The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  Tom did a great deal of business, and dressed some of the best “heads” in Manchester — not only ladies’ heads, but gentlemen’s — but, of course, he attended the ladies at their own houses.

  But Tom Syddall, as we have seen, was not only a perruquier, but an ardent politician. Frequent Jacobite meetings were held in his back room, and plots were frequently hatched when it was thought that perukes alone were being dressed.

  Perfectly loyal and trustworthy was Tom. Many secrets were confided to him, but none were ever betrayed. Every opportunity was afforded him for playing the spy, had he been so minded, but he would have scorned the office.

  However, he had his special objects of dislike, and would neither dress the wig of a Whig, nor shave a Presbyterian if he knew it. Equally decided was Tom on his religious opinions, being a zealous member of Dr. Deacon’s True British Catholic Church.

  After his great exploit at the bridge, and his subsequent deliverance by the mob, several Jacobites came in the evening — when his shop was closed — to offer him their congratulations, and were introduced — as they arrived singly, or two or three at a time — to the back room, of which we have just made mention.

  By-and-by a tolerably large party assembled, all of whom being very decided Jacobites, a good deal of treason was naturally talked.

  As there were not chairs for all, several of the company sat where they could, and a droll effect was produced in consequence of their being mixed up with the wig-blocks, one of which, from its elevated position, seemed to preside over the assemblage, and caused much laughter.

  Among the persons present were Dr. Byrom and Dr. Deacon, the latter of them having with him his three sons, all of whom were fine-looking young men.

  Besides these there was the Rev. Thomas Coppock, who, it may be remembered, had been promised the appointment of chaplain to the Manchester Regiment by Colonel Townley. Though the young Jacobite divine wore his cassock and bands, he looked as if martial accoutrements would have suited him better. His big looks and blustering manner did not harmonise with his clerical habit. Vain and ambitious, Parson Coppock fully believed — if the expedition proved successful — he should be created Bishop of Chester, or, at least, be made warden of the collegiate church.

  With those we have particularised were four other young men who had been promised commissions — Thomas Chadwick, John Berwick, George Fletcher, and Samuel Maddocks.

  When we have added the names of Jemmy Dawson and Atherton Legh, the list of the party will be complete.

  An important communication had been made to the meeting by Dr. Deacon, who had just received an express informing him that the prince had arrived at Preston with the first division of his army, so that Lord Pitsligo’s regiment of horse might be expected to reach Manchester on the morrow.

  “Of this information, gentlemen,” pursued Dr. Deacon, “you alone are in possession, for precautions have been taken to prevent any other express from being sent from Preston to the authorities of Manchester. The magistrates, therefore, will be in complete ignorance of the prince’s approach till he is close at hand. It will now be apparent to you how great has been the service rendered by Mr. Atherton Legh and our brave Tom Syddall. Had Salford Bridge been destroyed — according to the boroughreeve’s plan — the prince could not have entered Manchester, without making a lengthened and troublesome détour, that might have exposed him to some unforeseen attack, whereas he will now march into the town at the head of his army without encountering any obstacle.”

  Expressions of approval were heard on all sides, and Syddall appeared quite elated by the commendations bestowed upon him.

  “Since the prince will be here so soon it behoves us to prepare for him,” he said. “Care must be taken that he does not want food for his men and forage for his horses. As you are all no doubt aware, a great quantity of provisions has been sent out of the town. This must be stopped.”

  “You are right, Tom,” cried Dr. Byrom. “But how stop it?”

  “Very easily,” replied Syddall. “We must engage Ben Birch, the bellman, to go round to-night, and warn the townsfolk not to remove any more provisions.”

  “A good plan,” cried Dr. Byrom. “But will Ben Birch obey the order?”

  “If he won’t I’ll seize his bell and go round myself,” rejoined Syddall. “But never fear, doctor; Ben will do it if he’s well paid.”

  “But where is he to be found?” cried Dr. Byrom. “’Tis getting late.”

