The Picture of the King, a tale of old Newcastle

Front matter

A TALE OF OLD NEWCASTLE. BY R. J. Charleton. LONDON : GAY S- BIRD. NE WC A STLE-ON-TYNE : MAWSON, SWAN, &■ MORGAN. Mdcccxcvi CONTENTS. Chapter. Page. I An Old Letter . i II The House in the Wall Knoll . 7 III. The "Peacock" 15 IV. Denzil Sawley ... 23 V. The Shipwright of the North Shore 31 VI A Night Adventure ... 41 VII. Sequel to Watty's Adventure 49 VIII Next Morning — A Royal Visit . 57 IX. The Dutch Shipmaster 65 X. The Spy .... 71 XI. The King and the Painter . 79 XII Master Singleton's Story 89 XIII. Denzil Sawley gains further information 99 XIV. Denzil Sawley meets with an old Acquaintance hi XV Sawley keeps his appointment 121 XVI The Hanging of the Sign . 129 XVII Christmas Eve at the "Peacock' 141 XVIII A Visit to the Mansion House 149 XIX A Night Scene on the River 159 XX Master William Gray 169 XXI The Red Cloak . 179 XXII.

The Meeting at Heaton 185 XXIII. A Night Journey 195 XXIV. The Church of St. Nicholas 205 XXV. Sunday at the New House 217 XXVI More of Denzil Sawley 223 XXVII Joe Hobson's Story 235 XXVIII The Letter 243 XXIX Chapter. Vuge. XXX. Sawley again visits the Mansion House 257 XXXI A Deputation from Jesmond Vale 265 XXXII The Bridge Tower 27' XXXIII. A Notable Plot 275 XXXIV. The Plot Progresses 283 XXXV. The Attempted Escape 287 XXXVI After Effects 293 XXXVII Newgate 301 XXXVIII A Terrible Accusation 313 XXXIX. Sawley Proposes 323 XL Sawley takes Measures 331 XLI Sawley takes further Measures 337 XLII The Trial Commenced 345 XLIII The Trial Proceeds 357 XLIV The Tables Turned 363 XLV. Sawley meets more than his match 373 XLVI The Peacock Inn Again 387 XLVII. Lord Leven's Visitor . 393 XLVIII Robin 401 XLIX Clears many matters up 409 L And Last . .

Chapter I

An Old Letter. Let us suffer ourselves to be carried back over the storms and struggles of more than two centuries, into the midst of that period in English History most engrossing and never failing in interest to all English minds — to that period when England was a house divided against itself, and yet did not fall, but on the contrary, ro5e one huge step higher in the ascent she still climbs to reach the heights of perfect liberty. And for the place, let us transplant our selves to that famed Border stronghold, wherein the chief events we are about to chronicle took place, and from which is dated the letter we give below, which forms, as it were, the bridge by means of which we are enabled to travel back so far over the intervening stream of time. We pray you read this letter carefully, for it is in the hand writing of one who shall bear no small part in our story, and it throws strong light on many matters necessary to be known for the better understanding of his adventures.

Here then is the letter : — " Newcastle-upon-Tine, " August ist, 1646. " Deare friend Jordaens, " Your welcome letter reached me by the hand of Master " Schmidt nearly a week ago. The just reproaches you " therein make concerning my not writing as promised " have touched me nearly. Nevertheless I have been " unable until this present to set pen to paper, not through " lack of good-will, but of fitting time and opportunity. " I am truly glad to heare of your continued good health " and success, and also the like news of our friends and " associates, and shall still continue to hope and pray for a " long continuance of these blessings to you all. 1; " You ask me so many questions regarding matters over " here in England that I scarce know which to answer " first, but will, by your leave, first essay such as lie nearest " my heart and liking.

I were unworthy his love and " kindness to me did I not place first in this respect my " deare old friend, nay, as I may most truly call him, my " second father, Master Singleton. I found him woefully " failed in body, and, though he was heartily glad, I am " assured, to see me, despondent in spirit, which need not "be marvelled at when we consider the trials and tribula " tions he hath undergone, and the great bereavement he " hath sustained, as you know. Our meeting had in it a " union of joy and sorrow, for I could not but betray my " grief at the sad change I found in my old friend, and the " void I found in his household occasioned by the death of " his good dame, and of his two sons who were all alive and " well when I took my departure. He too felt his loss " over again when he saw me, for I could not but remind " him of the happy days we used all to enjoy together in " times past.

