Preston Fight: or, The Insurrection of 1715

“Ye are in a confounded hurry,” cried the earl, detaining him. “Hear me to an end.”

“My lord, I am all attention.”

“When all our forces have assembled, a strong detachment, to consist of five or six regiments, will be sent south to march with the Lowlanders and the Northumbrian insurgents to London. You shall command the detachment. If any man can make a rapid march, you can, brigadier. Long before you reach London, you will have a considerable army, for you are certain to receive large reinforcements in every county through which you pass – especially in Lancashire and Cheshire. You will, therefore, be able to give battle to all the forces the Hanoverian usurper can bring against you. Win that battle and the crown is gained for the prince.”

The brigadier drew his broadsword and kissed the hilt.

“I swear to devote myself to this enterprise!” he cried. “Turn back who may, I never will!”

Thereupon he bowed and retired, looking greatly elated.

III. – HOW THE STANDARD WAS SET UP, AND KING JAMES PROCLAIMED AT CASTLETOWN

SHORTLY afterwards the whole party proceeded to the castle, where a grand banquet awaited them.

Even more wine was drunk on this occasion than on the previous day, and the company vied with each other in demonstrations of loyalty.

But the crowning act, that was to confound their enemies and confirm their friends, took place on the following day. The whole party assembled after breakfast, but without hounds or huntsmen.

A dozen sturdy bagpipers made the court ring with their shrill strains, announcing that the Earl of Mar was about to proceed to Castletown, which was not more than a mile off, attended by all the nobles and chiefs, and all their vassals and retainers, to set up the standard and proclaim King James.

The principal personages were on horseback – the rest on foot. At the head of the cavalcade was the Earl of Mar, and on his right rode Lord Charles Murray, who carried the standard.

The standard, which made a very splendid appearance, and excited general admiration, was of blue satin, embroidered on one side with the arms of Scotland in gold. On the other side was a thistle, underneath which were the words, “No Union.”

Pendants of white ribbon were attached to the banner: one of them bore the inscription, “For our wronged king and oppressed country;” the other, “For our lives and liberties.”

The pipers marched on in advance, playing vigorously.

The morning was fine, but gusty, and Craigendarroch seemed to frown upon them. Several Highlanders joined the party as they marched on, and some old men, barelegged women, young girls, and children followed at a distance. But there were few inhabitants in that wild region.

On reaching Castletown, the cavalcade rode into the market-place, where all the townsfolk were assembled, and the pipers, who had marched in first and taken up a good position, played with redoubled vigour, while the standard was set up on the market-cross.

A loud shout was then raised by the whole concourse, after which silence was authoritatively enjoined, and, a trumpet being sounded, the Earl of Mar read the proclamation in a loud clear voice that vibrated through every breast.

“By the decease of the late King James the Seventh, the imperial crown of these realms has lineally descended to his lawful heir and son our sovereign James the Eighth, and we the lords and others do accordingly declare him to be the lawful king over Scotland, England, and Ireland. We are bound by unalienable right to his family and person, and it is to be lamented that our fundamental constitution has been destroyed by factions. The unhappy Union of Scotland and England is also to be deeply lamented – with many other matters, such as the bringing in a foreign prince unacquainted with British planners, customs, and language – the support of his designs by foreign troops – and the contempt with which the military services of British troops are treated. We are determined to resort to the last extremities in order to remedy these grievances, and have our laws, liberties, and properties secured by the Parliaments of both kingdoms. In conclusion, we hope that, undisturbed by a Usurper’s interests and council from abroad, or by a restless faction at home, the blessing and aid of Heaven will be extended to the succour of the Royal Family of Stuart and their country from sinking under oppression.”

The foregoing manifesto produced a very powerful effect, and the whole assemblage, having listened to it with profound attention, were about to give vent to their feelings, when a circumstance occurred that filled them all with superstitious terror.

By a sudden and violent gust, the silken banner was rent, and the gilded ball blown from the point of the spear, and, falling at the feet of Mar’s horse, caused the animal to rear.

The greatest consternation was occasioned by this inauspicious occurrence.

