoot him.
Recourse was then had to the Manchester Regiment, and from this corps
a dozen men were selected.
The place of execution was fixed in an open field at the back of
Market Street Lane, and at no great distance from the prince's
residence.
The Rev. Mr. Coppock, chaplain of the regiment, volunteered to attend
the prisoner.
Helen slept on peacefully till near six o'clock, when a noise, caused
by the entrance of Colonel Johnstone and Mr. Coppock, aroused her, and
she started up.
"Oh! I have had such a pleasant dream, Erick," she said. "I thought we
were in the Highlands together. But I woke, and find mysel here," she
added, with a shudder.
"Well, you will soon be in the Highlands again, dear lassie," he said.
She looked at him wistfully, but made no answer.
"Are you prepared, sergeant?" asked Colonel Johnstone, after bidding
him good morrow.
"I am, sir," replied Dickson.
"'Tis well," said the colonel. "In half an hour you will set forth.
Employ the interval in prayer."
Colonel Johnstone then retired, and the chaplain began to perform the
sacred rites, in which both Erick and Helen took part.
Just as Mr. Coppock had finished, the sound of martial footsteps was
heard outside, and immediately afterwards the door was opened and the
provost entered the chamber, attended by a couple of men. Behind them
came Colonel Johnstone.
"Bind him," said the provost to his aids.
"Must this be?" cried Dickson.
"'Tis part of the regulation," rejoined the provost.
"It need not be observed on the present occasion," said Colonel
Johnstone. "I will answer for the prisoner's quiet deportment."
"You need fear nothing from me, sir," said Dickson.
"I will take your word," rejoined the provost. "Let his arms remain
free," he added to the men.
The order to march being given, the door was thrown open, and all
passed out.
Outside was a detachment from the corps to which Sergeant Dickson had
belonged. With them was the execution party, consisting of a dozen
picked men from the Manchester Regiment, commanded by Ensign Syddall,
who looked very sad. The detachment of Highlanders likewise looked
very sorrowful. With them were a piper and a drummer. The pipes were
draped in black, and the drum muffled. Though the morning was dull and
dark, a good many persons were looking on, apparently much impressed
by the scene.
Having placed himself at the head of the detachment, Colonel Johnstone
gave the word to march, and the men moved slowly on. The muffled drum
was beaten, and the pipes uttered a low wailing sound very doleful to
hear.
Then came Erick, with Helen by his side, and attended by the chaplain.
The sergeant's deportment was resolute, and he held his head erect. He
was in full Highland costume, and wore his bonnet and scarf.
All the spectators were struck by his tall fine figure, and grieved
that such a splendid man should be put to death.
But Helen excited the greatest sympathy. Though her features were
excessively pale, they had lost none of their beauty. The occasional
quivering of her lip was the only external sign of emotion, her step
being light and firm. Her eyes were constantly fixed upon her lover.
Prayers were read by the chaplain as they marched along.
The execution party brought up the rear of the melancholy procession.
As it moved slowly through a side street towards the field, the number
of spectators increased, but the greatest decorum was observed.
At length the place of execution was reached. It was the spot where
the attempt had been made to capture the prince; and on that dull and
dismal morning had a very gloomy appearance, quite in harmony with the
tragical event about to take place.
On reaching the centre of the field, the detachment of Highlanders
formed a semicircle, and a general halt took place--the prisoner and
those with him standing in the midst, and the execution party
remaining at the back.
Some short prayers were then recited by Mr. Coppock, in which both the
sergeant and Helen joined very earnestly.
These prayers over, the sergeant took leave of Helen, and strained her
to his breast.
At this moment, her firmness seemed to desert her, and her head fell
upon his shoulder. Colonel Johnstone stepped forward, and took her
gently away.
The provost then ordered a handkerchief to be bound over the
sergeant's eyes, but at the prisoner's earnest request this formality
was omitted.
The fatal moment had now arrived. The detachment of Highlanders drew
back, and Erick knelt down.
The execution party made ready, and moved up within six or seven yards
of the kneeling man.
