The morning of Sunday the 13th dawned dull and heavily. The flames of
the burning houses had been extinguished without doing much damage,
although, had there been any wind, it is probable that Preston would
have been reduced to a heap of ashes. The firing from the houses
continued at intervals, and, once or twice, parties of King George's
troops appeared in the streets, but instantly retreated under a sharp
fire, by which several of the soldiers and officers were killed or
wounded. A small number of prisoners, too, were made by the
insurgents, and, amongst the common men, high spirit and resolution
were displayed, though the officers shared little in their
anticipations of success. It is true, the latter had better means of
judging; for the first prisoners that were made on that morning
brought the intelligence that forces were pouring in upon Preston from
different quarters, and that General Carpenter, with three regiments
of cavalry, had passed the night at the small town of Clitheroe, about
twelve miles distant. The next who came in informed them that General
Carpenter was within sight; and, a few minutes after, some of their
own men, from the higher buildings of the town, discovered his force
advancing at a quick trot.
The soldiery were eager for action, and murmured loudly at the
inactivity of their commanders. But no movement of any kind was made.
Forster, Lord Widrington, Colonel Oxburgh, and some others, continued
in close consultation at the Mitre; and Smeaton, after having obtained
all the information he could from the gentlemen who thronged the lower
story of that inn, walked away by himself, and, entering the church,
mounted as high as he could in the tower, to observe the motions of
the enemy without. Two or three gentlemen were there before him, and
they pointed out the newly arrived regiments of cavalry, which were
drawn up in fine order on the right of General Wills's army. Smeaton
said nothing, except "They have no cannon, I see," and continued to
gaze from the tower with very little satisfaction at the sight
presented. Two officers, followed by a small party of dragoons, were
seen to ride away at a slow pace from the main body of the army, and
to direct their course completely round the town, sometimes exposed to
view as they crossed the open fields and meadows, sometimes hidden by
the trees and hedgerows. From time to time they stopped; and, more
than once, a trooper was suddenly detached from the escort, and
galloped away to one of the regiments which were in position.
Immediately, a small body would advance, and, riding quietly on,
station themselves opposite to one or other of the many entrances to
the town.
To the experienced eye of Smeaton, the proceedings which were taking
place were very clear. He saw that a mind of greater intelligence than
that of General Wills was now brought to act against the insurgents in
Preston, that General Carpenter was changing all his predecessor's
arrangements, and that, in a very short time, the town would be
completely invested, and all chance of escape cut off. The thought of
abandoning the cause individually had never crossed his mind. He had
taken part in the insurrection most unwillingly; but, having done so,
he considered himself entirely identified with it. Nevertheless, he
could not see without a sigh the chance of the whole army effecting a
retreat pass away. But despair begets indifference, and, from the
moment he beheld the movements of General Carpenter, he felt that all
was lost. He hummed a gay French air as he descended the narrow
staircase from the tower; and, though his face was thoughtful, it bore
no trace of despondency.
Some gentlemen were gathering round the great gate of the churchyard,
and about to take up their old position within its walls; but the
young Earl turned towards the little door on the left, near which was
passing at the moment, on horseback, a merry Northumbrian physician,
named Alcock or Walker (for he had an alias), who had acted as
principal surgeon to the army during the preceding day. Anxious to
obtain some intelligence of his servant, Smeaton hurried after him and
laid his hand upon the bridle. The doctor seemed somewhat in haste;
but, as soon as the young nobleman mentioned the subject of his
anxiety, he replied:
"Oh yes, my Lord, yes, the poor devil is shot in the stomach; and, if
he have not the strength of an ostrich, he will not easily digest his
yesterday's supper. By the way, I recollect he was exceedingly anxious
to see you; but I did not know where you were."
The doctor seemed very desirous to move forward; but Smeaton still
detained him, and, asking where poor Higham was to be found, learned
that the man had been carried into a private house near the barricade
where he had fallen. The young nobleman then proceeded to ask some
further questions regarding the man's state; but the worthy doctor's
impatience could be restrained no longer; and, leaning down his head,
he whispered in Smeaton's ear--
"I beseech you, my noble Lord, let me go. I have made up my mind that
we cannot do any service here, now that Carpenter and his bullies have
arrived; and, as I reconnoitred the ground pretty strictly yesterday,
I know that I can get out by Fishergate Street, across the meadows and
the ford, and away. If you will take my advice, you will do the same."
Smeaton shook his head, saying, with a smile:
"Make haste, doctor, make haste! Carpenter is altering all the posts,
and in five minutes he will be in those same meadows, across which
lies your way."
Thus saying, he let go the bridle, and Doctor Alcock trotted off. I
may add that he was just in time; for he and two or three others
contrived to get out of the town and across the ford, under the very
eyes of General Carpenter, who probably did not think it worth while
to detach any of his escort in pursuit.
