At length the decisive step is taken,” cried Lord Der-wentwater. “Now there can be no turning back. I do not think it will be safe to remain longer at Dilston, and I would join Forster if I knew where to find him.”
“Two days hence he will be at Rothbury,” said Colonel Oxburgh. “I had a letter from him by express this very morning. He is moving about the country, picking up all the recruits he can. He has now, it seems, got forty or fifty gentlemen with him—all High Church Tories, of course—and all well mounted and well armed.”
“A good beginning,” cried the earl. “I will set out at once for Rothbury, and take all my own men with me. No doubt, we shall largely increase our force, as soon as we take the field.”
“That is certain,” said Colonel Oxburgh. “But we must get together without delay. Since Forster will not come here, we must go to him. Do not let your resolution cool, my lord. Let us start at once!”
“It shall be so,” cried the earl.
The determination was acted upon. The men displayed great loyalty and spirit. On being informed by the earl that he was about to take the field forthwith, they expressed the utmost willingness to follow him, and fight for King James.
As the Earl of Derwentwater was too devout to start on such an expedition as the present, without invoking Divine aid and protection, and as all his tenants and retainers were of the same religion as himself, mass was performed by Father Norham in the little chapel, at which the whole party assisted. The countess likewise was present, and was deeply affected.
It was a touching sight to see all those rude soldiers kneeling there and imploring Heaven's blessing upon their amis. But there were others there, equally earnest in their prayers—Colonel Oxburgh and his brave companions, with Charles Radclyffe. All these were gathered in front of the altar near the earl, and received the priestly benediction.
When the service was over, all immediately left the chapel, except the earl and countess, who remained there for a short time longer.
Their parting was sorrowful, for both felt they might never meet again. The countess was more overcome than she expected. During the visit of the magistrates she had been greatly excited, but a reaction had since taken place, and she was now proportionately depressed. Her beautiful head fell upon the earl's breast, and she wept aloud.
“I do not like to leave you thus, dearest Anna,” he said.
“Heed me not!” she rejoined, gazing at him with streaming eyes. “This will soon be past. I would not have you defer your departure for an hour on my account. Come back as soon as you can—but come not back till you have restored the king!”
“Then I may never return,” said the earl, gloomily.
“Do not despair!” she cried. “Be of good heart, and you will triumph. Night and morn, I will pray at this altar for success to your arms. And since your cause is just, Heaven will grant my prayer! And now farewell! If you stay too long here, your resolution may waver.”
“No fear of that!” cried the earl, again straining her to his breast. “Farewell! farewell!”
He then tore himself away, but when he reached the door of the chapel, he turned to take a last look at her.
She was again kneeling at the altar, and did not see him.
Meanwhile, the yeomen had been taken to the butler's pantry, where they lost no time in discussing the plentiful repast prepared for them, and having washed down the viands with some jugs of strong ale, re-mounted their horses.
Refreshments and wine were likewise served in the entrance-hall, of which the Jacobite gentlemen partook.
Before going forth each drank the king's health in a large goblet of claret, and each drew his sword and devoted it to the king's service.
Soon after this the court was empty, and the various horsemen, who had lately filled it, were seen speeding along the chestnut avenue, with the Earl of Denventwater at their head, mounted on his dapple-grey steed.
Halting at Corbridge, the earl and his companions drew their swords, and proclaimed James the Third.
Here half a dozen gentlemen joined them, and they obtained some further recruits as they went on.
One of the chief partisans of the Stuarts in the county was Mr. Hall, of Otterburn, in Redesdale. A man of ancient family and considerable property, but of eccentric character and ungovernable temper, he was known by the name of “Mad Jack Hall of Otterburn.”
Under ordinary circumstances it was difficult to get on with a person so quarrelsome, and he was therefore left out of many Jacobite meetings; but it being now necessary that every friend of the cause should be mustered, Squire Hall was far too important to be omitted. Lord Derwentwater had therefore resolved to visit Otterburn, and see what could be done with the crazy laird. He mentioned his design to Colonel Oxburgh and the others, who entirely approved of it.
About four o'clock in the afternoon, after riding for the most part across the country, they entered a wild district, erstwhile the scene of many a Border foray; and after tracking it for some miles reached the picturesque village of Otterburn, where the famous battle was fought.
