Netherdyke. A tale of the 'Forty-five.'

Front matter

NETHERDYKE A TALE OF THE 'FORTY-FIVE' NETHERDYKE A TALE OF THE 'FORTY-FIVE' BY R. J. CHARLETON .-r*>* AUTHOR OF THE PICTURE OF THE KING, THE HONOURABLE JIM, ETC. EDWARD ARNOLD LONDON NEW YORK 37 Bedford Street 70 Fifth Avenue CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. OF MY FIRST COMING TO NETHERDYKE - - I II. OF OUR LIFE AT NETHERDYKE - - - II III. A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR COMES TO NETHER- DYKE - - - - - - - 21 IV. SIMON'S ADVICE, AND HOW I DID NOT FOLLOW IT - 2g V. CONTAINS MORE CONCERNING THE STRANGER 37 VI. THE SQUIRE PLACES A CHARGE IN MY HANDS 44 VII. OF THE PHŒNIX INN, ITS HOSTESS AND HER ' MISCREANT HERO ' 52 VIII. HUGHIE DAGG DRINKS THE KING'S HEALTH - 59 IX. OF NEWCASTLE AND WHAT TOOK PLACE THERE 67 X. THE STRANGER'S

LETTER 75 XI.

HOW THE SQUIRE WENT TO KEEP HIS AP- POINTMENT ------ 80 XII. THE PRIEST'S CHAMBER - - - - 87 XIII. BOWRIE 92 XIV. A BUDGET FROM NEWCASTLE - - - IOI XV. HOW WE SENT A MESSAGE TO THE PRINCE - I07 XVI. IN WHICH I VISIT PETER PACEGATE AND ALSO NEWGATE - - - - - - II3 CONTENTS VI CHAPTER PAGE XVII. BRAVE NEWS FOR NETHERDYKE - - 123 XVIII. HOW I BROUGHT THE BRAVE NEWS TO NETHERDYKE I29 XIX. 'OH, CHARLIE, YE'VE BEEN LANG A-CUMMIN" 136 XX. THE HIGHLAND WAR PIPES - - - 144 XXI. A GREAT SURPRISE ----- 151 XXII. 'BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE' - - - 158 XXIII. A GREAT DISAPPOINTMENT - - - 169 XXIV. THE INVASION OF ENGLAND - - - 1 76 XXV. IN WHICH I AM ENTRUSTED WITH ANOTHER MISSION ------ 184 XXVI. THE PRINCE'S LONDON FRIENDS - - I90 XXVII. BLACK FRIDAY 1 98 XXVIII. KING GEORGE 204 XXIX. A FLYING VISIT TO NETHERDYKE - - 211 XXX.

Chapter I. Of My First Coming To Netherdyke

Reckoning from the date of the death of my father and mother — they were both drowned at the same time by the upsetting of a boat — I must have been just five years old when I first came to Netherdyke. It was poor Jock Corbitt who came to fetch me from our desolated home, and I can still remember how frightened I was when I first saw him, taking him for one of those giants concerning whom I had heard such terrible stories in the nursery. He was certainly a huge fellow, the most gigantic man I had seen up to that time, and I have seen few to equal him since. But he turned out to be the gentlest and most good-humoured of giants after all, for by the time he had lifted me into the saddle NETHERDYKE 2 before him and we were fairly on our way, we were the best friends in the world, and so continued to be up to the day of his death.

What manner of death his was, and how it came about, I shall tell later on. When we arrived at Netherdyke it was dark. Even now, after the flight of so many years, my heart still holds in remembrance the glow of return ing comfort and hope which thrilled it as I passed from the darkness outside into its homely light and warmth, and at the same time from the chill and desolate sense of loneliness and isolation which weighed upon my soul into the sweet conscious ness of new-found love and protecting care. Still I can recall the scene — the wide - open door, the hall within, brightly lighted up, the curious faces of servants and others grouped inside, but, best of all, the two figures on the threshold — the one, a tall, stately-looking gentleman, of grave yet kindly aspect ; the other, a no less stately lady, who greeted me with a sweet smile as Jock Corbitt lifted me down and set me before her.

