BOOK III.
THE MARCH TO DERBY, AND THE RETREAT.
Next morning the prince quitted Manchester, marching on foot at the head of two regiments of infantry which formed the advanced guard. The main body of the army, with the cavalry and artillery, was to follow at a later hour.
As the two regiments in question, which were composed of remarkably fine men, marched up Market Street Lane, preceded by a dozen pipers, they were accompanied by a vast concourse of people, who came to witness the prince's departure, and shouted lustily as he came forth from his head-quarters, attended by Sir Thomas Sheridan and Colonel Ker.
Designing to make Macclesfield the limit of his first day's march, Charles took the road to Cheadle, and several hundred persons walked, or rather ran, by the side of the Highlanders for a mile or two, when they dropped off and returned, being unable to keep up with the active mountaineers.
Parties of men had been sent on previously to make a temporary bridge across the Mersey by felling trees; but the bridge not being completed on his arrival, the prince forded the river at the head of his troops.
On the opposite bank of the Mersey, several Cheshire gentlemen of good family were waiting to greet him, and wish him success in his enterprise.
Among them was an aged dame, Mrs. Skyring, who, being very infirm, was led forward by a Roman Catholic priest. Kneeling before the prince, she pressed his hand to her lips.
Much impressed by her venerable looks, Charles immediately raised her, and on learning her name, told her he had often heard of her as a devoted adherent of his house.
"Give ear to me for a few moments, I pray you, most gracious prince," she said, in faltering accents. "Eighty-five years ago, when an infant, I was lifted up in my mother's arms to see the happy landing at Dover of your great uncle, King Charles the Second. My father was a staunch Cavalier, served in the Civil Wars, and fought at Worcester. My mother was equally attached to the House of Stuart. I inherited their loyalty and devotion. When your grandsire, King James the Second, was driven from the throne, I prayed daily for his restoration."
"You did more than pray, madam," said the prince. "I am quite aware that you remitted half your income to our family; and this you have done for more than fifty years. I thank you in my grandsire's name—in my father's name—and in my own."
Sobs checked the old lady's utterance for a moment, but at length she went on:
"When I learnt that you were marching on England at the head of an army, determined to drive out the Hanoverian usurper, and regain your crown, I was filled with despair that I could not assist you; but I sold my plate, my jewels, and every trinket I possessed. They did not produce much—not half so much as I hoped—but all they produced is in this purse. I pray your royal highness to accept it as an earnest of my devotion."
While uttering these words, which greatly touched Charles, she again bent before him, and placed the purse in his hands.
"Pain me not by a refusal, I implore you, most gracious prince," she said. "And think not you are depriving me of aught. I cannot live long, and I have no children. 'Tis the last assistance I shall be able to render your royal house—for which I have lived, and for which I would die."
"I accept the gift, madam," replied Charles, with unaffected emotion, "with as much gratitude as if you had placed a large sum at my disposal. You are, indeed, a noble dame; and our family may well be proud of a servant so loyal! If I succeed in my enterprise, I will recompense you a hundred fold."
"I am fully recompensed by these gracious words, prince," she rejoined.
"Nay, madam," he cried, pressing her hand to his lips; "mere thanks are not enough. You have not confined yourself to words."
"My eyes are very dim, prince," said the old dame; "and what you say to me will not make me see more clearly. Yet let me look upon your face, and I will tell you what I think of you. I am too old to flatter."
"You will not offend me by plain speaking," said Charles, smiling.
"You are a true Stuart," she continued, trying to peruse his features. "But there are some lines in your comely countenance that bode——"
"Not misfortune, I trust?" said Charles, finding she hesitated.
She regarded him anxiously, and made an effort to reply, but could not.
"What ails you, madam?" cried the prince, greatly alarmed by the deathly hue that overspread her features.
Her strength was gone, and she would have fallen, if he had not caught her in his arms.
Her friends, who were standing near, rushed forward to her assistance.
"Alas, all is over!" exclaimed Charles, mournfully, as he consigned her inanimate frame to them.
"She is scarcely to be pitied, prince," said the Romish priest. "'Tis thus she desired to die. May the angels receive her soul, and present it before the Lord!"
"The sum she has bestowed upon me shall buy masses for the repose of her soul," said Charles.
"Nay, prince," rejoined the priest. "Her soul is already at rest. Employ the money, I beseech you, as she requested."
Much affected by this incident, Charles continued his march through a fine champaign country, well-timbered and richly cultivated, containing numerous homesteads, and here and there an old hall of the true Cheshire type, and comprehending views of Bowden Downs and Dunham Park on the left, with Norbury and Lyme Park on the right.
At Headforth Hall he halted with his body-guard, and claimed the hospitality of its owner; while his troops marched on to Wilmslow, and forced the inhabitants of that pretty little village to supply their wants.
From Wilmslow the prince's march was continued to Macclesfield, where he fixed his quarters at an old mansion near the Chester Gate.
The prince's departure from Manchester took place on Sunday, December the 1st; but as the main body of the army did not leave till the middle of the day, and great confusion prevailed in the town, no service took place in the churches.
The cavalry was drawn up in St. Ann's Square; the different regiments of infantry collected at various points in the town; and the Manchester Regiment assembled in the collegiate churchyard.
While the troops were thus getting into order, preparatory to setting out for Macclesfield, a great number of the inhabitants of the town came forth to look at them—very much increasing the tumult and confusion.
The Manchester Regiment got into marching order about noon, and was one of the first to quit the town. Officers and men were in high spirits, and looked very well.
As the regiment passed up Market Street Lane, with Colonel Townley riding at its head, the colours borne by Ensign Syddall, and the band playing, it was loudly cheered.
The regularity of the march was considerably interfered with by the number of persons who accompanied their friends as far as Didsbury, and supplied them rather too liberally with usquebaugh, ratifia, and other spirituous drinks.
The courage of the men being raised to a high pitch by these stimulants, they expressed a strong anxiety for an early engagement with the Duke of Cumberland's forces, feeling sure they should beat them.
After a short halt at Didsbury, their friends left them, and their courage was somewhat cooled by fording the river below Stockport. They were likewise obliged to wade through the little river Bollin, before reaching Wilmslow, where they halted for the night.
