"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.
CHAPTER XXIX.
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.
CHAPTER XXX.
The morning was bright and beautiful; the clouds of the preceding day, although they had not passed off entirely, had broken into detached masses, soft, white, and buoyant, but low down, moving slowly across the blue sky, and leaving large intervals for the rays of the sun to stream through, and paint the brown moors in all the magic colouring of autumn. A faint aerial mist was seen softening the distant parts of the landscape, as Smeaton rode slowly over the solitary hills which lay tumbled about in large rounded masses, marking the frontier line of England and Scotland. The alternation of shadow and of gleam brought forth as varied and as beautiful colours as those which paint the dolphin at his death. The free pure air, the rich changing prospect, the wide expanse of view, all seemed to breathe hope, if not happiness; and that strange mysterious sensation, that elevated and expansive feeling, to which I can give no name, but which takes possession of the heart when first we quit the busy haunts of men to plunge into a wide solitude, came strongly upon the young Earl as he strained his sight along the distant hills and valleys. Not a soul was to be seen, not a living creature but a large bird of prey floating slowly in vast circles over his head. It was the early morning.
His servant had gone forward about half an hour before; the road which they had both to follow had been clearly pointed out; and Smeaton expected a ride of some twelve or thirteen miles before he could meet the messenger on his return. He gave himself up to thought, but not to that train of thought which perhaps might seem the most natural in his circumstances. He entered into no vain speculations as to the reply he should receive from the Earl of Stair. He suffered not his mind to rest upon the state of parties in the country, or upon the probabilities of the success or failure of the insurrection. He did not even dwell for a moment upon the various rumours of the day before, nor try to free himself, by reason, from any of those impressions--not exactly new but revived--which had been produced in him by the zeal and enthusiasm of all those by whom he had been lately surrounded. His thoughts were of Emmeline, and Emmeline alone. That wonderful thing, association, had called up her image almost as strongly, as distinctly, as if her beautiful face and fair form had been before his eyes. The brown heath, the rounded hills, the gleams of sunshine, the floating clouds, the free elastic air, all brought back to memory the morning of his ride to the old church at Aleton; and Emmeline was the principal object in all that remembrance painted.
His thoughts and feelings, however, were his own, and peculiar. I do not believe that there are any two moments in a man's life in which he is exactly the same being, however well the general harmony of the character may be maintained. Years make a difference; months, days, events, circumstances, experience. The changes may be very sudden, or they may be so gradual as to be imperceptible at the time they are taking place; yet, fix any lengthened period, and we find them marked and distinct in the mind as well as in the body. There is as much difference between the sensations of forty and of twenty, as between the face or form of the man and of the boy. Whether for better or for worse, we change them. They are things of the day, which pass from us and return no more.
Smeaton's love for Emmeline was intense, powerful, enthusiastic; but it was the love of a man, not of a boy. Ten years before, his thoughts would have been very different when turned towards her; more agitating, perhaps, but not so deep and strong. He dwelt, as a lover might dwell, on the beautiful memory of her look, the symmetry of her person, the music of her voice, the wild untutored graces of her mind, the heart-breathing spirit which pervaded everything she said and did; and the longing to hold her to his bosom again came upon him very strongly. He thought, too, with pain, of what must be her sensations, what her distress of mind, to be torn from him and carried away against her will, at the very moment when their happiness seemed almost secure; but it was not with that impulsive rashness which, a few years before, might have led him to fly to her in spite of obstacles, and without taking means to remove any of the difficulties which beset their path. He was old enough to struggle with his impulses, and generally to overcome them when he felt them to be rash.
Thus, in mingled meditation, he rode on, with sweet and pleasant images presented by memory, and painful reflections chequering the too bright vision.
