Sleep was not destined that night to visit the eyes of the young Earl
of Eskdale. He made his way through the passages to the stone door
near the well--opened it cautiously, and looked around. Nobody was to
be seen; and the sounds which had alarmed them above had ceased.
Closing the door and locking it, he hastened back to the cottage of
Grayling, seated himself with the old man, who was still up by the
fire, and inquired whether he had heard any noise. But the sounds had
not reached the hamlet; and, after waiting half an hour, the old man
went out to seek intelligence. When he returned, he brought the
servant, Thomas Higham, with him, whose explanation was so far
satisfactory, that it showed Smeaton, or, at least, led him to
believe, that no fresh peril was to be apprehended for the time. The
high words which had been heard by the lover and his fair bride had
passed between the servant and a messenger from Exeter, and were
provoked by Higham himself, in order to give early intimation to his
master that the household was likely soon to be disturbed.
"You see, my Lord," he said, "the truth is, Sir John rode a great part
of the way to Exeter this morning, having been summoned thither, I
dare say, upon your affairs. But he would not go the whole way,
because he had required that assurance should be given him on the
road, that his house should not be taken possession of during his
absence; and no messenger met him. The fellow says he was detained,
and could not come on till to-night. I dare say, he got drunk and
forgot all about it; but I picked a quarrel with him in order to let
you hear."
"Then it was merely the messenger with whom you were speaking?" said
Smeaton. "Do you know what reply he brought to Sir John?"
"Oh, yes!" answered Higham. "I got that out of him in his passion. He
said we were all insolent alike, Sir John and his servants (one of
whom he took me to be); and that the magistrates at Exeter would give
no such assurances to anybody, till Sir John had explained his
conduct."
"Is he gone?" demanded his master.
"Oh, yes, my Lord," replied Higham. "I kept hiding in the wood till I
heard him trotting back again; and then I was just coming hither, when
I met old Stockfish here."
"Then I will ride over at once to Keanton," said Smeaton, "if you can
get me your horse out of the stable."
"Why, it is only the pack-horse, my Lord," replied Higham; "and though
it is as strong as a lion, it is as slow as a bear."
"It matters not," replied his master. "It would take too long to get
either of the others from the farm. Bring it down to the end of the
hamlet as speedily as possible, and then remain here till I come back,
in order that they may think you are riding it yourself."
The man sped away; the horse was soon brought; and, about two in the
morning, Smeaton was on his road towards Keanton. On his arrival, he
found that, though most persons in the little village were asleep, two
Or three of the principal farmers were congregated at the house of
Thompson, waiting for his arrival. He was received with every sort of
respect; but, nevertheless, there was a somewhat gloomy and
dissatisfied look about the men, which gave him some key to their
feelings. They said that the message they had received in his name had
so completely misled them, that every preparation had been made for
taking up arms, and without much secresy or disguise.
"If we stand hesitating, my Lord," said one of the men, boldly, "the
people of Exeter, who have had spies amongst us, won't fail to be down
upon us when we least expect them; and then we shall be marched away
to prison. Nobody doubted, my Lord, that the order came from you; for
the only thing that surprised us was, that you had not given it long
before. We are, every one of us, willing to shed our blood for our
right King, under the command of your Lordship, whose good father was
ever ready to draw the sword in a just cause; but we should not like
to spend the rest of our lives in jail without striking a blow, right
or wrong."
Smeaton was a good deal mortified, for there was but little time to
give long explanations as to his motives, or to show the worthy men
around him how hopeless was the course they were inclined to pursue.
