Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume VII Part 19

"Down with them!" exclaimed James Dawson, springing forward, and s.n.a.t.c.hing down a sword which was suspended over the mantelpiece. The students vigorously resisted the attempt to make them prisoners, and several of them, with their entertainer, escaped.

He concealed himself for a short time, when, his horse being brought, he took the road towards Manchester, in order to join the ranks of the adventurer. It was about mid-day on the 29th when he reached the town, which is now the emporium of the manufacturing world. On proceeding down Market Street, he perceived a confused crowd, some uttering threats, and others with consternation expressed on their countenance; and, in the midst of the mult.i.tude, was Serjeant d.i.c.kson, a young woman, and a drummer-boy, beating up for recruits. The white c.o.c.kade streamed from the hat of the serjeant; the populace vented their indignation against him, but no man dared to seize him, for he continued to turn round and round, with a blunderbuss in his hand, facing the crowd on all sides, and threatening to shoot the first man that approached, who was not ready to serve the Prince, and to mount the white c.o.c.kade. The young woman carried a supply of the ribands in her hand, and ever and anon waved them in triumph, exclaiming, "Charlie yet!" Some dozen recruits already followed at the heels of the serjeant. James Dawson spurred his horse through the crowd.

"Give me one of your favours," said he, addressing the serjeant.

"Ay, a dozen, your honour," replied d.i.c.kson.

He received the riband, and tied it to his breast, and placed another at his horse's head. His conduct had an effect upon the mult.i.tude; numbers flocked around the serjeant; his favours became exhausted; and when the Prince and the army entered the town in the evening, he brought before him a hundred and eighty men, which he had that day enlisted.

The little band so raised were formed into what was called the Manchester Regiment, of which the gallant Townly was made colonel, and James Dawson one of the captains.

Our business at present is not with the movements of Charles Edward; nor need we describe his daring march towards Derby, which struck terror throughout all England, and for a time seemed to shake the throne and the dynasty; nor dwell upon the particulars of his masterly retreat towards Scotland--suffice it to say, that on the 19th of December the Highland army again entered Carlisle.

On the following morning they evacuated it; but the Manchester Regiment, which was now composed of about three hundred men, was left as a garrison to defend the town against the entire army of proud c.u.mberland.

They were devoted as a sacrifice, that the prince and the main army might be saved. The dauntless Townly, and the young and gallant Dawson, were not ignorant of the desperateness and the hopelessness of their situation; but they strove to impart their own heroism to the garrison, and to defend the town to the last. On the morning of the 21st, the entire array of the Duke of c.u.mberland arrived before Carlisle, and took possession of the fortifications that commanded it. He ordered the garrison to surrender, and they answered him by a discharge of musketry.

They had withstood a siege of ten days, during which time c.u.mberland had erected batteries, and procured cannon from Whitehaven; before their fire the decaying and neglected walls of the city gave way, to hold out another day was impossible; and there was no resource left for the devoted band but to surrender or perish. On the 30th, a white flag was hoisted on the ramparts. On its being perceived, the cannon ceased to play upon the town, and a messenger was sent to the Duke of c.u.mberland, to inquire what terms he would grant to the garrison.

"Tell them," he replied, haughtily, "I offer no terms but these--that they shall not be put to the sword, but they shall be reserved for His Majesty to deal with them as he may think proper."

There was no alternative, and these doubtful and evasive terms were accepted. The garrison were disarmed, and under a numerous guard placed in the cathedral.

James Dawson and seventeen others were conveyed to London, and cast into prison, to wait the will of His Majesty. Till now his parents were ignorant of the fate of their son, though they had heard of his being compelled to flee from the university, and feared that he had joined the standard of the Prince. Too soon their worst fears were realised, and the truth revealed to them. But there was another who trembled for him, whose heart felt keenly as a parent's--she who was to have been his wife, to whom his hand was plighted and his heart given. f.a.n.n.y Lester was a young and gentle being, and she had known James Dawson from their childhood. Knowledge ripened to affection, and their hearts were twined together. On the day on which she was made acquainted with his imprisonment, she hastened to London to comfort him--to cheer his gloomy solitude--at the foot of the throne to sue for his pardon.