He had not gone more than eight miles when he saw a man rapidly approaching down the slope of the opposite hill. He could hardly believe that his servant had returned so soon; yet the figure was so much the same--a diminutive man on a tall horse--that, though some distance intervened, he recognized him. They met at the bottom of the valley, and Smeaton asked eagerly,
"Well, what news? Have you brought me a letter?"
"I have brought your own back again, my Lord," replied Higham, holding it out to his master, as he rode up; "and no other answer could I get."
"No answer!" echoed Smeaton, taking the letter, and seeing that it had been opened. "What did he say, or cause to be said to you?"
"Oh, he said very little," replied the man, "and caused nothing to be said at all; for he seemed quite capable of speaking for himself, and that pretty sharply. He broke open the letter, read it through from beginning to end, and then thrust it into my hand, saying, 'You had better ride back again.' I asked if he would not send an answer by me, or if he would send one afterwards. But he said no answer was needed, and called out: 'Take it back to him who sent you. That is the only answer.'"
Smeaton's cheek burned, and his heart beat angrily.
"This is insult," he muttered. "This is insult as well as injury. Some day I may call him to account for it."
"I must say for him, my Lord," added the man, "that it was not a lucky moment to fall upon; for he was at the head of the men drawn up on the little green, and just ready to march."
"That is no excuse," said Smeaton. "The same number of words, the same amount of breath, the same space of time, would have conveyed an honourable as a dishonourable reply. He might have said that he would write when he was at leisure, that he would see me if I would follow him, and that I might do so in safety. It would have cost no more time." Then, turning round his horse, with his heart all on fire, he asked himself: "Shall I stoop to be a beggar for simple justice? No, no. The case is very clear. They have made up their mind to drive every one they doubt into insurrection. They say, Those who are not for us are against us: They have chosen their part with regard to me. It is time that I should choose mine with regard to them."
He had ridden slowly as he went; but he returned at a gallop, though the rapid motion did not tend to calm his feelings. The farm-house where he had slept was vacant of its guests. Richard Newark, his servant, and all the Keanton men were gone; but they had left word that, if Smeaton returned and sought them, he would find them at a place called the Waterfalls. The Earl ordered the baggage-horse to be prepared directly, and, in the mean time, applied to the farmer for directions on the way after his party.
"I'll guide you, sir," replied the man. "There is something going on that I have an itching to have a hand in, and I think I'll pay some of the Newcastle keel-men for throwing me into the Tyne, in one of their brute frolics."
Smeaton gladly accepted his guidance, and, in about half an hour, they set out; the Earl riding a little in advance, and alone, while the stout farmer jogged on, conversing with the servant, Higham. They took their way through a more cultivated part of the country than that which Smeaton had passed in the morning; but they soon turned toward the hills again, and the farmer pointed out a piece of ground on the right, saying:
"That is Plainfield, my Lord."
Smeaton, however, was busy with his own thoughts, and made no inquiry, not knowing anything which should make Plainfield remarkable.[1] A few minutes afterwards, they began to ascend a somewhat steep hill, riding over the green turf; and, as they wound round it to lessen the sharpness of the ascent, the young nobleman caught sight of a small party of horse gathered together at the distance of about a mile. "There are our friends, I think," he said.
"Ay, my lord, I dare say they are," replied the farmer.
The words seemed insignificant enough; but they were spoken in a significant tone, and the servant, Tom Higham, gave a low laugh.
A rise in the ground, in another moment, hid the party they had seen; and, spurring quickly on, Smeaton soon came to the top of the height, whence a view of the country could be commanded for several miles. The prospect was very picturesque. The brown hill-side descended somewhat abruptly towards the more even country below, and was channelled by a sort of glen or ravine, through which leaped and tumbled a small mountain stream, fringed here and there with low trees and shrubs, but ever and anon glancing out under the eye, and catching the sunlight on its foam and spray.
