From the deep bay-windows of the old inn Constance and Monica witnessed all that had occurred, and were both filled with admiration at the gallantry and spirit displayed by Atherton.
Miss Rawcliffe especially was struck by the young man's courageous deportment as he confronted the boroughreeve, and without reflecting that he was violating the law, saw in him only her father's deliverer.
"Look, Monica!" she cried. "Has he not a noble expression of countenance? He is taller than any of those around him, and seems able to cope with half a dozen such varlets as have beset him."
"He has certainly shown himself more than a match for the constables, if you mean to describe them as 'varlets,'" rejoined Monica.
"They did not dare to lay hands upon him," cried Constance. "But see, papa is coming out of the coach, and is about to address the assemblage. Let us open the window to hear what he says."
This was done, and they both waved their handkerchiefs to Sir Richard when he concluded his harangue.
Atherton looked up at the moment, and received a similar greeting. Constance's eloquent glances and approving smiles more than repaid him for what he had done.
From their position the two damsels could discern all that subsequently took place. They beheld Sir Richard and the gallant youth who had rescued him pass safely through the crowd, and disappear at the lower end of the market-place.
Then feeling satisfied that the fugitives were safe, they retired from the window, nor did they look out again, though the shouting and tumult still continued, till Jemmy Dawson made his appearance. Both were delighted to see him.
"Oh, I am so glad you are come, Jemmy!" cried Monica. "What is going on? I hope there won't be a riot?"
"Have you seen papa and Mr. Atherton Legh?" asked Constance.
"Yes, I have seen them both; and I am happy to be able to relieve your anxiety respecting Sir Richard. He is out of all danger. By this time I trust he is a mile or two on the road to Preston. I have provided him with a horse."
"Heaven be thanked!" she exclaimed. "But what of young Atherton Legh? I hope there is no chance of his falling into the hands of the enemy. I should never forgive myself if anything were to happen to him, for I feel that I incited him to this hazardous attempt."
"No doubt you did, Constance," observed Monica.
"You need not make yourself uneasy about him," said Jemmy. "He will easily find a secure retreat till the prince appears."
There was a moment's pause, during which the lovers exchanged tender glances, and Constance appeared preoccupied.
"Who is Atherton Legh?" she inquired, at length. "I begin to feel interested about him."
"I would rather you didn't ask me the question," replied Jemmy. "I can't answer it very readily. However, I will tell you all I know about him."
And he proceeded to relate such particulars of the young man's history as the reader is already acquainted with.
Constance listened with great interest.
"It appears, then, from what you say, that he is dependent upon a guardian whom he has never seen, and of whose very name he is ignorant."
"That is so," replied Jemmy. "But I am convinced he is a gentleman born."
"The mystery attaching to his birth does not lessen my interest in him," said Constance.
"I should be surprised if it did," observed Monica. "You can give him any rank you please. I am sorry to disturb your romantic ideas respecting him, but you must recollect he has been an apprentice to a Manchester merchant, and has only just served his time."
"His career now may be wholly changed, and he may never embark in trade," said Constance. "But if he were to do so I cannot see that he would be degraded, any more than he is degraded by having been an apprentice."
"Cadets of our best Lancashire and Cheshire families are constantly apprenticed, so there is nothing in that," remarked Jemmy. "I repeat my conviction that Atherton is a gentleman born. Dr. Byrom is of the same opinion."
"Dr. Byrom may be influenced by partiality. I fancy he would like the young man as a son-in-law," said Monica. "Beppy Byrom certainly would not object to the arrangement," she added, with a significant smile that conveyed a good deal.
"Is Beppy Byrom pretty?" asked Constance.
"Decidedly so—one of the prettiest girls in Manchester," rejoined Monica.
"And is Mr. Atherton Legh insensible to her attractions?" inquired Constance, as carelessly as she could.
"That I can't pretend to say," returned her cousin. "But I should scarcely think he can be so."
"At all events, he pays her very little attention," remarked Jemmy.
Constance cast down her magnificent eyes, and her countenance assumed a thoughtful expression that seemed to heighten its beauty.
While she remained thus preoccupied, Monica and her lover moved towards the window and looked out, or appeared to be looking out, for it is highly probable they only saw each other.
Presently Constance arose, and saying she desired to be alone for a few minutes, left them together.
Proceeding to her own chamber, she sat down and began to review as calmly as she could the strange and hurried events of the morning, in which Atherton Legh had played a conspicuous part, and though the rest of the picture presented to her mental gaze appeared somewhat confused, his image rose distinctly before her.
The young man's singular story, as related by Jemmy Dawson, had greatly stimulated her curiosity, and she indulged in many idle fancies respecting him—such as will flash through a young girl's brain—sometimes endeavouring to account for the mystery of his birth in one way, sometimes in another, but always feeling sure he was well-born.
