BOOK EIGHT.

SEVEN YEARS LATER.

BOLTON, October 16th, 1651

I.

The Earl of Derby's last journey

Some description appears necessary of the tragic death of the illustrious and unfortunate nobleman who has formed the principal figure in our story.

For the details we shall refer to two contemporary narratives, reproduced by the Reverend Mr. RAINES in his "Memoirs of James Earl of Derby," published by the CHETMAN SOCIETY-narratives justly described by the learned editor as "having no parallel in our history."

"The picture is complete and perfect in itself," remarks Mr. RAINES; "and it is not extravagant praise to say that it will retain its melancholy attraction as long as any reverence shall remain for what is noble and heroic or any pity for tenderness and constancy in the saddest reverses of fortune, in fact as long as there are hearts that can feel, and eyes that can weep."

Seven years have flown, years fraught with deepest interest.

A monarch has been beheaded, and his son driven from his kingdom. Rebellion has triumphed. The fatal battle of Worcester has been fought, and the brave and loyal Earl of Derby, who left his wife and children in his castle in Mona's rugged isle to aid the youthful Charles, has been made prisoner-having surrendered after quarter for life had been given by his captor.

Confined in Chester, and tried by a court-martial, the earl has been doomed to death. To add to the severity of the sentence, it has been appointed by the judges that the execution shall take place at Bolton, where it is supposed the inhabitants have a strong vindictive feeling towards the illustrious prisoner.

On this point the earl himself, fearful of being reviled by the people of the town, wrote thus to the Speaker of the House of Parliament: "It is a greater affliction to me than death itself, that I am sentenced to die at Bolton; since the nation will look upon me as a sacrifice for that blood which some have unjustly cast upon me, and from which I hope I am acquitted in your opinion, and the judgment of good men, having cleared myself by undeniable evidence. At my trial, it was never mentioned against me, and yet I am adjudged to suffer at Bolton, as if indeed I had been guilty."

Notwithstanding this appeal, no alteration was made.

The day of execution having been fixed for Wednesday, 15th October, 1651, the ill-fated earl set forth on the day before from Chester, escorted by a strong guard, consisting of sixty musketeers, and eighty horse-the latter being well armed and well mounted, and commanded by a captain, notorious for his devotion to the Parliament.

With the earl were Mr. Baguley, who wrote the account of his noble master's imprisonment and death; Paul Moreau his valet, and several other faithful servants. To add to the indignity shown him by his malevolent enemies, the earl was provided with a sorry steed.

All who saw him set out on his last journey loudly expressed their grief-several accompanying to some distance.

On Hole Heath, not far from Chester, the earl was met by his two younger daughters, the Lady Katherine and the Lady Amelia Stanley, who came to take a last leave of him.

Heedless of the presence of the guard, he flung himself from his horse, embraced his daughters tenderly, and then knelt down beside their on the road, and prayed.

On rising he again pressed them to his heart, and gave them his last blessing. Such a sad spectacle has rarely been witnessed-such a father-such daughters-one so noble, the others so beautiful, tender, and loving.

The beholders were indescribably affected by the scene. Outbursts of grief were heard on all sides, and numbers knelt down and prayed.

At last, the parting was over.

The fainting girls, who had sustained themselves with difficulty, broke down in the end, and were borne away insensible.

By the help of Paul Moreau, the earl regained his steed, and the cavalcade was once more in motion.

But he could not shake off the impression made upon him by the interview. His head drooped on his breast, and during the whole of the day's journey, he scarcely looked around, or spoke.

It had been arranged that the noble prisoner should pass his last night at Leigh-a small town, about six miles from Bolton. In Leigh Church had been interred his friend and companion in arms, the valiant Sir Thomas Tyldesley, who was killed at Wigan, and the earl greatly desired to visit the grave, but the request was denied.

However, the refusal troubled him little. He had become indifferent to harsh treatment, and passed the evening in tranquil converse with Baguley.

"Commend me to Archdeacon Rutter," he said, "and ask him if he remembers how blood fell upon a book I was reading late one night in my closet at Knowsley? Ask him what he now thinks of that strange occurrence? He will answer, I doubt not, that his presentiments have been fully verified. Ask him further, if he remembers I once told him that death in battle would not trouble me, but a blow on the scaffold would greatly startle me. Now I have changed my opinion, and can as easily lay my head on the block as on a pillow."

After supper, which he declared should be his last meal in this world, the earl threw himself upon a bed without taking off his apparel, and while lying there with his head resting upon his right hand, he compared himself to a monument, adding: "To-morrow I shall want a monument!"

At an early hour he arose and prayed. Before quitting Leigh he was joined by his son, Lord Strange, who attended him to Bolton.

A sad ride thither, for he was full of uneasiness as to the reception he should experience from the inhabitants.

But his anxiety was speedily relieved.

As they entered the town, which had a singularly dismal look, all the persons he beheld expressed the deepest sorrow.

Far from exulting in his death, they uttered doleful lamentations, and many called out: "O sad day! O woful day! Shall the good Earl of Derby die here? Many sad losses have we had in the war, but none like unto this-for now the ancient honour of our country must suffer here at Bolton."

These unlooked-for expressions of sympathy greatly consoled him, though they forced tears to his eyes.

But the scaffold was not yet completed. To inflict additional pain upon the earl, the platform on which he was to die was constructed of timber brought from Lathom House, which had been demolished after the second siege.

Not a carpenter in the town would saw a plank, strike a nail, or lend any aid whatever. Of necessity, therefore, soldiers were employed, and they were behind-hand with their work.

The ancient cross that had hitherto adorned the market-place was pulled down to make way for the hateful structure, so that the appearance of the place was greatly changed.

