by Jack Elwin
CHAPTER 3 LOSSES
WE DID NOT have long to worry. The very next day, Wednesday, August 2nd, the Earl of Carnarvon came riding up to the East Gate with a regiment of cavalry and demanded entry. I hurried down to find out what was happening, and was just in time to see the Mayor and two of the Council go out of the postern to meet him. After half an hour of so they came back, smiling and calling out, ‘Be of good cheer, citizens. The Earl has agreed not to harm us. We will open the gates to him, and he has promised there will be no violence or pillage. In return we must be careful not to give him or his men any cause for complaint.’
Most of the crowd who had gathered received this news in silence, but two or three Royalist supporters raised a ragged cheer. Then the gates were opened and the Earl rode in at the head of his men. He had an oval aristocratic face, with a thin slightly hooked nose and a long moustache which turned up at the ends, and dark serious eyes. His long hair flowed behind over his wide lace collar, which hid the top of his breastplate.
He rode on up through the town, and stopped at the Earl of Bedford’s house.
‘I shall lodge here,’ he said to the Mayor, ‘See that my men are provided for.’
Then began a hurrying and bustling, with some cries of protest and shouted orders, as the soldiers were billeted around the town. I counted myself lucky that our part of Durn Lane was missed out on this occasion, though later in the wars Agnes and I had more than once to put up soldiers in our home.
But what a change had come over the town! There was something of a festive air, because the relief that we had escaped the horrors of a siege and sack was so great that we almost forgot the shame of having given in so feebly. I think many folk had mixed feelings; I certainly did. I was greatly relieved to be alive and at peace, yet ashamed of my relief. And I still had an ache in my heart with the feeling of betrayal, of having been deserted by those who ought to have been our leaders, particularly at Mr White’s going.
The demoralised and mutinous soldiers who had been supposed to defend us meekly surrendered too, or ran away without firing a shot. Some of them fled into the surrounding countryside or over the hill to Weymouth. Some who stayed changed sides and joined the Royalists.
And where was the Parliamentary commander, Sir Walter Erle, while all this was going on? He was still trying to capture Corfe Castle with the soldiers who might have been manning our walls. But very soon we heard that he too had fled from there by sea, leaving the eldest of the Sydenham brothers, William, in command. But only a couple of days after Lord Carnarvon entered Dorchester, Sydenham also abandoned Corfe and fled, leaving his cannon, many of his men and over a hundred horses. People said that he ran away so quickly he even left his dinner half eaten on the table!
I tried to go back to work, but found my churning thoughts made that impossible. I wanted to be quiet, so I locked the doors and put up the shutters. I could not yet discuss my confused feelings with Agnes, but sat in my shop with my head in my hands.
After a time I was able to think more clearly. I pictured what might have happened if we had endured a siege. I thought of the food running short, and seeing the people I most loved fading away with hunger. I even forced myself to imagine Cavaliers bursting into our home and raping my wife and dashing out little Mark’s brains with the butt of a musket. I must be entirely relieved that we had not had to bear such terrible things.
And yet... and yet... We had been so keyed up, so encouraged by Mr White and other leading townsmen to consider ourselves God’s own people, put here in Dorchester to maintain His light in the world, to be an example to the whole of England. Had we but kept up our courage we might have seen the enemy retreat; we might even now be celebrating a famous victory.
And how would I have behaved in battle? Would I have been as brave as I hoped I would be, facing cold steel and flying bullets? Now I would never know. I felt a sort of regret that I had not been put to the test.
At last common sense prevailed, and I told myself not to be foolish, but to be glad I and my family were alive, safe and well fed. At that I rose and went in to where Agnes was sitting in the parlour sewing.
‘Is something the matter, Micah dear?’ she asked.
‘Not now, my darling. I needed to be quiet for a little and to think over what has happened.’
I took up a piece of wood I had begun to carve. I was trying to make a toy horse for Mark. It was a roughly made little little thing, but it helped further to steady my mind.
After we had sat in companionable silence for some time Agnes touched my arm.