Half way between the top of the hill and the head of this ravine was gathered together a party of men on horseback; not more than, if so many as, very frequently assembled on the most innocent occasions. In ordinary times, one would naturally have supposed that the little meeting consisted of a hunting party, or perhaps two or three dozen of gentlemen assembled to run their greyhounds. Besides those in this central situation, two or three small groups of horsemen were seen coming up from below at different degrees of speed, according to the steepness of the ascent; but still the whole number together might very well have formed a sporting party, only no dogs were to be seen. In the midst of the principal group, Smeaton's eye instantly picked out Richard Newark, who was mounted on a tall and remarkable white horse; and, riding quickly down towards him, he was soon by his side. The Keanton farmers, who were there assembled, greeted the approach of their young lord with a sort of half cheer, and one of them exclaimed aloud--"God bless your lordship! I thought you would not abandon us in time of need."
"What news from Lord Stair?" asked Richard, in a whisper.
"None," replied Smeaton, bitterly. "He sent back my letter, opened, but without reply."
"Then I must have been mistaken," said Richard Newark. "I thought that other hands must have been stirring your pottage for you, noble friend. Now, the case is clear enough. Old Hanover won't have you for the giving."
"I never intended to give myself to him," replied Smeaton. "Nothing should ever induce me to draw my sword against a prince who has been pushed from the succession to the throne on a false and ridiculous pretence. But, if they will force me to draw the sword in his favour, I cannot help it. They must be gratified. Who are all these?" And, as he spoke, he ran his eye over the rest of the persons present, who, gathered together in various knots, were regarding him with inquiring looks.
"Oh, you shall soon know them," returned Richard. "Common cause makes quick acquaintance. General Forster, here is my friend, the Earl of Eskdale--Lord Derwentwater, the Earl of Eskdale--Lord Widrington, the Earl of Eskdale."
"By my faith, we have more lords than soldiers," said the latter nobleman, with a laugh, "and more stout hearts and strong arms than weapons of war. It is to be hoped that supplies will flow in upon us somewhat rapidly."
"Come, come, my lord," said Forster, "you ought not to be the first to cry out, seeing that you have brought us the fewest men and the scantiest supply."
"Why, I only heard of the business last night," replied Lord Widrington, "and thought this was but a preliminary meeting. Doubtless, we shall have men enough, and weapons enough, too, when once it is known we are in arms."
"Doubtless, doubtless," said the Earl of Derwentwater, a young and handsome man, with a peculiarly prepossessing expression of countenance. "I am glad to see your lordship here," he continued, addressing Smeaton. "Your family have suffered much in the cause we all advocate, and I hope, by the success of our enterprise, you will recover what it lost--a success which, from the news we have just received, seems to be beyond doubt."
"Indeed!" said Smeaton. "May I ask what news that is?"
Derwentwater replied by detailing, in somewhat glowing language, and with a slight colouring from his own enthusiasm, all the first partial successes of the insurgents in Scotland. The greater part of the intelligence was merely confirmatory of the rumours which had reached Smeaton during the preceding day, that the Earl of Mar had taken Perth, that arms and ammunition had been seized at Burntisland, that the army of King James III. was daily increasing in numbers, that money was flowing in rapidly, and that, while the troops of the House of Hanover were in a very critical position at Stirling, Mar was preparing to force the passage of the Forth, and that the Western clans were menacing the rear of King George's army. It was added, that a great number of towns and districts of much importance had openly declared for the House of Stuart, and that King James had been proclaimed at Aberdeen, at Dunkeld, at Castle Gordon, at Brechin, at Montrose, at Dundee, and at Inverness, while the whole of Galloway and Dumfrieshire was stated to be flaming in insurrection.
Broad general facts, without the small circumstances which modify them, and sometimes affect their whole bearings, are very apt to produce the most erroneous conclusions; and, as Lord Derwentwater stated not, and, probably, knew not, the multitude of counterbalancing disadvantages under which the insurrectionary leaders lay, Smeaton naturally was led to look with a much more hopeful eye on the cause he had now determined to espouse.