  “I know where to find him,” replied Tom. “Before going home to bed he always takes his pot of ale and smokes his pipe at the Half Moon in Hanging Ditch. He’s there now I’ll warrant you.”

  Everybody agreed that the plan was excellent, and ought to be carried out without delay, and Syddall, who undertook the entire management of the affair, was just preparing to set off to Hanging Ditch, which was at no great distance from his dwelling, when a knock was heard at the outer door.

  The company looked at each other. So many strange things occurred at this juncture that they could not help feeling some little uneasiness.

  “Don’t be alarmed, gentlemen,” said Tom. “I’ll go and reconnoitre.”

  So saying, he hurried up a staircase that quickly brought him to an upper room overlooking the street.

  CHAPTER XXI.

  BEN BIRCH, THE BELLMAN OF MANCHESTER.

  It was a fine moonlight night, almost as bright as day, and when Tom looked out he saw that the person who had just knocked was no other than Ben Birch.

  Now the bellman was a very important functionary at the time, and it seemed as if the town could not get on without him. Whenever anything was to be done the bellman was sent round. The magistrates constantly employed him, and he paced about the streets ringing his bell, and giving public notices of one kind or other, all day long.

  Tall and stout, with a very red face, Ben Birch looked like a beadle, for he wore a laced cocked hat and a laced great-coat. Fully aware of the importance of his office, he was consequential in manner, and his voice, when he chose to exert it, was perfectly stentorian. Ben Birch, we ought to add, was suspected of being a Jacobite.

  “Why, Ben, is that you?” cried Tom, looking at him from the window.

  “Ay, Mester Syddall, it’s me, sure enough,” replied the bellman. “I’ve got summat to tell you. Some mischievous chaps has been making free with your pow, and what dun yo think they’ve stuck on it?”

  “I can’t tell, Ben.”

  “Why, your feyther’s skull. Yo can see it if yo look down. I noticed it as I were passing, and thought I’d stop and tell you.”

  “I should like to hang the rascal, whoever he may be, that has dared to profane that precious relic,” cried Tom, furiously. “It must have been stolen, for I kept it carefully in a box.”

  “Well, it’s a woundy bad joke, to say the least of it,” rejoined Ben, with difficulty repressing a laugh. “Luckily, there’s no harm done.”

  So saying, he took the pole and handed up the skull to the barber, who received it very reverently.

  “Much obliged to you, Ben,” he said, in a voice husky with emotion. “If I can only find out the rascal who has played me this trick he shall bitterly repent it.”

  “A Presbyterian, no doubt,” cried the bellman.

  “Ay, those prick-eared curs are all my enemies,” said Syddall. “But we shall soon have a change. Wait a moment, Ben, I’ve got a job for you.”

  He then restored the relic to the box from which it had been abstracted, and went down-stairs.

  On returning to the room where the company was assembled, he explained to them that the bellman was without, but said nothing about the indignity he himself had undergone.

  “Shall I settle matters with him, or bring him in?” he asked.

  “Bring him in,” cried the assemblage.

  In another moment Ben was introduced. Greatly surprised to find the room thus crowded, he stared at the party.

  “What is your pleasure, gentlemen?” he
said, removing his cocked hat and bowing.

  “We have heard with great concern, Ben,” said Mr. Coppock, gravely, “that provisions are beginning to run short in the town. We, therefore, desire that you will go round this very night, and give notice to the inhabitants that no victuals or stores of any kind must be removed on any pretext whatsoever.”

  “I am very willing to obey you, gentlemen, particularly as such a notice can do no harm,” said Ben; “but I ought to have an order from the magistrates.”

  “This will do as well, I fancy,” said Coppock, giving him a guinea.

  “I’ll do the job,” rejoined the bellman, pocketing the fee. “I shan’t fail to end my proclamation with ‘God save the king!’ but I shall leave those who hear me to guess which king I mean.”

  Wishing the company good-night he then went out, and shortly afterwards the loud ringing of his bell was heard in the street.