"If any one ever proclaimed himself a gentleman by look and manner, it is Atherton Legh," she thought. "And as to his courage it is indisputable. But I have been thinking only of this young man all the time," she reflected, with a feeling of self-reproach, "when I ought to have been thinking of papa. I ought to have locked up the packet of important papers that he confided to me before his arrest. I will repair my neglect at once."
With this resolve she arose, and taking out the packet was about to place it in her writing-case, when a letter fell to the ground.
The letter was partly open, and a name caught her eye that made her start.
The impulse to glance at the contents of the letter was irresistible, and she found, to her infinite surprise, that the communication related to Atherton Legh, and was addressed by a Manchester banker to Sir Richard Rawcliffe, leaving no doubt whatever on her mind that her father was the young man's mysterious guardian.
In fact, Mr. Marriott, the banker in question, stated that, in compliance with Sir Richard's order, he had paid a certain sum to Mr. Atherton Legh, and had also delivered the letter enclosed by the baronet to the young man.
Astonishment at the discovery almost took away her breath, and she remained gazing at the letter as if doubting whether she had read it aright, till it dropped from her hands.
"My father Atherton's guardian!" she exclaimed. "How comes it he has never made the slightest allusion to his ward? Why have I been kept so completely in the dark? Till I came to Manchester last night I had never heard there was such a person as Atherton Legh. Chance seems to have revealed the secret to me. Yet it must have been something more than chance. Otherwise, the letter could never have fallen into my hands at this particular juncture. But what have I discovered? Only that my father is Atherton's mysterious guardian—nothing respecting the young man's parentage. That is the real secret which I fear will never be cleared up by my father—even if I venture to question him. Let me reflect. The reason why this young man has been brought up thus must be that he belongs to some old Jacobite family, the chief members of which have been banished. That would account for all. My father corresponds with several important persons who were engaged in the last rebellion, and are now abroad. I need not seek further for an explanation—yet I am not altogether satisfied. I must not breathe a word to Monica of the singular discovery I have made, for the secret, I feel, would not be safe with her. But methinks my father might have trusted me. Till I see him again, my lips shall be sealed—even to Atherton, should I happen to meet him. Doubtless these letters," she continued, taking up the packet, and examining it, "would afford me full information respecting the young man, but, though strongly tempted, I will read nothing more, without my father's sanction."
She then replaced the letter she had dropped with the others, and had just locked up the packet in a small valise, when her cousin came in quest of her.
"The crowd in the market-place has dispersed, and all seems quiet," said Monica. "Shall we take an airing in St. Ann's Square? Jemmy will escort us. 'Tis a fine day—as fine a day, at least, as one can expect in November."
Constance assented, and they forthwith prepared for a walk—each arraying herself in a black hood and scarf, and each taking a large fan with her, though the necessity for such an article at that late season of the year did not seem very obvious. But at the period of which we treat, a woman, with any pretension to mode, had always a fan dangling from her wrist.
Attended by Jemmy Dawson, who was looked upon as one of the beaux of the town, they sallied forth, and passing the Exchange, where a couple of porters standing in the doorway were the only persons to be seen, they took their way through a narrow alley, called Acres Court, filled with small shops, and leading from the back of the Exchange to the square.
Usually, Acres Court was crowded, but no one was to be seen there now, and the shops were shut.
Not many years previous to the date of our history, St. Ann's Square was an open field—Acres Field being its designation.
The area was tolerably spacious—the houses surrounding it being some three or four stories high, plain and formal in appearance, with small windows, large doorways, and heavy wooden balustrades, meant to be ornamental, at the top. Most of them were private residences.
On either side of the square was a row of young plane trees. At the further end stood the church, of the architectural beauty of which we cannot say much; but it had its admirers in those days, and perhaps may have admirers in our own, for it still stands where it did. In fact, the square retains a good deal of its original appearance.
Here the beau monde of the town was wont to congregate in the middle of the last century—the ladies in their hoop petticoats, balloon-like sacques, and high-heeled shoes, with powder in their locks, and patches on their cheeks; and the gentlemen in laced coats of divers colours, cocked hats, and periwigs, ruffles at the wrist, and solitaires round the throat, sword by the side, and clouded cane in hand. Here they met to criticise each other and talk scandal, in imitation of the fine folks to be seen on the Mall at St. James's.
But none of these triflers appeared in St. Ann's Square when Miss Rawcliffe and her companions entered it. Only one young lady, attended by a couple of clergymen, could be descried pacing to and fro on the broad pavement.
In this damsel Monica at once recognised Beppy Byrom, but she made no remark on the subject to Constance, and stopped Jemmy, who was about to blab.
Presently, Beppy turned and advanced towards them, and then Constance could not fail to be struck by her good looks, and inquired who she was?
"Can't you guess?" cried Monica.
"Is it Beppy Byrom?" said Constance, colouring.
Monica nodded. "What do you think of her?"
