III. – THE EARL OF NITHSDALE’S ESCAPE
Having vainly solicited a pardon for her husband, the Countess of Nithsdale, a woman of great courage, as well as of great personal attractions, resolved to make an attempt to liberate him.
Before putting her project in execution she found a place of refuge, where the earl might remain safely concealed till he could embark for France.
This done, on the last day it was thought he had to live, she drove to the Tower gate in a hackney-coach, and dismissed the vehicle.
She was accompanied by two female attendants, and seemed so utterly prostrated by grief, that she needed their assistance.
Her attendants wore hoods and cloaks, but not in such a manner as to appear like a disguise.
The earl was confined in a distant fortification situated in the north-west angle of the inner ward, and it seemed certain that the countess would never have got there without support.
A sentinel was stationed at the entrance of the prison lodging, but as the party were preceded by a jailer they passed without question.
When the massive door of his prison chamber was unlocked, Lord Nithsdale came forth from a small inner room, or cell, and perceiving his wife uttered a cry, and clasped her to his breast.
Shortly afterwards, the jailer who was stationed outside, was summoned by one of the female attendants. She told him her services were no longer required, and after a very slight scrutiny he suffered her to depart.
But this active confidante had stayed long enough to divest herself of an additional dress with which she was provided.
This dress was meant as a disguise for the earl, while it was intended that her fellow-servant should personate the afflicted countess.
The exchanges of attire were quickly made.
The earl, whose slight figure and small stature suited the part he had to play, was transformed into a lady’s maid; and the representative of the countess was duly prepared for the part she had to enact.
All was now ready, but it was deemed prudent to wait nearly an hour, and it will be guessed what anxiety was felt in the interval.
At length, the jailer was called.
On unlocking the door, he beheld the earl as he thought, in an attitude of despair, leaning on the table, with his face covered by his hands.
The unhappy countess was overwhelmed by grief, and had to be led forth by her attendant, who was muffled up in her hood to hide her own tears.
The jailer’s stony heart was touched by so much grief. He let them out without a word, fastened the door, and following them down the circular stone steps, offered in a kindly tone to conduct them to the gate.
The countess murmured her thanks, and the man marched on before them, and saved them from any interference, receiving a piece of gold for his pains, when he left them at the Bulwark Gate.
“Tell your lady,” he said to the attendant, who gave him the gratuity, “that I will do all I can for his lordship to-morrow.”
He would have called a coach, but they took a boat and crossed to the other side of the river.
The first person to enter the prison-chamber after the earl’s flight was the Lieutenant of the Tower.
He was filled with consternation on perceiving that its sole occupant was a very handsome woman.
“The Countess of Nithsdale here!” he exclaimed. “The earl then has escaped?”
“Solely by my connivance,” she replied. “No one here has been concerned in the flight.”
“That remains to be ascertained,” rejoined the Lieutenant. “But your ladyship’s life will be responsible for that of your husband.”
“My husband is safe, and that is enough for me!” cried the countess, joyfully.
“But he may be recaptured,” said the Lieutenant.
“I have no uneasiness on that score,” she rejoined. “My precautions have been too well taken.”
“Well, I must detain your ladyship,” said the Lieutenant. “And I know not what course may be pursued; but I will frankly own that I hope you may be able to rejoin your lord.”
This good wish was eventually fulfilled.
IV. – THE EARL OF WINTOUN’S ESCAPE
A NOTHER important escape must be recounted.
In this case the noble fugitive was indebted entirely to his own exertions for deliverance.
The youth of the Earl of Wintoun was passed in a manner that might have given him extraordinary notoriety in our own time; but though he ran away to France, and disappeared for some years, his claim to the title was never disputed.
Incredible as it may seem, during this period of his career, he hired himself to a blacksmith, and served as a mere bellows-blower for some years.
At the same time he acquired considerable mechanical skill, which was subsequently improved, when he abandoned the hammer and the forge, and his talent now stood him in good stead.
He was imprisoned in the upper part of the Hall Tower, formerly, as its name imported, connected with the old palace, and the windows of his rooms looked into the inner and outer wards.
