The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  Mr. Pitts was tried for his life at the Old Bailey for conniving at Forster’s escape, but was acquitted.

  CHAPTER VI

  Brigadier Mackintosh’s Escape

  OWING to his prodigious strength and daring Brigadier Mackintosh was more feared than any other of the rebels confined in Newgate, and it was deemed necessary to place him in irons.

  Highly indignant at such treatment, he complained of it in the strongest terms to the governor, but was told it was done by the express order of Lord Townshend.

  “His lordship wishes to inflict a disgrace upon me,” he said; “but he simply dishonours himself by treating a Highland commander like a common felon. Tell his lordship his contemptible fetters will not prevent my escape.”

  After Forster’s escape, which had caused an extraordinary sensation throughout London, the vigilance of the jailers was doubled, and Brigadier Mackintosh delayed the execution of the daring project he had conceived till the latest moment.

  Not till the night before his trial was fixed to take place at Westminster Hall did he make the attempt.

  Already he had partly sawn through the hateful fetters, so that he could cast them off in a moment, and they were now rather advantageous to him than otherwise, as they procured him greater freedom.

  Colonel Mackintosh, who was likewise a prisoner, Charles Wogan, Robert Hepburn of Keith, with several others, chiefly Scotsmen, were to be partners in the flight, but the entire conduct of the enterprise was left to the brigadier himself.

  About eleven o’clock at night, Mackintosh, having freed himself from his irons, cautiously descended the stairs leading from the upper ward to the press- yard, and stationed himself at the door.

  His friends remained in the dormitory, but were ready to join him in a moment.

  Presently, the door was unlocked as he expected it would be, by the governor’s black servant, Caliban, bearing a lantern.

  Caliban was a powerful fellow, but no match for the brigadier, who seized him by the throat with a gripe like that of a vice, and hurled him to the ground.

  The cries of the half-strangled black brought the governor, and Mr. Ballard, the head turnkey, to the spot.

  They were struck with amazement at seeing the brigadier, but did not dare to grapple with him, now that he was free from his irons.

  Leaving them to be dealt with by his followers, who were now thronging the press-room, the brigadier hurried on — his object being to disarm the sentinel.

  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 gossipping 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 — 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.

  BOOK XI. — THE SCAFFOLD

  CHAPTER I

  The last Parting between the Earl of Derwentwater and the Countess

  THE last sad parting between the Earl of Derwentwater 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 Norman, 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 Norman.

  “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 this 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 Norman. “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 Norman 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 Norman, and returned to Dagenham Park; feeling as if her heart were broken.

  CHAPTER 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 Norman; 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 Norman irritated them, and they expressed their hatred of Popery by hootings. Lord Derwentwater 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 Norman 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.

  CHAPTER III

  How the Earl of Derwentwater was beheaded

  LORD DERWENTWATER then addressed himself to his devotions, and remained in earnest prayer with Father Norman, 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 arose, 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 porti
on 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.