I joy, however, to say that my presence " seems to be somewhat of a comfort to the old man, "and, with God's blessing, I intend to remain here and " stand by him, even as in days past he hath stood by me " when I was, as he is now, friendless and alone. I shall " be no charge upon him for I have my late father's little " property here, which is more than sufficient to furnish " my wants. That this hath been preserved to me and " looked after during my youth I also owe to my bene " factor, so on all points I am his debtor, and if by my " care and companionship I can repay some slight part of " my obligation I shall be the happier. We often talk of " you of Antwerp, and he most loses sight of his grief when " I talk to him of old friends of his there or of new men who " have sprung up since his time.

He is eager to know of the " new methods of work in our art, but still preserves, as of "old, his preference for Anthony Vandyke, his old friend " and gossip. And here let me tell you that we painters of " Antwerp, with all our pride in our modern methods, have " much to learn from this old man Singleton, of Newcastle. " We have had much discourse together concerning our ' art since my return, but I will write you more at length ' of these matters at another time. " You enquire of me as to how I found my relations and "friends. Now, as for relations, I have but my father's " sister, who is the wife of a farmer and miller, at a place " called Hartlepool, near the sea-coast, some five-and " twenty miles hence, and I have seen neither her nor her " family since now these eight years. Many old friends I " have seen and new ones have made, but in few of them I " fear would you feel interested.

There is residing here in " Master Singleton's house a certain piper, or player on the "bag-pipes, by name Watty Culpepper, towards whom I "have conceived a great liking. He is a simple, honest " fellow, though his calling hath exposed him to much " contumely on the part of the more severe of the towne. "He might have been, so I heare, clapped in prison and " perchance whipped as a rogue and vagabond, had it not "been that Master Singleton protected him ; but here he "is, and you may tell friend David Teniers that when he " comes over here with you as promised, I intend that he "shall paint me Master Watty's picture. When he sees " him, I am sure he will be delighted to do it, so entirely is " the piper after his style and manner. He was made to "be painted by Teniers. This poor piper and myself are " not the only ones who have cause to bless the kind heart of " Master Singleton.

Distressed as he was by his own great ' ' troubles, he yet was considerate of those of others. There " was an old keelman, that is one who plies in these coal "vessels called keels, which I have often described unto "you as peculiar to our river of Tine, who lived hard by, " with his wife and an onely son. During the late siege of " the towne by the Scottish Army, two years ago, the •' house of these people was battered down and they were " thrown destitute. The son besides, in defending the " walls, was severely wounded. What doth Master " Singleton do but take them into his own house and give " up to them the lower floor, where they still remain, for he " refuseth to allow of their departure, though the son is now " restored to health and works at his trade of a stone "mason, and the old man too now follows his customary " calling.

He says they need not to go, as the upper part of " the house is now quite sufficient for his bestowal. What "is the more particularly pleasing to me, he hath shown " that in all this he hath so little forgotten me, that my " little chamber I found just as I had left it, carefully " preserved and kept in order against my return. The " room wherein we work and live is on the same floor, "as is also Master Singleton's own chamber. Watty " Culpepper hath his lodging in another part of the house, " on the same level with us, but divided from us by a " passage or corridor. . " I must not forget to mention the new acquaintance I " have made in one Hugh Elliott, a west countryman and " apprentice to an Alderman and Merchant Adventurer " here, somewhat of a wag in his way and haire brained, " but a good fellow withal.

He much affecteth my company "and I have a great liking towards him, though he hath " caused me to waste some good part of my time, which " had perhaps been more profitably spent in study, in idle " ramblings about the countryside and in visits to the good " people of the towne. You will, I am assured, like our " Newcastle folk and be as much at home amongst them " as I have been amongst the good people of Antwerp. " They are very much like to your townsmen in their " habits and in their kindly nature ; even in their general " appearance I fancy I discern much resemblance. " And what shall I say of Newcastle itself and of the " state of affairs in this distracted country. There is a "woeful change here truly. The circling walls of the " towne with their towers and gates which I have so oft " with pride described to you are now battered and ruined " by the Scots artillery, as likewise are most of the churches "and houses, but you will be glad to heare that our " beautiful steeple of St. Nicholas hath sustained little or " no injury, all through the adroit stratagem of Sir John " Marley, the Mayor and Governor of the towne for the " King in the year of the siege, who placed his Scots " prisoners in the lantern so that their countrymen dare " by no means batter down the church as was their threat - " ened intent.

