prevented from kissing my beautiful wife. She is mine, and who can
keep her from me? Helen, you are pale!”--and he sunk down, dead!
Alice could not utter a tone of lamentation. She longed to weep,
that her heart might be eased of her sorrow, but she could not. How
still were the lofty features of her father! In his fall, not a
single white hair had been disarranged, and his golden-headed cane
was firmly grasped in his hand. What a melancholy sight. A dead old
man, and yet a cane to support his steps, as if he could expect
that he should once more rise, and need its assistance! Alice
gently disengaged it from his grasp, and put her own hand in its
place, and thus, for hours, sat beside her dead father.
Katharine Norton, like a sister attempted to comfort her, but
her terms of consolation frequently assumed something of her
own heart’s sorrow, as she thought of James. Yet she was too
high-minded and heroic to condemn, even in her grief, the step
which he had taken.
* * * * *
Meanwhile the Pretender’s army was again marching through the
streets, and in front of it, was the Manchester regiment, under
the command of Colonel Townley. The Prince, on this occasion, was
attended by the renowned chieftain, Cameron of Lochiel, who was his
best and bravest supporter. His eagle eye glanced proudly upon all,
save on his master, and his full muscular form, was the pride and
boast of the clan, of which he was the head. They rode together,
between the Scottish and English troops. The inhabitants of all
the towns in Lancashire, through which the Pretender had passed,
trembled at the sight of his brave Highlanders, and it is reported,
that it was the general belief, that the bodies of infants formed
their repast after a victory. The good people of Manchester,
likewise, turned pale, at their fiery glance, and the easy and free
manner in which they at times, when any obstruction was made to
their progress, laid their hands upon the broad-sword, while they
placed their dirk between their teeth, thus awfully prepared to
resist and overcome. But their fiery spirits, were at that time,
altogether within the control of their young leader. They had not
a glance for all who crowded the streets and balconies; their eyes
when he was in view, were fixed upon the Chevalier. As they were
turning a street, a ball whizzed by his horse’s head, and an uproar
was excited. A detachment of troops, under Lochiel, who had spurred
forward instantly, as soon as the report of fire-arms was heard,
dashed down a lane, from which the smoke issued, and they returned
instantly, with the assassin. The soldiers raised a loud howl, as
if they wished to sacrifice the wretch, by tearing him to pieces.
He was brought before the Prince, whose face was a little flushed
by the incident, but who was perfectly composed.
“Death, death,” exclaimed many a voice from the streets. The ladies
had left the terraces, and had come forth among the crowd to learn
whether the Prince was at all hurt. He gallantly thanked them
for the interest they took in his welfare, and, all covered with
blushes, they again ran in. He then glanced upon the assassin, from
whose pockets a dagger and two charged pistols, had also been taken.
“Poor man,” he calmly said, “you are desirous of murdering the son
of your sovereign. Soldiers, take him to the civil authorities of
the town, and order them to keep him in custody, until we are gone.”
He then turned to the soldiers, and addressed them. “Be merciful,
as well as brave. Should I come to the throne, as the heir of my
father, I would grieve to think that blood had been too profusely
shed, to receive it. My enemies offer a large reward for my head.
But I only wish the crown, and not the head of George Guelph, the
Elector.”
The crowd, although they had been disposed to condemn the poor
wretch, now applauded the mercy which forgave him, and this,
perhaps, tended more to warm the affections of the mass of the
people to Charles Edward, than his true descent from the house of
Stuart.
The magistrates met them, and humbly offered their homage to the
Chevalier. The Colonel of the Manchester troops had been long
looked up to by the respectable community of the town, and when he
joined the rebel troops this exerted no inconsiderable influence,
even over the authorities. The principal streets were all adorned
with tokens of attachment, and from every house almost, colours
were flying, and handkerchiefs waving. Music from the town joined
the noise of the bagpipes, and the Prince was elated by what he
considered as demonstrations of loyalty to his father.
The crowd attended the Prince back to the palace, before which,
during all the day, they stood, and greeted him, as he appeared
at the window, and smiled at the Highland soldiers, who presented
their arms.
