The Manchester Rebels of the Fatal '45 Read online

  Book IV.--Carlisle.

  I. COLONEL TOWNLEY APPOINTED COMMANDANT OF THECARLISLE GARRISON 256

  II. ATHERTON TAKEN PRISONER 258

  III. THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND 262

  IV. SURRENDER OF CARLISLE TO THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND 264

  Book V.--Jemmy Dawson.

  I. THE ESCAPE AT WIGAN 270

  II. THE MEETING AT WARRINGTON 274

  III. ATHERTON TAKES REFUGE AT RAWCLIFFE HALL 276

  IV. AN ENEMY IN THE HOUSE 281

  V. A POINT OF FAITH 285

  VI. A LETTER FROM BEPPY BYROM 288

  VII. ATHERTON QUESTIONS THE PRIEST 292

  VIII. THE SEARCH 295

  IX. WHO WAS FOUND IN THE DISMANTLED ROOMS 298

  X. A SUCCESSFUL STRATAGEM 301

  XI. ATHERTON MEETS WITH DR. DEACON AT ROSTHERN 305

  XII. A SAD COMMUNICATION IS MADE TO DR. DEACON 311

  XIII. A JOURNEY TO LONDON PROPOSED 314

  XIV. JEMMY DAWSON'S LETTER 316

  XV. THE PARTING BETWEEN MONICA AND HER MOTHER 322

  XVI. THE JOURNEY 326

  Book VI.--Kennington Common.

  I. MONICA VISITS JEMMY IN NEWGATE 330

  II. COLONEL CONWAY 333

  III. CUMBERLAND HOUSE 336

  IV. THE TRIAL OF THE MANCHESTER REBELS 342

  V. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE EXECUTIONS 346

  VI. THE FATAL DAY 348

  VII. FIVE YEARS LATER 353

  THE MANCHESTER REBELS of THE FATAL '45.

  BOOK I.

  ATHERTON LEGH.

  CHAPTER I.

  HOW THE INFANT HEIR WAS STOLEN.

  About midnight, in the autumn of 1724, two persons cautiouslyapproached an old moated mansion, situated in Cheshire, though closeto the borders of Lancashire. The night being almost pitch-dark, verylittle of the ancient fabric could be distinguished; but the irregularoutline of its numerous gables showed that it was of considerablesize. It was, in fact, a large picturesque hall, built in the earlydays of Elizabeth, and was completely surrounded by an unusuallybroad, deep moat. The moat was crossed by a drawbridge, but this beingnow raised, access to the mansion could only be obtained by rousingthe porter, who slept over the gateway. All the inmates of the houseseemed buried in repose. Not a sound was heard. No mastiff barked togive the alarm.

  A melancholy air had the old hall, even when viewed by daylight. Oflate years it had been much neglected, and portions were allowed to goto decay. Several rooms were shut up. Its owner, who died rather morethan a year before the date of our story, preferred a town residence,and rarely inhabited the hall. Extravagant, and fond of play, he hadcut down the fine timber that ornamented his park to pay his debts.Death, however, put an end to his career before he had quite runthrough his fortune. He left behind him a wife and an infant son--thelatter being heir to the property. As there would be a long minority,the estates, by prudent management, might be completely retrieved. Onthe demise of her husband, the widow quitted her town house, and tookup her abode with her child at the old hall. With a greatly reducedestablishment, she lived in perfect seclusion. As she was young, verybeautiful, and much admired, people wondered that she could thus tearherself from the world. But her resolution remained unchanged. Heraffections seemed centred in her infant son. She had few visitors,declined all invitations, and rarely strayed beyond the limits of thepark.

  She had got it into her head that her child would be taken from her,and would not, therefore, let him out of her sight. The infant was ascarefully watched as if he had been heir to a dukedom; and at night,for fear of a surprise, the drawbridge was always raised. In the eventof the young heir dying under age, the estates passed to the brotherof her late husband, and of him she entertained dark suspicions thatdid not seem altogether unwarranted.