"Fire!" exclaimed Syddall, and the fatal discharge took place--doubly
fatal as it turned out.
At the very instant when the word was given by Syddall, Helen rushed
up to her lover, and kneeling by his side, died with him.
Her faithful breast was pierced by the same shower of bullets that
stopped the beating of his valiant heart.
CHAPTER X.
MR. JAMES BAYLEY.
In spite of the exertions of the magistrates, only a very small sum
could be obtained from the inhabitants of the town, upon which another
meeting took place at the Bull's Head, and a deputation was formed to
wait upon the prince.
Accordingly, a large body of gentlemen proceeded to the prince's
head-quarters, and some half-dozen of them, including the two
magistrates and Mr. James Bayley, were ushered into the
council-chamber, where they found Charles and his secretary.
Mr. Fowden, who acted as spokesman, represented to the prince the
utter impossibility of raising the money, and besought that the
payment might be excused.
Charles, however, answered sternly:
"Your fellow-townsmen have behaved so badly that they deserve no
consideration from me. The subsidy must be paid."
"I do not see how it can be accomplished," said Mr. Fowden.
"If it is not paid by one o'clock, you will incur the penalty,"
rejoined Mr. Murray. "Meantime, stringent measures must be adopted. I
am aware, Mr. Bayley, that you are one of the wealthiest merchants of
the town, and I shall therefore detain you as a hostage for the
payment. If the money is not forthcoming at the appointed time, we
shall carry you along with us."
"Surely your royal highness will not countenance this severity," said
Mr. Bayley, appealing to the prince. "I have not slept out of my own
house for the last two years, and am quite unable to travel. If I am
forced off in this manner I shall have a dangerous illness."
"I cannot part with you, Mr. Bayley," said the prince. "But I will put
you to as little personal inconvenience as possible. You shall have my
carriage."
"I humbly thank your royal highness for your consideration, but I
still hope I may be excused on the score of my age and infirmities."
"You cannot expect it, Mr. Bayley," interposed Mr. Murray. "Your case
is not so bad as that of the two magistrates, who will certainly be
shot if the money is not forthcoming."
"We have done our best to raise it, but we find it quite impossible,"
said Mr. Fowden. "The amount is too large. I do not think there is
five thousand pounds in the whole town."
"I am sure there is not," added Mr. Walley, with a groan.
"Since you give me this positive assurance, gentlemen," said Charles,
"I consent to reduce the amount to half. But I will make no further
concession. Meantime, Mr. Bayley must remain a prisoner."
"I pray your royal highness to listen to me," said the old gentleman.
"By detaining me you will defeat your object. If I am kept here I can
do nothing, but if you will allow me to go free I may be able to
borrow the money."
Apparently convinced by this reasoning, Charles spoke to his
secretary, who said:
"Mr. Bayley, if you will give the prince your word of honour that you
will bring him the sum of two thousand five hundred pounds in two
hours, or return and surrender yourself a prisoner, his royal highness
is willing to set you at liberty."
"I agree to the conditions," replied the old gentleman.
With a profound obeisance to the prince, he then withdrew with the
magistrates.
Accompanied by the rest of the deputation, who had waited outside in
the hall, Mr. Bayley returned to the Bull's Head, where a conference
was held.
After some discussion, Mr. Bayley thus addressed the assemblage: "You
see, gentlemen, the very serious position in which I am placed--and
our worthy magistrates are still worse off. The money must be
raised--that is certain. Let us regard it as a business transaction.
You shall lend me the sum required. I and my friend Mr. Dickenson will
give you our promissory notes at three months for the amount."
The proposition was immediately agreed to. The meeting broke up, and
in less than an hour the money was brought to Mr. Bayley. Promissory
notes were given in exchange, and the sum required was taken to Mr.
Murray by the two magistrates, who were thus freed from further
responsibility.
CHAPTER XI.
THE VISION.