‘You’re sad, dear, aren’t you, because we didn’t fight. But for Mark’s sake I’m glad we didn’t. I’m truly relieved that if the Cavaliers had to capture Dorchester they’ve done so without violence.’
‘Yes, my darling, I’m glad of that too.’
But our relief was premature.
Next day Prince Maurice arrived, coming along the road from Blandford with an army of horse and foot. He and his brother Prince Rupert were sons of the King’s sister, the exiled Queen of Bohemia. They had been hardened to warfare on the continent, and already both had a reputation for ruthlessness.
The first I knew of his arrival was a sound of shouting and of women screaming down the bottom end of town. I ran down Durn Lane and to the left as far as the High Street, but there I paused and shrank back into the side road. Soldiers seemed to be swarming everywhere down near East Gate, and a young man in armour on horseback was waving his sword and shouting, ‘Have at them, Puritan dogs!’
People were running to get away, others were trying to defend their property. I saw two soldiers dragging some rich hangings out of a house. A man who tried to stop them was knocked to the ground. Then a group of men came hurrying past me down the hill, and I recognised the Earl of Carnarvon attended by some of his staff. He was on foot, which put him at a disadvantage, but he and his men pushed through to where the young man was still on his horse watching the soldiers pillaging.
‘Sir,’ called Carnarvon, ‘what are you about? I have taken surrender of this town and agreed terms. There is to be no pillage or violence.’
‘Sir,’ retorted the young man, with a toss of his long black curls, ‘I have not agreed terms. This is the most malignant town in the kingdom, and by God they shall suffer for it!’
‘No sir, by your leave,’ said Carnarvon. ‘I have pledged my word that they shall not be harmed.’
‘But I have not,’ said the other scornfully. ‘Come on, my lads, teach these traitorous dogs a lesson.’
‘By the Lord, sir,’ said Carnarvon, raising his voice, ‘this is against all the laws of war.’
But the Prince ignored him and turned his horse away. Carnarvon looked as if he would burst with fury, stamped his foot and marched away back up the hill. Perhaps his protest had some effect however, as although a number of houses were broken into and pillaged, and anybody who protested was roughed up, no one was killed. Indeed, some parts of the town escaped altogether. Again, I was lucky, for I had hurried back to try to preserve my property, and was standing in the doorway of my shop when three soldiers came lurching up the lane. The right hand of the leading one was bleeding.Before they could break in or do harm I called to him, ‘Hey man, would you like me to bind that up? I’m an apothecary and have salves which will put you right.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said, ‘’tis from a cursed bottle.’ He was a little tipsy.
‘Sit down,’ I said, placing my three-legged stool for him outside the door. ‘And you support him,’ I said to his companions, for though he did not really need their help I wanted at all costs to keep them from entering the shop. Hastily I went in and picked up a bandage and a pot of my juice of betony ointment, then hurried out to them. I cleaned the wound, which certainly needed attention, as it was a jagged tear and still dripping blood onto the ground. I applied some ointment and tied the bandage, and had almost finished when another group of soldiers came up the lane and stopped to see what I was doing.
‘Do any of you have hurts?’ I asked. ‘If so, I may be able to help you.’
‘Show him, Wally,’ said one of the newcomers, and his friend turned so that I could see a ghastly livid scar newly healed and running up the right side of his face from his chin to the roots of his hair.
‘Cover that if you can,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry, friend,’ I said, ‘I can deal with fresh wounds, some of them, but the scars remain. But see,’ I said to the one I had bandaged, ‘the bleeding’s stopped and you’ll soon be right again.’
Somewhat to my surprise he and his friends thanked me heartily, then followed the others up the street, thumping on a few doors and smashing a window or two, but not bothering to break into the houses. Perhaps our houses in Durn Lane did not look rich enough to make pillage worth while. At all events, I felt I had had a fortunate escape, and thanked God I had a skill which could sometimes turn away the wrath of the soldiery.
At last the noise and mayhem died down. Groups of drunken soldiers staggered away singing rude Cavalier songs, and an uneasy peace prevailed.
Next morning I saw Tom Hartley outside his house.
‘What news?’ I asked.
‘Only that Lord Carnarvon’s gone.’
‘Gone? Where?’
