Chapter VI: Part 6

The young soldier who spoke, was Hector McLean, a leader of the north, and one of the many Scottish gentlemen of rank, who, for their ready attachment to his cause, had been knighted by the Pretender. The accent of his country was slightly perceptible, and there was something so friendly in his voice, that Alice halted, to obtain some further information concerning her brother, or some directions by which she might be guided to him; and her companion, who had been altogether silent, seemingly absorbed in her own thoughts, did not urge her on. But as her eyes fell upon the handsome form of the knight, so martial in his bearing, although but of slender proportions, she blushed deeply, and half repented that she had not forthwith entered. He doffed his bonnet, gallantly, and respectfully, as she stood before him,--announced his name, and offered her his services. “Fair lady, you appear to have been in tears. Are they shed for your brother? Think not by any eloquence, aye, even that of affection, to turn him from his purpose, and make him insensible to his duty. His sovereign has a claim prior to his sister. And could you deprive the brave Chevalier of a hope of victory?”

“He has left an aged and infirm father,” sobbed Alice, “and we are unprotected. He himself is not inured to war, for the cloisters of a college have been his only camp. Oh! gallant knight,” and she looked up, with a countenance, as innocent and artless as it was mournful, “entreat my brother to return!”

“I must deny you,” he gently replied. “The captain is an acquisition, and already has gained the confidence of the Prince. Your fair brow, may be soon encircled with honours, won by your brother, from a grateful master. When you have seen him, you shall return home, and pray for his safety, and that of the Prince.”

As he spoke, Alice felt her companion shudder. The young Prophetess knelt down, and muttered some words in a low, but wild tone. Rising up, she drew Alice closer to her, and madly exclaimed,--

“Almighty One, keep her alone, join not their fates--but ah! it cannot be! Brother and lover will ruin her, and death, death is her lot. The poison is to lurk in every sweet rose, for you. I know it. And she, the beautiful one, your companion in the vale, now too must see her dream vanish. Oh, _their_ heads mount the poles in the public streets. I cannot see them; thank God, yours shall be spared such scorn, but languid for many a night shall they lie on the pillow, and then, they must find rest in an early grave.”

She twined herself around Alice, kissed her cheeks, and wept.

The chieftain stood silent and astonished, not being able to comprehend the scene; but Alice trembled, and almost sunk to the ground. He placed her hand within his. “Come, and you will straightway have an interview with him. He is now closeted with the Prince, and his officers, consulting together upon some military plans.”

They entered:--the inside of the palace was fitted up with great magnificence; and the spacious hall of audience was adorned with portraits of the Stuart family, on which the lights were gleaming brightly, and but for the gilded and embossed frames, they might have been mistaken for the living sovereigns, who, by nature, were endowed with the highest talents to sway an empire, but whose imprudence and licentiousness expelled them from the throne. The beautiful Queen of Scotland shone forth with a loveliness which none but a royal old maid and prude, could have doomed to death. She, who had been the wife of three husbands, still seemed to have more love and affection in those bright features, than the Holy Virgin of England, who never had a lover. The first Charles was painted there, as he stood on the scaffold, and his eyes were raised joyfully from the block, to see, in vision, the crown of heaven, which no weapon could take from the Lord’s annointed. The light threw a beautiful longing of immortality over his features. At the further end of the hall, hanging from the ceiling to the floor, was a green silk curtain, behind which was the door leading to the Chevalier’s apartments. This was the only screen from the face of royalty. Sir Hector, however, led Alice through a sliding, at the right wing, and stood, for a little, opposite to a door, above which were the Prince’s arms. At that moment it opened, and Charles Edward, with young Dawson, appeared. The latter rushed into the embrace of his sister. She beheld the uniform, and her hand was upon the sash by which he was belted, still she clung fondly to him, although she could not utter a word. Sir Hector McLean gave the Pretender an explanation; who, stepping up, gently took the hand of Alice.

“Lady, bless your brother, and the cause he supports. Blame him not; you cannot call me a rebel, and he must, therefore, be loyal. Captain, comfort your sister.”

“And who shall comfort thee?” sadly asked the blind child. “Oh, never, never, can you mount the throne.”

“Who is she? She is pale for me and my woes. See, the tears are trickling down these cheeks. Perhaps blood, the blood of my friends, may flow freely in my cause. God knows that my own heart is sad, even for a tear on the face of another, for my sake. But hark, my leaders are gay in the dance!” So kindly did the Prince soothe the feelings of Alice, that when he retired, she was prepared even to give comfort to her brother, when he spoke of Katharine. She could not, however, persuade him to accompany her home, and obtain their father’s forgiveness, and Katharine’s blessing.

