This the earl earnestly strove to do, and he was greatly assisted by the good priest. His life had always been devout, and now he felt the inexpressible comfort derived from religious observances.
Meanwhile, the countess was using all her efforts to procure her husband a pardon, but she was deterred from applying in the highest quarter, being informed that the king was greatly incensed against the rebel lords, and would not listen to her.
Immediately after the meeting of Parliament, General Forster was expelled from the House of Commons, and the English and Scottish noblemen concerned in the rebellion were impeached of high treason.
All pleaded guilty, except the Earl of Wintoun, who petitioned for a delay. They were next conveyed by water from the Tower to Westminster Hall, and being brought into the court, presided over by Lord Chancellor Cowper, as Lord High Steward, received sentence of death.
On this occasion the noble prisoners conducted themselves with great firmness and dignity. Nor did the crowd insult them as they were taken back to the barge.
Many spectators indeed regarded them with sympathy, but did not dare to make any demonstration in their favour.
The Countess of Derwentwater no longer hesitated. Accompanied by the Duchesses of Cleveland and Bolton, and several other ladies of the highest rank, she was introduced by the Dukes of Richmond and St. Albans into the king’s bedchamber, and flinging herself at his majesty’s feet, addressed him in French, imploring his clemency for her husband.
The king raised her immediately, and said in an inflexible voice:
“What has the Earl of Derwentwater done to merit clemency on my part? He has been guilty of a most heinous treason. He has set up a Popish Pretender. He has raised my subjects in rebellion — has made war against me — and now that he is vanquished, he sues humbly for mercy. I cannot — will not pardon him. I look upon him as the guiltiest of the rebel lords.”
“Oh! say not so, my liege!” supplicated the countess. “His nature is loyal and generous.”
“He has not proved loyal to me,” cried the king. “He is a traitor — a vile traitor — and I will not pardon him. No more, madame! You plead in vain. I pity you — but I cannot help you. The Earl of Derwentwater must die.”
As she still continued to clasp his hand, and bathe it with her tears, the king signed to the Duke of Richmond, who raised her and took her away.
This was not the only effort made by the unhappy countess.
She subsequently went to the lobby of the House of Peers, accompanied by the Countess of Nithsdale, Lady Nairn, and many other ladies of distinction, but their petition was refused.
The Countess of Derwentwater was filled with despair when she had to communicate this sad news to the earl, but he bore it firmly.
“I am sorry you knelt to the usurper,” he said.
“I am the guiltiest of all the insurgent lords in his eyes, because I am most attached to King James, and because King James is most attached to me. You have promised too much for me, sweetheart. I have never sworn allegiance to the Hanoverian usurper, and never will. I might engage not to conspire against him, but I refuse to serve him.”
“What is to be done?” cried the countess, despairingly.
“Nothing,” replied the earl. “I forbid you to make any further appeal to the tyrant. My death is resolved on.”
“I cannot think otherwise, daughter,” observed Father Norman, who was present.
“Perhaps your escape may be accomplished?” cried the countess eagerly.
“That is wholly different,” said the earl. “If you can aid in my deliverance, I shall rejoice. But I fear the attempt will not be successful.”
“Wherefore not?” said the countess.
“Because I believe that my destiny is otherwise,” rejoined the earl.
“Yield not to such fancies, my son,” said Father Norman. “Nor let any scruple hinder you from freeing yourself, if you can, from the tyrant’s power. Break his bonds I counsel you, and escape from captivity and death. You may still be able to serve King James, and the great services you have rendered him, and the sacrifices you have made for him, may be rewarded.”
“Whatever is done, must be done quickly,” said the earl. “The time approaches when escape will no longer be possible — unless,” he added, with a strange smile, “I could walk, like Saint Denis, with my head off.”
Though the earl never quitted the Devereux Tower except for the scaffold, two remarkable escapes occurred from adjoining fortifications, to which we shall refer.
CHAPTER III
The Earl of Nithsdale’s Escape
HAVING vainly solicited a pardon for her husband, the Countess of Nithsdale, a woman of great courage, as well as of great personal attractions, resolved to make an attempt to liberate him.
Before putting her project in execution she found a place of refuge, where the earl might remain safely concealed till he could embark for France.
This done, on the last day it was thought he had to live, she drove to the Tower gate in a hackney-coach, and dismissed the vehicle.
She was accompanied by two female attendants, and seemed so utterly prostrated by grief, that she needed their assistance.
Her attendants wore hoods and cloaks, but not in such a manner as to appear like a disguise.
The earl was confined in a distant fortification situated in the north-west angle of the inner ward, and it seemed certain that the countess would never have got there without support.
A sentinel was stationed at the entrance of the prison-lodging, but as the party were preceded by a jailer they passed without question.
When the massive door of his prison-chamber was unlocked, Lord Nithsdale came forth from a small inner room, or cell, and perceiving his wife uttered a cry, and clasped her to his breast.