Atherton had not yet left Manchester. He had some business to transact which obliged him to employ a lawyer, and he was engaged with this gentleman for two or three hours in the morning. He had previously written to Constance to say that it was necessary he should see her before his departure, and as soon as his affairs were arranged he rode to Mrs. Butler's house in Salford.
Leaving his horse with Holden, by whom he was attended, he entered the garden, and was crossing the lawn, when he encountered Jemmy Dawson, who, having just parted with Monica, looked greatly depressed.
In reply to his anxious inquiries, Jemmy informed him that Constance had borne the shock better than might have been expected, and had passed the night in prayer. "I have not seen her," he said, "but Monica tells me she is now perfectly composed, and however much she may suffer, she represses all outward manifestation of grief. In this respect she is very different from Monica herself, who, poor girl! has not her emotions under control, and I left her in a state almost of distraction."
Without a word more he hurried away, while Atherton entered the house, and was shown into a parlour on the ground floor. No one was in the room at the time, and his first step was to lay a packet on the table.
Presently Constance made her appearance. Her features were excessively pale, and bore evident traces of grief, but she was perfectly composed, and Atherton thought he had never seen her look so beautiful.
She saluted him gravely, but more distantly than before.
"I cannot condole with you on the terrible event that has occurred," he said; "but I can offer you my profound sympathy. And let me say at once that I freely and fully forgive your unfortunate father for all the wrong he has done me."
"I thank you for the assurance," she rejoined. "'Tis an infinite relief to me, and proves the goodness of your heart."
"Do not dwell upon this, Constance," he said. "Hereafter we will talk over the matter—not now. Should you feel equal to the journey, I hope you will immediately return to Rawcliffe."
"I will return thither, with your kind permission, to see my poor father laid in the family vault. That sad duty performed, I shall quit the house for ever."
"No, Constance—that must not be," he rejoined. "My object in coming hither this morning is to tell you that I do not design to dispossess you of the house and property. On the contrary, you will be as much the mistress of Rawcliffe Hall as ever—more so, perhaps. Nay, do not interrupt me—I have not finished. Many things may happen. I may meet a soldier's fate. The hazardous enterprise I am bent upon may fail—I may be captured—may die as a rebel on the scaffold. If I should not return, the house and all within it—all the domains attached to it—are yours. By that deed I have made them over to you."
And he pointed to the packet which he had laid upon the table.
Constance was greatly moved. Tears rushed to her eyes, and for a few minutes she was so overpowered that she could not speak.
Atherton took her hand, which she did not attempt to withdraw.
"I am profoundly touched by your generosity," she said. "But I cannot accept your gift."
"Nay you must accept it, dearest Constance," he said. "You well know you have my heart's love, and I think you will not refuse to be mine."
"'Twould be too great happiness to be yours," she rejoined. "But no—no—I ought not to consent."
By way of reply, he pressed her to his heart, and kissed her passionately.
"Now will you refuse?" he cried.
"How can I, since you have wrested my consent from me?" she rejoined. "But how am I to address you?"
"You must still call me Atherton Legh," he replied.
"Well, then, dearest Atherton, my heart misgives me. In urging you to join this expedition I fear I have done wrong. Should any misfortune happen to you I shall deem myself the cause of it. I tremble to think of the consequences of my folly. Must you go?" she added, looking imploringly at him.
"Yes," he replied. "Not even you, dearest Constance, can turn me from my purpose. The prince has relieved me from my engagement, but I cannot honourably retire. Come what may, I shall go on."
"I will not attempt to dissuade you from your purpose," she rejoined. "But I find it doubly hard to part now. And your danger seems greater."
"Mere fancy," he said. "You love me better than you did—that is the cause of your increased apprehension."
For some moments they remained gazing at each other in silence.
At last Atherton spoke.
"'Tis with difficulty that I can tear myself away from you, dearest Constance. But I hope soon to behold you again. Meantime, you will remain at Rawcliffe Hall as I have suggested."
"I will do whatever you desire," she rejoined.
"I hope you will induce Mrs. Butler and Monica to stay with you, and that I shall find them at Rawcliffe on my return. I would not anticipate disaster—but 'tis desirable to be prepared for the worst. Should ill success attend our enterprise, and I should be compelled to seek safety in flight, I might find a hiding-place in Rawcliffe Hall."
"No doubt," she rejoined. "You could easily be concealed there—even should strict search be made. All necessary preparations shall be taken. Whenever you arrive at Rawcliffe you will find all ready for you. I will go there to-morrow, and I trust Mrs. Butler and Monica will be able to follow immediately. Will you not see them?"
"Not now," he replied. "Bid them farewell for me. If I stay longer, my resolution might give way. Remember what I have said to you. In any event you are mistress of Rawcliffe. Adieu!"
Pressing her again to his breast, he rushed out of the room.
Mounting his horse, which he had left at the gate of Mrs. Butler's residence, and followed by Holden, Atherton rode towards the bridge—being obliged to pass through the town in order to gain the Stockport road.
The place was still in a state of great confusion—none of the cavalry having as yet departed; but he contrived to make his way through the crowded thoroughfares, and was soon in the open country.
At Didsbury he overtook the Manchester Regiment and had a long conversation with Colonel Townley, who explained to him that he meant to pass the night at Wilmslow.
Atherton then pursued his journey, crossed the Mersey at Cheadle, and came up with the prince and the advanced guard about four miles from Macclesfield. He was then sent on to make preparations for his royal highness, and executed his task very satisfactorily.
On the following day, while the prince, with the infantry, continued his march to Leek, Lord George Gordon, with his regiment of horse, proceeded to Congleton, and Captain Legh received orders from his royal highness to accompany him.
At Congleton information being obtained that the Duke of Cumberland was posted at Newcastle-under-Lyne, with ten thousand men, Lord George went thither to reconnoitre, and found that the duke, on hearing of the onward march of the insurgent forces, had retired with his army on Lichfield.
With marvellous despatch Atherton rode across the country and brought the intelligence to Charles, who had arrived at Leek.
No change, however, was made in the prince's plans. He did not desire an engagement with the duke, but rather to elude him.
Accordingly, he pressed on, and on the fourth day after leaving Manchester, arrived with his entire forces at Derby.
