Part 23

Before the man could raise the musket to his shoulder, Mackintosh sprang upon him like a tiger, and forced the weapon from his grasp, while young Hepburn pinioned the man's arms.

Meantime, Ballard had been deprived of his keys, and he and Mr. Pitts were thrust through the door leading to the staircase from the press-room, and locked out.

The porter in the lodge alone remained--at least, it was thought so by the fugitives--but he chanced to have a watchman with him at the time, and this gossiping guardian of the night, hearing the disturbance, endeavoured to rush out and spring his rattle.

But he was caught and deprived of his coat, lantern, and hat by the brigadier, who thought the disguise might prove serviceable to some of his followers.

In another minute the fugitives were out in the street, which was fortunately quite deserted at the time, and the lodge gate being locked outside, immediate pursuit was impossible.

Bidding each other a hasty farewell, the fugitives then separated, each seeking the asylum which he knew had been provided for him.

Mr. Hepburn was uncertain where to go, when a light in a window at that late hour attracted his attention, and he perceived an antique silver tankard of peculiar shape, which he knew belonged to his family.

Without hesitation he entered the house and found his wife, who had placed the cup in the window, hoping it might catch his eye.

Forster's flight from Newgate was completely eclipsed by that of Brigadier Mackintosh and his companions.

That the first escape had been effected by bribery, very few persons doubted; but this was a bold dashing affair, well calculated to excite public admiration, and nothing else was talked about for a few days.

As previously mentioned, the trial of the rebels was to have taken place in Westminster Hall on the following day. The court and juries met, but no prisoners were forthcoming, and an adjournment took place; but though a reward of one thousand pounds was offered for the apprehension of the brigadier, and five hundred pounds for each of his associates, they were not retaken.

After a temporary concealment, Mackintosh succeeded in making his escape to France, where he remained for several years; but being unable to resist the impulse to revisit his native land, he ventured back to Scotland--a very hazardous step to take, since, being an outlaw, he was excluded from the benefit of the Act of Indemnity.

The consequence was that the veteran warrior spent the remainder of his life as a prisoner in Edinburgh Castle.

It is not our intention to follow the executioners in their sanguinary circuit through Lancashire--not shall we even particularise the insurgents who suffered the utmost rigour of the law at Lancaster, Garstang, Preston, Wigan, Liverpool, and Manchester--but we will halt for a moment at the latter place to allude to Tom Syddall, who was barbarously put to death with four or five others at Knot Mill. His case may stand for all the rest, since it was in no respect exceptional.

Taken on a hurdle to the gallows, partly hanged--but not till life was extinct, he was drawn and quartered, and his head fixed on the market cross.

Such was the punishment inflicted upon all the rebels of lower rank, who were not transported to the colonies.

END OF COOK THE TENTH,

_BOOK THE ELEVENTH_--THE SCAFFOLD.

I.--THE LAST PARTING BETWEEN THE EARL OF DERWENT-WATER AND THE COUNTESS.

|The last sad parting between the Earl of Dervventwater and the countess must now be detailed.

The interview took place in the prison-chamber in the Devereux Tower, and on the day before the execution.

After his condemnation, the earl had passed most of his time in prayer, and had so completely succeeded in reconciling himself to his fate, that he forbade the countess to make any further efforts for his deliverance. Indeed, after the escapes that had taken place, any fresh attempt would have been futile.

The unhappy countess was staying at Dagenham Park, an old manorial mansion, near Romford in Essex, belonging to a Roman Catholic family, and she came over every day to the Tower, accompanied by Father Norham, in the hope of seeing her husband.

Latterly, permission had been refused her, but, on the day before the execution, she was allowed to visit him with the priest.

Not having seen him for a few days, she was much struck by the change in his appearance. His countenance had a very serene expression. All trouble had vanished from it, and it was plain from his looks that his thoughts were fixed on high.

“You have no longer any fear of death, I perceive, my son,” said Father Norham.

“I have no desire for life, father,” he replied. “I am better prepared to die than I might be at a future time, were my days prolonged.”

