III. – HORNBY CASTLE
While the rest of the force proceeded to Lancaster, shaping their course along the lovely valley of the Lune, and keeping near the banks of the river, Colonel Oxburgh, with a party of horse, composed entirely of gentlemen, went to Hornby Castle for the purpose of arresting its owner, Colonel Charteris, and taking him a prisoner to Lancaster.
Colonel Charteris, condemned to deathless infamy by Hogarth, belonged to a Scotch family, and had rendered himself so odious to his countrymen by his vices, that if the Highlanders had been allowed to visit Hornby Castle, they would undoubtedly have burnt it to the ground, and have shot its owner if they had caught him.
A profligate debauchee of the worst kind, Colonel Charteris was also one of the meanest of men, and cunning as mean. But he was very rich, and about two years prior to the date of our story, he had purchased Hornby Castle, where he now dwelt, from the Earl of Cardigan, for fifteen thousand pounds. He had made some alterations – but not improvements – in the place, and had disfigured the old keep by rearing a watch-tower on its summit, above which he fixed a great gilt eagle.
From its bold position on a craggy hill, the sides of which were clothed with timber, while its base was washed by the river Wenning, Hornby Castle, before its partial demolition in the Civil Wars, must have presented a very striking appearance.
The ancient part of the structure was now in ruins – all that remained of it being a few picturesque walls overgrown with ivy, and the great square tower, to which allusion has just been made.
Adjoining these ruins, and to a certain degree combined with them, was a large modern stone mansion, in front of which a steep lawn descended, between avenues of timber, to the park at the foot of the hill.
No information respecting Colonel Charteris could be obtained at the pretty little village of Hornby. The inhabitants could not, or would not, tell whether he was at the castle. It was, therefore, in a state of the utmost uncertainty that Colonel Oxburgh and his troop mounted the steep ascent. The probability, indeed, seemed that a person so cautious as Colonel Charteris would have decamped on hearing that the insurgents were close at hand.
On approaching the castle, which he thought much too good for its unworthy owner, Colonel Oxburgh rode up to the principal entrance and caused the bell to be loudly rung. Hitherto, no servants had appeared from whom inquiries could be made, and it would almost seem that the place was deserted. The summons, however, was promptly answered by a porter, who stated that his master had gone to Lancaster.
“Who is in the castle, then?” demanded Colonel Ox-burgh. “Take care you don’t deceive me, fellow.”
“Only Mr. Bancroft, the steward, and two old women,” replied the porter. “Colonel Charteris has taken all the rest of the servants with him to Lancaster. But here comes Mr. Bancroft.”
As he spoke, a singular-looking individual made his appearance, and descending the steps respectfully saluted the insurgent leader.
Mr. Bancroft was an elderly man, rather high-shouldered and clad in an old-fashioned, snuff-coloured suit. He wore what was then called a night-cap wig, and on his large and prominent nose rested a pair of green spectacles, through which he eyed the visitor.
“Colonel Charteris is absent, sir,” he said. “He went to Lancaster yesterday.”
“So I have just heard,” replied the other. “But you must excuse me, Mr. Bancroft, if I decline to take your assurance on that point. My men will search the castle.”
“As you please, sir,” replied the steward. “But depend upon it they won’t find him. Won’t you please to alight, and come in?”
“Such is my intention,” replied the colonel, springing from his horse and giving the bridle to the trooper nearest to him. “Let a dozen men follow me,” he added. “The rest will take the horses to the stable – feed them – and then come to the house.”
“It shall be done, colonel,” said the trooper.
“Excuse me, colonel,” said Bancroft. “They’ll find the stable doors locked. My master has taken the keys with him.”
“Break open the doors,” cried Colonel Oxburgh.
“If they do, they’ll find no forage inside,” said Bancroft. “All the hay and corn has been removed.”
“Never was there such a rascal?” cried Colonel Oxburgh, furiously. “Well, do the best you can,” he added, to his followers. “Put up the horses, and then come to the house.”
“To prevent disappointment,” said Bancroft, with a malicious grin, “I had better mention beforehand that they will find no provisions.”
“No provisions!” exclaimed the colonel, while the troopers who were within hearing looked aghast:
“The larder’s empty, sir, I’m sorry to say,” pursued the steward; “and what’s worse, there’s not a bottle of wine in the cellar.”
Murmurs and threats arose from the men.
