"May the Lord of Hosts be with you on the day of battle, and grant youvictory! May you both return in safety and claim your reward!"
To this Mrs. Butler added, with great earnestness and emotion:
"Should Heaven permit them to be vanquished--should they be takencaptive--may they be spared the cruel fate that befel so many, who, inby-gone days, fought in the same righteous cause, and suffered deathfor their loyalty and devotion."
This supplication, uttered in sorrowful tones, produced a powerfulimpression upon all the hearers.
"Why have you drawn this sad picture, mamma?" said Monica, halfreproachfully.
"I could not repress my feelings, my child. A terrible sceneperpetually rises before me, and I feel it will haunt me to the last."
"Have you witnessed such a scene, mamma?" cried her daughter,trembling. "You have never spoken of it to me?"
"I have often wished to do so, but I felt the description would giveyou pain. Are you equal to it now, do you think?"
"Yes," she replied, with attempted firmness, but quivering lip.
"And you, Constance?" said Mrs. Butler.
"I can listen to you, aunt," rejoined Constance, in tones that did notfalter.
Before commencing, Mrs. Butler consulted Father Jerome by a glance,and his counsel to her was conveyed in these words, "Better relieveyour mind, madam."
"I was very young," she said, "younger than you, Monica, when thegreatest sorrow of my life occurred. At the time of the former risingin 1715, my faith was plighted to one who held a command in theinsurgent army. I will not breathe his name, but he belonged to anoble family that had made great sacrifices for King James the Second,and was prepared to make equal sacrifices for the Chevalier de St.George. The brave and noble youth to whom I was betrothed was sanguineof success, and I had no misgivings. I was with him at Preston duringthe battle, and when the capitulation took place, he confided me to afriend whom he loved as a brother, saying to him, 'Should my life betaken by our bloodthirsty foes, as I have reason to fear it will, beto her what I would have been. Regard her as my widow--wed her.' Hisfriend gave the promise he required, and he kept his word."
Here she paused for a short time, while Monica and Constance--neitherof whom had ever heard of this singular promise, or of the betrothalthat preceded it--looked at each other.
Meanwhile, a change came over Mrs. Butler's countenance--theexpression being that of horror.
Her lips were slightly opened, her large dark eyes dilated, and thoughthey were fixed on vacancy, it was easy to perceive that a fearfulvision was rising before her.
"Ay, there it is," she cried, in tones and with a look that froze theblood of her hearers--"there is the scaffold!" stretching out herhand, as if pointing to some object. "'Tis there, as I beheld it onthat fatal morn on Tower Hill. 'Tis draped in black. The block isthere, the axe, the coffin, the executioner. A vast concourse isassembled--and what an expression is in their faces! But where is he?I see him not. Ah! now he steps upon the scaffold. How young, howhandsome he looks! How undaunted is his bearing! Every eye is fixedupon him, and a murmur of pity bursts from the multitude. He lookscalmly round. He has discovered me. He smiles, and encourages me byhis looks. Some ceremonies have to be performed, but these are quicklyover. He examines the block--the coffin--with unshaken firmness--andfeels the edge of the axe. Then he prays with the priest who attendshim. All his preparations made, he bows an eternal farewell to me, andturns---- Ha! I can see no more--'tis gone!"
And she sank back half fainting in the chair, while her daughter andniece sought to revive her.
So vivid had been the effect produced, that those present almostfancied they had witnessed the terrible scene described.
For a brief space not a word was spoken. At the end of that time, Mrs.Butler opened her eyes, and fixing them upon the young men, exclaimed:
"Again, I pray Heaven to avert such a fate from you both!"
Monica burst into tears. Her lover flew towards her, and as she seemedabout to swoon, he caught her in his arms.
"Ah! Jemmy," she exclaimed, looking up at him tenderly, "how could Ilive if I lost you! You must not join this perilous expedition."
"Nay, I cannot honourably withdraw," he replied. "My promise is givento the prince. Were I to retire now I should be termed a coward. Andall my love for you would not enable me to bear that dreadfulreproach."