  Having offered this brief explanation, we shall return to themysterious pair whom we left making their way to the hall. As theirdesign was to enter the house secretly, they did not go near thedrawbridge, being provided with other means of crossing the moat. Oneof them carried a coracle--a light boat formed of a wicker frameworkcovered with leather.

  Though they had now reached the margin of the moat, which was fringedwith reeds and bulrushes, they did not put their plan into immediateexecution, but marched on in silence, till a light was observedglimmering from one of the windows. A taper had been thus placed toguide them, proving that they had a confederate in the house.

  On perceiving this light, which streamed from the partly-openedcasement on the dusky water beneath it, the foremost of the twainimmediately halted. He was a tall man wrapped in a long black cloak,with a broad-leaved hat pulled over his brows, and was well-armed.

  As soon as the coracle was launched, he stepped into it, and wasfollowed by his attendant, who pushed the frail bark noiselesslyacross the moat.

  On reaching the opposite side, the chief personage sprang ashore,leaving his follower in the boat, and made his way to a postern, whichhe found open, as he expected. Before entering the house, he put on amask.

  The postern communicated with a back staircase, up which the midnightvisitor quickly mounted, making as little noise as possible. Thestaircase conducted him to a gallery, and he had not advanced far whena door was softly opened, and a young woman, who had hastily slippedon a dressing-gown, came forth, bearing a light. It was the nurse. Shealmost recoiled with terror on beholding the masked figure standingbefore her.

  "What's the matter with you, Bertha? Don't you know me?" asked themysterious personage in a low voice.

  "Yes, I know you now, sir," she rejoined in the same tone. "But youlook like--I won't say what."

  "A truce to this folly. Where is the child?"

  "In his mother's bed. I offered to take him, but she would not partwith him to-night."

  "She will be obliged to part with him. I must have him."

  "Oh, sir! I beseech you to abandon this wicked design. I am certain itwill bring destruction upon all concerned in it. Do not rob her of herchild."

  "These misgivings are idle, Bertha. Bring me the child without moreado, or I will snatch it from its mother's arms."

  "I cannot do it. The poor soul will go distracted when she finds shehas lost her darling."

  "What means this sudden change, Bertha?" he said, surprised and angry."You had no such commiseration for her when we last talked over thematter. You were willing enough to aid me then."

  "You tempted me by your offer; but I now repent. I understand theenormity of the offence, and will not burden my soul with so muchguilt."

  "You have gone too far to retreat. Having made a bargain you mustfulfil it."

  "Swear to me that you will not injure the child, or I will not bringit to you."

  "I have already told you I do not mean to harm it."

  "But swear by all you hold sacred that you have no design upon thechild's life. Do this, or I will give the alarm."

  "Attempt to utter a cry and I will kill you," he said, sternly. "Ihave not come here to be thwarted in my purpose. Go in at once."

  Terrified by the menacing tone in which the order was given, Berthaobeyed, and returned to the room from which she had issued. Perhaps
she might have fastened the door if time had been allowed, but the manin the mask followed her too quickly.

  It was an antechamber which she occupied as nurse. A doorcommunicating with the inner apartment stood partly open, and inobedience to an imperious gesture from the terrible intruder, shepassed through it.

  She was now in a large antique bed-chamber, imperfectly lighted up bya lamp placed on a small table near the bed, in which lay one of thefairest creatures imaginable. The contour of the sleeper's countenancewas exquisite, and her raven tresses, which had not been confined,flowed over her neck, contrasting strongly with its dazzlingwhiteness.

  Close beside her, with its little head resting upon a rounded arm thatmight have served a sculptor as a model, slept her babe. A smileseemed to play upon the slumbering mother's lips, as if her dreamswere pleasant.

  The sight of this picture smote Bertha to the heart. Only a fiend, itseemed to her at that moment, could mar such happiness. Could she turnthat smile to tears and misery? Could she requite the constantkindness shown her, and the trust placed in her, by the basestingratitude and treachery? She could not do it. She would rather die.She would return to the terrible man who was waiting for her, andbrave his fury.

