The Manchester Rebels of the Fatal '45

To the sole being to whom my heart clings with affection – to my daughter – I must now bid an eternal farewell! I cannot write to her, and she will understand why I cannot. I implore her prayers. When I am gone she will have no protector, and I trust that her cousin, Conway, will watch over her. My private property will be hers. Though small in comparison with Rawcliffe, 'twill be enough.

I have still much to say, for thick-coming thoughts press upon me; but I must not give them way. Were I to delay longer, my resolution might waver. Adieu, Conway! Adieu, Constance! Forgive me! – pray for me!

Richard Rawcliffe.

Enclosed within the packet was the key of the cabinet.

There was likewise another manuscript written by the unhappy baronet and signed by him, giving full particulars of the terrible occurrence alluded to; but since the reader is already acquainted with the details it is not necessary to reproduce them.

Atherton was profoundly moved by the perusal of this letter, and remained for some time buried in reflection.

Rousing himself at length from the reverie into which he had fallen, he looked round for the ebony cabinet, and easily discovered it. Unlocking it, he found that it contained a large bundle of letters and papers labelled in the late baronet's hand, "Documents relating to Conway Rawcliffe, with proofs of his title to the Rawcliffe estate."

He searched no further. He did not even untie the bundle, feeling certain it contained all the necessary evidences; but having carefully secured Sir Richard's last letter and confession, he locked the cabinet, and put the key in his pocket.

He then rang the bell, and when Markland made his appearance, he said to him:

"Before my departure from Manchester, Markland, it is necessary that I should give you some instructions, in case I should not be able to return, for the prince may be unwilling to release me from my engagements. I am sure you have faithfully served your late unfortunate master, and I am equally sure of your attachment to his daughter, and I have therefore every confidence in you. My great anxiety is respecting Miss Rawcliffe," he continued, in accents that bespoke the deepest feeling. "Intelligence of this dreadful event will be communicated to her to-morrow. How she will bear it I know not."

"If I may venture to give an opinion, sir, and I have known the dear young lady from childhood, and am therefore well acquainted with her temperament and disposition – when the first shock is over, she will bear the bereavement with resignation and firmness. She was familiar with Sir Richard's wayward moods, and has often feared that something dreadful would happen to him. No doubt the shock will be a terrible one to her, and I can only hope she will be equal to it."

"All precautions shall be taken to break the sad tidings to her," said Atherton. "When she comes here it is my wish that she should be treated precisely as heretofore – you understand, Markland."

The butler bowed.

"I hope she will bring her cousin —my cousin, Miss Butler, with her. Mrs. Butler, I fear, may not be equal to the journey, but you will prepare for her, and for Father Jerome."

"Your orders shall be strictly attended to, sir," said the butler.

"And now with regard to my unfortunate uncle," paused the young baronet. "In case I am unable to return, I must leave the care of everything to you. Certain formalities of justice, rendered necessary by the case, must be observed, and you will take care that nothing is neglected. On all other points Miss Rawcliffe must be consulted."

"I will not fail to consult her, sir. But I am sure she would desire that her father's remains should be laid in the vault beneath the chapel where his ancestors repose, and that the funeral rites should be performed with the utmost privacy."

This conference ended, Atherton proceeded to the dining-room, and partook of a slight repast, after which he prepared for his departure.

The horses had already been brought round by Holden, the groom, and the night being extremely dark, the court-yard was illumined by torches, their yellow glare revealing the picturesque architecture of the old mansion.

Before mounting his steed, Atherton gave his hand to Markland, who pressed it respectfully, earnestly assuring the young gentleman that all his directions should be followed out.

The old butler then took leave of the sergeant, who had been in readiness for some minutes.

In consequence of the darkness, it was deemed advisable that Holden should lead the way. Accordingly, he was the first to cross the drawbridge, but the others kept close behind him.

CHAPTER XXXII.

ATHERTON'S DECISION IS MADE

It was with strange sensations that Atherton looked back at the darkling outline of the old mansion, and when it became undistinguishable in the gloom, he felt as if he had been indulging in an idle dream.

