Bonnie Prince Charlie

by G. A. Henty

  “I will try at least,” the man said. “Mary, bring the light, and aid me while our brave friend does his best to give us time.”

  So saying he sprang upstairs, while Ronald made his way down to the door.

  “Who is making such a noise at the door of a quiet house at this time of night?” he shouted.

  “Open in the king's name,” was the reply; “we have a warrant to arrest one who is concealed here.”

  “There is no one concealed here,” Ronald replied, “and I doubt that you are, as you say, officers of the peace; but if so, pass your warrant through the grill, and if it be signed and in due form I will open to you.”

  “I will show my warrant when need be,” the voice answered. “Once more, open the door or we will break it in.”

  “Do it at your peril,” Ronald replied. “How can I tell you are not thieves who seek to ransack the house, and that your warrant is a pretence? I warn you that the first who enters I will run him through the body.”

  The reply was a shower of blows on the door, and a similar attack was begun by a party behind the house. The door was strong, and after a minute or two the hammering ceased, and then there was a creaking, straining noise, and Ronald knew they were applying a crowbar to force it open. He retreated to a landing halfway up the stairs, placed a lamp behind him so that it would show its light full on the faces of those ascending the stairs, and waited. A minute later there was a crash; the lock had yielded, but the bar still held the door in its place. Then the blows redoubled, mingled with the crashing of wood; then there was the sound of a heavy fall, and a body of men burst in.

  There was a rush at the stairs, but the foremost halted at the sight of Ronald with his drawn sword.

  “Keep back,” he shouted, “or beware! The watch will be here in a few minutes, and then you will all be laid by the heels.”

  “Fools! We are the watch,” one of the men exclaimed, and, dashing up the stairs, aimed a blow at Ronald. He guarded it and ran the man through the shoulder. He dropped his sword and fell back with a curse.

  At this moment the woman ran down stairs from above and nodded to Ronald to signify that the fugitive had escaped.

  “You see I hold to my word,” Ronald said in a loud voice. “If ye be the watch, which I doubt, show me the warrant, or if ye have one in authority with you let him proclaim himself.”

  “Here is the warrant, and here am I, James M'Whirtle, a magistrate of this city.”

  “Why did you not say so before?” Ronald exclaimed, lowering his sword. “If it be truly the worshipful Mr. M'Whirtle let him show himself, for surely I know him well, having seen him often in the house of my guardian, Bailie Anderson.”

  Mr. M'Whirtle, who had been keeping well in the rear, now came forward.

  “It is himself.” Ronald said. “Why did you not say you were here at once, Mr. M'Whirtle, instead of setting your men to break down the door, as if they were Highland caterans on a foray?”

  “We bade you open in the king's name,” the magistrate said, “and you withstood us, and it will be hanging matter for you, for you have aided the king's enemies.”

  “The king's enemies!” Ronald said in a tone of surprise. “How can there be any enemies of the king here, seeing there are only myself and the good woman up stairs? You will find no others.”

  “Search the house,” the magistrate said furiously, “and take this malapert lad into custody on the charge of assisting the king's enemies, of impeding the course of justice, of withstanding by force of arms the issue of a lawful writ, and with grievously wounding one of the city watch.”

  Ronald laughed.

  “It is a grievous list, worshipful sir; but mark you, as soon as you showed your warrant and declared yourself I gave way to you. I only resisted so long as it seemed to me you were evildoers breaking into a peaceful house.”

  Two of the watch remained as guard over Ronald; one of the others searched the house from top to bottom. No signs of the fugitive were discovered.

  “He must be here somewhere,” the magistrate said, “since he was seen to enter, and the house has been closely watched ever since. See, there are a pile of ashes on the hearth as if papers had been recently burned. Sound the floors and the walls.”