He told them, however, briefly but clearly, that he credited in no
degree the assertion, so frequently made by the Jacobite party, that
the majority of the people of England were anxious for the return of
the Stuarts. He had convinced himself, he said, that such was not the
case; and he added, what seemed to surprise them very much, that he
thought the people of any country had a right to some voice in the
disposal of the crown. It must be remembered that the divine right of
kings had at that period been rarely questioned; that where, as in the
case of England, it had not only been questioned but set aside, the
new doctrine of the people's rights had only made way with one party;
and that that party had shown themselves so far doubtful of their own
position as to choose for their sovereign a member of the same family
whose head they had repudiated. The men to whom Smeaton spoke had been
bred up under his ancestors, with the notion of this divine right
inculcated upon them from infancy, almost as a part of their religion;
and it is not, therefore, to be wondered at that they marvelled
exceedingly to hear their young lord pronounce doctrines which to them
seemed little less than treasonable. They could comprehend his
arguments much better, however, when he went on to explain to them
that the chances of an insurrection even in the north of Great Britain
being successful were exceedingly small at that time; and that no
chance whatever existed of a rising in the west of England prospering
for above a day. He showed them that, from the information they
themselves possessed, it was clear that all the principal leaders of
the Jacobite party in Devonshire and Somersetshire had been secured,
by orders of the government; and that no force could be raised
sufficient to resist the troops which were ready to act against the
Pretender.
"Yes, my lord," replied the farmer who had before spoken; "but we
might make our way across the country, to help our friends in the
north; and that _I_ shall do, for one, now I have made up my mind."
The man spoke in a dogged and determined tone; and several others who
were present, though they said little, seemed much inclined to follow
his example. The time thus ran on for about an hour in fruitless
discussion; and then it became necessary for the young nobleman to
return to his place of refuge. He could, therefore, only entreat those
by whom he was surrounded to pause and consider well before they acted
upon a resolution which might hurry them into dangers they had not yet
fully calculated.
With this advice he left them; and, according to custom on such
occasions, his conduct became the subject of much comment after he was
gone. Some blamed him as a waverer; some of the more rash affected to
doubt his courage; and others marvelled at what could possess him;
when some one, in a jocular manner, alluded to the pretty lady at Ale
Manor as the probable cause of their lord's hesitation and reluctance.
As usual, when any likely solution of a difficult question is
suggested, every one seized on the idea thus started; poor Emmeline
was looked upon as a sort of Cleopatra who kept their Marc Antony in
the toils of love; and the good farmers set themselves seriously to
consider whether no means existed of forcibly withdrawing their young
lord from this entanglement.
In the meanwhile, Smeaton rode back towards Ale; but, as always
happens when speed is required, more than one impediment came in his
way. It was still blowing hard, although the gale was somewhat more
moderate; and the young nobleman's horse laboured and panted up the
hills as if his lungs were unsound. This, however, would only have
produced a delay of about a quarter of an hour; but a much more
serious obstacle soon presented itself. The beast cast a shoe; no
means of replacing it were near at hand; and it was impossible to
proceed with anything like speed.
Embarrassed and annoyed, the young nobleman nevertheless pursued his
way, though day dawned and the sun rose when he was fully six miles
from the village of Ale. Two courses were before him: either to ride
on boldly and risk a meeting with those whom he wished to avoid, or to
hide in some of the hollows of the hills till night fell, taking his
chance of obtaining food from the shepherds or herdsmen who fed their
cattle on the downs. But a feeling of recklessness had come over him,
proceeding not alone from the conversation which had just passed, but
also from a perception of the manifold dangers of his position and of
the difficult situation in which he was placed; and he had determined
to go forward at all hazards, when he perceived some one on foot,
apparently watching him from the summit of one of the neighbouring
hills. As soon as the man got sight of Smeaton riding below, he ran
down towards him as fast as possible; and the young Earl conjectured
that there was an intention of cutting him off on the road towards
Ale.
"I can deal with one at least," he thought, and pushed on somewhat
more rapidly, although his horse now went very lamely.
But the person on the hill ran fast, and cut him off at a turning in
the path he was pursuing, when, to Smeaton's surprise, he beheld the
face and figure of his servant, Higham, who, holding up his hand to
prevent his farther advance, besought him not to ride on, on any
account.
"You cannot get to the village, my Lord, but by passing round the
Manor house, and it is in possession of the soldiers from Exeter. They
have taken Sir John out of his bed this morning, and intend to carry
him away to Exeter, a prisoner. He talks very high, but looks low, and
so I thought I might as well run on to tell you, and keep myself out
of harm's way."
"Sir John Newark!" exclaimed Smeaton, in utter amazement; for the
character of the knight was in no degree a secret to him,
notwithstanding all the pains taken to conceal his real views and
objects. "Are you sure, Higham, that I am not the real object of the
search, and that Sir John is not arrested either from his having
hidden me in his house so long, or as a sort of security for my
discovery?"