Before a reply could be made, Beppy came up, and an introduction took place. Beppy and Constance scrutinised each other with a rapid glance. But no fault could be detected on either side.
"Allow me to congratulate you on Sir Richard's escape, Miss Rawcliffe," said Beppy. "Papa sent a warning letter to him, as no doubt you know, but Sir Richard did not receive it in time to avoid the arrest. How courageously Mr. Atherton Legh seems to have behaved on the occasion."
"Yes, papa owes his deliverance entirely to Mr. Legh," rejoined Constance. "We have good reason to feel grateful to him."
"'Tis perhaps a superfluous offer," said Beppy. "But since Sir Richard has been compelled to fly, can we be of any service to you? Our house is roomy, and we can accommodate you without the slightest inconvenience."
"You are extremely kind," said Constance. "I shall probably remain at the inn; but if I do move, it will be to my Aunt Butler's."
"Yes, mamma would be hurt if my Cousin Constance did not come to her," interposed Monica. "We are going to her presently. She is out of the way of these disturbances, and has probably never heard of them."
"Your mamma, I believe, is a great invalid, Miss Butler?" remarked Beppy. "I have heard Dr. Deacon speak of her."
"Yes, she rarely leaves the house. But she has a most capital nurse—so that I can leave her without the slightest apprehension."
"That is fortunate," said Beppy. "I hope you will soon have good tidings of Sir Richard, Miss Rawcliffe?"
"I don't expect to hear anything of him till he re-appears with the prince," replied Constance, in a low tone. "I am under no alarm about him."
"Well, perhaps, the person in greatest jeopardy is Atherton Legh," said Beppy. "I should like to feel quite sure he is safe."
"Then take the assurance from me, Miss Byrom," observed Jemmy.
"Do tell me where he is?" she asked.
"He has taken refuge with Tom Syddall," was the reply, in an undertone.
"She takes a deep interest in him," thought Constance.
The two clergymen, who were no other than Mr. Nichols and Mr. Lewthwaite, and who had stood aside during this discourse, now came forward, and were presented to Miss Rawcliffe.
The conversation then became general, and was proceeding pleasantly enough, when a very alarming sound put a sudden stop to it.
It was a fire-bell. And the clangour evidently came from the tower of the collegiate church.
The conversation instantly ceased, as we have said, and those who had been engaged in it glanced at each other uneasily.
"Heaven preserve us!" ejaculated Mr. Lewthwaite. "With how many plagues is this unfortunate town to be visited? Are we to have a conflagration in addition to the other calamities by which we are menaced?"
Meantime, the clangour increased in violence, and shouts of "Fire! fire!" resounded in all directions.
But the alarm of the party was considerably heightened when another fire-bell began to ring—this time close to them.
From the tower of St. Ann's Church the warning sounds now came—stunning and terrifying those who listened to them; and bringing forth many of the occupants of the houses in the square.
"It must be a great fire!—perhaps the work of an incendiary!" cried Mr. Nichols. "I will not attribute the mischief to Jacobite plotters, but I fear it will turn out that they are the instigators of it."
"It looks suspicious, I must own," remarked Mr. Lewthwaite.
"You have no warrant for these observations, gentlemen," said Jemmy, indignantly.
Still the fire-bells rang on with undiminished fury, and numbers of people were seen running across the square—shouting loudly as they hurried along.
"Where is the fire?" cried Beppy.
"It must be in the neighbourhood of the collegiate church," replied Mr. Lewthwaite. "All the houses are old in that quarter, and built of timber. Half the town will be consumed. That will be lamentable, but it will not be surprising, since the inhabitants have assuredly called down a judgment upon their heads from their propensity to rebellion."
Jemmy Dawson, who had great difficulty in controlling his anger, was about to make a sharp rejoinder to this speech, when a look from Monica checked him.
Just then several men ran past, and he hailed one of them, who stopped.
"Can you tell me where the fire is?" he asked.
"There be no fire, sir," replied the man, with a grin.
"No fire!" exclaimed Jemmy, astounded. "Why, then, are the fire-bells being rung thus loudly?"
"To collect a mob, if yo mun know," rejoined the man.
"For what purpose?" demanded Jemmy.
"Rebellion! rebellion! Can you doubt it?" said Mr. Lewthwaite.
"Ay, yo may ca' it rebellion an yo like, but this be the plain truth," said the man. "T' magistrates ha' just gi'en orders that Salford Bridge shan be blowed up to hinder t' Pretender, as yo ca' him, or t' prince, as we ca' him, fro' comin' into t' town, wi' his army. Now we Jacobites won't let the bridge be meddled with, so we han had the fire-bells rung to rouse the townsfolk."
"And you mean to resist the authorities?" cried Mr. Lewthwaite.
"Ay, that we do," rejoined the man, defiantly. "They shan't move a stone of the bridge."