But no! the broad domains that spread around him on either side were his own. All he could discern belonged to him.

His meditations were not disturbed by either of his attendants, for the sergeant was a short distance behind him, and the groom about twenty or thirty yards in advance. As they trotted on quickly they were soon out of the park, and were now making their way somewhat more slowly along the road leading to Warrington. Presently they turned off on the right, in order to reach the ford, and were skirting the banks of the Mersey, when Holden came back and said that he perceived some men armed with muskets guarding the ford.

A brief consultation was then held. As the groom declared that the river was only fordable at this point, Atherton resolved to go on at all hazards.

As they drew near the ford they found it guarded – as Holden had stated – by half a dozen armed militia-men, who were evidently determined to dispute their passage.

"Stand! in the king's name!" cried the leader of the party in an authoritative voice. "We can discern that one of you is a Highlander, and we believe you are all rebels and traitors. Stand! I say!"

"Rebels and traitors yourselves!" thundered the sergeant in reply. "We own no sovereign but King James the Third."

"Out of our way, fellows!" cried Atherton. "We mean to pass the ford!"

Drawing his sword as he spoke, he struck spurs into his steed, and dashed down the bank, followed closely by the sergeant and Holden – the former having likewise drawn his claymore.

The militia-men drew back, but fired at them as they were crossing the river, though without doing them any harm.

Having escaped this danger, they proceeded at the same rapid pace as before, and in the same order, the groom riding about twenty yards in advance. The few travellers they met with got out of their way.

By the time they reached Chat Moss the moon had risen, and her beams illumined the dreary swamp.

The scene looked far more striking than it did by daylight, but Atherton gazed at it with a different eye. Other thoughts now occupied his breast, and he seemed changed even to himself. When he tracked that road, a few hours ago, he was a mere adventurer – without name – without fortune – now he had a title and large estates. Reflections on this sudden and extraordinary change in his position now completely engrossed him, and he fell into a reverie which lasted till he reached Pendleton, and then waking up, as if from a dream, he was astonished to find he had got so far.

From this elevation the town of Manchester could be descried, and as the houses were again illuminated, and bonfires were lighted in different quarters, it presented a very striking appearance.

Just as Atherton crossed Salford Bridge, the clock of the collegiate church told forth eleven; and so crowded were the streets, owing to the illuminations, that nearly another quarter of an hour was required to reach the prince's head-quarters.

Atherton was attended only by the groom, the sergeant having gone to report himself on his return to the Chevalier de Johnstone.

Dismounting at the gate, he entered the mansion, and orders having been given to that effect he was at once admitted to the prince, who was alone in his private cabinet.

Charles instantly inquired if he had brought Sir Richard Rawcliffe with him.

"He is unable to obey your royal highness's summons," replied the other.

"How?" exclaimed the prince, frowning.

"He is lying dead at Rawcliffe, having perished by his own hand. But he has left a written confession, wherein he acknowledges that he has wrongfully deprived me of my inheritance."

"This is strange indeed!" exclaimed the prince. "His extraordinary conduct to you is now explained, and the mystery that hung over your birth is solved. You are the lost son of the former baronet. I suspected as much, and meant to force the truth from Sir Richard. However, he has spared me the trouble. Pray let me know all that has occurred?"

Atherton then commenced his relation, to which the prince listened with the greatest interest, and when the story was brought to a conclusion he said:

"I will not affect to pity your unhappy uncle. He has escaped earthly punishment, and perhaps the deep remorse he appears to have felt may obtain him mercy on High. Let us hope so – since he has striven at the last to make some amends for his heavy offences. But to turn to yourself. Your position is now materially changed. You entered my service as an unknown adventurer, and not as a wealthy baronet. Considering this, and feeling, also, that I am under great personal obligation to you, I will not wait for any solicitation on your part, but at once release you from your engagement to me."

Atherton was much moved.

"Your royal highness overwhelms me by your kindness," he said. "But though Rawcliffe Hall and its domains may be mine by right, I do not intend to deprive Constance of the property. Furthermore, I shall not assume my real name and title till the close of the campaign. For the present I shall remain Atherton Legh. I trust your highness will approve of the course I intend to pursue?"

"I do approve of it," replied Charles, earnestly. "The resolution you have taken does you honour. Since you are determined to join me, it shall not be as a mere officer in the Manchester Regiment, but as one of my aides-de-camp. All needful explanation shall be given to Colonel Townley. I shall march at an early hour in the morning. But no matter. You can follow. You must see Constance before you leave, and if you are detained by any unforeseen cause, I will excuse you. Nay, no thanks. Good-night."

End of the Second Book

BOOK III.

THE MARCH TO DERBY, AND THE RETREAT

CHAPTER I.

AN OLD JACOBITE DAME

Next morning the prince quitted Manchester, marching on foot at the head of two regiments of infantry which formed the advanced guard. The main body of the army, with the cavalry and artillery, was to follow at a later hour.

As the two regiments in question, which were composed of remarkably fine men, marched up Market Street Lane, preceded by a dozen pipers, they were accompanied by a vast concourse of people, who came to witness the prince's departure, and shouted lustily as he came forth from his head-quarters, attended by Sir Thomas Sheridan and Colonel Ker.

Designing to make Macclesfield the limit of his first day's march, Charles took the road to Cheadle, and several hundred persons walked, or rather ran, by the side of the Highlanders for a mile or two, when they dropped off and returned, being unable to keep up with the active mountaineers.

Parties of men had been sent on previously to make a temporary bridge across the Mersey by felling trees; but the bridge not being completed on his arrival, the prince forded the river at the head of his troops.

On the opposite bank of the Mersey, several Cheshire gentlemen of good family were waiting to greet him, and wish him success in his enterprise.

Among them was an aged dame, Mrs. Skyring, who, being very infirm, was led forward by a Roman Catholic priest. Kneeling before the prince, she pressed his hand to her lips.

Much impressed by her venerable looks, Charles immediately raised her, and on learning her name, told her he had often heard of her as a devoted adherent of his house.

"Give ear to me for a few moments, I pray you, most gracious prince," she said, in faltering accents. "Eighty-five years ago, when an infant, I was lifted up in my mother's arms to see the happy landing at Dover of your great uncle, King Charles the Second. My father was a staunch Cavalier, served in the Civil Wars, and fought at Worcester. My mother was equally attached to the House of Stuart. I inherited their loyalty and devotion. When your grandsire, King James the Second, was driven from the throne, I prayed daily for his restoration."

"You did more than pray, madam," said the prince. "I am quite aware that you remitted half your income to our family; and this you have done for more than fifty years. I thank you in my grandsire's name – in my father's name – and in my own."

Sobs checked the old lady's utterance for a moment, but at length she went on:

"When I learnt that you were marching on England at the head of an army, determined to drive out the Hanoverian usurper, and regain your crown, I was filled with despair that I could not assist you; but I sold my plate, my jewels, and every trinket I possessed. They did not produce much – not half so much as I hoped – but all they produced is in this purse. I pray your royal highness to accept it as an earnest of my devotion."

While uttering these words, which greatly touched Charles, she again bent before him, and placed the purse in his hands.

"Pain me not by a refusal, I implore you, most gracious prince," she said. "And think not you are depriving me of aught. I cannot live long, and I have no children. 'Tis the last assistance I shall be able to render your royal house – for which I have lived, and for which I would die."

"I accept the gift, madam," replied Charles, with unaffected emotion, "with as much gratitude as if you had placed a large sum at my disposal. You are, indeed, a noble dame; and our family may well be proud of a servant so loyal! If I succeed in my enterprise, I will recompense you a hundred fold."

"I am fully recompensed by these gracious words, prince," she rejoined.

"Nay, madam," he cried, pressing her hand to his lips; "mere thanks are not enough. You have not confined yourself to words."

"My eyes are very dim, prince," said the old dame; "and what you say to me will not make me see more clearly. Yet let me look upon your face, and I will tell you what I think of you. I am too old to flatter."

"You will not offend me by plain speaking," said Charles, smiling.

"You are a true Stuart," she continued, trying to peruse his features. "But there are some lines in your comely countenance that bode – "

"Not misfortune, I trust?" said Charles, finding she hesitated.

She regarded him anxiously, and made an effort to reply, but could not.

"What ails you, madam?" cried the prince, greatly alarmed by the deathly hue that overspread her features.

Her strength was gone, and she would have fallen, if he had not caught her in his arms.

Her friends, who were standing near, rushed forward to her assistance.

"Alas, all is over!" exclaimed Charles, mournfully, as he consigned her inanimate frame to them.

"She is scarcely to be pitied, prince," said the Romish priest. "'Tis thus she desired to die. May the angels receive her soul, and present it before the Lord!"

"The sum she has bestowed upon me shall buy masses for the repose of her soul," said Charles.

"Nay, prince," rejoined the priest. "Her soul is already at rest. Employ the money, I beseech you, as she requested."

Much affected by this incident, Charles continued his march through a fine champaign country, well-timbered and richly cultivated, containing numerous homesteads, and here and there an old hall of the true Cheshire type, and comprehending views of Bowden Downs and Dunham Park on the left, with Norbury and Lyme Park on the right.

At Headforth Hall he halted with his body-guard, and claimed the hospitality of its owner; while his troops marched on to Wilmslow, and forced the inhabitants of that pretty little village to supply their wants.

From Wilmslow the prince's march was continued to Macclesfield, where he fixed his quarters at an old mansion near the Chester Gate.

CHAPTER II.

ATHERTON'S GIFT TO CONSTANCE

The prince's departure from Manchester took place on Sunday, December the 1st; but as the main body of the army did not leave till the middle of the day, and great confusion prevailed in the town, no service took place in the churches.

The cavalry was drawn up in St. Ann's Square; the different regiments of infantry collected at various points in the town; and the Manchester Regiment assembled in the collegiate churchyard.

While the troops were thus getting into order, preparatory to setting out for Macclesfield, a great number of the inhabitants of the town came forth to look at them – very much increasing the tumult and confusion.

The Manchester Regiment got into marching order about noon, and was one of the first to quit the town. Officers and men were in high spirits, and looked very well.

As the regiment passed up Market Street Lane, with Colonel Townley riding at its head, the colours borne by Ensign Syddall, and the band playing, it was loudly cheered.

The regularity of the march was considerably interfered with by the number of persons who accompanied their friends as far as Didsbury, and supplied them rather too liberally with usquebaugh, ratifia, and other spirituous drinks.

The courage of the men being raised to a high pitch by these stimulants, they expressed a strong anxiety for an early engagement with the Duke of Cumberland's forces, feeling sure they should beat them.

After a short halt at Didsbury, their friends left them, and their courage was somewhat cooled by fording the river below Stockport. They were likewise obliged to wade through the little river Bollin, before reaching Wilmslow, where they halted for the night.

Atherton had not yet left Manchester. He had some business to transact which obliged him to employ a lawyer, and he was engaged with this gentleman for two or three hours in the morning. He had previously written to Constance to say that it was necessary he should see her before his departure, and as soon as his affairs were arranged he rode to Mrs. Butler's house in Salford.

Leaving his horse with Holden, by whom he was attended, he entered the garden, and was crossing the lawn, when he encountered Jemmy Dawson, who, having just parted with Monica, looked greatly depressed.

In reply to his anxious inquiries, Jemmy informed him that Constance had borne the shock better than might have been expected, and had passed the night in prayer. "I have not seen her," he said, "but Monica tells me she is now perfectly composed, and however much she may suffer, she represses all outward manifestation of grief. In this respect she is very different from Monica herself, who, poor girl! has not her emotions under control, and I left her in a state almost of distraction."

Without a word more he hurried away, while Atherton entered the house, and was shown into a parlour on the ground floor. No one was in the room at the time, and his first step was to lay a packet on the table.

Presently Constance made her appearance. Her features were excessively pale, and bore evident traces of grief, but she was perfectly composed, and Atherton thought he had never seen her look so beautiful.