“I dare not. I could not leave you all alone and unprotected. How could I part from you, in the home of our past life? I must see Katharine once more, but not there. But you, oh, what dangers you have undergone this night for me, Alice! My heart breaks, awful forebodings creep over my soul, at the sight of this blind girl. I dare not see you home, and yet, to expose you--”

“Nay, captain,” kindly rejoined Sir Hector, “I should feel honoured, would your fair sister accept of my protection.”

“Thanks, my noble friend; watch over her. The clock strikes the hour of one. Sleep, Alice, and think not of our woes. We shall meet again in happier times. One more embrace, dear girl; give my love to Katharine, and my obedience to my father. I may see them before the Prince leaves Manchester. Farewell. Sir Hector--”

“Say not a word, captain. I shall guard her as I would the Chevalier. Now, fair lady,”--and he almost dragged her from the arms of her brother.

As they reached the door, she looked round for her companion--but she was gone!

When his sister left him, Captain Dawson in vain sought comfort in the room where all the officers were assembled for mirth and the dance. His spirits were sunk, and into every bright scene which hope conjured up, his aged parent and his unprotected sister entered, and stood looking upon him, and yet he could not approach them. He believed, however, that to his country he was not acting the part of a traitor, for he wished to restore to it the descendant of its ancient rulers. Sometimes, too, the quiet retirement which he had formerly enjoyed within the cloisters of the college, arose to his mind, and now, when surrounded by arms, with the glory of strife before him in all probability, the arts of peace appeared more noble and worthy of attainment. He retired to the apartment which was assigned to him; but there, grief almost reached the point of delirium, and the young soldier wept on his pillow. He heard a knock at the door, and then Sir Hector McLean entered.

“Hast thou seen her home in safety? Oh! Alice, I have broken your heart, and murdered my father; aye, and myself, and my own Katharine too! Could I stay for months at home, to watch this opportunity, and mutiny against the peace of all whom I love!”

“Your sister,” was the reply, “is safe in her father’s house, nor is her anguish so wild as when you saw her. She fondly believes (and may it prove true, Dawson,) that soon the strife shall be finally settled; and then comes the soldier’s home, after all his hardships and dangers; then come tears of joy, so different from those at parting for the present.”

Young Dawson took the hand of Sir Hector, and pressed it in gratitude. He was almost deceived for a time, it felt so like the touch of Alice, and when he mentioned this, his friend laughed, and said,--

“Perhaps I may have held her pretty hand within mine so long as to catch its virtue. Nay, let not a suspicion cloud thy brow, I would not pay one act of unmeaning gallantry, to betray; you do me wrong, Dawson. Yet, how beautiful she is!”

“Beautiful!” exclaimed Dawson, as he sprung from his couch in madness. “And must I listen to hear my sister called beautiful, by a soldier? If thy craven soul has dared to breathe one word of lawless feeling to mine Alice, tell me--and let us choose our weapons.”

As he spoke, he moved to the table on which his sword lay unsheathed, and passing his hand hastily over its edge, put himself into a posture of attack and defence. But McLean’s sword still hung by his side, and his hand was stretched forth in friendship. And yet, at the first movement, his eye had flashed, and his right foot had been violently placed in advance, for the combat.

“Dawson,” he said, in a solemn tone, “you force me to reveal to you what, perhaps, I ought to disguise at present. Could I put that hand to the hilt of my sword, against Captain Dawson, when it has been pledged in fondest love to his beautiful sister? Beautiful I must call her--keep off, and hear me out. Will you compel me to draw? I had a sister, fair as Alice Dawson, but she died in a warmer clime, amidst the breezes of Italy. Had she lived, I should have watched over her as suspiciously as you protect Alice. But I am true. Is there falsehood in my countenance? Believe me; for with you I cannot appeal to the sword to support my veracity.”

The anger and fury of young Dawson had fled. He knew that Sir Hector’s oath was that of a chieftain, and he was certain that Alice would be happy. He coloured highly, threw his sword upon the couch, and embraced him as a brother. Long did they speak of Alice and Katharine; and the two young soldiers unbosomed every thought to each other, and disclosed their respective arrangements. McLean agreed to be a message-bearer to Dawson’s house, and to Katharine Norton; for the captain dared not visit them. He left his companion to rest a little before day break.