His new acquaintance mentioned one important fact; namely, that the Duke of Argyle had taken command of the troops at Stirling. "But," added he, "with all his skill, he will have no easy task to prevent defeat, and, probably, surrender." He was not mistaken; for, had Mar possessed ordinary military knowledge and experience, there can be little doubt that the gallant nobleman opposed to him would have been forced to retreat, if retreat had been possible; but neither Derwentwater nor Lord Eskdale were at all personally aware that Mar was not a soldier, and the inconceivable folly of appointing a man totally destitute of military science to command an ill-disciplined army, in circumstances of the greatest delicacy and danger, did not once enter their imaginations. Nevertheless, the well-known skill, courage, and determination of Argyle, and the strong resolution he had shown in taking command in person of the small force at Stirling, led Smeaton to suspect that he either knew of circumstances, or calculated upon events, of which the Jacobite party in England were not at all aware.
It was too late now, however, he thought, to hesitate, even if his decision had depended upon the probabilities of success; and he joined the rest of the party in a hasty consultation, in which, from his want of all knowledge of the country round, he could give very little advice, except in regard to military matters, where he possessed more experience than any one present. Glad to have amongst them an officer of some skill, the noblemen and gentlemen present proceeded to an inspection of their little force, amounting, in all, at this time, to only sixty or seventy horse. Arms they literally had none, except the ordinary riding-swords used at that period in England (which were of little if any use in the field), and here and there a brace of pistols at the saddle-bow. It was evidently an insurrection hurried forward without thought or preparation.
Every man, however, knew of some place where people would come in, in numbers great, to the standard of King James; but Smeaton pointed out that the most pressing necessity was to arm those who were already collected. The first blow, he said, should be struck at any place where their local knowledge showed them that a store of the necessary weapons was to be procured; but no one knew where any such supply existed, except at Newcastle, which they were manifestly too feeble to attack. It was judged, therefore, needful to recruit their numbers even before they sought for arms; and those who were best acquainted with the district proposed that they should proceed to Rothbury and Warkworth, as the line in which recruits were most likely to come in.
Smeaton had nothing to object; and, forming into something like regular array, they rode from the place of meeting after a discussion which, though hurried and desultory, occupied several hours. The Northumbrian noblemen and gentlemen were full of hope and enthusiasm; but the young Earl, who had so unwillingly joined them, viewed the matter with less sanguine anticipations, and, from the expressions of his new companions, derived no very favourable idea of their capability of conducting a great enterprise to a successful conclusion.
CHAPTER XXXI.
What need I tell of the first proceedings of the small body of gentlemen whom we have seen set out on the path of insurrection? How they marched to Rothbury, and thence to hermit-loving Warkworth; how they received small reinforcements as they went along, and proclaimed King James the Third wherever they came; and how at Morpeth their numbers were increased to three hundred horse--are all facts well known to everybody. Neither need I pause to describe the disappointment and apprehension occasioned by the scantiness of the numbers which came in on each day's march, nor dwell upon the anxious consultations which took place night after night, when they still found themselves unprepared for any enterprise of importance.
All hope of successfully attacking Newcastle soon passed away, and only one event occurred to brighten the dark prospect before them--namely, the capture of Holy Island by one of their number, Lancelot Errington, a gentleman of ancient family long resident near Hexham. The very next tidings received, however, were to the effect that the small fort had been retaken by the troops from Berwick, and that Errington was wounded and a prisoner.
This was a bitter disappointment; for the least success in such perilous enterprises raises hope high, and often paves the way for other advantages. They flattered themselves that they only wanted some happy exploit to rouse the neighbouring gentry in their favour, to encourage the timid and confirm the wavering. But the disaster which followed this first gleam extinguished all such vain hopes, and the principal leaders met, the evening after the intelligence was received, to consult as to what was to be done.