Charles was still full of confidence, and as he was now a day's march nearer London than the enemy, he persuaded himself that he should be able to reach the capital without hazarding a battle. Though he had been coldly received at all places since he left Manchester, and had not obtained any more recruits, he was not discouraged.
He fixed his head-quarters at a large mansion in Full Street, which has since been demolished.
On the morning after his arrival at Derby, he rode round the town, attended only by Colonel Ker and Captain Legh, and was very coldly received by the inhabitants—no cheers attending his progress through the streets, and many of the houses being shut up.
Much dispirited by this unfavourable reception, he returned to his head-quarters, where a council of war was held, which was attended by all the leaders of his army.
The general aspect of the assemblage was gloomy, and far from calculated to raise his spirits. Sir Thomas Sheridan alone seemed to retain his former confidence.
Graciously saluting them all, Charles said:
"I have summoned you, my lords and gentlemen, simply to inform you that after halting for another day in Derby to refresh my troops, I shall proceed with all possible despatch, and without another halt, if I can avoid it—to London—there to give battle to the usurper. From the feeling evinced towards me, I doubt not I shall obtain many recruits during the hurried march, and perhaps some important reinforcements—but be this as it may, I shall persevere in my design."
He then looked round, but as he encountered only gloomy looks, and all continued silent, he exclaimed sharply:
"How is this? Do you hesitate to follow me further?"
"Since your royal highness puts the question to us," replied Lord George Gordon, gravely, "I am bound to answer it distinctly. We think we have already done enough to prove our devotion. Feeling certain we have no chance whatever of success, we decline to throw away our lives. We have now reached the very heart of England, and our march has been unopposed, but we have obtained none of the large reinforcements promised us, and only a single regiment at Manchester. Scarcely any person of distinction has joined us—and very few have sent us funds. Since we left Manchester we have been everywhere coldly received—and here, at Derby, we are regarded with unmistakable aversion. The populace are only held in check by our numbers. Further south, the disposition would probably be still more unfavourable, and retreat would be out of the question. If your royal highness can show us letters from any persons of distinction promising aid, or can assure us that a descent upon the English shores will be made from France, we are willing to go on. If not, we must consult our own safety."
"What do I hear?" cried the prince, who had listened in the utmost consternation. "Would you abandon me—now that we have advanced so far—now that victory is assured?"
"Our position is critical," replied Lord George. "If we advance further, our retreat will be cut off by Marshal Wade, who is close in our rear, and by the Duke of Cumberland, who has an army doubling our own in number, only a few leagues from us. If we hazard a battle, and obtain a victory, the losses we should necessarily sustain would so weaken our forces, that without reinforcements, we could not hope to vanquish the large army which we know is encamped at Finchley to secure the capital. Retreat is, therefore, unavoidable."
"Is this the unanimous opinion?" demanded Charles, looking anxiously round at the assemblage.
With the exception of Mr. Murray, the secretary, Sir Thomas Sheridan, and the Marquis d'Eguilles, every voice answered:
"It is."
"Then leave me," cried the prince, fiercely and scornfully. "Leave me to my fate. I will go on alone."
"If your royal highness will view the matter calmly, you will perceive that we are not wanting in fidelity and attachment to your person in making this proposition," said Lord Kilmarnock. "The cause here is hopeless. Let us return to Scotland, where we shall find reinforcements and obtain aid and supplies from France."
"No; I will not return to Scotland ingloriously," cried Charles.
"Listen to me, prince," said the Duke of Perth. "There is every inducement to return to Scotland, where a large force awaits you. I have just received intelligence that my brother, Lord John Drummond, has landed at Montrose with his regiment newly raised in France. With the Highlanders whom we left behind, this will make a large force—probably three thousand men."
"And no doubt there will be large additions," said Sir Thomas Sheridan. "By this time the Irish Brigade must have embarked from France, with the promised French regiments."
"There is nothing for it but a retreat to Scotland," said Lord Pitsligo. "It would be madness to face an army of thirty thousand men."
"You are a traitor like the rest, Pitsligo," cried the prince, fiercely.
The old Scottish noble flushed deeply, and with difficulty mastered his indignation.
"I never thought to hear that opprobrious term applied to me by one of your royal house, prince," he said. "But since you have stigmatised all these loyal gentlemen in the same manner, I must bear the reproach as best I can."
"Forgive me, my dear old friend," cried Charles, seizing his hand, and pressing it warmly. "I meant not what I said. No one could possess stauncher friends than I do—no one could appreciate their devotion more profoundly than myself. But my heart is crushed by this bitter and unexpected disappointment. It has come upon me like a clap of thunder—at the very moment when I anticipated success. Since it must be so, we will retreat, though it will half kill me to give the word. Leave me now, I pray of you. I will strive to reconcile myself to the alternative."
Thus enjoined, they all quitted the chamber, and Charles was left alone.
Flinging himself into a chair he remained for some time with his face buried in his hands.
When he raised his eyes, he saw Atherton standing beside him.
"I knew not you were here," said the prince.
"I came to learn your royal highness's commands," replied the other. "Something, I fear, has greatly disturbed you."
"Disturbed me! ay!" cried Charles. "I am forced to retreat."
"By the enemy?" exclaimed Atherton.
"By my generals," replied Charles. "We shall advance no further. You may prepare to return to Manchester."
Charles could not shake off the bitter disappointment he experienced at this sudden and unlooked-for extinction of his hopes. He had made up his mind to march on London, and he thought his Highland army would follow him. But he now discovered his mistake.
He did not go forth again during the day, but shut himself up in his room, and left Lord George Gordon and the Duke of Perth to make all arrangements necessary for the retreat.
They decided to pass through Manchester on the way to Carlisle. The men were kept in profound ignorance of the change of plan, but when they discovered that they were retreating their rage and disappointment found vent in the wildest lamentations. "Had they been beaten," says the Chevalier de Johnstone, "their grief could not have been greater." It was almost feared they would mutiny.
On the Manchester Regiment the retreat had a most dispiriting effect. Officers and men had joined on the understanding that they were to march to London, and they were deeply mortified when they found they were to retreat to Scotland.
The men looked sullen and downcast, and so many desertions took place that the ranks were perceptibly thinned. It was certain that two or three of the officers only waited a favourable opportunity to escape.
