Considering the period of the year, which was only the end of
September, the day was cold and wintry, when a party, consisting of
some sixteen horse, took their way through one of the remote districts
of Northumberland. The sky was covered with a film of grey cloud, and
the wind, keen and chilling, as if loaded with hail or snow, swept
over the bleak hills and moors.
Northumberland was, at that time, from many local causes, far behind
the rest of England in point of cultivation and numbers. Remote from
the capital either of England or Scotland, and holding but very scanty
communication with the rest of Europe, the power and authority of
government was less felt and acknowledged in the great northern county
than elsewhere; old thoughts and habits clung to the inhabitants with
greater tenacity; news circulated less freely, and men were more under
the influence of the great proprietors than perhaps in any other
English shire. The party of horse, therefore, which I have mentioned,
and which was headed, as the reader may suppose, by the young Earl of
Eskdale and Richard Newark, not only passed unquestioned through a
district where a great majority of the people were attached to the
Stuart cause, but were received in the small towns and villages with
much cordiality, as soon as it was perceived that they were not
soldiers of the House of Hanover. The Northumberland man has a certain
degree of northern cautiousness about him; but he is by no means
without the merry English spirit, and a good portion of wit. Few
inquiries were made of the travellers as to the end and object of
their journey; but a sly and jesting allusion was often ventured to
the cause of the exiled king, and every information was given
voluntarily regarding the insurrectionary movements in Scotland, and
the general feelings of the people of the county itself.
The report, which had reached the west, of Forster and others being in
arms in Northumberland, proved to have been greatly premature, and
Smeaton now found that nothing was certain as to the proceedings of
the malcontents and the government, except that warrants were out for
the arrest of the Earl of Derwentwater, and Forster of Ramborough,
member for the county, together with several other persons of less
note, and that the Earl and his companion, with several of their
friends, were closely concealed.
The situation of the young Earl of Eskdale was peculiar; but his being
placed in it had been brought about by circumstances which affected
many at that period, and led them unwillingly to actions which they
did not at first contemplate, and into a position which they had
anxiously striven to avoid. A hundred instances of noblemen and
gentlemen could be cited, who were led on, little by little, from a
mere abstract feeling of loyalty and attachment towards the exiled
house of Stuart, to a complete and sometimes furious enthusiasm in
their cause, to an active part in insurrection, and to their own utter
destruction. Such was not altogether the case with Smeaton; but it
must be acknowledged that, before he reached Northumberland, his
feelings and views were very greatly altered. The zeal and eagerness
of all those by whom he was surrounded of course had their effect.
Few men--perhaps no young man--can prevent himself from being
altogether infected by the enthusiasm of others, especially if no
antidote be at hand, and certain it is that the young nobleman was
inclined to look more favourably upon the conduct of the exiled
princes, to make more allowance for their faults, and to regard their
cause more hopefully, than he had been when we first saw him in
London. Moreover, the treatment which he had received in Devonshire,
the evident determination of the local authorities, if not of the
government, to molest and persecute him, notwithstanding the strong
assurances he had received from Lord Stair, and the contemptuous
silence with which, as it appeared, that nobleman had treated his
letters, irritated him greatly against the House of Hanover. It was
certain, he thought, that one at least of those letters must have
reached the hands for which both were intended, although the second,
perhaps, might not have arrived in London before the Earl had taken
his departure from the capital. Why had he neglected to reply? Was he
inclined to violate his plighted word, or to connive at its violation
by others? Or had he suffered his mind to be warped by false reports?
and, if he had, was he justified in so doing before stronger proof was
adduced than any which Smeaton imagined could have been furnished by
his enemies?
"I have kept my word to the letter," said the young nobleman, to
himself; "but I cannot bear this much longer. If they will drive me
into insurrection, it is not my fault. But I will yet make one more
effort for an explanation; and if that fails, I and they must abide
the consequence."
A sigh followed the conclusion of this train of thought; for a
moment's reflection showed him, notwithstanding some new-lighted
hopes, where the evil consequences of the course, along which he was
being hurried, were most likely to fall. It is true, he had not
committed himself in any degree, either with Richard Newark, or with
the farmers and stout yeomen who had accompanied or followed him from
Keanton: Although he suffered them to join his party--for he could
hardly refuse to do so after they had placed themselves in a dangerous
situation on his account--he told them from the first that he had
pledged himself to the Earl of Stair to take no part in any of the
political movements that were going on, if suffered to remain quietly
in England for a short period.
"I have kept my part of the compact," repeated he, "and I have been
treated ill; but, before I actually violate it, I must learn from the
Earl what is the meaning of the conduct pursued towards me. Perhaps,
all may be explained on both sides; and, if so, I will keep my word to
the letter, leaving you, my good friends, to follow what course you
think fit."
Some of the men received the announcement rather sullenly; but others
smiled with light-hearted shrewdness, thinking that their young Lord's
scruples would soon be overcome when once he found himself in the
focus of the insurrection.
During the last day's march, many a wild and exaggerated report had
reached the little party of the progress of the insurgent force under
the Earl of Mar, and of risings in various other parts of England.
