Legends of Lancashire 21

Legends of Lancashire 21

Oh! how I longed, in the

midst of soft whispers, to become acquainted with her who called me

child. But I am nature’s child, and when this short life is ended,

these eyes will be opened, and nature, my mother, shall be seen by

me. These sightless orbs! Oh! I know not what it is to see, even

in dreams. Dreams only hush me with sound, fragrance, and touch of

love, in a dark cradle, but never remove the covering, that I might

gaze upon the universe around. My little brother, far away in other

lands, was my inseparable companion, until he went to the tomb. He

led me to the river, and pointed my hand to the flickering light

on its ripple, and then bade me look in that direction. He made me

touch the sunbeam, resting and sporting alternately upon the bank,

and then asked if I did not see it. He placed me beneath the moon,

and bade me feel if I could not perceive its rays. He rowed me over

the still, placid lake, and then he would rest on his oars, and

point my finger to the stars, which, he said, were embosomed there;

and oh! what secret sounds thrilled through my silent soul. But I

never saw one object! He bathed his beautiful face, and flung back

his soft silken hair, and bade me gaze on a brother;--and I could

not!”

 

Overpowered with the strength of her feelings, she sat down. Still,

she covered not her face with her hands, but looked earnestly up,

as if it were a sin to gaze away from the sky, which she longed so

much to greet. Katharine and her companion kissed the young child,

while Dawson kindly asked,--

 

“From what land do you come? You speak our language, but your

appearance and feelings betoken you a native of a more genial sun.

Why do you wander here?”

 

“Wander! Is not life altogether a wandering? I have no friends but

flowers, and our home is the wide earth. I ever find them the same,

wherever I am, and, therefore, I think that I am the same; neither

changed in place nor time. My brother left me alone. Oh! was it not

cruel to commit the beautiful boy to the tomb? And yet, they told

me that his name and age were marked in white, innocent letters

upon his coffin! Oh! could the worms dare to crawl upon, or even

touch with their pollution ‘Henrico Fortice, aged twelve years.’

Was it not kind to mention his name and age?”

 

The two ladies took her hands in theirs, and kindly pressed them.

They gazed upon her large bright eyes, and almost, for the moment,

doubted that no light had ever entered them, until tears had come

trickling down her cheeks. They took a seat beside her, on the

mossy stone. She spoke not, and her hand returned not their touch.

They knew not how to console her. To their questions concerning

her past life, her friends, and native country, she had given no

definite answer: not because she seemed unwilling to detail all the

facts, but because she seemed never to have known them herself;

a creature of mere feelings, and thoughts, with no faculty for

earth. Her existence had, evidently, been but a dream, beautiful,

though troubled: and she had, hitherto, passed through it, like

a bird, through every land, feeling the sunshine of the laughing

sky, breathing the fragrance of wood and vale, at morn and eve,

and echoing a part in the universal chorus, but knowing no more;

careless of all things but flight and happiness. She raised the

hands of the two young ladies to her lips, and turning paler and

paler, at length dropped them, and shrunk back with a low and half

suppressed shriek of horror.

 

“Disappointment, a broken heart, and death! Yes, such a lot will be

yours; and so beautiful! Ask me not, but I know:--these hands, they

tear from my soul the sybil leaves of awful prophecy, which fate

has given me, and my voice must scatter them forth to you. Would

that I knew not the dark characters!--that my mind was as blind to

your future destiny as these shrouded orbs!”

 

“Hold!” exclaimed young Dawson, as he seized Katharine’s hand,

which the blind prophetess had, once more, taken. “Hold!--speak not

another word of thy frightful thoughts. Nay, touch not her hand.

Katharine, could you feel disappointment should nothing be spared

to us but love? Can your heart be broken when love encircles it?

Death,--name it not!”

 

“Here, here is the cause. You ruin each other. Love and death are

linked together. But, sir, be peaceable and loyal in the midst of

rebellion, and happiness may yet be yours.”

 

A faint smile passed over Dawson’s face, which had before been

clouded; and with an attempt at gaiety, he returned,--

 

“And am I not in the garb of peace? My cap has not the nodding

plume of war, but the quiet and simple flower of the valley. What

two beautiful shields I have secured for myself in danger, my own

Katharine, and sister Alice.”

 

“Beware,” repeated the prophetess, “of war. Change not the flower

for the cockade; and let none be your shields but those whom you

now protect.”

 

No longer did she seem the soft and mournful child, who had longed

so earnestly for the power of vision. She was altogether changed.

 

“Follow me not. Detain me not. I shall weep for you all. Farewell,

until we meet again,” and she instantly withdrew, and darkness hid

her steps.

