[XX.]
A Tale of the ’45.
THE year 1745 was a noteworthy year in the annals of Longdendale. In that year the valley was roused to excitement by the doings of Prince Charles Edward Stuart, the young Pretender, who, at the head of a large army, marched through Manchester and Stockport on his road to Derby. Many of the male portion of the inhabitants of Longdendale walked into either Manchester or Stockport to see the army pass, and to catch a glimpse of the romantic figure which might one day sit upon the throne of England. Most of these sightseers returned home full of the grand picture which the Scottish army presented; they told a great tale of how the Prince forded the river at Stockport, that the water took him up to the middle, that he wore a light plaid, and a blue bonnet, in which was set a milk-white rose.
These accounts greatly interested the inhabitants of Mottram town, who, like most people, loved to hear of martial doings at a distance. The Mottram folk, however, were not so highly elated when, a little later in the year, they heard that portions of the flying Scottish army were likely to pass through their town during the retreat from Derby. They would gladly have had the soldiers play the part of the Levite of old, and “pass by on the other side.”
“A murrain on them,” quoth the sexton, as he sat in the ingle of the “Black Bull’s Head”—that homely tavern perched on the hillside just beneath the graveyard of Mottram Church. “Why cannot they even travel back the same gait they came, and leave our good Mottram folk in peace? Like enough if they come, there will be blows, and who knows but what my trade will flourish mightily. And that will be the only trade that will flourish if they get to fighting on this side of the border.”
The maid who was attending to the wants of the customers pricked her ears at the conversation, and as she filled the sexton’s glass, she joined in with her sweet woman’s voice.
“For my part I should be glad to see them march through Mottram. They say that the Prince is a handsome gentleman, and brave as he is fair. One day he will be the King, and then, think what an honour it will be to Mottram, to have had his army billet in the town when he fought for his own. Moreover, as I hear, there be some of the best and bravest of the old families of Lancashire in his train, and we see too few of the real gentry hereabouts to throw away so fine a chance as this. As for the fighting, I see no sin in that when the good Prince but seeks to win back his own.”