"Beware what you do! You are rebelling against your lawful sovereign as represented by the magistrates. Forget not that rebellion provokes the Lord's anger, and will bring down his vengeance upon you."
"I canna bide to listen to a sarmon just now," rejoined the man, hurrying off.
"Can't we obtain a sight of what is going on at the bridge from the banks of the river?" said Constance.
"Yes, I will take you to a spot that commands a complete view of the bridge," rejoined Jemmy; "where you can see all that is to be seen, and yet not run the slightest risk."
"Shall we go, Monica?" said Constance.
"By all means," cried the other.
"I should like to make one of the party," said Beppy, who had just recollected that Tom Syddall's shop, where she knew Atherton had taken refuge, adjoined the bridge, and she thought it almost certain the young man would take part in this new disturbance.
"I advise you not to go, Miss Byrom," said Mr. Lewthwaite. "Neither Mr. Nichols nor myself can sanction such a lawless proceeding by our presence."
"As you please," said Beppy.
"Pray come with us, Miss Byrom," cried Jemmy. "I will engage that no harm shall befall you."
So they set off, leaving the two curates behind, both looking very much disconcerted.
By this time the fire-bells had ceased to ring, but the effect had been produced, and a great crowd, much more excited than that which had previously assembled in the market-place, was collected in the immediate neighbourhood of the bridge.
Salford Bridge, which must have been a couple of centuries old at the least, was strongly built of stone, and had several narrow-pointed arches, strengthened by enormous piers. These arches almost choked up the course of the river. Only a single carriage could cross the bridge at a time, but there were deep angular recesses in which foot-passengers could take refuge. It will be seen at once that such a structure could be stoutly defended against a force approaching from Salford, though it was commanded by the precipitous banks on the Manchester side. Moreover, the Irwell was here of considerable depth.
Before commencing operations, the magistrates, who were not without apprehension of a tumult, stopped all traffic across the bridge, and placed a strong guard at either extremity, to protect the workmen and engineers from any hindrance on the part of the populace.
A couple of large caissons, containing, it was supposed, a sufficient quantity of powder to overthrow the solid pier, had been sunk under the central arch of the bridge. Above the spot, in a boat, sat two engineers ready to fire the powder-chests when the signal should be given.
But the preparations had been watched by two daring individuals, who were determined to prevent them. One of these persons, who was no other than Tom Syddall, the Jacobite barber—a very active, resolute little fellow—ran up to the collegiate church, which was at no great distance from his shop, and soon found the man of whom he was in search—Isaac Clegg, the beadle.
Now Isaac being a Jacobite, like himself, was easily persuaded to ring the fire-bell; and the alarm being thus given, a mob was quickly raised. But no effectual opposition could be offered—the approach to the bridge from Smithy Bank being strongly barricaded. Behind the barricades stood the constables, who laughed at the mob, and set them at defiance.
"The boroughreeve will blow up the bridge in spite of you," they cried.
"If he does, he'll repent it," answered several angry voices from the crowd, which rapidly increased in number, and presented a very formidable appearance.
Already it had been joined by the desperadoes armed with bludgeons, who had figured in the previous disturbance in the market-place, and were quite ready for more mischief.
The usual Jacobite cries were heard, but these were now varied by "Down with the boroughreeve!" "Down with the constables!"
Mr. Fielden himself was on the bridge, with his brother magistrates, superintending the operations, and irritated by the insolent shouts of the mob, he came forward to address them.
For a few minutes they would not listen to him, but at last he obtained a hearing.
"Go home quietly," he cried, in a loud voice. "Go home like loyal and peaceful subjects of the king. We mean to destroy the bridge to prevent the entrance of the rebels."
On this there was a terrific shout, accompanied by groans, yells, and hootings.
"Down with Fielden!—down with Fielden!" cried a hundred voices. "He shan't do it!"
"Mark my words," vociferated the boroughreeve, who remained perfectly unmoved amid the storm, "in five minutes from this time the central arch will be blown up."
"We will prevent it," roared the mob, shaking their hands at him.
"You can't prevent it," rejoined the boroughreeve, contemptuously. "Two large boxes filled with gunpowder are sunk beneath the arch, and on a signal from me will be fired."
Surprise kept the mob quiet for a moment, and before another outburst could take place, the boroughreeve had turned on his heel, and marched off.
Meantime, the three young damsels, under the careful guidance of Jemmy Dawson, had made their way, without experiencing any annoyance, to the precipitous rock on which Atherton Legh had stood, while contemplating the same scene on the previous night.
From this lofty position, as the reader is aware, the bridge was completely commanded. Another person was on the rock when they reached it. This was Isaac Clegg, the beadle, who was well known to Beppy. He instantly made way for her and her friends, and proved useful in giving them some necessary information.
He told them exactly what was going on on the bridge—explained how the angry mob was kept back by the barricade—pointed out the boroughreeve—and finally drew their attention to the engineers in the boat beneath the arch ready to fire the caissons.