"Lord bless you, no, my Lord!" replied Higham. "Sir John Newark is
lagged for Sir John Newark's own doings. He has played fast and loose
with every government for many a long year, and has won a precious
deal by the game--at least, so the people here say. He has made people
in London fancy he is much more powerful in Devonshire than he is; and
so, whenever he wanted anything, he made a show of going over to the
other party, and got what he required. Now, if he wanted Keanton, for
instance, and thought that the Whigs were likely to win the day, he
would become very high church indeed, and pretend to be plotting with
your Lordship just to be bribed to give it up and betray you. But such
a man is caught out in the end. He cannot carry on such a game without
making some mistake, and the magistrates here are desperate sharp. I
was in the house when the soldiers came, and it oozed out amongst them
that Sir John was charged upon some letter found on a messenger, in
which he had gone a little too far. As to seeking for your Lordship,
they never asked for you at all; and, though they got possession of
the house quietly enough, they knew better than to go into the village
to make any search. They would have been thrashed out soon enough. All
they wanted was Sir John, and him they have caught and put in a bag.
But nevertheless, I think it would be better for you to keep out of
the way till the men are gone and have taken their prisoner with them;
for there is a great chance, if they found you, that they would bag
you too. As soon as they are gone, you have got the game in your own
hands; for there will be nobody at Ale to stop your doing what you
like, and I can go and watch from the top of Ale Head to see when they
pass up the road."
The words of Higham were like the voice of Hope, promising bright
things which might, or might not, be performed; but if a doubt
previously existed in the mind of Smeaton, as to whether he should or
should not go forward, it was at once removed. To try to make his way
into Ale, so long as the soldiery were at the Manor House, would have
been madness; and, consequently, choosing his course at once, he
determined to retreat a little way into the hollows, and to send the
man up to the high ground above Ale Head, whence a considerable
portion of the road the soldiers were obliged to travel was visible.
He accordingly sought out a spot whence he could keep his eye upon his
servant, whilst Higham watched the road, and arranged with his master
a sort of code of signals for the purpose of communicating what his
observations discovered from the height, without obliging the Earl to
descend. But the man had not been more than ten minutes at the highest
point of the coast when, by stretching out his right arm in the same
direction as the road to Exeter, he indicated that the guard and their
prisoner had set out.
Waiting a few minutes, to give time for their passing out of sight,
the young nobleman moved his horse slowly forward, choosing the soft
turf to ride over as the best for his horse's unshod feet; but, the
moment he altered his position, Higham ran down again to meet him, and
informed him that it would be better to wait a little; for, though the
greater number of the soldiers were out of sight, yet two were far in
the rear of the rest, and might recall the others in a moment.
"Sir John is determined to take it at his ease," added the man; "for
he has got his great coach and six horses, with a servant on horseback
at each wheel. It looks, for all the world, like the Lord Mayor's
coach, and goes as slow; but, at all events, it will serve his
purpose, and both make him comfortable in the inside, and delay the
people who have him in custody."
"Then, do you think he meditates escape?" asked the young Earl.
"That is as it may be, my lord," replied Higham. "If he hopes for any
one to help him, he is quite mistaken; for the fishermen would not
stir a finger for him, and the peasantry do not like him much better,
as far as I can hear. He is a sorry fellow, and a proud one, and won't
find many friends in the world; but, perhaps, he thinks to get off by
some trick, and then, if he does join the prince's army, he will have
taken the first strong resolution he ever did in his life--but he
won't do that. He will hold fast by the ruling power in the end,
depend upon it; for Sir John is his own sovereign, and nobody is so
despotic with him as his own interest."
Smeaton mused awhile, and then moved slowly forward again, sending his
servant a little in advance to see that the country was clear. No
obstacle, however, presented itself. The cavalcade was out of sight;
the grounds round Ale Manor were perfectly solitary, and not even a
herd or a labourer was to be seen. Dismounting from his horse, where
the road to the Manor House turned into the wood, the young Earl
descended on foot to the village, from which a sound of loud talking
came up the side of the hill. He found the greater part of the people
of the place--men, women, and even children--assembled in one of the
little gardens which, fenced with large flat stones, lay here and
there between the cottages. All seemed in a state of great excitement;
but it was evidently not excitement of an angry character; for some
laughed, while others talked loud, though in no very sad tone.
