“I have come to raise recruits for the yellow-haired laddie,” he cried. “Will none of you join me? Will none of you serve the prince?”
Some voices answered in the affirmative, but those who called out were at a distance.
“Here, friends, here!” shouted Dickson, waving his claymore to them. “I want recruits for the yellow-haired laddie. Ye ken weel whom I mean.”
“Ay, ay. We’ll join! — we’ll join!” cried twenty voices.
And the speakers tried to force their way toward Erick, but were prevented by the Presbyterians in the crowd.
The tumult that ensued operated in the sergeant’s favour, and enabled him to keep his assailants at bay till assistance really arrived in the shape of a band of some fifty or sixty Jacobites, mustered on the instant, and headed by Tom Syddall.
Erick, with Helen and Rollo, proclaim King James at Manchester
Page 99.
It was now a scene of triumph and rejoicing. Since his opponents had taken to flight, and he was so numerously supported, Sergeant Dickson declared he would take possession of the town in the name of his sovereign, King James the Third, and the proposition was received with loud shouts. These shouts, with the continuous beating of the drum by Rollo, soon brought large additions to the numbers friendly to the Jacobite cause; and Dickson, with Helen by his side, and attended by Syddall on foot, crossed the bridge at the head of a victorious host, who made the air ring with their acclamations.
CHAPTER II.
THE PROCLAMATION AT THE CROSS.
On reaching the Cross, the sergeant placed himself in front of it, and waiting for a few minutes till the concourse had gathered round him, in a loud voice he proclaimed King James the Third. A tremendous shout followed, accompanied by the waving of hats.
Among the spectators of this singular scene were Dr. Byrom and Beppy. Being stationed at an open window, they were free from any annoyance from the crowd.
Both were much struck by the sergeant’s fine athletic figure and manly features, but they were chiefly interested by Helen, whom Beppy thought the prettiest creature she had ever beheld.
“Do look at her lovely golden locks, papa!” she said. “Don’t you think they would be completely spoiled by powder? And then her eyes! — how bright they are! And her teeth! — how brilliantly white! I declare I never saw an English beauty to compare with her.”
“She certainly is exceedingly pretty,” replied Dr. Byrom. “And there is an air of freshness and innocence about her scarcely to be expected in a girl circumstanced as she is, that heightens her beauty.”
“She is as good as she is pretty, I am quite sure,” said Beppy.
“I hope so,” returned Dr. Byrom, rather gravely. “I will make some inquiries about her.”
“Never will I place faith in a physiognomy again, if hers proves deceptive,” cried Beppy.
Beppy, however, was not the only person bewitched by Helen.
When beheld at the Cross, the fair Scottish lassie electrified the crowd, and many a youth lost his heart to her.
As soon as the proclamation had been made, Sergeant Dickson addressed himself to the business on which he had come. Causing the drum to be beaten, he made a brief speech, in which he urged all brave young men who heard him to take up arms for their lawful sovereign, and help to restore him to the throne.
“All who have a mind to serve his royal highness, Prince Charles, are invited to come forward,” he cried. “Five guineas in advance.”
Many young men promptly responded to the call, and pressed towards the sergeant, who still remained on horseback near the Cross, with Helen beside him. Rollo, likewise, was close at hand, and kept constantly drubbing away at the drum.
Helen gained as many recruits as the sergeant himself — perhaps more. Her smile proved irresistible. When an applicant hesitated, a few words from her decided him. Each name was entered in a book by the sergeant, but the payment of the five guineas was necessarily deferred until the arrival of Mr. Murray, the prince’s secretary.
Altogether, a great deal of enthusiasm prevailed, and the sergeant had good reason to be satisfied with the result of his advance-march from Preston. He remained nearly half an hour at the Cross, and then proceeded to the market-place, accompanied by all the new recruits, and followed by an immense crowd.
As they passed the house at the windows of which Beppy Byrom and her father were stationed, a momentary halt took place, during which Beppy came forward, and waved her handkerchief to the Scottish damsel. Helen bowed in acknowledgment with a grace peculiarly her own, and taking off her bonnet, pointed significantly to the white cockade that decked it.
“Will ye wear this, my bonnie young leddy, an I gie it ye?” she cried.
“Ay, that I will,” replied Beppy.
Helen immediately rode up to the window, which she saw was quite within reach, and detaching the ribbon from her bonnet gave it to her admirer, who received it with every expression of delight, and instantly proceeded to fix it upon her own breast.
“Ye are now bound to find a recruit for Prince Charlie, my bonnie young leddy,” said Helen, as she moved away amid the laughter and cheers of the beholders.
Previously to this little occurrence, Dr. Byrom and his daughter had been made acquainted with Helen’s history by Tom Syddall, and had learnt that her character was irreproachable.
“I hope I shall see her again,” said Beppy. “I should like so much to converse with her.”
“Well, I make no doubt your wish can be gratified,” said her father. “I’ll speak to Syddall, and he will bid her call upon you. But why do you take so much interest in her?”