“If your master acts thus, he must take the consequences,” observed Colonel Oxburgh. “He deserves the bad character he has acquired.”
The steward did not like the tone in which the remark was made, and looked as if he would be glad to escape, but this being impossible, he asked Colonel Oxburgh into the house.
As he entered the hall with his men, Colonel Oxburgh Stopped him, and said:
“A word with you, Mr. Bancroft. You say there are no provisions in the house – no food for the horses in the stables.”
“I do, colonel,” replied the other.
“I won’t dispute the truth of your statement, but I have some orders to give you, which you will be pleased to execute. While I search the house see that a plentiful repast is set out for me and my followers in the diningroom – ”
“I cannot accomplish impossibilities, colonel,” interrupted the steward.
“I require good wine for myself and my men. No discussion. It must be done. Two of my party will attend upon you, and shoot you through the head if you attempt to escape. The rest will remain with me.”
Leaving the steward quite confounded by what he had heard, in charge of a couple of troopers, Colonel Oxburgh made a thorough search of the house, peering into every room, but he did not find the person he sought, and began to think Colonel Charteris had really fled.
On repairing to the dining-room he was agreeably surprised to find a cold collation laid out on a long table.
“Aha! Mr. Bancroft,” he exclaimed, “you have performed wonders, I see. Is this the work of magic?”
“It turned out on examination that the larder was better furnished than I imagined, colonel,” said the steward.
“I thought as much,” rejoined Colonel Oxburgh. “After all, we shall not fare badly.”
“Nor will the horses, colonel,” observed one of the gentlemen troopers coming up to him. “We have found plenty of fodder in the stable.”
The colonel laughed heartily.
“What do you say to this, sir?” he remarked to the steward.
“Simply that I obeyed my master’s orders,” he rejoined.
“Your master is a miserable niggard,” said the colonel, signing to his followers to sit down, and taking the chair at the head of the table.
They were waited on by a couple of menservants, who had been discovered in the butler’s pantry, and were supplied with abundance of claret.
At the conclusion of the repast King James’s health was drunk by the whole party with loud cheers. Not only was the steward compelled to join in the toast, but to drink “Success to the insurgent army.”
When the moment of departure arrived, and the steward thought he was about to get rid of his unwelcome visitors, Colonel Oxburgh said to him:
“We shan’t part company at present, Mr. Bancroft. I shall be compelled to take you with me to Lancaster.”
“As a prisoner, colonel?”
“As a prisoner, sir!”
“But what have I done? What crime have I committed?”
“That General Forster will judge. I have his orders to arrest you.”
“Your orders, if I mistake not, are to arrest Colonel Charteris.”
“Exactly. But in arresting you I don’t think I shall be far wrong.”
“I can assure you, sir – ”
“Nay, ‘tis vain to deny it. From the first I suspected you were Colonel Charteris, and my suspicions have since become confirmed. ‘Twill be best to accompany me quietly. Resistance will be useless?”
“Very well,” rejoined the other. “Since you have seen through my disguise, I won’t attempt to maintain it longer. I am Colonel Charteris. Allow me to put up a few things, and I will go with you. Don’t be alarmed. I give you my word of honour I will return.”
“Your word of honour!” exclaimed Colonel Oxburgh, contemptuously. “I place little reliance upon it. A guard must accompany you while you make your preparations.”
“You wrong me by this distrust, colonel,” said Charteris, as he quitted the room, closely followed by a couple of troopers.
Ascending the great staircase, he proceeded deliberately along a corridor, until he came to a particular bed-chamber, where he stopped, saying to the guard, as he went in, “I won’t detain you long.”
The troopers remained at the door. But as he did not come forth within a reasonable time, they entered the room, and to their astonishment and dismay found it empty.
They searched about – in the closets, behind the curtains, under the bed, and in every place, likely and unlikely, but failed to find him – nor could they comprehend how he had got off, since there appeared to be no other exit but the door.
On going downstairs, they found Colonel Oxburgh impatiently awaiting them in the hall. The entrance door was standing wide open, and showed the troop drawn up outside, and ready for instant departure. The colonel was greatly exasperated when he learnt what had happened.
“I ought to have known better,” he mentally ejaculated, “than to trust a man without a spark of honour. However, if he falls into my hands again, he shall not escape so easily.”
Though despairing of success, Colonel Oxburgh would not leave without making an effort to re-capture the fugitive.