She arrived at the metropolis--she was conducted to the prison-house, and admitted. On entering the gloomy apartment in which he was confined, she screamed aloud, she raised her hands, and springing forward, fell upon his neck and wept.

"My own f.a.n.n.y!" he exclaimed, "you here! Weep not, my sweet one--come, be comforted--there is hope--every hope--I shall not die--my own f.a.n.n.y, be comforted."

"Yes!--yes, there is hope!--the king will pardon you," she exclaimed.

"He will spare my James--I will implore your life at his feet!"

"Nay, nay, love--say not the king," interrupted the young enthusiast for the house of Stewart; "it will be but imprisonment till all is over--the _Elector_ cannot seek my life."

He strove long and earnestly to persuade, to a.s.sure her, that his life was not in danger--that he would be saved--and what she wished she believed. The jailer entered, and informed them it was time that she should depart; and again sinking her head upon his breast, she wept "goodnight."

But each day she revisited him, and they spoke of his deliverance together. At times, too, she told him with tears of the efforts she had made to obtain his pardon--of her attempts to gain admission to the presence of the king--of the repulses she met with--of her applications to the n.o.bility connected with the court--of the insult and inhumanity she met with from some--the compa.s.sion she experienced from others--the interest that they took in his fate, and the hopes and the promises which they held out. Upon those hopes and those promises she fondly dwelt. She looked into his eyes to perceive the hope that they kindled there, and as joy beamed from them, she half forgot that his life hung upon the word of a man.

But his parents came to visit him; hers followed her, and they joined their efforts to hers, and anxiously, daily, almost hourly, they exerted their energies to obtain his pardon. His father possessed an influence in electioneering matters in Lancas.h.i.+re, and hers could exercise the same in an adjoining county. That influence was now urged--the members they had supported were importuned. They promised to employ their best exertions. Whatever the feelings or principles of the elder Dawson might be, he had never avowed disaffection openly--he had never evinced a leaning to the family of Stewart--he had supported the government of the day; and the father of f.a.n.n.y Lester was an upholder of the house of Hanover. The influence of all their relatives, and of all their friends, was brought into action; peers and commoners were supplicated, and they pledged their intercession. Men high in office took an interest in the fate of James Dawson, or professed to take it; promises, half official, were held out; and when his youth, the short time that he had been engaged in the rebellion, and the situation that he held in the army of the Adventurer, were considered, no one doubted but that his pardon was certain--that he would not be brought to trial. Even his parents felt a.s.sured; but the word of the king was not pa.s.sed.

They began to look forward to the day of his deliverance with impatience, but still with certainty. There was but one heart that feared, and it throbbed in the bosom of poor f.a.n.n.y. She would start from her sleep, crying, "Save him!--save him!" as she fancied she beheld them dragging him to execution. In order to soothe her, her parents and his, in the confidence that pardon would be extended to him, agreed that the day of his liberation should be the day of their bridal. She knew their affection, and her heart struggled with her fears to believe the "flattering tale."

James tried also to cheer her; he believed that his life would be spared; he endeavoured to smile and to be happy.

"Fear not my own f.a.n.n.y," he would say; "your apprehensions are idle. The Elector----"

And here his father would interfere. "Speak not so, my son," said the old man earnestly--"speak not against princes in your bedchamber, for a bird of the air can carry the tidings. Your life is in the hands of a king--of a merciful one, and it is safe--only speak not thus!--do not, as you love me--as you love our f.a.n.n.y, do not."

Then would they chase away her fears, and speak of the arrangements for the bridal; and f.a.n.n.y would smile pensively while James held her hand in his, and as he gazed on her finger he raised it to his lips, as though he took the measure of the ring.

But "hope deferred maketh the heart sick;" and though they still retained their confidence that he would be pardoned, yet their anxiety increased, and f.a.n.n.y's heart seemed unable longer to contain its agony and suspense. More than six months had pa.s.sed, but still no pardon came for James Dawson. The fury of the civil war was spent, the royal Adventurer had escaped, the vengeance of the sword was satisfied, and the law of the conquerors, and the scaffolds of the law, called for the blood of those whom the sword had saved. The soldier laid down his weapon, and the executioner took up his. On the leaders of the Manchester regiment the vengeance of the bloodthirsty law first fell. It was on the evening of the 14th of July, 1746, James Dawson sat in his prison; f.a.n.n.y sat by his side, with her hand in his, and his parents were ready also, when the jailer entered, and ordered him to prepare to hold himself in readiness for his trial in the court-house at St.