Just about the same time Dr. Dawson awoke. The object of his dreams had been James, and his first waking thought was concerning him. But all was dark in the room. He only knew that his children were not near. His memory failed to tell him whether James had returned. In the morning there is something cold and blighting in fear, for all the powers of the mind are more awake to it. He started up at the earliest gleam of light, and shuddered, as he saw, for the first time, that he had slept on a sofa. In all his affectionate thoughts of his children, he did not forget self; and he cherished it, in general, with a regimen, the strongest which his profession could provide or sanction.

“Death, death!” he exclaimed, “my children make me to commit suicide, by sending me, grieved and senseless, to my couch, to my sofa. My obedient son,--many thanks to you, dear James; dear James, many thanks to you. Oh, dear and loving he is to me!”

But in the midst of this invective he paused, as his eye met the portrait of his son. He hurried on his clothes, but his palsied hands were feeble and slow. His daughter came not, as was her wont. He looked out from the window, upon the street, and how still, compared with the revelry of the last night! There was scarcely a wreck of it. The fragments of wood, black, and half consumed, strewed the streets. These had been bonfires, a few hours before, and now, a few miserable and poor wretches were gathering them up, to carry them to a home, where there was little comfort blazing from fuel. The doctor closed the window, and violently threw himself down on the sofa, and cursed all whom he knew. He arose, and silently proceeded to the door of his daughter’s apartment. He heard no noise. He knocked, and instantly his daughter’s voice was heard; when he knew that she was well, he stopped not to speak to her, but in anger traced his steps again to his own room. He had not closed the door behind him, when Katharine Norton came in. He was always kind to her, and taking her by the hand, led her to a seat. Her raven tresses were hanging over her cheeks, and her voice trembled. She attempted to divert his thoughts from James’s disappearance--for she dared not reveal the awful truth--and for a time she succeeded. He even jested, playfully with her, and asked her to name the day when she would become his beautiful and dear daughter-in-law. He took her hand, and begged to know by which of the pretty fingers James had protested to love her.

In a little, Alice appeared. She was pale, but occasionally her cheeks glowed, and her eyes sparkled with some emotion, to which, hitherto, she had been a stranger. She seemed more absorbed in thought than usual, and her lips moved tremulously, as if she were speaking to herself. She thought of her brother, and the thought spread a pallor over her features. She thought of her lover, and blushed. She ran to embrace her father, but concealed her face in modesty, lest he might read, and be an interpreter of her heart’s fond love, which, she knew, was as strong, and would be as lasting, as it had been sudden. Her father repulsed her.

“Good child,” he said in mockery, “I am obliged to you for this soft, soft couch. Do you see the thick coverings which have oppressed these limbs! Oh! how warm they kept me! Give me your hand, Alice, what a good and loving child to her old father. James, too,--”

“Father,” interrupted Alice, in a quick and almost angry tone, “you may mock me, but you shall not mock my brother. Does a young soldier, far from the comforts and happiness of a domestic life, and exposed to hardships, danger, and death, need to be mocked, even by an old man? Would you mock our James, should he be brought to a gibbet?”

“Soldier!--young soldier!” exclaimed her father in mad phrenzy, “my James a soldier! Oh God! be merciful!” and he knelt, “Forgive all mine unkindness to the children of my Helen! A soldier! Alice!” and he fell down, apparently lifeless. Upon the screams of their young mistress, the servants rushed into the room. They, by degrees, recovered the old man to sensibility, but he continued wildly to rave about James.

“Son, your sword is bright and gleaming. Yes, James, you wear it proudly. Hush, come quietly at night, when Alice has retired to rest. Enter by the pannels near to my bed. Say father, and then do your work. Strike home, to the very heart. Oh! would it not animate your courage to behold my blood upon that flaming weapon? James, you strike hard. Shew me that face once more, and, dear child, I will bless it. Wilt thou bring me the gold from my secret desk, that I may give it thee? Ah, it matters not, you know where it is. Hush, hush, slay Alice too, when you have broken her heart. Twine your hand in those beautiful curls, and kiss that sweet and gentle forehead. Listen to her, as she murmurs love to you in dreams, and strike as she utters your name. A soldier! Oh! what a soldier can do!”

He glanced wildly around him. He started up, and all signs of age were, in a moment, obliterated from his face, and had left his frame. He stamped, and loudly ordered all from the room.

“Bring Helen to me, I am an impatient bridegroom. Shall I be prevented from kissing my beautiful wife. She is mine, and who can keep her from me? Helen, you are pale!”--and he sunk down, dead! Alice could not utter a tone of lamentation. She longed to weep, that her heart might be eased of her sorrow, but she could not. How still were the lofty features of her father! In his fall, not a single white hair had been disarranged, and his golden-headed cane was firmly grasped in his hand. What a melancholy sight. A dead old man, and yet a cane to support his steps, as if he could expect that he should once more rise, and need its assistance! Alice gently disengaged it from his grasp, and put her own hand in its place, and thus, for hours, sat beside her dead father.

