Colonel Hamilton, Captain Abernethy, Colonel Townley, and some of the officers of the Manchester Regiment, were assembled on the esplanade of the castle, when Captain Vere, an officer of the English army, attended by an orderly, rode towards them. As the bearer of a despatch for the governor, he had been allowed to enter the city.
Dismounting, Captain Vere marched up to the governor, and, with a formal salute, delivered a missive to him, saying, “This from his royal highness.”
The governor took the letter, and, walking aside with Colonel Townley, read as follows:
“‘All the terms his royal highness will or can grant to the rebel garrison of Carlisle are, that they shall not be put to the sword, but be reserved for the king’s pleasure.’”
“The king’s pleasure!” exclaimed Colonel Townley. “We have nothing but death to expect from the usurper. But go on.”
“‘If they consent to these conditions, the governor and the principal officers are to deliver themselves up immediately; and the castle, citadel, and all the gates of the town are to be taken possession of forthwith by the king’s troops.”
“I cannot make up my mind to this,” cried Colonel Townley.
“Unfortunately there is no help for it,” observed Colonel Hamilton. “But hear what follows: ‘All the small arms are to be lodged in the town guard-room, and the rest of the garrison are to retire to the cathedral, where a guard is to be placed over them. No damage is to be done to the artillery, arms, or ammunition.’ That is all.”
“And enough too,” rejoined Colonel Townley. “The conditions are sufficiently hard and humiliating.”
“Gentlemen,” said the governor, addressing the officers, “’tis proper you should hear the terms offered by the duke.”
And he proceeded to read the letter to them.
Murmurs arose when he had done, and a voice — it was that of Adjutant Syddall — called out:
“Reject them!”
“Impossible,” exclaimed Hamilton.
Thinking he had been kept waiting long enough, Captain Vere then stepped forward and enquired, “What answer shall I take to his royal highness?”
Colonel Townley and his officers were all eagerness to send a refusal; but the governor cried out, “Tell the duke that his terms are accepted.”
“In that case, gentlemen,” said Captain Vere, “you will all prepare to deliver yourselves up. His royal highness will at once take possession of the town.”
With this, he mounted his horse, and rode off, attended by his orderly.
About an hour afterwards, the gates being thrown open, Brigadier Bligh entered the town with a troop of horse, and rode to the market-place, where, in front of the guard-room, he found Colonel Hamilton, Captain Abernethy, Colonel Townley, and the officers of the Manchester Regiment, a French officer, and half a dozen Irish officers.
They all yielded themselves up as prisoners, and the brigadier desired them to enter the guard-room, and when they had complied with the order, placed a guard at the door.
The Highlanders, the non-commissioned officers and privates of the Manchester Regiment, with a few French and Irish soldiers, who were drawn up in the market-place, then piled their arms, and retired to the cathedral, where a strong guard was set over them.
Crowded with these prisoners, the interior of the sacred building presented a very singular picture. Most of the men looked sullen and angry, and their rage was increased when the sound of martial music proclaimed the entrance of the Duke of Cumberland with his whole army into the town.
Attended by General Hawley, Colonel Conway, Colonel York, and a large staff of officers, the duke was received with acclamations by the townspeople who had come forth to meet him. Riding on to the citadel, he dismounted with his staff, and, entering a large room recently occupied by the governor, ordered the prisoners to be brought before him. After charging them with rebellion and treason, he told them they would be sent under a strong guard to London, there to take their trial.
When he had finished, Colonel Townley stepped forward, and said:
“I claim to be treated as a prisoner of war. For sixteen years I have been in the service of the King of France, and I now hold a commission from his majesty, which I can lay before your royal highness if you will deign to look at it.”
“But you have received another commission from the son of the Pretender, and have acted as colonel of the rebel regiment raised by yourself in Manchester,” interposed General Hawley. “Your plea is therefore inadmissible.”
“I have as much right to the cartel as any French officer taken by his royal highness at the battle of Fontenoy,” rejoined Townley.
“As a liege subject of his majesty, you are not justified in serving a prince at war with him,” said the Duke of Cumberland, sternly. “I cannot entertain your plea. You will be tried for rebellion and treason with the rest of the prisoners.”
Seeing it would be useless to urge anything further, Colonel Townley stepped back.
The only person allowed the cartel was the French officer.
The prisoners were then removed, and ordered to be kept in strict confinement in the castle until they could be conveyed to London.
Some deserters from the king’s army were then brought before the duke, who ordered them to be hanged, and the sentence was forthwith carried out on a piece of ground at the back of the castle.
The prisoners passed the night in strict confinement in the castle, their gloom being heightened by the sound of the rejoicings that took place in the town at the Duke of Cumberland’s success.
On the following morning, at an early hour, three large waggons, each having a team of strong horses, were drawn up near the gates of the castle. These were destined to convey the prisoners to London. The foremost waggon was assigned to Colonel Townley, Captain Dawson, Captain Deacon, and Captain Legh. The rest of the officers of the Manchester Regiment were similarly bestowed. A strong mounted guard accompanied the conveyances, having orders to shoot any prisoner who might attempt to escape.