"'Tis I who induced you to join," she cried. "If you perish, I shallbe guilty of your death. You must not--shall not go."
"How is this?" he cried. "I cannot believe you are the brave Jacobitegirl who urged me to take arms for the good cause."
"My love, I find, is stronger than my loyalty," she replied. "Do notleave me, Jemmy. A sad presentiment has come over me, and I dread lestyou should perish by the hand of the executioner."
"This idle foreboding of ill is solely caused by your mother's fanciedvision. Shake it off, and be yourself."
"Ay, be yourself, Monica," said Constance, stepping towards them."This weakness is unworthy of you. 'Tis quite impossible for Jemmy toretreat with honour from his plighted word. Those who have embarked inthis hazardous enterprise must go through it at whatever risk."
And she glanced at Atherton, who maintained a firm countenance.
But Monica fixed a supplicating look on her lover, and sought to movehim.
Fearing he might yield to her entreaties, Constance seized his hand.
"For your sake I am bound to interpose, Jemmy," she said. "You willfor ever repent it, if you make a false step now. What is life withouthonour?"
"Heed her not!" exclaimed Monica. "Listen to me! Till now I never knewhow dear you are to me. I cannot--will not part with you."
Both Mrs. Butler and Father Jerome heard what was passing, but did notdeem it necessary to interfere--leaving the task to Constance.
"Take him hence!" said Constance, in a low tone to Atherton. "She mayshake his determination. Ere long she will recover her energies, andthink quite differently."
After bidding adieu to Mrs. Butler and the priest, Atherton tried tolead Jemmy gently away. But Monica still clung to him.
"Come with me," said Atherton. "I want to say a few words to you inprivate."
"Say what you have to tell him here," observed Monica.
"This is mere childishness, Monica," observed Constance. "Let him gowith his friend."
Monica offered no further resistance, and the two young men quittedthe room together.
No sooner were they gone than Monica flew towards Mrs. Butler, andthrowing herself at her feet, exclaimed:
"Oh, mother! let us pray that Jemmy may not share the tragical fate ofhim you have mourned so long. Let us pray that he may not die thedeath of a traitor!"
"A traitor!" exclaimed Mrs. Butler. "He whom I mourn was no traitor."
"Listen to me, daughter," said Father Jerome, in a tone of solemnrebuke. "Should he to whom you are betrothed fall a sacrifice totyranny, oppression, and usurpation--should he suffer in the cause oftruth and justice--should he lay down his life in asserting the rightof his only lawful sovereign, King James the Third--then be assuredthat he will not die a traitor, but a martyr."
Monica bore this reproof well. Looking up at her mother and thepriest, she said, in penitential tones:
"Forgive me. I see my error. I will no longer try to dissuade him, butwill pray that he may have grace to fulfil the task he hasundertaken."
CHAPTER XX.
THE JACOBITE MEETING IN TOM SYDDALL'S BACK ROOM.
Tom Syddall's shop was situated on Smithy Bank, in the immediateneighbourhood both of the Cross and of Salford Bridge.
The house was a diminutive specimen of the numerous timber and plasterhabitations, chequered black and white, that abounded on the spot; butit was quite large enough for Tom. The gables were terminated bygrotesquely-carved faces, that seemed perpetually grinning andthrusting out their tongues at the passers-by; and a bay-windowprojected over the porch, the latter being ornamented with a largebarber's pole and
a brass basin, as indications of Tom's calling,though his shop was sufficiently well-known without them.
The door usually stood invitingly open, even at an early hour in themorning, and the barber himself could be seen in the low-roofed room,covering some broad-visaged customer's cheeks with lather, or plyingthe keen razor over his chin, while half-a-dozen others could bedescried seated on benches patiently waiting their turn.
At a somewhat later hour the more important business of wig-dressingbegan, and then Tom retired to a back room, where the highestmysteries of his art were screened from the vulgar gaze--and fromwhich sacred retreat, when a customer emerged, he appeared in all thedignity of a well-powdered peruke, a full-bottomed tie-wig, a bob, abob-major, or an apothecary's bust, as the case might be.