As will readily be supposed, it was this part of the singular scene that excited the greatest interest among the spectators assembled on the rock. But, shortly afterwards, their interest was intensified to the highest degree.
A boat was suddenly seen on the river, about a bow-shot above the bridge. It must have been concealed somewhere, for its appearance took all the beholders by surprise. The boat was rowed by two men, who seemed to have disguised themselves, for they were strangely muffled up. Plying their oars vigorously, they came down the stream with great swiftness.
From the course taken it would almost seem as if they were making for the central arch, beneath which the engineers were posted. Evidently the engineers thought so, for they stood up in their boat and shouted lustily to the others to keep off. But the two oarsmen held on their course, and even increased their speed.
Though the two men had disguised themselves, they did not altogether escape detection, for as they dashed past the rock on which Constance and the others were stationed, the foremost oarsman momentarily turned his head in that direction, and disclosed the features of Atherton Legh; while Isaac Clegg declared his conviction that the second oarsman was no other than Tom Syddall.
"'Tis Tom, I be sartin," said Isaac. "He has put on a different sort of wig from that he usually wears, and has tied a handkerchief over his keven-huller, but I'd swear to his nose. What can have induced him to make this mad attempt?"
It was a moment of breathless suspense, for the purpose of the daring oarsmen could no longer be doubted. Not only were they anxiously watched by the spectators on the rock, but the gaze of hundreds was fixed upon them.
Mingled and contradictory shouts were raised—"Keep off!" "Go on!" But the latter predominated.
The engineers prepared to receive the shock they could not avert. In another instant, the boat propelled by all the force the rowers could exert, dashed into them, and staved in the side of their bark.
No longer any question of blowing up the arch. The engineers were both precipitated into the river by the collision, and had to swim ashore.
Leaving them, however, to shift for themselves, the two daring oarsmen continued their rapid course down the stream, amid the deafening shouts of the crowd on Smithy Bank.
Such excitement was caused by this bold exploit that the mob could no longer be kept back.
Breaking through the barricade, and driving off the guard, after a short struggle, they took possession of the bridge—declaring their fixed determination not to allow it to be damaged. Compelled to beat a hasty retreat into Salford, the magistrates were glad to escape without injury.
For some time the two oarsmen rowed on as swiftly as they could, fancying they should be pursued, but finding this was not the case, they began to relax their efforts, and liberated themselves from their disguises.
When divested of the handkerchief tied round his head, and of some other coverings concealing the lower part of his visage, Tom Syddall was fully revealed.
'Twas a physiognomy not easily to be mistaken, owing to the size of the nose, which, besides being enormous, was singularly formed. Moreover, Tom's face was hatchet-shaped.
He had a great soul in a small body. Though a little fellow, he was extremely active, and full of spirit—capable, in his own opinion, of great things. A slight boaster, perhaps, but good-tempered, rarely taking offence if laughed at. Tom despised his vocation, and declared he was cut out for a soldier, but he also declared he would never serve King George—so a barber he remained.
Though there was something ludicrous in his assumption, no one who knew him doubted that he would fight—and fight manfully, too—for the Stuarts, should the opportunity ever be offered him.
Ordinarily, Tom Syddall's manner was comic, but he put on a sombre and tragic expression, when alluding to his father, who was executed for taking part in the rebellion of 1715—his head being fixed upon a spike in the market-place. Tom had vowed to avenge his father, and frequently referred to the oath. Such was Tom Syddall, whose personal appearance and peculiarities rendered him a noticeable character in Manchester at the time.
His companion, it is scarcely necessary to say, was Atherton Legh.
As they rested for a moment upon their oars they both laughed heartily.
"We may be proud of the exploit we have performed," cried Tom. "We have served the prince, and saved the bridge. Three minutes later and the arch would have been blown up. The scheme was well-designed, and well-executed."
"You deserve entire credit both for plan and execution, Tom," rejoined Atherton.
"Nay, sir," said Syddall with affected modesty. "'Twas a bold and well-conceived scheme I admit, but I could not have carried it out without your aid. I trust we may always be successful in our joint undertakings. With you for a leader I would not shrink from any enterprise, however hazardous it might appear. I was struck with your coolness. 'Tis a good sign in a young man."
"Well, I think we are both taking it easily enough, Tom," said Atherton. "We are loitering here as calmly as if nothing had happened. However, I don't think any pursuit need be apprehended. The boroughreeve will have enough to do to look after the mob."
"Ay, that he will," said Syddall. "He has but a very short tenure of office left. The prince will soon be here, and then all will be changed. Did you notice those ladies on the rock near the bridge? They seemed greatly excited, and cheered us."
"Yes, I saw them, and I am glad they saw us, Tom. One of them was Sir Richard Rawcliffe's daughter. I felt my arm strengthened when I found she was watching us. I think I could have done twice as much as I did."
