On the south there was a strong castle containing the garrison, surrounded by a deep fosse, by means of which stores could be brought in.
Heavy ordnance were placed on the walls commanding the river, and the port was further protected by a battery mounting eight guns.
The ships in the harbour were likewise fitted up to defend the town on thè river side.
Thus, it will be seen that Liverpool, owing to its situation on the Mersey, had advantages possessed by no other town in Lancashire, but it was somewhat exposed on the land side.
As an additional protection from the shot of the besiegers, the walls were covered with large bags of wool, brought by the fugitive Protestants from Ireland after the massacres.
When Standish joined the prince, the siege had already begun.
Expecting to take the place by a coup de main, and not anticipating such vigorous resistance as he found from Governor Moore, Rupert made a furious assault on the gate at the end of Dale-street, while another gate was attacked with equal fury by Lord Derby.
Both leaders were repulsed, and with considerable loss, and the prince was still burning with rage at the defeat, when Standish arrived.
Rupert rarely held a council of war, but formed his own judgment, and acted upon it.
However, he consulted Lord Derby as to the prudence of a second assault, and found him exceedingly averse to it. His lordship recommended a regular siege with intrenchments and batteries as at Lathom.
“‘Sdeath! that will occupy a month!” cried Rupert; “and then we shall have to storm the town.”
“We shall not take it otherwise,” said the earl. “We must batter down the walls. Only by repeated attacks shall we succeed.”
Evidently dissatisfied with the advice, Rupert was unwilling to adopt it. He was all impatience to wipe out the disgrace of the defeat.
“This is not the advice you gave me at Bolton, my lord,” he said. “Then you urged a second assault without delay. No talk of siege works.”
“Nor were they needed, your highness, because we knew a gate would be opened to us.”
“Why should not a gate be opened to us at Liverpool?” said the prince.
“The man must be found to do it,” remarked the earl.
“Here he is,” said Rupert, as Standish, who had just dismounted, entered the prince’s tent.
After salutations had passed the prince said:
“You have heard, Colonel Standish, that the first attack on the town has been repulsed?”
“I have, your highness,” was the reply. “But your next attack will be successful.”
“Lord Derby thinks we ought to proceed by a regular siege. That is too slow for me. I want to join the Marquis of Newcastle at York and not waste time here. Can you open a gate for us as you did at Bolton?”
“To do so you must scale the walls,” observed the earl. “They are high and the ditch is deep. The chances are a thousand to one against you.”
“The more hazard the more honour,” said Standish. “If your highness will give me a detachment of your best soldiers, pontoons and scaling ladders, I will manage to get to the top of the walls. Once there, your highness shall enter Liverpool.”
“I know you do not make rash promises,” said the prince, well pleased. “You believe you can accomplish what you say. But you must see the fortifications and judge ere you decide.
“I should like to see them, your highness, but I have no doubt as to my decision.”
“If you hold to your determination, another assault shall be made to-morrow,” said the prince.
“I would not damp your ardour, Colonel Standish,” observed the earl. “But if you make the attempt I fear you will never behold your spouse again.”
“Fortune has hitherto favoured me, my lord, and will not desert me now.”
CHAPTER XIII
Death of Standish
NEXT morning, before daybreak, in pursuance of the prince’s orders, the whole of his force was under arms, and a general movement was made towards the town, but slowly and cautiously, so as not to alarm the garrison.
From the Beacon Hill, on the brow of which Prince Rupert with the Earl of Derby and Lord Caryl Molineux were stationed, the town, with its fortifications, its castle, fort, and harbour, with the grand river flowing past, could be dimly descried.
The three personages were watching the advance of the army, preparatory to joining the attack.
In the van was a regiment of cuirassiers, led by Colonel Standish, which was marching towards the gate at the entrance of Dale-street.
At this gate were two large pieces of ordnance, and besides the usual guard, it had a troop of horse to defend it.
Facing it was a battery, just erected by the besiegers, that mounted three heavy guns.
As yet neither besieged nor besiegers had fired a shot.
But the prince and his companions did not remain long near the Beacon.
After looking on for a few minutes, they galloped down the hill, and each was at his post before the roar of the castle guns announced that the advance of the Royalists was perceived.
At the same time the battery opposite Dale-street opened fire, and being answered by the cannon of the gate, a sort of duel took place between the engineers on either side, that seemed likely to end in favour of the besiegers, two of their shot having already burst through the stout oak framework.
Meanwhile, the other gates were likewise attacked by Lord Derby and Lord Caryl Molineux, and defended with equal vigour.
Several ineffectual attempts were likewise made by the besiegers to scale the walls by means of ladders placed in pontoons.
Everywhere, indeed, the most determined resistance was offered by the besieged, and a ceaseless fire was kept up by them from the walls, which were shielded, as we have described, by bags of wool. Moreover, the large shot thrown by the castle guns, caused great destruction wherever they alighted.
Apparently, no advantage had been gained by the Royalists at any point, except at the entrance of Dale-street, and the captain of the guard, fearing the gate would soon be battered down, ordered the troop of horse stationed there to sally forth and dislodge the cannon at the battery.