Katharine Norton, like a sister attempted to comfort her, but her terms of consolation frequently assumed something of her own heart’s sorrow, as she thought of James. Yet she was too high-minded and heroic to condemn, even in her grief, the step which he had taken.

* * * * *

Meanwhile the Pretender’s army was again marching through the streets, and in front of it, was the Manchester regiment, under the command of Colonel Townley. The Prince, on this occasion, was attended by the renowned chieftain, Cameron of Lochiel, who was his best and bravest supporter. His eagle eye glanced proudly upon all, save on his master, and his full muscular form, was the pride and boast of the clan, of which he was the head. They rode together, between the Scottish and English troops. The inhabitants of all the towns in Lancashire, through which the Pretender had passed, trembled at the sight of his brave Highlanders, and it is reported, that it was the general belief, that the bodies of infants formed their repast after a victory. The good people of Manchester, likewise, turned pale, at their fiery glance, and the easy and free manner in which they at times, when any obstruction was made to their progress, laid their hands upon the broad-sword, while they placed their dirk between their teeth, thus awfully prepared to resist and overcome. But their fiery spirits, were at that time, altogether within the control of their young leader. They had not a glance for all who crowded the streets and balconies; their eyes when he was in view, were fixed upon the Chevalier. As they were turning a street, a ball whizzed by his horse’s head, and an uproar was excited. A detachment of troops, under Lochiel, who had spurred forward instantly, as soon as the report of fire-arms was heard, dashed down a lane, from which the smoke issued, and they returned instantly, with the assassin. The soldiers raised a loud howl, as if they wished to sacrifice the wretch, by tearing him to pieces. He was brought before the Prince, whose face was a little flushed by the incident, but who was perfectly composed.

“Death, death,” exclaimed many a voice from the streets. The ladies had left the terraces, and had come forth among the crowd to learn whether the Prince was at all hurt. He gallantly thanked them for the interest they took in his welfare, and, all covered with blushes, they again ran in. He then glanced upon the assassin, from whose pockets a dagger and two charged pistols, had also been taken.

“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,--

“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.”

“Bless you! Heaven bless you for your efforts, but more as the husband of my Alice. But--Katharine, how does she endure my approaching execution?”

“She hopes that your pardon will arrive, and she has arranged every thing for her marriage, on the morrow, when you are set at liberty. Oh! how must I break the awful truth to her! When I left her an hour ago, she was singing some of your verses. Her mind seems to have lost some of its power, for she wandered out alone this afternoon, to the Common, where, on the morrow, you must die, and gathered some of the simple daisies, to deck her hair. She protests that these will be all that her dear James shall know of Kennington Common!”

Sir Hector remained an hour with him, and took his last farewell!

The morning came, after a sleepless, restless night. Dawson attired himself in full uniform, even to the Highland bonnet. At an early hour the officers entered, and led him, along with eight of his companions, down to the court yard of the prison. All who were to suffer, greeted each other kindly, but no one had need to cheer each other, and inspire them with firmness. For themselves, they were indifferent to their doom, and were prepared to meet it with the conciousness of what they considered innocence in a good cause; but they had relatives, and this clouded their minds. Still they appeared bold and undaunted.

“Townley,” said one to the Colonel, “you were always,--forgive me for the hint,--fond of dressing your head, when it was about to pop in at the door of a ball room, to be inspected by the ladies. Now that it is to be seen more conspicuously, will you not bestow more attention? There, upon mine honour, that fine curl has left its sweep.”

After finishing breakfast, their chains were struck off, and their arms pinioned.

“Stay,” exclaimed one, “give me the freedom of my hands, to arrange my neckcloth, that should the Hanoverian Elector himself be present, I may render the man all possible honours. Help me to laugh Dawson. Captain, is my neckcloth nice? See,--but here is the groom of my bedchamber, the master of my wardrobe, he will assist me.”

The Executioner now appeared, with the halters carried behind him. He was dressed in white, and his black and hideous face, although of a cadaverous hue, was a striking contrast. Although Dawson scorned the fear of death, yet life was dear to him for Katharine, and a shudder passed over his frame, as the executioner approached him.