"You did quite enough, sir," observed Syddall, smiling. "But shall we land, or drop quietly down the river for a mile or two, and then return by some roundabout road?"
"Let us go on," said Atherton. "I don't think it will be safe to return just yet."
By this time, though they had not left the bridge much more than half-a-mile behind, they were completely in the country. On the right the banks were still high and rocky, narrowing the stream, and shutting out the view.
But though the modern part of the town extended in this direction, two or three fields intervened between the houses and the river. On the left, the banks being low, the eye could range over pleasant meadows around which the Irwell meandered, forming a charming prospect from the heights overlooking the wide valley through which it pursued its winding course.
So nearly complete was the circle described by the river, that the upper part of the stream was here not very far distant from the lower.
But our object in depicting this locality is to show how wonderfully it is changed. The meadows just alluded to, intersected by hedgerows, and with only two or three farm-houses to be seen amidst them, are now covered with buildings of all kinds—warehouses, mills, and other vast structures. Bridges now span the river; innumerable houses are reared upon its banks; and scarce a foot of ground remains unoccupied.
In a word, an immense and populous town has sprung up, covering the whole area encircled by the Irwell, and the pleasing country scene we have endeavoured to describe has for ever vanished. Few persons would imagine that the polluted river was once bright and clear, and its banks picturesque, and fringed with trees. Yet such was the case little more than a century ago.
Salford at that time was comprised within very narrow limits, and only possessed a single street, which communicated with the old bridge. In Manchester, between the upper part of Deansgate and the river, there were fields entirely unbuilt upon, and a lane bordered by hedges ran down through these fields to the quay.
The quay itself was very small, and consisted of a wharf with a house and warehouse attached to it.
It seems astonishing that a town so important as was Manchester in 1745, should not have had a larger storehouse for goods, but apparently the merchants were content with it. Barges were then towed up the river as far as the quay, but not beyond.
As Atherton and his companion rowed slowly down the river, they did not encounter a single boat till they came in sight of the wharf, where a barge and a few small craft were moored. They now debated with themselves whether to land here or go lower down: and at length decided upon halting, thinking there could be no danger. But they were mistaken. As they drew near the wharf, three men armed with muskets suddenly appeared on the deck of the barge, and commanded them to stop.
"You are prisoners," cried one of these persons. "We have just received information by a mounted messenger of the occurrence at Salford Bridge, and we know you to be the men who ran down the engineers. You are prisoners, I repeat. Attempt to move off and we will fire upon you."
As the muskets were levelled at their heads from so short a distance, Atherton and his companion felt that resistance would be useless, so they surrendered at discretion, and prepared to disembark. Some other men, who were standing by, took charge of them as they stepped ashore.
In another minute the person who had addressed them from the barge came up, and Tom Syddall, who now recognised him as Matthew Sharrocks, the wharf-master, inquired what he meant to do with them.
"Detain you till I learn the magistrates' intentions respecting you," replied Sharrocks. "The boroughreeve will be forthwith acquainted with the capture. The messenger is waiting. Do you deny the offence?"
"No, I glory in the deed," rejoined Syddall."'Tis an action of which we may be justly proud. We have saved the bridge from destruction at the risk of our own lives."
"You will be clapped into prison and punished for what you have done," said Sharrocks.
"If we should be imprisoned, Sharrocks, which I doubt," rejoined Syddall, confidently, "the people will deliver us. Know you who I am?"
"Well enough; you are Tom Syddall, the barber," said the other.
"I am the son of that Tom Syddall who approved his devotion to the royal House of Stuart with his blood."
"Ay, I recollect seeing your father's head stuck up in the market-place," said Sharrocks. "Take care your own is not set up in the same spot."
He then marched off to despatch the messenger to the boroughreeve, and on his return caused the prisoners to be taken to the great storehouse, from an upper window of which was suspended a flag, emblazoned with the royal arms.
"I tell you what, Sharrocks," said Syddall, "before two days that flag will be hauled down."
"I rather think not," rejoined the wharf-master dryly.
Atherton Legh took no part in this discourse, but maintained a dignified silence.
The prisoners were then shut up in a small room near the entrance of the storehouse, and a porter armed with a loaded musket was placed as a sentinel at the door.
However, except for the restraint, they had no reason to complain of their treatment. A pint of wine was brought them, with which they regaled themselves, and after drinking a couple of glasses, Tom, who had become rather downcast, felt his spirits considerably revive.
Knocking at the door, he called out to the porter, "I say, friend, if not against rules, I should very much like a pipe."
The porter being a good-natured fellow said he would see about it, and presently returned with a pipe and a paper of tobacco. His wants being thus supplied, Tom sat down and smoked away very comfortably.
Atherton paid very little attention to him. Truth to say, he was thinking of Constance Rawcliffe.