They were bold and high-hearted men, though few of them brought skill, experience, or wisdom to the cause; and not one of them would listen to the course which, probably, some inward conviction told each of them was the only path of safety--namely, dispersing their followers, abandoning the enterprise, and making their submission. Yet what was to be done? All their expectations of a general rising were at an end; they had no infantry, nor weapons wherewith to arm infantry; troops were reported to be marching towards them from various quarters, and all they had to oppose to them was only three hundred horse!
Many a plan was proposed--many a course suggested--at their sad conference, till, at length, Smeaton, who had sat silent and thoughtful, with his head resting on his hand, looked up, saying:
"It seems to me, my lords and gentlemen, that there is but one thing to be done. With such scanty means as we can command, no great purpose can be effected. We cannot even undertake one of those trifling enterprises which, when successful, often change altogether the fortunes of such movements as these. We must have more men before we can do anything."
"Ay, but where are we to get them, my good lord?" asked Lord Widrington. "That is the question which puzzles us all."
"Thus," replied Smeaton, boldly. "We have certain intelligence that Lord Kenmure, the Earl of Nithsdale, and other noblemen and gentlemen, are in arms, just across the border, to the number, we are assured, of four or five hundred men. They have already undertaken several movements of importance; and, when joined by our small force, will be able to effect much more. The object of our own body, and of that under the noblemen I have mentioned, should be to unite as soon as possible, which can easily be done, either by our withdrawing at once from Northumberland, and joining Kenmure, or by that nobleman advancing to our support, and enabling us to undertake some enterprise of importance. Much can be done either in the north of England, or in the south of Scotland, by eight hundred men, which cannot even be thought of by three hundred, and my own opinion is, that we should march at daybreak to-morrow, to effect our junction with Viscount Kenmure; and, by giving force and vigour to the insurrection in the Lowlands, occupy the troops of the House of Hanover, and enable the Earl of Mar to profit fully by his advantageous position and the number of his forces."
This proposal, like every other proposal, in a meeting where there is no real subordination, called forth a long and rambling discussion, and a great variety of opinions. Every one saw the wisdom of joining the two streams of insurrection in one; but none agreed as to the mode in which it was to be effected. National prejudices and antipathies, engendered by long border warfare, were by no means extinct; and, although some few saw the prudence of Smeaton's suggestion of withdrawing from Northumberland and confining their operations, for the time, to the south of Scotland, others declared that many of their followers would abandon the cause, if such a retreat were attempted, and one gentleman boldly announced his belief that, in that case, they should not take fifty men across the border with them. This opinion prevailed, and it was determined to negotiate with Lord Kenmure for the advance of his forces into England.
The next question was, who was to be the negotiator? No one present was personally acquainted with the Scottish nobleman--and, to say truth, few liked to undertake a task in which they might very naturally expect to meet with a repulse; for every one felt it to be but little likely that Kenmure would cross the border with his men, without some better inducements than they had in their power to hold out. At length, after a number of excuses had been given by various gentlemen in the room, for not undertaking the task, the Earl of Eskdale volunteered to be the person.
"I will endeavour," he said, "if you entrust me with the commission, to induce Lord Kenmure to join you, and will, of course, refrain from pointing out to him, whatever may be my own opinion, that it would be wiser for you to join him. However, I cannot use any arguments in opposition, if he should urge the latter course; but it will be better for General Forster to write to him by my hands, employing all those arguments which have been conclusive in his own mind."
Forster, however, was very unwilling to write, and only in the end consented to give such credentials to the young Earl as would show that he was authorised to treat by the whole party. Even these he would have postponed till the following morning, alleging various motives for delay; but Smeaton interrupted him somewhat impatiently, saying,
"There is no time to be lost, sir. The distance is considerable, if the forces of Lord Kenmure are at Moffat, as we have been informed. We are more than thirty miles from Wooler; and, whether I take the road by Coldstream or direct to Kelso, nearly two days must be consumed in my journey alone. Then will come the negotiation, which may be more tedious than we imagine, as well as the march of the troops hither. I shall, therefore, most decidedly set out to-night; and, if I might advise, you would, at all events, retire upon Rothbury, which is so far on the way to meet our friends from the north. If there is any delay, you may all be cut to pieces before they arrive to your support."