“I shall soon rejoin you, my lord,” said the countess.

“No, live!--I would have you live,” he cried. “You are young, beautiful--and I trust have many years of happiness before you. I would not have them abridged. But think of me always--think how fondly I have loved you--think how entirely happy I have been in your society. Never for a single moment has my heart swerved from its devotion to you. Fate has separated us for a time--but it was against my will. My love has been sacrificed to my sense of duty.”

“I know it, my dearest lord,” she cried, with a look of anguish. “Oh! how bitterly I reproach myself that I urged you to join this fatal expedition. Would I could recall the past! Would we could be at Dilston together as in former days! Never! never should you leave it! But I must not speak of the past.”

“Nay, it does not pain me,” said the earl tenderly. “Let us quit his dungeon for a moment in thought, and transport ourselves to Dilston. Let us stand together--as we have so often stood--upon the terrace, and gaze upon the far-spreading prospect. Ah! the scene rises before me, as I speak! We are in the glen, wandering by the side of the stream. We are in the forest, and I enter the Maiden's Walk, and receive a warning.”

“What more?” cried the countess.

“Nothing,” replied the earl. “The vision has disappeared. Alas! my sweet love, Dilston will be yours no more. The house you have brightened with your presence will be taken from you. I cannot bequeath it to you. Yet I should wish to be laid with my fathers in the vault beneath the little chapel.”

“It shall be done, my dearest lord,” she cried earnestly. “Your wishes shall be fulfilled.”

“I do not think that resting-place will be denied me,” said the earl.

“Have no fear, my lord,” said Father Norham. “The malice of your enemies will not extend to that length. All shall be done as you desire. When the tragedy is over, the body shall be conveyed by slow stages--and only by night--to Dilston. During the day it shall rest in some Catholic chapel, and masses shall be said.”

“I will accompany it, and see the last sad rites performed,” said the countess.

“You give me inexpressible comfort,” said the earl. “It was the sole request I had to prefer.”

Shortly afterwards the earl retired with Father Norham into the cell adjoining the prison-chamber, where the priest heard his confession, and gave him absolution.

During this interval, the countess knelt down and prayed fervently.

At length, the earl came forth, and she arose, perceiving from his looks that the moment of parting was come.

He extended his arms, and flying towards him, she was clasped to his breast.

Thus they remained for some minutes amid a silence, broken only by her sobs.

He then made a slight effort to loosen her embrace, but she clung to him even more tenaciously.

“We must part, my best beloved,” he said, printing a kiss upon her brow.

“Oh! I knew not the anguish of this hour,” she cried. “Would my heart would break and relieve me!”

“For your husband's sake, calm yourself, dear daughter, I implore you!” said the priest.

But her grief was too violent to be restrained, and a paroxysm ensued that found vent in a fearful shriek, that burst through the grated windows of the fortification, and almost froze the blood of such as heard it.

She then became insensible.

On regaining consciousness, she no longer beheld her husband. She had parted from him for ever. She had been carefully removed to the Lieutenant's lodgings, where restoratives were applied.

As soon as her strength permitted, she left the Tower with Father Norham, and returned to Dagenham Park; feeling as if her heart were broken.

II.--HOW LORD WIDDRINGTON TOOK A LAST LEAVE OF THE EARL OF DERWENTWATER.

|GLOOMY was the morn, and in unison with the sombre deed about to take place.

Already a scaffold, draped in black, on which the Earl of Derwentwater and Lord Kenmure were to pay the forfeit of their lives, had been erected on Tower-hill.

At an early hour three strong detachments of Life Guards marched from Whitehall, and posted themselves round the scaffold.

At the same time, a crowd of curious observers of both sexes began to assemble, and increased so rapidly that within an hour the whole summit of the eminence was densely thronged.

Some sympathy was expressed for the unfortunate lords about to suffer, but it would almost seem that the majority of the spectators were drawn thither by curiosity rather than by any other feeling.

Like all other crowds they exhibited great impatience because they supposed they were kept waiting, and manifested their displeasure by groaning at the Life Guards, who, however, treated them with supreme contempt.

