Preston Fight: or, The Insurrection of 1715
TextBOOK THE FOURTH – THE RISING IN NORTHUMBERLAND
I. – DILSTON REVISITED
SINCE our last visit to Dilston Castle, the place had acquired a new interest from the marriage of the young Earl of Derwentwater with the beautiful Anna Webb.
The event occurred about three years previously, and was productive of unalloyed happiness to the earl, who made it his entire study to please his lovely wife. In his eyes her charms had improved, and as she was scarcely two and twenty, she might not yet have attained the point of perfection.
Mistress of this proud mansion and all belonging to it, adored by the husband, who had raised her to this exalted position, the countess ought to have been happy – and to all appearance she was so.
Yet were we to search her breast, we should find a secret sorrow there. She had made every effort to banish the feeling, but without effect. The consciousness that she had a secret from her husband troubled her, but she dared not reveal it to him. Even to Father Norham, she had not entirely laid bare her heart.
One day, when she was at confession in the small chamber, employed for her private devotions, and which was furnished with an altar and a crucifix, the good priest thus addressed her:
“I grieve to find, dear daughter, that you still keep back from the Earl, your husband, the secret that has so long weighed upon your breast. This ought not to be. He is entitled to your fullest confidence, and any concealment from him even of a trivial matter is sinful.”
“I know it, father,” she replied; “and I ardently desire to relieve my breast of its burden by disclosing all to him, and am only deterred by the fear of giving him pain.”
“Perhaps you are right, daughter,” said the priest, after some reflection. “As no good purpose can be answered by this disclosure, and it is possible it might cause temporary estrangement of the earl’s affections, I will not urge you to incur that hazard. But I should be glad to learn that you have at last entirely dismissed the silly fancy which you have so long allowed to occupy your breast. Give me an assurance to that effect, and I shall be content.”
“I am far easier than I was, father,” she rejoined with a sigh. “But I have not entirely subdued the feeling.”
“Persevere, daughter, and you will succeed,” said the priest. “Fasting and prayer will do much.”
“I am willing to undergo any penance you may enjoin, father,” she replied; “and, however severe it may be, I shall not complain – provided I obtain relief.”
“With these good resolutions you cannot fail, daughter, and you shall have my best assistance.”
The good father’s injunctions were strictly obeyed by the countess, and after a time she told him her breast was tranquillised.
Meantime, the earl’s felicity was entirely undisturbed, except by some misgivings as to the future.
Since his marriage a remarkable change had taken place in his sentiments. At one time he had been chiefly engrossed by the thought of accomplishing the restoration of the Chevalier de Saint George, and no peril would have deterred him from making the effort. He now dreaded being engaged in a civil war. He had everything that could contribute to happiness – a lovely wife, to whom he was passionately attached – high rank, great wealth, large possessions, a splendid mansion-all of which would be sacrificed, if the enterprise should fail. The game was too hazardous – the stake too high. Never, since his marriage, had he been separated from his beautiful countess, and the thought of quitting her – even for a brief season – was intolerable. He told her of his fears, and she laughed at them.
“I should not love you half so well as I do,” she said, “if I did not believe you would fight for King James – fight for him to the death. Should a rising take place, you must join it – must take a prominent part in it.”
“Since I wedded you, dearest Anna, life has acquired such value in my eyes, that I am not disposed to throw it away lightly.”
“Do you call it throwing life away lightly to die for your king?”
“‘Twould be worse than death to lose you, Anna.”
“This is mere weakness. Shut me from your heart. The king’s claim is paramount. ‘Twould be a crime to desert him. If you wish to preserve my love, you will draw the sword for King James, when called upon.”
And she quitted the room.
Much irritated by the scornful tone in which the countess had spoken, the earl walked forth into the wood, and did not return till he had regained his calmness. He found the countess in the garden. She received him with a smile, that dissipated any lingering feelings of anger, and no further allusion was made to the subject at the time. Still, her observations rankled in his breast and produced the effect she had designed.
