II. – HOW LORD WIDDRINGTON TOOK A LAST LEAVE OF THE EARL OF DERWENTWATER
GLOOMY was the morn, and in unison with the sombre deed about to take place.
Already a scaffold, draped in black, on which the Earl of Derwentwater and Lord Kenmure were to pay the forfeit of their lives, had been erected on Tower-hill.
At an early hour three strong detachments of Life Guards marched from Whitehall, and posted themselves round the scaffold.
At the same time, a crowd of curious observers of both sexes began to assemble, and increased so rapidly that within an hour the whole summit of the eminence was densely thronged.
Some sympathy was expressed for the unfortunate lords about to suffer, but it would almost seem that the majority of the spectators were drawn thither by curiosity rather than by any other feeling.
Like all other crowds they exhibited great impatience because they supposed they were kept waiting, and manifested their displeasure by groaning at the Life Guards, who, however, treated them with supreme contempt.
Not till ten o’clock did the sheriffs make their appearance, and way was cleared for them by their guard through the crowd. They proceeded to the Transport Office – a building at the rear of the scaffold – where rooms were prepared for those about to die.
At the same time, a bell within the Tower began to toll, and almost immediately afterwards, a party of grenadiers issued from the Bulwark Gate, followed by two hackney-coaches, in which were the condemned nobles and their chaplains.
With Lord Derwentwater was Father Norham; with Lord Kenmure was the Reverend Mr. Sharp, a Presbyterian minister.
On either side of the coaches marched javelin men to keep off the crowd.
Had not Lord Derwentwater been attended by a
Romish priest, his youth and good looks would have excited extraordinary sympathy among the beholders, but the sight of Father Norham irritated them, and they expressed their hatred of Popery by hootings. Lord Der-wentwater seemed wholly undisturbed by the clamour.
Lord Kenmure met with a much better reception, and Mr. Sharp contrived to let the mob know that his lordship held Popery in abomination.
In this manner the two lords were conducted to the Transport Office, where they alighted, and were separately conducted to their rooms.
In the room prepared for the Earl of Derwentwater, Lord Widdrington, who had been reprieved, was waiting to take a last leave of his friend, and was so deeply affected that Father Norham deemed it advisable that the interview should not be prolonged.
While bidding farewell to the earl, Lord Widdrington said, in accents of profound emotion:
“Were I to live a thousand years I should never forget you! You will always remain to me an example of fortitude and resignation. Your heroism makes me regret that I have accepted life, since it would be a privilege to die with you. I need not wish you firmness at the last, for I know you will not want it.”
With this, he embraced him, and left the room.
III. – HOW THE EARL OF DERWENTWATER WAS BEHEADED
Lord Derwentwater then addressed himself to his devotions, and remained in earnest prayer with Father Norham, till the hour approached, when the good priest thus recommended his soul to heaven.
“When thy soul shall depart from thy body, may thy Redeemer appear to thee, and appoint thee a place amongst those who are to stand before him for ever.”
The earl then rose, and since the priest was not allowed to be with him to the last, he bade him an eternal adieu.
Just then, the door was opened, and Sir John Fryer, one of the sheriffs, came in, and, with a grave salutation, inquired if he was ready.
“Perfectly,” replied Lord Derwentwater.
Casting a farewell look at the good priest, he then followed the sheriff, who marched before him with his men, through two lines of foot-guards to the scaffold.
All was prepared.
The executioner was standing beside the block with the axe in his hand.
Not far from him were two assistants, and near them was the coffin.
A slight murmur arose from the vast concourse as the Earl of Derwentwater appeared on the scaffold, but it was a murmur of admiration – all being struck by his slight, graceful figure, seen to the greatest advantage in his black velvet attire.
“May I say a few words to the assemblage, Sir John?” asked the earl.
“Assuredly, my lord,” replied the sheriff.
The earl then advanced towards the rail of the scaffold, and as it was evident he was about to address them, the concourse became instantly silent, and every eye was fixed upon him.
In a clear voice, that was heard afar, and vibrated through the breasts of all near to him, he thus spoke:
“Being in a few minutes about to appear before the tribunal of Heaven, where, though most unworthy, I hope to find mercy which I have not found from men in power, I have endeavoured to make my peace by humbly begging pardon for all the sins of my life.