Nothing but blanched faces were seen around, and the shouts died away on every lip. Men shook their heads, and said it was ominous of ill, and even Mar himself was not free from uneasiness.

“When King Charles the First’s standard was blown down at Nottingham,” observed Lord Charles Murray to Brigadier Mackintosh, “it was thought to presage ill. What does this signify?”

The brigadier made no answer, but looked very grave.

The ill-omened incident cast a gloom over the party, from which they did not recover as long as they stayed together.

On quitting Castletown, the nobles and chiefs took leave of their host, and departed each to his respective home, to get together his men, and make all needful preparations for taking the field.

Subsequently, King James was proclaimed at divers other places, and once again by the Earl of Mar at Kirk-michael, near Dumfries.

Meanwhile, the whole of the Highlands were literally in a flame – the Fiery Cross having been sent round in every direction to summon the clans. Such vassals as neglected the mandate of their chief conveyed by this terrible sign – a cross, dipped in blood, and burning – were liable to the penalty of fire and sword. Rarely was the summons disobeyed, and never unpunished, until the passing of the Clan Act by the Government.

Returning slowly from Dumfries, at the head of a thousand men – more than half of whom had joined him on the way – the Earl of Mar found his camp pitched by Colonel Hamilton and Clephane of Carslogie, in a beautiful situation on the side of the Tay.

Soon afterwards, such large reinforcements were brought him by the Earls of Strathern, Southesk, Marischal, and Panmure, that he found himself at the head of twelve thousand fighting men.

A most important achievement performed at this juncture by Colonel Hay gave additional éclat to the insurgents. This gallant officer had often boasted that he would capture Perth, and he now made good his word by surprising the garrison, and enabling Mar to occupy the city. Thenceforward Perth formed the head-quarters of the Scottish commander-in-chief.

Alarmed by the rapid progress of the rebellion, the Government of King George now began to take energetic measures for the repression of the outbreak. The Duke of Argyle hastened to Stirling, where troops were quickly concentrated, in order to keep the Highlanders in check, and prevent them from crossing the Forth.

All Scottish noblemen or gentlemen, actually in arms, or suspected of favouring the Pretender, were summoned to appear forthwith in Edinburgh, and find bail for their future good conduct. But very few surrendered themselves. Most of them were eager to take the field, and displeased that Mar did not give battle to Argyle, before further succours could reach him at Stirling.

The Scottish commander-in-chief hesitated, though Colonel Hay and others of his advisers remonstrated with him. He had just received a letter from Mr. Forster, praying him to send a couple of regiments to help them to make a rising in Northumberland. This request he was quite willing to grant – indeed, he did more than was asked. He immediately sent off the detachment, which he had prepared to march through England, under the command of Brigadier Mackintosh.

END OF BOOK THE THIRD

BOOK THE FOURTH – THE RISING IN NORTHUMBERLAND

I. – DILSTON REVISITED

SINCE our last visit to Dilston Castle, the place had acquired a new interest from the marriage of the young Earl of Derwentwater with the beautiful Anna Webb.

The event occurred about three years previously, and was productive of unalloyed happiness to the earl, who made it his entire study to please his lovely wife. In his eyes her charms had improved, and as she was scarcely two and twenty, she might not yet have attained the point of perfection.

Mistress of this proud mansion and all belonging to it, adored by the husband, who had raised her to this exalted position, the countess ought to have been happy – and to all appearance she was so.

Yet were we to search her breast, we should find a secret sorrow there. She had made every effort to banish the feeling, but without effect. The consciousness that she had a secret from her husband troubled her, but she dared not reveal it to him. Even to Father Norham, she had not entirely laid bare her heart.

One day, when she was at confession in the small chamber, employed for her private devotions, and which was furnished with an altar and a crucifix, the good priest thus addressed her:

“I grieve to find, dear daughter, that you still keep back from the Earl, your husband, the secret that has so long weighed upon your breast. This ought not to be. He is entitled to your fullest confidence, and any concealment from him even of a trivial matter is sinful.”

“I know it, father,” she replied; “and I ardently desire to relieve my breast of its burden by disclosing all to him, and am only deterred by the fear of giving him pain.”

