Legends of Lancashire 27

Legends of Lancashire 27

“Why do I retreat from the throne? _There_ should have been

our march; and our faces should have answered the questions of

Cumberland. But ah! we fly from him!”

 

A simultaneous shout was raised throughout all the ranks, but,

in a moment, the chief of each clan looked upon his men, and the

threatening look was understood; Charles drew his sword, and turned

round, almost expecting that the troops were ready to follow him,

wherever he might lead; but their bonnets were over their brows,

and they were silent. He understood the cause. Lochiel and the

other chiefs advanced, and humbly kneeling before him, whilst they

uncovered their heads, implored him to think no more of England,

until a fitting time, when he should be able to contest, with equal

strength, in the country of the Elector. He mastered his feelings,

and with some of his usual gaiety, raising his plumed cap from his

head, waved his farewell to the garrison, assuring them that he

would send them speedy assistance. Sir Hector McLean retired for a

moment, in company with Captain Dawson, but in the midst of their

conversation, the command was given to march, and after taking the

last look of their brave companions and the Prince, the Manchester

regiment returned to Carlisle.

 

There the castle was soon invested by the royal army, under the

command of the Duke of Cumberland. The garrison held out for some

time, aided by the inclemency of the winter, which prevented the

duke from taking the most active measures, and cheered by hopes of

the aid which the Prince had promised. But, at length, when these

hopes were disappointed, they were obliged to surrender, upon the

hardest terms, and Colonel Townley, and his captains, were sent to

confinement, in London, there to await a trial for sedition and

treason. The miseries of a dungeon were rendered more awful by the

news of the total defeat which the Chevalier had sustained, in the

fate of the battle of Culloden. The captives had held communication

with their relatives, who were busy in making every exertion to

obtain their pardon. James Dawson heard frequently from Katharine

Norton; and although her letters seemed to be written in tolerably

good spirits, he could see the trace of many a tear. She encouraged

him to hope, and stated that a mutual friend had resolved upon

obtaining the king’s forgiveness, and that she trusted much to his

efforts. The bearer of these letters was the young Prophetess;

and the sight of the messenger, so sad and mournful, was almost

sufficient to dash and cloud the joy of the message. She answered

no questions, but every time placed her hands upon his brow, and

gave a low and suppressed shriek. Her thin and emaciated features

were never lighted up with happiness, even when she told Dawson of

the hopes of Katharine. He asked her of Alice, for, lately, she had

ceased to write to him, but the blind girl, waving her hands above

her head, exclaimed with enthusiasm,

 

“She is well; yes, and intercedes for her brother,--the beautiful

and happy lady!”

 

James understood, by her motions, that his sister had even ventured

into the presence of royalty, and there presented her petitions;

and he blessed her, and Katharine, more and more.

 

The day of trial arrived, and as soon as the commission entered the

court, Dawson thought that the countenances of the judges frowned

their doom, and indicated a fixed resolution, on the present

occasion, to dispense with mercy. The brutal mob without, were

shouting for justice to the king, and the country; and the crowd

within were so unfeeling as to hiss the prisoners when they were

led to the bar; but these hisses were answered by a calm look of

contempt. Colonel Townley arose, and objected to a trial brought on

by a usurper, and affirmed that it was unjust to be cited before a

court called together by George the Elector. He defended himself,

and his brave companions, but in vain; for ere he had finished

his speech, the jury retired, and soon the verdict _guilty_ was

returned. The presiding judge looked around the court, but a

thrill of horror was expressed, for sympathy had been excited by

the gallant appearance of the rebels. As he put on the black cap,

Dawson, to shew his contempt and indifference, turned his back; but

presently recollecting that there were ties to bind him to life,

he changed his posture, and attentively listened to the sentence

of death. For a moment his firmness forsook him, as he heard the

awful accompaniments of his execution. As he and his companions

were being removed, the cries without were increased, and he caught

a glimpse of a female form entering the court. That glimpse was

enough to reveal to him his own Katharine! He had not seen her

since they parted in Manchester, but oh! how sadly she was changed!

She gave a wild shriek. Dawson struck down the officer who had

charge of him, and the crowd retreated and made way for him, as he

rushed forward, clanking his chains.

 

“My own Katharine!” he exclaimed, as he clasped her in his arms,

“Are we not safe together?” For a moment she looked on him; but,

turning to the judges, who had left their seats, she cried out--

 

“Stay--hear me--as you would hope to be heard in the very moment of

death. Save my James!”

 

The judge placed his hand upon the black cap, and his features

did not diminish the awful effect of such a motion. He instantly

retired.

 

“Heed him not,” slowly muttered James, “they cannot separate us.”

 

“No, no,” returned Katharine, whose reason, for a time, had

departed, whilst her eyes glared wildly, “they cannot. Put these

chains around me. You could not break them, James. Put them

round my neck, just there, where your arm is, and we are secure.