"Oh, we shall retire to Rothbury, of course," said Lord Derwentwater; "and the credentials can soon be prepared without much trouble to any one. If you are willing to set out so speedily, it must not be any act of ours that delays you."
"In half an hour I shall be ready," replied Smeaton, rising; "and, in the meantime, I trust that the paper will be drawn up."
It was a full hour, however, before he set out; and then, notwithstanding the entreaties of Van Noost to be allowed to accompany him, the young Earl departed, only attended by his servant.
The light was already failing rapidly; and, before many minutes had passed, night fell over his road. A little more than three hours brought him to Wooler, with tired horses and a somewhat anxious mind; for he felt all the importance of the mission he had undertaken, and the movement of troops in the neighbourhood of Berwick rendered it not at all improbable that he might be stopped upon the way. He found the little town of Wooler quiet and soldierless, however; and, as the hour was not late, he had no difficulty in procuring refreshment at the little inn for himself, his servant, and his horses.
Anxious to cross the border, beyond which the general feelings of the country people rendered the roads more safe to persons engaged in the Jacobite cause, he only gave himself an hour and a half's rest, and then set out again, taking the direct road to Kelso, which, though at that time steep and rugged enough, had great advantages over that by Coldstream, both in point of distance and of security; for he had learned at Wooler that a small party of horse had occupied the latter town during the morning. He was forced to proceed somewhat slowly, indeed; for his horses had been in exercise already during the early part of the day; and the wearisome twenty miles to Kelso occupied several hours.
The whole town, when he entered it, was profoundly still, and the inhabitants plunged in sleep. Not a solitary light was to be seen in any window; and the young nobleman had no means of knowing whether he might not rouse a lion instead of a lamb, if he attempted to wake any of the good citizens from their slumbers. In these circumstances, he resolved to push forward, notwithstanding the weariness of his horse, and trust for hospitality to the first small hamlet or cottage he could meet with. He reckoned without his host however; for, at that time, the country between Kelso and Hawick was much less thickly peopled than at present; and, after going some two miles farther, he was fain to turn the horses into a green meadow at the bottom of a valley, and seek shelter for himself and his servant beneath a loose stone wall.
The autumnal wind was blowing bleak and cold; but the beasts were better off than the men, for they soon found provender sufficient in the meadow, while their riders were left without food. Tom Higham groaned in the spirit as he sat, wrapped up in his cloak, shivering behind the wall; and Smeaton could hear him more than once muttering to himself--
"I am a mighty great fool. That is as clear as moonshine."
Perhaps the young nobleman thought the same of himself; but he bore his situation more patiently; and, shrouding himself from the cutting blast as well as he could, tried to obtain some sleep, as he had often done in other lands under similar circumstances.
It was in such lonely and darksome hours, when the mind was the most depressed, and action impossible, that the thought of Emmeline frequently presented itself to Smeaton. The remembrance was like an angel visit; for although many a melancholy and many an anxious train of ideas was awakened by the recollection of her and of her fate, yet there was something in the images then called up which left his mind calmed and even cheered. I believe it is a quality of high pure love to strengthen and to elevate, however adverse may be the circumstances. The images which now arose in his mind effectually banished sleep; and, when the grey daylight at length began to appear in the east, he was still waking, though his servant had been long buried in deep slumber. Smeaton rose at once, and, rousing the man, told him to catch the horses, and replace the saddles and bridles.
"Ay," cried Tom Higham, "we had better do that before any one comes and catches us; for the beasts have had a good feed at Sawney's expense, and a canny Scot is not a man to let us off scot free if he catches us."