“Perhaps you are right, daughter,” said the priest, after some reflection. “As no good purpose can be answered by this disclosure, and it is possible it might cause temporary estrangement of the earl’s affections, I will not urge you to incur that hazard. But I should be glad to learn that you have at last entirely dismissed the silly fancy which you have so long allowed to occupy your breast. Give me an assurance to that effect, and I shall be content.”

“I am far easier than I was, father,” she rejoined with a sigh. “But I have not entirely subdued the feeling.”

“Persevere, daughter, and you will succeed,” said the priest. “Fasting and prayer will do much.”

“I am willing to undergo any penance you may enjoin, father,” she replied; “and, however severe it may be, I shall not complain – provided I obtain relief.”

“With these good resolutions you cannot fail, daughter, and you shall have my best assistance.”

The good father’s injunctions were strictly obeyed by the countess, and after a time she told him her breast was tranquillised.

Meantime, the earl’s felicity was entirely undisturbed, except by some misgivings as to the future.

Since his marriage a remarkable change had taken place in his sentiments. At one time he had been chiefly engrossed by the thought of accomplishing the restoration of the Chevalier de Saint George, and no peril would have deterred him from making the effort. He now dreaded being engaged in a civil war. He had everything that could contribute to happiness – a lovely wife, to whom he was passionately attached – high rank, great wealth, large possessions, a splendid mansion-all of which would be sacrificed, if the enterprise should fail. The game was too hazardous – the stake too high. Never, since his marriage, had he been separated from his beautiful countess, and the thought of quitting her – even for a brief season – was intolerable. He told her of his fears, and she laughed at them.

“I should not love you half so well as I do,” she said, “if I did not believe you would fight for King James – fight for him to the death. Should a rising take place, you must join it – must take a prominent part in it.”

“Since I wedded you, dearest Anna, life has acquired such value in my eyes, that I am not disposed to throw it away lightly.”

“Do you call it throwing life away lightly to die for your king?”

“‘Twould be worse than death to lose you, Anna.”

“This is mere weakness. Shut me from your heart. The king’s claim is paramount. ‘Twould be a crime to desert him. If you wish to preserve my love, you will draw the sword for King James, when called upon.”

And she quitted the room.

Much irritated by the scornful tone in which the countess had spoken, the earl walked forth into the wood, and did not return till he had regained his calmness. He found the countess in the garden. She received him with a smile, that dissipated any lingering feelings of anger, and no further allusion was made to the subject at the time. Still, her observations rankled in his breast and produced the effect she had designed.

He felt that if he did not support King James, he should not retain her love, and that would be a death-blow to his happiness. Whatever course he might take seemed to lead to difficulty and danger.

Fortunately, he was not called upon for an immediate decision. Another year of wedded bliss was allowed him.

Not till the expiration of that term did the storm begin to gather that was destined to burst upon his head.

II. A WARRANT ISSUED FOR THE EARL’S ARREST

A t length the mandate came. A letter arrived from the Chevalier de Saint George enjoining the Earl of Derwentwater to prepare for immediate action.

“So soon as the standard is set up in Scotland by Mar, you must rise,” ran the missive.

Aware that the earl had received a despatch from France, the countess flew to his cabinet, and found him pacing to and fro within it, in a state of great perturbation.

“Read that,” he said, giving her the letter.

Her cheeks flushed as she scanned it, and she exclaimed almost joyfully:

“You will obey his majesty’s orders. There must be no hesitation now. If there is one man in England on whose zeal and fidelity King James ought to be able to count, it is the Earl of Derwentwater, with whom he is connected by birth, and whom he regards as a brother. Would you disappoint all the hopes he has formed of you! Shake off this worse than womanish weakness if you would not have me despise you.”

“No more!” cried the earl, almost fiercely. “You have said enough. You have hardened my breast. I care not now what ensues.”

“I am glad I have roused you,” she cried. “Had you been wanting in the hour of action, you would have been deemed a traitor to your king, and have lost the respect of all honourable men.”

Just then Father Norham entered the room.

“I fear I have come at an unlucky moment,” he said, perceiving from their looks that some misunderstanding had occurred between them; “and I would at once retire, had I not important news to communicate. I have just received private information from Newcastle that a warrant has been issued for your lordship’s arrest on a charge of high treason. The officers will be here to-morrow, and as they will be accompanied by a party of horse-militia, you must either resist them or keep out of the way. Since you are not fully prepared for a rising, I would counsel the latter course.”

“And I advise resistance,” said the countess.

“No – that would precipitate the outbreak,” said the earl. “I must concert measures with my friends ere I take up arms.”

“You cannot remain in the castle, my lord,” said the priest. “A most rigorous search will be made, and if you are discovered, you will be apprehended and placed in confinement.”

“Where shall I find a secure retreat?” said the earl.

“You ought not to be too far off, in case of a sudden emergency,” said the countess.

“Your lordship would be perfectly safe in Nathan the woodcutter’s hut in the thicket,” said the priest. “No one will seek you there – and even if the place should be visited, you can easily escape into the wood.”

“Nathan Blacklaw is a trusty fellow,” said the earl. “I can perfectly depend upon him. His hut will afford me an excellent hiding-place. When inquiries are made for me, the servants can say that I am gone to visit some Roman Catholic friends in Lancashire. The statement will be credited, since the magistrates must have learnt that Lord Widdrington is now staying with his brother-in-law, Mr. Townley, of Townley, in that county. I will now go and see Nathan Blacklaw, and direct him to prepare for me to-morrow morning.”

“Take me with you, I entreat!” said the countess. “I should like to see how you will be lodged in the hut. I wish I could bear you company.”

“Alas! that cannot be!” sighed the earl. “Your presence would reconcile me to any inconvenience. But it would infallibly lead to my discovery. Besides, you must be at the castle to see how things go on, and communicate with me.”

“I quite understand,” she replied.

“When my brother returns from Corbridge, acquaint him with my purpose,” said the earl to Father Norham. “I do not think he is in any danger of arrest.”

“I have received no caution respecting Mr. Charles Radclyffe,” said the priest. “I believe your lordship to be the only person threatened. But I may hear further at night, as I expect a second messenger.”

“Long before then Charles will have returned,” said the earl. “And now for the hut,” he added to the countess. “I have a melancholy foreboding that when I once quit the castle I shall never come back to it.”

“Dismiss these thoughts, my dear lord,” said the priest, “Rest assured that better days are in store for you.”

III. – THE WOODCUTTER’S HUT

Passing through the garden, the earl and countess took a path that led them along the rocky edge of the ravine, at the bottom of which flowed the Devil’s Water.

At length they reached the wood and entered a sombre alley arched over by boughs and designated the “Maiden’s Walk.”

According to a legend connected with the place, a phantom wearing the form of a beautiful female was sometimes seen in the alley, and the appearance of the “Maiden” was thought to bode ill to any member of the Radclyffe family.

Not without some superstitious terror did the earl track this darksome walk. He had often been there, but had never beheld the phantom, but this seemed an occasion when, if ever, the Maiden might be expected to appear.

At the end of the alley a narrow path turned off on the left that brought them, after several windings, to an open space in the heart of the thicket. Here stood the hut; and thus buried, it was not likely that the little habitation would be discovered unless its situation were pointed out.

As the noble pair drew near the hut, a savage growl was heard, and a large, fierce-looking dog rushed from behind a great stack of wood. The moment, however, the savage animal beheld the earl he became quiet and crouched at his feet.

At the same time the woodcutter made his appearance.

Nathan Blacklaw was strongly built, and had a manly, resolute look. On his shoulder he carried a hatchet, and his costume consisted of a leather jacket, a leather cap, and long leather gaiters, reaching considerably above the knee. He had come forward on hearing his dog bark, and immediately recognizing the earl and countess, doffed his cap and made a rough obeisance.

“Cheviot knows me as well as you do, Nathan,” observed the earl, patting the dog’s large head.

“Ay, he wad na ha’ allowed any one but your lordship and my lady to come nigh the hut,” said the wood-cutter.

“You must find him a good companion in this solitary spot, Nathan,” remarked the countess.