Before them rose the still proud pile that had so stoutly resisted the attack of the Scots. Through the valley flowed the now clear Otter, once been dyed red with blood, while its banks were covered with slain.
The approach of the party had evidently been observed, for as they drew near the castle, a tall man sallied forth from the gateway, and greeted them with a loud shout.
Lord Derwentwater and those with him at once recognised the Laird of Otterburn, and were glad to find him at home.
In age, Squire Hall might be forty-five—perhaps not quite so much—but his deep red complexion seemed to indicate that he drank hard, and his countenance had certainly a wild expression. But his deportment was quite that of a gentleman. He wore a green riding-dress laced with silver, a black riding-wig, and a small three-cornered hat, likewise bound with silver lace, and had a sword by his side.
That he understood what had brought the party to Otterburn was clear, as also, that he was quite ready to join them, for he took off his hat, and shouted at the top of a stentorian voice, “Long live King James!”
The shout was repeated by the new-comers, and so lustily that all the villagers rushed to their doors.
After cordially greeting Lord Derwentwater and those with him, all of whom were friends, the squire led the whole party into the courtyard of the castle, and then told them they must not think of leaving him till the morrow.
“Don't imagine you will incommode me,” he said. “There is plenty of room in the old castle. To-day we will drink the king's health. To-morrow we will muster our forces, and prepare to fight his enemies. Forster, I hear, is at Rothbury, and if I hadn't joined your lordship, I should have joined him.”
Very well satisfied with their hearty reception, the earl and his friends with the whole troop dismounted, and were shortly afterwards installed in various parts of the castle.
That beds were found for all of them—or even half—we do not pretend to say; but in some way or other they were accommodated.
Later on in the day a substantial dinner was served in the old banqueting-hall.
A great deal of wine was drunk that night, as was generally the case at Otterburn, and it would have been strange indeed if a quarrel had not occurred between the choleric laird and some of his guests.
For a time Squire Hall appeared in remarkably good humour. He proposed a great number of Jacobite toasts, all of which were drunk with enthusiasm, but at length he propounded a plan for taking Newcastle by surprise, and its absurdity being pointed out to him by Colonel Oxburgh he flew into a violent rage, and told the colonel he was not fit to command a regiment.
The colonel immediately arose to leave the table, and Lord Derwentwater insisted that the squire should at once withdraw the offensive observation. Instead of doing so, the squire sprang from his chair, drew his sword, and dared Colonel Oxburgh to meet him; but while gesticulating fiercely he fell to the ground, and could not get up again. In this state he was carried off to bed, and next morning he had forgotten all about the occurrence.
After a capital breakfast, the whole party—now increased by Squire Hall and half a dozen men—rode from Otter-burn to Simonside, one of the loftiest and most striking hills in Northumberland. The summit of this remarkable eminence is a complete plateau, and the views commanded from it on all sides are extraordinarily fine, the whole range of the Cheviots being visible on the west, and the German Ocean on the east.
As the party were riding across this wide plain, with the intention of descending the north side, and proceeding to Rothbury, Squire Hall, who had been tolerably quiet during the morning, proposed to ride a race with Charles Radclyffe for twenty guineas.
“We will ride from here to Rothbury,” he said; “and whoever gets there first, shall be deemed the winner.”
Charles Radclyffe instantly accepted the challenge; but the Earl of Derwentwater very reluctantly allowed the match to take place, and only consented from the fear of causing a fresh quarrel with the squire.
Without loss of time, the two gentlemen were placed together, and started at once by the earl. Both were well mounted—both excellent horsemen—but Charles Radclyffe was much the lighter weight, though undoubtedly the squire had the stronger horse.
It was a very pretty sight, to see them as they scoured over the plain, accompanied by the whole troop. The earl's dapple-grey being fleeter than either of the contending steeds, he could have easily led them, had he thought proper, but he did not make the attempt. Nor did he go beyond the edge of the hill.
On looking down the steep slopes, he called to the others to stop, but neither of them heeded him. Both dashed headlong down the hill, and all the lookers-on thought they would come rolling to the bottom.
If ever Squire Hall merited the epithet applied to his name, it was on that day, and Charles Radclyffe appeared little less crazy—the general impression being that both would break their necks. But somehow, the horses kept their feet. The squire shouted lustily, as he continued his mad descent, and Charles was equally excited.