I cannot express unto you how grieved and " how ashamed I feel when I heare those tales of the siege " and think that I was not here to aid our brave townsmen " in the defence. You know full well that it was through " no fault of mine that I was not here, but only because " our shipmaster would by no means enter the Tine when " he heard the Scots were before the towne, but incontin " ently sailed back to Antwerp ; yet I feel as though I were "a traitor and craven when I talk with those who played " their part, many of them much younger and weaker in " body than myself. Now that I am face to face with the "realities of things I begin to realize, though slowly, the " situation of affairs here. It is so different hearing the " tale from actors in it and seeing the veritable effects of "the struggle still remaining on all sides; it is very " different this to hearing reports and tales brought from " over sea.

Whether it be my long absence from England " and sudden coming upon the scene, I can scarce yet " believe that things are as they undoubtedly are, spite of " the visible proofs before me. It is hard for me to realize " that one half of my fellow countrymen are at this moment " in arms against the others, and that already thousands of " lives have been lost in the struggle. It is hard to " stomach the fact that our towne here is still in the hands " of the Scots, though I see them every day, swarming in " the streets and lording it over the town's people. Hardest " of all is it for me to bring myself to accept the fact that " the King himself, his gracious Majesty Charles I. who "had filled so mighty a place in my imagination from my " youth upwards, is a prisoner in the hands of these same " Scots and in this very towne, yet I saw him but yesterday, " attended, as they term it, but really guarded by their " soldiers.

It is like a dream to me as yet that such things " are. " I am in a great dilemma too, as to the rights and " wrongs of the matters in dispute between the King and " the English Parliament, the part of which latter body the " Scots profess to take. Being so newly arrived here, after " such long absence, I suppose that I am scarce yet English " enough to have entered into either quarrel. I have " diligently sought, by conferring with those of both " sides to get at the true merits of the case, but still am "as dubious as ever. I halt in my opinion, but must "confess I am most inclined towards the King's cause, " All my sympathies and long grounded predilections lie " that way, yet I cannot forbear the thought that there "must be some strong argument in favour of the reverse " side which hath drawn to it so many of the best and "noblest of my countrymen at the risk of their lives and "fortunes; many of them having, it is most likely, the " liveliest sense of customary and long established habits " of loyalty and obedience to the crown to draw them back " and cool their enterprise.

And thus I go on wavering. " As you used truly to say, I look too much on both sides " of every question. Thus only the other day, when I " heard that the Common Council had resolved that, as " the cause of our present troubles was the wrath of God "which hangs over this poor towne, so, with a view to "propitiate it, they would disfranchise the Earl of " Newcastle, I lost patience. You must know the Earl was " mainly instrumental in placing the town in posture of " defence against the Scots. I said then, that "fall back "full edge" I would side with the King's party, but " Master Singleton speaks up and tells me that I do not " understand matters as yet, and until I do I ought not to "meddle in the business; besides he tells me that his " Majesty could by a word make peace with the Parliament "and so end all our troubles and that with honourable " termes to himself, but he will not say that word, and so " the weight of the continuance rests on him.

Only last " week it appears he sent their Ambassadors away in high " dudgeon. Master Singleton says, and I know from past "experience, that no man more loves the King, that their "demands are just and he ought to know. — But I will " trouble you no longer, my dear friend, with my doubts " concerning this quarrel, so neare to me, so foreign to you. " Would that we were settled and that I had you here " beside me. I send you enclosed herewith the drawings " you ask for, and pray you receive with them the heart-felt " good wishes and love of "Your affectionate friend, "ALAN FOSTER."

Chapter II

The House in the Wall Knoll. According to the Calendar it was the month of December, 1646, but as far as the weather was concerned it might have been the middle of May. The sun shone brightly and the air came soft and balmy through the open case ment, bringing with it the sound of the singing of birds, the cooing of pigeons, and the distant silvery rippling of running water. Around the window clustered the dark green leaves of the ivy, their upper surfaces, as they moved in the gentle breeze, ever and anon catching the reflection cf the blue sky. A few long drooping sprays of younger growth hung downwards over the opening of the window, their pale fresh transparent green contrasting strongly with the few brown withered leaves still lingering on the lichen clad orchard trees outside. It was very quiet and very peaceful in this room — the painting room of Master Singleton in his house in the Wall Knoll — with its low ceiling, crossed by the great joists of oak, and its bare polished floor of the same wood.