On the third day the Manchester Regiment, which formed part of the advanced guard, arrived at Macclesfield. Next morning, at an early hour, they proceeded to Manchester. Alarming reports had been spread that the Duke of Cumberland was in hot pursuit with his whole army; but the rumour turned out to be false.
If the officers and men composing the insurgent army expected a reception like that they had previously experienced in Manchester, they were greatly mistaken. No sooner was the town cleared of the invading army, than the Whigs and Presbyterians resumed their influence, and the fickle mob changed with them.
Tumultuous crowds now went about the town shouting "Down with the Pretender! Down with the Jacobites!" Nor did the authorities interfere, but let them have their own way.
In consequence of this license great mischief was done. The mob threatened to pull down Dr. Deacon's house in Fennel-street, broke his windows, and might have proceeded to frightful extremities if they had laid hands upon him.
Two days afterwards a rumour was designedly spread by the Presbyterians that Marshal Wade had arrived at Rochdale with his army, and would shortly enter Manchester; and this had the effect intended of exciting the mob to further violence. The rumour, however, had no foundation, and the tumult began to subside.
Meantime, the magistrates and many of the important personages who had quitted the town, began to return, thinking the danger was past, and something like order was restored.
The position, however, of the Jacobites was by no means secure, since disturbances might at any time occur, and they were afforded very little protection.
After the lapse of a week, during which reliable intelligence had been received that the Highland army had arrived at Derby without encountering any opposition, and even staunch Whigs had began to think that the intrepid young prince would actually succeed in reaching London, news came that the rebels were retreating without a battle, and were then at Leek on their way back.
At first this news, which appeared improbable, was received with incredulity, but it was speedily confirmed by other messengers.
A consultation was then held by the boroughreeve, constables, and other magistrates, as to the possibility of offering any resistance; but as the militia had been disbanded, and it was doubtful whether Marshal Wade would come to their assistance, the idea was given up.
But after some discussion Dr. Mainwaring and Justice Bradshaw sent the bellman round to give notice that, as the rebels might be speedily expected, all the loyal inhabitants were enjoined to rise and arm themselves with guns, swords, halberts, pickaxes, shovels, or any other weapons, to resist the rebels, and prevent them from entering the town until the arrival of the king's forces.
In consequence of this notice several thousand persons, armed in the manner suggested, assembled in the open fields beyond Market Street Lane, where they were harangued by Dr. Mainwaring, who urged them to spoil the roads by breaking them up, and throwing trees across them, and promised to send the country folk to their aid.
Having uttered this he left the defence of the town to the inhabitants, and rode off; but he fulfilled his promise, and sent a number of country folk armed with scythes and sickles, but these rough fellows caused such a tumult that another notice had to be given by the bellman commanding the mob to lay down their arms and disperse, and the country folk to return to their domiciles.
These contradictory orders produced considerable dissatisfaction, and were not obeyed.
One party more valiant than the rest marched to Cheadle ford, under the leadership of Mr. Hilton, with the intention of destroying the temporary bridge contrived by the insurgents, but before they could accomplish their task, they were disturbed and ignominiously put to flight by Colonel Townley and the Manchester Regiment.
On arriving at Manchester, Colonel Townley and his men were welcomed by a shower of stones and other missiles from the mob assembled at the top of Market Street Lane. Upon this the colonel called out that if another stone was thrown, and the mob did not quietly disperse, he would fire upon them.
Alarmed by the menacing looks of the soldiers, who were greatly incensed by this treatment on the part of their fellow-townsmen, the mob took to their heels.
During a subsequent disturbance Ensign Syddall was taken prisoner, but was rescued by his comrades.
On the arrival of the prince with the main body of the army, comparative tranquillity was restored. But it was evident that the feeling of the inhabitants was totally changed. There were no joyful demonstrations—no bonfires—no illuminations.
Charles returned to his former residence at the top of Market Street Lane; the Duke of Perth, Lord Tullibardine, Lord George Murray, Lord Pitsligo, and the other Scottish nobles and chiefs repaired to the houses they had previously occupied; and the men billeted themselves in their old quarters. But so unfriendly were the inhabitants to the Manchester Regiment that it was with difficulty that the officers and men could find quarters.
As night drew on, and a tendency to riot was again manifested, the bellman was sent round to warn the inhabitants that not more than two persons would be allowed to walk together in the streets after dark, unless guarded by the prince's troops, and that any attempt at tumult or disturbance would be severely punished.
In addition to this, pickets of men patrolled the streets throughout the night, so that the town was kept tolerably quiet.
On the same evening about eight o'clock a meeting of the principal inhabitants took place at the Bull's Head—a warrant having been sent to the magistrates by the prince's secretary, Mr. Murray, commanding them, on pain of military execution, to raise a subsidy of five thousand pounds from the town by four o'clock on the following day.
"What is to be done?" demanded Mr. Walley. "I fear it will be impossible to raise the large sum required by the appointed time—and if we fail we are to be held responsible with our lives. You must help us, gentlemen."
And he looked round at the assemblage, but no offer was made.
"Surely you won't allow us to be shot?" cried Mr. Fowden.
"This is a mere threat," said old Mr. James Bayley, an eminent merchant of the town. "The prince cannot be in earnest."
"You are mistaken, Mr. Bayley," rejoined Mr. Fowden. "It is no idle threat. The prince is so highly offended by the reception given him that he has laid this heavy tax upon the town—and he will have it paid."
"The contributions must be levied by force," observed Mr. Walley. "We shall never get the money in any other way."
"Such a course will render you extremely unpopular," observed Mr. Bayley.
"Better be unpopular than be shot, Mr. Bayley," rejoined Mr. Fowden. "Try to place yourselves in our position, gentlemen. Will you help us to pay the money in case we should be driven to extremity?"
But no answer was made to the appeal, and the magistrates were in despair.
At this moment the door opened, and Colonel Townley, attended by Captain Dawson, Captain Deacon, and Ensign Syddall, entered the room.
The magistrates rose in consternation, wondering what was the meaning of the visit.