Margaret's, Southwark, on the following day. His father groaned--his mother exclaimed, "My son!"--but f.a.n.n.y sat motionless. No tear was in her eye--no muscle in her countenance moved. Her fingers grasped his with a firmer pressure--but she evinced no other symptom of having heard the mandate that was delivered. They rose to depart, and a low deep sigh issued from her bosom; but she showed no sign of violent grief; her feelings were already exhausted--her heart could bear no more.

On the following day, eighteen victims, with the gallant Townly at their head, were brought forth for trial before a grand jury. Amongst them, and as one of the chief, was James Dawson. f.a.n.n.y had insisted on being present. She heard the word _guilty_ p.r.o.nounced with a yet deeper apathy than she had evinced at the announcement of his trial. She folded her hands upon her bosom, her lips moved as in prayer, but she shed not a single tear, she breathed not a single sigh. She arose, she beckoned to her attendants, and accompanied them from the court-house.

Still his friends entertained the hope that the Pardon Power might be moved--they redoubled their exertions--they increased their importunities--they were willing to make any sacrifice so that his life might be but saved--and even then, at the eleventh hour, they hoped against hope. But f.a.n.n.y yielded not to the vain thought. Day after day she sat by her lover's side, and she, in her turn, became his comforter.

She no longer spoke of their bridal--but she spoke of eternity; she spoke of their meeting where the ambition, the rivalry, and the power of princes should be able to cast no cloud over the happiness of the soul.

Fourteen days had pa.s.sed, and during that he betrayed no sign of terror; she evinced none of a woman's weakness. She seemed to have mastered her griefs, and her soul was prepared to meet them. Yet, save only when she spoke to him, her soul appeared entranced, and her body lifeless. On the 29th of July an order was brought for the execution of the victims on the following day. James Dawson bowed his head to the officer who delivered the warrant, and calmly answered, "I am prepared!"

The cries of his mother rang through the prison-house. She tore her hair--she sank upon the floor--she entreated Heaven to spare her child.

His father groaned, he held the hand of his son in his, and the tears gushed down his furrowed cheeks. f.a.n.n.y alone was silent--she alone was tranquil. No throe of agony swelled her bosom, flushed in her countenance, or burned in her eye. She was calm, speechless, resigned.

He pressed her to his bosom, as they took their last farewell.

"Adieu!--adieu!--my own!" he cried. "My f.a.n.n.y--farewell!--an eternal farewell!"

"Nay, nay," she replied; "say not eternal--we shall meet again. 'Tis a short farewell--I feel it--I feel it. Adieu, love!--adieu! Die firmly.

We shall meet soon."

Next morning the prisoners were to be dragged on sledges to Kensington Common, which was the place appointed for their execution. In the first sledge was the executioner, sitting over his pinioned victims with a drawn sword in his hand. No priest--no minister of religion attended them; and around the sledges followed thousands, some few expressing sympathy, but the majority following from curiosity, and others venting their execrations against all traitors. In the midst of the mult.i.tude was a hackney coach, following the sledges, and in it was the gentle f.a.n.n.y Lester, accompanied by a relative and a female friend. They had endeavoured to persuade her from the fearful trial; but she was calm, resolute, and not to be moved, and they yielded to her wish. The coach drew up within thirty yards of the scaffold; f.a.n.n.y pulled down the window, and leaning over it, she beheld the piles of f.a.ggots lighted around the scaffold--she saw the flames ascend, and the soldiers form a circle round them. She saw the victims leave the sledge; she looked upon him whom her heart loved as he mounted the place of death, and his step was firm, his countenance unmoved. She saw him join in prayer with his companions, and her eyes were fixed on him as he flung papers and his hat among the mult.i.tude. She saw the fatal signal given, and the drop fall--she heard the horrid shout, the yell that burst from the mult.i.tude, but not a muscle of her frame moved. She gazed calmly, as though it had been on a bridal ceremony. She beheld the executioner begin the barbarities which the law awards to treason--the clothes were torn from the victims; one by one they were cut down; and the finisher of the law with the horrid knife in his hand, proceeded to lay open their bosoms, and taking out their hearts, flung them on the f.a.ggots that blazed around the scaffold. The last spectacle of barbarity was James Dawson, and when the executioner had plunged the knife in his breast, he raised his heart in his hand, and holding it a moment before the horror stricken and disgusted mult.i.tude, he cast it into the flames, exclaiming, as he flung it from him, "G.o.d save King George!" f.a.n.n.y beheld this--her eyes became blind--she heard not the shout of the mult.i.tude--she drew back her head into the coach--it dropped upon the shoulder of her companion. "My dear! I follow thee!--I follow thee!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together. "Sweet Jesus! receive both our souls together!" They attempted to raise her head, to support her in their arms, but she sank back lifeless. Her spirit had accompanied him it loved--she died of stifled agony and a broken heart.