On careful examination of the bed-chamber in question, he discovered a secret door, connected with a passage leading to the ruins of the old castle, where no doubt the fugitive had found a safe hiding-place. As it was evident further search would be useless, Colonel Oxburgh departed with his men.
Little did he think as he rode down the hill, that Colonel Charteris was watching him from the summit of the keep, and laughing at the clever manner in which he had outwitted his visitor.
IV. – SIR HENRY HOGHTON AND THE QUAKER
Aware that the rebels were marching towards Lancaster, the Whig inhabitants of the town endeavoured to make some defensive preparations, and were materially aided in their efforts by Sir Henry Hoghton, of Hoghton Tower, member of Parliament for Preston, and Colonel of the Lancashire Militia.
Having ascertained that a ship called the Robert, of five hundred tons burthen, belonging to Mr. Lawson, a wealthy Quaker of Lancaster, was lying at Sunderland – a small sea-port situated at the estuary of the Lune – Sir Henry went to Mr. Lawson to endeavour to negotiate with him for the use of the guns.
“When I tell you, Mr Lawson,” he said, “that those Cannon of yours will enable us to keep the rebels out of the town, I am sure you will let us have them.”
“Thou shalt have them on one condition, friend,” replied the Quaker. “And on one condition only.”
“Name it,” cried Sir Henry eagerly.
“Thou shalt give me a bond for ten thousand pounds to insure my ship, the Robert, against any damage she may sustain from the rebels, when they learn I have parted with the cannon to be used against them.”
“Zounds! Mr. Lawson,” exclaimed Sir Henry, “excuse my swearing – but you are enough to provoke a saint – how the deuce can you expect me to agree to such absurd conditions? I refuse them. Moreover, I tell you as a magistrate, that the cargo on board the Robert shall at once be seized, unless you consent to surrender the cannon. Now, Sir, what have you to say to that?”
After a moment’s reflection, the Quaker replied:
“I have simply to say, friend, that I agree.”
“I am glad to hear it,” observed Sir Henry. “You will deserve the thanks of your fellow-townsmen.”
“But recollect, friend,” said the Quaker, “that the cannon will be of no use to thee, unless thou hast sufficient men to cover the town. Thou hast six hundred militiamen at Preston. Thou must bring them forthwith to Lancaster. There is also, unless I am misinformed, a regiment of dragoons at Preston, commanded by Colonel Stanhope. They would be useful here.”
“Colonel Stanhope cannot move his dragoons without an order from General Wills,” said Sir Henry. “And as to the militia, I can’t bring them here because I should deprive Preston of its main defence.”
“That is unfortunate,” observed the Quaker. “The best fighting men in Lancaster are Jacobites, and likely to help the rebels. I would not trust them to serve the cannon.”
“I begin to think you are a Jacobite yourself, Mr. Lawson,” observed Sir Henry. “Since you raise all these difficulties you must order the Robert to leave Sunderland, and move to some other port.”
“I can’t do it, friend,” observed the Quaker. “The rebels would consider the step as an injustice to themselves, and assuredly resent it.”
“This truckling to the rebels proves you to be a Jacobite,” said Sir Henry, angrily; “but I will consult my brother magistrates, Mr. Rigby and Colonel Charteris, and if they are of my opinion, we will issue a warrant and seize the arms.”
“Do as it seems good to thee, in regard to the cannon, friend,” rejoined the Quaker. “But counsel thy brother magistrates not to blow up the bridge, as I hear is their intention. They will not thereby hinder the entrance of the rebels, since the river is passable at low water both for horse and foot, and will do great damage to the town.”
“There you are right,” said Sir Henry. “The bridge shall not be destroyed. Have you any further complaints to make?”
“Yea, verily,” replied the Quaker. “I have to complain that a barrel of gunpowder hath been improperly and imprudently wasted by him thou callest Colonel Charteris.”
“How so?” demanded Sir Henry.
“Because he hath caused Samuel Satterthwaite to cast it into the town-well.”
“Perhaps he thought Sam Satterthwaite might sell it to the rebels.”
“Wherefore not use it against them himself? I am a man of peace, and Colonel Charteris is a man of war. Yet methinks, the order to spoil the powder would have come more aptly from me, than from him. Most assuredly, however, I would have given no such direction.”
“I can easily believe it, Mr. Lawson,” replied Sir Henry. “You know the value of gunpowder, having an armed vessel of your own.”