He felt that if he did not support King James, he should not retain her love, and that would be a death-blow to his happiness. Whatever course he might take seemed to lead to difficulty and danger.
Fortunately, he was not called upon for an immediate decision. Another year of wedded bliss was allowed him.
Not till the expiration of that term did the storm begin to gather that was destined to burst upon his head.
II. A WARRANT ISSUED FOR THE EARL’S ARREST
A t length the mandate came. A letter arrived from the Chevalier de Saint George enjoining the Earl of Derwentwater to prepare for immediate action.
“So soon as the standard is set up in Scotland by Mar, you must rise,” ran the missive.
Aware that the earl had received a despatch from France, the countess flew to his cabinet, and found him pacing to and fro within it, in a state of great perturbation.
“Read that,” he said, giving her the letter.
Her cheeks flushed as she scanned it, and she exclaimed almost joyfully:
“You will obey his majesty’s orders. There must be no hesitation now. If there is one man in England on whose zeal and fidelity King James ought to be able to count, it is the Earl of Derwentwater, with whom he is connected by birth, and whom he regards as a brother. Would you disappoint all the hopes he has formed of you! Shake off this worse than womanish weakness if you would not have me despise you.”
“No more!” cried the earl, almost fiercely. “You have said enough. You have hardened my breast. I care not now what ensues.”
“I am glad I have roused you,” she cried. “Had you been wanting in the hour of action, you would have been deemed a traitor to your king, and have lost the respect of all honourable men.”
Just then Father Norham entered the room.
“I fear I have come at an unlucky moment,” he said, perceiving from their looks that some misunderstanding had occurred between them; “and I would at once retire, had I not important news to communicate. I have just received private information from Newcastle that a warrant has been issued for your lordship’s arrest on a charge of high treason. The officers will be here to-morrow, and as they will be accompanied by a party of horse-militia, you must either resist them or keep out of the way. Since you are not fully prepared for a rising, I would counsel the latter course.”
“And I advise resistance,” said the countess.
“No – that would precipitate the outbreak,” said the earl. “I must concert measures with my friends ere I take up arms.”
“You cannot remain in the castle, my lord,” said the priest. “A most rigorous search will be made, and if you are discovered, you will be apprehended and placed in confinement.”
“Where shall I find a secure retreat?” said the earl.
“You ought not to be too far off, in case of a sudden emergency,” said the countess.
“Your lordship would be perfectly safe in Nathan the woodcutter’s hut in the thicket,” said the priest. “No one will seek you there – and even if the place should be visited, you can easily escape into the wood.”
“Nathan Blacklaw is a trusty fellow,” said the earl. “I can perfectly depend upon him. His hut will afford me an excellent hiding-place. When inquiries are made for me, the servants can say that I am gone to visit some Roman Catholic friends in Lancashire. The statement will be credited, since the magistrates must have learnt that Lord Widdrington is now staying with his brother-in-law, Mr. Townley, of Townley, in that county. I will now go and see Nathan Blacklaw, and direct him to prepare for me to-morrow morning.”
“Take me with you, I entreat!” said the countess. “I should like to see how you will be lodged in the hut. I wish I could bear you company.”
“Alas! that cannot be!” sighed the earl. “Your presence would reconcile me to any inconvenience. But it would infallibly lead to my discovery. Besides, you must be at the castle to see how things go on, and communicate with me.”
“I quite understand,” she replied.
“When my brother returns from Corbridge, acquaint him with my purpose,” said the earl to Father Norham. “I do not think he is in any danger of arrest.”
“I have received no caution respecting Mr. Charles Radclyffe,” said the priest. “I believe your lordship to be the only person threatened. But I may hear further at night, as I expect a second messenger.”
“Long before then Charles will have returned,” said the earl. “And now for the hut,” he added to the countess. “I have a melancholy foreboding that when I once quit the castle I shall never come back to it.”