"He shall not need," replied Smeaton, taking out his purse and putting down a couple of shillings on the top of the stone wall. "I trust he will find them; but if not, my conscience is free."
The horses gave them some trouble, for they were not at all willing to quit their comfortable pasture for the hard stony road; and just when the young nobleman had got his own beast by the forelock, he heard the voice of his man calling for help in lamentable accents. Turning round, he beheld good Master Higham in the grasp of a very tall stout man, in an ordinary farming dress; and, leading his horse up, he inquired what was the matter.
"I cannot understand what he means," cried Tom Higham; "but I know that he talks something about spearing me, or my spearing at him, though devil a spear there is amongst us."
Smeaton, however, more conversant, from his family connections, with the language of the country, was soon made to comprehend that the farmer, having seen two horses in his field from the window of his house, which lay hard by, though the darkness had previously concealed it, had come down in high wrath to repel an intrusion which, to say truth, was somewhat common at that time and in that part of the country.
"My good friend," replied the young nobleman, "we took refuge here in the night, neither very well knowing the way nor where to find shelter, and I certainly did not intend to go away without paying for the grass which the horses have taken."
"No that likely," replied the marl, doggedly. "If ye wanted shelter, why did na ye joost tirl at the pin up by, or gie a halloo under the window?"
"Because I did not know there was a window near," replied Smeaton, with a smile. "As to my intention of paying you, you can satisfy yourself; for, before I went to help my servant in catching the horses, I put a couple of shillings down on the top of the wall, which I thought must be sufficient for the grass they had eaten."
The cautious farmer let go his hold of Higham's neck; but, before he expressed himself satisfied or otherwise, walked straight to the wall and took up the money, which he speedily found. His countenance brightened at once, and the young Earl said to himself, with a somewhat cynical smile--"I wish my poor father's countrymen would not give so much cause for the imputation of greediness which their southern neighbours are so ready to throw upon them."
He was mistaken, however, in the present instance; for, as soon as he approached, the good farmer held out the money to him, saying--"Here, tak the siller. It was no for that I was a bit cankered wi' the wee body." And he went on to explain that it was the fact of the horses being put into the field without his leave which had roused his ire. "There's na that man leeving," he continued, "wha can say I ever grudged him a bit for himself or his beastie; but ye might hae found a better beild up by, if ye had just trotted on a bit."
Nothing would serve him now but he must give the two travellers some breakfast at what he called "his wee thack housie," which proved to be a very comfortable farm dwelling.
As information was one of the Earl's greatest wants, he readily accepted the invitation, much to the joy and satisfaction of Tom Higham, who soon contrived to catch his horse and follow his master and the farmer as they walked away out of the field and up the road. It was not easy to induce the latter to speak upon any dangerous subject. The moment that politics, or the state of the parties then existing, was mentioned, he curled himself like a hedgehog, to use Tom Higham's expression, and it was not till he had discovered that his less wary guest was going to Moffat for the purpose of seeing the Viscount Kenmure, that he at all unfolded himself. Then, indeed, he spoke more freely, but with a certain degree of caution still, as if not yet quite convinced that the English traveller was not trying to worm the secret of his political propensities out of him. He cared not for one King or the other, he said; no, not a bodle. He was a peaceable man, and they might fight it out amongst them; but, as for the Viscount Kenmure and "his handfu' of men," he had heard tell, but he would not warrant it, for he knew nothing of his own knowledge, that he was not at Moffat at all, but at the town of Hawick.
At the same time, as far as slight indications went, he seemed not to be ill-disposed to the cause of the House of Stuart. He took particular pains to direct Smeaton right on the road to Hawick, and insisted upon feeding both the horses with something more solid than the grass which they had cropped during the night. Gradually, too, he relaxed a little in regard to intelligence, and informed the young nobleman that there was no force capable of opposing the march of the Jacobite forces within many miles. He added that he had heard at Kelso market that Kenmure had given the good folks of Dumfries a fright some days before, but that, finding the citizens better prepared than he had expected, he had retreated to Langholm, and thence to Hawick. As to the number of Kenmure's forces, he either could not or would not give any information; but it was at all events satisfactory to the young nobleman to find that his journey was greatly shortened; and, after having partaken of the worthy man's good cheer, he remounted, and set out upon his way.