"Pardon my intrusion, gentlemen," said the colonel, saluting them. "But I think I can help you out of a difficulty. I am aware that five thousand pounds must be raised from the town by to-morrow afternoon. Feeling certain you will never be able to accomplish this task unassisted, I beg to offer you my aid. You shall have a party of men, under the command of these officers, to go round with you, and help you to make the collection."
"We gladly accept your offer, colonel," cried both magistrates eagerly.
"The plan will relieve you from all personal responsibility," said Colonel Townley, "and will secure the contributions."
The magistrates were profuse in their thanks, and it was then arranged that the party should commence their rounds at an early hour next morning.
Helen Carnegie had not accompanied her lover in the march to Derby, but had been persuaded by Beppy Byrom to remain with her at Manchester. Thinking that an immediate engagement with the Duke of Cumberland was inevitable, the sergeant consented to the arrangement; but he missed his faithful companion sadly. He had become so accustomed to having her by his side that it seemed as if he had lost his right hand. He tried to occupy his thoughts by strict attention to his duty—but it would not do. So miserable did he feel at the separation, that he was half reconciled to the retreat from Derby by the thought that he should soon see her again.
Helen suffered quite as much—perhaps more. Independently of being constantly near her lover, it had been her pride and pleasure to be with the Highland army, and when the troops moved off without her, she felt as if her heart would break; and she would certainly have followed, if she had not been restrained by Beppy. Familiar as she was with all the various incidents of a march, she pictured them to herself with the greatest distinctness, and spoke of all that the sergeant was doing.
"Oh! he win miss me sairly," she cried. "He win want me to cheer him up, when his spirits are low. I ought not to have left him. And what if he shouldna come back!"
"Don't make yourself uneasy, Helen," said Beppy. "He is certain to return. Papa says the prince's army will be forced to retreat."
"Na! na! that win never be!" cried Helen. "The prince win never turn back! The Highlanders may be all kilt, but turn back!—never!"
The rumour, however, at length reached Manchester that the prince was actually retreating, and Helen's delight at the thought of seeing her lover again quite overcame her vexation at what she looked upon as a disgrace.
But the regiment to which the sergeant belonged, and which was commanded by the Chevalier de Johnstone, did not reach Manchester till late in the day, and Erick having a great deal to do on his arrival, could not present himself to Helen.
She had been in quest of him, but had encountered Captain Lindsay, who addressed her more boldly than ever, and to escape his persecutions she was compelled to return.
As evening came her anxiety increased, and she was in all the agony of expectation, when a message came from her lover.
It was brought by Rollo, who informed her that the sergeant had just arrived with his regiment, and wished to see her immediately.
"Where is he?" asked Helen. "Why does he not come to me, himself?"
"He would come, if he could," replied Rollo; "but he is busy with the men in St. Ann's Square. Come with me and I will take you to him."
Wholly unsuspicious of ill, Helen instantly prepared to accompany the messenger, and they quitted the house together.
The night was dark but clear, and, as they crossed the churchyard, she perceived a tall Highland officer advancing towards her, and guessing who it was, she stopped, and said to Rollo, "What is Captain Lindsay doing here?"
"How should I know?" rejoined the other. "He won't meddle with us. Come on. I'll take care of you."
"I don't feel sure of that," she cried. "I shall go back."
"No, you won't," said Rollo, seizing her arm, and detaining her.
"Ah! you have basely betrayed me," she cried. "But Sergeant Dickson will punish you."
Rollo replied by a coarse laugh, and the next moment Captain Lindsay came up.
"Free me from this man," she cried.
"He is acting by my orders, Helen," said Lindsay. "This time I have taken such precautions that you cannot escape me."
"You cannot mean to carry me off against my will, Captain Lindsay," she cried. "I winna believe it of ye."
"I hope you will come quietly, Helen," he said, "and not compel me to resort to force. But come you shall."
"Never!" she rejoined. "Ye ken fu' weel that I am Erick Dickson's affianced wife. 'Twad be an infamy if ye were to tae me frae him."
"I care not," replied Lindsay. "I am determined to make you mine. Fleet horses and trusty men are waiting outside the churchyard to bear you off. In half-an-hour you will be far from Manchester, and out of Erick's reach."
"If ye hae the heart o' a man, Rollo, ye will not aid in this wicked deed," cried Helen.
But Rollo shook his head, and she made another appeal to Captain Lindsay.
"Let me gae for pity's sake," she cried. "I wad kneel to you, if I could."
"No, no, Helen," he rejoined. "I don't mean to part with you. But we waste time. Bring her along."
Finding all entreaties unavailing, and that she could not extricate herself from Rollo, who was a very powerful man, the unfortunate girl uttered a loud shriek; but her cries were instantly stifled by Captain Lindsay, who took off his scarf, and threw it over her head.
But her cry had reached other ears than they expected. As they were hurrying her towards the spot where the horses were waiting for them, a well-known voice was heard, exclaiming:
"Haud there, ye waur than rievers. When I saw the horses outside the kirkyard, and noticed that one on 'em had a pillion, I suspected something wrang; but when I heard the cry, I felt sure. Set her down, ye villains!" cried Sergeant Dickson, rushing towards them.
"Heed him not, Rollo," said Captain Lindsay. "Place her on the pillion and ride off with her. Leave me to deal with the noisy fool."
And, as he spoke, he drew his sword, planted himself in Dickson's way, while Rollo moved off with his burden.
"Ye had better not hinder me, captain," cried the half-maddened sergeant, drawing a pistol. "Bid that dastardly ruffian set her down at once, or I'll send a bullet through your head."
"You dare not," said Lindsay, contemptuously.
"I will not see her stolen from me," cried the sergeant, furiously. "Set her down, I say."
But finding his cries disregarded, he fired, and Captain Lindsay fell dead at his feet.
On hearing the report of the pistol, Rollo looked round, and seeing what had happened, instantly set down Helen and fled. Extricating herself from the scarf, Helen rushed towards the spot where the unfortunate officer was lying. Her lover was kneeling beside the body.
"Wae's me, Helen!" he exclaimed. "Wae's me, I hae kilt the captain."
"Ye canna be blamed for his death, Erick," she rejoined. "He brought his punishment on himsel."
"I shall die for it, nevertheless, lassie," he rejoined.
"Die! you die, Erick, for savin' me frae dishonour!" she cried.