‘They’re saying in the High Street that he’s resigned his command in protest at what Prince Maurice let his soldiers do yesterday.’
‘He’s a man of principle,’ I said. ‘After all, the Prince was going quite against the terms Carnarvon had agreed with us. But he’s leaving us to the Prince’s tender mercies! Where’s he gone?’
‘He’s just ridden off, God knows where.’
‘Perhaps he’s going to protest to the King.’
‘I just hope so,’ said Tom. ‘But like you I’m worried what the Prince will let his soldiers do. Without Lord Carnarvon to keep a check on him none of us will be safe.’
That was what most of us felt, I think, and I for one tried to arrange my work so that I did not have to leave home that day. But about midday I had to take a tonic (a preparation of dandelion) to a sick woman who lived near the Shambles, a few doors down from Mr White’s house. I could see piles of bedding and some bits of furniture in the roadway outside, and after I had delivered the tonic I went a little further to see what had been happening. Several books lay in the gutter and some loose pages were fluttering in the breeze. The windows of his house were broken and the door was half off its hinges.
Mr White’s servant-maid looked out of a window.
‘Oh Mr Judd,’ she said, ‘whatever shall I do? They’ve been through the house breaking and tearing. And the books—Mr White’s library that was so important to him—they’ve stripped it. That Prince Maurice himself came and told them to take the books away. It’ll break Mr White’s heart, it will.’
‘He’s all right—he got away,’ I said, for I still felt angry with him. But when I saw the special violence his house had been made to suffer I supposed he had had some excuse. Although he had never preached rebellion against the King, he had opposed the King’s wishes and Archbishop Laud’s orders for the church, and the Cavaliers seemed to regard him as one of the chief trouble-makers in the kingdom. Grudgingly I had to admit that he would be of more use to Parliament free in London than in prison or dead. I was glad, at least, that we had protected him from harm while he was among us.
On my way home I saw something was happening towards South Gate, and went a little way to see. A general movement of soldiers was taking place towards the Gate and the leading horsemen were already streaming out under the gateway, their helmets and breastplates gleaming in the sunlight. Then followed the foot-soldiers, the musketeers with their heavy guns borne on their shoulders parallel to the ground, their little powder flasks bobbing about across their chests. Then there were the pikemen, their eighteen-foot shafts also borne balanced on their shoulders, the ends bouncing up and down as they marched, each rank a long way from the next so that their weapons did not get entangled with each other. Some cannon were dragged along by teams of oxen, and there were waggons, mostly also drawn by oxen, though some by horses, laden with tents and baggage and ammunition and all the hundred and one things an army needs. There were some women with the waggons, wives and harlots and camp-followers. Lastly came the rear-guard of musketeers and horsemen, gradually fading into the distance towards Weymouth. It was quite late in the afternoon by the time the last of them had left. Prince Maurice and his men had only spent one night in Dorchester, but what a lot of harm they had wreaked in that time!
It was surprising how quickly the rich citizens who had gone to their country houses when the armies were approaching began to come back now they were leaving. I spent most of the afternoon at my shop, but stepped out to watch the rear-guard marching off. On my way home I caught sight of Nicholas Dashwood riding past, and wondered to myself how he would excuse himself to Elizabeth for leaving her to face all these dangers without him. At least he must have started back before he knew the soldiers were leaving. But probably a young man like that would see no necessity to excuse himself. After all his father had left Mrs Dashwood similarly, and I suppose they could have pointed to much more famous examples, like that of Sir John Bankes leaving his Lady to defend Corfe Castle. But he at anyrate had gone to fight for his King, while the Dashwoods and their like had only been intent on saving their own skins and possessions.
Later, when I was about to close my shop, Mr Whittle came to me in great distress.
‘Oh, Mr Judd, Micah, whatever shall I do?’ he said. ‘What I feared has come to pass. Oh, Micah, Micah, what shall I do?’
‘Come in, Mr Whittle, and tell me all about it.’
I took him into the parlour and gave him a drink, and he sat for a moment looking shocked and miserable.
‘Now, what is the trouble, Mr Whittle?’ I asked.