To the astonishment of all the beholders they got down in safety, and were soon afterwards seen crossing the bridge; being then so close together, that it was impossible to say who had won the race.
The Earl of Derwentwater and his companions took an easier and more secure route down. As they approached the old bridge over the Coquet leading to the charming little town, they met the two crazy riders coming to meet them, and inquired who had won.
“We can't settle the point, my lord,” replied the squire; “it seems to have been a dead-heat. We shall have to ride the race over again.”
“Not on Simonside Hill,” replied Lord Derwentwater, laughing. “Have you heard where Mr. Forster has fixed his head-quarters? I see nothing of him or his troop.”
“His head-quarters are now at Wanny Crags,” replied the squire. “He has gone there to meet some friends.”
“Does he return to Rothbury?” demanded the earl.
“That seems doubtful,” replied Charles Radclyffe. “No one can answer for his movements. Probably, he will proceed to Warkworth to meet Lord Widdrington.”
“Then we must follow him,” said the earl.
Fain would Lord Deventwater have tarried for a day at Rothbury, which offered many attractions to him, but wishing to effect an immediate junction with Forster, he only halted long enough to allow his men to refresh themselves at the comfortable little hostel near the church, where they found good ale.
To reach Wanny Crags, they had again to cross Simon-side, and the deciding race was run on the summit, and won by Squire Hall, who was extraordinarily proud of the achievement.
On descending the south side of the hill the earl and his troop passed through a thick forest, and then entered upon a moor, in the midst of which could be seen a remarkable cluster of rocks. These were Wanny Crags, and on the highest of them floated the king's banner, showing that the insurgents had taken up a position there.
On a nearer approach to this singular station, Forster and his men could be descried, grouped like bandits on the rocks; while a great cleft served as a stable for their horses.
As the earl drew nigh this natural fortress, Forster came down from the lofty point he had occupied and bade him welcome, expressing the greatest satisfaction at beholding him and his friends, and adding, that no doubt now they were come, all would go well.
“You do not mean to pass the night among these rocks, I presume?” said the earl.
“I came hither in the hope of gaining some recruits,” replied Forster, “but have been disappointed. If your lordship had not joined me, I should have returned to Rothbury. But now I think it will be best to proceed to Warkworth. The castle is in our hands, and Lord Widdrington will be there to-morrow with a troop of horse. I hope we shall soon be strong enough to besiege Newcastle.”
“Nothing can be decided upon till our forces are organised, and we can ascertain what assistance we are likely to receive from Scotland,” said Lord Derwentwater. “From what you say, we shall be able to hold a consultation with Lord Widdrington to-morrow, and can be guided by his advice.”
Just then, a sentinel stationed on the highest crag, called out that a troop of horse-militia was coming across the moor on the road from Morpeth, and after Charles Radclyffe had examined the party through a spy-glass he declared it was Sir William Lorraine, and the party he had brought with him to Dilston.
“I recognise Sir William perfectly,” he said.
“And so do I!” cried Squire Hall, taking the spy-glass from him. “And I am quite certain he is now on his way to Otterburn to arrest me. Leave me to deal with him. Let the men conceal themselves behind the rocks, so that he may not suspect the presence of so large a party.”
Since no harm could be done by humouring the eccentric squire, Lord Derwentwater and Mr. Forster complied with his request, and, as he rode off, they concealed their men as he had suggested.
As soon as Sir William Lorraine—for he it undoubtedly was—came in sight of Wanny Crags, he was made aware by the flag that a party of insurgents must be posted there.
But this discovery did not prevent him from going on, as he had no idea the rebels were in any force, and did not imagine they could muster more than a dozen at the outside.
As Squire Hall advanced, he recognised him, and called out to him to stop, but the injunction being disregarded he repeated it more authoritatively.
“You are my prisoner, sir,” he cried. “I hold a warrant for your arrest.”
“I don't think you are likely to execute the warrant, Sir William,” rejoined the squire laughing disdainfully.
“I would not advise you to offer resistance, sir,” said Sir William. “And since there is no chance of escape, you had better surrender at discretion.”