As soon as Smeaton was seen advancing, by those on the outside of the
little crowd, one stout fellow waved his hat and cried, "Hurrah!" and
congratulations poured thick upon him as he advanced amongst them.
"Ay, my Lord, we were in a bit of a fright about you," said old
Grayling, grasping his hand unceremoniously in his great, broad, hard
fist; "but not much either, for we sent out people to see that they
did not get hold of you."
"Perhaps, he does not know that the soldiers have been here, uncle,"
said the younger Grayling.
"No, not here, Dick, not here," said the stout old man. "They dared
not put their noses in here, if they had been five times their number.
Up at the house they might do what they liked. That was no business of
ours. But they are gone now, and have a long march to Exeter. So that
all is safe for a day or two."
"Then I suppose I can safely go up to the house," said the young
nobleman. "I wish to hear the particulars of all this business."
"Ay, safe enough," replied the old man, with a meaning laugh; "safer,
I fancy, than when you lived there quite at your ease, my lord. A bad
friend is worse than a bad enemy."
"But won't you have something to eat, sir?" inquired Dame Grayling.
"I'll get you something in a minute."
Smeaton, however, declined, and turned his steps by the shortest path
towards the house, thinking, with joy, it must be acknowledged, of the
removal of many obstacles in his way by the arrest of Sir John Newark.
Bitterly was he destined to be disappointed, as is often the case when
we suffer our hopes to be elated without a full knowledge of the
circumstances. He found everything quiet and tranquil about the house,
though he could hear some of the servants, as he approached, talking
together in the stable-court, and his eye ran over the windows, to see
if Emmeline was at any of them. Nobody, however was visible, and he
lifted the latch of the great door, to go in as usual. But the door
was locked, and he had to ring the bell and wait several minutes
before he gained admission. The servant, who appeared at length, was
one of the younger men; and, putting on a rueful aspect, with perhaps
a touch of hypocrisy, he was proceeding to inform the young nobleman
of the sad event which had occurred, when Mrs. Culpepper herself
glided into the hall, saying, with a low curtsey--
"If you will walk into the saloon, my lord, I will tell you all about
it."
Smeaton followed her, with some anxiety, for there was an ominous
gloom upon her face, which he did not think the mere arrest of Sir
John Newark was likely to produce.
"You have heard what has happened!" she said, immediately the door was
closed.
"That Sir John Newark has been made prisoner, and sent to Exeter,"
replied Smeaton.
"To London--to London," returned Mrs. Culpepper. "He will not even be
examined at Exeter, they say, but be sent off to Newgate or the Tower
at once. He has long been playing double with them, and now they have
found, upon a courier, a letter of his to the Earl of Mar, which, by
the explanations of the messenger, they make out to be full of
treason. But that is not the worst of it. He has taken the Lady
Emmeline with him, whether she would or not. We knew not what to
do--whether boldly to tell of her marriage, or still to keep it
secret. To say that she was married to you would have been to make
matters worse, and now, I will own, I am at my wits' end."
This was a terrible blow to Smeaton; one, indeed, on which he had
never calculated, and difficulties presented themselves in all ways.
If he lingered in that part of the country till tidings were obtained
from London, he was sure to be taken, and probably kept a prisoner at
Exeter; while, on the other hand, the intelligence he had received
from the fishermen had shown him that every road between Devonshire
and the capital was strictly watched and guarded; so that it was next
to impossible for him to pass in that direction without discovery.
Still, however, his mind was turned towards making the attempt at
least, and the only consideration was, how to do so in safety. He
could devise no means; but good Mrs. Culpepper came to his aid with a
plan which seemed feasible.
"To try and get over the whole distance by land," she said, "is
hopeless; but the boatmen will easily take you round, and land you on
some quiet part of the coast near Abbotsbury or Weymouth, whence you
can easily get to London under another name, and I don't know that
London is not as good a hiding-place as any in the land."