“I can’t exactly tell,” replied Beppy. “She seems to me to possess a great many good qualities, and, at all events, I admire her romantic attachment to her lover. Still, I don’t think I should have been so very much charmed with her if she hadn’t been so exceedingly pretty. And now you have the truth, papa.”
“Good looks evidently go a long way with you, Beppy,” said her father, laughing.
“Indeed they do, papa. But now that the street has become clear, let us go and speak to Tom Syddall.”
The room from which they had viewed the proceedings at the Cross formed the upper part of a draper’s shop. Thanking the owner, they now took their departure, and sought out Tom Syddall, whom they found at his door. He readily undertook to send Helen Carnegie to Miss Byrom as soon as the recruiting was over.
But the sergeant had a great deal to do, and did not care to part with either of his companions.
He continued to parade the town for some hours, enlisting all who offered themselves; and the number of the recruits soon exceeded a hundred.
The authorities did not interfere with him — probably deeming it useless to do so. Had they really surrendered the town they could not have proved more submissive.
CHAPTER III.
FATHER JEROME.
Nothing had been heard of Sir Richard Rawcliffe since his sudden flight, but Constance had no fears for his safety, for all danger was over as soon as he got fairly out of Manchester.
But she looked forward to his return with an uneasiness such as she had never before experienced. Her father loved her dearly — better than any one else — for she was his only child. But he was of a violent temper — easily offended, and by no means easily appeased, as she herself had found, for she had more than once incurred his displeasure, though for matters of very trifling import. From her knowledge of his character, she could not doubt he would be exceedingly angry that she had read the letter relating to Atherton Legh, and though it would be easy to say nothing about it, she could not reconcile herself to such a disingenuous course.
After some reflection, she determined to consult Father Jerome, and be guided by his advice. Accordingly she sought a private conference with him, and told him all that had occurred.
The priest listened to her recital with great attention, and then said:
“I am glad you have spoken to me, d
aughter. If the matter is mentioned to Sir Richard it must be by me — not by you. It would trouble him exceedingly to think you are acquainted with this secret. He would blame himself for committing the papers to your care, and he would blame you for reading them.”
“I have only read a single letter, father, as I have explained to you.”
“That I quite understand; but I fear Sir Richard will suspect you have indulged your curiosity to a greater extent.”
“My father will believe what I tell him,” said Constance, proudly.
“’Tis better not to give him so much annoyance if it can be helped,” rejoined the priest; “and though frankness is generally desirable, there are occasions when reticence is necessary. This is one of them. Have you the packet with you?”
“Yes, ’tis here,” she replied, producing it.
“Give it me,” he cried, taking it from her. “I will restore it to Sir Richard. He will then say nothing more to you. But mark me!” he added, gravely, “the secret you have thus accidentally obtained must be strictly kept. Breathe it to no one. And now I must not neglect to caution you on another point. Yesterday I saw this young man — this Atherton Legh — of whom we have just been speaking. He is very handsome, and well calculated to inspire regard in the female breast. I trust you have no such feeling for him.”
“Father,” she replied, blushing deeply, “I will hide nothing from you. I love him.”
“I grieve to hear the avowal,” he said. “But you must conquer the passion— ‘twill be easy to do so in the commencement. Sir Richard would never consent to your union with an obscure adventurer. I therefore forbid you in your father’s name to think further of the young man. Any hopes you may have indulged must be crushed at once.”
“But I cannot — will not treat him in this way, father.”
“I charge you to dismiss him. Recollect you are the daughter and heiress of Sir Richard Rawcliffe. You have committed a great imprudence: but the error must be at once repaired. Disobedience to my injunctions would be as culpable as disobedience to your father, whom I represent. Again I say the young man must be dismissed.”
Before she could make any answer, the door opened, and the very person in question entered, accompanied by Monica.
“He has come to receive his sentence,” said the priest, in a low, unpitying tone.
“Not now,” she cried, with a supplicating look.
“Yes, now,” he rejoined, coldly.
On this he went up to Monica, and telling her he had something to say, led her out of the room, leaving Atherton and Constance alone together.
“I fear I have come at a most inopportune moment,” said the young man, who could not fail to be struck by her embarrassment.
“You have come at the close of a very severe lecture which I have just received from Father Jerome,” she replied. “He blames me for the encouragement I have given you, and forbids me, in my father’s name, to see you again.”
“But you do not mean to obey him?” cried Atherton. “Surely you will not allow him to exercise this control over you? He is acting without authority.”
“Not entirely without authority, for my father is guided by his advice in many things. This must be our last interview.”
“Oh! say not so. You drive me to despair. Give me some hope — however slight. May I speak to Sir Richard?”
“’Twould be useless,” she replied, sadly. “Father Jerome has convinced me that he never would consent to our union. No, we must part — part for ever!”
“You have pronounced my doom, and I must submit. Oh! Constance — for I will venture to call you so for one moment — I did not think you could have so quickly changed!”
“My feelings towards you are unaltered,” she rejoined. “But I am obliged to put a constraint upon them. We must forget what has passed.”