“I have never had any other sovereign save King James the Third, whom I have served from infancy; and if his religion had been different from mine, I should still have done all I could for him, as my ancestors did for his predecessors. I intended wrong to none, and only to serve my king and country, and if the sacrifice of my life could contribute to that end, I shall consider it well paid.
“I die a Roman Catholic, and in perfect charity with all the world, even with those most instrumental in my destruction, and I hope to be forgiven the trespasses of my youth by the Father of Infinite Mercy, into whose hands I commend my spirit.”
Delivered as we have described, this brief address produced a powerful effect upon the multitude, and however much they might differ from the earl, they could not help admiring his constancy.
As he retired, a loud wail arose from the female portion of the spectators.
“My lord,” observed Sir John Fryer, “I must beg you now to prepare yourself.”
“Grant me a few moments more,” said the earl.
And the request being accorded, he knelt down and prayed fervently.
Shortly afterwards, he arose, and stepped towards the executioner, one of whose men would have helped him to take off a portion of his attire, but he refused the assistance.
The executioner then besought his forgiveness.
“With all my heart,” replied the earl. “I forgive all my enemies – even the most malicious of them – and I forgive you.”
Seeing the man look hard at him, he added:
“Thou wilt find a purse in my pocket. ‘Tis thine with its contents.”
“I thank your lordship. Will you now try how the block fits you?”
Thereupon the earl made the essay.
Apparently satisfied, he turned to the executioner, and said:
“Is thine axe sharp?”
“So sharp that it will take off a head at a blow. I pray your lordship to feel the edge.”
“Nay, I shall feel it soon enough,” replied the earl with a slight shudder.
After a momentary pause, he added:
“I would die with the holiest name on my lips. When I have thrice pronounced it, strike!”
“My lord, I will not fail,” said the headsman.
Laying himself upon the block, the earl then ejaculated:
“Lord Jesu! receive my spirit! Lord Jesu! be merciful to me! Lord Jesu! – ”
At this juncture the axe descended.
Next moment the head was held up to the concourse, while the executioner called out in trumpet tones:
“Behold the head of a traitor! God save King George!”
An irrepressible groan broke from the concourse.
The body was instantly placed in the coffin, and conveyed to a hearse, which was waiting for it at a short distance.
But the head was disposed of differently. Wrapped in black baize by the direction of Sir John Fryer, it was taken to a hackney-coach, stationed near the hearse, and delivered to a lady, habited in deep mourning, and shrouded in a veil. With her was a priest.
No sooner did she receive the terrible bundle than she raised her veil, and pressed her lips to it.
The hearse and the coach then quitted Tower Hill, and were driven slowly to Dagenham Park.
But the headsman had only half-finished his task.
When fresh sawdust had been strewn on the gory scaffold, another head – that of Lord Kenmure – was fitted to the block, and the axe again fell.
IV. – WHAT HAPPENED IN THE CHAPEL AT DAGENHAM PARK
Not till the second night after the earl’s body had been brought to Dagenham Park did the countess commence her journey to Dilston.
During the interval the coffin was placed upon a catafalque in the chapel attached to the mansion, and tapers were lighted around it – masses being said for the repose of the soul of the departed by Father Norham.
The head had now been replaced by the body, but the countess would not allow the coffin to be closed, and at night she was left alone in the chapel.
After praying for some time she arose and gazing at her dead lord, invoked him either to appear to her, or give her some sign that he was conscious of her presence.
But the pale features retained their fixed expression.
After awhile, she sat down, and despite all her efforts to resist it, sleep stole over he.
Then she dreamed that the earl stood beside her, looking as he had done in life.
After contemplating her for a few minutes with a look that seemed to fascinate her, he said in low solemn accents:
“Weep no more for me, Anna! weep no more! my suffering is over. But let my last wishes be fulfilled. Till my body is laid where I have desired, my spirit will wander near its earthly tabernacle. Then it will rest.”
“Give me some token that I have really beheld you, my lord,” she said.
“Look at my right hand, and you will be satisfied,” was the reply.
Thereupon the phantom vanished.
Not for some hours could she rouse herself from the heavy slumber into which she had fallen. She then recalled the vision, but thought it must have been a dream.
To convince herself of the truth she went to the coffin, and raised the right hand of the corpse.
