Legends of Lancashire 5

Legends of Lancashire 5

The fair Anne, concealed with her attendant, behind the engine,

had listened in terror to the preceding conversation. She saw that

they were surrounded by the most artful plots, managed by powerful

and experienced agents; that the cause for which she had so long

implored the assistance of heaven, was in the greatest danger;

that her father, and young Tyldesley, whom she did not now blush

to think of as a very dear friend, with his uncle, and Derby,

must perish; and that she herself was at the mercy of stern and

unflinching ruffians. But how could she inform them of treachery,

when the traitors were walking near the place of her concealment?

Every moment seemed an hour; and, perhaps, it was then being

determined that every royalist in the tower, should be dragged by

the garrison, to a disgraceful end! She was almost frantic with

impatience, and she knew, likewise, that one slight movement of her

posture, as well as a whisper, might betray her.

 

Again the two republicans stood opposite to the place where the

females were concealed, and their conversation could be heard.

 

“All is safe,” said the stranger. “A few hours will bear me to my

men, assured that no enemy can annoy me in the rear; and before

me is the hungry skeleton of a wandering king. Pity that the

royal fool will not become my groom. He should be fed and clad,

and I might, eventually, raise him to hold my stirrup.” There was

intense mockery in his tones. He continued,--“aye, and when his

time allowed him to sport, I might procure him a gilded staff

for his sceptre, and he might crown himself, with straw from the

manger--the Lord’s anointed!”

 

Not a smile passed over the face of the speaker, and Seaton,

was silent. The words were too earnest to be taken as humourous

sallies. The stranger resumed,--“He returns again to England. Poor

fool! Nature seems to have _beheaded_ him at his birth! and all

that the Lord’s people can do, is to bury him.” The speaker’s scorn

here seemed to increase, until he became silent. Colonel Seaton

ventured to inquire--

 

“Your excellency departs early?”

 

“In a few minutes hence,” was the reply. “I may be suspected;--as

I entered the hall, Derby seemed to recall my features. The dead,

methinks, have a better cause to bear me in memory, than the

living. Yet Derby should recollect me; I once crossed swords with

him, disguised in habit, but not in countenance; and to a singular

incident he owed his safety. He fought bravely, and I should have

dispatched him gallantly, had--but this avails not now. He seems to

know me.”

 

“Nay,” replied Seaton, “he spoke kindly to you after I explained

the purport of your visit. Let us return to the hall for a little.”

 

“Why?” asked the stranger proudly;--“to be discovered? and then

the stay of England’s army and England’s freedom would be broken!

No, I mount horse instantly.”

 

“Your hasty departure may excite suspicion, and frustrate our

schemes.”

 

“’Tis well. I go to bid them adieu, a long adieu; ’tis probable

that I may never see them more. I am not in the habit of searching

wells, there to renew old acquaintanceship.”

 

They passed on. Anne started up from her concealment. Not a moment

was to be lost, after the republican disappeared in the distance.

But alas! she could gain admittance to the hall by no other way

than that which they had taken. She reached the hall door,--she

heard her father, in a loud and merry tone of voice, pledge

the health and safety of the stranger. For a moment she stood

irresolute, when Seaton and his companion appeared. “Fair maid,”

said the stranger, “receive my wishes and prayers, as I bid you

adieu.” In a moment he was gone, and she rushed into the hall.

 

“Speak not! ask no questions, noble warriors!” she exclaimed. “We

are betrayed! Yes, father, that stranger you have harboured as a

guest, is a republican, and Seaton has been acting as his spy. The

garrison are likewise traitors, and from us all escape is cut off--”

 

“I knew that it was Cromwell,” replied Derby, as he started from

his seat, “but heaven grant that he is not yet beyond our reach;

I’ll die in capturing him! My friends, let us pursue!”

 

He drew his sword, and every sign of feebleness left his frame.

Attended by his two companions, and the governor, he rushed forth,

exclaiming “treason! treason!”

 

Fiery and impatient were their spirits, and as hasty their

steps. They came within sight of the drawbridge. It was up: and

as they rushed forward, a horseman spurred his steed across it,

and it again fell, and all communication was prevented. Cromwell

had escaped! and in the bitterness of disappointment Derby and

the governor stood bewildered, and thought not of securing the

traitor Seaton. They returned to the hall without perceiving that

Sir Thomas Tyldesley had left them, until the inquiries of Anne

rendered them aware of his absence. When they were alternately

expressing their disappointment at Cromwell’s escape, and their

surprise as to what had befallen the knight, a shriek was heard, as

coming from the nearest turret. Anne exclaimed, “the garrison are

traitors, and they are now slaying Sir Thomas.”