“The attempt would be vain on my part,” cried Atherton, bitterly. “Oh! Constance, if you knew the anguish I now endure you would pity me. But I will not seek to move your compassion — neither will I reproach you — though you have raised up my hopes only to crush them. Farewell!”
“Stay — one moment!” she cried. “I may never have an explanation with you — —”
“I do not want an explanation,” he rejoined. “I can easily understand why Father Jerome has given you this counsel. So long as a mystery attaches to my birth, he holds that I have no right to pretend to your hand. That is his opinion. That would be Sir Richard’s opinion.”
“No, it could not be my father’s opinion,” she cried.
“Why do you think so?” he exclaimed, eagerly.
She was hesitating as to the answer she should give him, when the priest reappeared. He was alone.
“You are impatient for my departure, sir,” said Atherton. “But you need not be uneasy. Miss Rawcliffe has followed your advice. All is at an end between us.”
With a farewell look at Constance, he then passed out.
CHAPTER IV.
GENERAL SIR JOHN MACDONALD.
Towards evening, on the same day, Lord Pitsligo’s regiment of horse, commanded by General Sir John MacDonald — Lord Pitsligo, owing to his age and infirmities, being compelled to occupy the prince’s carriage — entered the town.
The two divisions of the Highland army were left respectively at Wigan and Leigh. Lord Pitsligo’s regiment, though its numbers were small, scarcely exceeding a hundred and fifty, made a very good show, being composed chiefly of gentlemen — all wearing their national costume, and all being tolerably well mounted.
General MacDonald had ordered the official authorities to meet him at the Cross, and he found the two constables waiting for him there; but an excuse was made for the boroughreeve. The general demanded quarters for ten thousand men to be ready on the morrow, when the prince would arrive with the army, and immediate accommodation for himself, his officers, and men; intimating that his followers must not be treated like common troopers.
Declaring that they acted on compulsion, the constables, who were very much awed by Sir John’s manner, promised compliance with his injunctions. They recommended him to take up his quarters for the night at the Bull’s Head, and undertook that the Highland gentlemen composing the troop should be well lodged.
Satisfied with this promise, General MacDonald rode on to the market-place, attended by his officers, while the troopers were billeted without delay under the direction of the constables and their deputies.
It may be thought that the arrival of this regiment — one of the best in the Highland army — would have created a much greater sensation than the trivial affair of the morning. But such was not the case. Sergeant Dickson, being first in the field, gained all the glory. The popular excitement was over. No shouting crowds followed General MacDonald to the Black Bull, and the streets were almost empty, as the troopers were billeted.
Later on, the all-important bellman was sent round to give notice that quarters for ten thousand men would be required next day. At the same time a fresh prohibition was issued against the removal of provisions.
Among the few whose curiosity took them to the neighbourhood of the Cross to witness the new arrival, were Beppy and her father. They were joined by Atherton Legh, who had been wandering about in a very disconsolate state ever since his parting with Constance.
Remarking that he looked very much dejected, Beppy inquired the cause, and easily ascertained the truth; and as she regarded Constance in the light of a rival, she was not sorry that a misunderstanding had occurred between them. Naturally, she did her best to cheer the young man, and though she could not entirely cure his wounded feelings, she partially succeeded.
From the Cross the little party proceeded to the marketplace, and as they drew near the Bull’s Head they were surprised to see Sir Richard Rawcliffe, who had evidently just alighted, and was conversing with General MacDonald at the entrance to the inn. No sooner did the baronet descry Dr. Byrom than he called to him, and presented him to the general, who shook hands with hi
m very cordially.
But Sir Richard’s conduct towards Atherton was marked by great rudeness, and he returned the young man’s salutation in a very distant and haughty fashion, and as if he scarcely recognised him.
“Apparently Sir Richard has quite forgotten the important service you rendered him,” remarked Beppy, who could not help noticing the slight.
Deeply mortified, Atherton would have turned away, but she induced him to remain, and shortly afterwards he was brought forward unexpectedly.
General MacDonald being much struck by his appearance, inquired his name, and on hearing it exclaimed:
“Why this is the young man who delivered you from arrest, Sir Richard. Have you nothing to say to him?”
“I have already thanked him,” replied the baronet, coldly. “And he shall not find me ungrateful.”
“Zounds! you have a strange way of showing your gratitude.”
Atherton could not help hearing these observations, and he immediately stepped up and said with great haughtiness:
“I have asked no favour from you, Sir Richard, and will accept none.”
The baronet was so confounded that he could make no reply. Bowing to General MacDonald, Atherton was about to retire, but the other stopped him.
“There is one thing you will accept from Sir Richard, I am sure,” he said, “and that is an apology, and I hope he will make you a handsome one for the rudeness with which he has treated you.”
“I cannot discuss private matters in public, Sir John,” said Rawcliffe. “But from what I have heard since my return — and I have called at my sister’s house and seen Father Jerome — I think I have good reason to complain of Mr. Atherton Legh’s conduct.”
“I must bear what you have said in silence, Sir Richard, and with such patience as I can,” rejoined Atherton. “But you have no reason to complain of my conduct.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 698