Legends of Lancashire 26

Legends of Lancashire 26

“Poor man,” he calmly said, “you are desirous of murdering the son

of your sovereign. Soldiers, take him to the civil authorities of

the town, and order them to keep him in custody, until we are gone.”

 

He then turned to the soldiers, and addressed them. “Be merciful,

as well as brave. Should I come to the throne, as the heir of my

father, I would grieve to think that blood had been too profusely

shed, to receive it. My enemies offer a large reward for my head.

But I only wish the crown, and not the head of George Guelph, the

Elector.”

 

The crowd, although they had been disposed to condemn the poor

wretch, now applauded the mercy which forgave him, and this,

perhaps, tended more to warm the affections of the mass of the

people to Charles Edward, than his true descent from the house of

Stuart.

 

The magistrates met them, and humbly offered their homage to the

Chevalier. The Colonel of the Manchester troops had been long

looked up to by the respectable community of the town, and when he

joined the rebel troops this exerted no inconsiderable influence,

even over the authorities. The principal streets were all adorned

with tokens of attachment, and from every house almost, colours

were flying, and handkerchiefs waving. Music from the town joined

the noise of the bagpipes, and the Prince was elated by what he

considered as demonstrations of loyalty to his father.

 

The crowd attended the Prince back to the palace, before which,

during all the day, they stood, and greeted him, as he appeared

at the window, and smiled at the Highland soldiers, who presented

their arms.

 

Early in the evening, Captain Dawson, accompanied by Sir Hector

McLean, was proceeding to his father’s house. He had resolved to

see him, that he might obtain his blessing, as the troops were to

set out on the following day. Dressed in the Prince’s uniform, they

received much attention as they passed on. Dawson was well known

as a young gentleman of great promise, and the reports which had,

in some circles, been spread respecting him--how that he had left

the University, where he was distinguished only for gaiety and

debauchery, were not believed--for they had been proved to have no

foundation. They reached the house, and were instantly admitted.

But the old servant, who opened the door, was unusually taciturn

and sad. Katharine Norton was sitting with Alice as they entered.

Painful was the interview. The Highland chieftain in vain attempted

to console Alice for the loss of her brother.

 

“Dear Alice,” asked young Dawson, “how is our father? does he know

of my conduct?”

 

“Yes,” was the reply.

 

He became pale, and dreaded lest his father should have cursed and

denounced him.

 

“Did he--condemn me?” and he gasped, as he spoke, “was he much

irritated?”

 

“Yes, James, awfully agitated.”

 

“There, there, Sir Hector, see my folly, my madness, my infamous

cruelty, to an aged parent. But Alice, was he long in such a state?”

 

“No,” and she turned a look of concealed meaning to Katharine.

 

“Thank God, thank God,” exclaimed Dawson, “then Alice, is he calm

now?”

 

“Calm,--so calm, he must be happy.”

 

“Then, dear sister, lead me into his presence, and give him a kiss,

to induce him to grant me a full forgiveness. Alice, you move not,

is he asleep?”

 

“Yes, dear James, and you would but disturb him in what seems to be

a very pleasant sleep. But he _has_ granted you his pardon; or, if

you doubt, you may come to morrow, to dinner, and then--”

 

“Yes, Alice; and may not Hector McLean come with me?” The last

words were spoken in a playful tone, and intended to probe, what

Alice thought was a secret. He rallied, and endeavoured to enjoy

himself, and seemed to succeed. Katharine forgave him, and agreed

to walk with him, for a few minutes, in the garden. He looked

smilingly upon Alice, and by his glance attempted to hint that he

knew very well that she did not regret to be left alone with Sir

Hector.

 

The next morning arose fair and bright. The birds, even in the

streets, forgot the silence of winter, and cheered the crowded

abodes of men with their songs, as they fluttered about the

leafless trees, in the squares of the town. The Manchester regiment

of volunteers was marching through the streets, to the sound of

the drum. At their head was Prince Charles, attended by Colonel

Townley. There was an unusual melancholy resting on the features

of the former, which was increased by listening to the Scottish

song now chanted in the streets, “Bonnie Prince Charlie.” His pale

hair fell carelessly over his forehead, as he frequently raised

his bonnet, to allow the sun to fall upon his face. The smoke was

not yet arising from the chimneys, so early was the hour; and he

thought how slow and idle the inhabitants were in their loyalty

towards him. The colonel halted.

 

“Where, noble Prince, will you review my men?”

 

“In the church-yard,” was the reply, “yet that is an ominous place,

and may remind them of a fate they may, by and by, share. It is

well, nevertheless, to know what our end, sooner or later, must be.

