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CHAPTER IV.
THE TRIAL OF THE MANCHESTER REBELS

An interval of some months being allowed to elapse, we come to a very melancholy period of our story.

The unfortunate prisoners, who had languished during the whole time in Newgate, were ordered to prepare for their trial, which was intended to take place in the Court House at St. Margaret's Hill, Southwark, before Lord Chief Justice Lee, Lord Chief Justice Willes, Justice Wright, Justice Dennison, Justice Foster, Baron Reynolds, Baron Clive, and other commissioners specially appointed for the purpose.

Previously to the trial the prisoners were ordered to be removed to the new gaol at Southwark.

'Twas a sad blow both to Monica and her unfortunate lover. So much kindness and consideration had been shown to Jemmy during his long confinement in Newgate by all the officials, that he was quite grieved to leave the prison.

Familiar with every little object in his cell, he was unwilling to exchange it for another prison-chamber. In this narrow room he and Monica had passed several hours of each day. Their converse had been chiefly of another world, for Jemmy had given up all hopes of a pardon, or an exchange, and they had prayed fervently together, or with the ordinary. Monica, as we know, was a Papist, but Jemmy still adhered to the Protestant faith. Before her departure from London, Constance had taken leave of him; but Sir Conway could not consistently visit the prison after the pardon he had received from the Duke of Cumberland. Dr. Byrom and his daughter had likewise visited him before they left town.

About a week after Constance's return to Rawcliffe Hall, Mrs. Butler died, and the sad tidings were communicated with as much care as possible to Monica. Prepared for the event, the poor girl bore it with pious resignation.

"My mother was right," she said. "She foresaw that we should never meet again."

At length the hour for departure came, and Jemmy was forced to quit his cell. As he stepped forth, his heart died within him.

In the lodge he took leave of the gaoler who had attended him, and of the other officials, and they all expressed an earnest hope that he might be exchanged. All had been interested in the tender attachment between him and Monica, which had formed a little romance in the prison.

The removal took place at night. Jemmy was permitted to take a hackney-coach, and, as a special favour, Monica was allowed to accompany him – a guard being placed on the box.

To prevent any attempt at escape he was fettered, and this grieved him sorely, for he had not been placed in irons during his confinement in Newgate.

On London Bridge, a stoppage occurred, during which the coaches were examined.

On their arrival at the prison at Southwark, the lovers were separated. Immured in a fresh cell, Jemmy felt completely wretched, and Monica, more dead than alive, was driven back to Jermyn-street.

Next day, however, she was allowed to see her lover, but only for a few minutes, and under greater restrictions than had been enforced in Newgate. Jemmy, however, had in some degree recovered his spirits, and strove to reassure her.

Three days afterwards the trials commenced. They took place, as appointed, at the Court House, in St. Margaret's Hill.

Colonel Townley was first arraigned, and maintained an undaunted demeanour. When he appeared in the dock a murmur ran through the crowded court, which was immediately checked. The counsel for the king were the Attorney-General, Sir John Strange, the Solicitor-General, Sir Richard Lloyd, and the Honourable Mr. York – those for the prisoner were Mr. Serjeant Wynne and Mr. Clayton. The prisoner was charged with procuring arms, ammunition, and other instruments, and composing a regiment for the service of the Pretender to wage war against his most sacred majesty; with marching through and invading several parts of the kingdom, and unlawfully seizing his majesty's treasure in many places for the service of his villainous cause, and taking away the horses and other goods of his majesty's peaceful subjects. The prisoner was furthermore charged, in open defiance of his majesty's undoubted right and title to the crown of these realms, with frequently causing the Pretender's son to be proclaimed in a public and solemn manner as regent, and himself marching at the head of a pretended regiment, which he called the Manchester Regiment.

To this indictment the prisoner pleaded not guilty.

The chief witness against the prisoner was Ensign Maddox, an officer of the regiment, who had consented to turn evidence for the Crown. Maddox declared that he had marched out with the prisoner as an ensign, but never had any commission, though he carried the colours; that the prisoner gave command as colonel of the Manchester Regiment; and that he ordered the regiment to be drawn up in the churchyard in Manchester, where the Pretender's son reviewed them, and that he marched at the head of the regiment to Derby. That the prisoner marched as colonel of the Manchester Regiment in their retreat from Derby to Carlisle; that he was made by the Pretender's son commandant of Carlisle, and that he took on him the command of the whole rebel forces left there; that he had heard the prisoner have some words with Colonel Hamilton, who was governor of the citadel, for surrendering the place, and not holding out to the last; and that he had particularly seen the prisoner encourage the rebel officers and soldiers to make sallies out on the king's forces.