She stooped and caught me to her and kissed me warmly. Then the tall gentleman took me by the hand and led me within, she following. The room we entered was one of moderate dimen sions, its walls covered with panelled oak. How well I came to know it afterwards, the oak parlour, as we called it ! Two gentlemen and a little boy had entered before us, and stood watching us with some curiosity, I could see. The tall gentleman who had brought me in sat down and took me on his knee, while the lady gently undid my cloak and laid it on one side. ' So, my little Gilbert Falconar,' said the tall gentleman in a kind voice — ' so, my little man, you have arrived home at last. We've been expecting you, and are all glad to see you. Do you know who I am ?' I looked up into his face. ' Yes, sir,' I answered. ' You are the Squire of Netherdyke — my cousin, John Belliston.' ' And how do you know that ?' ' Jock Corbitt told me about you on the way,' I answered, ' so I knew it must be you.' ' A sharp lad !' I heard the elder of the other two gentlemen say.

The younger gave a laugh, and said something I did not hear; but I thought the elder did not seem pleased with it, whatever it was. ' And did Jock tell you about anyone else ?' asked the Squire. ' Oh yes. He told me I should see the kindest and the best lady in all the countryside, sir — your 1—2 NETHERDYKE 4 sister, Miss Belliston — and Mr. Simon, your brother, and my cousin George, your little boy.' Here the lady looked a little confused, but the Squire seemed pleased. ' I'm afraid Jock Corbitt is a gossiping rascal,' he said, with a smile. ' And yet he generally keeps his mouth pretty close. You must have bewitched him.' ' Oh no, sir,' I hastened to say ; ' Jock's not a rascal. He's a good fellow, and I like him very much. And then, see how big he is, and how strong !' ' Yes, he's all that,' asserted the Squire. ' But did he mention no one else you were to see ?' ' Yes.

He mentioned a gentleman whose name I have forgotten. But he said he was a far-learned man, and that I should be sure to like him well.' ' There's for you, Thurston,' said the Squire, smiling again and turning to the elder of the two gentlemen. Then he called the little boy to him. ' Come here, George,' said he. ' Come and shake hands with your cousin.' The boy came forward at once and took my hand. He was taller and stouter than I, though we were almost of an age, and I thought he looked very handsome, with his long flaxen hair, his fair com plexion and great blue eyes ; not at all girlish, however, but bold and stout-looking, like a little man. ' How do you do, Cousin Gilbert ? I am glad to see you,' said he, looking me frankly in the face. ' We are all glad you have come to Netherdyke to stay with us and be at home here.

We shall have some capital sport together, I promise you. I wish it was only to-morrow morning, and I would take you to ' ' Hold hard, my man. Not so fast,' interrupted the Squire. ' Better get your suppers, both of you, and be off to bed. To-morrow morning will be here soon enough.' Miss Belliston took us out — George and myself — gave us supper, and then took us upstairs and put us to bed, after hearing us say our prayers. Then, tucking us in, she left the room and my cousin began prattling of all he would show me on the morrow, but soon became drowsy and dropped over to sleep. As for me, I was really too tired to sleep. Every bone in my body seemed to ache, for it is no easy journey from Alnmouth to Netherdyke, some forty miles at least. At length, however, I was dozing over, when I heard someone enter the room, and saw the light of a candle.

It was Miss Belliston. She came to the bedside and looked at us. George had his arm round my NETHERDYKE 6 neck, and I lay with my eyes almost closed, as if 1 had been asleep. For some reason or other I thought it was best to do so. Perhaps I thought she would be better pleased if she thought me asleep. She stood for some time looking down on us. ' My poor motherless lads !' I heard her say softly. ' You are both alike in that. But, with God's help, I will be a mother to you both.' And with God's help, and the help of her own kind heart, so she was — God bless her for it ! Now, it is not my design to give any detailed account of these early days at Netherdyke, happy as they were, and sweet as is the memory of them to me. I wish to press forward to the more eventful and stirring period of our lives.