  But she found herself quite unequal to the effort, and while sheremained in this state of irresolution he entered the room with hisdrawn sword in his hand.

  He signed to her to go to the bed and take the child, but she did notobey. Half paralysed with terror, she could neither move nor utter acry.

  At once comprehending the state of the case, he determined to actalone, and stepping softly forward he extinguished the lamp that wasburning on a small table beside the bed, and seizing the childenveloped it in his cloak.

  The daring deed was so rapidly executed that the poor lady did notwake till she was robbed of her treasure. But becoming instantly awarethat her child was gone, and hearing footsteps in the room, she raisedherself, and called out in accents of alarm, "Is it you, Bertha?"

  "Make no answer, but follow me quickly," whispered the terribleintruder to the nurse.

  But she had now burst the spell that had hitherto bound her, andseizing him before he could reach the door held him fast.

  Finding his departure effectually prevented, the remorseless villainunhesitatingly liberated himself by plunging his sword into Bertha'sbreast.

  The wound was mortal. The unfortunate woman fell speechless, dying,just as her mistress, who had sprung from the couch, came up; whilethe assassin escaped with his prize.

  The poor lady understood what had happened, but fright almost deprivedher of her senses. She uttered scream after scream, but before any ofthe household came to her assistance all was silent.

  When they ventured into the room a shocking spectacle greeted them.Their young mistress was lying in a state of insensibility by the sideof the slaughtered nurse. The child could not be found.

  How the perpetrator of this dark and daring deed entered the houseremained a mystery. No one supposed that poor murdered Bertha, who hadpaid the penalty of her crime with life, had been his accomplice. Onthe contrary, it was believed that she had flown to her mistress'sassistance, and had perished in the attempt to save the child.

  How the murderer had crossed the moat was likewise a mystery, for thecoracle was carried away when its purpose had been fulfilled. Onexamination, the postern-door was found to be locked and the key takenout. Nothing had been seen of the terrible visitor, the gloom of nightshrouding his arrival and departure. Thus he remained whollyundiscovered.

  When the poor lady recovered from the fainting fit into which she hadfallen, her senses were gone. Nor did she long survive the dreadfulshock she had sustained.

  CHAPTER II.

  MANCHESTER IN 1745.

  When Dr. Stukeley visited Manchester in 1724, he described the town,from personal observation, as "the largest, most rich, populous, andbusy village in England." In twenty years from that date, it could nolonger be called a village. Its population had doubled, and the numberof houses had greatly increased. Many new streets had been completed,an Exchange built, and a fine new square laid out.

  But though the town had thus grown in size and wealth, it had not yetlost its provincial air. The streets had a cheerful, bustling look,denoting that plenty of business was going on, but they were notcrowded either with carts or people. The country was close at hand,and pleasant fields could be reached in a few minutes' walk from themarket-place.

  Seen from the ancient stone bridge spanning the Irwell, the town stillpresented a picturesque appearance. The view comprehended the oldcollegiate church (which wore a much more venerable air than it doesnow, inasmuch as it had not been renovated), the old houses on Hunt'sBank, Chetham Hospital crowning the red sandstone banks of the Irk,just beyond its junction with the larger river, the old water-mill,and the collection of black and white plaster habitations in theneighbourhood of the church.

  This was the oldest part of the town, and its original features hadnot been destroyed. In all the narrow streets surrounding thecollegiate church the houses bore the impress of antiquity, havingserved as dwelling-places for several generations. In Mill-gate, inToad-lane, in Hanging Ditch, and Cateaton-street, scarcely a modernhabitation could be descried. All the houses, with their carvedgables, projecting upper stories, and bay-windows, dated back a coupleof centuries. In Deansgate similar picturesque old structurespredominated. Two new churches formed part of the picture--TrinityChurch in Salford, and St. Ann's in the square we have alreadymentioned--and of course many other modern buildings were discernible,but from the point of view selected the general air of the place wasancient.