Nearly a fortnight had passed since Constance's return to Rawcliffe
Hall, and during that interval much had happened. Sir Richard had been
laid in the family vault. The interment took place at night, and was
witnessed only by the household, the last rites being performed by
Father Jerome. Mrs. Butler and her daughter were now inmates of the
hall, but the old lady seldom left her chamber. Gloom seemed to have
settled upon the mansion. The two young damsels never strayed beyond
the park, and rarely beyond the garden. As yet, they had received no
tidings of the Highland army, except that it had arrived at Derby.
They knew nothing of the retreat, and fancied that the prince was on
his way to London. The next news they received might be of a glorious
victory--or of a signal defeat. Rumours there were of all kinds, but
to these they attached no importance.
It was a dark dull December afternoon, and the principal inmates of
the hall were assembled in the library. A cheerful fire blazed on the
hearth, and lighted up the sombre apartment. Father Jerome was reading
near the window. Mrs. Butler was reciting her prayers, and the two
girls were conversing together, when the door opened, and an
unexpected visitor entered the room. It was Atherton. Uttering a cry
of delight, Constance sprang to her feet, and was instantly folded to
his breast.
Before he could answer any questions, Monica rushed up to him, and
said:
"Oh! relieve my anxiety. Is Jemmy safe?"
"Safe and well," replied Atherton. "He is in Manchester with the
regiment, but Colonel Townley would not allow him to accompany me."
"What am I to understand by all this?" cried Constance.
"All chance of our gaining London is over," replied Atherton. "The
prince has retreated from Derby, and is now returning to Scotland."
"Without a battle?" cried Constance.
"Ay, without a battle," he replied, sadly.
"I can scarcely believe what I hear," cried Monica. "I would rather a
sanguinary engagement had taken place than this should have happened."
"The prince was forced to retreat," rejoined Atherton. "The Highland
chiefs would proceed no further."
"Will Jemmy retire from the regiment?" cried Monica.
"No, he will proceed with it to Carlisle. I shall go there likewise. I
have obtained leave from the prince to pay this hasty visit. I must
return in the morning. We may yet have to fight a battle, for it is
reported that the Duke of Cumberland is in hot pursuit, and Marshal
Wade may cut off our retreat."
"I will not say that all is lost," observed Constance. "But it seems
to me that the prince has lost all chance of recovering the throne.
His army and his friends will be alike discouraged, and the attempt
cannot be renewed."
"Such is my own opinion, I confess," replied Atherton. "Nevertheless,
I cannot leave him."
He then addressed himself to Mrs. Butler and Father Jerome, who had
been looking anxiously towards him, and acquainted them with the cause
of his unexpected return. They were both deeply grieved to hear of the
prince's retreat.
Tears were shed by all the ladies when they were told of the execution
of poor Erick Dickson, and they deplored the fate of the faithful
Helen Carnegie. Atherton had a long conversation with Constance, but
they could not arrange any plans for the future. At last the hour came
for separation for the night, and it was in a very depressed state of
mind that he sought his chamber.
It was a large apartment, panelled with oak, and contained a massive
oak bedstead with huge twisted columns, and a large canopy. Though a
wood fire blazed on the hearth, and cast a glow on the panels, the
appearance of the room was exceedingly gloomy.
"'Tis the best bedroom in the house, and I have therefore prepared it
for you," observed old Markland, who had conducted him to the room.
"You will easily recognise the portrait over the mantelpiece. I have
not removed it, as I have not received orders to do so."
Atherton looked up at the picture indicated by the old butler, and
could not repress a shudder as he perceived it was a portrait of his
uncle, Sir Richard.
However, he made no remark, and shortly afterwards Markland quitted
the room.
Seating himself in an easy-chair by the fire, Atherton began to
reflect upon the many strange events that had occurred to him, and he
almost began to regret that he had ever joined the unlucky expedition.
While indulging these meditations, he fell into a sort of doze, and
fancied that a figure slowly approached him.
How the person had entered the room he could not tell, for he had not
heard the door open, nor any sound of footsteps. The figure seemed to
glide towards him, rather than walk, and, as it drew nearer, he
recognised the ghastly and cadaverous countenance.