“I surrender!” exclaimed the squire. “I defy you and all your men to arrest me.”
So saying, he wheeled round, and galloped back as fast as he could to Wanny Crags.
The magistrate followed with the whole of his troop. He would not allow them to fire, or the career of the fugitive would soon have been checked.
The squire called out loudly as he drew near the crags, and in answer to the cry, forty or fifty armed insurgents suddenly appeared at various points; while an equal number of horsemen, headed by Lord Derwentwater and Mr. Forster, came from behind the rocks.
Confounded by this unexpected sight, and instantly comprehending the snare into which he had fallen, the magistrate would have fled, but before he could stir, his bridle was seized by Squire Hall, who exclaimed:
“You threatened to arrest me, Sir William. Now you are my prisoner.”
While the magistrate was hesitating, Lord Derwentwater called out:
“Bid your men lay down their arms instantly, Sir William, or we shall fire upon them.”
“Hold! my lord!” exclaimed the squire. “I am very much mistaken if these worthy fellows are not inclined to join us. Save your lives,” he added to the militiamen, “and shout for James the Third!”
“Long live King James!” cried the whole of the troop.
“Ah, traitors! ah, rebels! is it thus you support your king?” cried the magistrate.
“Harkee, Sir William!” cried the squire. “I would recommend you a little more prudence. If you try to take our recruits from us we shall make short work with you. Gentlemen,” he added to the others, “you are now on the right side. Let neither threats nor persuasions lure you from it.”
“Do you propose to detain me, my lord, if I consent to deliver up my arms?” said the magistrate to Lord Der-wentwater.
“No, Sir William,” replied the earl. “I am anxious you should take back tidings of your own defeat to Morpeth. You cannot conceal it, since you will not have your militiamen with you.”
With a deeply mortified look Sir William then delivered his sword to Squire Hall, by whom it was handed to Lord Derwentwater, after which the magistrate rode off by himself, and returned to Morpeth.
A very curious scene now took place, as the late enemies fraternised, and professed the greatest regard for each other. All the militiamen seemed now to be ardent Jacobites.
Greatly rejoiced at obtaining such an unexpected reinforcement, the two leaders did all in their power to conciliate the new recruits, and were by no means sparing in promises.
The party did not remain much longer at Wanny Crags, but proceeded to a hill called the Waterfalls, from the circumstance of a spring running in two different directions. Here they halted for a couple of hours at a large farmhouse.
Thence they marched to Warkworth, their road lying for the most part along the banks of the beautiful river Coquet.
Next day, the two insurgent chiefs, who were lodged with all their followers in Warkworth Castle, were joined by Lord Widdrington with thirty horsemen.
His lordship would have brought double that number of men, but horses and equipments for them were wanting. Plenty of raw undisciplined infantry could be found, but cavalry were required.
On the whole, however, the prospects of the insurgents were very encouraging. They had plenty of friends at Alnwick and Morpeth, and an insurrection would undoubtedly have taken place in Newcastle, had it not been checked by the sudden arrival of Sir Charles Hotham's regiment of foot from Yorkshire.
From accounts received from every quarter, it was certain that the whole country was in a most disturbed state, and reinforcements, though on a somewhat small scale, were constantly arriving. The insurgents had not been many hours in Warkworth when their numbers were augmented by a hundred horse.
Immediately on the arrival of Lord Widdrington at Warkworth, the first business of the insurgent leaders was to collect all their forces in the court-yard of the castle, and proclaim King James.
A large concourse likewise assembled, and great enthusiasm prevailed. No locality could have been better chosen for the ceremonial, which produced a very striking effect, and no ill omen attended it. On the contrary, everything appeared auspicious. The day was fine, and the proud old castle looked its best, and seemed to smile upon the scene.
After the proclamation had been made—amid loud flourishes of trumpets and beating of drums, accompanied by the shouts of the assemblage—the royal banner was placed on the Lion Tower.
Later on in the day, a banquet was given in the great baronial hall in the keep, at which all the insurgent officers assisted.
The entertainment was intended to celebrate the appointment of Mr. Forster as General of the Northumbrian forces, which had taken place that day at the recommendation of the Earl of Derwentwater and Lord Widdrington, the only persons who could have opposed him.