‘It’s my money, my savings, all I had put by for Elizabeth’s dowry, it’s been taken. Whatever can I do? All the money I had been saving for my old age has gone, and so has all the dowry that would have set up Elizabeth in the way she deserves. All gone in a moment. A soldier found where I had hidden it and took the lot.’
‘What happened? Where had you put it?’
‘It was in a box under my bed, hidden by other boxes and a blanket. But the soldiers came this morning—I thought they had done all the pillaging they were going to do yesterday, but oh no, they came this morning, broke into my house, stripped the bed and stole the bedding. Then one of them looked under the bed and found the box. It was a sergeant—I even know his name, because they called him Sergeant Barnby: “Sergeant Barnby, what have you got there?”, “Sergeant Barnby, you’ve got a good haul”—and indeed he had, for he’d taken all my savings. Oh whatever shall I do?’
‘I am sorry,’ I said, ‘but in time you will be able to put by some more and replace what you’ve lost. You may thank God your daughter’s betrothed to a rich young man. She, at anyrate, will be well provided for.’
‘But will he have her without the dowry? Oh dear oh dear, I’m afraid the Dashwoods may not want her now.’
‘That will surely depend on how much Nicholas values her for herself apart from money,’ I said. ‘But did you lose much else? Did the soldiers do much damage in your house?’
‘Some, with their banging about the place, but I suppose not much considering what they might have done. Once the sergeant had found my box he ran out followed by his men. But what shall I do? Whatever shall I do?’
‘Well, Mr Whittle, there’s not much anybody can do. I suppose your Sergeant Barnby will have gone to Weymouth with the rest of the Prince’s army, and where they’ll go after that, heaven knows. But he’s probably spent it or gambled most of your money away by now.’
‘What! that amount! My life’s savings!’
‘I’m afraid so, Nathan,’ I said, for there was no sense in holding out false hopes. ‘Soldiers don’t keep what they get. They spend it, wager it, give it to their friends or e
ven throw it away. After all, they know they must eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow they may die. And it’s no good appealing to the Prince, for it’s because he encouraged his troops to rampage that you lost the money in the first place. It’s hard, I know, very hard to have lost so much. But it might have been worse.’
‘I suppose so,’ he said gloomily.
‘Oh come now,’ I said, ‘you might have had all your furniture broken or stolen, or all your windows smashed, like some of those poor folk down near East Gate. They might have wrecked your shop and taken all your stock. You might even have been killed. But as it is you’ve still got your business and your home, and will, I’m sure, be able to build up your savings again.’
‘Yes,’ he said, still very gloomily, ‘I know it might have been worse. But it’s not so much for myself I’m upset as for my daughter. I had fixed my heart on making a good match for Elizabeth, and now I don’t know how to face Mr Dashwood and tell him I can’t give a dowry with her.’
‘All may yet turn out well,’ I said. ‘I daresay they have had losses too, and will be able to feel for you and be prepared to face a little hardship together with you.
‘I do hope you’re right, Mr Judd, I do indeed.’
He rose to his feet and shook my hand and stumped off, and left me feeling that, though I had perhaps helped him to see things more calmly, he wasn’t much comforted.
A small garrison of Cavalier troops had been left to keep Dorchester in order, and indeed the town was in danger of tearing itself apart. Those of Cavalier sympathies, who had had to keep quiet while the Roundheads were in control, began strutting about and mocking the supporters of Parliament, who slunk around with grim faces longing to get their own back. The poorer people were still facing near starvation, in spite of the Mayor’s assurances at the time of the riot. Food was still expensive and their pinched faces and downcast looks showed how some of them were suffering actual hunger.
People whose houses had been broken into and pillaged also looked askance at those of us who had escaped, and for a few days I tried to avoid them by not going to the lower end of town where most of the damage had been done.
The day after the soldiers had marched out I had another visitor distressed about lost treasure. Mr Lawrence Huatt came into my shop and sat down heavily on my stool.
‘Mr Judd, Mr Judd, I’m ruined,’ he said. ‘All my savings for my old age—gone. The Lord’s hand has been heavy upon me.’