Tom did a great deal of business, and dressed some of the best "heads"in Manchester--not only ladies' heads, but gentlemen's--but, ofcourse, he attended the ladies at their own houses.
But Tom Syddall, as we have seen, was not only a perruquier, but anardent politician. Frequent Jacobite meetings were held in his backroom, and plots were frequently hatched when it was thought thatperukes alone were being dressed.
Perfectly loyal and trustworthy was Tom. Many secrets were confided tohim, but none were ever betrayed. Every opportunity was afforded himfor playing the spy, had he been so minded, but he would have scornedthe office.
However, he had his special objects of dislike, and would neitherdress the wig of a Whig, nor shave a Presbyterian if he knew it.Equally decided was Tom on his religious opinions, being a zealousmember of Dr. Deacon's True British Catholic Church.
After his great exploit at the bridge, and his subsequent deliveranceby the mob, several Jacobites came in the evening--when his shop wasclosed--to offer him their congratulations, and were introduced--asthey arrived singly, or two or three at a time--to the back room, ofwhich we have just made mention.
By-and-by a tolerably large party assembled, all of whom being verydecided Jacobites, a good deal of treason was naturally talked.
As there were not chairs for all, several of the company sat wherethey could, and a droll effect was produced in consequence of theirbeing mixed up with the wig-blocks, one of which, from its elevatedposition, seemed to preside over the assemblage, and caused muchlaughter.
Among the persons present were Dr. Byrom and Dr. Deacon, the latter ofthem having with him his three sons, all of whom were fine-lookingyoung men.
Besides these there was the Rev. Thomas Coppock, who, it may beremembered, had been promised the appointment of chaplain to theManchester Regiment by Colonel Townley. Though the young Jacobitedivine wore his cassock and bands, he looked as if martialaccoutrements would have suited him better. His big looks andblustering manner did not harmonise with his clerical habit. Vain andambitious, Parson Coppock fully believed--if the expedition provedsuccessful--he should be created Bishop of Chester, or, at least, bemade warden of the collegiate church.
With those we have particularised were four other young men who hadbeen promised commissions--Thomas Chadwick, John Berwick, GeorgeFletcher, and Samuel Maddocks.
When we have added the names of Jemmy Dawson and Atherton Legh, thelist of the party will be complete.
An important communication had been made to the meeting by Dr. Deacon,who had just received an express informing him that the prince hadarrived at Preston with the first division of his army, so that LordPitsligo's regiment of horse might be expected to reach Manchester onthe morrow.
"Of this information, gentlemen," pursued Dr. Deacon, "you alone arein possession, for precautions have been taken to prevent any otherexpress from being sent from Preston to the authorities of Manchester.The magistrates, therefore, will be in complete ignorance of theprince's approach till he is close at hand. It will now be apparent toyou how great has been the service rendered by Mr. Atherton Legh andour brave Tom Syddall. Had Salford Bridge been destroyed--according tothe boroughreeve's plan--the prince could not have entered Manchester,without making a lengthened and troublesome detour, that might haveexposed him to some unforeseen attack, whereas he will now march intothe town at the head of his army without encountering any obstacle."
Expressions of approval were heard on all sides, and Syddall appearedquite elated by the commendations bestowed upon him.
"Since the prince will be here so soon it behoves us to prepare forhim," he said. "Care must be taken that he does not want food for hismen and forage for his horses. As you are all no doubt aware, a greatquantity of provisions has been sent out of the town. This must bestopped."
"You are right, Tom," cried Dr. Byrom. "But how stop it?"
"Very easily," replied Syddall. "We must engage Ben Birch, thebellman, to go round to-night, and warn the townsfolk not to removeany more provisions."
"A good plan," cried Dr. Byrom. "But will Ben Birch obey the order?"
"If he won't I'll seize his bell and go round myself," rejoinedSyddall. "But never fear, doctor; Ben will do it if he's well paid."
"But where is he to be found?" cried Dr. Byrom. "'Tis getting late."