“Dismiss these thoughts, my dear lord,” said the priest, “Rest assured that better days are in store for you.”
III. – THE WOODCUTTER’S HUT
Passing through the garden, the earl and countess took a path that led them along the rocky edge of the ravine, at the bottom of which flowed the Devil’s Water.
At length they reached the wood and entered a sombre alley arched over by boughs and designated the “Maiden’s Walk.”
According to a legend connected with the place, a phantom wearing the form of a beautiful female was sometimes seen in the alley, and the appearance of the “Maiden” was thought to bode ill to any member of the Radclyffe family.
Not without some superstitious terror did the earl track this darksome walk. He had often been there, but had never beheld the phantom, but this seemed an occasion when, if ever, the Maiden might be expected to appear.
At the end of the alley a narrow path turned off on the left that brought them, after several windings, to an open space in the heart of the thicket. Here stood the hut; and thus buried, it was not likely that the little habitation would be discovered unless its situation were pointed out.
As the noble pair drew near the hut, a savage growl was heard, and a large, fierce-looking dog rushed from behind a great stack of wood. The moment, however, the savage animal beheld the earl he became quiet and crouched at his feet.
At the same time the woodcutter made his appearance.
Nathan Blacklaw was strongly built, and had a manly, resolute look. On his shoulder he carried a hatchet, and his costume consisted of a leather jacket, a leather cap, and long leather gaiters, reaching considerably above the knee. He had come forward on hearing his dog bark, and immediately recognizing the earl and countess, doffed his cap and made a rough obeisance.
“Cheviot knows me as well as you do, Nathan,” observed the earl, patting the dog’s large head.
“Ay, he wad na ha’ allowed any one but your lordship and my lady to come nigh the hut,” said the wood-cutter.
“You must find him a good companion in this solitary spot, Nathan,” remarked the countess.
“‘Deed I do, my lady. I dunna know what I and my dame should do without Cheviot.”
“We have come to have a look at the hut, Nathan,” said the earl. “Show us inside it, will you?”
Just then a good-looking woman – not more than thirty-five – plainly, yet not unbecomingly dressed, came forth.
Without any hesitation or embarrassment, Dame Black-law at once ushered the noble pair into the cottage.
Necessarily it was very small, but it looked clean and tidy. It contained only a couple of rooms: in the largest, on which the door opened, the inmates had their meals; it was furnished with a chest of drawers, a small oak table, an arm-chair, a rush-bottomed chair, and a settee.
Besides these there was a clock, and in one corner was a cupboard containing pewter plates, three or four drinking-mugs, certain articles of crockery, and a brace of squat-looking Dutch bottles. Fixed against the wall on the side opposite the cupboard was a crucifix, for Nathan and his wife were Papists. On the hearth burnt a cheerful wood fire, and above it hung a large iron pot. Over the mantelpiece was placed a gun. The inner room, about half the size of the other, held the bed of the worthy couple, who had no family.
“What will you say, dame, when I tell you that I am coming to spend a few days with you?” remarked the earl.
“Your lordship is pleased to jest,” she replied, with a smile. “It isn’t very likely you will stay here.”
“Likely or not, you may expect me to-morrow morning,” said the earl.
She held up her hands in astonishment.
“To speak plainly, I don’t find it safe at the castle,” said the earl. “If I remain there I shall be arrested, so I mean to take refuge in your cottage.”
“I thought as much,” cried Nathan. “I shall be proud, indeed, to afford your lordship a hiding-place, and I think you will be quite safe here.”
“The magistrates are coming with a party of horse-militia to-morrow, and as they won’t find me at the castle, they are sure to make a strict search in the neighbourhood.”
“Let ‘em try. We’ll baffle ‘em,” said the woodcutter.
“But however shall we accommodate his lordship?” said
Dame Blacklaw to the countess. “He won’t condescend to occupy our bed.”