These windows were strongly grated, but Lord Wintoun derided this obstacle to escape.
Carefully concealed about his person, he had a couple of small files, and setting to work with these implements, he so nearly cut through the bars, that he could immediately remove them when needful.
The main difficulty was now overcome, but the windows were at a considerable height from the ground; and, moreover, there were sentinels both at the back and front, who must be eluded before an escape could be effected.
The Earl of Wintoun, however, was confident in his own ability to manage the matter, and did not doubt he should find an opportunity of getting off.
The opportunity occurred.
During the day a fog had prevailed in the City, and of course extended to the Tower. Indeed, it was thicker there than elsewhere.
Towards night the vapour increased in density. Not only was the White Tower completely hidden, but all the surrounding buildings were obscured. The sentinels could scarcely be distinguished on their posts. Links were lighted, but only served to make the darkness more palpable.
When the fog first came on, the Earl of Wintoun resolved to take advantage of the chance thus offered him, but he waited patiently till night.
No extra precaution seemed to be taken by the jailers, except that the entrance to the Hall Tower from the inner ward was fastened, but this mattered little, since the fugitive proposed to descend from the window looking towards the outer ward.
No sooner had the jailer paid his last visit for the night than the earl removed the bars from the window, tied a couple of sheets together and fastened them, and then listened intently for the sound of the sentinel’s footsteps, who was pacing to and fro beneath.
So dark was it that Lord Wintoun could not see the man, but he could hear him, and when he judged by the sound that the sentinel was at the greatest distance, he let himself down as quickly and noiselessly as he could.
A sound reached the man’s ear, for he suddenly halted and called out:
“Who goes there?”
But receiving no answer, and hearing no further noise, he did not think it needful to give the alarm.
Meanwhile, the Earl of Wintoun, who had remained perfectly quiet at this critical juncture, now stole to the further side of the ward, and crept along the edge of the wall till he got within a short distance of the Gate Tower.
Here fortune favoured him.
At the very moment of his arrival, a warder who had just come from the guard-room was opening the wicket to let out some half-dozen persons.
Without hesitation, the earl mixed with the party, and though a link was brought, he escaped without attracting the warder’s attention.
But another portal had still to be passed at the opposite side of the bridge, and as Lord Wintoun was marching towards it with his companions, he felt his arm grasped, while a voice whispered in his ear:
“You are one of the rebel lords. Your life is worth a thousand pounds. I must have that sum, or I will prevent your escape.”
“You shall have the money,” replied the earl, in the same tone.
“Enough,” said the man. “I know you will fulfil your promise. Take that letter. It will tell you who I am.”
But for this timely aid the earl might have been stopped by the guard at the Middle Tower.
However, he soon got clear of the fortress, and passing through the Bulwark Gate, plunged into the fog that enveloped Tower Hill.
V. – GENERAL FORSTER’S ESCAPE FROM NEWGATE
A very jovial time the prisoners in Newgate had of it.
Supplied with plenty of money by their friends, they could obtain whatever they wanted; and better wine and better punch were drunk in Newgate than at any tavern in town.
The prison, indeed, resembled nothing so much as a large inn, where the numerous guests were feasting and carousing from morning till night.
The majority of the prisoners persuaded themselves that in consequence of their surrender they should be very leniently treated, but come what might, they resolved to make the most of the present moment.
Ordinarily a sort of barrack, called the King’s Bench Ward, was occupied by debtors, but in consequence of the excessively, crowded state of the jail, this large chamber, which was partitioned off for beds, served as a dormitory for a portion of the rebels, while they dined, supped, drank punch, smoked pipes, played cards, dice, and draughts, in the Debtors’ Hall.
Driven from their quarters, the luckless debtors took refuge on the felons’ side or in the cellar.
Private bed-chambers, and small private apartments, for which enormous fees were demanded by the governor, Mr. Pitts, were provided for some of the insurgent leaders.
The best bedroom in the prison, which had formerly been occupied by Lord Russell and Count Koningsmark, and more recently by Count Guiscard, was let to General Forster. Charles Radclyffe and Colonel Oxburgh were each furnished with a good room, but Brigadier Mackintosh did not care how he was accommodated.