“‘Deed I do, my lady. I dunna know what I and my dame should do without Cheviot.”

“We have come to have a look at the hut, Nathan,” said the earl. “Show us inside it, will you?”

Just then a good-looking woman – not more than thirty-five – plainly, yet not unbecomingly dressed, came forth.

Without any hesitation or embarrassment, Dame Black-law at once ushered the noble pair into the cottage.

Necessarily it was very small, but it looked clean and tidy. It contained only a couple of rooms: in the largest, on which the door opened, the inmates had their meals; it was furnished with a chest of drawers, a small oak table, an arm-chair, a rush-bottomed chair, and a settee.

Besides these there was a clock, and in one corner was a cupboard containing pewter plates, three or four drinking-mugs, certain articles of crockery, and a brace of squat-looking Dutch bottles. Fixed against the wall on the side opposite the cupboard was a crucifix, for Nathan and his wife were Papists. On the hearth burnt a cheerful wood fire, and above it hung a large iron pot. Over the mantelpiece was placed a gun. The inner room, about half the size of the other, held the bed of the worthy couple, who had no family.

“What will you say, dame, when I tell you that I am coming to spend a few days with you?” remarked the earl.

“Your lordship is pleased to jest,” she replied, with a smile. “It isn’t very likely you will stay here.”

“Likely or not, you may expect me to-morrow morning,” said the earl.

She held up her hands in astonishment.

“To speak plainly, I don’t find it safe at the castle,” said the earl. “If I remain there I shall be arrested, so I mean to take refuge in your cottage.”

“I thought as much,” cried Nathan. “I shall be proud, indeed, to afford your lordship a hiding-place, and I think you will be quite safe here.”

“The magistrates are coming with a party of horse-militia to-morrow, and as they won’t find me at the castle, they are sure to make a strict search in the neighbourhood.”

“Let ‘em try. We’ll baffle ‘em,” said the woodcutter.

“But however shall we accommodate his lordship?” said

Dame Blacklaw to the countess. “He won’t condescend to occupy our bed.”

“Give yourself no trouble about me, dame,” interposed the earl. “I can sleep very well in that arm-chair. With Cheviot to watch over me, I shall fear no nocturnal intruder.”

“Your lordship will have timely warning should any one come near the place. Of that you may rest assured,” said the woodcutter.

Having made all the arrangements he thought necessary, the earl then left with the countess. His parting injunction to the woodcutter and his wife was to look out for him early in the morning, and not to breathe a word to any one that they expected him.

IV. – THE MAIDEN’S WALK

Despite his melancholy forebodings, the earl little dreamed this would be the last night he should ever pass at the castle. He attended mass in the little chapel, and held a long consultation with his brother, Charles Rad-clyffe, who had now returned from Corbridge, as to the best steps to be taken.

“‘Tis unlucky that our friends are scattered at this moment,” said the earl. “Had we been able to unite, instead of flying from arrest, we might have attacked Newcastle, and, if we had succeeded in capturing the place, we should have been masters of the county.”

“This may yet be accomplished,” said Charles Radclyffe.

“Not unless we can get together a sufficient force,” said the earl. “Forster and Lord Widdrington may not like to make the attempt, as I know they both deem it very hazardous. We shall hear what Widdrington says on his return from Lancashire.”

“Shall I appoint a meeting if I can find means of communicating with them?” asked Charles Radclyffe. “And where shall the place of rendezvous be fixed?”

“At Plainfield or thereabouts,” replied the earl. “Ten days hence I will be there, unless I am prevented, and will bring with me all the men I can muster.”

“I will find some means of sending this information to Forster,” said Charles Radclyffe, “and he will communicate with Widdrington. If the Earl of Mar would send us a Highland regiment it would help us greatly. Shall I write to him in your name?”

“Do so without delay,” said the earl. “The rising will never be successful unless our force is materially strengthened.”

“All your instructions shall be attended to,” said Charles Radclyffe, “and I trust nothing will go wrong to-morrow.”

The rest of the evening was spent in affectionate converse by the earl and countess. There were no guests in the house, so they sat together till supper, when they were joined by Charles Radclyffe and Father Nor-ham.