“Give yourself no trouble about me, dame,” interposed the earl. “I can sleep very well in that arm-chair. With Cheviot to watch over me, I shall fear no nocturnal intruder.”
“Your lordship will have timely warning should any one come near the place. Of that you may rest assured,” said the woodcutter.
Having made all the arrangements he thought necessary, the earl then left with the countess. His parting injunction to the woodcutter and his wife was to look out for him early in the morning, and not to breathe a word to any one that they expected him.
IV. – THE MAIDEN’S WALK
Despite his melancholy forebodings, the earl little dreamed this would be the last night he should ever pass at the castle. He attended mass in the little chapel, and held a long consultation with his brother, Charles Rad-clyffe, who had now returned from Corbridge, as to the best steps to be taken.
“‘Tis unlucky that our friends are scattered at this moment,” said the earl. “Had we been able to unite, instead of flying from arrest, we might have attacked Newcastle, and, if we had succeeded in capturing the place, we should have been masters of the county.”
“This may yet be accomplished,” said Charles Radclyffe.
“Not unless we can get together a sufficient force,” said the earl. “Forster and Lord Widdrington may not like to make the attempt, as I know they both deem it very hazardous. We shall hear what Widdrington says on his return from Lancashire.”
“Shall I appoint a meeting if I can find means of communicating with them?” asked Charles Radclyffe. “And where shall the place of rendezvous be fixed?”
“At Plainfield or thereabouts,” replied the earl. “Ten days hence I will be there, unless I am prevented, and will bring with me all the men I can muster.”
“I will find some means of sending this information to Forster,” said Charles Radclyffe, “and he will communicate with Widdrington. If the Earl of Mar would send us a Highland regiment it would help us greatly. Shall I write to him in your name?”
“Do so without delay,” said the earl. “The rising will never be successful unless our force is materially strengthened.”
“All your instructions shall be attended to,” said Charles Radclyffe, “and I trust nothing will go wrong to-morrow.”
The rest of the evening was spent in affectionate converse by the earl and countess. There were no guests in the house, so they sat together till supper, when they were joined by Charles Radclyffe and Father Nor-ham.
The countess was in excellent spirits, and laughed at the threatened visit of the magistrates. If the earl was not equally free from apprehension, he contrived to assume a cheerful aspect.
Next morning, soon after daybreak, Lord Denventwater arose. The countess was still slumbering, but before he took his departure he stooped down to print a kiss on her brow. Instantly awakened, she flung her arms round his neck and bade him adieu.
“I have had a very happy dream,” she said; “and I hope it may come true. I thought the king was restored, and chiefly by your instrumentality.”
“Much has to be done ere that can be accomplished,” rejoined the earl. “But I do not despair.”
“I wish you could remain here, and resist the officers,” she said. “How pleased I should be to see them driven hence!”
“There is no chance of such a result,” said the earl. “We must bide our time. In a few days we shall take the field.”
Tenderly embracing her, he then quitted the room.
None of the household were astir as Lord Derwentwater went forth. He gave one look at the mansion, heaved a deep sigh, and proceeded towards the wood.
The morning was grey and misty, the trees in the park could scarcely be distinguished, and the brook at the bottom of the glen was hidden by vapour.
Gloomy thoughts likewise possessed him, and as he tracked the sombre alley, he thought he beheld a female figure, arrayed in white, advancing towards him.
Not doubting it was the Maiden, he instantly stopped.
In another moment the phantom stood before him. Its looks were sad and compassionate, but it spoke not, and terror kept him dumb.
After remaining thus transfixed for a few moments, he broke the spell and moved forwards, but the phantom waved him back, and he again halted.
With another warning gesture, accompanied by a look of indescribable pity, the figure vanished.
Not for some minutes after issuing from the alley, did the earl recover from the shock he had received, and he was still leaning for support against a tree, when he was roused by the approach of the woodcutter and his dog.