"I know where to find him," replied Tom. "Before going home to bed healways takes his pot of ale and smokes his pipe at the Half Moon inHanging Ditch. He's there now I'll warrant you."
Everybody agreed that the plan was excellent, and ought to be carriedout without delay, and Syddall, who undertook the entire management ofthe affair, was just preparing to set off to Hanging Ditch, which wasat no great distance from his dwelling, when a knock was heard at theouter door.
The company looked at each other. So many strange things occurred atthis juncture that they could not help feeling some little uneasiness.
"Don't be alarmed, gentlemen," said Tom. "I'll go and reconnoitre."
So saying, he hurried up a staircase that quickly brought him to anupper room overlooking the street.
CHAPTER XXI.
BEN BIRCH, THE BELLMAN OF MANCHESTER.
It was a fine moonlight night, almost as bright as day, and when Tomlooked out he saw that the person who had just knocked was no otherthan Ben Birch.
Now the bellman was a very important functionary at the time, and itseemed as if the town could not get on without him. Whenever anythingwas to be done the bellman was sent round. The magistrates constantlyemployed him, and he paced about the streets ringing his bell, andgiving public notices of one kind or other, all day long.
Tall and stout, with a very red face, Ben Birch looked like a beadle,for he wore a laced cocked hat and a laced great-coat. Fully aware ofthe importance of his office, he was consequential in manner, and hisvoice, when he chose to exert it, was perfectly stentorian. Ben Birch,we ought to add, was suspected of being a Jacobite.
"Why, Ben, is that you?" cried Tom, looking at him from the window.
"Ay, Mester Syddall, it's me, sure enough," replied the bellman. "I'vegot summat to tell you. Some mischievous chaps has been making freewith your pow, and what dun yo think they've stuck on it?"
"I can't tell, Ben."
"Why, your feyther's skull. Yo can see it if yo look down. I noticedit as I were passing, and thought I'd stop and tell you."
"I should like to hang the rascal, whoever he may be, that has daredto profane that precious relic," cried Tom, furiously. "It must havebeen stolen, for I kept it carefully in a box."
"Well, it's a woundy bad joke, to say the least of it," rejoined Ben,with difficulty repressing a laugh. "Luckily, there's no harm done."
So saying, he took the pole and handed up the skull to the barber, whoreceived it very reverently.
"Much obliged to you, Ben," he said, in a voice husky with emotion."If I can only find out the rascal who has played me this trick heshall bitterly repent it."
"A Presbyterian, no doubt," cried the bellman.
"Ay, those prick-eared curs are all my enemies," said Syddall. "But weshall soon have a change. Wait a moment, Ben, I've got a job for you."
He then restored the relic to the box from which it had beena
bstracted, and went down-stairs.
On returning to the room where the company was assembled, he explainedto them that the bellman was without, but said nothing about theindignity he himself had undergone.
"Shall I settle matters with him, or bring him in?" he asked.
"Bring him in," cried the assemblage.
In another moment Ben was introduced. Greatly surprised to find theroom thus crowded, he stared at the party.
"What is your pleasure, gentlemen?" he said, removing his cocked hatand bowing.
"We have heard with great concern, Ben," said Mr. Coppock, gravely,"that provisions are beginning to run short in the town. We,therefore, desire that you will go round this very night, and givenotice to the inhabitants that no victuals or stores of any kind mustbe removed on any pretext whatsoever."
"I am very willing to obey you, gentlemen, particularly as such anotice can do no harm," said Ben; "but I ought to have an order fromthe magistrates."
"This will do as well, I fancy," said Coppock, giving him a guinea.
"I'll do the job," rejoined the bellman, pocketing the fee. "I shan'tfail to end my proclamation with 'God save the king!' but I shallleave those who hear me to guess which king I mean."
Wishing the company good-night he then went out, and shortlyafterwards the loud ringing of his bell was heard in the street.
His first proclamation was made at the corner of Deansgate, and bythis time--though the street had previously appeared quite empty--hehad got a small crowd round him, while several persons appeared at thedoors and windows.