 

“Nay, lady,” said the earl, “Tyldesley must first become coward,

ere a shriek escape him, though tortured beyond endurance. He would

express triumph even in death. But let us hasten. Fair lady, you

may be safer under our protection than in the hall. Lean on Harry’s

arm, it is the arm of a soldier--come;” and they hastened to the

place whence the noise proceeded. The moon shone full on their

faces, and gave them, to the gaze of each other, a strange mystery.

A step was heard in the distance, and soon Sir Thomas Tyldesley

stood before them, with his naked sword in his hand. He bade them

follow. He halted at the distance of a hundred yards, and raising

up an object which lay motionless, revealed the lifeless body of

Seaton. He tossed it down; and there it lay, with ghastly features,

all marked with blood, turned upon the spectators. A sword was

beside the body: the knight grasped it, and said,--

 

“The traitor fell by his own weapon. Thrice through the heart I

stabbed him with it, for I would not wound him with a sword which I

received from our late master.”

 

“He richly deserved a thousand deaths,” ejaculated the governor.

 

“Richly indeed,” replied Tyldesley, “had all his villainy been

comprehended in this night’s treachery. He lowered the drawbridge,

and while we stood astonished and motionless with anger, attempted

to retreat. I followed him. He muttered to himself, ‘Cromwell is

safe, and now for the mutiny in the garrison.’ He reached the

highest battlements. Rushing past him, I presented myself full

on his path, and ordered him to stand on his defence, or die.

He hesitated; entreated me for his life; wished to be thought a

coward; and yet all the time was cautiously, and, as he thought,

secretly, drawing his sword. He knelt, and then, imagining that I

was bending over him, he made a furious thrust, which I foiled, and

struck his weapon from his hand. Ha! it seems to pollute my hand

as I now grasp it.” The knight approached the walls, and tossed

it over. In its descent it glimmered in the moonshine, and the

bloodstains were seen, until it fell into the river.

 

He returned, and taking up the body of Seaton, said, “let its

master share the same fate,” and instantly hurled it over, and a

heavy splash was heard.

 

“So much for a traitor,” said Derby, “but did not the young lady

say that all the garrison were traitors also? What then is to be

done? Let us leave the tower, for if they knew of the murder of

their leader, all our lives would be sacrificed, and my troops

could not advance to the assistance of Charles. What dost thou

advise, Sir Governor?”

 

“I cannot leave Houghton Tower,” was the reply. “I am its owner,

and must either live or die in it.”

 

“Perhaps,” interrupted his daughter, “the garrison, since Seaton

is dead, and all other supporters are at a distance, may not openly

rebel for some time.”

 

“Maiden,” said Derby, “thy counsel is good. Let them, moreover, be

informed of Seaton’s just death, and should they revolt, it would

be at the moment, and then Sir Richard might hang out a signal

from the walls, and in a short time my troops would advance to

the rescue. Meanwhile, Sir Thomas, it is necessary that we should

instantly be at the head of our men, prepared for every emergency.

Let us to horse!”

 

This proposal met the sanction of the warrior. Our young hero,

however, turned pale; he was to be torn from the object of his

fondest love, never, perhaps, to meet again. He committed his

mistress to the care of her attendant, who now appeared.

 

“Nay,” said Sir Richard. “We part not thus; let my noble guests

once more, in the hall, pledge the good old cause. Meanwhile your

horses shall be prepared for the way.”

 

Young Tyldesley, as long as they remained in the hall, looked in

vain for Anne to enter. He was obliged to leave without pronouncing

farewell.

 

They had now reached the gateway, where stood their horses. A young

page was likewise in waiting, who craved in a low, yet sweet voice,

to accompany them, as he was of no use to his fair mistress, and

might be the bearer of warlike messages, though a very unwarlike

personage himself.

 

“Does your mistress know of your departure?” asked Sir Thomas

Tyldesley.

 

“Yes,” was the reply.

 

“Then, nephew, he is but of slender form, and cannot burden your

horse. Mount him behind you.”

 

When all was in readiness, the drawbridge arose, they spurred their

horses, the moon shone upon the armed horsemen, and the pale face

of the page, who clung fast to Henry Tyldesley, and soon from the tower their march could not be heard.