But they both felt that the commander of the English army must not be a Roman Catholic, and therefore withdrew their own claims, and supported the High Tory squire, who was generally very popular in the county, and to whom objections on the score of religion could not be raised. However deficient Mr. Forster might be in military knowledge and skill, it was thought he would be saved from any grave error by Colonel Oxburgh, whom he proposed to have constantly near him.
The banquet passed off very well, and the best feeling towards the new commander was manifested on all hands.
Some little disturbance was made by the Laird of Otterburn, but it was quickly set right, and General Forster put more constraint upon himself than he had been accustomed to do in former days at Bamborough.
Next day the castle began to assume the appearance of a garrison.
The court-yard was filled with recruits, who were continually arriving, and Colonel Oxburgh and Captain Wogan were entirely occupied in examining them.
As much discipline as possible was observed, but in the present state of things it was very difficult to maintain it.
General Forster rode to Alnwick, accompanied by Lord Derwentwater and Lord Widdrington, and attended by a strong guard, and brought back with him some necessary supplies.
On his return he was welcomed by the arrival of a troop of Scottish cavalry (known as the Merse Troop), under the command of the Honourable James Hume, brother to the earl of Hume.
This was one of the five troops composing the division of South Country Scots now marching into England, from Moffat in Annandale, and commanded by Lord Kenmure.
The Merse troop, it appeared, had marched from Jedburgh, over a mountainous and marshy country to Roth-bury, where Captain Hume heard of Forster and Lord Derwentwater, and finding they were now posted at Warkworth, came on thither. Behind, but following the same route, were the four other troops, respectively commanded by the Honourable Basil Hamilton of Beldoun, the Earl of Wintoun, Captain James Dalziel, brother of the Earl of Carnwath, and Captain Lockhart.
The chief command of the South Country Scots, as we have said, belonged to Lord Kenmure.
The Merse troop did not remain long at Warkworth, but after conferring with General Forster, Captain Hume moved off with his men to Felton, there to await instructions from his commander.
It was, however, agreed that an early meeting should take place at Rothbury between the Northumbrian insurgents and the battalion of the South Country Scots.
By noon next day so many reinforcements had arrived that General Forster found himself at the head of nearly five hundred men.
Unfavourable news, however, from Newcastle, caused Forster to postpone his meditated attack on the town.
Extraordinary exertions had been made by Sir William Lorraine and the other magistrates, who had raised trainbands, seized and imprisoned all the Papists, and shut the gates. Furthermore, it was stated that seven hundred of the inhabitants had formed themselves into a company of volunteers, and that the keelmen, most of whom were Presbyterians, and strongly opposed to the Stuarts, had offered an additional body of seven hundred men.
But by far the most alarming piece of intelligence was, that General Carpenter had been sent by Government in pursuit of the rebels, with three regiments of dragoons and Sir Charles Hotham's regiment of foot, and was now within a day's march of Newcastle.
After consultation with his advisers, General Forster did not think it prudent to give battle to Carpenter till he could be certain of the support of Lord Kenmure and Brigadier Mackintosh, and he therefore determined to move to Hexham.
Accordingly, on the following day, he marched with his whole force to Morpeth, and on the common near the town was joined by the Merse troop. Learning that General Carpenter had reached Newcastle, he continued his march to Hexham.
Not without great reluctance was the proposed attack on Newcastle abandoned by the insurgents, for had they gained that important town, they would have been masters of the county.
Lord Denventwater was close to his own domains, and a messenger having been sent to Dilston to acquaint the countess with the arrival of the insurgent army at Hexham, she immediately rode over thither, accompanied by Dorothy Forster, who was staying with her at the time.
Though rejoiced to see her husband, the countess appeared greatly disappointed that so little had been achieved, and told the earl she would rather have heard from him at Newcastle, than have seen him at Hexham.
Nor did Dorothy Forster show more consideration to her brother, but blamed him severely for quitting Warkworth.
“What could we do there?” cried the general. “We should have been cut off from a junction with our Scottish allies and compelled to surrender.”
“Now you have lost the whole of the coast from Barnborough to Newcastle,” cried Dorothy.
“One daring deed has been done,” said the earl. “The fort on Holy Island has been surprised by Lancelot Errington. But I fear he will not be able to hold it.”
“You ought to go to his succour,” said Dorothy to her brother.