The chief officers had their own mess-table, at which they were very well served, and friends constantly dined with them. The prison, indeed, was as full of visitors as inmates, and the prisoners were just as cheerful as their guests.
A great deal of sympathy was felt for the unfortunate
Jacobite gentlemen by the fair sex, who flocked to Newgate to express it.
The prisoners were highly gratified by their attention, and exceedingly delighted to see them, and the lodge was so beset by sedan-chairs and coaches, and so thronged by ladies in fine dresses and loo-masks that it looked more like the entrance to a masquerade than the approach to a gloomy dungeon.
Notwithstanding his reverses, and though he was severely censured by his own party, General Forster maintained his cheerfulness.
On Dorothy’s arrival in town he was constantly visited by her, and it is probable she suggested a plan of escape to him.
It is certain she brought him a large sum of money. How it was employed can only be conjectured, though we do not think we shall be far wrong in asserting that a considerable portion of it found its way into the pockets of Mr. Pitts.
By whatever means he procured them, and, as we have intimated, suspicion attached to the governor, Forster obtained false keys, and they were successfully employed by him immediately after a bill of high treason had been found against him.
The comedy, it must be owned, was well played. On the night of his evasion, Forster invited Sir Francis Anderton, who was likewise a prisoner in Newgate, to sup with him, and they sat together carousing to a late hour.
They were still enjoying themselves when the governor came in to remind them that it was not far from midnight. Forster begged him to sit down, as he wished him to taste some very fine old brandy, and stepped into the adjoining chamber to fetch the bottle.
Apparently, he could not find what he sought, for he did not immediately return, and the governor, feigning to become alarmed, went to look after him.
The prisoner was gone, and had evidently made his exit by the door communicating with the passage, which ought to have been locked outside.
Indeed it was locked, as was the door of the other room, for when the governor hurried thither, and tried to get out, he found himself a prisoner.
The consternation into which Mr. Pitts was thrown by this discovery, if not real, was extremely well simulated, and imposed upon Sir Francis Anderton, who, however, laughed very heartily.
The governor knocked against the door, and shouted loudly for assistance, but some minutes elapsed before the turnkey came, and then it was found that a double-lock had been placed outside.
Search was made for the fugitive, but no traces whatever could be found of him.
Every door through which he had to pass had been unlocked and re-fastened, and if their statements were to be credited, not one of the turnkeys had seen him pass out of the prison.
How he got through the lodge – how he passed the usually vigilant porter at the gate – has never been satisfactorily explained!
But it is certain he proceeded to Blackfriars, where he found Dorothy waiting for him.
She had hired a boat for Gravesend, whence her brother embarked before dawn for France. Dorothy, however, did not accompany him in his flight.
A reward of one thousand pounds was immediately offered for Forster’s apprehension, but he was safe on the other side of the Channel.
Mr. Pitts was tried for his life at the Old Bailey for conniving at Forster’s escape, but was acquitted.
VI. BRIGADIER MACKINTOSH’S ESCAPE
OWING to his prodigious strength and daring, Brigadier Mackintosh was more feared than any other of the rebels confined in Newgate, and it was deemed necessary to place him in irons.
Highly indignant at such treatment, he complained of it in the strongest terms to the governor, but was told it was done by the express order of Lord Townshend.
“His lordship wishes to inflict a disgrace upon me,” he said; “but he simply dishonours himself by treating a Highland commander like a common felon. Tell his lordship his contemptible fetters will not prevent my escape.”
After Forster’s escape, which had caused an extraordinary sensation throughout London, the vigilance of the jailers was doubled, and Brigadier Mackintosh delayed the execution of the daring project he had conceived till the latest moment.
Not till the night before his trial was fixed to take place at Westminster Hall did he make the attempt.
Already he had partly sawn through the hateful fetters, so that he could cast them off in a moment, and they were now rather advantageous to him than otherwise, as they procured him greater freedom.