Nevertheless, I must, for the better understanding of the story which has to come, give some brief account of the old house and the dwellers in it. Netherdyke is a plain, commodious house of free stone, and stands on the banks of the North Tyne. At the back of the house a wing extends at right angles to the main building, and abuts upon one side of a huge, ivy-grown old tower. This tower, the ancient home of the Bellistons in the old moss trooping days, is built in the usual fashion of the peel-towers so common on the borders ; that is, the ground-floor is furnished with a vaulted roof of stone, and a staircase formed in the thickness of the wall leads to the upper floors. In my time the lower chamber was fitted with stalls, and on the upper floor was kept a store of hay and oats. Many a happy hour did George and I spend in this old place, often did we defend it against the attacks of imaginary foes, though sometimes we were the assailants ourselves, changing our character with the utmost of ease, as is the manner of boys.

On one side the tower, and the wing connecting it with the house, looked down on the north garden and the north wood beyond ; on the other side of them were the stables and the stable-yard. Of the inmates of Netherdyke something has already been said. John Belliston, the master of the house, would be, when I first went there to live under his guardianship, about forty-five, tall and stately of figure, as has been said, though rather spare ; fair and ruddy of complexion, wearing his own hair, which was of a yellow tawny colour. His brother Simon was ten years his junior, and as unlike him as could be in almost every respect. Thus, he was not tall, but of middle size ; he was not fair, but dark, his hair being quite black; he was not open of countenance and frank, but of a sly, double-dealing nature, and furtive of expression ; NETHERDYKE it was wonderful how two brothers could be so unlike, yet so it was.

Their sister, Miss Belliston, who was in age midway between them, I have already spoken of. There was another sister, the youngest of the family; of her I shall have to speak later on. Then there was George, my half-cousin, his father and my mother being full cousins. Last of all, there was Mr. Thurston, who held rather a peculiar position in the house, not being in any way related to the family. Andrew Thurston was some ten years the senior of the Squire, and they were very old friends, and had been comrades-in-arms during the rebellion of 1715. Both had been ' out ' on that ill-fated enterprise with General Forster and Lord Derwent water, but its results to them had been very different. The Squire's father was alive at the time, and the young man, after escaping abroad and serving in the French army for some years, had come home, a pardon having been procured for him, and, his father dying soon afterwards, had succeeded to the Netherdyke property.

Mr. Thurs ton had not been so fortunate. He had, indeed, been pardoned, but not until his estate — a pretty considerable one it was — had been confiscated. Thus, when he returned to England, he was penni less and homeless, but his old friend and companionin-arms insisted on his taking up his abode permanently with him at Netherdyke ; and so it was that he had settled down with the Bellistons to a quiet country life, employing his time chiefly in the collection of old North-Country ballads and songs, and the gathering together of old arms and armour, and other antiquities. Simon Belliston was not at all pleased with this arrangement, and inwardly chafed against the installation of the old gentleman in the house, calling him, in his own mind, an idle hanger-on and dependent of the Squire. He felt all the more sore because he knew he was in the very same position himself, doing nothing for his living, but idly lounging his time away and living at free quarters.

Indeed, his case was even worse than that of Mr. Thurston. The latter was useful in many ways in the household. He acted as a sort of steward to the Squire, keeping all his books and accounts in order, and it was to him that George and I owed our earliest instruction, not only in letters but in horsemanship, fencing, and many other things. Of his secret dislike and jealousy of the old gentleman Simon took good care to let his brother see nothing, but there it was, all the same. In person Mr. Thurston was nearly as tall as the Squire. Like him, too, he was spare of figure, but, unlike him, he walked with NETHERDYKE 10 a slight stoop. His features were plain, even to ugliness, his face was like a fiddle, grave and solemn, too ; yet still there was something in his eye, some thing mild and gentle, which looked out and made his homely face, if not a fine-looking one, yet one to be trusted and loved.

Of that space of time, some four years, during which my cousin George and I were absent from Netherdyke — the time we spent pleasantly and profit ably enough at a school at Lowther, in Cumberland — I shall say nothing, for it does not concern my story. But of an event which took place shortly after our return, I must give some account.

Chapter II. Of Our Life At Netherdyke

One morning while we were at breakfast a messenger arrived with a letter addressed to Miss Belliston. She broke the seal, and as she commenced to read it we saw her face light up with pleasure. ' John,' said she, ' it's from Eleanor ; and she says she's coming to spend a few days with us, and will be here to-morrow. And she's to bring little Kate with her.' ' She's welcome, I'm sure, and whoever she brings, provided she does not bring her husband,' said the Squire. He had a somewhat sullen look on his face as he spoke — something very rare with him. His words and manner will require some explanation, though we were all well acquainted with their meaning at the time. Eleanor Belliston, the Squire's younger sister, had, during a visit to Newcastle, become acquainted NETHERDYKE 12 with a gentleman named James Farnaby, a resident in the town.

The acquaintanceship had ripened into love, and eventually the lady, much against her elder brother's wish, married Mr. Farnaby. Now, there was nothing against the husband's character as a citizen or a man — nothing in his position, financial or otherwise — to cause him to be con sidered by the world in general an unsuitable match for Miss Belliston. He was a gentleman by birth, though engaged in trade, being a merchant adven turer of considerable wealth. His appearance and manners were agreeable, his disposition kindly ; he was steady in his habits, diligent in his business, and likely to become one of the leading citizens of his native town. Why, then, it may be asked, did John Belliston object to his sister marrying such a man ? The answer is simple : James Farnaby was in politics a Whig — an upholder of the Hanoverian regime — and this was sufficient to render him odious in the eyes of the Squire of Netherdyke.

For John Belliston was — as may be inferred from an episode in his earlier career, which has been touched on — a Tory of the Tories, an unflinching believer in the right of the exiled James Stuart to the throne of Great Britain ; and he considered that all his family and all his friends should be of the same faith. Therefore it is not surprising that he should have objected to a sister of his making a matrimonial alliance with one of the opposite faction. Still less surprising is it when we consider the bitter ness which was imported into party politics at the time, and the virulence with which the dominant Hanoverians persecuted their opponents. To hold, or even to be suspected of holding, Jacobite opinions, was to render one's self liable to numerous pains and penalties imposed by the central Government, and rigorously enforced by its local representatives, some times even to the gratification of private spite.

For some time past things had been quiet, or comparatively so, and the persecuting enactments had not been so frequently carried into execution ; but, about the time of our return from school, the fears of the Government had been again aroused by certain actions of the exiled Jacobites, and the local authorities were urged to greater activity. The penal statutes against Catholics were strictly enforced, and not only against Catholics, but also against non jurors, and all known or suspected of Jacobite pro clivities. Our Squire, being amongst the latter, was debarred from any participation in public affairs, for none but those known to be supporters of the Government were allowed the slightest direction. They could not act as magistrates ; they could not set up for election to Parliament ; nay, they were NETHERDYKE 14 not even allowed to vote in municipal or parlia mentary elections.

Many other disqualifications there were, and amongst them one which rankled more deeply in the minds of some of our friends than those seemingly of greater importance. This was the statute which debarred them from possess ing a horse of greater value than five guineas. Little wonder is it, then, that our Squire cared not to see his brother-in-law, one of the stoutest adherents of the Hanoverian Government in Newcastle. Next day George and I rode out on our ponies to meet our expected visitors. Mrs. Farnaby was a handsome matron, plump and rosy of complexion, unlike her elder sister, who was tall and spare of figure, like the Squire. As for the daughter, Kate Farnaby, how shall I describe her ? None of us had seen her since she was a mere infant- — she was two or three years younger than George and myself — and we were quite unprepared to see the vision which met our eyes just beyond Netherdyke Mill- Seated upon a pillion borne by a little white pony, which was led by a mounted serving-man, we saw the fairest little creature, so we thought, that ever was seen on earth.