“You expect impossibilities from us,” replied the general.
“Nothing is impossible,” rejoined Dorothy. “I shall never be content till you have fought a battle and gained a victory. I do not like a retreat.”
“Women know nothing of warfare,” said the general, shrugging his shoulders.
Just then an express arrived from Lord Kenmure, saying that he had arrived at Rothbury with the whole of his force, and desired to know whether he should remain there, or advance.
“Bid him advance!” cried Dorothy.
“Methinks I had best resign my command to you,” observed the general. “But I must beg you to cease this interference.” Then addressing the messenger, he said, “Go back to his lordship and say I will join him to-morrow at Rothbury.”
“Hold, General,” cried the countess. “Had you not better give this matter some consideration?”
“It requires none,” replied Forster. “Take my message to Lord Kenmure,” he added to the messenger, who immediately departed.
After some further conversation, the countess and Dorothy, who had not dismounted, rode back through the woods to the castle.
Meanwhile, Charles Radclyffe and Captain John Shaftoe had set off to Dilston with a dozen men, and after searching the old tower and some other places, brought back all the arms they could find.
A very important matter had now to be settled, which had already been too long deferred. This was the organisation of the force, and in carrying out this necessary measure Colonel Oxburgh was of utmost use.
After some deliberation it was decided that the division commanded by General Forster should consist of five troops, of which that of the Earl of Derwentwater ranked first, and was to be commanded by Charles Radclyffe and Captain John Shaftoe, whom we have just mentioned. The second troop, belonging to Lord Widdrington, was to be commanded by Captain Thomas Errington of Beaufront, who had formerly been in the French service, and was brother of Lancelot Errington, who had just surprised Holy Island.
The third and forth troops, were respectively commanded by Captain John Hunter and Captain Robert Douglas, the first of whom had been a contraband trader of great daring and skill, and the other a Border farmer, who had been employed by Forster in searching for horses and arms, and had been extraordinarily successful.
Some objection was made to these two persons on the score of position, but it was urged by Forster that they would be of great use.
The fifth and last troops was commanded by Captain Wogan.
The first and second troops were composed of gentlemen, who were quite as well mounted and well armed as their leaders. Many of them had thoroughbred horses—much better adapted for speed than endurance—and the rest were provided with hunters. Not being able to procure military saddles, they were obliged to content themselves with those in ordinary use; and their equipments were by no means complete. Still, in spite of these drawbacks, they presented a very gallant appearance when drawn up in the market-place to proclaim King James.
After the business of the day was concluded General Forster and the officers sat down to dinner, but Lord Derwentwater excused himself from joining the party as he wished to ride over to Dilston. He did not take a servant with him, and said he should return by midnight.
It was growing dusk as he rode through the woods that skirted his domains, but it was quite light enough to enable him to distinguish the castle. His heart was sad as he gazed at it for he felt he could not remain there. The place seemed his own no longer.
However, he strove to stifle these painful feelings, and they soon gave way to other emotions.
Still, he could not banish the notion that the place was changed, though in what respect he could scarcely tell, for a groom came to take his horse, and Newbiggin welcomed him at the entrance, and with a manifestation of delight that could not fail to touch his master.
“I hope your lordship is coming to remain with us—at least, for a few days?” said the butler.
“Alas! no,” replied the earl. “I must return to Hexham to-night, and to-morrow morning we march to Rothbury.”
The butler looked quite cast down.
“I fear Dilston will never again be what it was, my lord,” he said. “How I wish your lordship could give up this perilous expedition and return to us.”
“That is impossible, Newbiggin,” said the earl, scarcely able to repress a sigh. “I must go on now. But where is the countess?”
“She is here,” cried a well-known voice.
And next moment she flew towards him, and was clasped in his arms.
It is very questionable whether Lord Denventwater's brief visit to his mansion was not productive of more pain to him than pleasure.
So many fresh anxieties were aroused that they marred his happiness, and the moments flew by so quickly that they seemed gone ere they could be numbered. How much had he to say to the countess! And yet how little was said. Half the time they sat together they were silent, but it was a silence more eloquent than words. And when the countess spoke it was ever to incite him to brave deeds.
