Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 07

by Unknown

But his parents came to visit him; hers followed her, and they joined their efforts to hers, and anxiously, daily, almost hourly, they exerted their energies to obtain his pardon. His father possessed an influence in electioneering matters in Lancashire, and hers could exercise the same in an adjoining county. That influence was now urged—the members they had supported were importuned. They promised to employ their best exertions. Whatever the feelings or principles of the elder Dawson might be, he had never avowed disaffection openly—he had never evinced a leaning to the family of Stewart—he had supported the government of the day; and the father of Fanny Lester was an upholder of the house of Hanover. The influence of all their relatives, and of all their friends, was brought into action; peers and commoners were supplicated, and they pledged their intercession. Men high in office took an interest in the fate of James Dawson, or professed to take it; promises, half official, were held out; and when his youth, the short time that he had been engaged in the rebellion, and the situation that he held in the army of the Adventurer, were considered, no one doubted but that his pardon was certain—that he would not be brought to trial. Even his parents felt assured; but the word of the king was not passed.

They began to look forward to the day of his deliverance with impatience, but still with certainty. There was but one heart that feared, and it throbbed in the bosom of poor Fanny. She would start from her sleep, crying, "Save him!—save him!" as she fancied she beheld them dragging him to execution. In order to soothe her, her parents and his, in the confidence that pardon would be extended to him, agreed that the day of his liberation should be the day of their bridal. She knew their affection, and her heart struggled with her fears to believe the "flattering tale."

James tried also to cheer her; he believed that his life would be spared; he endeavoured to smile and to be happy.

"Fear not my own Fanny," he would say; "your apprehensions are idle. The Elector——"

And here his father would interfere. "Speak not so, my son," said the old man earnestly—"speak not against princes in your bedchamber, for a bird of the air can carry the tidings. Your life is in the hands of a king—of a merciful one, and it is safe—only speak not thus!—do not, as you love me—as you love our Fanny, do not."

Then would they chase away her fears, and speak of the arrangements for the bridal; and Fanny would smile pensively while James held her hand in his, and as he gazed on her finger he raised it to his lips, as though he took the measure of the ring.

But "hope deferred maketh the heart sick;" and though they still retained their confidence that he would be pardoned, yet their anxiety increased, and Fanny's heart seemed unable longer to contain its agony and suspense. More than six months had passed, but still no pardon came for James Dawson. The fury of the civil war was spent, the royal Adventurer had escaped, the vengeance of the sword was satisfied, and the law of the conquerors, and the scaffolds of the law, called for the blood of those whom the sword had saved. The soldier laid down his weapon, and the executioner took up his. On the leaders of the Manchester regiment the vengeance of the bloodthirsty law first fell. It was on the evening of the 14th of July, 1746, James Dawson sat in his prison; Fanny sat by his side, with her hand in his, and his parents were ready also, when the jailer entered, and ordered him to prepare to hold himself in readiness for his trial in the court-house at St. Margaret's, Southwark, on the following day. His father groaned—his mother exclaimed, "My son!"—but Fanny sat motionless. No tear was in her eye—no muscle in her countenance moved. Her fingers grasped his with a firmer pressure—but she evinced no other symptom of having heard the mandate that was delivered. They rose to depart, and a low deep sigh issued from her bosom; but she showed no sign of violent grief; her feelings were already exhausted—her heart could bear no more.

On the following day, eighteen victims, with the gallant Townly at their head, were brought forth for trial before a grand jury. Amongst them, and as one of the chief, was James Dawson. Fanny had insisted on being present. She heard the word guilty pronounced with a yet deeper apathy than she had evinced at the announcement of his trial. She folded her hands upon her bosom, her lips moved as in prayer, but she shed not a single tear, she breathed not a single sigh. She arose, she beckoned to her attendants, and accompanied them from the court-house.

Still his friends entertained the hope that the Pardon Power might be moved—they redoubled their exertions—they increased their importunities—they were willing to make any sacrifice so that his life might be but saved—and even then, at the eleventh hour, they hoped against hope. But Fanny yielded not to the vain thought. Day after day she sat by her lover's side, and she, in her turn, became his comforter. She no longer spoke of their bridal—but she spoke of eternity; she spoke of their meeting where the ambition, the rivalry, and the power of princes should be able to cast no cloud over the happiness of the soul.

Fourteen days had passed, and during that he betrayed no sign of terror; she evinced none of a woman's weakness. She seemed to have mastered her griefs, and her soul was prepared to meet them. Yet, save only when she spoke to him, her soul appeared entranced, and her body lifeless. On the 29th of July an order was brought for the execution of the victims on the following day. James Dawson bowed his head to the officer who delivered the warrant, and calmly answered, "I am prepared!"