After Maddox's cross examination evidence was produced that Colonel Townley was many years in the French service under a commission from the French king; and since he was taken at Carlisle had been constantly supplied with money from France. Other witnesses were called to invalidate the evidence of Maddox by showing that he was unworthy of credit.

But the court ruled that no man who is a liege subject of his majesty can justify taking up arms, and acting in the service of a prince who is actually at war with his majesty.

After the prisoner's evidence had been gone through, the Solicitor-General declared, "That he felt certain the jury would consider that the overt acts of high treason charged against the prisoner in compassing and imagining the death of the king, and in levying war against his majesty's person and government, had been sufficiently proved."

While the jury withdrew to consider their verdict, Colonel Townley looked more indifferent than any other person in court. On their return, in about ten minutes, the clerk of arraigns said:

"How say you, gentlemen, are you agreed on your verdict? Do you find Francis Townley guilty of the high treason whereof he stands indicted, or not guilty?"

"Guilty," replied the foreman.

Sentence of death was then pronounced upon him by Lord Chief Justice Lee, and during that awful moment he did not betray the slightest discomposure.

He was then delivered to the care of Mr. Jones, keeper of the county gaol of Surrey.

Captain Dawson's trial next took place. His youth and good looks excited general sympathy.

The indictment was similar to that of Colonel Townley – the treason being alleged to be committed at the same time. The Attorney-General set forth that the prisoner, contrary to his allegiance, accepted a commission in the Manchester Regiment raised by Colonel Townley for the service of the Pretender, and acted as captain; that he marched to Derby in a hostile manner; that he retreated with the rebel army from Derby to Manchester, and thence to Clifton Moor, where in a skirmish he headed his men against the Duke of Cumberland's troops; and that he had surrendered at the same time as Colonel Townley and the other officers.

Evidence to the above effect was given by Maddox and other witnesses.

No defence was made by the prisoner, and the jury, without going out of court, brought him in guilty.

As their verdict was delivered, a convulsive sob was heard, and attention being directed to the spot whence the sound proceeded, it was found that a young lady had fainted. As she was carried out the prisoner's eyes anxiously followed her, and it was soon known that she was his betrothed.

The rest of the rebel officers were subsequently tried and found guilty, and sentence of death was passed upon them all.

The order for the execution was couched in the following terms:

"Let the several prisoners herein named return to the gaol of the county of Surrey whence they came. Thence they must be drawn to the place of execution, on Kennington Common, and when brought there must be hanged by the neck – but not till they are dead, for they must be cut down alive. Then their hearts must be taken out and burnt before their faces. Their heads must be severed from their bodies, and their bodies divided into quarters, and these must be at the king's disposal."

CHAPTER V.
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE EXECUTIONS

On the night preceding the day appointed for carrying out the terrible sentence, poor Jemmy and his betrothed were allowed by Mr. Jones, the keeper of the prison, to pass an hour together.

While clasping her lover's fettered hands, Monica looked tenderly into his face, and said:

"I shall not long survive you, Jemmy."

"Banish these thoughts," he rejoined. "You are young, and I hope may have many years of happiness. Be constant to my memory, that is all I ask. If disembodied spirits can watch over the living I will watch over you."

With a sad smile he then added: "For a few minutes let us live in the past. Let me look back to the time when I first beheld you, and when your beauty made an impression on me that has never been effaced. Let me recall those happy hours when smiles only lighted up that lovely countenance, and no tear was ever shed. Oh! those were blissful days!"

"Let me also recall the past, dearest Jemmy," she cried. "How well do I recollect our first meeting! I thought I had seen no one like you, and I think so still. I could not be insensible to the devotion of a youth so gallant, and my heart was quickly yours. Alas! alas! I took advantage of your love to induce you to join this fatal expedition."

"Do not reproach yourself, dearest Monica. 'Twas my destiny. I am a true adherent of the Stuarts. Had I ten thousand lives I would give them all to King James and my country! I shall die with those sentiments on my lips."

As he spoke his pale cheek flushed, and his eye kindled with its former fire. She gazed at him with admiration.