Colonel Mackintosh, who was likewise a prisoner, Charles Wogan, Robert Hepburn of Keith, with several others, chiefly Scotsmen, were to be partners in the flight, but the entire conduct of the enterprise was left to the brigadier himself.
About eleven o’clock at night, Mackintosh, having freed himself from his irons, cautiously descended the stairs leading from the upper ward to the press-yard, and stationed himself at the door.
His friends remained in the dormitory, but were ready to join him in a moment.
Presently the door was unlocked, as he expected it would be, by the governor’s black servant, Caliban, bearing a lantern.
Caliban was a powerful fellow, but no match for the brigadier, who seized him by the throat with a gripe like that of a vice, and hurled him to the ground.
The cries of the half-strangled black brought the governor, and Mr. Ballard, the head turnkey, to the spot.
They were struck with amazement at seeing the brigadier, but did not dare to grapple with him, now that he was free from his irons.
Leaving them to be dealt with by his followers, who were now thronging the press-room, the brigadier hurried on – his object being to disarm the sentinel.
Before the man could raise the musket to his shoulder, Mackintosh sprang upon him like a tiger, and forced the weapon from his grasp, while young Hepburn pinioned the man’s arms.
Meantime, Ballard had been deprived of his keys, and he and Mr. Pitts were thrust through the door leading to the staircase from the press-room, and locked out.
The porter in the lodge alone remained – at least, it was thought so by the fugitives – but he chanced to have a watchman with him at the time, and this gossiping guardian of the night, hearing the disturbance, endeavoured to rush out and spring his rattle.
But he was caught and deprived of his coat, lantern, and hat by the brigadier, who thought the disguise might prove serviceable to some of his followers.
In another minute the fugitives were out in the street, which was fortunately quite deserted at the time, and the lodge gate being locked outside, immediate pursuit was impossible.
Bidding each other a hasty farewell, the fugitives then separated, each seeking the asylum which he knew had been provided for him.
Mr. Hepburn was uncertain where to go, when a light in a window at that late hour attracted his attention, and he perceived an antique silver tankard of peculiar shape, which he knew belonged to his family.
Without hesitation he entered the house and found his wife, who had placed the cup in the window, hoping it might catch his eye.
Forster’s flight from Newgate was completely eclipsed by that of Brigadier Mackintosh and his companions.
That the first escape had been effected by bribery, very few persons doubted; but this was a bold dashing affair, well calculated to excite public admiration, and nothing else was talked about for a few days.
As previously mentioned, the trial of the rebels was to have taken place in Westminster Hall on the following day. The court and juries met, but no prisoners were forthcoming, and an adjournment took place; but though a reward of one thousand pounds was offered for the apprehension of the brigadier, and five hundred pounds for each of his associates, they were not retaken.
After a temporary concealment, Mackintosh succeeded in making his escape to France, where he remained for several years; but being unable to resist the impulse to revisit his native land, he ventured back to Scotland – a very hazardous step to take, since, being an outlaw, he was excluded from the benefit of the Act of Indemnity.
The consequence was that the veteran warrior spent the remainder of his life as a prisoner in Edinburgh Castle.
It is not our intention to follow the executioners in their sanguinary circuit through Lancashire – not shall we even particularise the insurgents who suffered the utmost rigour of the law at Lancaster, Garstang, Preston, Wigan, Liverpool, and Manchester – but we will halt for a moment at the latter place to allude to Tom Syddall, who was barbarously put to death with four or five others at Knot Mill. His case may stand for all the rest, since it was in no respect exceptional.
Taken on a hurdle to the gallows, partly hanged – but not till life was extinct, he was drawn and quartered, and his head fixed on the market cross.
Such was the punishment inflicted upon all the rebels of lower rank, who were not transported to the colonies.
END OF COOK THE TENTH
BOOK THE ELEVENTH – THE SCAFFOLD
I. – THE LAST PARTING BETWEEN THE EARL OF DERWENT-WATER AND THE COUNTESS
The last sad parting between the Earl of Dervventwater and the countess must now be detailed.
The interview took place in the prison-chamber in the Devereux Tower, and on the day before the execution.