On the hearth smouldered a coal fire, and the smoke floated lazily up the broad chimney, as if lingering on its way to study the old Bible histories pourtrayed upon the blue and white Dutch tiles which lined the fire-place. The table in the centre of the room, and the little side table against the wall, were littered with brushes and little earthenware jars containing colours and other things pertaining to the painter's art. Here and there pictures on canvas or on wooden panels stood on the floor, their faces turned to the wall. One of the drawers of a handsomely carved oak Cabinet was pulled half open and within could be seen piles of drawings and sketches. In the glass-doored recesses of the upper part of this Cabinet stood some fine examples of old Venetian glass, which glowed out rich and mellow of colour from the darkness behind them.

A few straight backed chairs of ordinary kind, and a huge carved elbow chair which stood on the hearth rug before the fire, comprised the rest of the furniture of the room, unless we can include as such the easels at which the two occupants of it were at work. One of these occupants was Master Singleton himself, a tall, spare, grey-bearded man, with bushy eyebrows shading a pair of eyes of exceeding brightness for his age, keen and piercing, though kindly withal, yet full of sadness when they were in repose. He was dressed in black through out, and stood at his easel while he worked. The other was Alan Foster, whose letter we have already read. He sat on a chair before his easel, and stopped painting from time to time to gaze out of the window, as though he had some thing on his mind which interfered with his work, and prevented him from following the example of his com panion's earnest assiduity.

At length he rose from his easel, and palette in hand, walked to the window and stood looking out still seemingly lost in perplexing thought. The scene which lay before him was one in all conscience beautiful enough, even at that time of year, to have distracted from all else, save itself, a painter's mind. Close beneath lay the garden and the orchard sloping upwards on the right to where some cottages, their red tiled roofs glowing through the tangled tracery of the apple trees, partly hid from view the grey ruins of a Monastic building. Behind these, on the top of the hill, rose a square and rugged tower, bearing every indication of the wasting hand of time, as well as many a recent fracture which evidenced the destructive hand of man. From the tower the strong stone town wall, embrasured at the top, and like the tower, rent and shattered in many places, ran down the bank side into the valley on the left.

It was hidden here and there by groups of intervening houses, and could be seen rising again on the opposite bank of the valley, up which it climbed with its little turrets placed at intervals, until it reached a turret larger than the rest, where it turned at right angles and ran northwards along the top of the opposite wooded bank. In the misty valley which it over looked, a little burn could be seen winding amongst the trees and bushes, and like a silver thread, a mill race ran parallel to it until it disappeared behind the mill, and re-appearing again, shattered and broken into foam by the great mill wheel, sought once more, like a returning prodigal, the peaceful bosom of the parent stream. Closer at hand, on the left, the burn could be seen through the gaps between the houses, at the foot of the sloping bank on which stood the painter's house, rippling over its sandy shallows.

Beyond this part of the stream the houses crowded closely together, the smoke from their chimneys mingling with the blue mist of the shadowed valley in which they lay. As they rose, one above another, upon the opposite bank, the sunlight caught their red tiled roofs and brick and timbered walls, while, on the hill top, towering high against the sky, rose the spire of All Hallows' Church, which cast an oblique line of purple shadow across the sunlit haze. It was a scene such as Albert Durer might have revelled in ; the quaint timbered houses with their picturesque pointed gables and dormers, their balconies and lattices, the mediæval fortifications, the trees rising here and there amongst towers and spires and on the valley sides. A woman came out of one of the red tiled cottages on the bank side, carrying a basket on her head, and leading a child by the hand, and commenced to hang out clothes to dry upon the leafless hedge.

From the window of one of the houses below an old man, in a velvet skull-cap, leaned to feed a blackbird in a wicker cage, which hung outside in the mellow sunlight. A group of children waded in the burn, the sound of their merry voices mingling with the chirping of the sparrows, while a flock of pigeons wheeled overhead, their wings catching the sunlight as they turned and circled high up in the blue sky. Peaceful and quiet was the whole aspect of that part of the town of Newcastle called Pandon, as seen from the house of the old painter in the Wall Knoll on that December afternoon. The ruins of the Trinitarian Monastery and Church of St. Michael's on the Mount, the ancient Sallyport gate, the town wall battered by the siege of but two years past, the valley of Pandon Burn, the houses of Pandon, and the spire of All Hallows' were thus seen sleeping peacefully after the late troubles and turmoils of war.