No sooner did the troop appear outside, than Standish, shouting to his men to follow, dashed forward sword in hand as if to defend the battery.
His object, however, was to enter the town, and he succeeded in getting through the gate with a dozen of his men.
The guard were then cut down, and the gate kept forcibly open till the rest of the regiment had entered.
Bidding his men shout as lustily as they could to announce their success, Standish then galloped on into the town, in the full belief that Lord Derby or Prince Rupert would follow.
As the cuirassiers went furiously on, a few shots were fired at them, but they met with no opposition, nor were they immediately pursued, for the dragoons remained at the entrance of the street till it was effectually barricaded.
In effect, therefore, Standish and his men were prisoners, though they believed they had taken the town.
Many of the inhabitants, who were only just astir, shared in the belief, and when they beheld this splendid regiment of cuirassiers dashing past, they felt sure the sanguinary Rupert had got in, and that a general massacre would ensue.
Standish and his followers stopped not either to slay or plunder, but galloped furiously on to the centre of the town.
A few people were collected in the marketplace, but they fled when the Royalist soldiers appeared.
Windows and doors were speedily shut, as Standish halted beside the cross to consider what should be done next.
The alarm-bell now began to ring violently, and great consternation prevailed throughout the garrison.
The governor could not ascertain precisely what had happened, though he learnt that a regiment of cuirassiers had entered the town, and reached the market- place.
His first order was to send a detachment of musketeers from the castle to atta
ck them in front, while he himself cut off their retreat with a squadron of dragoons.
Ere many minutes, the market-place became the scene of a sharp conflict.
On the appearance of the musketeers, Standish instantly charged them, but was received with a volley, by which he himself was severely wounded, and several of his men killed.
At the same time he was attacked in the rear by Colonel Moore and his dragoons — the governor calling to him to surrender, and offering him quarter.
But Standish refused, and rallying his men, who were got into disorder, endeavoured to cut his way through the enemy.
He might have succeeded, but his strength suddenly failed him, his sword dropped from his grasp, and he fell from his steed.
In the confusion of the fight, he must have been trampled under foot, had not one of his own men, whose horse had been shot, but who was himself unwounded, dragged him to the foot of the cross, and there laid him down.
Shortly afterwards, Colonel Moore rode up, and asked, with much concern, if he should send a surgeon to him.
“It would be useless, colonel,” replied Standish, faintly. “My wound is mortal,”
“Have you any request to make?” said Moore. “It shall be attended to.”
“My young bride will weep for me,” replied Standish. “Send her the ring on my finger. It will comfort her.”
“Rest assured it shall be done,” said the chivalrous Moore.
A cup of wine was then offered to the dying man.
Taking it, he raised it to his lips.
“To the king!” he cried. “Confusion to his enemies!”
With these words he fell backwards and expired.
Liverpool was not taken on that day, nor for several days to come.
Finding he could no longer hold out, the governor retired and Prince Rupert entered the town with his whole army.
In the market-place he found a regiment of horse drawn up. Their leader offered to lay down his arms, and demanded quarter, which was granted, conditionally, on the surrender of the castle. The terms being acceded to, the prince at once took possession of the fortress.
By order of Colonel Moore, Standish had been buried in the old church of Saint Nicholas, and his beautiful widow now came to mourn over his grave.
When the news of her loss had been brought her, she uttered a cry of anguish, swooned, and continued so long insensible, that it was thought she was dead.
Fortunately, her father and Maria were with her, and to the care of the latter she owed her recovery.
Don Fortunio brought her and her faithful attendant to Liverpool, and after a short stay there, a vessel was found that conveyed them all to Cadiz.
BOOK VIII. — SEVEN YEARS LATER
BOLTON, October 16th, 1651
CHAPTER I
The Earl of Derby’s last journey
Some description appears necessary of the tragic death of the illustrious and unfortunate nobleman who has formed the principal figure in our story.
For the details we shall refer to two contemporary narratives, reproduced by the Reverend Mr. RAINES in his “Memoirs of James Earl of Derby,” published by the CHETMAN SOCIETY — narratives justly described by the learned editor as “having no parallel in our history.”
“The picture is complete and perfect in itself,” remarks Mr. RAINES; “and it is not extravagant praise to say that it will retain its melancholy attraction as long as any reverence shall remain for what is noble and heroic or any pity for tenderness and constancy in the saddest reverses of fortune, in fact as long as there are hearts that can feel, and eyes that can weep.”
Seven years have flown, years fraught with deepest interest.
A monarch has been beheaded, and his son driven from his kingdom. Rebellion has triumphed. The fatal battle of Worcester has been fought, and the brave and loyal Earl of Derby, who left his wife and children in his castle in Mona’s rugged isle to aid the youthful Charles, has been made prisoner — having surrendered after quarter for life had been given by his captor.
Confined in Chester, and tried by a court-martial, the earl has been doomed to death. To add to the severity of the sentence, it has been appointed by the judges that the execution shall take place at Bolton, where it is supposed the inhabitants have a strong vindictive feeling towards the illustrious prisoner.
