Preston Fight; or, The Insurrection of 1715Ainsworth, William Harrison
General
Preston Fight; or, The Insurrection of 1715
Ainsworth, William Harrison
Jacobite Rebellion, 1715 -- Fiction
“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?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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