  His first proclamation was made at the corner of Deansgate, and by this time — though the street had previously appeared quite empty — he had got a small crowd round him, while several persons appeared at the doors and windows.

  “No more provisions to be taken away!” cried one of the bystanders; “that means the town is about to be besieged.”

  “That’s not it,” cried another. “It means that the young Pretender and his army will soon be here.”

  “Whatever it means you must obey the order,” said the bellman. “And so, God save the king!”

  “God save King James the Third!” “Down with the Elector of Hanover!” shouted several persons.

  And as these were violently opposed by the supporters of the reigning monarch, and a fight seemed likely to ensue, the bellman marched off to repeat his proclamation elsewhere.

  Meanwhile, the party assembled in Tom Syddall’s back room had separated, but not before they had agreed upon another meeting at an early hour on the morrow.

  End of the First Book.

  BOOK II. PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD IN MANCHESTER.

  CHAPTER I.

  HOW MANCHESTER WAS TAKEN BY A SERGEANT, A DRUMMER, AND A SCOTTISH LASSIE.

  Manchester arose next day in a state of great ferment. No one exactly knew what was about to occur, but everybody felt something was at hand.

  The proclamation made overnight by the bellman, and the studiously guarded answers given by that discreet functionary to the questions put to him, had caused considerable anxiety. No news had been received from Preston — except the secret express sent to the heads of the Jacobite party — but a notion prevailed that the prince would make his appearance in the course of the day.

  Any real defence of the town was out of the question, since the militia was disbanded, but some staunch Whigs and zealous Presbyterians declared they would certainly make a stand. This, however, was looked upon as mere idle bravado. Most of those who had delayed their departure to the last moment now took flight. At an early hour on that very morning all the justices and lawyers had quitted the town. The boroughreeve had gone, but the constables remained at their post. As on the previous day, no business whatever was transacted, and the majority of the shops continued closed.

  As the day went on the total want of news increased the public anxiety, for the few who were in possession of authentic information took care to keep it to themselves. The excitement, therefore, was increased by a variety of contradictory rumours, none of which had any foundation in truth, the Hanoverians doggedly maintaining that the young Pretender had turned back at Preston, and was now in full retreat to Scotland; while the Jacobites declared with equal warmth that the prince was within half a day’s march of Manchester, and would soon present himself before the town.

  Whatever might be the feelings of others, it is quite certain that all the prettiest damsels were impatiently expecting the handsome prince, and would have been sadly disappointed if he had turned back.

  As the weather chanced to be fine, and no business was going on, a great many persons were in the streets, and the town had quite a holiday air.

  Towards the afternoon, the crowds that had been rambling about during the morning had returned to their mid-day meal, when a cry arose from Salford that the advanced guard of the rebel army was in sight.

  The report proved incorrect; yet it was not entirely without foundation. Three persons in Highland dresses, and no doubt belonging to the insurgent army, had actually entered the town by the Preston road, and were riding slowly along, looking about them in a very easy and unconcerned manner. All the beholders stared in astonishment, but nobody meddled with them, for it was naturally concluded that the regiment they belonged to must be close behind.

  From its singularity, the little party was sufficient in itself to attract general attention. It consisted of a sergeant, a drummer, and an exceedingly pretty Scottish lassie. All three were well mounted, though the state of their horses showed they had ridden many miles. Both the men were in full Highland dress, wore plumed caps, and were armed with claymore, dirk, and target. Moreover, the sergeant had a blunderbuss at his saddle-bow, but his comrade was content with the drum.

  Sergeant Erick Dickson, a young Highlander, and bold as a lion, was handsome, well-proportioned, and possessed of great strength and activity. Sandy Rollo, the drummer, was likewise a very daring young fellow.

  Helen Carnegie, the Scottish damsel, deserves a few more words. Her beauty and virtue were constant themes of praise among officers and men in the Highland army. Having given her heart to Erick Dickson, Helen Carnegie had accompanied him in the march from Edinburgh, after the victory at Preston Pans — or Gladsmuir, as the Highlanders called it — but her character was without reproach. Any man who had breathed a word against her fair fame would have had a quick reckoning with Erick.