  The investigation was particularly sharp in the attic, for a board was here found to be loose, and there were signs of its being recently wrenched out of its place, but as the room below was unceiled this discovery led to nothing. At last the magistrate was convinced that the fugitive was not concealed in the house, and, after placing his seals on the doors of all the rooms and leaving four men in charge, he left the place, Ronald, under the charge of four men, accompanying him.

  On the arrival at the city Tolbooth Ronald was thrust into a cell and there left until morning. He was then brought before Mr. M'Whirtle and two other of the city magistrates. Andrew Anderson was in attendance, having been notified the night before of what had befallen Ronald. The bailie and his wife had at first been unable to credit the news, and were convinced that some mistake had been made. Andrew had tried to obtain his release on his promise to bring him up in the morning, but Mr. M'Whirtle and his colleagues, who had been hastily summoned together, would not hear of it.

  “It's a case of treason, man. Treason against his gracious majesty; aiding and abetting one of the king's enemies, to say nought of brawling and assaulting the city watch.”

  The woman found in the house had also been brought up, but no precise charge was made against her. The court was crowded, for Andrew, in his wrath at being unable to obtain Ronald's release, had not been backward in publishing his grievance, and many of his neighbours were present to hear this strange charge against Ronald Leslie.

  The wounded constable and another first gave their evidence.

  “I myself can confirm what has been said,” Mr. M'Whirtle remarked, “seeing that I was present with the watch to see the arrest of a person against whom a warrant had been issued.”

  “Who is that person?” Ronald asked. “Seeing that I am charged with aiding and abetting his escape it seems to me that I have a right to know who he is.”

  The magistrates looked astounded at the effrontery of the question, but after a moment's consultation together Mr. M'Whirtle said that in the interest of justice it was unadvisable at the present moment to state the name of the person concerned.

  “What have you to say, prisoner, to the charge made against you? In consideration of our good friend Bailie Anderson, known to be a worthy citizen and loyal subject of his majesty, we would be glad to hear what you have to say anent this charge.”

  “I have nothing to say,” Ronald replied quietly. “Being in the house when it was attacked, with as much noise as if a band of Border ruffians were at the gate, I stood on the defence. I demanded to see what warrant they had for forcing an entry, and as they would show me none, I did my best to protect the house; but the moment Mr. M'Whirtle proclaimed who he was I lowered my sword and gave them passage.”

  There was a smile in the court at the boy's coolness.

  “But how came ye there, young sir? How came ye to be in the house at all, if ye were there for a good motive?”

  “That I decline to say,” Ronald answered. “It seems to me that any one may be in a house by the consent of its owners, without having to give his reasons therefor.”

  “It will be the worse for you if you defy the court. I ask you again how came you there?”

  “I have no objection to tell you how I came there,” Ronald said. “I was walking on the old wall, which, as you know, runs close by the house, when I saw an ill looking loon hiding himself as if watching the house, looking behind I saw another ruffianly looking man there.” Two gasps of indignation were heard from the porch at the back of the court. “Thinking that there was mischief on hand I leapt from the wall to the dormer window to warn the people of the house that there were ill doers who had designs upon the place, and then remained to see what came of it. That is the simple fact.�
��

  There was an exclamation of incredulity from the magistrates.

  “If you doubt me,” Ronald said, “you can send a man to the wall. I felt my feet loosen a tile and it slid down into the gutter.”

  One of the magistrates gave an order, and two of the watch left the court.

  “And who did you find in the house?”

  “I found this good woman, and sorely frightened she was when I told her what kind of folk were lurking outside.”

  “And was there anyone else there?”

  “There was a man there,” Ronald said quietly, “and he seemed alarmed too.”

  “What became of him?”

  “I cannot say for certain,” Ronald replied; “but if you ask my opinion I should say, that having no stomach for meeting people outside, he just went out the way I came in, especially as I heard the worshipful magistrate say that a board in the attic had been lifted.”

  The magistrates looked at each other in astonishment; the mode of escape had not occurred to any, and the disappearance of the fugitive was now explained.