A ride of a few hours brought him to Hawick; but he found that Kenmure had not thought fit to take up his quarters in the town itself, but had occupied a village at a few miles' distance, where his cavalry was less likely to be embarrassed in case of attack. Thither, then, the young nobleman pursued his journey, guided by a country lad on foot; for the directions he received were far too elaborate and confused to be easily comprehended.
In consequence of various delays, he did not come in sight of the village till towards three o'clock, and then but very few symptoms of anything like a numerous body of men were to be perceived. A sentry, if so he could be called, with a broadsword at his side and a pistol in his hand, was seen at the end of the long street of straggling irregular houses which constituted the village; and here and there, a person in the garb of a gentleman, booted and spurred, but with no other arms than his sword, was observed loitering about the doors. No precaution was taken on his entering the village, the sentry merely directing him, when he asked for the Lord Kenmure, to the minister's house near the kirk; and, wending his way through heaps of filth and cabbage stalks, which occupied a certain space before every house, and rendered the road well nigh impassable for any vehicle on wheels, he at length reached the entrance of the manse, before which stood a similar figure to that which kept sentry at the commencement of the village. The approach of a couple of horsemen had caused a little commotion in the place; and two or three heads were thrust from the windows as Smeaton rode up, but he was admitted to the room in which the Viscount sat, without any delay, and presented to him the brief note he bore from Mr. Forster.
A long deliberation ensued, in the course of which many questions were asked by the Scottish nobleman. Smeaton told him the exact truth in regard to the numbers and position of the little insurgent force in Northumberland, adding that they had heard that the Lord Kenmure's troop amounted to five hundred men.
"I wish it did," replied the Viscount, with a somewhat cold laugh. "I think if that had been the case, my Lord, you would have had to come on to Dumfries. No, no. I will deal honestly by you, as you have dealt by me. If you are a handful, we are less. We do not number more than one half the force you say General Forster has with him."
"Then the more need of your immediate union," observed the young Earl.
"Ay, but it would have been better for him to come to me than for me to go to him," responded Kenmure. "Something might have been done here; but I gather from what you say, my noble friend, that little is to be done on the other side of the border; and every step I take in that direction draws me farther from my resources and from all chance of support, of which we have good hope from the north."
"It is too late now, I fear, my Lord," said Smeaton, "to consider such objections. Perhaps the course you mention might have been wisest. Here are two small parties, engaged in the same cause, but separate from each other, with considerable bodies of the enemy's troops hovering round them. If you continue in this state of isolation, at fifty or sixty miles distance, you are liable at any moment to be cut up in detail, without the power of aiding each other, and probably before your succour from the north can arrive. Allow me to urge that it would be very much better for you to march without delay to join the gentlemen in Northumberland. You will then have a force of about five hundred men united, with which you can show a firm face to the enemy, even if you cannot undertake any great enterprise; and, should it be judged necessary after consultation with General Forster, you can fall back upon your resources here, and make good any well-chosen position till you are reinforced."
"Well, well," replied Lord Kenmure, "I must consult with my friends here before we can decide; but, in the mean time, I must care for your accommodation during the night. We have crammed the manse as full as it can hold already; and I fear you will have but poor accommodation.--Some one be good enough to call Quartermaster Calderwood."
This was accordingly done; and, after a short consultation between that personage and Lord Kenmure, the young Earl was placed in his hands, to be conducted to the only quarters which could be assigned to him, and left the manse somewhat doubtful as to the result of the consultation which was about to commence.