The churchyard, colonel.”

 

It was nigh at hand. The graves were not crowded, and the Chevalier

forbade the troops to violate the abodes of the dead, by trampling

upon them. They drew up, and went through their various exercises

in military discipline. As their swords flashed in the sun, the

Prince thought what a slight chance of fortune these would have

with the scythe of death. They were about to retire, when a small

company of mourners was seen, attending a dead relative to the

grave. They moved sadly and slowly, unlike the quick pace with

which the troops had entered. A closely veiled female was at the

head of the coffin. The Chevalier raised his cap, and desired his

men to approach, and honour these funeral rites. Young Dawson

started, as he beheld the blind Prophetess, with faded flowers in

her hands. He approached,--the veiled lady gave a shriek, and fell

down on the coffin. He sprang forward, drew aside the veil, and

beheld his sister Alice! He raised her from the coffin, and there

beheld his father’s name upon it!

 

She had resolved to spare him the heart-rending news until, the war

being over, he should return; and thus she, herself, had undertaken

to attend to the last rites due to the remains and the memory of

a dead father. But here, providence had determined otherwise, and

James met his father,--for the first time since his leaving home,

to ask his forgiveness,--at the grave. He had formerly entreated

Alice to kiss their father, so that he might be induced to pardon

him, but now, what token of affection could obtain for him such a

blessing! And there was the young Prophetess, with words boding

still darker ruin on all the family, and on Prince Charles.

 

On the first of December, the Chevalier and his troops continued

their march, and towards evening reached Macclesfield, with the

intention of proceeding to London, and thus terminating the

struggle for the crown in the capital of the kingdom. In a few

days, however, having reached Derby, where a council of war

was held, all the members, save the brave Prince himself, were

of opinion that, since, in all probability, they would soon be

surrounded by three armies, the only way of safety was to return

to Scotland. Accordingly, against the urgent remonstrances and

entreaties of Charles Edward, the retreat was commenced, and

pressed on by the forces of the Duke of Cumberland, on the

nineteenth, they reached Carlisle. All the army spent a night

there, and it was resolved that a garrison should be left,

consisting of the Manchester regiment, and a few of the Lowland

troops.

 

In the morning they attended the Prince to a short distance from

the town, and on an eminence, where his movements might, a little

longer, be seen,--halted to take leave of him, with tears in

their eyes. The few Highland soldiers who were to form a part

of the garrison left behind, approached, and knelt down, their

shaggy heads uncovered, heedless of the wintry blast which raged

around them, while they prayed for a blessing upon “Bonnie Prince

Charlie.” They seemed disposed to follow him back into their native

mountains and fastnesses, and they turned many a look of envy and

regret upon their more fortunate clansmen who were to guard his

person. The Chevalier dismounted, and his tall graceful form was

closely, yet respectfully, surrounded, in a moment, by the faithful

mountaineers. He smiled, as they gazed in wonder on his kilted

dress.

 

“My friends,” he said, “my limbs, naked though they be, can meet

the storm. Have I not, after the fatigues of battle, contended with

you in wrestling and leaping, stripped and bare? And yet,” he added

to himself, as he glanced at his small white hands, now exposed

to the cold, and his half covered thighs, “the ladies of Paris and

Edinburgh have fluttered round and embraced me.”

 

“Canna she!” exclaimed a tall Highlander advancing,--“canna she

shake te tirk in her ain land, for Charlie? Fare pe te use o’

keepin it be her side, and no kittlin te hainshes o’ te enemy. Nae

bluid, nae bluid on its shinin blade!”

 

“Here, my good fellow,” answered the Prince, “give it to me; it is

the weapon of a true Highlander, and Charles Edward will be proud

to strike with it himself. Here,” and he took the dirk, and drawing

it from his half-worn sheath, and examining some dark spots on it,

appeared thoughtful.

 

The Highlander rejoined, “Tat pe te bluid o’ te enemy, and might

she ask tat her Prince would not wipe it away?”

 

The Chevalier buckled it to his side, and this act endeared him

to the Highland soldiery still more. But the sun was now arising

on the snowy eminences where they stood. His officers reminded

Charles of the long march which they had, that day, to accomplish.

Still, he moved not; he was wrapped in thought. His back was

turned gradually upon his troops, and he made a few steps in the

direction of Carlisle, for he cursed himself inwardly for the

consent which had been wrung from him, to retreat from England. In

the enthusiasm of the moment, which was heightened by despair, he exclaimed,--