As the waggons moved slowly through the streets towards the south gate, groans and execrations arose from the spectators, and missiles were hurled at the prisoners, who no doubt would have fared ill if they had not been protected.
The Duke of Cumberland remained for two days longer at Carlisle, when having received a despatch from the king enjoining his immediate return, as an invasion from France was apprehended, he posted back to London, taking Colonel Conway with him, and leaving the command of the army to General Hawley, who started in pursuit of Prince Charles.
End of the Fourth Book.
BOOK V. JEMMY DAWSON.
CHAPTER I.
THE ESCAPE AT WIGAN.
The prisoners were treated very considerately on their journey to London. Whenever the waggons stopped at an inn, their occupants were allowed to alight and order what they pleased, and as they had plenty of money, they were served with the best the house could afford. At night they sometimes slept in the waggons, sometimes at an inn, if sufficient accommodation could be found. In the latter case, of course, a guard was placed at the doors.
Passed in this way, the journey might not have been disagreeable, if it had not been for the indignities to which they were occasionally exposed. None of the officers felt any great uneasiness as to their fate. Despite what the Duke of Cumberland had said to Colonel Townley, they were led to expect that they would be treated as prisoners of war, and regularly exchanged.
Entertaining this conviction, they managed to keep up their spirits, and some of them led a very jovial life.
A great change, however, had taken place in Colonel Townley’s deportment. He had become extremely reserved, and associated only with Captain Deacon, Captain Dawson, and Atherton. The two latter would have been far more cheerful if they had obtained any tidings of those to whom they were tenderly attached.
On the third day after leaving Carlisle, the prisoners arrived at Lancaster, and on the following day they were taken to Prest
on. Here the feeling of the inhabitants was so strong against them that they had to be protected by the guard.
At Wigan, where the next halt was made for the night, Atherton remarked that John Holgate, the host of the Bear’s Paw, the inn at which they stopped, looked very hard at him. He thought he knew the man’s face, and subsequently remembered him as a tradesman in Manchester.
In the course of the evening Holgate found an opportunity of speaking to him privately, and told him not to go to bed, but to leave his window slightly open — as something might happen. Having given him these directions, Holgate hastily left him.
On entering his room, which was at the back of the house, Atherton found it looked into the inn-yard, where the waggons were drawn up, and as some men were going in and out of the stables with lanterns, he perceived that several of the troopers were preparing to take their night’s rest in the waggons.
Immediately beneath the window, which was at some height from the ground, a sentinel was posted.
Having made the observations, Atherton withdrew, leaving the window slightly open, as he had been enjoined, and put out the light.
In about an hour all became quiet in the yard — the troopers had got into the waggons, and no doubt were fast asleep, but he could hear the measured tread of the sentinel as he paced to and fro.
Another hour elapsed, and the sentinel being still at his post, Atherton began to fear that Holgate might fail in his design. But his hopes revived when the footsteps could no longer be heard, and softly approaching the window he looked out.
The sentinel was gone. But in his place stood another person, whom Atherton had no doubt was the friendly landlord.
Having intimated his presence by a slight signal, Holgate retreated, and Atherton instantly prepared to join him. Emerging from the window as noiselessly as he could, he let himself drop to the ground, and achieved the feat so cleverly, that he was only heard by Holgate, who immediately took him to the back of the yard, where they clambered over a low wall, and gained a narrow lane, along which they hastened.
“I think you are now safe,” said Holgate. “At any rate, you will be so when we reach our destination. I have brought you this way because it would have been impossible to elude the vigilance of the sentinel placed in front of the house. I have given the man who was stationed in the yard a pot of ale, and he has retired to the stable to drink it.”
“You have proved yourself a good friend to me, Holgate,” said Atherton; “but I fear you are running great risk on my account.”
“I don’t mind that,” replied the other. “The moment I saw you, I determined to liberate you. I dare say you’ve forgotten the circumstance, but I haven’t. You saved me from being drowned in the Irwell — now we’re quits. I’m going to take you to the old Manor House in Bishopsgate Street. It belongs to Captain Hulton, who is in the king’s army, but he is away, and my aunt, Mrs. Scholes, who is his housekeeper, has charge of the house. She is a staunch Jacobite. I have seen her and told her all about you. You may trust her perfectly.”
Proceeding with the utmost caution, they soon came to Bishopsgate Street, in which the old Manor House was situated.
Taking his companion to the back of the premises, Holgate tapped at a door, which was immediately opened by a very respectable-looking middle-aged woman, who curtsied to Atherton as she admitted him. Holgate did not enter the house, but with a hasty “good-night,” departed, and the door was closed and bolted.
Mrs. Scholes then took Atherton to the kitchen, and explained that she meant to put him in the “secret room” in case the house should be searched.
“You will be indifferently lodged, sir,” she said; “but you will be safe, and that’s the chief thing.”
Atherton entirely concurred with her, and without wasting any further time in talk, she led him up a back staircase to a bedroom, from which there was a secret entrance through a closet, to a small inner chamber. The latter was destined for Atherton, and scantily furnished as it was, he was very well content with it, and slept soundly in the little couch prepared for him.