"Ay, ay, lass. He was my superior officer, and by the rules of war I shall die. No escape for me."
"Oh! if you think sae, Erick, let us flee before ye can be taken," she cried. "Come wi' me."
"Na! na!" he rejoined, gently resisting her. "I maun answer for what I hae done. Leave me, lassie; gae back to the young leddy. Tell her what has happened, and she will take care of you."
"Na, Erick, I winna leave you," she rejoined. "If ye are to dee, I'se e'en dee wi' ye. Och!" she exclaimed, "here they come to tak ye! Get up, lad, and flee!"
As a file of soldiers could be seen approaching, the sergeant rose to his feet, but did not attempt to fly.
Immediately afterwards the soldiers came up. With them were two or three men bearing torches, and as these were held down, the unfortunate officer could be seen lying on his back, with his skull shattered by the bullet.
The sergeant averted his gaze from the ghastly spectacle.
The soldiers belonged to the Manchester Regiment, and at their head was Captain Dawson.
"How did this sad event occur, sergeant?" demanded Jemmy, after he had examined the body.
"Captain Lindsay fell by my hand," replied Dickson. "I surrender myself your prisoner, and am ready to answer for the deed."
"You must have done it in self-defence," said Jemmy. "I know you too well to suppose you could have committed such a crime without some strong motive."
"The deed was done in my rescue," cried Helen. "Captain Lindsay was carrying me off when he was shot."
"I trust that will save him from the consequences of the act," replied Jemmy, sadly. "My duty is to deliver him to the provost-marshal."
"That is all that I could desire," said the sergeant. "I ask no greater favour from you."
"Oh! let me gae wi' him—let me gae wi' him," cried Helen, distractedly. "I am the sad cause of it a'."
"Ye canna gang wi' me, lassie, unless you compose yersel," said the sergeant, somewhat sternly.
"Dinna fear me—dinna fear me—I winna greet mair," she cried, controlling her emotion by a powerful effort.
"May she walk by my side to the guard-room, Captain Dawson?" asked the sergeant.
"She may," replied the other, adding to the men, "conduct the prisoner to the guard-room near the prince's quarters."
The sergeant was then deprived of his arms, and the pistol with which he had fired the fatal shot was picked up, and preserved as evidence against him.
As Erick and Helen were marched off in the midst of the guard, another file of men entered the churchyard, took up the body of the unfortunate Captain Lindsay, and conveyed it to the quarters of the commanding officer.
Delivered over to the custody of the provost, the unfortunate Sergeant Dickson was placed in the guard-room near the prince's head-quarters, and a sentinel was stationed at the door. Helen was allowed to remain with him. The greatest sympathy was felt for the sergeant, for he was a universal favourite.
Full of anxiety, Captain Dawson sought an interview with the prince, who, though engaged on business, immediately received him.
Charles looked very grave.
"I am greatly distressed by what has happened," he said. "There is not a man in my whole army for whom I have a greater regard than Erick Dickson, but I fear his sentence will be death. However, I will do what I can for him. A court-martial shall be held immediately, and I have sent for Lord George Murray to preside over it, and we must wait the result of the investigation. As yet I cannot interfere."
As the prince had ordered that the examination should take place without delay, a court-martial was held in a room on the ground floor of the mansion occupied by his royal highness. Lord George Murray presided, and with him were Lord Elcho, Lord Pitsligo, Colonel Townley, and the Chevalier de Johnstone; Captain Legh, Captain Deacon, Captain Dawson, and several other officers were likewise present.
The president occupied a raised chair at the head of the table, round which the others were seated. The room was only imperfectly lighted.
After a short deliberation, the prisoner was brought in by two soldiers, who stood on either side of him.
Bowing respectfully to the court, he drew himself up to his full height, and maintained a firm deportment throughout his examination.
"Sergeant Dickson," said Lord George Murray, in a stern and solemn voice, "you are charged with the dreadful crime of murder—aggravated in your instance, because your hand has been raised against your superior officer. If you have aught to state in mitigation of your offence, the court will listen to you."
"My lord," replied Dickson, firmly, "I confess myself guilty of the crime with which I am charged. I did shoot Captain Lindsay, but perhaps the provocation I received, which roused me beyond all endurance, may be held as some extenuation of the offence. Nothing, I am well aware, can justify the act. My lord, I could not see the girl I love carried off before my eyes, and not demand her release. Captain Lindsay refused—mocked me—and I shot him. That is all I have to say."
Brief as was this address, it produced a most powerful effect. After a short deliberation by the court, Lord George thus addressed the prisoner:
"Sergeant Dickson, since you acknowledge your guilt, it is not necessary to pursue the examination, but before pronouncing sentence, the court desires to interrogate Helen Carnegie."
"She is without, my lord," replied the sergeant.
On the order of Lord George, Helen was then introduced, and as she was well known to the president, and to every member of the council, the greatest sympathy was manifested for her.
She was very pale, and did not venture to look at the sergeant, lest her composure should be shaken, but made a simple reverence to the president and the council.
"Sergeant Dickson has confessed his guilt, Helen," observed Lord George. "But we desire to have some information from your lips. How came you to meet Captain Lindsay in the churchyard?"
"I did na meet him, my lord," she replied, with indignation. "It was a base and dishonourable trick on his part. Little did I ken that he was lyin' in wait for me. Rollo Forbes brought me word that Erick wished me to come to him, and when I went forth into the kirkyard, Captain Lindsay seized me, and wad have carried me aff. He has long persecuted me wi' his addresses, but I ha' gi'en him nae encouragement, and wad ha' shunned him if I could. A scarf was thrown over my head by the captain to stifle my cries, and had not Erick came to my rescue I should ha' been carried off. Captain Lindsay deserved his fate, and so all men will feel who prize their sweethearts. Erick was bound to defend me."
"His first duty was to observe the rules of war," remarked Lord George sternly. "We are willing to believe your story, Helen, but we have no proof that you did not voluntarily meet Captain Lindsay."
"That fawse villain, Rollo, has fled, but there is a young leddy without, my lord—Miss Byrom—who will testify to the truth of my statement, if you will hear her."
"Let her come in," said the president.
Beppy Byrom was then introduced.
She was accompanied by her father, who remained near her during her brief examination.