Transfixed with horror, he could neither stir nor speak. For some time
the phantom stood there, with its melancholy gaze fixed upon him.
At last a lugubrious voice, that sounded as if it came from the grave,
reached his ear.
"I have come to warn you," said the phantom. "You have neglected my
counsel. Be warned now, or you will lose all!"
For a few moments the phantom continued to gaze earnestly at him and
then disappeared.
At the same time the strange oppression that had benumbed his
faculties left him, and he was able to move.
As he rose from his chair, he found that the fire was almost extinct,
and that his taper had burnt low.
On consulting his watch he perceived that it was long past midnight.
He could not be quite sure whether he had been dreaming, or had beheld
a vision; but he felt the necessity of rest, and hastily disrobing
himself, he sought the couch, and slept soundly till morning.
He was awake when old Markland entered his room, but he said nothing
to him about the mysterious occurrence of the night.
Determined to abide by his plans, and fearing his resolution might be
shaken, he ordered his horses to be got ready in half an hour. He did
not see Constance before his departure, but left kind messages for
her, and for Mrs. Butler and Monica, by Markland.
The old butler looked very sad, and when Atherton told him he should
soon be back again, he did not seem very hopeful.
A fog hung over the moat as he crossed the drawbridge, followed by his
groom. On gaining the park, he cast a look back at the old mansion,
and fancying he descried Constance at one of the windows, he waved an
adieu to her.
As it was not his intention to return to Manchester, but to rejoin the
retreating army at Preston, he forded the Mersey at a spot known to
Holden, and avoiding Warrington, rode on through a series of lanes to
Newton--proceeding thence to Wigan, where he halted for an hour to
refresh his horse, and breakfast, after which he continued his course
to Preston.
On arriving there he found the town in a state of great confusion. The
Highland army was expected, but it was also thought that Marshal Wade
would intercept the retreat.
To the latter rumour Atherton attached very little credence, but put
up at an inn to await the arrival of the prince.
CHAPTER XII.
THE RETREAT FROM MANCHESTER TO CARLISLE.
On the evening when Atherton visited Rawcliffe Hall, intelligence was
received that the Duke of Cumberland was advancing by forced marches
to Manchester, and as it was not the prince's intention to give the
duke battle, he prepared for an immediate retreat.
Early on the following morning, therefore, the main body of the army,
with Charles at its head, quitted the town, and crossed Salford Bridge
on the way to Wigan.
Very different was the departure from the arrival. Those who witnessed
it did not attempt to conceal their satisfaction, and but few cheers
were given to the prince.
At a later hour the Manchester Regiment commenced its march. Its
numbers had again been reduced, several desertions having taken place.
Some of the officers went on very reluctantly, and one of them,
Captain Fletcher, who had refused to proceed further, was dragged off
by a party of soldiers.
Shortly after Colonel Townley's departure an express from the Duke of
Cumberland was received by the magistrates, enjoining them to seize
all stragglers from the rebel army, and detain them until his arrival.
The duke also promised to send on a party of dragoons, but as they had
not yet come up, and several regiments had not yet quitted the town,
the magistrates did not dare to act.
However, as the rear-guard of the army was passing down Smithy Bank to
the bridge, a shot was fired from a garret-window, by which a dragoon
was killed, upon which the regiment immediately faced about, and the
colonel commanding it was so enraged that he gave orders to fire the
town.
In an instant all was confusion and dismay. The men, who were quite as
infuriated as their leader, were preparing to execute the order, when
they were pacified by the capture of the author of the outrage, and
summary justice having been inflicted upon him, the regiment quitted
Manchester, very much to the relief of the inhabitants.
On that night the prince slept at Wigan; on the following day he
marched with his whole forces to Preston, and here Atherton joined
him.
Next day, Charles pursued his march to Lancaster, where he remained
for a couple of days to recruit his men before entering upon the fells
of Westmoreland.