Early in the evening, Captain Dawson, accompanied by Sir Hector
McLean, was proceeding to his father’s house. He had resolved to
see him, that he might obtain his blessing, as the troops were to
set out on the following day. Dressed in the Prince’s uniform, they
received much attention as they passed on. Dawson was well known
as a young gentleman of great promise, and the reports which had,
in some circles, been spread respecting him--how that he had left
the University, where he was distinguished only for gaiety and
debauchery, were not believed--for they had been proved to have no
foundation. They reached the house, and were instantly admitted.
But the old servant, who opened the door, was unusually taciturn
and sad. Katharine Norton was sitting with Alice as they entered.
Painful was the interview. The Highland chieftain in vain attempted
to console Alice for the loss of her brother.
“Dear Alice,” asked young Dawson, “how is our father? does he know
of my conduct?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
He became pale, and dreaded lest his father should have cursed and
denounced him.
“Did he--condemn me?” and he gasped, as he spoke, “was he much
irritated?”
“Yes, James, awfully agitated.”
“There, there, Sir Hector, see my folly, my madness, my infamous
cruelty, to an aged parent. But Alice, was he long in such a state?”
“No,” and she turned a look of concealed meaning to Katharine.
“Thank God, thank God,” exclaimed Dawson, “then Alice, is he calm
now?”
“Calm,--so calm, he must be happy.”
“Then, dear sister, lead me into his presence, and give him a kiss,
to induce him to grant me a full forgiveness. Alice, you move not,
is he asleep?”
“Yes, dear James, and you would but disturb him in what seems to be
a very pleasant sleep. But he _has_ granted you his pardon; or, if
you doubt, you may come to morrow, to dinner, and then--”
“Yes, Alice; and may not Hector McLean come with me?” The last
words were spoken in a playful tone, and intended to probe, what
Alice thought was a secret. He rallied, and endeavoured to enjoy
himself, and seemed to succeed. Katharine forgave him, and agreed
to walk with him, for a few minutes, in the garden. He looked
smilingly upon Alice, and by his glance attempted to hint that he
knew very well that she did not regret to be left alone with Sir
Hector.
The next morning arose fair and bright. The birds, even in the
streets, forgot the silence of winter, and cheered the crowded
abodes of men with their songs, as they fluttered about the
leafless trees, in the squares of the town. The Manchester regiment
of volunteers was marching through the streets, to the sound of
the drum. At their head was Prince Charles, attended by Colonel
Townley. There was an unusual melancholy resting on the features
of the former, which was increased by listening to the Scottish
song now chanted in the streets, “Bonnie Prince Charlie.” His pale
hair fell carelessly over his forehead, as he frequently raised
his bonnet, to allow the sun to fall upon his face. The smoke was
not yet arising from the chimneys, so early was the hour; and he
thought how slow and idle the inhabitants were in their loyalty
towards him. The colonel halted.
“Where, noble Prince, will you review my men?”
“In the church-yard,” was the reply, “yet that is an ominous place,
and may remind them of a fate they may, by and by, share. It is
well, nevertheless, to know what our end, sooner or later, must be.
The churchyard, colonel.”
It was nigh at hand. The graves were not crowded, and the Chevalier
forbade the troops to violate the abodes of the dead, by trampling
upon them. They drew up, and went through their various exercises
in military discipline. As their swords flashed in the sun, the
Prince thought what a slight chance of fortune these would have
with the scythe of death. They were about to retire, when a small
company of mourners was seen, attending a dead relative to the
grave. They moved sadly and slowly, unlike the quick pace with
which the troops had entered. A closely veiled female was at the
head of the coffin. The Chevalier raised his cap, and desired his
men to approach, and honour these funeral rites. Young Dawson
started, as he beheld the blind Prophetess, with faded flowers in
her hands. He approached,--the veiled lady gave a shriek, and fell
down on the coffin. He sprang forward, drew aside the veil, and
beheld his sister Alice! He raised her from the coffin, and there
beheld his father’s name upon it!
She had resolved to spare him the heart-rending news until, the war
being over, he should return; and thus she, herself, had undertaken
to attend to the last rites due to the remains and the memory of
a dead father. But here, providence had determined otherwise, and
James met his father,--for the first time since his leaving home,
to ask his forgiveness,--at the grave. He had formerly entreated
Alice to kiss their father, so that he might be induced to pardon
him, but now, what token of affection could obtain for him such a
blessing! And there was the young Prophetess, with words boding
still darker ruin on all the family, and on Prince Charles.