Shortly afterwards, the jailer who was stationed outside, was summoned by one of the female attendants. She told him her services were no longer required, and after a very slight scrutiny he suffered her to depart.
But this active confidante had stayed long enough to divest herself of an additional dress with which she was provided.
This dress was meant as a disguise for the earl, while it was intended that her fellow-servant should personate the afflicted countess.
The exchanges of attire were quickly made.
The earl, whose slight figure and small stature suited the part he had to play, was transformed into a lady’s maid; and the representative of the countess was duly prepared for the part she had to enact.
All was now ready, but it was deemed prudent to wait nearly an hour, and it will be guessed what anxiety was felt in the interval.
At length, the jailer was called.
On unlocking the door, he beheld the earl as he thought, in an attitude of despair, leaning on the table, with his face covered by his hands.
The unhappy countess was overwhelmed by grief, and had to be led forth by her attendant, who was muffled up in her hood to hide her own tears.
The jailer’s stony heart was touched by so much grief. He let them out without a word, fastened the door, and following them down the circular stone steps, offered in a kindly tone to conduct them to the gate.
The countess murmured her thanks, and the man marched on before them, and saved them from any interference, receiving a piece of gold for his pains, when he left them at the Bulwark Gate.
“Tell your lady,” he said to the attendant, who gave him the gratuity, “that I will do all I can for his lordship to-morrow.”
He would have called a coach, but they took a boat, and crossed to the other side of the river.
The first person to enter the prison-chamber after the earl’s flight was the Lieutenant of the Tower.
He was filled with consternation on perceiving that its sole occupant was a very handsome woman.
“The Countess of Nithsdale here!” he exclaimed. “The earl then has escaped?”
“Solely by my connivance,” she replied. “No one here has bee
n concerned in the flight.”
“That remains to be ascertained,” rejoined the Lieutenant. “But your ladyship’s life will be responsible for that of your husband.”
“My husband is safe, and that is enough for me!” cried the countess, joyfully.
“But he may be recaptured,” said the Lieutenant.
“I have no uneasiness on that score,” she rejoined. “My precautions have been too well taken.”
“Well, I must detain your ladyship,” said the Lieutenant. “And I know not what course may be pursued; but I will frankly own that I hope you may be able to rejoin your lord.”
This good wish was eventually fulfilled.
CHAPTER IV
The Earl of Wintoun’s Escape
ANOTHER important escape must be recounted.
In this case the noble fugitive was indebted entirely to his own exertions for deliverance.
The youth of the Earl of Wintoun was passed in a manner that might have given him extraordinary notoriety in our own time; but though he ran away to France, and disappeared for some years, his claim to the title was never disputed.
Incredible as it may seem, during this period of his career, he hired himself to a blacksmith, and served as a mere bellows-blower for some years.
At the same time he acquired considerable mechanical skill, which was subsequently improved, when he abandoned the hammer and the forge, and his talent now stood him in good stead.
He was imprisoned in the upper part of the Hall Tower, formerly, as its name imported, connected with the old palace, and the windows of his rooms looked into the inner and outer wards.
These windows were strongly grated, but Lord Wintoun derided this obstacle to escape.
Carefully concealed about his person, he had a couple of small files, and setting to work with these implements, he so nearly cut through the bars, that he could immediately remove them when needful.
The main difficulty was now overcome, but the windows were at a considerable height from the ground; and, moreover, there were sentinels both at the back and front, who must be eluded before an escape could be effected.
The Earl of Wintoun, however, was confident in his own ability to manage the matter, and did not doubt he should find an opportunity of getting off.
The opportunity occurred.
During the day a fog had prevailed in the City, and of course extended to the Tower. Indeed, it was thicker there than elsewhere.
Towards night the vapour increased in density. Not only was the White Tower completely hidden, but all the surrounding buildings were obscured. The sentinels could scarcely be distinguished on their posts. Links were lighted, but only served to make the darkness more palpable.
When the fog first came on, the Earl of Wintoun resolved to take advantage of the chance thus offered him, but he waited patiently till night.
No extra precaution seemed to be taken by the jailers, except that the entrance to the Hall Tower from the inner ward was fastened, but this mattered little, since the fugitive proposed to descend from the window looking towards the outer ward.
No sooner had the jailer paid his last visit for the night than the earl removed the bars from the window, tied a couple of sheets together and fastened them, and then listened intently for the sound of the sentinel’s footsteps, who was pacing to and fro beneath.
So dark was it that Lord Wintoun could not see the man, but he could hear him, and when he judged by the sound that the sentinel was at the greatest distance, he let himself down as quickly and noiselessly as he could.
A sound reached the man’s ear, for he suddenly halted, and called out, “Who goes there?”
But receiving no answer, and hearing no further noise, he did not think it needful to give the alarm.
Meanwhile, the Earl of Wintoun, who had remained perfectly quiet at this critical juncture, now stole to the further side of the ward, and crept along the edge of the wall till he got within a short distance of the Gate Tower.
Here fortune favoured him.