Rather more than an hour had elapsed, and Mr. Sharrocks was expecting an answer from the boroughreeve, when he heard a tumultuous sound in the lane, already described as leading from the top of Deansgate to the quay.
Alarmed by this noise, he hurried to the great gate, which he had previously ordered to be closed, and looking out, perceived a mob, consisting of some three or four hundred persons, hurrying towards the spot.
If he had any doubt as to their intentions it would have been dispelled by hearing that their cry was "Tom Syddall!" Evidently they were coming to liberate the brave barber.
Hastily shutting and barring the gate, and ordering the porters to guard it, he flew to the room in which Tom and his companion were confined, and found the one tranquilly smoking his pipe, as we have related, and the other seated in a chair opposite him, and plunged in a reverie.
"Well, Sharrocks," said Tom, blowing a whiff from his mouth, and looking up quietly at him, "have you come to say that the boroughreeve has ordered us to be clapped in prison? ha!"
"I have come to set you free, gentlemen," said the wharf-master, blandly. "You are quite at liberty to depart."
"Ho! ho!" cried Tom. "You have altered your tone, methinks, Sharrocks."
"I am in no hurry," said Atherton. "I am quite comfortable here."
"But you must, and shall go," cried Sharrocks.
"Must! and shall!" echoed Atherton. "Suppose we refuse to stir!—what then?"
"Yes, what then, Sharrocks?" said Tom, replacing the pipe in his mouth.
The wharf-master was about to make an angry rejoinder, when a loud noise outside convinced him that the porters had yielded to the mob, and thrown open the gates.
"Zounds! they have got into the yard!" he exclaimed.
"Who have got in?" cried Atherton, springing to his feet.
"Your friends, the mob," replied Sharrocks.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Syddall, jumping up likewise, and waving his pipe over his head. "I knew the people would come to release us. Hurrah! hurrah!"
Almost frantic with delight, he ran out into the yard, followed by Atherton—Sharrocks bringing up the rear.
Already the yard was half-full of people, most of whom were gathered thickly in front of the storehouse, and the moment they perceived Tom Syddall and Atherton, they set up a tremendous shout.
But Tom was their especial favourite. Those nearest placed him on the top of an empty cask, so that he could be seen by the whole assemblage, and in reply to their prolonged cheers, he thanked them heartily for coming to deliver him and his companion, telling them they would soon see the prince in Manchester, and bidding them, in conclusion, shout for King James the Third and Charles, Prince Regent—setting them the example himself.
While the yard was ringing with treasonable shouts and outcries, Tom quitted his post, but he soon reappeared. He had made his way to the upper room of the building, from the window of which the obnoxious flag was displayed. Hauling it down, he tore off the silken banner in sight of the crowd, and replacing it with a white handkerchief, brought down the rebel flag he had thus improvised, and gave it to one of the spectators, who carried it about in triumph.
Hitherto the mob had behaved peaceably enough, but they now grew rather disorderly, and some of them declared they would not go away empty-handed.
Fearing they might plunder the store-house, which was full of goods of various kinds, Sharrocks came up to Tom Syddall and besought him to use his influence with them to depart peaceably.
"I'll try what I can do, Sharrocks," replied Tom. "Though you made some uncalled-for observations upon me just now, I don't bear any malice."
"I'm very sorry for what I said, Mr. Syddall," rejoined the wharf-master, apologetically—"very sorry, indeed."
"Enough. I can afford to be magnanimous, Sharrocks. I forgive the remarks. But you will find you were wrong, sir—you will find that I shall avenge my father."
"I have no doubt of it, Mr. Syddall," rejoined Sharrocks. "But in the meantime, save the storehouse from plunder, and you shall have my good word with the boroughreeve."
"I don't want your good word, Sharrocks," said Tom, disdainfully.
With Atherton's assistance he then once more mounted the cask, and the crowd seeing he was about to address them became silent.
"I have a few words to say to you, my friends," he cried, in a voice that all could hear. "Don't spoil the good work you have done by committing any excesses. Don't let the Hanoverians and Presbyterians have the power of casting reproach upon us. Don't disgrace the good cause. Our royal prince shoots every Highlander who pillages. He won't shoot any of you, but he'll think better of you if you abstain from plunder."
The commencement of this address was received with some murmurs, but these ceased as the speaker went on, and at the close he was loudly cheered, and it was evident from their altered demeanour that the crowd intended to follow his advice.
"I am glad to find you mean to behave like good Jacobites and honest men. Now let us go home quietly, and unless we're assaulted we won't break the peace."
"We'll carry you home safely," shouted several of the bystanders. "A chair! a chair! Give us a chair!"
These demands were promptly complied with by Sharrocks, who brought out a large arm-chair, in which Tom being installed, was immediately hoisted aloft by four sturdy individuals.
Thus placed, he bowed right and left, in acknowledgement of the cheers of the assemblage.