As the cavalcade halted, the earl exclaimed: "Venio Domine. I am prepared to fulfil thy will. This scaffold must be my cross. Blessed Saviour, I take it up willingly, and follow thee!"

Conducted by an officer to an adjoining house, looking upon the church, he was informed that he would not be disturbed till three o'clock.

"I do not ask for the delay, sir," said the earl, "and am quite ready now. Nevertheless, I thank you."

Lord Strange, Mr. Baguley, Paul Moreau, and all his attendants, entered the house with him and awaited his orders.

The earl's first request was that they should all join him in prayer. Their devotions were much disturbed by the knocking and hammering of the boards of the scaffold by the soldiers, and by the loud talk of the troopers, but in spite of these noises he prayed long and fervently.

When he arose, he retired into an inner room with his valet, Paul Moreau, and doffing his riding-dress and boots, put on silken hose, a rich velvet doublet, and a falling band edged with lace.

While changing his linen he said to Paul Moreau: "Take care that this shirt is not taken from me, but let me be buried in it."

"It shall be done, my lord," replied the valet.

The earl then sent for Lord Strange, who had brought him the blue riband of the Garter, and now helped him to put it on.

"Charles," he said to his son, "I shall not wear this order long, but I desire to be seen in it on the scaffold. Baguley will bring it back to you. Return it, I pray you, to my most gracious sovereign, and say that I sent it back to him in all humility and gratitude-spotless as I received it."

This done, he desired to be left alone, and prayed in private for nearly half an hour, during which his groans and interjections could be heard by those in the outer room, and when he came forth his eyes still bore traces of tears.

Addressing those present, he said: "I must now bid you farewell for ever. Think not from any signs of affliction you may discern on my countenance that I am unwilling to leave the world, being well assured that I shall be carried from trouble to rest and peace-from sorrow to lasting bliss. Death has no other bitterness for me save that it takes me from those I love. But I leave them to the care and protection of a better husband and a better father. As to my relentless enemies I freely forgive them, and beseech Heaven to forgive them likewise."

He then called to Lord Strange, who knelt down and received his blessing.

Tenderly embracing him, when he arose, the earl said: "Farewell, dear son. It is not fit you should accompany me to the scaffold, so I shall behold you no more in this world, but I trust we shall meet in Heaven. Again, I commend your admirable mother to you. Farewell!"

Then gently disengaging himself from Lord Strange, whose arm was still round his neck, and who was weeping bitterly, he bade Moreau inform the officer he was ready.

After a brief interval, the door was thrown open, and with a firm footstep the earl commenced his march to death, preceded by the officer with a drawn sword in his hand, and followed by Baguley, Paul Moreau, and two other servants.

II.

The Headsman

THE few sorrowing persons standing around, would undoubtedly have pressed upon the earl, or knelt down before him, if they had not been prevented by the double line of musketeers through which he had to pass.

Even now the scaffold was scarcely finished, and not being draped with black, had a mean look.

However, it was in a great measure hidden by the troopers who were drawn up round it, with their horses' heads turned towards the rails.

The executioner was already at his post, a churl who might have been chosen for his repulsive countenance; or more probably because no one else would fill the odious office.

The beholders regarded the caitiff with loathing and horror, and their execrations and opprobrious epithets constantly reached his ears.

From his deep-sunken fiery eyes, long black upper lip, projecting teeth, and heavy jaw the fellow resembled a bull-dog. Habited in a stout leather doublet, he wore a leather cap over his closely-cropped hair.

Near him was the block, beside which was placed the axe-a very heavy implement with an unusually short handle-the blade being large, convex in shape, and exceedingly keen.

At a little distance from the block was the coffin, the lid of which had been taken off.

On his way to the scaffold, the earl called out to the people whose prayers and lamentations he could hear: "Good friends, I thank you heartily. The God of Mercy bless you? Continue to pray for me, I beseech you! And may our blessed Lord return your prayers into your own bosoms!"

Before mounting the steps, at the top of which stood two pikemen, he paused for a moment and exclaimed aloud: "Heaven, I thank thee that I am not afraid to go up here, though there are but these few steps to my eternity!"

Kissing the ladder, he ascended, followed after a short interval by Baguley and Paul Moreau. The officer had already gone up *

III.

A Tumult

ON gaining the platform, the earl marched towards the rails, averting his gaze from the headsman and the block, and taking off his hat bowed to the assemblage.

Though surprised to find them so few in number-for he had expected a large and tumultuous crowd-he was inexpressibly touched by their sympathetic looks.

On their part the spectators were equally struck, though in a different manner, by the earl's appearance, as he stood bareheaded before them.

To those familiar with his noble countenance, it seemed wofully changed. Skin pallid, eyes lacking lustre, dark locks streaked with grey.

But his demeanour had lost none of its dignity, and the change described gave a peculiar interest to his features, as showing the trials he had gone through.

In the course of his speech to the assemblage, his countenance brightened up, and his eyes flashed fire as he thus concluded: "By the king's enemies I am condemned to die, by new and unknown laws. The Lord send us our king again. The Lord send us our old laws again. The Lord send us our religion again. As for the religion now practised, it has no name. Truly can I say for myself, I die for God, the king, and the laws; and this makes me not ashamed of my life, or afraid to die."

As these bold words were uttered, a trooper near the scaffold called out in a stentorian voice: "We will neither have king, lords, nor laws."

Regarding the interruption as a needless insult to the earl, the bystanders resented it by a loud groan, and hooting.

Thereupon, the whole of the troopers, exasperated by the sympathy manifested for the earl, turned suddenly round, and drove the people back, cutting at them with their swords, and chasing them in different directions. Several were wounded, and a child was ridden over and killed.