Though looking very pale, Beppy was perfectly self-possessed, and quite confirmed Helen's statement that she had been lured from the house by a supposed message from the sergeant; adding emphatically:
"I am sure she would never have gone forth to meet Captain Lindsay, for I know she detested him."
"Ay, that I did!" exclaimed Helen, unable to control her feelings, and wholly unconscious that she was guilty of disrespect.
Lord George then ordered the court to be cleared, and Beppy and Dr. Byrom went out, but Helen, scarcely comprehending the order, did not move, till her arm was touched by the officer.
She then cast an agonised look at Erick, and would have flung herself into his arms if she had not been prevented.
As she went out, she turned to the judges and said:
"Be merciful to him, I pray you, my lords."
The court then deliberated for a short time, during which Lord George was earnestly addressed in a low tone both by Colonel Townley and the Chevalier de Johnstone, but his countenance remained very grave.
At last, amid profound silence, he addressed the prisoner in the following terms: "Sergeant Dickson, the court has taken into consideration your excellent character, and the strong provocation that impelled you to commit this desperate act, and which certainly mitigates the offence; and such is our pity for you, that, were it in our power; we would pardon your offence, or at all events would visit it with a slight punishment; but we have no option—leniency on our part would be culpable. You have murdered an officer, and must die. Sentence of death is therefore passed upon you by the court."
"I expected this, my lord," observed the sergeant firmly, "and am prepared to meet my fate. But I would not die as a murderer."
"The crime you have committed is murder," said Lord George; "and I can hold out no hope whatever of pardon. You are too good a soldier not to know that if your life were spared it would be an ill example to the army, besides being a violation of the law."
An awful pause ensued.
The profound silence was then broken by the prisoner, who said, in a low, firm voice:
"All the grace I will ask from your lordship and the court is, that execution of the sentence you have passed upon me, the justice of which I do not deny, may not be delayed."
"We willingly grant your request," replied Lord George. "The execution shall take place at an early hour in the morning."
"I humbly thank your lordship," said Dickson. "But I would further pray that my affianced wife, who has been unwittingly the cause of this disaster, be permitted to bear me company during the few hours I have left; and that she also be permitted to attend my execution."
"To the former part of the request there can be no objection," said Lord George. "Helen shall remain with you during the night, but she can scarcely desire to be present at your execution."
"She will never leave me to the last," said the sergeant.
"Be it as you will," replied Lord George.
The sergeant was then removed by the guard, and given in charge of the provost, and the court broke up.
Immediately after the breaking up of the court, Lord George Murray and the other members of the council waited upon the prince to acquaint him with their decision.
Though greatly pained, he thought they were right, and after some discussion they retired and left him alone.
But the prince was so much troubled, that though excessively fatigued he could not retire to rest, but continued to pace his chamber till past midnight, when Captain Dawson entered and informed him that Miss Byrom earnestly craved an audience of him.
"She is not alone," added Jemmy. "Helen Carnegie is with her."
Charles hesitated for a short time, and said, "I would have avoided this, if possible. But let them come in."
Beppy was then ushered in by Jemmy, and made a profound obeisance to the prince.
Behind her stood Helen, who seemed quite overwhelmed with grief.
"I trust your highness will pardon me," said Beppy. "I have consented to accompany this poor heart-broken girl, and I am sure you will listen to her, and if possible grant her prayer."
"I will readily listen to what she has to say," replied the prince, in a compassionate tone; "but I can hold out little hope."
"Oh, do not say so, most gracious prince!" cried Helen, springing forward, and catching his hand, while he averted his face. "For the love of Heaven have pity upon him! His death win be my death, for I canna survive him. Ye haven a mair leal subject nor a better sodger than Erick Dickson. Willingly wad he shed his heart's bluid for ye! Were he to dee, claymore in hand, for you, I should not lament him—but to dee the death o' a red-handed murtherer, is not fit for a brave man like Erick."
"I feel the force of all you say, Helen," replied Charles, sadly. "Erick is brave and loyal, and has served me well."
"Then show him mercy, sweet prince," she rejoined. "He is no murtherer—not he! Pit the case to yersel, prince. Wad ye hae seen the mistress o' yer heart carried off, and not hae slain the base villain who took her? I ken not."
"'Tis hard to tell what I might do, Helen," observed Charles. "But the rules of war cannot be broken. A court-martial has been held, and has pronounced its sentence. I must not reverse it."
"But you are above the court-martial, prince," she cried. "You can change its decree. If any one is guilty—'tis I! Had I not come wi' Erick this wad never have happened. He has committed no other fawt."
"On the contrary, he has always done his duty—done it well," said the prince. "Both Colonel Johnstone and Colonel Townley have testified strongly in his favour. But I required no testimony, for I well know what he has done."
"And yet ye winna pardon him?" she cried, reproachfully.
"I cannot, Helen—I cannot," replied Charles. "My heart bleeds for you, but I must be firm."
"Think not you will set an ill example by showing mercy in this instance, prince," she said. "Erick's worth and valour are known. Sae beloved is he, that were there time, hundreds of his comrades wad beg his life. If he be put to death for nae fawt, men win think he has been cruelly dealt with."
"You go too far, Helen," said the prince, compassionately, "but I do not blame your zeal."
"Pardon me, sweet prince—pardon me if I have said mair than I ought. My heart overflows, and I must gie vent to my feelings, or it will break! Oh, that I were able to touch your heart, prince!"
"You do touch it, Helen. Never did I feel greater difficulty in acting firmly than I do at this moment."
"Then yield to your feelings, prince—yield to them, I implore you," she cried, passionately. "Oh, madam!" she added to Beppy, "join your prayers to mine, and perchance his highness may listen to us!"
Thus urged, Beppy knelt by Helen's side, and said, in an earnest voice:
"I would plead earnestly with you, prince, to spare Erick. By putting him to death you will deprive yourself of an excellent soldier, whose place you can ill supply."
"Very true," murmured Charles. "Very true."
"Then listen to the promptings of your own heart, which counsels you to spare him," she continued.
For a moment it seemed as if Charles was about to yield, but he remained firm, and raising her from her kneeling posture, said:
"This interview must not be prolonged."
Helen, however, would not rise, but clung to his knees, exclaiming, distractedly:
"Ye winna kill him! ye winna kill him!"
Jemmy removed her gently, and with Beppy's aid she was taken from the room.
For a few minutes after her removal from the cabinet, Helen was in a state of distraction, but at length she listened to Beppy's consolations and grew calmer.
She then besought Captain Dawson to take her to the guard-chamber, where Erick was confined. Before going thither she bade adieu to Beppy. It was a sad parting, and drew tears from those who witnessed it.
"Fare ye weel, dear young leddy!" she said. "May every blessing leet upon your bonnie head, and on that ov yer dear, gude feyther! Most like I shan never see you again on this airth, but I hope you win sometimes think o' the puir Scottish lassie that loo'd ye weel!"
"Heaven strengthen you and support you, Helen!" cried Beppy, kissing her. "I trust we shall meet again."
"Dinna think it," replied the other, sadly. "I hope and trust we may meet again in a better world."
Beppy could make no reply—her heart was too full.
Embracing the poor girl affectionately, she hurried to her father, who was waiting for her, and hastily quitted the house.
Helen was then conducted to the guard-room in which the sergeant was confined.
Erick was seated on a wooden stool near a small table, on which a light was placed, and was reading the Bible. He rose on her entrance, and looked inquiringly at her.
"Na hope, Erick," she said, mournfully.
"I had nane, lassie," he replied.
They passed several hours of the night in calm converse, talking of the past, and of the happy hours they had spent together; but at last Helen yielded to fatigue, and when the guard entered the chamber he found her asleep with her head resting on Erick's shoulder.
The man retired gently without disturbing her.
Meanwhile, the warrant, signed by Lord George Gordon, appointing the execution to take place at seven o'clock in the morning, had been delivered to the Chevalier de Johnstone, as commander of the corps to which the unfortunate sergeant belonged, and all the necessary preparations had been made.
There was some difficulty in arranging the execution party, for the sergeant was so much beloved that none of his comrades would undertake the dreadful task, alleging that their aim would not be steady. No Highlander, indeed, could be found to shoot him.
Recourse was then had to the Manchester Regiment, and from this corps a dozen men were selected.
The place of execution was fixed in an open field at the back of Market Street Lane, and at no great distance from the prince's residence.
The Rev. Mr. Coppock, chaplain of the regiment, volunteered to attend the prisoner.
Helen slept on peacefully till near six o'clock, when a noise, caused by the entrance of Colonel Johnstone and Mr. Coppock, aroused her, and she started up.
"Oh! I have had such a pleasant dream, Erick," she said. "I thought we were in the Highlands together. But I woke, and find mysel here," she added, with a shudder.
"Well, you will soon be in the Highlands again, dear lassie," he said.
She looked at him wistfully, but made no answer.
"Are you prepared, sergeant?" asked Colonel Johnstone, after bidding him good morrow.
"I am, sir," replied Dickson.
"'Tis well," said the colonel. "In half an hour you will set forth. Employ the interval in prayer."
Colonel Johnstone then retired, and the chaplain began to perform the sacred rites, in which both Erick and Helen took part.
Just as Mr. Coppock had finished, the sound of martial footsteps was heard outside, and immediately afterwards the door was opened and the provost entered the chamber, attended by a couple of men. Behind them came Colonel Johnstone.
"Bind him," said the provost to his aids.
"Must this be?" cried Dickson.
"'Tis part of the regulation," rejoined the provost.
"It need not be observed on the present occasion," said Colonel Johnstone. "I will answer for the prisoner's quiet deportment."
"You need fear nothing from me, sir," said Dickson.
"I will take your word," rejoined the provost. "Let his arms remain free," he added to the men.
The order to march being given, the door was thrown open, and all passed out.
Outside was a detachment from the corps to which Sergeant Dickson had belonged. With them was the execution party, consisting of a dozen picked men from the Manchester Regiment, commanded by Ensign Syddall, who looked very sad. The detachment of Highlanders likewise looked very sorrowful. With them were a piper and a drummer. The pipes were draped in black, and the drum muffled. Though the morning was dull and dark, a good many persons were looking on, apparently much impressed by the scene.
Having placed himself at the head of the detachment, Colonel Johnstone gave the word to march, and the men moved slowly on. The muffled drum was beaten, and the pipes uttered a low wailing sound very doleful to hear.
Then came Erick, with Helen by his side, and attended by the chaplain.
The sergeant's deportment was resolute, and he held his head erect. He was in full Highland costume, and wore his bonnet and scarf.
All the spectators were struck by his tall fine figure, and grieved that such a splendid man should be put to death.
But Helen excited the greatest sympathy. Though her features were excessively pale, they had lost none of their beauty. The occasional quivering of her lip was the only external sign of emotion, her step being light and firm. Her eyes were constantly fixed upon her lover.
Prayers were read by the chaplain as they marched along.
The execution party brought up the rear of the melancholy procession. As it moved slowly through a side street towards the field, the number of spectators increased, but the greatest decorum was observed.
At length the place of execution was reached. It was the spot where the attempt had been made to capture the prince; and on that dull and dismal morning had a very gloomy appearance, quite in harmony with the tragical event about to take place.
On reaching the centre of the field, the detachment of Highlanders formed a semicircle, and a general halt took place—the prisoner and those with him standing in the midst, and the execution party remaining at the back.
Some short prayers were then recited by Mr. Coppock, in which both the sergeant and Helen joined very earnestly.
These prayers over, the sergeant took leave of Helen, and strained her to his breast.
At this moment, her firmness seemed to desert her, and her head fell upon his shoulder. Colonel Johnstone stepped forward, and took her gently away.
The provost then ordered a handkerchief to be bound over the sergeant's eyes, but at the prisoner's earnest request this formality was omitted.
The fatal moment had now arrived. The detachment of Highlanders drew back, and Erick knelt down.
The execution party made ready, and moved up within six or seven yards of the kneeling man.
"Fire!" exclaimed Syddall, and the fatal discharge took place—doubly fatal as it turned out.
At the very instant when the word was given by Syddall, Helen rushed up to her lover, and kneeling by his side, died with him.
Her faithful breast was pierced by the same shower of bullets that stopped the beating of his valiant heart.