Mar's army was swelled to the number of thirty thousand men, according
to these rumours; he had been joined by all the principal noblemen in
Scotland; the Highland clans were universally flocking to him; the
Lowlanders were rising in every direction; the town of Perth had been
taken by a _coup-de-main_; and a large magazine of arms and ammunition
on the coast of Fife was said to have fallen into the hands of the
insurgents. King James himself was reported to have landed on the
western coast with an auxiliary army, commanded by the gallant Duke of
Berwick, and the forces of the House of Hanover were stated to be a
mere handful, collected in Stirling and surrounded on every side by
the legions of King James. In short, tens were magnified into
hundreds, and hundreds into thousands, on the Jacobite side, and every
small advantage was reported as a great victory; while the numbers of
the opposite party were diminished in proportion, and the great
abilities of those who commanded them overlooked or unknown.
Smeaton himself received these rumours for no more than they were
worth; and, perhaps, did not yield them even sufficient credit. Mar
had, it is true, taken possession of Perth; his forces had certainly
greatly increased; and the Master of Sinclair, one of his officers,
had seized a small store of arms at Burntisland. The forces of the
government, too, at Stirling, were quite inadequate, in point of
numbers, to cope with a regular army, commanded by a man of skill and
experience; but Mar was totally deficient in both these points; and
his army consisted of a mere mob of brave men, with little discipline
and small cohesion amongst them. True was it, also, that General
Whetham, who remained in command at Stirling till the middle of
September, had shown but little ability to encounter the grave and
dangerous circumstances in which he was placed; but on the side of the
Jacobites all the advantages of number, zeal, and fiery courage, were
more than counterbalanced by the incapacity of the commander, and the
insubordination of the troops; while, on the part of the government,
numerous bodies of disciplined soldiers, and officers of decision,
experience, and courage, were hurrying to the scene of action, and
preparing to crush the insurrection which had been already suffered to
proceed too far.
Vainly did Smeaton ask for tidings of the Earl of Stair, till, on the
day which I have mentioned, a farmer told him, somewhat sullenly, that
two regiments of dragoons belonging to the Earl of Stair had passed
the border that morning, and that there was an ill-looking fellow at
their head, with a number of lackeys in the rear, whom he doubled not
was the Earl himself and his servants. This news seemed sufficient;
and, without delay, he hurried on till nightfall, gaining information
of the march of these troops as he proceeded, till, on the best
opinion he could form, he judged that they could not be much more than
one march in advance. The place where he was obliged to halt could
hardly be called a hamlet, but rather a group of small farm-houses
gathered together in a rich valley amongst the hills. No inn, no place
of public entertainment whatever, was to be found; but the good
farmers of the place not only willingly took in the travellers in
separate parties, but seemed almost to expect some such visitation.
Nods and hints were not wanting to signify that the cause of their
guest's movements was known; and the worthy Northumbrian, at whose
house Smeaton and Richard Newark were lodged, with their two servants,
whispered in the ear of the young nobleman, that it would be better
for him to keep quiet where he was, the whole of the next day, as Lord
Stair's dragoons were at Wooler, and there was some talk of their
halting there to refresh, before they proceeded north.
The news was less unsatisfactory to the young Earl than the farmer
imagined; and his first act was to write a letter to Lord Stair, and
to direct his servant to take it early on the following morning. He
then returned to the room where he had left Richard Newark, and
informed him of what he had done.
The lad laughed.
"Then, most likely, we shall all soon be in the hands of the
Philistines," he said. "Your noddle, Eskdale, is doubtless much better
than mine; but I don't think mine would have concocted a scheme for
giving this good lord an opportunity of sending back a party to pick
us up, just as if we were something he had dropped on the road. Twenty
Tories, and an Earl at their head, would make a good cast of the net
for any Hanover fisherman."
"I have not been so imprudent as you think, Richard," rejoined his
friend. "I can be careful for my friends as well as for myself. I have
not mentioned to Lord Stair that there is any one with me, and have
told him that I shall follow the messenger ten miles on the road
to-morrow, to meet the man on his return, and that, if he assures me
that I shall be safe to come and go, I would present myself at his
head-quarters, in order that our conduct may be mutually explained. I
will send you intimation by the messenger, if I do not return to join
you myself."
"And what am I to do?" asked Richard Newark, with a somewhat gloomy
and desponding look. "Here I am, like a boat turned off to sea without
sail or oar or compass."
"If you would take my advice, Richard," replied his friend, "it would
be exactly what I have given you more than once before; namely, to
make the best of your way to London, and join your father. That advice
I give to you, because I think the course of your duty is clear, and
because I believe your single arm would be of very little service to
the cause you are so anxious to serve, although I have not thought it
fit or right to dissuade these good men of Keanton, who are with us,
from following the course they have chosen for themselves. But the
case is very different with you. You are young and inexperienced, and
may, hereafter, bitterly regret the step you are now taking. They are
older, know and see the consequences of all they are doing, and are
only acting in consonance with principles long entertained. Were I to
follow my own inclinations--my habitual prejudices, as I may call
them--I should, undoubtedly, lead them on the way they are going but
still I should give you the same advice as I give now."