Smeaton's inclinations led him that way. Hope, too, unextinguishable
Hope, was busy in his breast, telling him that in the capital much
could be done which he would vainly attempt to do by letter. He would
see Lord Stair, he thought; he would cast himself upon his honour,
upon his generosity. He would explain his own conduct, and recall to
that nobleman the assurances he had given him not long before. Then,
when freed from the perils which now surrounded him, he could, with
safety to her and to himself, claim his beautiful bride, and set at
defiance the arts of open enemies or pretended friends.
"I will set out at once," he said, after having given a few minutes to
thought. "Yours is the best plan, my dear Nanny; and I will lose no
time in executing it. I have at least one good friend in London, who
has the will and the power to see justice done me."
"Pray take some refreshment before you go," said the housekeeper, in
the tone of old affection. "You have turned pale with all these bad
news, and look harassed and grieved."
"Well indeed may I, Nanny," replied the young Earl, laying his hand
kindly on her arm. "Were there nothing else, surely the loss of my
dear Emmeline, within ten short hours after she became mine, is enough
both to grieve and agitate me. But I need no refreshment, and shall
not be content till I am on my way."
"Nay, but stay a little," said the old housekeeper. "I can send down
and order the boat directly, while you take some food, and besides,
Richard, I am sure, will be glad to go with you as soon as he comes
back."
"Has he not gone with his father!" exclaimed Smeaton, in great
surprise.
"Oh, no, my lord," replied the housekeeper. "He was not here at the
time. He has not been in the house since five o'clock this morning,
when he rode away on one of his wild expeditions. We all thought he
had gone to seek you at Keanton."
"I did not meet with him," said Smeaton; "but doubtless he will be
glad to follow his father; and, though his presence may be some
embarrassment to me, yet, poor boy, it is well that he should go with
me."
"Better tell him all, my lord," observed Mrs. Culpepper. "You may
trust his word if he promises secresy; for, though a little twisted by
one thing or another, God gave him good wits at the first, and a good
heart too. Hark! That must be his horse. Yes, he is calling for a
groom. He must have heard what has happened; for that is not his usual
way of speaking. Stay:--I will get you both some food and wine. He
will want it as much as you."
She had hardly left the room when Richard Newark entered it; his
manner of speech and bearing were wholly, almost miraculously,
changed, as, with a heated face and eyes full of wild light, he
exclaimed, "Ah, you have heard the tidings, Eskdale! They have taken
away my father, which was what I always expected, and Emmeline too,
which, I did _not_ expect; for she meddled with nothing, and he
meddled with everything. Now, what do you intend to do? I know what
_I_ intend to do, if the chain and collar will let me."
"I propose," replied Smeaton, "to take boat at once, land somewhere
near Weymouth where we are not known, and thence make our journey to
London under fictitious names. I take it for granted that you are
anxious to follow your father; and, if you like to accompany me, I
shall be glad, although there is no need of your doing so; for
doubtless you would be permitted to pass unquestioned. As for me, the
plan I propose offers the only chance of my being able to reach the
capital except as a prisoner. But you must decide at once, Richard."
"What do you want in the capital?" asked. Richard Newark. "What have
you to do in that great ugly mixture of dirt, brick houses, and coal
smoke?"
"I have much business, and important business, there," answered
Smeaton. "Lord Stair pledged his word to me that I should remain safe
and unquestioned in this country for a time, if I meddled in no degree
with politics. I have not done so, and yet you know how I have been
treated."
Richard Newark laughed, and shook his head with a thoughtful and
abstracted air. "I must not say what I would fain say," he
remarked--"no, no, I must not. It is very odd that one's fate is so
often managed for one! You have been played upon, Smeaton."
"At all events," replied Smeaton, "I have written two letters to Lord
Stair, to neither of which I have received an answer. He is a man of
honour and a gentleman, who will not deny his plighted word; and I
must go to London to claim its fulfilment."
"There are two reasons why you must not," said Richard, "and good ones
too, whatever you may think. First, you can't; and, secondly, there
would be no good in going if you could. Listen to me, listen to me. A
ship of war is lying off the mouth of the bay, sent down, as I learn,
to watch the coast and search every boat. That is for the 'can't.' Now
for the 'good of going.' Lord Stair is not in London. He is in command
of the troops in Scotland; and, if you want him, noble Lord, you must
go north." Then, opening the door, he shouted, "Where is the Flying
Post that came yesterday? It was in this room last night."