“Young gentleman,” said the grim official, “your neck is the first for the halter. But the first shall be last, in order that the Scriptures may be fulfilled, and your heart shall be the last in being thrown into the flames. Ha! ha!” and he laughed at the awful blasphemy. With the greatest coolness and composure he removed the scarf from Dawson’s neck, and was substituting the rope, when he observed the golden chain, to which was attached the portrait of Katharine Norton. He raised it.

“Young sir,” said he, as he attempted to smile, “shall I remove the miniature? Pretty, pretty,--the lady smiles so beautifully upon the rope!”

“Touch it not, wretch,” thundered forth Dawson, in tones which made the barbarian tremble, and interrupted him in his chuckle. “Never,” he added, “shall the resemblance of her whom I love, be exposed to a profane gaze.”

“Nay,” returned the executioner, “you have no command over it, young rebel. Your clothes are my property, as soon as I perform my kind offices to that carcase, and, of course, the miniature amongst the rest.”

“Shall it!” shouted Dawson in a rage. “Never. Officer, remove it from my neck, and place it on the floor.” His request was granted, and he ground it to atoms beneath his tread.

The prisoners were then brought out, and placed on hurdles, surrounded by a body of foot guards. There, also, was the executioner, with a naked scimitar. The “dead march” was now played by the military, and its music was sad and slow, unlike that which had roused the courage of the rebels when they assembled under the standard of the Chevalier. Gradually it swelled, until, towards the conclusion, it died quietly away, and expressed the true condition of the prisoners, “who were wearing away to the land of the leal.” Some of them gaily beat time with their feet, but others would not counterfeit mirth, although they needed not to counterfeit courage, for they all possessed it.

When they arrived at Kennington Common, they beheld a dense crowd, for the London mob had assembled, to feast on the horrid spectacle of hanging, embowelling, burning, and beheading. But as the hurdles passed them, they were quiet, and some words, as well as many looks, of commiseration greeted the prisoners. A large pile of faggots was heaped up close to the gallows, and as they left the hurdles, and entered the cart from which they were to be turned off, they were set fire to, and threw a fitful glare over the faces Of the guards around, as well as those of the prisoners. Colonel Townley turned to the magistrates, who stood on a small platform, and asked whether a clergyman had been brought to attend to them. On being answered in the negative, he exclaimed,--

“What mercy is shown to us! You are generous enemies! Morgan, my good friend, read us appropriate prayers, before we suffer for King James. Let us die, trusting in God our Saviour. It is well that I reminded you to bring your book.”

His fellow-sufferer began to read in a solemn manner, kneeling, and with his head uncovered. Not a whisper was heard among the crowd, but they stood silent, as if hushed by the true spirit of devotion, and as if the angels, whom the prisoners invoked to surround them with their fiery cars, would have been frightened away by the noise and commotion. They were also in the suspense of expectation, when these religious services should be ended, and the dread signal given. Then a carriage was seen rapidly approaching.

“A pardon! a pardon!” shouted the mob, as they made way, at first sight. The prisoners’ devotions were interrupted. For a moment they gazed anxiously, but, as the carriage took its station behind the dense masses of people, their hopes fell, and once more they engaged in their religious exercises, but with paler countenances, and the reader’s voice, at first, was observed to tremble. Dawson looked up. From the window of the carriage he saw Sir Hector gazing, and waving his farewell; and beside him was his own Katharine! A violent shuddering seized him, but, at that moment, Morgan was repeating the words, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,” and now he felt that he had, for ever, done with earthly things. The signal was given by a loud shout, raised by the prisoners, “God save King James,” and the cart was driven from beneath them!

All the other horrible accompaniments were gone through, and the executioner, on throwing the heart of Dawson into the flames, exclaimed, “Long live King George!”

The carriage was that of Katharine Norton, and thus, attended by her aunt and McLean,--who had failed in all their attempts to dissuade her from witnessing such a scene,--she gazed on her lover’s tortures to the last. She had seen him suspended, then stripped, in order that he might be embowelled; and as the executioner announced that he had performed his office, she clasped her hands together, and meekly laying her head on the bosom of her aunt, said,

“Dear James, I follow thee.”

“Not yet, my Katharine, not yet. Put your throbbing heart to mine, love.”

Throbbing heart! Alas, it throbbed no more! Katharine Norton was dead! Hector McLean took one hand, to console her, and, as the other was placed upon the window of the carriage, it was seized by the blind Prophetess, who now appeared, strangely and unexpectedly, as before.

“Dead! dead!” she exclaimed.

At that moment the shouts of the mob frightened the horses, who dashed furiously away; and the young Prophetess was left a mangled corpse! Her life was all a mystery--her power of knowing the future, and her sudden appearance!

THE SPECTRE COACH OF LIVERPOOL.