  From this glance at Manchester in 1745, it will be seen that it formedan agreeable mixture of an old and new town. The rivers that washedits walls were clear, and abounded in fish. Above all, the atmospherewas pure and wholesome, unpolluted by the smoke of a thousand factorychimneys. In some respects, therefore, the old town was preferable tothe mighty modern city.

  The inhabitants are described by a writer of the period "as veryindustrious, always contriving or inventing something new to improveand set off their goods, and not much following the extravagance thatprevails in other places, by which means many of them have acquiredvery handsome fortunes, and live thereupon in a plain, useful, andregular manner, after the custom of their forefathers."

  Their manners, in fact, were somewhat primitive. The manufacturerskept early hours, and by ten o'clock at night the whole town might besaid to be at rest. There were two political clubs, Whig and Tory, orJacobite, the latter being by far the most numerous and important. Themembers met at their favourite taverns to drink punch, and toast Kingor Pretender, according to their predilections. Only four carriageswere kept in the town, and these belonged to ladies. There were nolamps in the streets, lanterns being carried by all decent folks ondark nights.

  In regard to the amusements of the place it may be mentioned that theannual horse-races, established at Kersal Moor in 1730, had latterlybeen discontinued, but they were soon afterwards revived. Under thepatronage of Lady Bland--a person of great spirit--public assemblieswere given at a ball-room in King-street--then, as now, the mostfashionable street. A famous pack of hounds, of the old British breed,was kept near the town, and regularly hunted in the season. Theleading merchants lived in a very unostentatious manner, but wereexceedingly hospitable. Many of them were far more refined and muchmore highly educated than might have been expected; but this is easilyaccounted for when we state that they belonged to good countyfamilies. It had been the custom for a long period with the Lancashireand Cheshire gentry, who could not otherwise provide for their youngersons, to bring them up to mercantile pursuits, and with that objectthey apprenticed them to the Manchester merchants. Thenceforward amarked improvement took place in the manners and habits of the class.

  CHAPTER III.

  INTRODUCES DR. DEACON, DR. BYROM, AND COLONEL TOWNLEY.

  Descended from Cavaliers, it was certain that the Manchester merchantswould
embrace the political opinions of their fathers, and support thehereditary claims of the House of Stuart. They did so enthusiastically.All were staunch Jacobites, and more or less concerned in a plot whichhad long been forming for the restoration of James the Third to thethrone. Constant meetings were held at a small inn at Didsbury, nearthe ferry, where the conspirators drank "The King over the Water."A secret correspondence was kept up with the exiled court, andassurances were given to the Chevalier de St. George that the wholepopulation of the town would rise in his favour whenever the expectedinvasion took place.

  The great spread of Jacobite opinions throughout the town could betraced to two or three influential individuals. Chief among these wasDr. Deacon--a very remarkable man, whose zeal and earnestness werecalculated to extend his opinions, and make converts of those opposedto him. Dr. Deacon had been concerned in the former rebellion, and inhis quality of a Nonjuring priest had assisted at the dying moments ofthe Reverend William Paul and Justice Hall, who were executed in 1716.The declaration delivered by them to the sheriff was written by Dr.Deacon, and produced an immense effect from its force and eloquence.Having incurred the suspicion of the Government, Dr. Deacon deemed itexpedient to change his profession. Repairing to Manchester, he beganto practise as a physician, and with considerable success. But thisdid not prevent him from carrying on his spiritual labours. He foundeda Nonjuring church, of which he was regarded as the bishop. Hisfervour and enthusiasm gained him many disciples, and heunquestionably produced an effect upon the clergy of the collegiatechurch, all of whom, except the warden, Dr. Peploe, adopted hisopinions, and inculcated Jacobitism from the pulpit. Though avisionary and mystic, Dr. Deacon was a man of great erudition, and aprofound theologian. He had three sons, all of whom shared hispolitical and religious opinions.