  “I never heard such a tale,” one of the magistrates said after a pause. “It passes belief that a lad, belonging to the family of a worthy and respectable citizen, a bailie of the city and one who stands well with his fellow townsmen, should take a desperate leap from the wall through a window of a house where a traitor was in hiding, warn him that the house was watched, and give him time to escape while he defended the stairs. Such a tale, sure, was never told in a court. What say you, bailie?”

  “I can say nought,” Andrew said. “The boy is a good boy and a quiet one; given to mischief like other boys of his age, doubtless, but always amenable. What can have possessed him to behave in such a wild manner I cannot conceive, but it seems to me that it was but a boy's freak.”

  “It was no freak when he ran his sword through Peter Muir's shoulder,” Mr. M'Whirtle said. “Ye will allow that, neighbour Anderson.”

  “The man must have run against the sword,” the bailie said, “seeing the boy scarce knows one end of a weapon from another.”

  “You are wrong there, bailie,” one of the constables said; “for I have seen him many a time going into the school of James Macklewain, and I have heard a comrade say, who knows James, that the lad can handle a sword with the best of them.”

  “I will admit at once,” Ronald said, “that I have gone to Macklewain's school and learned fencing of him. My father, Colonel Leslie of Glenlyon, was a gentleman, and it was right that I should wield a sword, and James Macklewain, who had fought in the French wars and knew my father, was good enough to teach me. I may say that my guardian knew nothing of this.”

  “No, indeed,” Andrew said. “I never so much as dreamt of it. If I had done so he and I would have talked together to a purpose.”

  “Leslie of Glenlyon was concerned in the '15, was he not?” Mr. M'Whirtle said; “and had to fly the country; and his son seems to be treading in his steps, bailie. I doubt ye have been nourishing a viper in your bosom.”

  At this moment the two constables returned, and reported that certainly a tile was loose as the prisoner had described, and there were scratches as if of the feet of someone entering the window, but the leap was one that very few men would undertake.

  “Your story is so far confirmed, prisoner; but it does not seem to us that even had you seen two men watching a house it would be reasonable that you would risk your neck in this way without cause. Clearly you have aided and abetted a traitor to escape justice, and you will be remanded. I hope, before you are brought before us again, you will make up your mind to make a clean breast of it, and throw yourself on the king's mercy.”

  Ronald was accordingly led back to the cell, the bailie being too much overwhelmed with surprise at what he had heard to utter any remonstrance.

  CHAPTER III: Free.

  After Ronald had been removed from the court the woman was questioned. She asserted that her master was away, and was, she believed, in France, and that in his absence she often let lodgings to strangers. That two days before, a man whom she knew not came and hired a room for a few days. That on the evening before, hearing a noise in the attic, she went up with him, and met Ronald coming down stairs. That when Ronald said there were strange men outside the house, and when immediately afterwards there was a great knocking at the door, the man drew his sword and ordered her to come up stairs with him. That he then made her assist him to pull up a plank, and thrust it from the attic to the wall, and ordered her to replace it when he had gone. She supposed he was a thief flying from justice, but was afraid to refuse to do his bidding.

  “And why did you not tell us all this, woman, when we came in?” Mr. M'Whirtle asked sternly. “Had ye told us we might have overtaken him.”

  “I was too much frightened,” the woman answered. “There were swords out and blood running, and men using words contrary both to the law and Scripture. I was frighted enough before, and I just put my apron over my head and sat down till the hubbub was over. And then as no one asked me any questions, and I feared I might have done wrong in aiding a thief to escape, I just held my tongue.”

  No cross questioning could elicit anything further from the woman, who indeed seemed frightened almost out of her senses, and the magistrate at last ordered her to return to the house and remain there under the supervision of the constable until again sent for.