“I know its utility at this moment,” rejoined the Quaker, “when an insurrection has to be quelled.”
“Or aided,” said Sir Henry, significantly. “Well, I won’t argue with you further, Mr. Lawson. You shall have due notice when the arms are seized.”
“I am not much afraid of that,” muttered the Quaker, as Sir Henry took his departure.
V. – HOW THE PRISONERS IN LANCASTER CASTLE WERE RELEASED
Far from presenting a stern and threatening aspect to the rebels, the old town of Lancaster seemed to smile upon them as they approached it.
The sun shone brightly on the castle hill, giving a cheerful air to the ancient fortress that crowned it, and no cannon were planted at its walls. No militia, no dragoons, were drawn to dispute the passage of the bridge. On the contrary, a great number of ladies and gentlemen were collected there, mingled with the townsfolk – most of whom were in their holiday attire – to give them welcome.
Headed by the Earl of Derwentwater, mounted on his dapple-grey steed which had borne him well throughout the whole of the long march, the insurgents came joyously on, and were received with shouts by the concourse assembled at the foot of the bridge – the ladies waving their kerchiefs enthusiastically.
The good looks and chivalrous appearance of the earl were well calculated to impress the female portion of the beholders, who manifested their admiration in the way we have stated.
Riding with his sword unsheathed, Lord Derwentwater occasionally bowed in acknowledgement of the attention paid him. Close behind him rode his brother, Charles Radclyffe, and Captain Wogan, both of whom were thought handsome men, but nothing compared with the earl, who captivated all the ladies of Lancaster.
Entirely composed of gentlemen of good family, almost all of them young, very well dressed, and extremely well mounted, and of course not having at all the air of common soldiers, the Earl of Derwentwater’s regiment caused great excitement.
Flattered by their reception, these young gentlemen bowed to the ladies, and in some instances persuaded themselves that their salutations were returned. Perhaps it might have been so, since it is certain the ladies were not displeased.
General Forster was not so much admired, and the ladies declared he was not fit to have the command of such an army; but they praised Lord Widdrington’s regiment, and wondered how so many fine young men could have been got together. The Scottish nobles and the Lowland corps delighted them, but they were quite astounded by the Highlanders, with whose picturesque garb they were not familiar.
They could not help contrasting these fierce-looking savages, as they styled them, with the handsome Englishmen, and Brigadier Mackintosh, with his tall, stalwart figure and grim countenance filled them with terror.
After crossing the bridge without any other interruption, except the very agreeable one described, the insurgent army marched to the market-place, followed by an immense concourse. Here the Highlanders formed themselves in a body round the cross, and the whole of the cavalry, having their swords bared, drew up around them. General Forster with the English and Scottish nobles were stationed in the centre of the throng.
King James the Third was then proclaimed amid the hearty cheers of the multitude. This done, the troops moved away, and were billeted and quartered in every part of the town. While the proclamation was being made, Captain Gordon had remarked a person at the open window of a stationer’s shop, kept by a certain Christopher Hopkins, evidently engaged in counting the numbers of the insurgents, and entering the particulars with great care in a small memorandum book. Suspecting that the man’s design was to afford information to the Government, Captain Gordon went to the shop as soon as the crowd began to disperse, and then found that the individual he had seen preparing the report was Christopher Hopkins himself. Interrogated by Captain Gordon, Hopkins admitted that he had taken down the numbers of the insurgent army, and, moreover, had given the report to his friend Ralph Fairbrother, who was about to take it to General Carpenter at Newcastle.
As Hopkins refused to give any further information, Captain Gordon ordered his immediate arrest, and directed that he should be kept in strict custody till Ralph Fairbrother was found. Fairbrother’s residence was discovered, but he had already set out on his errand. A reward of thirty pounds was offered for his capture, but proved ineffectual.
Amongst those who witnessed the entrance of the insurgent army into the town, were the prisoners in the castle, who had contrived to get up on the leads of the building, and saluted their deliverers, as they styled them, with loud cheers.
Several of these unlucky individuals had been confined for political offences, and as most of them were Jacobites, they confidently calculated upon liberation.
Amongst them was the celebrated Tom Syddall, a blacksmith of Manchester, who had headed the mob at the time of the Sacheverel riots, and assisted in pulling down the Presbyterian meeting-houses in that town. For these offences the “Mob Captain,” as he was styled, was placed in the pillory, and imprisoned in Lancaster Castle.