 

* * * * *

 

Two months have elapsed since the above interview and conversation

took place, and the scene is now laid in Manchester. No more is the

soft peace inspired by evening walks, in lonely and secluded vales,

to be breathed over the characters of our Legend. A rebellion,

fostered by no dark intrigues, but by romantic daring, had arisen,

and the youthful heir of the unfortunate house of Stuart had

returned from exile, and appeared to claim his own, in the country

which dethroned his ancestors for their imbecility, wickedness,

and tyranny. Prince Charles Edward had been educated at the court

of France; but unlike her, whom, in person, he was said so much to

resemble--Mary of Scotland,--his manners were untainted with the

loose and dissolute habits prevalent there. Although surrounded

with pleasure, revelry, and giddy pomp, his thoughts were of

England and its crown; and these tended to preserve him from the

enervating influence of French dissipation. Gallantry was only

the occasional amusement, and not the sole pursuit of his life.

Nature had given him an exterior on which no lady could frown, or

be disposed to deny her favours; but he frequently withdrew from

the attractive company, where many of the proudest and fairest

daughters of the land were fluttering around him, with attentions

for the prince alone; and in private, sighed over the ruin of the

name he bore, and of the royal family, of which he was the sole

representative. But buoyed up with the false accounts which he had

received from those in this country, with whom he communicated,

assuring him that so numerous and devoted would be his followers,

should he again appear at the head of them, to plead his cause by

arms, he was induced to leave France, and towards the end of summer

1745, landed in the Hebrides; in a few days raised his standard in

Invernesshire; assembled a number of followers at Fort William,

and proceeded to Edinburgh, which opened to his claims. In the

beginning of November he marched to Carlisle, where the ceremony

of proclaiming his father king, and himself regent, was foolishly

performed, and where the delay thus occasioned, seemed to paralyze

the courage of his highland troops, and by carousing, to divide

them into factions.

 

Towards the end of the same month his troops, now amounting to six

thousand men, entered Lancashire, and passing by way of Preston

and Wigan, took up their quarters in Manchester, where they

hoped to secure provisions and ammunition, by free levies from

the inhabitants, as well as to recruit their numbers by English

soldiers.

 

The twenty-ninth day of November was bright, and a slight breeze

had not only prevented the heavy fog peculiar to the season, but

had likewise cleared away the smoke which lay dense and dull upon

the town; when, early in the afternoon, towards the suburbs,

masses of people were drawn together, expecting the arrival of the

Pretender and his army. There were the mob, prepared to espouse

the cause of any who should tickle their hands with a coin, or by

sweet words, gain their sweet voices. But amongst them were many of

noble rank, who had sympathized with the hardships of the present

aspirant to the throne of his fathers; and whom his romantic

expedition had fired with visions of military glory and renown, and

high titles and long lists. They impatiently spurred their horses

to a short distance from the crowd, to obtain a better view, and

then returned disappointed. Fair ladies were leaning on the arms

of their lovers, forbidding them to share in the dangers of the

enterprize, and in the crime of treason, but resolving, themselves,

to get a sight of the handsome Chevalier, and praise his person. A

silent hush was over all; nothing was heard, save low and gentle

whispers from the fair, who began to doubt whether he would really

appear, when the notes of distant music were borne on their ears,

and the steady tramp of troops was, soon after, distinguishable.

The crowd rushed up to an eminence on the skirts of the highway,

and beheld the banner floating over the rebel soldiery, and the

gleam of broadswords flashing in the sun. A sergeant rode forth

from the ranks, and furiously spurred his steed to the town, when

loud shouts, arising from the people and the inhabitants, assuring

him of the ready reception which his master should find, induced

him, after waving his plumed bonnet in return, to halt, until the

troops came up, which they speedily did, and, in haste, advanced.

At their head, surrounded by a band of hardy mountaineers with

their left hand upon the dirk, rode the prince, with no traces of

fatigue on his countenance; and looking as well, after his short

sojourn in the Highlands, as ever he did when he was the pride

of the French court, where he was fed by its luxuries. He was in

conversation with the Duke of Athol, who was beside him.

 

There was an interesting melancholy upon the otherwise gay

__EXPRESSION__ of his countenance, which suited well with the fallen

fortunes of his family. He was of slight and graceful form, and,

but for the noble enthusiasm beaming in his full blue eye, and the

firmness and decision compressing his thin lips, he might have

been mistaken for one who was better qualified to do honour to the

gaieties of a court, in the song and the dance, than the bloody

field of strife. His dress served to display, to advantage, the

beautiful proportions of his frame. His locks, of a light auburn

hue, fell in ringlets beneath the blue bonnet, mounted with a white

rose in front; and the snowy whiteness of his almost feminine

neck was but partially concealed by a plaid passing loosely over

his breastplate, and held fast by a blue-coloured sash. His

finely-polished limbs moving in all the elastic play and nerve of

youth, and in perfect ease, were attired in the Highland kilt; and

so small and beautifully formed was his foot, that no lady would

have refused her fair hand as a stirrup to the young Chevalier. His

dress was indeed plain for one who was now to strive for the crown

of Great Britain, but none could gaze upon the kingly form which it

enveloped, without almost wishing that soon he might be invested with the purple robe of rule and empire.