On this point the earl himself, fearful of being reviled by the people of the town, wrote thus to the Speaker of the House of Parliament:
“It is a greater affliction to me than death itself, that I am sentenced to die at Bolton; since the nation will look upon me as a sacrifice for that blood which some have unjustly cast upon me, and from which I hope I am acquitted in your opinion, and the judgment of good men, having cleared myself by undeniable evidence. At my trial, it was never mentioned against me, and yet I am adjudged to suffer at Bolton, as if indeed I had been guilty.”
Notwithstanding this appeal, no alteration was made.
The day of execution having been fixed for Wednesday, 15th October, 1651, the ill-fated earl set forth on the day before from Chester, escorted by a strong guard, consisting of sixty musketeers, and eighty horse — the latter being well armed and well mounted, and commanded by a captain, notorious for his devotion to the Parliament.
With the earl were Mr. Baguley, who wrote the account of his noble master’s imprisonment and death; Paul Moreau his valet, and several other faithful servants. To add to the indignity shown him by his malevolent enemies, the earl was provided with a sorry steed.
All who saw him set out on his last journey loudly expressed their grief — several accompanying to some distance.
On Hole Heath, not far from Chester, the earl was met by his two younger daughters, the Lady Katherine and the Lady Amelia Stanley, who came to take a last leave of him.
Heedless of the presence of the guard, he flung himself from his horse, embraced his daughters tenderly, and then knelt down beside their on the road, and prayed.
On rising he again pressed them to his heart, and gave them his last blessing. Such a sad spectacle has rarely been witnessed — such a father — such daughters — one so noble, the others so beautiful, tender, and loving.
The beholders were indescribably affected by the scene. Outbursts of grief were heard on all sides, and numbers knelt down and prayed.
At last, the parting was over.
The fainting girls, who had sustained themselves with difficulty, broke down in the end, and were borne away insensible.
By the help of Paul Moreau, the earl regained his steed, and the cavalcade was once more in motion.
But he could not shake off the impression made upon him by the interview. His head drooped on his breast, and during the whole of the day’s journey, he scarcely looked around, or spoke.
It had been arranged that the noble prisoner should pass his last night at Leigh — a small town, about six miles from Bolton. In Leigh Church had been interred his friend and companion in arms, the valiant Sir Thomas Tyldesley, who was killed at Wigan, and the earl greatly desired to visit the grave, but the request was denied.
However, the refusal troubled him little. He had become indifferent to harsh treatment, and passed the evening in tranquil converse with Baguley.
“Commend me to Archdeacon Rutter,” he said, “and ask him if he remembers how blood fell upon a book I was reading late one night in my closet at Knowsley? Ask him what he now thinks of that strange occurrence? He will answer, I doubt not, that his presentiments have been fully verified. Ask him further, if he remembers I once told him that death in battle would not trouble me, but a blow on the scaffold would greatly startle me. Now I have changed my opinion, and can as easily lay my head on the block as on a pillow.”
After supper, which he declared should be his last meal in this world, the earl threw himself upon a bed without taking off his apparel, and while lying there with his head resting upon his right hand, he compared himself to a monument, adding:
“To-morrow I s
hall want a monument!”
At an early hour he arose and prayed. Before quitting Leigh he was joined by his son, Lord Strange, who attended him to Bolton.
A sad ride thither, for he was full of uneasiness as to the reception he should experience from the inhabitants.
But his anxiety was speedily relieved.
As they entered the town, which had a singularly dismal look, all the persons he beheld expressed the deepest sorrow.
Far from exulting in his death, they uttered doleful lamentations, and many called out:
“O sad day! O woful day! Shall the good Earl of Derby die here? Many sad losses have we had in the war, but none like unto this — for now the ancient honour of our country must suffer here at Bolton.”
These unlooked-for expressions of sympathy greatly consoled him, though they forced tears to his eyes.
But the scaffold was not yet completed. To inflict additional pain upon the earl, the platform on which he was to die was constructed of timber brought from Lathom House, which had been demolished after the second siege.
Not a carpenter in the town would saw a plank, strike a nail, or lend any aid whatever. Of necessity, therefore, soldiers were employed, and they were behind- hand with their work.
The ancient cross that had hitherto adorned the market-place was pulled down to make way for the hateful structure, so that the appearance of the place was greatly changed.
As the cavalcade halted, the earl exclaimed:
“Venio Domine. I am prepared to fulfil thy will. This scaffold must be my cross. Blessed Saviour, I take it up willingly, and follow thee!”
Conducted by an officer to an adjoining house, looking upon the church, he was informed that he would not be disturbed till three o’clock.
“I do not ask for the delay, sir,” said the earl, “and am quite ready now. Nevertheless, I thank you.”
Lord Strange, Mr. Baguley, Paul Moreau, and all his attendants, entered the house with him and awaited his orders.
The earl’s first request was that they should all join him in prayer. Their devotions were much disturbed by the knocking and hammering of the boards of the scaffold by the soldiers, and by the loud talk of the troopers, but in spite of these noises he prayed long and fervently.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 786