But after a few moments a change came over his countenance, and with a look of ill-concealed anguish, he said:

"We must part to-night, dearest Monica. 'Tis better you should not come to me to-morrow."

"Nay, dearest Jemmy, I will attend you to the last."

"Impossible! it cannot be. My execution will be accompanied by barbarities worthy of savages, and not of civilised beings. You must not – shall not witness such a frightful spectacle."

"If the sight kills me I will be present."

"Since you are resolved, I will say no more. At least, you will see how firmly I can die."

Just then Mr. Jones came in to remind them that it was time to part, and with a tender embrace, Jemmy consigned her to his care.

On learning that she meant to attend the execution, Mr. Jones endeavoured to dissuade her, but she continued unshaken in her purpose.

CHAPTER VI.
THE FATAL DAY

Next morning all those condemned to die breakfasted together in a large room on the ground floor of the prison. Their fetters had been previously removed.

There was no bravado, no undue levity in their manner or discourse, but they looked surprisingly cheerful, in spite of the near approach of death under the most dreadful form.

All had passed the greater part of the night in prayer. And as they hoped they had settled their account on high, there was nothing to disturb their serenity.

"Our time draws very near," observed Syddall to Captain Dawson, who sat next him. "But for my part I feel as hearty as ever I did in my life. Indeed, I think we all look remarkably well considering our position."

"Death does not terrify me in the least," said Jemmy. "Its bitterness is past with me. May Heaven have mercy on us all!"

"We die in a good cause," observed Captain Deacon. "I heartily forgive all my enemies – even the chief of them, the Elector of Hanover and the Duke of Cumberland. It has been falsely said that I was induced by my revered father to take up arms for the prince. The assertion I shall contradict in the manifesto I have prepared. For the rest I care not what my enemies say of me."

"The Duke of Cumberland has not kept faith with us," exclaimed Captain Fletcher. "When we surrendered at Carlisle, he declared that the garrison should not be put to the sword, but reserved for his father's pleasure – the Elector's pleasure being that we should be hung, drawn, and quartered. Gracious Heaven! deliver all Englishmen from this Hanoverian clemency!"

"My sole regret is that we ever surrendered," cried Colonel Townley. "Would we all had died sword in hand! However, since we are brought to this pass, we must meet our fate like brave men. As we have been allowed wine with our last repast, let us drink to King James the Third!"

Every glass was raised in response, after which they all rose from the table.

Several friends of the prisoners were now permitted to enter the room. Among them were Mr. Saunderson, Colonel Townley's confessor, and Captain Deacon's youngest brother, Charles.

Charles Deacon had been reprieved; but, while embracing his brother for the last time, he expressed deep regret that he could not share his fate.

Poor Monica was there – dressed in deep mourning. She and her lover were somewhat removed from the rest; but they were so engrossed by each other, that they seemed to be quite alone.

Their parting attracted the attention of Tom Syddall, and moved him to tears – though he had shed none for his own misfortunes.

"How did you pass the night, dearest Jemmy?" inquired Monica.

"Chiefly in prayer," he replied. "But towards morn I fell asleep, and dreamed that you and I were children, and playing together in the fields. It was a pleasant dream, and I was sorry when I awoke."

"I, too, had a pleasant dream, dearest Jemmy," she rejoined. "I thought I saw my mother. She had a seraphic aspect, and seemed to smile upon me. That smile has comforted me greatly. Ha! what sound is that?"

"'Tis the guard assembling in the court-yard," he replied. "We must part. Do not give way."

"Fear me not," she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

At this juncture, the sheriffs entered the room, attended by the keeper of the prison. The sheriffs wore black gowns, and were without their chains.

While the sheriffs were exchanging a few words with Colonel Townley and the other prisoners, Mr. Jones conducted Monica to the mourning-coach which was waiting for her at the gates of the prison.

Meanwhile, a guard of grenadiers had been drawn up in the court-yard, and the ignominious conveyances, destined to take the prisoners to the place of execution, had been got ready.

By-and-by, the unfortunate men were brought down, and in the presence of the sheriffs and the keeper of the prison were bound to the hurdles with cords.

This done, the dismal procession set forth.

At the head of the train marched a party of grenadiers. Then followed the sheriffs in their carriages, with their tipstaves walking beside them.

Those about to suffer came next. On the foremost hurdle were stretched Colonel Townley, Captain Deacon, and Jemmy Dawson. The remaining prisoners were bound in like manner. Another party of grenadiers followed.