Not wishing to take a prominent part in these proceedings, Atherton had kept aloof, but he now came up to Syddall, and shaking hands with him, told him in a whisper that he might expect to see him at night.
The brave little Jacobite barber was then borne off in triumph, surrounded by his friends—a tall man marching before him carrying the white flag.
The procession took its way up the lane to Deansgate, along which thoroughfare it slowly moved, its numbers continually increasing as it went on, while the windows of the houses were thronged with spectators.
Thus triumphantly was Tom conveyed to his dwelling. Throughout the whole route no molestation was offered him—the magistrates prudently abstaining from further interference.
Before quitting him, the crowd promised to come to his succour should any attempt be made to arrest him.
Atherton did not join the procession, but took a totally different route.
Leaving the boat with the wharf-master, who volunteered to take care of it, he caused himself to be ferried across the river, and soon afterwards entered a path leading across the fields in the direction of Salford.
He walked along very slowly, being anxious to hold a little self-communion; and stopped now and then to give free scope to his reflections.
From these fields, the town, which was scarcely a mile distant, could be seen in its full extent. In saying "town," we include Salford, for no break in the continuity of the houses was distinguishable. The buildings on either side of the Irwell seemed massed together; and the bridge was entirely hidden.
It was not a very bright day—we must recollect it was November—but the lights chanced to be favourable, and brought out certain objects in a striking manner. For instance, the collegiate church, which formed almost the central part of the picture, stood out in bold relief, with its massive tower against a clear sky. A gleam of sunshine fell upon St. Ann's Church and upon the modern buildings near it, and Trinity Church in Salford was equally favoured. Other charming effects were produced, which excited the young man's admiration, and he remained gazing for some time at the prospect. He then accelerated his pace, and soon reached the outskirts of Salford.
At the entrance of the main street stood Trinity Church, to which we have just alluded—a modern pile of no great beauty, but possessing a lofty tower ornamented with pinnacles, and surmounted by a short spire. The row of houses on the right side of the street formed pleasant residences, for they had extensive gardens running down to the banks of the river.
Opposite the church, but withdrawn from the street, stood an old-fashioned mansion with a garden in front, surrounded by high walls. The place had a neglected air. Large gates of wrought iron, fashioned in various devices, opened upon the garden. Recollecting to have heard that this old mansion was occupied by Mrs. Butler—Monica's mother and Constance's aunt—Atherton stopped to look at it, and while peering through the iron gates, he beheld Miss Rawcliffe herself in the garden.
She was alone, and the impulse that prompted him to say a few words to her being too strong to be resisted, he opened the gates and went in. She had disappeared, but he found her seated in an arbour.
On beholding him she uttered a cry of surprise, and started up. For a moment the colour deserted her cheek, but the next instant a blush succeeded.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Atherton Legh," she said. "But how did you learn I was here?"
"Accident has brought me hither," he replied. "While passing the garden gates I chanced to see you, and ventured in. If I have been too bold, I will retire at once."
"Oh, no—pray stay! I am delighted to see you. But you are very incautious to venture forth. You ought to keep in some place of concealment. However, let me offer you my meed of admiration. I was wonderstruck by your last gallant exploit."
"You helped me to accomplish it."
"I helped you—how? I was merely a spectator."
"That was quite sufficient. I felt your eyes were upon me. I fancied I had your approval."
"I most heartily wished you success," she rejoined, again blushing deeply. "But I think you are excessively rash. Suppose the caissons had been fired, you would have been destroyed by the explosion."
"In that case I might have had your sympathy."
"Yes, but my sympathy would have been worth very little. It would not have brought you to life."
"It would have made death easy."
"With such exalted sentiments, 'tis a pity you did not live in the days of chivalry."
"If I had I would have maintained the peerless beauty of the dame I worshipped against all comers."
"Now you are beginning to talk high-flown nonsense, so I must stop you."
But she did not look offended.
Presently she added, "Do you desire to win distinction? Do you wish to please me?"
"I desire to please you more than any one on earth, Miss Rawcliffe," he rejoined, earnestly. "I will do whatever you ask me."
"Then join the prince. But no! I ought not to extort this pledge from you. Reflect! reflect!"
"No need of reflection. My decision is made. I will join the Manchester Regiment."
"Then I will place the sash on your shoulder, and gird on your sword," she said.
A fire seemed kindled in the young man's breast by these words. Casting an impassioned glance at the fair maiden, he prostrated himself at her feet, and taking her hand, which she did not withhold, pressed it to his lips.
"I devote myself to you," he said, in a fervent tone.
"And to the good cause?" she cried.
"To the good cause," he rejoined. "But chiefly to you."
Before he could rise from his kneeling posture, Monica and Jemmy Dawson, who had come forth from the house, approached the arbour, but seeing how matters stood, they would have retired; but Constance, who did not exhibit the slightest embarrassment, advanced to meet them.