In answer to his call, a servant brought him one of the newspapers of
the day, where, amongst other brief and uncommented announcements,
appeared a paragraph, stating that the Earl of Stair had set out on
the morning preceding to take command of the troops in Scotland, and
keep the rebels in check till a larger army could be assembled to
chastise them.
Smeaton looked at the date of the paper, which, as it had come by an
express courier, was very recent.
"If I set out at once," he said, "I may, by hard riding, catch him in
Yorkshire or Northumberland. It states here that he will be in York on
Monday next--somewhat slow travelling in a business of such
importance; but doubtless he has reinforcements with him. I will get
my horses in, and ride off at once."
"I will be one with you," added Richard Newark; "for I am travelling
north too."
"Will you not go to join your father?" asked the young Earl, in much
surprise.
"Not I," replied the lad. "I could give him no help; and he would not
have it if I could. My father is quite sufficient for himself, noble
Lord--at least, he thinks so, and he never thanks any one for meddling
with his affairs, though he meddles with other people's often enough,
whether they thank him or not. But now let us get ready. I do not know
whether these people have carried off your baggage or not. Mine will
be soon trussed. Heaven send me occasion to use the sword you gave me!
But you had better go to Keanton first, and take people enough to
force the way, in case Hanover and Pulteney should try to stop you. If
you don't go there, your people, I can tell you, will set out by
themselves, and perhaps do more than you like or think of. I was there
half an hour after you this morning, and how I missed you I do not
know."
For a minute or two Smeaton did not reply, but remained in deep
thought.
"So be it," he said at length. "Come down, Richard, and join me at the
end of the village as soon as you are ready. I must send for my
horses, and, in the mean time, will bid my servant pack up the baggage
which was left here."
"Be sure first that it has not been taken away," observed the lad.
"I trust it has not been," answered Smeaton; "for my stock of money is
running low; and there are some jewels and other things of value in
those large trunks, which are worth money at all events."
"Oh, the people at Keanton will furnish you with money, I am sure,"
said Richard, "if you will lead them where they like."
"That is what I am least inclined to do, I fear," returned Smeaton.
"Therefore I will go up and see, that I may be under obligations to
one."
He found his baggage where he had left it, returned to the saloon,
partook of some of the refreshments which Mrs. Culpepper had provided,
and then hastened away to make his arrangements in the village. More
than once during his conversation with Richard Newark, it had struck
him that a strange transformation had come over the lad's manner. His
tone was decided and quick, and his look grave, perhaps sad, even when
he laughed. But Smeaton had too many things to think of, to comment at
length, even in his own mind, on this alteration, and the impression
was swept away as soon as made.
The hurry and confusion of a rapid departure had many additions in
Smeaton's case. What was to be done with good Van Noost, was not the
least consideration. When notice of the approach of troops towards Ale
Manor had been first received in the village, the statuary instantly
hid himself, no one knew where; but now he had re-appeared upon the
scene, and the young nobleman could not bear the thought of leaving
him behind for the consequences of his own indiscretion. The
appearance of a ship before Ale Harbour, which had thrown the whole
village into a state of commotion, prevented the possibility of Van
Noost's escape by sea, and rendered the necessity the greater of all
suspected persons hastening their departure without delay. The
fishermen anticipated that the ship's boats would enter the harbour
every moment; and they seemed to regard the landing of a number of
seamen with much greater apprehension than an attack by a party of
soldiers. They showed no inclination to abandon their friends,
however; but at the same time eagerly assisted in all preparations
which were necessary to put them beyond the reach of this new danger.
The horses were brought to the village with great rapidity; the
baggage was packed and loaded without delay; and, as Van Noost's fat
pony was lost to his affectionate master for ever, a stout farmer's
nag was procured for him, on whose broad back the little round man was
placed like a plum-pudding on a trencher. Still the man who had been
set to watch on the beach of the bay, and at the top of Ale Head,
brought no intelligence of any movement on board the ship to create
alarm, and all was quiet when the party of fugitives, consisting of
Smeaton and Richard Newark, with Van Noost and two servants, rode away
towards Keanton, where they arrived without interruption. There, for a
time, I must leave them, to take up their history at an after period.