The Manchester Rebels by William H. Ainsworth

The unexpected arrival of Dr. Byrom and Beppy at Rawcliffe Hall caused considerable perturbation to Constance and her cousin; but this was relieved as soon as the doctor explained that he brought good news of Atherton.

Before entering into any particulars, however, he delivered Jemmy Dawson's letter to Monica, telling her in what manner he had received it. Murmuring a few grateful words, she withdrew to her own room, and we shall follow her thither, leaving the others to talk over matters with which the reader is already acquainted.

The letter filled several sheets of paper, and had evidently been written at intervals.

Thus it ran.

St. Albans.

For a short time I have been free, and fondly persuaded myself I should soon behold you again. Alas! no such bliss was reserved for me. My fate is ever perverse. I had not long regained my liberty, when I was captured and taken back, and I am now so strictly watched that I shall have no second chance of escape.

Enraged at my attempt at flight, the officer in command of the guard threatened to fetter me, like a common felon, but as yet I have been spared that indignity.

You will easily imagine the state of grief and despair into which I was plunged by my ill success. I had buoyed myself up with false hopes. I felt quite sure that in a few days I should again clasp you to my heart. Deprived by a cruel fate of such unspeakable happiness, can you wonder at my distraction? While thus frenzied, had I possessed a weapon, I should certainly have put an end to my wretched existence. But I am somewhat calmer now, though still deeply depressed.

Oh! dearest Monica -- the one being whom I love best! -- I cannot longer endure this enforced separation from you. Never till now did I know how necessary you are to my existence. Pity me! pity me! I am sore afflicted.

Your presence would restore the serenity of mind I once enjoyed, and which I have now utterly lost. Come to me, and shed a gleam of happiness over the residue of my life. In a few days I shall be lodged in a prison, but I shall not heed my confinement if you will visit me daily.

Should the worst fate befall me -- as I have sad presentiments that it will -- I shall be prepared to meet it, if you are with me at the last. Without you to strengthen me, my courage may fail. I need you, dearest Monica -- need you more than ever. Come to me, I implore you!

I am ashamed of what I have written, but you will not despise me for my weakness. 'Tis not imprisonment I dread, but the torture of prolonged separation from you. Did I not love you so passionately I should be as careless as my companions in misfortune. They have little sympathy for me, for they cannot understand my grief. They would laugh at me if I told them I was ever thinking of you. Most of them live jovially enough, and appear entirely unconcerned as to the future. Whether they are really as indifferent as they seem, I much doubt. But they drink hard to drown care. The two Deacons, however, keep aloof from the rest. Colonel Townley, also, is greatly changed. He does not look downcast, but he has become exceedingly serious, and passes his time in long discourses with Father Saunderson, his priest and confessor, who is allowed to attend him. He often talks to me of you and Constance, and hopes that Atherton has been able to embark for France. We have heard nothing of the latter, of course; and in his case no news is good news.

The inhabitants of the different towns and villages through which we have passed on our way to the metropolis have displayed great animosity towards us, chiefly owing to the mischievous placards which have been everywhere spread about by the Government. In these placards the most monstrous charges are brought against us. It is gravely asserted that if we had defeated the Duke of Cumberland we meant to spit him alive and roast him. The bishops were to be burnt at the stake like Ridley and Latimer, and all the Protestant clergy massacred. That such absurd statements should have obtained credence seems impossible; but it is certain they have produced the effect designed, and that the minds of the common folk have been violently inflamed, as we have learnt to our cost, and as we may experience to a still greater extent when we reach London.

Newgate.

You will tremble, dearest Monica, when you learn that I am now immured in that dismal dungeon, the very name of which inspires terror; and yet the prison is not so formidable as it has been represented.

I have a small cell on the master's side, as it is termed, and though the walls are of stone, the little window grated, and the door barred, I have no right to complain. I am far from harshly treated -- indeed, every comfort I choose to pay for is allowed me. Nor am I locked up in my cell, except at night.

A great stone hall is our place of resort during the day. There my brother officers assemble, and there we are served -- not with prison fare, as you may imagine -- but with as good provisions and as good wine as we could obtain at a tavern. For breakfast we have tea, coffee, or chocolate, according to choice -- roast beef or mutton for dinner -- claret or canary to wash it down -- and some of my companions regale themselves after supper with a bowl of punch. Smoking, also, is allowed, and indeed several of the prisoners have pipes in their mouths all day long. From the stone hall a passage communicates with a tap-room, where different beverages are sold. Here the common malefactors repair, but happily they are prevented from coming further. From what I have just stated you will infer that we are not in that part of the gaol appropriated to felons -- though we are stigmatised as the worst of criminals; but with a certain leniency, for which we ought to feel grateful, we have been placed among the debtors.