Both George and myself, now great lads of sixteen, were fairly taken aback, and sat bashful and almost awed before this apparition, so much more like what we had imagined a fairy to be than any ordinary being of the common earth. ' How now, young gentlemen !' cried Mrs. Farnaby. ' What ails you both that you sit there like two bumpkins, bereft of speech ? Where are your manners, then ?' George was the first to recover himself. He reddened, took off his bat, bowed to his aunt, and then kissed her proffered hand, after which I followed his example. Then George, now quite his old self again, his old gay, fearless, rather careless self, ranged up alongside his cousin's pony, and saluted her. She would have given him her hand in imitation of her mother, but this did not suit Master George. Leaning over from his saddle, he threw his arm round her waist, and kissed her heartily square on the mouth.

She reddened, and rather turned aside her face, so that it was half hidden by the flood of golden hair which fell in a great cascade until it rested upon her pony's back, but I could see she was not displeased. Then I approached in my turn, and kissed her hand, after which we pushed on for home. Now, when the little interlude I have described took place between George and Kate, I noticed that Mrs. Farnaby regarded the pair with a look which was certainly not one of displeasure, but rather one NETHERDYKE of pride and admiration. As well it might be, for they were indeed a handsome pair. I have not attempted to describe Kate as she then appeared. She is better left to the reader's imagination. As for George, he was grown tall for his age, and promised to be in time taller than his father, and certainly much more robust in figure.

His hair, though still light, had grown a little darker of late years ; his eyes were of a deeper blue, his com plexion more bronzed, and his features growing more firmly set, and of more manly cast with every day. He was fully a head taller than I, and — but I am forgetful — what does it matter about me ? I must content myself with telling my story. At the mill, old Nichol Wetherby, the miller, and his good-wife and son and daughter came out to see us go by, and pay their respects to Mrs. Farnaby and admire her daughter, and at length we all arrived at Netherdyke. These few summer weeks which Kate Farnaby spent with us form a period in my life specially set apart by itself in my memory. During that period I, for one at least, was lifted out of the rut of common prosaic life, and lived in a dream of sweet poesy.

A new light indeed seemed to come into our lives, emanating from that fairy form, that bright, vivacious spirit which for the time transfigured our mean being. It was a glimpse into the Golden Age. I wish I had space to write the story of that time, of the glad hours — some of them bitter-sweet to me — we spent in the old woods of Netherdyke, and down by the riverside, the side of that river of all rivers to me, the North Tyne. But I have not space, and would only remark on two or three things. To nobody could it be obscure that, during that time, my two cousins, thrown so closely together, seemed each day to be more and more drawn to one another. There was no mistaking that, and it was curious to notice the different effect it seemed to produce on those who witnessed it. Mrs. Farnaby seemed delighted, and her sister gravely pleased.

The Squire was the only one who seemed blind in the matter ; but as for Mr. Thurston, he looked contented enough about it. Simon was the only one who looked uneasy, and who strove by subtle and deep-laid, though all the time very transparent, schemes to keep the two young people apart, or at least to prevent them being left together without company. The visit, like everything else, came to an end at last, and we were left alone to our humdrum life. It had never seemed humdrum before, but now it seemed as if the sun had dropped out of the sky or z NETHERDYKE 18 some other great calamity of nature had occurred, so changed, so flat, so dull had life become. And our lot was not improved, but the rather made much harder, by the state of affairs outside our circle, and in the country at large. Within the next few years many things occurred to flutter the Hanoverian dovecotes in London, and in consequence the Jacobites throughout the country suffered for the activity of their friends abroad.