At the very moment of his arrival, a warder who had just come from the guard- room was opening the wicket to let out some half-dozen persons.
Without hesitation, the earl mixed with the party, and though a link was brought, he escaped without attracting the warder’s attention.
But another portal had still to be passed at the opposite side of the bridge, and as Lord Wintoun was marching towards it with his companions, he felt his arm grasped, while a voice whispered in his ear:
“You are one of the rebel lords. Your life is worth a thousand pounds. I must have that sum, or I will prevent your escape.”
“You shall have the money,” replied the earl, in the same tone.
“Enough,” said the man. “I know you will fulfil your promise. Take that letter. It will tell you who I am.”
But for this timely aid the earl might have been stopped by the guard at the Middle Tower.
However, he soon got clear of the fortress, and passing through the Bulwark Gate, plunged into the fog that enveloped Tower Hill.
CHAPTER V
General Forster’s Escape from Newgate
A VERY jovial time the prisoners in Newgate had of it.
Supplied with plenty of money by their friends, they could obtain whatever they wanted; and better wine and better punch were drunk in Newgate than at any tavern in town.
The prison, indeed, resembled nothing so much as a large inn, where the numerous guests were feasting and carousing from morning till night.
The majority of the prisoners persuaded themselves that in consequence of their surrender they should be very leniently treated, but come what might, they resolved to make the most of the present moment.
Ordinarily a sort of barrack, called the King’s Bench Ward, was occupied by debtors, but in consequence of the excessively crowded state of the jail, this large chamber, which was partitioned off for beds, served as a dormitory for a portion of the rebels, while they dined, supped, drank punch, smoked pipes, played cards, dice, and draughts, in the Debtor’s Hall.
Driven from their quarters, the luckless debtors took refuge on the felons’ side or in the cellar.
Private bed-chambers, and small private apartments, for which enormous fees were demanded by the governor, Mr. Pitts, were provided for some of the insurgent leaders.
The best bedroom in the prison, which had formerly been occupied by Lord Russell and Count Koningsmark, and more recently by Count Guiscard, was let to General Forster. Charles Radclyffe, and Colonel Oxburgh, were each furnished with a good room, but Brigadier Mackintosh did not care how he was accommodated.
The chief officers had their own mess-table, at which they were very well served, and friends constantly dined with them. The prison, indeed, was as full of visitors as inmates, and the prisoners were just as cheerful as their guests.
A great deal of sympathy was felt for the unfortunate Jacobite gentlemen by the fair sex, who flocked to Newgate to express it.
The prisoners were highly gratified by their attention, and exceedingly delighted to see them, and the lodge was so beset by sedan-chairs and coaches, and so thronged by ladies in fine dresses and loo-masks that it looked more like the entrance to a masquerade than the approach to a gloomy dungeon.
Notwithstanding his reverses, and though he was severely censured by his own party, General Forster maintained his cheerfulness.
On Dorothy’s arrival in town he was constantly visited by her, and it is probable she suggested a plan of escape to him.
It is certain she brought him a large sum of money. How it was employed can only be conjectured, though we do not think we shall be far wrong in asserting that a considerable portion of it found its way into the pockets of Mr. Pitts.
By whatever means he procured them, and, as we have intimated, suspicion attached to the governor, Forster obtained false keys, and they were successfully employed by him immediately after a bill of high treason had been found against him.
The com
edy, it must be owned, was well played. On the night of his evasion, Forster invited Sir Francis Anderton, who was likewise a prisoner in Newgate, to sup with him, and they sat together carousing to a late hour.
They were still enjoying themselves when the governor came in to remind them that it was not far from midnight. Forster begged him to sit down, as he wished him to taste some very fine old brandy, and stepped into the adjoining chamber to fetch the bottle.
Apparently he could not find what he sought, for he did not immediately return, and the governor, feigning to become alarmed, went to look after him.
The prisoner was gone, and had evidently made his exit by the door communicating with the passage, which ought to have been locked outside.
Indeed it was locked, as was the door of the other room, for when the governor hurried thither, and tried to get out, he found himself a prisoner.
The consternation into which Mr. Pitts was thrown by this discovery, if not real, was extremely well simulated, and imposed upon Sir Francis Anderton, who, however, laughed very heartily.
The governor knocked against the door, and shouted loudly for assistance, but some minutes elapsed before the turnkey came, and then it was found that a double-lock had been placed outside.
Search was made for the fugitive, but no traces whatever could be found of him.
Every door through which he had to pass had been unlocked and re-fastened, and if their statements were to be credited, not one of the turnkeys had seen him pass out of the prison.
How he got through the lodge — how he passed the usually vigilant porter at the gate — has never been satisfactorily explained!
But it is certain he proceeded to Blackfriars, where he found Dorothy waiting for him.
She had hired a boat for Gravesend, whence her brother embarked before dawn for France. Dorothy, however, did not accompany him in his flight.
A reward of one thousand pounds was immediately offered for Forster’s apprehension, but he was safe on the other side of the Channel.
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