"Then why do you not follow your own inclinations?" asked Richard,
sharply. "I won't believe that you are a man to hesitate at doing
anything merely because you think it is dangerous. All these men
suppose it is because you have no great hope of success that you will
not join the King's army."
"They do me wrong," said Smeaton. "I put before them what I thought a
just view of the probabilities, because I would not have them act
blindly; but I have used no other means of dissuasion. You ask me why
I do not follow my own inclination," he continued, thoughtfully; "and
I do not know that I shall be able to make you comprehend the reason."
"Try, try," said Richard Newark. "My skull is thick, I know; but, if
you tap at the right place, you will get in."
"It is a very painful situation, Richard," said Smeaton, "when a man's
reason, in points of such importance as those which are now agitated
in England, takes part against the prejudices in which he has been
brought up. My father was happier. He never entertained a doubt that
kings possess their power by divine appointment, or imagined that the
people had justly any voice in the choice of their rulers. To this
principle he sacrificed all his earthly possessions, and would have
sacrificed life itself. Neglect, ill-treatment, duplicity on the part
of the princes whom he served, made no difference in his opinions. He
lived and died in them; and, during my early life, I heard of none
other. Ten years ago I should have thought exactly the same as my
father, though I felt more than he did the wrongs that were done him,
and the insolent indifference with which he was treated. Although I
despised our rightful sovereign as a man, I should have been ready to
shed my blood for him as a King. Since that time I have mingled much
with the world, have been out of the atmosphere of such prejudices,
have learned to think and reason for myself, and have come to the
conclusion that, as kings rule for the benefit of the people, the
people have a voice in their selection; that, in fact, kings have no
rights but what they derive from their subjects. Now, if I could
convince myself that the majority of the people of England did really
desire King James for their sovereign, or even that people were
equally divided for and against him, I should not hesitate to draw my
sword in his cause; for my prejudices are still strong, though they
are weakened. But I am not convinced that such is the case; and all I
have seen hitherto tends to an opposite conclusion. This is one view
of the case; but there is another, which is even still more powerful
with me. I pledged myself to Lord Stair, that I would meddle in no way
in this struggle for three months."
"But he has not kept his word with you," cried Richard, vehemently.
"You cannot be bound by a compact which he has broken."
"It is that which I am anxious to ascertain," replied his friend; "and
that I will ascertain to-morrow. If I find he has really violated his
word with me, or suffered it to be violated by others, of course I
shall hold myself entitled to act as I please. But I can hardly
suppose that this is the case; for I have always believed that his
character, as a man of honour, is above suspicion; and I would not,
for life itself, by any rash act of mine, justify him in saying that I
took advantage of the unauthorised conduct of those western
magistrates to violate my plighted word."
Richard Newark fell into a fit of thought; but he never long retained
any very sombre impressions; and, after the pause of a moment or two,
he broke into a laugh, inquiring--
"Do you not think that our dear Emmeline may have something to do with
your great discretion?"
"Nothing," replied Smeaton, thoughtfully, "nothing, I trust and hope,
though I do not scruple at once to say, Richard, that, for her sake, I
would do anything that did not affect my honour. Nay, more--"
He paused for an answer; for he was strongly tempted to tell his young
companion how indissolubly his own fate and that of Emmeline were now
bound together; but he hesitated on the very point of uttering the
words. Richard was so wild, so rash--there might occur so many events
to render the safe keeping of that secret important, and there seemed
so many chances of his letting it escape him in one of his thoughtless
moods--that a moment's reflection decided the Earl to be silent on the
subject, at least for the time.
"Well, what more?" cried Richard, impatiently.
"I have tried the question with myself a dozen times," replied the
Earl; "and, though I need not tell you I love her dearly, I do not
believe that that love has been suffered to interfere at all in the
decision I have come to."
"Well, well," said Richard Newark, shrugging his shoulders, "when we
march into London and proclaim King James, you shall have her; and I
will give away the bride. A pretty father I shall make! I suppose I
must hire a white beard for the occasion. You act as you like; and I
must take my chance, as you will not lead me to draw the sword which
you have taught me to use. I will take our King's side, and stay by
it. I am sick of seeing people wavering between two parties--my
father, from policy, and you from scruples. There, I don't mean to
offend you, noble friend. I doubt not you are quite right, and that
your head was made for something better than being run against a wall,
which was evidently Nature's intention when she furnished me with this
noddle of mine; but you will own that, having seen all I have seen, I
may well say, 'No time-serving for me.' I have heard people tell that
my father has got together a great estate by now running with one
party and now with another. It is but right that his son should break
it to pieces again by sticking tight to one, be it fortunate or
unlucky. And now I shall go to bed. Don't you dream of Emmeline, or
you'll go ever to Lord Stair to a certainty."
Thus saying, he rose and left the room; and Smeaton remained some time
longer in thought.