Life in the country — at least, life amongst those of our side — became, under such circumstances, either too much worried by troublesome visitations, or too dull and monotonous, for there was now little going into the towns for distraction, as in former times. The county people of the opposite faction continued to resort to them in winter time, and had gay doings at Newcastle and elsewhere ; but naturally the Jacobites held much aloof, and the race meetings held at Newcastle, Morpeth, Hexham, and other places, were about the only social gatherings they attended, if we except private meetings at one another's houses, and hunting parties. Up to a certain period our inner life at Nether dyke had gone on much as usual, but about three years after our leaving school a great change came over the Squire's and also Mr. Thurston's behaviour with regard to George and myself.

Up to that time politics had been freely discussed in our presence, and the hopes and aspirations of our party openly expressed. But now suddenly our two friends, and to some extent Simon also, became silent and reticent, and evaded any mention of politics before us. About the same time, too, I noticed that all three were frequently absent from home, sometimes for days together, and also that the visits of our Jacobite neighbours to Netherdyke became more numerous. There was evidently something in the wind, and I strongly fancied I had a clue to the truth. However cautious they might be, however careful, even to the hiding away of the newspapers, they could not prevent public rumour making itself heard. In our visits to neighbouring farmers and others I could not but hear something of the news of the day.

And when it became noised abroad that a great French force was gathering for a descent upon England, in the interest of King James, the rightful heir to the throne — a force which was to be accompanied by the King's son, Prince Charles, in person, then I knew my suspicions had been right. And when news came that a great storm had shattered the flotilla, and that the expedition was for the time being abandoned, the dejected visages of the Squire and his friends more than confirmed it. 2 — NETHERDYKE 20 But in the April of the following year was fought the famous battle of Fontenoy, wherein the Hano verian and British armies with their allies, under the Duke of Cumberland, King George's son, were defeated, mainly by the bravery of the Irish Jacobite regiments in the French service. And with the news of that battle the old symptoms reappeared at Netherdyke — the same restlessness and evident ex pectation, a renewal of the secret expeditions, and of the visits of Jacobite neighbours for secret con sultations.

And still George and I were kept in the dark, or supposed to be kept in the dark. I say nothing for George, but as far as I was concerned I saw through the millstone pretty clearly, though I said little or nothing to my cousin. His father evidently wished him kept in ignorance of what was going on ; why, then, should I interfere between them with my suspicions ? So matters stood when an event occurred which was the beginning of our connection with one of the most romantic incidents in English history, and of our entering upon the extraordinary course of adven tures the history of which I have to relate. What that event was I reserve for another chapter.

Chapter III

A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR COMES TO NETHERDYKE I cannot give the exact date, but it was one night late in the summer of 1745 that George Belliston and I retired to go to rest, leaving the Squire and his brother Simon sitting together in the oak parlour. Miss Belliston had retired some time before, and Mr. Thurston was absent on one of the mysterious visits I have before mentioned. The house was very still, so still and silent, indeed, that even when we had reached the head of the staircase we could hear the slow and steady beat of the clock in the hall below. Having bidden George good-night at the door of his room, I entered my own, which adjoined, and the moon shining so brightly that no other light was needed, I extinguished my candle, and, opening the casement, sat down at the window to enjoy the balmy coolness of the air.

Below me lay the scene I knew and loved so well — the gardens and the park, NETHERDYKE 22 the old woods sleeping in the moonlight, with the shadow of a cloud now and again sweeping darkly over all. From beyond the trees came the sound of the water of Tyne, borne on the wind, and rising and falling on the ear like sweetest music, so it always seemed to me. Sitting thus, I fell into a kind of reverie or waking dream, in which all manner of thoughts passed through my brain. At first they were pleasant enough, but presently they took another form, and a strange, causeless presentiment of coming evil stole over me and oppressed my spirits. Doubtless my nerves were out of order, for as I sat pondering and dreaming, the vague sense of dread all the time increasing, a slight noise outside my chamber door caused a sudden thrill to run through my whole frame, and recalled me to the full use of my waking senses.