On the first of December, the Chevalier and his troops continued
their march, and towards evening reached Macclesfield, with the
intention of proceeding to London, and thus terminating the
struggle for the crown in the capital of the kingdom. In a few
days, however, having reached Derby, where a council of war
was held, all the members, save the brave Prince himself, were
of opinion that, since, in all probability, they would soon be
surrounded by three armies, the only way of safety was to return
to Scotland. Accordingly, against the urgent remonstrances and
entreaties of Charles Edward, the retreat was commenced, and
pressed on by the forces of the Duke of Cumberland, on the
nineteenth, they reached Carlisle. All the army spent a night
there, and it was resolved that a garrison should be left,
consisting of the Manchester regiment, and a few of the Lowland
troops.
In the morning they attended the Prince to a short distance from
the town, and on an eminence, where his movements might, a little
longer, be seen,--halted to take leave of him, with tears in
their eyes. The few Highland soldiers who were to form a part
of the garrison left behind, approached, and knelt down, their
shaggy heads uncovered, heedless of the wintry blast which raged
around them, while they prayed for a blessing upon “Bonnie Prince
Charlie.” They seemed disposed to follow him back into their native
mountains and fastnesses, and they turned many a look of envy and
regret upon their more fortunate clansmen who were to guard his
person. The Chevalier dismounted, and his tall graceful form was
closely, yet respectfully, surrounded, in a moment, by the faithful
mountaineers. He smiled, as they gazed in wonder on his kilted
dress.
“My friends,” he said, “my limbs, naked though they be, can meet
the storm. Have I not, after the fatigues of battle, contended with
you in wrestling and leaping, stripped and bare? And yet,” he added
to himself, as he glanced at his small white hands, now exposed
to the cold, and his half covered thighs, “the ladies of Paris and
Edinburgh have fluttered round and embraced me.”
“Canna she!” exclaimed a tall Highlander advancing,--“canna she
shake te tirk in her ain land, for Charlie? Fare pe te use o’
keepin it be her side, and no kittlin te hainshes o’ te enemy. Nae
bluid, nae bluid on its shinin blade!”
“Here, my good fellow,” answered the Prince, “give it to me; it is
the weapon of a true Highlander, and Charles Edward will be proud
to strike with it himself. Here,” and he took the dirk, and drawing
it from his half-worn sheath, and examining some dark spots on it,
appeared thoughtful.
The Highlander rejoined, “Tat pe te bluid o’ te enemy, and might
she ask tat her Prince would not wipe it away?”
The Chevalier buckled it to his side, and this act endeared him
to the Highland soldiery still more. But the sun was now arising
on the snowy eminences where they stood. His officers reminded
Charles of the long march which they had, that day, to accomplish.
Still, he moved not; he was wrapped in thought. His back was
turned gradually upon his troops, and he made a few steps in the
direction of Carlisle, for he cursed himself inwardly for the
consent which had been wrung from him, to retreat from England. In
the enthusiasm of the moment, which was heightened by despair, he
exclaimed,--
“Why do I retreat from the throne? _There_ should have been
our march; and our faces should have answered the questions of
Cumberland. But ah! we fly from him!”
A simultaneous shout was raised throughout all the ranks, but,
in a moment, the chief of each clan looked upon his men, and the
threatening look was understood; Charles drew his sword, and turned
round, almost expecting that the troops were ready to follow him,
wherever he might lead; but their bonnets were over their brows,
and they were silent. He understood the cause. Lochiel and the
other chiefs advanced, and humbly kneeling before him, whilst they
uncovered their heads, implored him to think no more of England,
until a fitting time, when he should be able to contest, with equal
strength, in the country of the Elector. He mastered his feelings,
and with some of his usual gaiety, raising his plumed cap from his
head, waved his farewell to the garrison, assuring them that he
would send them speedy assistance. Sir Hector McLean retired for a
moment, in company with Captain Dawson, but in the midst of their
conversation, the command was given to march, and after taking the
last look of their brave companions and the Prince, the Manchester
regiment returned to Carlisle.