After awhile they were joined by Dorothy Forster and Father Norham, and then the conversation turned chiefly on the incidents of the march. The countess and Dorothy still believed that the insurrection would be successful, but the priest was less hopeful.
“But where and when will the battle be fought that is to give the crown to King James?” inquired Dorothy.
“That I cannot tell you,” replied the earl. “But I do not think it will be fought in Scotland, though we shall probably march there to meet our allies. However, a few days may decide. General Carpenter is now at Newcastle, with four regiments of dragoons, and we have yet to learn his plans. Should he not find out we have flown, he may march to attack us at Hexham, and then you will see him here.”
Never did the devout Earl of Derwentwater neglect his religious duties. Mass was therefore performed at the little chapel before his departure, and at the conclusion of the service he did not re-enter the mansion, but tenderly embracing the countess, bade farewell to her and Dorothy, and mounting his dapple-grey steed took his way alone through the wood to Hexham.
The moon was shining brightly, but her beams could not penetrate the depths of the narrow forest road along which he had proceeded for nearly a mile when he heard the sound of horses' feet behind him.
Not for a moment imagining it could be an enemy, but thinking it highly probable a messenger might have been sent after him by the countess, he halted.
“Is your lordship there?” cried a voice.
“Ay,” he replied. “What would you with me?”
“You must be pleased to come back with us,” rejoined the speaker. “You are wanted at the castle.”
“What has happened,” cried the earl uneasily.
No immediate answer being returned, his suspicions were aroused—especially as he could hear the two horsemen, who had now come up, talking together in a low tone—and he was just about to gallop off, when one of the men dashed suddenly forward, seized his bridle, and presenting a pistol at his head, told him he was a prisoner.
“Ah! I now know who and what you are, villains,” cried the earl.
“We are loyal subjects of King George, my lord,” replied the man who held his bridle, “and as such are bound to capture all those who appear in arms against him. We have been very lucky to-night in arresting a rebel leader. Your lordship will not be surprised to learn that we intend to take you as a prisoner to Newcastle.” The earl repressed the wrathful exclamation that rose to his lips, and said:
“Have any of my household turned traitors?”
“No, my lord,” replied the man. “You may set your mind at ease on that score. All your servants are true to you. We are Sir William Lorraine's officers, and have been employed by him to watch Dilston. We were therefore aware of your visit this evening, and followed you on your return to Hexham, being resolved on your arrest.”
“If your lordship is content to go with us quietly,” said the other man, “we will shew you every attention. But if you attempt to escape, we will shoot you through the head, without hesitation. And now be pleased to deliver up your arms.”
“I have no arms except my sword,” replied the earl, “and I will part with life rather than with it.”
While the man, whose hands were disengaged, was striving to take the weapon from him, the fierce barking of a dog was heard, accompanied by shouts, and the earl at once comprehending from the sounds that Nathan the woodcutter was at hand with Cheviot, called out loudly:
“To the rescue, Nathan; to the rescue!”
“Here I am, my lord,” responded the sturdy woodcutter, as he and his hound burst through the trees.
A bullet whistled past his head, as he appeared on the scene, but luckily did him no injury.
Next moment, however, the stout cudgel he grasped was falling heavily upon the earl's captors, while Cheviot's fierce barking terrified their horses so much, that the animals broke away in spite of their riders' efforts to restrain them, and being allowed no rest by the hound who continued to attack their heels, were soon driven off altogether.
“I shall not forget the great service you have just rendered me, Nathan,” said Lord Derwentwater. “But for you these villains would have carried me off as a prisoner.”
“I am right glad I arrived in time,” replied the woodcutter. “Cheviot warned me of your lordship's danger.”
“Ah! did he so?” cried the earl.
And when the faithful animal came back from the chase, he warmly praised him and caressed him.
“Now, hie thee to the castle, Nathan,” said the earl. “See her ladyship, and tell her from what a peril you have rescued me. She will know how to recompense you.”
“I want no recompense, my lord,” replied the honest woodcutter. “I only wish I could always be at hand to succour your lordship when in need.”
“I wish you could,” said the earl.
With this, he galloped off and arrived without further molestation at Hexham; while Nathan proceeded, as bidden, to the castle, and related the earl's adventure in the forest to the countess.
A good supper for each of them was the immediate reward of himself and his hound.