And yet, peaceful as all appeared, the enemy was still within the gate, and the King of England was still a captive in Newcastle's stateliest mansion. As young Foster stood thus gazing, Master Singleton had stopped working and was quietly regarding him. There was a look of concern on the old man's face as he noticed the other's evident sadness— " What is it that ails you Alan ? " asked he, laying his hand kindly on the young man's shoulder, " I have noticed that now these few days past you are sad and thoughtful beyond your wont." Alan blushed as thus suddenly addressed. " Indeed," he stammered, " It is nothing — nothing at all, I assure you which need give you concern." " Well but, my boy, there must be something on your mind — or is it that you are sick ? " and a look of concern and anxiety appeared in his face.

" Oh no ! I am quite well and in good health, but " His further explanation was cut short by a loud noise as of some one ascending the stairs in great haste, there was an impatient knocking at the door, and on its being opened a young fellow rushed into the room and boisterously greeted them both. Gone in a moment was the peacefulness and quiet which had hitherto reigned in the room, for the new comer was one of these human volcanoes which alternate between periods of noisy eruptions and sullen repose, and now he was in a state of eruption, exuberant and full of life. The whole air of the place seemed changed and possessed by the spirit of unrest and excitement he had brought. "And how do ye, Alan, my brave dauber? And you, Master Singleton. Oh, it joys me to see you again. I have just escaped for a time from the trammels, and besides I have a message for you.

But what's this you're busy with Alan ? A brave piece truly. But I scarcely understand how trees could grow thus," and the new comer, with head on one side and one eye closed, scanned the picture with a comical air of critical assumption. " Fie, Hugh Elliott, thou waggish madcap," said Singleton with a smile, "when will you give over your pranks, and how can you pretend to understand what is beyond your understanding. These are no trees, but clouds, as you might have known. But the picture is not finished and ' fools and bairns — ' you know the rest of the proverb. What is this message you spoke of but now ? " " Nay, but, Master Singleton, by your leave, you say not well when you accuse me of want of understanding of such matters as these. Know you I am a painter too, and this very day have executed a very pretty piece of work entirely to the satisfaction of the patron who employed me."

And he looked the old painter in the face with a humorous twinkle in his eye, but the old man only shook his head as giving him up for a hopeless case. " Yes I assure you both that what I say is truth. And a very large and important work it was, no less than our cellar door, you know it Alan, and can answer for it that it exceeds in size any painting you have here. Now then, have I not a right, being free of the craft, so to speak, to express an opinion ? " " Well, well ! perhaps you have. At least as good a right as a good many who claim seriously what you but urge in jest," said Singleton. "And your message? it cannot sure be of much importance, since you are so tardy in its deliverance." " That's as you may judge," returned Elliott, " I was up the town but now and chanced to meet Anty White of the New House.

The message is from him. He desires that you will come as soon as convenient for the bird, and I promised to let you know." " The peacock," exclained Alan Foster, " I will go." " He promised to send it down," said Singleton, seemingly much disturbed and disappointed. " He seems to have altered his mind, and that very decidedly," said Hugh Elliott, "for he said I was to tell you, Master Singleton, to be sure and come yourself and forbye bring the pass, for to no one else would he deliver it." " I will go seek my hat and cloak then, and do you get ready, Alan, and we will go at once " said Singleton, with a sigh, as he retired to the adjoining room. " You'll be there to-night ? " queried Elliott earnestly, as the old man disappeared. " I scarce think so," answered Alan, " I have been thinking much of it of late, and I think it were better that I go not thither so frequently.

Best perhaps not at all." " What mean you. Surely Master Singleton makes no objection ? " " None in the world. Why should he ? But there are other reasons " And again a blush overspread Alan Foster's face. Elliott looked at him in perplexity. "What other reasons ? Why, man, you are dumb-foundered, and have no reasons. Come you must. We will expect you. So I'll say no more about it. And here comes Master Singleton." The old painter now returned ready for the journey, and Alan, donning his short cloak and hat, they all three betook themselves downstairs, and so out of the house. "And what want you with this peacock, Master Single ton ? " asked Elliott, as they passed down the Wall Knoll. "You shall know, all in good time, Master Hugh," replied the old man. " For the present we'll just keep it a secret from him, Alan, and so punish him for his pert ness."