There the castle was soon invested by the royal army, under the
command of the Duke of Cumberland. The garrison held out for some
time, aided by the inclemency of the winter, which prevented the
duke from taking the most active measures, and cheered by hopes of
the aid which the Prince had promised. But, at length, when these
hopes were disappointed, they were obliged to surrender, upon the
hardest terms, and Colonel Townley, and his captains, were sent to
confinement, in London, there to await a trial for sedition and
treason. The miseries of a dungeon were rendered more awful by the
news of the total defeat which the Chevalier had sustained, in the
fate of the battle of Culloden. The captives had held communication
with their relatives, who were busy in making every exertion to
obtain their pardon. James Dawson heard frequently from Katharine
Norton; and although her letters seemed to be written in tolerably
good spirits, he could see the trace of many a tear. She encouraged
him to hope, and stated that a mutual friend had resolved upon
obtaining the king’s forgiveness, and that she trusted much to his
efforts. The bearer of these letters was the young Prophetess;
and the sight of the messenger, so sad and mournful, was almost
sufficient to dash and cloud the joy of the message. She answered
no questions, but every time placed her hands upon his brow, and
gave a low and suppressed shriek. Her thin and emaciated features
were never lighted up with happiness, even when she told Dawson of
the hopes of Katharine. He asked her of Alice, for, lately, she had
ceased to write to him, but the blind girl, waving her hands above
her head, exclaimed with enthusiasm,
“She is well; yes, and intercedes for her brother,--the beautiful
and happy lady!”
James understood, by her motions, that his sister had even ventured
into the presence of royalty, and there presented her petitions;
and he blessed her, and Katharine, more and more.
The day of trial arrived, and as soon as the commission entered the
court, Dawson thought that the countenances of the judges frowned
their doom, and indicated a fixed resolution, on the present
occasion, to dispense with mercy. The brutal mob without, were
shouting for justice to the king, and the country; and the crowd
within were so unfeeling as to hiss the prisoners when they were
led to the bar; but these hisses were answered by a calm look of
contempt. Colonel Townley arose, and objected to a trial brought on
by a usurper, and affirmed that it was unjust to be cited before a
court called together by George the Elector. He defended himself,
and his brave companions, but in vain; for ere he had finished
his speech, the jury retired, and soon the verdict _guilty_ was
returned. The presiding judge looked around the court, but a
thrill of horror was expressed, for sympathy had been excited by
the gallant appearance of the rebels. As he put on the black cap,
Dawson, to shew his contempt and indifference, turned his back; but
presently recollecting that there were ties to bind him to life,
he changed his posture, and attentively listened to the sentence
of death. For a moment his firmness forsook him, as he heard the
awful accompaniments of his execution. As he and his companions
were being removed, the cries without were increased, and he caught
a glimpse of a female form entering the court. That glimpse was
enough to reveal to him his own Katharine! He had not seen her
since they parted in Manchester, but oh! how sadly she was changed!
She gave a wild shriek. Dawson struck down the officer who had
charge of him, and the crowd retreated and made way for him, as he
rushed forward, clanking his chains.
“My own Katharine!” he exclaimed, as he clasped her in his arms,
“Are we not safe together?” For a moment she looked on him; but,
turning to the judges, who had left their seats, she cried out--
“Stay--hear me--as you would hope to be heard in the very moment of
death. Save my James!”
The judge placed his hand upon the black cap, and his features
did not diminish the awful effect of such a motion. He instantly
retired.
“Heed him not,” slowly muttered James, “they cannot separate us.”
“No, no,” returned Katharine, whose reason, for a time, had
departed, whilst her eyes glared wildly, “they cannot. Put these
chains around me. You could not break them, James. Put them
round my neck, just there, where your arm is, and we are secure.
Can they break them, when you could not? Now, my love, let us
go home. I told you, in my letter, that the day appointed for
your--your--ha! shall I name it,” and she even smiled as she spoke,
“your execution, would be the day for our marriage. We are bound
together. Now, dear James.”
The keepers approached, but they dared not to touch their prisoner,
as his masculine form raised itself to ward them off.
“Are these our friends, James? Welcome,--welcome all! Now for the
dance. Ah, you won my heart in yonder recess, where we rested.”
Her dream of madness passed away for the awful reality.
“You die, James!”