She saluted him gravely, but more distantly than before.

"I cannot condole with you on the terrible event that has occurred," he said; "but I can offer you my profound sympathy. And let me say at once that I freely and fully forgive your unfortunate father for all the wrong he has done me."

"I thank you for the assurance," she rejoined. "'Tis an infinite relief to me, and proves the goodness of your heart."

"Do not dwell upon this, Constance," he said. "Hereafter we will talk over the matter – not now. Should you feel equal to the journey, I hope you will immediately return to Rawcliffe."

"I will return thither, with your kind permission, to see my poor father laid in the family vault. That sad duty performed, I shall quit the house for ever."

"No, Constance – that must not be," he rejoined. "My object in coming hither this morning is to tell you that I do not design to dispossess you of the house and property. On the contrary, you will be as much the mistress of Rawcliffe Hall as ever – more so, perhaps. Nay, do not interrupt me – I have not finished. Many things may happen. I may meet a soldier's fate. The hazardous enterprise I am bent upon may fail – I may be captured – may die as a rebel on the scaffold. If I should not return, the house and all within it – all the domains attached to it – are yours. By that deed I have made them over to you."

And he pointed to the packet which he had laid upon the table.

Constance was greatly moved. Tears rushed to her eyes, and for a few minutes she was so overpowered that she could not speak.

Atherton took her hand, which she did not attempt to withdraw.

"I am profoundly touched by your generosity," she said. "But I cannot accept your gift."

"Nay you must accept it, dearest Constance," he said. "You well know you have my heart's love, and I think you will not refuse to be mine."

"'Twould be too great happiness to be yours," she rejoined. "But no – no – I ought not to consent."

By way of reply, he pressed her to his heart, and kissed her passionately.

"Now will you refuse?" he cried.

"How can I, since you have wrested my consent from me?" she rejoined. "But how am I to address you?"

"You must still call me Atherton Legh," he replied.

"Well, then, dearest Atherton, my heart misgives me. In urging you to join this expedition I fear I have done wrong. Should any misfortune happen to you I shall deem myself the cause of it. I tremble to think of the consequences of my folly. Must you go?" she added, looking imploringly at him.

"Yes," he replied. "Not even you, dearest Constance, can turn me from my purpose. The prince has relieved me from my engagement, but I cannot honourably retire. Come what may, I shall go on."

"I will not attempt to dissuade you from your purpose," she rejoined. "But I find it doubly hard to part now. And your danger seems greater."

"Mere fancy," he said. "You love me better than you did – that is the cause of your increased apprehension."

For some moments they remained gazing at each other in silence.

At last Atherton spoke.

"'Tis with difficulty that I can tear myself away from you, dearest Constance. But I hope soon to behold you again. Meantime, you will remain at Rawcliffe Hall as I have suggested."

"I will do whatever you desire," she rejoined.

"I hope you will induce Mrs. Butler and Monica to stay with you, and that I shall find them at Rawcliffe on my return. I would not anticipate disaster – but 'tis desirable to be prepared for the worst. Should ill success attend our enterprise, and I should be compelled to seek safety in flight, I might find a hiding-place in Rawcliffe Hall."

"No doubt," she rejoined. "You could easily be concealed there – even should strict search be made. All necessary preparations shall be taken. Whenever you arrive at Rawcliffe you will find all ready for you. I will go there to-morrow, and I trust Mrs. Butler and Monica will be able to follow immediately. Will you not see them?"

"Not now," he replied. "Bid them farewell for me. If I stay longer, my resolution might give way. Remember what I have said to you. In any event you are mistress of Rawcliffe. Adieu!"

Pressing her again to his breast, he rushed out of the room.

CHAPTER III.

A RETREAT RESOLVED UPON

Mounting his horse, which he had left at the gate of Mrs. Butler's residence, and followed by Holden, Atherton rode towards the bridge – being obliged to pass through the town in order to gain the Stockport road.

The place was still in a state of great confusion – none of the cavalry having as yet departed; but he contrived to make his way through the crowded thoroughfares, and was soon in the open country.