After quitting Lancaster, the army moved on in two divisions, one of
which rested at Burton, and the other at Kirkby Lonsdale, but they
joined again at Kendal, and then continued their march over Shap
Fells. The weather was exceedingly unpropitious, and the fine views
from the hills were totally obscured by mist.
The prince's deportment seemed entirely changed. He had quite lost the
spirit and ardour that characterised him on the onward march, and he
seemed perpetually to regret that he had turned back. He thought he
had thrown away his chance, and should never recover it.
One day he unburdened his breast to Captain Legh, for whom he had
conceived a great regard, and said:
"I ought to have gone on at all hazards. The army would not have
abandoned me--even if their leaders had turned back. By this time I
should have been master of London--or nothing."
In vain Atherton tried to cheer him. For a few minutes he roused
himself, but speedily relapsed into the same state of dejection.
Heretofore, as we have stated, the prince had marched on foot at the
head of one column of the army, but he now left the command of this
division to the Duke of Perth, and rode in the rear, attended by the
Marquis d'Eguilles, Sir Thomas Sheridan, Secretary Murray, and Captain
Legh.
Lord George Gordon commanded the rear-guard, and was more than a day's
march behind the van--great fears being entertained lest the
retreating army should be overtaken by the Duke of Cumberland, who was
in full pursuit. At length, these apprehensions were realised.
The duke came up with the rear-guard at Clifton, near Penrith, and
immediately attacked it, but was most vigorously and successfully
repulsed by Lord George; and little doubt can be entertained that if
Charles, who was at Penrith, had sent reinforcements, the duke would
have been defeated, and perhaps might have been taken prisoner.
Be this as it may, the pursuit was checked, and Charles reached
Carlisle without further interruption.
End of the Third Book.
BOOK IV.
CARLISLE.
CHAPTER I.
COLONEL TOWNLEY APPOINTED COMMANDANT OF THE CARLISLE GARRISON.
On the prince's march south, three companies of Highlanders had been
left at Carlisle under the command of Colonel Hamilton, but it was now
proposed to strengthen the garrison by the addition of the Manchester
Regiment, in case the town should be besieged by the Duke of
Cumberland.
To this plan Colonel Townley raised no objection, as his men were
disinclined to proceed further, and he doubted whether they could be
induced to cross the Border. He was therefore appointed commander of
the town garrison, while Colonel Hamilton retained the governorship of
the citadel.
The Scottish army did not remain more than a day in Carlisle, and none
of the men wished to be left behind.
On the contrary, it was sorely against their inclination that the
three companies of the Duke of Perth's regiment remained with Colonel
Hamilton.
On the morning of the prince's departure from Carlisle, the Manchester
Regiment, now reduced to a hundred and twenty men, was drawn up on the
esplanade of the old castle. With it was Colonel Townley, now
commandant of the garrison. On the glacis, also, were ranged the three
companies of Highlanders who were to be left with Colonel Hamilton.
Already the greater portion of the Scottish army had quitted the town,
but Charles remained behind to bid adieu to his devoted adherents.
Apparently he was much moved as he thus addressed the officers and men
of the Manchester Regiment:
"I am loth to leave you here, but since it is your wish not to cross
the Border, I do not urge you to accompany me to Scotland." Then
addressing the Highland companies, he added: "Scotsmen, you must
remain here for a short time longer. Should the town be besieged, you
need have no fear. The castle can hold out for a month, and long
before that time I will come to your assistance with a strong force."
This address was received with loud cheers, both by Englishmen and
Scots.
Colonel Townley then stepped forward and said:
"Your royal highness may rely upon it that we will hold the place till
your return. We will never surrender."
"I will answer for my men," added Colonel Hamilton. "The Duke of
Cumberland and Marshal Wade shall batter the castle about our ears
before we will give it up."
"I am quite satisfied with this assurance," rejoined the prince. Then
turning to Captain Legh, he said to him: "Will you remain, or
accompany me to Scotland?"
"Since your royal highness allows me the choice, I will remain with
the regiment," replied Atherton. "I think I can best serve you here."
Charles looked hard at him, but did not attempt to dissuade him from
his purpose.