  Andrew Anderson returned home sorely disturbed in his mind. Hitherto he had told none, even of his intimates, that the boy living in his house was the son of Colonel Leslie, but had spoken of him as the child of an old acquaintance who had left him to his care. The open announcement of Ronald that he was the son of one of the leaders in the last rebellion, coming just as it did when the air was thick with rumours of another rising, troubled him greatly; and there was the fact that the boy had, unknown to him, been learning fencing; and lastly this interference, which had enabled a notorious emissary of the Pretender to escape arrest.

  “The boy's story may be true as far as it goes,” he said to his wife when relating to her the circumstances, “for I have never known him to tell a lie; but I cannot think it was all the truth. A boy does not take such a dreadful leap as that, and risk breaking his neck, simply because he sees two men near the house. He must somehow have known that man was there, and went to give him warning. Now I think of it, he passed through the shop when Peter M'Whirtle was talking to me about it, though, indeed, he did not know then where the loon was in hiding. The boy went out soon afterwards, and must somehow have learned, if indeed he did not know before. Janet, I fear that you and I have been like two blind owls with regard to the boy, and I dread sorely that my brother Malcolm is at the bottom of all this mischief.”

  This Mrs. Anderson was ready enough to credit, but she was too much bewildered and horrified to do more than to shake her head and weep.

  “Will they cut off his head, Andrew?” she asked at last.

  “No, there's no fear of that; but they may imprison him for a bit, and perhaps give him a good flogging —the young rascal. But there, don't fret over it, Janet. I will do all I can for him. And in truth I think Malcolm is more to blame than he is; and we have been to blame too for letting the lad be so much with him, seeing that we might be sure he would put all sorts of notions in the boy's head.”

  “But what is to be done, Andrew? We cannot let the poor lad remain in prison.”

  “We have no choice in the matter, Janet. In prison he is, and in prison he has to remain until he is let out, and I see no chance of that. If it had only been a brawl with the watch it could have been got over easily enough; but this is an affair of high treason —aiding and abetting the king's enemies, and the rest of it. If it were in the old times they would put the thumb screws on him to find out all he knew about it, for they will never believe he risked his life in the plot; and the fact that his father before him was in arms for the Chevalier tells that way. I should not be surprised if an order comes for him to be sent to L
ondon to be examined by the king's councillors; but I will go round now and ask the justices what they think of the matter.”

  His tidings when he returned were not encouraging; the general opinion of the magistrates being that Ronald was certainly mixed up in the Jacobite plot, that the matter was altogether too serious to be disposed of by them, being of the nature of high treason, and that nothing could be done until instructions were received from London. No clue had been obtained as to the whereabouts of the man who had escaped, and it was thought probable that he had at once dropped beyond the walls and made for the west.

  Malcolm arrived ten days later from a journey in Lancashire, and there was a serious quarrel between him and Andrew on his presenting himself at the house.

  “It is not only that you led the lad into mischief, Malcolm, but that you taught him to do it behind my back.”

  “You may look at it in that way if you will, Andrew, and it's natural enough from your point of view; but I take no blame to myself You treated the boy as if he had been your son, and I thank you with all my heart for your kindness to him; but I could not forget Leslie of Glenlyon, and I do not blame myself that I have kept the same alive in his mind also. It was my duty to see that the young eagle was not turned into a barn door fowl; but I never thought he was going to use his beak and his claws so soon.”

  “A nice thing you will have to tell his father, that owing to your teachings his son is a prisoner in the Tower, maybe for life. But there —there's no fear of that. You will never have to render that account, for there's no more chance of your ever hearing more of him than there is of my becoming king of Scotland. It's bad enough that you have always been a ne'er do well yourself without training that unfortunate boy to his ruin.”

  “Well, well, Andrew, I will not argue with you, and I don't blame you at being sore and angry over the matter; nor do I deny what you have said about myself; it's true enough, and you might say worse things against me without my quarreling with ye over it. However, the less said the better. I will take myself off and think over what's to be done.”