  Helen Carnegie was not yet nineteen, and perhaps her charms were not fully developed, but she was very beautiful notwithstanding. Her golden locks had first set the sergeant’s heart on fire, and her bright blue eyes had kept up the flame ever since. Yet, after all, her exquisite figure was her greatest beauty. No nymph was ever more gracefully proportioned than Helen, and no costume could have suited her better than the one she adopted — the kilt being as long as a petticoat, while a plaid shawl was thrown over her knee when she was on horseback. The blue bonnet that crowned her golden locks was adorned with a white cockade.

  Such was the little party that had entered Salford, and they all seemed much amused by the curiosity they excited.

  Leaving them on their way to the bridge, it may now be proper to inquire what had brought them thither.

  At Preston, on the previous evening, Sergeant Dickson came up to the Chevalier de Johnstone, his commanding officer, and aide-de-camp to Lord George Murray, lieutenant-general of the Highland army, and saluting him, said:

  “May I have a word with you, colonel? I have been beating about Preston for recruits all day without getting one, and I am the more vexed, because the other sergeants have been very lucky.”

  “You ought to have taken Helen Carnegie with you, Erick,” said Colonel Johnstone, laughing.

  “That’s exactly what I propose to do, colonel,” said Dickson. “I’ve come to ask your honour’s permission to set out an hour before dawn to-morrow for Manchester, and so get a day’s march ahead of the army. I shall then be able to secure some recruits.”

  “I cannot grant your request,” rejoined Colonel Johnstone. “What would you do alone in a strange town? You will be instantly taken prisoner — if you are not killed.”

  “Your honour needn’t alarm yourself about me,” replied Erick, in a wheedling voice, which, however, did not produce the desired effect. “I know how to take care of myself. If I get leave to go I’ll take Helen Carnegie with me, and Rollo, the drummer.”

  Again the colonel shook his head.

  “No, no, you mustn’t think of it, Erick,” he cried. “Go to your quarters, and don’t stir out again to-night.”

  Sergeant Dickson retired, resolved to disobey orders, feeling certain t
he offence would be overlooked if he proved successful.

  He therefore set out from Preston in good time next morning, accompanied by Helen and Rollo.

  We left them riding towards Salford Bridge, and when they were within fifty yards of it, they came to a halt, and Rollo began to beat the drum vigorously. The din soon brought a great number of persons round them, who began to shout lustily, when the sergeant, judging the fitting moment had arrived to commence operations, silenced the drum, and doffing his plumed cap — his example being followed by his companions — called out in a loud voice, “God save King James the Third!”

  Some cheers followed, but they were overpowered by angry outcries, and several voices exclaimed, “Down with the rebels!”

  Judging from these menacing expressions that he was likely to be assailed, Erick, whose masculine visage had begun to assume a very formidable expression, placed himself in front of Helen so as to shield her from attack, and then hastily putting on his target, and getting his blunderbuss ready for immediate use, he glared fiercely round at the assemblage, roaring out:

  “Keep off! — if ye wadna ha’ the contents of this among ye.”

  Alarmed by his looks and gestures, the concourse held back; but only for a few moments. Some of them tried to lay hands on Helen, but they were baffled by the rapidity with which the sergeant wheeled round, dashing them back, and upsetting half-a-dozen of them.

  But he had instantly to defend himself from another attack, and this he did with equal vigour and address, receiving all blows aimed at him on his target, and pointing the blunderbuss at those who attempted to seize him. However, he was careful not to fire, and shortly afterwards gave the blunderbuss to Helen and drew his claymore.

  Meantime, Rollo, who was a very courageous fellow, though he had not the sergeant’s activity, rendered what aid he could; but he was now beginning to be sorely pressed on all sides.

  The conflict had lasted two or three minutes without any disadvantage to the sergeant, when several persons called upon him to yield. To this summons he answered disdainfully that he had never yet yielded, and never would, while his hand could grasp a sword.