Tom Syddall, we may mention, had a son quite as ardent a Jacobite as himself, whose exploits during the rebellion of 1745 have been recounted in another work.
A consultation was held by General Forster with Lord Derwentwater and the other leaders as to the propriety of releasing the debtors as well as the Crown prisoners in the castle, when it was decided that the former only should be set free.
Accordingly, Colonel Oxburgh, who by this time had returned from his unsuccessful visit to Hornby Castle, was directed to order their immediate discharge, and for this purpose went up to the castle, without a guard, and only accompanied by Mr. Patten, the chaplain of the force.
On entering by the portal of the Gateway Tower, above which was an effigy of John of Gaunt, they were respectfully received by an officer, to whom Colonel Oxburgh gave General Forster’s order for the liberation of the Crown prisoners, and while the colonel and the chaplain walked on into the spacious castle-yard, the order was taken to the governor.
Ere many minutes had elapsed, loud shouts, that made the old towers ring, announced that the order had been complied with, and soon afterwards some thirty individuals, most of them very shabbily attired, rushed tumultuously into the court, and, gathering round Colonel Oxburgh, shouted “Long live King James the Third!”
Foremost among them was a short, strongly built man, with a plain, honest countenance, marked by a bold, determined expression, who looked like what he had been – a blacksmith.
“Are you not Tom Syddall?” inquired Colonel Oxburgh.
The man replied in the affirmative, whereupon the colonel shook hands with him, as did the chaplain, and both expressed their satisfaction at being instrumental in setting him and his fellow-prisoners at liberty.
“You have all been imprisoned for your attachment to your rightful sovereign,” said Colonel Oxburgh, “and it is our duty to liberate you. As to you, Syddall,” he added, “I know you to be a brave fellow, and I expect you will join us.”
“Such is my design, colonel,” he replied. “And what is more, I can bring all these my friends with me. Have I said too much?” he added, appealing to them.
“No! no!” they responded unanimously. “We will all join.”
“I am right glad to hear it,” said the colonel. “Your friends will form a small troop, Syddall, and I make no doubt General Forster will give you the command of it.”
All being now arranged, Colonel Oxburgh and the chaplain quitted the castle, and proceeded to the general’s quarters, followed by the newly-liberated prisoners. General Forster was very much pleased by this accession of force, and confirmed Colonel Oxburgh’s promise by appointing Syddall captain of the little troop.
That night, Brigadier Mackintosh sent a party of Highlanders to search for arms at every house in the town. They took with them Mr. Parkinson, the mayor, a staunch supporter of the Government, and compelled him to assist in the search. Their orders were to plunder the houses of all such persons as refused compliance with their commands.
While the search for arms was still going on, Captain Wogan came to Forster’s quarters, and said:
“General, I have just received information of six pieces of cannon on board the ship Robert, now lying at Sunderland, five miles from this town, and propose, with your sanction, to take a detachment with me to-morrow morning and seize them.”
“Do so, by all means,” said Forster.
“Sir Henry Hoghton intended to seize these ship guns, and bring them here for the defence of the town,” continued Captain Wogan, “and for that purpose had taken off the wheels of some of his carriages. But his design being frustrated by our approach, I have got possession of the carriage-wheels, and mean to use them as he intended for the cannon.”
“Capital!” exclaimed Forster, laughing heartily.
“But something must be done to remunerate Mr. Lawson, the owner of the ship, general,” said Wogan.
“Let him make his claim, and we will give him our note for the amount to be made payable when our master’s concerns are settled,” said Forster.
Taking a strong detachment with him, Captain Wogan went, next morning, to Sunderland, where he found the Robert, and demanded the cannon in the name of King James.
Mr. Lawson was on board at the time, and at once surrendered the guns, receiving a note of hand for six hundred pounds, as suggested by General Forster, with which he appeared perfectly satisfied.
“But how wilt thou get the guns to Lancaster, friend?” he inquired.
“Very easily,” replied Captain Wogan. “I have brought with me the wheels of Sir Henry Hoghton’s three carriages.”
“Thou hast done well,” observed the Quaker, laughing. “That insolent baronet has been rightly served.”
“I begin to think you have a friendly feeling towards our party, Mr. Lawson,” observed Captain Wogan.
“I am of no party, friend,” replied the cautious Quaker. “But I will tell thee one thing – thou hast got the cannon far cheaper than I would have sold them to Sir Henry Hoghton.”