And she sunk her head on his breast, in silent despair. He twined
his arms round her, to support her trembling frame, and kissed her
brow, which, although pale, quivered with intense emotion, and the
large blue veins swelled on its surface.
“A few days,” he said, “and your lover is no more.”
The keepers took advantage of his posture and seized him, he
was torn from Katharine, who fell on the floor. She awoke to
conciousness, after a long fit of delirium, but she spoke not. She
answered not the many kind questions, which some of the spectators
put. She accepted not the invitations which they offered, to
accompany her home. She looked wildly around. She started back
as her eyes fell upon the bench, where the sentence had been
pronounced, and where still lay the black cap. But the coachman,
who, half-an-hour before, had set her down, at some distance, now
appeared and supported her to her carriage. Her kind aunt, when she
reached home, watched by her, and consoled her with the thought
that the friend who had gone to sue for Dawson’s pardon, might in
the end prove successful. She gently chided her for having gone to
the court, without her.
The night before the fatal morning was beautiful, even in the
cell, and on its grated window, a bird had for a moment alighted,
like a messenger of hope. Dawson paced up and down, absorbed in
gloomy reflections. He thought of Katharine, and then of Alice.
Henceforth they were to be friendless and alone. He knelt down in
anguish, and prayed for them fervently, as the two innocent and
beautiful sisters. He arose, and placed his hand without the bars,
and then, fanned his forehead. Once he had imagined that it was
glorious to die as a martyr, for his prince, before all the world;
but now, the scene when real, and at hand, had gradually narrowed
and narrowed, until in dying, he felt that, save two, he had no
one to sympathise with his fate. His fellow prisoners spoke to
him, through small apertures in their separate cells; but he was
meloncholy and alone. He heard footsteps approaching, and the heavy
iron door turned slowly upon its hinges. A gentleman was admitted.
“Oh! Dawson,--no hope, no hope,--art thou prepared?”
The prisoner looked anxiously upon him who spoke, but as it was
twilight, he could not distinguish the features, or the person. He
was dressed in black. Dawson started up, and dragged him to the
window. He gazed upon Hector McLean!
“My friend!--and is it even so? Your dress is proscribed; no more
that of a chieftain.”
“Speak not of me, speak of yourself. It is true I am in mourning
weeds, and now no clan can raise the wail of their chieftain.”
“How is Alice?” quickly exclaimed Dawson, but he received no
answer. “What! a lover, and knows not of his fair mistress; cannot
speak of her, to her brother! Is she well, Sir Hector?”
“Hush, rave not;--she is in heaven! and these are weeds for my
wife!”
The deep stupor and silence of grief was over Dawson’s soul.
“Brother,” said Sir Hector, “my only brother, but whom I must lose
on the morrow, spend not the time thus. Prepare, prepare for death!
It is different from the chance of war, and although we have left
the ball for the deadly field, now let this cell be the auditory
and penitentiary of heaven!”
“But tell me,” exclaimed Dawson, “tell me how Alice died. Yes, she
is in heaven. A week ago, I dreamt that angel feet passed rapidly
along my cell, and I knew that they were Alice’s. Where, and how
did she die?”
“I must be brief; your fate and welfare demand every moment for
other subjects. During the interval after our retreat to Scotland,
when hostilities were ceased, I came over to England, and Alice
became my wife. I took her to a quiet home, removed from the seat
of war, where an aged mother cherished her new daughter. Oh,
how anxious we were, and grieved, concerning you. She wrote to
Katharine Norton, and enclosed letters for you. Meanwhile, the
royal forces drew near the Prince, and I joined him, at the head of
my clan, on the Heath of Culloden. Had that battle been gained, you
would have been free; and believe me, Dawson, that many a stroke
given by me, was for you. But it was lost. I fled to Alice. The
news--but I cannot wring my heart by relating my woes--overpowered
her. In these arms she died, my fair Alice, speaking to the last,
of her brother, her husband, and our unborn babe! I came to London,
was received kindly by Katharine Norton and her aunt, and have been
exerting myself ever since, to obtain your pardon,--but in vain.
I had rendered some important services to one of the Elector’s
ministers, but his private feelings are subdued by other motives.”
“Bless you! Heaven bless you for your efforts, but more as the
husband of my Alice. But--Katharine, how does she endure my
approaching execution?”