“I fear your lordship is unwell?” remarked Nathan.
“No,” replied the earl, “but I have been much alarmed. I have just seen the Maiden.”
“Then I don’t wonder your lordship is disturbed,” said the woodcutter. “May I venture to ask what occurred?”
“The spirit warned me to turn back,” said the earl. “But it is now too late.”
The woodcutter made no remark, but seemed to think that the warning ought not to be neglected.
On reaching the hut, Lord Derwentwater threw himself into the arm-chair and presently fell asleep. Nor did he awake for some hours.
During this interval, Dame Blacklaw moved about as noiselessly as she could, so as not to disturb him – Cheviot crouched at his feet – and Nathan went on with his work outside; but he left it, ever and anon, for a short space, while he flew to the skirts of the woods to reconnoitre.
V. – HOW CHARLES RADCLYFFE PROVOKED SIR WILLIAM LORRAINE
About nine o’clock on the same morning, the Newcastle magistrates arrived at the castle. They were attended by certain subordinate officers, armed with sword and pistol, and by a party of horse-militia.
As the gate had been thrown wide open by the porter, they all rode into the court, and the chief persons – three in number – proceeded to the entrance and dismounted.
Among them was Sir William Lorraine, who, though he had long ceased to be high sheriff, was still a magistrate. As on the former expedition, Sir William was accompanied by his active agent, Jesmond, who was determined not to be duped on the present occasion. While the magistrates and the others entered the court, Jesmond and his comrade Hedgeley fastened up their horses and proceeded to the garden to look about them.
As may well be supposed, the noise and clatter caused by this large party of horsemen, had brought forth all the servants, and when the magistrates dismounted at the steps, they were met by Newbiggin and two or three others.
In return to their obeisances, Sir William, as the principal magistrate, said in a loud authoritative tone to Newbiggin:
“Conduct us at once to the Earl of Derwentwater. We hold a warrant for his arrest.”
“His lordship is not within,” replied the butler, with formal politeness.
“Where is he?” demanded Sir William. “We must see him.”
“I don’t see how that can be managed, Sir William, seeing that his lordship is in Lancashire,” rejoined Newbiggin.
“In Lancashire!” exclaimed Sir William. “He must have travelled very quickly. I know he was here yesterday.”
“Yes, Sir William, but he intended to ride throughout the night, and I make no doubt he is in Lancashire this morning.”
“Then he has fled?”
“Pardon me, Sir William, he has gone on a visit to some of his Roman Catholic friends.”
“Harkee, sirrah!” cried Mr. Woodburn, another of the magistrates. “Take care how you attempt to deceive us. You will not go unpunished.”
“Perhaps you would like to see her ladyship, gentlemen – or Mr. Charles Radclyffe?” said Mr. Newbiggin.
“It will be necessary to see them both, and to search the house as well,” said Mr. Woodburn.
“You will be good enough to state your wishes to her ladyship, sir,” rejoined the butler. “I dare say she will make no objection. Be pleased to step this way, gentlemen.”
He then conducted them across the hall to the diningroom, where they found Lady Derwentwater, Mr. Charles Radclyffe and Father Norham at breakfast.
Her ladyship looked very charming in her morning toilette, and seemed in no way discomposed by the entrance of the magistrates. Still holding the cup of chocolate, from which she was sipping, she arose and made them a formal courtesy.
“These gentlemen are Newcastle magistrates, my lady,” said the butler significantly.
“I understand,” she replied. “You have explained that his lordship is not at home?”
“Yes, my lady; but they are not content with my assurance.”
“Your ladyship must be fully aware,” said Sir William, sententiously, “that the Earl of Derwentwater has incurred the suspicion of Government, and will not therefore be surprised to learn that we hold a warrant for his arrest. We cannot depart without him.”
“That implies a doubt as to the truth of the statement you have just heard, that his lordship is not at home,” observed the countess.