Next morning, when the prisoners were mustered, the greatest consternation was caused by the discovery that Captain Legh was missing. It was quite clear that he had got out of the window, and it was equally clear that the sentinel must have neglected his duty, or the prisoner could not have escaped; but no suspicion attached to the landlord.
Of course the departure of the waggons was delayed, and strict search was made for the fugitive throughout the town. A proclamation was likewise issued, announcing that any one harbouring him would be liable to severe penalties. But the notice had no effect.
In consequence of some information received by the officer in command of the escort that two persons had been seen to enter the Manor House in Bishopsgate Street late at night, the house was strictly searched, but the secret chamber was not discovered, nor was anything found to indicate that the fugitive was concealed there.
CHAPTER II.
THE MEETING AT WARRINGTON.
At Warrington, where the visitors were conveyed next day, a meeting took place between Jemmy and Monica, who had come over from Rawcliffe Hall to see her unfortunate lover. She was accompanied by Father Jerome.
Jemmy was alone in a little parlour of the inn at which the waggons had stopped, when Monica was admitted by the guard, who immediately withdrew, and left them together.
Springing forward, Jemmy clasped her to his heart.
So overpowered were they both, that for some minutes they could not give utterance to their feelings, but gazed at each other through eyes streaming with tears.
“Alas! alas!” cried Monica, at length. “Is it come to this? Do I find my dearest Jemmy a prisoner?”
“A prisoner of war,” he replied, in as cheerful a tone as he could assume. “I am sure to be exchanged. We shall be separated for a time, but shall meet again in another country. You imagine we shall all be put to death, but believe me the Elector of Hanover has no such intention. He dare not execute us.”
“Hush! Jemmy — not so loud. I have been wretched ever since the retreat from Derby took place, for I foresaw what it would come to. I have never ceased to reproach myself with being the cause of your destruction.”
“You have nothing to reproach yourself with, dearest girl,” he rejoined, tenderly. “’Tis a pity the prince did not march to London. ’Tis a still greater pity the regiment was left at Carlisle.”
“Yes, you have been sacrificed, Jemmy — cruelly sacrificed. I shall never think otherwise.”
“Such imputations, I am aware, are laid to the prince’s charge, but he doesn’t deserve them — indeed he doesn’t. He is the soul of honour. No one believed the Duke of Cumberland would stop to besiege the town; and those best informed thought it could hold out for a month. However, fortune has declared against us. But I won’t allow myself to be cast down.” Then lowering his tone, he added, “You know that Atherton has escaped?”
“Yes, I know it,” she rejoined. “And so does Constance. Oh, that you had been with him, Jemmy!”
“I shall find means to follow — never doubt it,” he rejoined. “But it won’t do to make the attempt just yet, for we shall be much more strictly watched than before. But I have a plan, which I mean to put in practice when an opportunity offers, and I hope it will succeed.”
“Can I aid you, Jemmy?” she asked, anxiously.
“No,” he replied. “But don’t be surprised if you see me some night at Rawcliffe Hall.”
“Now, indeed, you give me fresh spirits,” she cried. “Heaven grant I may see you soon! But there may be danger in your coming to Rawcliffe, and you mustn’t run any needless risk on my account.”
“The first use I shall make of my liberty will be to fly to you, dearest girl. Of that you may be quite sure. But we are talking only of ourselves. You have scarcely mentioned Constance or your mother. How are they both?”
“They have been full of anxiety, as you may easily imagine. But Constance has
somewhat revived since she heard of Atherton’s escape, and the tidings I shall be able to give her of you will make her feel more easy. As to my mother, whatever she may suffer — and I am sure she suffers much — she is perfectly resigned. Father Jerome is without. Will you see him?”
“No. I will devote each moment to you. Ah! we are interrupted!” he exclaimed, as the guard came in to say that the time allowed them had expired.
Again they were locked in each other’s arms, and when they were forced to separate, it seemed as if their hearts were torn asunder. Even the guard was moved by their distress.
Nevertheless, Monica returned to Rawcliffe Hall in far better spirits than she had quitted it in the morning. She had now some hopes that her lover would escape.
Shortly after her departure Jemmy was obliged to take his place in the waggon, and for some time felt very wretched; but at length he consoled himself by thinking that his separation from the object of his affections would not be long.
The waggons proceeded so slowly on their journey to London, that before they reached Dunstable news was received of the defeat of General Hawley, at Falkirk, by the prince. These tidings caused great alarm throughout the country, as the opinion generally prevailed that after the siege of Carlisle the rebellion had been completely suppressed.
Though the prisoners rejoiced at the prince’s success, they felt that their own peril was considerably increased by the event, and that in all probability the severest measures would now be adopted against them.
Hitherto, such strict watch had been kept that Jemmy Dawson had found no means of executing his plan of escape.
CHAPTER III.
ATHERTON TAKES REFUGE AT RAWCLIFFE HALL.
On the third day after Atherton’s escape at Wigan, as Constance and Monica, who had been tempted forth by the fineness of the weather, were walking in the park, a young man, in a plain country dress that gave him the appearance of a farmer, made his way towards them.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 714