Next came several hearses, containing coffins, destined for the mangled bodies of the victims.

After the hearses followed a number of mourning-coaches, drawn by horses decked with trappings of woe. In the foremost of these coaches sat Monica, with her attendant, Lettice.

In this order the gloomy procession shaped its course slowly towards the place of execution. The streets were crowded with spectators anxious to obtain a sight of the unfortunate men who were dragged in this ignominious manner along the rough pavement. But no groans were uttered – no missiles thrown. On the contrary, much commiseration was manifested by the crowd, especially when the mourning-coaches were seen, and great curiosity was exhibited to obtain a sight of their occupants. For Monica, whose story had become known, unwonted sympathy was displayed.

At length, the train drew near Kennington Common, where a large assemblage was collected to witness the dreadful scene. Hitherto, the crowd had been noisy, but it now became suddenly quiet. In the centre of the common, which of late years has been enclosed, and laid out as a park, a lofty gibbet was reared. Near it was placed a huge block, and close to the latter was a great pile of faggots. On the block were laid an executioner's knife and one or two other butcherly instruments.

At the foot of the fatal tree stood the executioner – a villainous-looking catiff – with two assistants quite as repulsive in appearance as himself. The two latter wore leather vests, and their arms were bared to the shoulder.

On the arrival of the train at the place of execution, the sheriffs alighted, and the grenadiers formed a large circle round the gibbet. The prisoners were then released from the hurdles, but their limbs were so stiffened by the bonds that they could scarcely move.

At the same time the faggots were lighted, and a flame quickly arose, giving a yet more terrible character to the scene.

Some little time was allowed the prisoners for preparation, and such of them as had papers and manifestoes delivered them to the sheriffs, by whom they were handed to the tipstaves to be distributed among the crowd.

At this juncture a fair pale face was seen at the window of the foremost mourning coach, and a hand was waved to one of the prisoners, who returned the farewell salute. This was the lovers' last adieu.

The dreadful business then began.

Colonel Townley was first called upon to mount the ladder. His arms were bound by the executioner, but he was not blindfolded. His deportment was firm – his countenance being lighted up by a scornful smile. After being suspended for a couple of minutes, he was cut down, and laid, still breathing, upon the block, when the terrible sentence was carried out – his heart being flung into the flames and consumed, and his head severed from the body and placed with the quarters in the coffin, which had been brought round to receive the mangled remains.

Colonel Townley's head, we may mention, with that of poor Jemmy Dawson, was afterwards set on Temple Bar.

Many of the spectators of this tragic scene were greatly affected – but those about to suffer a like fate witnessed it with stern and stoical indifference.

Amid a deep and awful hush, broken by an occasional sob, Jemmy Dawson stepped quickly up the ladder, as if anxious to meet his doom; and when his light graceful figure and handsome countenance could be distinguished by the crowd, a murmur of compassion arose.

Again the fair face – now death-like in hue – was seen at the window of the mourning coach, and Jemmy's dying gaze was fixed upon it.

As his lifeless body was cut down and placed upon the block to be mutilated, and the executioner flung his faithful heart, which happily had ceased beating, into the flames, a cry was heard, and those nearest the mourning coach we have alluded to pressed towards it, and beheld the inanimate form of a beautiful girl lying in the arms of an attendant.

All was over.

The story spread from lip to lip among the deeply-sympathising crowd, and many a tear was shed, and many a prayer breathed that lovers so fond and true might be united above.

Before allowing the curtain to drop on this ghastly spectacle, which lasted upwards of an hour, we feel bound to state that all the sufferers died bravely. Not one quailed. With his last breath, and in a loud voice, Captain Deacon called out "God save King James the Third!"

When the halter was placed round poor Tom Syddall's neck, the executioner remarked that he trembled.

"Tremble!" exclaimed Tom, indignantly. "I recoil from thy hateful touch – that is all."

And to prove that his courage was unshaken, he took a pinch of snuff.

The heads of these two brave men were sent to Manchester, and fixed upon spikes on the top of the Exchange.

When he heard that this had been done, Dr. Deacon came forth, and gazed steadfastly at the relics, but without manifesting any sign of grief.

To the bystanders, who were astounded at his seeming unconcern, he said:

"Why should I mourn for my son? He has died the death of a martyr."

He then took off his hat, and bowing reverently to the two heads, departed.

But he never came near the Exchange without repeating the ceremony, and many other inhabitants of the town followed his example.