“Where her husband’s safety is concerned a wife may perhaps consider herself justified in duping the authorities,” remarked Sir William. “If I seem to doubt your ladyship’s word, you must excuse me.”
“Then I will say no more, but leave you to take your own course,” she rejoined.
“We will put your ladyship to as little inconvenience as we can,” said Mr. Woodburn. “But we must search the house.”
“Search as much as you please, gentlemen, you will be disappointed,” remarked Charles Radclyffe. “I will give you my head if you find Lord Derwentwater here.”
“I know you to be a man of honour, sir,” said Sir William, “and therefore am inclined to believe you.”
“Inclined to believe me, sir!” exclaimed Charles Radclyffe, furiously. “‘Sdeath, sir, you shall believe me, or render an immediate account of your incredulity.”
“If you have a quarrel to arrange, pray step out upon the lawn,” remarked Lady Derwentwater.
“At any other time, I should not refuse Mr. Charles Radclyffe’s challenge,” said Sir William. “But just now I have a duty to perform, and shall not be deterred by an idle threat. I must again express my conviction that Lord Derwentwater is concealed in the house.”
“Then make a careful search, Sir William,” said the countess. “And if you cannot disprove Mr. Charles Radclyffe’s assertion, you are bound to offer him an apology.”
Turning to Father Norham, she added, “Your reverence will be good enough to conduct these gentlemen over the house. Go with them, likewise, Newbiggin.”
“I shall take leave to make one of the party,” said Charles Radclyffe.
Thereupon, they quitted the dining-room, leaving the countess alone.
This was the second time that Sir William Lorraine had made a perquisition of the house, and he was able, therefore, to get through the business with despatch. But he had to brook a great many insolent observations from Charles Radclyffe, who lost no opportunity of provoking him. The search occupied more than an hour, and when it was concluded, and the magistrates were obliged to confess their failure, Charles burst into a contemptuous laugh, and said:
“This is on a par with your great feat at Bamborough, Sir William, which gained you so much reputation in the county, when you were high sheriff.”
“You do well to remind me of the trick played upon me at that time,” said Sir William, greatly exasperated. “I have not forgotten it, though Mr. Forster and some others may wish I had. I think, sir, you will be safest at Newcastle, and since I cannot secure Lord Derwentwater, I will take you with me, and hold you as a hostage for your brother.”
“Do not imagine I will accompany you, Sir William,” said Charles.
“You will have no option,” rejoined the other. “You will be taken as a prisoner.”
“I scarcely think so,” said Charles. “You have no warrant, and I will resist any attempt to arrest me.”
This angry colloquy took place in the hall, and was overheard by several of the servants, who were ready to rush to Charles Radclyffe’s assistance should he need them.
Just then Jesmond and Hedgeley came in, and the magistrates called out to them.
Profiting by this interval, Father Norham urged the rash young man to fly, and he yielded to the counsel.
Drawing his sword, he ran along a passage communicating with the terrace. But he was quickly followed both by the magistrates and the officers, and it seemed that a conflict would take place on the terrace, for the servants were likewise hurrying to the same spot.
The windows of the dining-room, in which the countess was still sitting, commanded the scene of action, and hearing a noise she came forward to see what was taking place.
She beheld Charles Radclyffe standing there, with his drawn sword, threatening any one who approached him. Feeling however, that if any catastrophe occurred the consequences would be disastrous, he formed a different resolution, and at once acted upon it.
Springing to the side of the terrace, that bordered the ravine, he flung his sword into the hollow, and then plunged down the rocky sides of the abyss, certain no one would follow him in this perilous descent.
Those who looked down from the terrace, saw him reach the banks of the Devil’s Water in safety, pick up his sword, and then disappear among the bushes.
Jesmond, who had drawn a pistol, would have fired at him, but this Sir William Lorraine would not allow.
“Capture him, if you can,” he said. “But he must not be wounded – unless he resists.”
But it did not appear likely that anything more would be seen of him.