Can they break them, when you could not? Now, my love, let us

go home. I told you, in my letter, that the day appointed for

your--your--ha! shall I name it,” and she even smiled as she spoke,

“your execution, would be the day for our marriage. We are bound

together. Now, dear James.”

 

The keepers approached, but they dared not to touch their prisoner,

as his masculine form raised itself to ward them off.

 

“Are these our friends, James? Welcome,--welcome all! Now for the

dance. Ah, you won my heart in yonder recess, where we rested.”

 

Her dream of madness passed away for the awful reality.

 

“You die, James!”

 

And she sunk her head on his breast, in silent despair. He twined

his arms round her, to support her trembling frame, and kissed her

brow, which, although pale, quivered with intense emotion, and the

large blue veins swelled on its surface.

 

“A few days,” he said, “and your lover is no more.”

 

The keepers took advantage of his posture and seized him, he

was torn from Katharine, who fell on the floor. She awoke to

conciousness, after a long fit of delirium, but she spoke not. She

answered not the many kind questions, which some of the spectators

put. She accepted not the invitations which they offered, to

accompany her home. She looked wildly around. She started back

as her eyes fell upon the bench, where the sentence had been

pronounced, and where still lay the black cap. But the coachman,

who, half-an-hour before, had set her down, at some distance, now

appeared and supported her to her carriage. Her kind aunt, when she

reached home, watched by her, and consoled her with the thought

that the friend who had gone to sue for Dawson’s pardon, might in

the end prove successful. She gently chided her for having gone to

the court, without her.

 

The night before the fatal morning was beautiful, even in the

cell, and on its grated window, a bird had for a moment alighted,

like a messenger of hope. Dawson paced up and down, absorbed in

gloomy reflections. He thought of Katharine, and then of Alice.

Henceforth they were to be friendless and alone. He knelt down in

anguish, and prayed for them fervently, as the two innocent and

beautiful sisters. He arose, and placed his hand without the bars,

and then, fanned his forehead. Once he had imagined that it was

glorious to die as a martyr, for his prince, before all the world;

but now, the scene when real, and at hand, had gradually narrowed

and narrowed, until in dying, he felt that, save two, he had no

one to sympathise with his fate. His fellow prisoners spoke to

him, through small apertures in their separate cells; but he was

meloncholy and alone. He heard footsteps approaching, and the heavy

iron door turned slowly upon its hinges. A gentleman was admitted.

 

“Oh! Dawson,--no hope, no hope,--art thou prepared?”

 

The prisoner looked anxiously upon him who spoke, but as it was

twilight, he could not distinguish the features, or the person. He

was dressed in black. Dawson started up, and dragged him to the

window. He gazed upon Hector McLean!

 

“My friend!--and is it even so? Your dress is proscribed; no more

that of a chieftain.”

 

“Speak not of me, speak of yourself. It is true I am in mourning

weeds, and now no clan can raise the wail of their chieftain.”

 

“How is Alice?” quickly exclaimed Dawson, but he received no

answer. “What! a lover, and knows not of his fair mistress; cannot

speak of her, to her brother! Is she well, Sir Hector?”

 

“Hush, rave not;--she is in heaven! and these are weeds for my

wife!”

 

The deep stupor and silence of grief was over Dawson’s soul.

 

“Brother,” said Sir Hector, “my only brother, but whom I must lose

on the morrow, spend not the time thus. Prepare, prepare for death!

It is different from the chance of war, and although we have left

the ball for the deadly field, now let this cell be the auditory

and penitentiary of heaven!”

 

“But tell me,” exclaimed Dawson, “tell me how Alice died. Yes, she

is in heaven. A week ago, I dreamt that angel feet passed rapidly

along my cell, and I knew that they were Alice’s. Where, and how

did she die?”

 

“I must be brief; your fate and welfare demand every moment for

other subjects. During the interval after our retreat to Scotland,

when hostilities were ceased, I came over to England, and Alice

became my wife. I took her to a quiet home, removed from the seat

of war, where an aged mother cherished her new daughter. Oh,

how anxious we were, and grieved, concerning you. She wrote to

Katharine Norton, and enclosed letters for you. Meanwhile, the

royal forces drew near the Prince, and I joined him, at the head of

my clan, on the Heath of Culloden. Had that battle been gained, you

would have been free; and believe me, Dawson, that many a stroke

given by me, was for you. But it was lost. I fled to Alice. The

news--but I cannot wring my heart by relating my woes--overpowered

her. In these arms she died, my fair Alice, speaking to the last,

of her brother, her husband, and our unborn babe! I came to London,

was received kindly by Katharine Norton and her aunt, and have been

exerting myself ever since, to obtain your pardon,--but in vain.

I had rendered some important services to one of the Elector’s

ministers, but his private feelings are subdued by other motives.”