Smeaton, in the mean time, with a quick step, took his way towards the
other end of the town, in order to visit the poor wounded man; but, to
reach the place, he had to pass the door of the Mitre Inn, and he soon
saw symptoms of confusion and turbulence, which caused him to pause
for a moment. The common soldiers were by this time all stationed once
more at the barricades, and a good number of the gentlemen volunteers
were collected in the churchyard; but some thirty or forty gentlemen,
not of the highest rank, were either standing round the door or
crowding the passage of the inn. All were talking together eagerly;
some were gesticulating vehemently, and one young man, of the name of
Murray (not Lord Charles Murray), between whom and Smeaton a certain
degree of intimacy had sprung up, as soon as he perceived the latter,
ran up to him and caught him by the arm, saying, in a low but stern
and eager voice,
"My Lord, I pray you come with me for five minutes. These men within
are betraying us; they are for giving us up into the hands of the
enemy; the enemy we conquered yesterday at every point. Come with me,
I beseech you. You are a man of rank, and also of experience; a
soldier, a brave man. They must listen to you."
"They have listened to me very little," returned Smeaton; "otherwise,
we should not have been in our present situation; but go on. I will
follow you."
Murray, whose eyes were flashing fire, and whose whole face was
working with excitement, instantly darted back to the crowd, pushing
his way fiercely through it and along the passage. Smeaton followed
with a calm grave air, more to learn what was taking place, than with
any hope of his voice being attended to. His young acquaintance
reached the stairs, and mounted, taking three steps at a time, till he
reached the door of a room, at which stood a man with a drawn sword in
his hand.
"You cannot pass, sir," said the man. "The officers are at council."
"We must be of their council, too," responded Murray; and, without
hesitation, he threw open the door and entered, followed by Smeaton,
the sentinel making no effort to oppose them.
The scene within was already turbulent enough; for the whole party,
consisting of some ten or twelve, were talking together loudly and
vehemently. Colonel Oxburgh, Lord Widrington, a Jesuit named Pierre,
Sir James Anderton, and one or two others, were standing round General
Forster, with a small table between them and another party, who seemed
arguing some question with them very fiercely.
"Sir," said Forster, with a flushed face, in answer to something which
had just been said, "you are insulting. I place before you the plain
straightforward facts of the case. There is no chance for us whatever,
except in taking advantage of the success of yesterday to obtain a
favourable capitulation."
"Capitulation! Who talks of capitulation?" exclaimed young Murray,
pushing forward quickly.
"_I_ do, sir," replied Forster; "I, the general of this army, by the
commission of King James. We are completely surrounded, outnumbered,
and our store of powder is failing fast. I have not spared my person.
I have not shrunk from the fire of the enemy; but I can see and judge
of what is necessary as well as any rash boy in England; and I say,
the only chance of our not being slaughtered to a man, is to endeavour
to make terms."
"What, with fifteen hundred gallant men, who would cut their way
through a rock of stone rather than surrender!" exclaimed Murray,
violently. "I will tell you what, General Forster; the soldiers--the
brave common soldiers--will not hear of surrender. There are some
gentlemen and noblemen amongst us, too, who are men of heart, and will
not permit this. Here stands the Earl of Eskdale; a man of great
experience, and as unprejudiced as any one. His voice, I am sure, is
not for surrender."
"Certainly not," replied Smeaton; "for I would rather die with my
sword in my hand, face to face with the enemy, than lay my head down
on a block on Tower Hill; and I believe that is the only choice."
"My lord, you are in no command here," said Forster. "I am the general
in command of these troops, by the King's authority; and, so long as I
live, no one else shall command them."
"I do not in the least seek to do so," rejoined Smeaton. "I only give
an opinion."
Before he could conclude the sentence, however, Captain Murray
interrupted, exclaiming in a loud voice--
"This shall annul a traitor's commission which he is unworthy to
hold!" And, drawing a pistol out of his belt, he levelled it at
Forster's head, and pulled the trigger. Some one,[2] however, struck
up the muzzle just as he was in the act of firing, and the ball lodged
in the wainscot, about two feet above the mark.
A scene of indescribable confusion ensued, in the midst of which the
vehement young officer was arrested and removed from the room. It was
not for several minutes that anything like tranquillity was restored,
and then Smeaton turned towards General Forster, saying--
"I regret this event exceedingly, General Forster; but I trust that
the young man's intemperance and criminal conduct will not divert your
attention from the truth of what he said. My belief is, that you will
find it impossible to persuade the common soldiers to surrender,
though they would risk less by it than we should; and I do not think
any man would be safe who would propose such a thing to them."
"Nobody proposes to surrender, my lord, except upon favourable terms,"
retorted Forster, sharply; "and, if those could be obtained, I
suppose nobody would be fool enough to refuse them. However, permit me
to say that the advice which you have withheld from us during the
whole campaign is not now desired."
"My advice was freely offered in the beginning," returned Smeaton,
coolly, "but was treated, as all reasonable advice has been treated,
with contempt, and was therefore never volunteered again till my own
honour and life were concerned. I now not only give my advice, but
protest, in the face of these gentlemen, against surrender upon any
terms but those which shall secure our honour; and, having said thus
much, I wish you good morning."
"Depend upon it, my lord," said Forster, in a milder tone, "if we do
treat for surrender at all, which is not yet determined, it shall be
only on such terms as shall be satisfactory to all."