Not till ten o'clock did the sheriffs make their appearance, and way was cleared for them by their guard through the crowd. They proceeded to the Transport Office--a building at the rear of the scaffold--where rooms were prepared for those about to die.

At the same time, a bell within the Tower began to toll, and almost immediately afterwards, a party of grenadiers issued from the Bulwark Gate, followed by two hackney-coaches, in which were the condemned nobles and their chaplains.

With Lord Derwentwater was Father Norham; with Lord Kenmure was the Reverend Mr. Sharp, a Presbyterian minister.

On either side of the coaches marched javelin men to keep off the crowd.

Had not Lord Derwentwater been attended by a

Romish priest, his youth and good looks would have excited extraordinary sympathy among the beholders, but the sight of Father Norham irritated them, and they expressed their hatred of Popery by hootings. Lord Der-wentwater seemed wholly undisturbed by the clamour.

Lord Kenmure met with a much better reception, and Mr. Sharp contrived to let the mob know that his lordship held Popery in abomination.

In this manner the two lords were conducted to the Transport Office, where they alighted, and were separately conducted to their rooms.

In the room prepared for the Earl of Derwentwater, Lord Widdrington, who had been reprieved, was waiting to take a last leave of his friend, and was so deeply affected that Father Norham deemed it advisable that the interview should not be prolonged.

While bidding farewell to the earl, Lord Widdrington said, in accents of profound emotion:

“Were I to live a thousand years I should never forget you! You will always remain to me an example of fortitude and resignation. Your heroism makes me regret that I have accepted life, since it would be a privilege to die with you. I need not wish you firmness at the last, for I know you will not want it.”

With this, he embraced him, and left the room.

III.--HOW THE EARL OF DERWENTWATER WAS BEHEADED.

|Lord Derwentwater then addressed himself to his devotions, and remained in earnest prayer with Father Norham, till the hour approached, when the good priest thus recommended his soul to heaven.

“When thy soul shall depart from thy body, may thy Redeemer appear to thee, and appoint thee a place amongst those who are to stand before him for ever.”

The earl then rose, and since the priest was not allowed to be with him to the last, he bade him an eternal adieu.

Just then, the door was opened, and Sir John Fryer, one of the sheriffs, came in, and, with a grave salutation, inquired if he was ready.

“Perfectly,” replied Lord Derwentwater.

Casting a farewell look at the good priest, he then followed the sheriff, who marched before him with his men, through two lines of foot-guards to the scaffold.

All was prepared.

The executioner was standing beside the block with the axe in his hand.

Not far from him were two assistants, and near them was the coffin.

A slight murmur arose from the vast concourse as the Earl of Derwentwater appeared on the scaffold, but it was a murmur of admiration--all being struck by his slight, graceful figure, seen to the greatest advantage in his black velvet attire.

“May I say a few words to the assemblage, Sir John?” asked the earl.

“Assuredly, my lord,” replied the sheriff.

The earl then advanced towards the rail of the scaffold, and as it was evident he was about to address them, the concourse became instantly silent, and every eye was fixed upon him.

In a clear voice, that was heard afar, and vibrated through the breasts of all near to him, he thus spoke:

“Being in a few minutes about to appear before the tribunal of Heaven, where, though most unworthy, I hope to find mercy which I have not found from men in power, I have endeavoured to make my peace by humbly begging pardon for all the sins of my life.

“I have never had any other sovereign save King James the Third, whom I have served from infancy; and if his religion had been different from mine, I should still have done all I could for him, as my ancestors did for his predecessors. I intended wrong to none, and only to serve my king and country, and if the sacrifice of my life could contribute to that end, I shall consider it well paid.

“I die a Roman Catholic, and in perfect charity with all the world, even with those most instrumental in my destruction, and I hope to be forgiven the trespasses of my youth by the Father of Infinite Mercy, into whose hands I commend my spirit.”

Delivered as we have described, this brief address produced a powerful effect upon the multitude, and however much they might differ from the earl, they could not help admiring his constancy.