After his condemnation, the earl had passed most of his time in prayer, and had so completely succeeded in reconciling himself to his fate, that he forbade the countess to make any further efforts for his deliverance. Indeed, after the escapes that had taken place, any fresh attempt would have been futile.
The unhappy countess was staying at Dagenham Park, an old manorial mansion, near Romford in Essex, belonging to a Roman Catholic family, and she came over every day to the Tower, accompanied by Father Norham, in the hope of seeing her husband.
Latterly, permission had been refused her, but, on the day before the execution, she was allowed to visit him with the priest.
Not having seen him for a few days, she was much struck by the change in his appearance. His countenance had a very serene expression. All trouble had vanished from it, and it was plain from his looks that his thoughts were fixed on high.
“You have no longer any fear of death, I perceive, my son,” said Father Norham.
“I have no desire for life, father,” he replied. “I am better prepared to die than I might be at a future time, were my days prolonged.”
“I shall soon rejoin you, my lord,” said the countess.
“No, live! – I would have you live,” he cried. “You are young, beautiful – and I trust have many years of happiness before you. I would not have them abridged. But think of me always – think how fondly I have loved you – think how entirely happy I have been in your society. Never for a single moment has my heart swerved from its devotion to you. Fate has separated us for a time – but it was against my will. My love has been sacrificed to my sense of duty.”
“I know it, my dearest lord,” she cried, with a look of anguish. “Oh! how bitterly I reproach myself that I urged you to join this fatal expedition. Would I could recall the past! Would we could be at Dilston together as in former days! Never! never should you leave it! But I must not speak of the past.”
“Nay, it does not pain me,” said the earl tenderly. “Let us quit his dungeon for a moment in thought, and transport ourselves to Dilston. Let us stand together – as we have so often stood – upon the terrace, and gaze upon the far-spreading prospect. Ah! the scene rises before me, as I speak! We are in the glen, wandering by the side of the stream. We are in the forest, and I enter the Maiden’s Walk, and receive a warning.”
“What more?” cried the countess.
“Nothing,” replied the earl. “The vision has disappeared. Alas! my sweet love, Dilston will be yours no more. The house you have brightened with your presence will be taken from you. I cannot bequeath it to you. Yet I should wish to be laid with my fathers in the vault beneath the little chapel.”
“It shall be done, my dearest lord,” she cried earnestly. “Your wishes shall be fulfilled.”
“I do not think that resting-place will be denied me,” said the earl.
“Have no fear, my lord,” said Father Norham. “The malice of your enemies will not extend to that length. All shall be done as you desire. When the tragedy is over, the body shall be conveyed by slow stages – and only by night – to Dilston. During the day it shall rest in some Catholic chapel, and masses shall be said.”
“I will accompany it, and see the last sad rites performed,” said the countess.
“You give me inexpressible comfort,” said the earl. “It was the sole request I had to prefer.”
Shortly afterwards the earl retired with Father Norham into the cell adjoining the prison-chamber, where the priest heard his confession, and gave him absolution.
During this interval, the countess knelt down and prayed fervently.
At length, the earl came forth, and she arose, perceiving from his looks that the moment of parting was come.
He extended his arms, and flying towards him, she was clasped to his breast.
Thus they remained for some minutes amid a silence, broken only by her sobs.
He then made a slight effort to loosen her embrace, but she clung to him even more tenaciously.
“We must part, my best beloved,” he said, printing a kiss upon her brow.
“Oh! I knew not the anguish of this hour,” she cried. “Would my heart would break and relieve me!”
“For your husband’s sake, calm yourself, dear daughter, I implore you!” said the priest.
But her grief was too violent to be restrained, and a paroxysm ensued that found vent in a fearful shriek, that burst through the grated windows of the fortification, and almost froze the blood of such as heard it.
She then became insensible.
On regaining consciousness, she no longer beheld her husband. She had parted from him for ever. She had been carefully removed to the Lieutenant’s lodgings, where restoratives were applied.
As soon as her strength permitted, she left the Tower with Father Norham, and returned to Dagenham Park; feeling as if her heart were broken.