On one of the fingers was a ring which she had not observed before. Removing it, she placed it on her own finger.
Reluctant to allude to the mysterious occurrence, she did not even mention it to Father Norham.
Next day she was joined by Dorothy Forster, who desired to accompany her to Dilston.
V. – THE JOURNEY TO DILSTON
A t the head of the funeral procession rode the faithful Newbiggin.
Then followed the hearse drawn by four horses, with the coachman and two assistants, and lastly came the countess in a carriage likewise drawn by four horses. With her were Dorothy Forster, and Father Norham.
The night was dark on which they set forth, and they tracked many weary miles through country roads, making slow progress, but meeting, with no hindrance, till towards dawn, they halted at a large mansion near Chelmsford belonging to a Roman Catholic gentleman, where they halted and remained during the day – the coffin being removed from the hearse, and placed in a small private chapel, where tapers were lighted, and masses said as at Dagenham.
Here the day was passed.
On the second night, they proceeded to Cambridge – and on the third to a mansion near Saint Ives, in Huntingdonshire.
Thence they moved on to Peterborough.
In this manner they pursued the road towards Newcastle, journeying entirely by night, and halting during the day at some Roman Catholic mansion, where hospitality was afforded them, and where religious rites could be performed.
It was a long, long journey. But the countess did not find it wearisome. Rather she grieved to think it must soon be ended.
She derived great solace from the affectionate companionship of Dorothy Forster.
Seven nights had thus been passed in travel, and they were proceeding on the eighth night from Thirsk towards Darlington, when a horseman rode up to the carriage.
At first his appearance caused alarm, but fear quickly gave way to surprise when they found it was Charles Radclyffe. They knew he had escaped from prison, but supposed he was in France.
He entered into no explanation then, but contented himself with saying that he should accompany them to Dilston, and rode on with Newbiggin.
At Darlington he had a private interview with Dorothy, and told her that he could not leave England without seeing her again, and besought her to accompany him in his flight.
“This is not the moment to urge my suit,” he said; “but I have no option. Will you fly with me? Will you embrace the fortunes of a ruined man?”
“I cannot decide now,” she replied. “You shall have an answer at Dilston.”
From her grave manner Charles had very little hope of a favourable response.
The journey occupied two more nights, but on the third morning, they came in sight of Dilston.
Newbiggin had ridden on to prepare the household, and Charles Radclyffe did not think it safe to accompany the procession, though fully intending to be present at the interment.
VI. – THE INTERMENT
THOUGH it was known that the earl’s estates were forfeited, the confiscation had not yet taken place, and, consequently, the household still remained at Dilston.
Ever since the execution they had been filled with superstitious dread.
On the evening of that terrible day, most remarkable Northern Lights were seen, and the reflection of the crimson sky seemed to turn the water of the brook in the haunted glen to blood.
Next day, a violent tempest occurred, accompanied by thunder and lightning.
Several trees were blown down, and the finest oak in the park was struck – the trunk being completely shattered.
All the household was now assembled to watch the funeral procession as it made its way slowly up the avenue.
Groans and lamentations were heard when the hearse arrived at the gate, and the coffin was taken out, and conveyed to the little chapel.
Not till this had been done did the countess and Dorothy enter the mansion.
Completely prostrated, they strove to prepare themselves for the closing ceremonial that was to take place at midnight.
A doleful place was Dilston during that day. Its inmates were bowed down with grief, and moved about like ghosts.
All needful preparations for the interment were made by Newbiggin.
The vault was opened. The coffin was laid upon a bier not far from the altar; and tapers were lighted around it.
Many of the old servants and dependents, among whom were Nicholas Ribbleton and Nathan Blacklaw, went to the chapel to pray beside the body of their lord.
Not till night did Charles Radclyffe appear at the castle.
He sought out Dorothy and said to her:
“I shall quit Dilston immediately after the interment. Will you go with me?”
“I cannot leave Lady Derwentwater,” she replied.
Nothing more was said.
At midnight the little chapel was filled with the late earl’s retainers.
The countess and Dorothy knelt in front of the altar, and Charles Radclyffe and Newbiggin were stationed near the coffin.
The solemn service was performed by Father Norham, and amid the tears of all present the last Lord of Derwentwater was laid with his ancestors.
Tantum valet Amor Regis et Patriæ.