As he retired, a loud wail arose from the female portion of the spectators.

“My lord,” observed Sir John Fryer, “I must beg you now to prepare yourself.”

“Grant me a few moments more,” said the earl.

And the request being accorded, he knelt down and prayed fervently.

Shortly afterwards, he arose, and stepped towards the executioner, one of whose men would have helped him to take off a portion of his attire, but he refused the assistance.

The executioner then besought his forgiveness.

“With all my heart,” replied the earl. “I forgive all my enemies--even the most malicious of them--and I forgive you.”

Seeing the man look hard at him, he added:

“Thou wilt find a purse in my pocket. 'Tis thine with its contents.”

“I thank your lordship. Will you now try how the block fits you?”

Thereupon the earl made the essay.

Apparently satisfied, he turned to the executioner, and said:

“Is thine axe sharp?”

“So sharp that it will take off a head at a blow. I pray your lordship to feel the edge.”

“Nay, I shall feel it soon enough,” replied the earl with a slight shudder.

After a momentary pause, he added:

“I would die with the holiest name on my lips. When I have thrice pronounced it, strike!”

“My lord, I will not fail,” said the headsman.

Laying himself upon the block, the earl then ejaculated:

“Lord Jesu! receive my spirit! Lord Jesu! be merciful to me! Lord Jesu!----”

At this juncture the axe descended.

Next moment the head was held up to the concourse, while the executioner called out in trumpet tones:

“Behold the head of a traitor! God save King George!”

An irrepressible groan broke from the concourse.

The body was instantly placed in the coffin, and conveyed to a hearse, which was waiting for it at a short distance.

But the head was disposed of differently. Wrapped in black baize by the direction of Sir John Fryer, it was taken to a hackney-coach, stationed near the hearse, and delivered to a lady, habited in deep mourning, and shrouded in a veil. With her was a priest.

No sooner did she receive the terrible bundle than she raised her veil, and pressed her lips to it.

The hearse and the coach then quitted Tower Hill, and were driven slowly to Dagenham Park.

But the headsman had only half-finished his task.

When fresh sawdust had been strewn on the gory scaffold, another head--that of Lord Kenmure--was fitted to the block, and the axe again fell.

IV.--WHAT HAPPENED IN THE CHAPEL AT DAGENHAM PARK.

|Not till the second night after the earl's body had been brought to Dagenham Park did the countess commence her journey to Dilston.

During the interval the coffin was placed upon a catafalque in the chapel attached to the mansion, and tapers were lighted around it--masses being said for the repose of the soul of the departed by Father Norham.

The head had now been replaced by the body, but the countess would not allow the coffin to be closed, and at night she was left alone in the chapel.

After praying for some time she arose and gazing at her dead lord, invoked him either to appear to her, or give her some sign that he was conscious of her presence.

But the pale features retained their fixed expression.

After awhile, she sat down, and despite all her efforts to resist it, sleep stole over he.

Then she dreamed that the earl stood beside her, looking as he had done in life.

After contemplating her for a few minutes with a look that seemed to fascinate her, he said in low solemn accents:

“Weep no more for me, Anna! weep no more! my suffering is over. But let my last wishes be fulfilled. Till my body is laid where I have desired, my spirit will wander near its earthly tabernacle. Then it will rest.”

“Give me some token that I have really beheld you, my lord,” she said.

“Look at my right hand, and you will be satisfied,” was the reply.

Thereupon the phantom vanished.

Not for some hours could she rouse herself from the heavy slumber into which she had fallen. She then recalled the vision, but thought it must have been a dream.

To convince herself of the truth she went to the coffin, and raised the right hand of the corpse.

On one of the fingers was a ring which she had not observed before. Removing it, she placed it on her own finger.

Reluctant to allude to the mysterious occurrence, she did not even mention it to Father Norham.

Next day she was joined by Dorothy Forster, who desired to accompany her to Dilston.

V.--THE JOURNEY TO DILSTON.

|At the head of the funeral procession rode the faithful Newbiggin.

Then followed the hearse drawn by four horses, with the coachman and two assistants, and lastly came the countess in a carriage likewise drawn by four horses. With her were Dorothy Forster, and Father Norham.

The night was dark on which they set forth, and they tracked many weary miles through country roads, making slow progress, but meeting, with no hindrance, till towards dawn, they halted at a large mansion near Chelmsford belonging to a Roman Catholic gentleman, where they halted and remained during the day--the coffin being removed from the hearse, and placed in a small private chapel, where tapers were lighted, and masses said as at Dagenham.

Here the day was passed.

On the second night, they proceeded to Cambridge--and on the third to a mansion near Saint Ives, in Huntingdonshire.

Thence they moved on to Peterborough.

In this manner they pursued the road towards Newcastle, journeying entirely by night, and halting during the day at some Roman Catholic mansion, where hospitality was afforded them, and where religious rites could be performed.

It was a long, long journey. But the countess did not find it wearisome. Rather she grieved to think it must soon be ended.

She derived great solace from the affectionate companionship of Dorothy Forster.

Seven nights had thus been passed in travel, and they were proceeding on the eighth night from Thirsk towards Darlington, when a horseman rode up to the carriage.

At first his appearance caused alarm, but fear quickly gave way to surprise when they found it was Charles Radclyffe. They knew he had escaped from prison, but supposed he was in France.

He entered into no explanation then, but contented himself with saying that he should accompany them to Dilston, and rode on with Newbiggin.

At Darlington he had a private interview with Dorothy, and told her that he could not leave England without seeing her again, and besought her to accompany him in his flight.

“This is not the moment to urge my suit,” he said; “but I have no option. Will you fly with me? Will you embrace the fortunes of a ruined man?”

“I cannot decide now,” she replied. “You shall have an answer at Dilston.”

From her grave manner Charles had very little hope of a favourable response.

The journey occupied two more nights, but on the third morning, they came in sight of Dilston.

Newbiggin had ridden on to prepare the household, and Charles Radclyffe did not think it safe to accompany the procession, though fully intending to be present at the interment.

VI.--THE INTERMENT.

|THOUGH it was known that the earl's estates were forfeited, the confiscation had not yet taken place, and, consequently, the household still remained at Dilston.

Ever since the execution they had been filled with superstitious dread.

On the evening of that terrible day, most remarkable Northern Lights were seen, and the reflection of the crimson sky seemed to turn the water of the brook in the haunted glen to blood.

Next day, a violent tempest occurred, accompanied by thunder and lightning.

Several trees were blown down, and the finest oak in the park was struck--the trunk being completely shattered.

All the household was now assembled to watch the funeral procession as it made its way slowly up the avenue.

Groans and lamentations were heard when the hearse arrived at the gate, and the coffin was taken out, and conveyed to the little chapel.

Not till this had been done did the countess and Dorothy enter the mansion.

Completely prostrated, they strove to prepare themselves for the closing ceremonial that was to take place at midnight.

A doleful place was Dilston during that day. Its inmates were bowed down with grief, and moved about like ghosts.

All needful preparations for the interment were made by Newbiggin.

The vault was opened. The coffin was laid upon a bier not far from the altar; and tapers were lighted around it.

Many of the old servants and dependents, among whom were Nicholas Ribbleton and Nathan Blacklaw, went to the chapel to pray beside the body of their lord.

Not till night did Charles Radclyffe appear at the castle.

He sought out Dorothy and said to her:

“I shall quit Dilston immediately after the interment. Will you go with me?”

“I cannot leave Lady Derwentwater,” she replied.

Nothing more was said.

At midnight the little chapel was filled with the late earl's retainers.

The countess and Dorothy knelt in front of the altar, and Charles Radclyffe and Newbiggin were stationed near the coffin.

The solemn service was performed by Father Norham, and amid the tears of all present the last Lord of Derwentwater was laid with his ancestors.

_Tantum valet Amor Regis et Patriæ._

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's Preston Fight, by William Harrison Ainsworth