Every one knows what it is to begin to parley with an enemy
superior in force to ourselves; and it would be tedious, even to
the few readers who may be unacquainted with the events of that
fatal day, to enter into details of all that occurred during the next
four-and-twenty hours. Confusion, hurry, discontent, dismay, pervaded
the whole town. Rumours spread of the intention to surrender; and the
troops were more than once ready to fall upon their officers and put
them to the sword, but were kept quiet by means of gross and shameful
falsehoods. They were told that General Wills had sent in to offer
honourable terms, promising that the lives and liberties of all would
be guaranteed; and were assured that the coming and going of Colonel
Oxburgh, and several of the royal officers, between the camp and the
town, solely had reference to minute points in the capitulation. In
the meanwhile, however, the messages which went out commenced with
bold and somewhat excessive demands; but gradually firmness and
courage oozed away. General Carpenter and General Wills sternly
refused all terms, and only promised that, if the insurgent force
surrendered at discretion, it should not at once be put to the sword.
"No other terms," they said, "would be granted to rebels with arms in
their hands." One small concession, however, was made: namely, that a
cessation of arms should be granted till seven the next morning, in
order to allow time to persuade the common soldiers to submit; but
hostages were exacted to insure that no farther defences were thrown
up in the town, and that no persons should be permitted to escape.
A night of intense anxiety, discussion, persuasion, turbulence, and
confusion, succeeded; but, before the appointed hour, despair had
taken possession of almost all hearts, though there is some doubt as
to whether the Highland troops were not deceived to the very last, and
induced to believe that they laid down their arms upon favourable
conditions. Before seven o'clock, the noise and confusion had subsided
into sullen and discontented submission; the Highlanders were drawn up
in the market place; the noblemen and gentlemen who had joined in the
insurrection remained at their various quarters; and, with drums
beating and trumpets sounding, Generals Carpenter and Wills entered
the town at the head of their troops, from the Manchester road on the
one side and the Lancaster road on the other.
It was a moment of some anxiety; for there was no certainty, even to
the last minute, whether the troops of the insurrection would not make
use of their arms in one last desperate effort in the market-place.
But they had no confidence in their officers, no plan arranged amongst
themselves; and, surrounded by a large body of cavalry and infantry,
any attempt at resistance would have brought on a massacre rather than
a fight. They laid down their arms, therefore, at the word of command,
and were marched off by companies to the church, where they were kept
pent up for many days under a strict guard. Some of the royal officers
were then sent to receive the arms of the officers and gentlemen
volunteers, who were put under arrest in various inns and private
houses; and thus ended an insurrection which had begun rashly, and
been carried on without skill or even ordinary discretion.
In the transactions which preceded the surrender Smeaton had taken no
part except that which I have mentioned. From the Mitre he had
proceeded to the house where his servant, Thomas Higham, lay, and
found the poor fellow in a weak and apparently sinking state. The
surgeon, who was with him at the time, and who had just extracted the
ball, would not suffer any conversation, but expressed some hope of
his recovery if he were kept quite quiet; and Smeaton, leaving a small
sum of money with him to provide any comforts he might require,
departed with a promise to visit him again if possible.
When, about half past eight o'clock, one of the royal officers entered
the young nobleman's quarters, he found him calmly writing letters,
with his sword and pistols on the table before him. He treated his
prisoner with perfect courtesy; received his arms and, handed them to
an orderly behind; and then, pointing to the letters, said, "I fear
these cannot be permitted to pass, my lord, without being submitted to
the generals in command."
"I do not expect it," replied Smeaton; "but I think they will find
nothing to object to. One is to my mother, which I should much wish
forwarded to her as soon as possible, if she be still living. The
other is to the Earl of Stair; and I should wish you to place it in
the hands of General Carpenter, who will perceive that it refers to
matters which have been already in discussion between us, and in
regard to which I think I have been hardly treated. I know not,
indeed, that it can have any influence on my ultimate fate; and that
fate I trust I am prepared to meet as a man of courage and a man of
honour; but I write it as a full explanation of my whole conduct, that
no stain may be upon my character, and that it may be apparent that I
have not in the slightest degree, or in any way, forfeited my given
word. I trust that the Earl of Stair will be able to explain his
conduct as satisfactorily. I do not accuse him; but there has been a
fatal mistake somewhere."
The officer took the letters and promised to give them into the hands
of General Carpenter, adding, in a kindly tone,
"If there is anything I can do for your convenience, my lord,
consistent with my duty, you have merely to command me."
"Nothing that I know of," replied Smeaton; "except, indeed, if you
would exert your influence to have kind treatment shown to a poor
servant of mine, who was severely wounded on Saturday at Lord Charles
Murray's barricade.
"I will see to his comfort myself," said the officer; and then,
putting down his name and the house where he was to be found, he
added, "I will see to this directly. I fear I must put a sentinel at
your door, my lord, till you are otherwise disposed of; but he will
have directions to consult your convenience as far as possible."
Thus saying, he withdrew; and Smeaton was left alone in his room, a
prisoner.