The Leaguer of Lathom by W. Harrison Ainsworth

“We shall see, Justine. I mean to put on my military dress.”

“That dress has put this whim in your head,” observed Justine. “I thought mischief would come of it, when your father gave it you. But he meant it to serve for a different purpose.”

“He meant me to wear it, or he would never have given it me, Justine—and so I will—this very night.”

“Then Heaven protect you!” exclaimed the housekeeper, with a groan. “I see it is vain to reason with you.”

And she returned to the kitchen.

For a few minutes Gertrude looked irresolute.

She then went up-stairs to her own room, and opened a chest that contained some martial equipments—buff jerkin, baldrick, boots, and head-piece—all of light make, and small size. She knew they would fit her, for she had often tried them on.

The sight of these accoutrements decided her.

| Go to Table of Contents |

XIV

The Nocturnal Thanksgiving

THAT night the interior of the fine old Collegiate Church presented a most singular spectacle.

The broad nave and aisles were filled with armed men, for all who came thither to offer thanksgiving had brought their weapons with them—muskets, pikes, and halberts.

The place was imperfectly lighted, but the gloom heightened the effect of the scene. A lamp fixed here and there against the pillars partially illumined the aisles, and revealed the stern visages of those grouped around.

The majority of the congregation were Presbyterians, but there were a great number of Round-heads present, easily distinguishable by their habiliments, and sour looks. These belonged to various sects, but they had come together on that night, which had been appointed for a general thanksgiving. Differences there might be among them on certain religious points, but they were all united against the common enemy—they were all violently opposed to the malignants and Papists. Among the assemblage thronging the nave were a large number of the militia, and several of their officers were with them. All the town guards—except those on duty—were present—Captain Cranage being conspicuous among them.

Every portion of the sacred structure was invaded—the chapels were full, the choir was as crowded as the nave, and the stalls were occupied by the fiercest enemies of the Established Church, who would gladly have destroyed them.

The service commenced with the psalm—O Lord, arise, and scatter thine enemies—and from the many earnest voices that joined in it, a fine effect was produced, but the sacred song lost much of its solemnity, since no organ accompanied it.

The noble instrument which, until lately, had resounded in the church, its strains rolling along the roof, and filling every part of the pile, had been silenced by the rigorous Puritans.

Amid the deep silence that followed the cessation of the singing, the impressive accents of Mr. Bourne were heard reading prayers, and the venerable figure of the divine could be seen in the pulpit.

Mr. Bourne was listened to with the greatest attention, and when he had finished reading, another hymn was sung by the whole congregation.

Then followed a fiery sermon by Warden Heyrick, that excited his hearers to the highest point, as was shown by the agitation pervading them.

The warden had just ceased, when Rosworm entered the sacred edifice from the south porch, and made his way as quickly as he could along the crowded aisle to the Trafford Chapel.

Here, among a number of armed men, he perceived a youthful soldier, accoutred in a buff coat and steel head-piece, and holding a musket in his hand. The features of this youth, so far as they could be discerned, were almost feminine, and his figure looked too slight for the martial task he had undertaken. Still, he seemed full of spirit.

On receiving a sign from Rosworm he left the corner where he was standing, and joined him, and they quitted the church together.

There was no moon, but the night was clear, and the stars shining brightly. Rosworm led his young companion across the churchyard towards the low stone wall that overlooked the river. Here were the best marksmen, and occasionally a shot was fired. On looking from the wall the dark outline of the bridge could be discerned, and the river glimmered as they approached it.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *