Preston Fight: or, The Insurrection of 1715. Ainsworth William Harrison
him yesterday.”
“I saw him in your company, Mr. Radclyffe,” said Jes-mond. “I heard you and several others address him as your majesty.”
“What have you to say to this, sir?” said the sheriff.
“I might say that the man is mistaken, but I will not,” replied Charles. “I will content myself with stating that the person he beheld, and whom he fancied was the Chevalier de Saint George, is gone.”
“This will be vexatious, if it should turn out correct,” muttered the sheriff.
“Don’t believe it, Sir William,” cried Jesmond. “Depend upon it, we shall find him.”
“I have given you my positive assurance, which ought to be sufficient, Sir William,” said Charles Radclyffe. “But if you still entertain any doubts, pray search the house – question the servants – take any steps you think proper.
“I intend to do so, sir,” rejoined the sheriff dismounting, and giving his horse to the groom.
Jesmond likewise dismounted, and followed him.
On the steps the sheriff encountered Newbiggin, and some others of the servants, who corroborated Charles Radclyffe’s assertions; and in the entrance hall he found Father Norham, with whom he was acquainted, and whom he respectfully saluted.
“Your reverence knows my business,” he remarked. “Will you aid me?”
“You cannot expect me to do so, Sir William,” replied the priest. “But I will tell you frankly, that no one is concealed here.”
“Has the Pretender fled?” demanded the sheriff.
“The Pretender has never been here, Sir William.”
“This is mere equivocation, sir,” cried the sheriff. “I will not be trifled with. I will search the house from top to bottom, but I will find him. Come with me!” he added to Newbiggin.
Attended by the butler, and assisted by Jesmond, he then went upstairs, and peered into a great many rooms, but soon gave up the fruitless search.
“I told you how it would be, Sir William,” observed the priest, amused by his discomfited air, as he returned to the hall. “This is a large house, and if you were to search every room in it you would find it a tedious business. Once more, I tell you the person you seek is not here.”
“Will you tell me whither he is gone?”
“No; you must find that out for yourself, Sir William. You will act wisely if you abandon the quest altogether.”
“No – no! that must not be,” cried the sheriff.
“Certainly not, Sir William,” said Jesmond. “Leave me to make further investigations. I warrant you I’ll discover something.”
Receiving permission to do as he pleased, Jesmond proceeded to the stables, and in about ten minutes came back to the sheriff, whom he found in the court-yard.
The smile on his countenance betokened success.
“I’ve found it all out, Sir William,” he cried. “You won’t be disappointed. A large party on horseback left this morning – but the Pretender was not one of them.”
“Then he is here, still?”
“No, Sir William; he went away in Sir John Webb’s coach.”
“In a coach! – then we may overtake him!”
“Undoubtedly. The carriage is large and heavy, and doesn’t travel more than three or four miles an hour. We shall catch him before he gets to Morpeth.”
“Is he gone in that direction?”
“He is, Sir William. I told you I’d find out something, and you must own that I’ve managed to put you on the right scent.”
“You have,” cried the sheriff, jumping on his horse. “Follow me, gentlemen! – follow me!” – he called out to the yeomen, who had been waiting all this time outside the gate.
Next minute they were rattling down the avenue, with the sheriff at their head.
We may be sure Jesmond was not left behind.
II. – PURSUIT
On arriving at Corbridge, the sheriff found that the carriage had taken the high road to Newcastle, the crossroad by Whittingham and Stamfordham being impracticable, and accordingly he and his troop galloped off in that direction; but when they reached the extensive moor that skirts the town, they discovered that a deviation from the direct course had been made on the left, and that the travellers had crossed, or attempted to cross the moor to Gosforth.
The road chosen was so bad, that it seemed almost certain the carriage would be found buried up to the axle-tree in a bog, and with that confident expectation the pursuers took the same route.
From appearances on the road, it was sufficiently clear that the heavy vehicle had been more than once partially engulfed, and could only have been extricated with difficulty – but it had reached firm ground at last, and had gone on to Gosforth.
About three miles further on the pursuers descried it slowly, rumbling on towards Blagdon Park. Cheered by the sight, they accelerated their pace, and shouting loudly as they went on, soon caused the carriage to stop.
Anxious to make the intended arrest without any appearance of violence, the sheriff ordered a halt of his followers, and rode up to the carriage, attended merely by Jesmond.
Lady Webb and the two women-servants inside had been greatly alarmed by the shouting of the pursuers and sudden stoppage of the vehicle, and Sir John thrust his head out of the window to see what was the matter.
Just then the sheriff came up, and saluting him formally explained his business. Sir John replied rather angrily, and declared in positive terms that there was no one in the carriage beside himself and Lady Webb and their two women-servants.
As the sheriff expressed a doubt, Sir John called to his man-servant to come down and open the door, and immediately got out.
“Now, Sir William – pray satisfy yourself!” he cried.
“I must trouble Lady Webb to alight – and the two women,” said the sheriff.
The injunction was obeyed by her ladyship, though not without strong expressions of displeasure.
As soon as they had all come forth, Jesmond got into the carriage, and looked under the seats, but found only trunks and boxes.
As he emerged with a crestfallen look, he was jeered by Sir John and her ladyship. The sheriff, too, blamed him for the blunder he had made.
“I am certain the Pretender is in the carriage, Sir William,” he said.
“Then find him,” cried the sheriff.
“Ay, find him, fellow, if you can,” added Sir John, derisively.
“He is here,” cried Jesmond, pointing to the footman, a tall, handsome young man.
An exclamation from Sir John was checked by her ladyship, who made a private sign to the footman to hold his tongue.
“You are not making a second blunder, I trust?” said the sheriff.
“No, no! rest easy, Sir William! All right now! I didn’t recognise him at first in his disguise. But now I’ll swear to him.”
“You will swear that I am the Chevalier de Saint George, whom you call the Pretender?” cried the footman.
“I will,” said Jesmond.
Again Sir John would have interfered, if a look from her ladyship had not kept him quiet.
“You need have no hesitation, Sir William,” said Jesmond. “I will take all consequences on my own head.”
“But your head is nothing,” rejoined the sheriff.
After a moment’s consideration, he told Sir John Webb he must turn back, and accompany him to Newcastle.
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