THE CATERAN OF LOCHLOY.

"Were I to lose sight of my native hills, my heart would sink, and my arm would wither like fern i' the winter blast."--ROB ROY.

"And so, my dear lads, you wish me to relate my pa.s.sage with the Caterans of Lochloy?" said General Dangerfield.

"Do, father; you will so oblige me," replied the younger of his two sons.

"Well, then," continued the general, laying his hand upon the boy's head, "you shall have it; but, remember, no interruption; I must tell my story my own way."

"Agreed!" replied his eldest son, Edmund, a fine youth of sixteen.

"Well, to begin at the beginning:--I am a native of Scotland--born on the Borders--of a respectable family well known there--the Jardines of that ilk. I entered the army young, and continued there the best part of my days. I became acquainted in very peculiar circ.u.mstances with your angel mother, who, having succeeded to the family estates in Northumberland, which had belonged to your uncle and G.o.dfather, I a.s.sumed his name, that these possessions might still be inherited at least nominally by a Dangerfield.

"I was on service during that lamentable rebellion in which so much blood was poured out in an abortive attempt to restore a doomed race to their kingly possessions. I fought at Culloden; and well remember, and with horror witnessed, the cruelties that followed the victory. The Saxons, as we were called, were in consequence execrated; and the Highlanders burned with a fierce desire to avenge their slaughtered friends and kinsmen. So circ.u.mstanced, it is almost unnecessary to remark, that the government troops were peculiarly obnoxious; and it was consequently very dangerous for them to wander to any distance from their respective stations; as, in many instances where they had been so foolhardy as disregard the strict injunctions on the subject, they never returned to tell the tale.

"I had leave of absence for a short time; and I therefore quitted my quarters, which were at Inverness, in order to spend my Christmas with my relations in Kelso--for I was not then married. As is usual, where friends are happy and comfortable, they were not fond of separating too soon, and I was loth to leave the hospitable board of my entertainers; so I lingered as long as I could, and thus made it a matter of necessity to proceed northwards with the utmost despatch. It is a long way between Kelso and Inverness; and I had to proceed on horseback, accompanied by a single servant. We got on very well till we reached Glasgow, after which the journey was both tedious and vexatious.

"On the second day after quitting the western metropolis, there came on a great fall of snow, partially obstructing the roads, which, in those days, were not in the very best state, even in good weather; and, after pursuing, apparently, the proper route for at least a couple of hours, I found that we had lost our way--no very agreeable discovery, especially towards the close of day. However, there is nothing like putting the best face on a thing when you cannot help it; so we boldly pushed on, in the vain hope of at last getting into the right path. Vain it a.s.suredly was; for, after wandering about till it became dark, we made the important discovery that we were just as far off as ever from escaping from our difficulties.

"'Is not yon a light, sir?' exclaimed my servant. 'See! it is very high up.'

"I looked up, and certainly there was a light; but from what it proceeded I could not conjecture. It could hardly be from a house, as it was too much elevated. I desired my servant to follow, and we made for the mysterious place, which was with some difficulty reached; and where, to our infinite dismay, in place of finding ourselves in the vicinity of a house, we discovered that we were at the foot of a tremendous precipice, and the light that had guided us was still glimmering at an apparently inaccessible height above our heads.