‘Why, Mr Huatt,’ I said, ‘whatever’s happened? Didn’t you take them to your brother-in-law?
‘I did, I did, the more fool me! Why did I trust them to a godless man like Perrin? But I never thought the soldiers would go to a little place like Monkton, and if they did I thought he’d keep all safe.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I went there yesterday evening, after the Prince’s troops had gone away, to make sure that my treasures were safe, and what do I find?—Jacob Perrin says they’re lost, taken by soldiers. That’s what he says.’
‘Don’t you believe him?’
‘I don’t know what to think. The Lord knows I’ve always treated him fairly as if he were my own brother, for my Anne’s sister Joan was set on marrying him, though their father was against the match.’
‘And Joan is dead, I think you told me?’
‘Yes, she died, four—five years ago, and the babe was lost too. Jacob has lived on his own since then, with not even a woman to come in by the day to clean or cook. He’s a secretive chap, but seems to make a fair living, though how he manages with a run down little farm like he’s got there I don’t know. I thought he was honest, or I wouldn’t have trusted him with my treasures, but now...’ He paused.
‘Do you think he’s stolen your money?’
‘I tell you I don’t know what to think. I doubt whether there were any soldiers in Monkton. I didn’t see any sign of them, and it’s well away from the Weymouth road—there’s no reason why they should have gone there. I didn’t see any broken windows or smashed doors or bedding strewn about, nothing like what we’ve seen in town here. I didn’t ask anybody else there, but judging by the look of the place I would say Perrin made it up about the soldiers.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? How easy, when he had possession of my treasure, just to pretend the soldiers had stolen it. It’s probably still on his farm somewhere, and he’s likely laughing up his sleeve at me.’
‘That’s a very serious accusation to make,’ I said. ‘You really ought to have firmer grounds for suspecting him. Has he ever tried to cheat you in the past?’
‘Not as far as I know, but that could be because I haven’t found out. Is he not well called Jacob, and wasn’t Jacob the son of Isaac who cheated his brother? Doesn’t his very name mean a trickster and a cheat? The whole thing is strange, it doesn’t add up.’
‘Other people have been robbed by the soldiers,’ I reminded him.
‘But they didn’t take his stuff. Oh, I know he said they’d taken some of his farm things, his cart or waggon, I think he said. But the money he had hidden—I asked him how much treasure he had lost, and he said, “Thank God they didn’t find it”. “Thank God” indeed! If they didn’t find his treasure, why did they find mine. Wouldn’t he have hidden them in the same place? It doesn’t ring true.’
‘Did you ask him how it was they took yours and not his?’
‘Of course I did, and he said he put them in different places so that if one was discovered all wouldn’t be lost. So why was mine taken while his wasn’t, can you tell me that?’
‘Where had he hidden yours, did he show you?’
‘That’s another suspicious thing. He said he’d put mine in the barn, but when I asked exactly where he didn’t show me. He just said the soldiers had turned the whole place over, and there was nothing to see. So, Lord help me, I can’t help thinking he’s taken it himself.’
‘I suppose he might have done,’ I said. ‘Not knowing the man I can’t say. But you could easily find out if soldiers really ransacked the village or not.’
‘I wonder,’ he said after a pause, ‘Micah, would you do something for me. I would make it worth your while.’
‘What is it?’ I said. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Would you go to Monkton? You could ask the villagers and find out about the soldiers. If they weren’t there you could let me know and I’ll take Perrin to court—as God is my witness I will. But even if they were there I would be glad if you would go and speak to him, for he still could have taken my stuff himself. I can’t go, it wouldn’t do any good, because we parted on such bad terms. I fear I would lose my temper and knock him down, and then he wouldn’t tell me a thing. But he might talk to you. You could say I’ve asked you to see if you can trace what soldiers they were. You could ask which company they belonged to. If they really were there it might be possible to track them down and lodge a complaint. I’ll pay you for your time and trouble, for though I may be wasting some of the little I still have, I can’t bear to go on harbouring suspicions and not being sure. I’d rather know Perrin was a thief, or be certain that he’s told the truth.’
‘You may never know for certain,’ I said. ‘Even if I do what you ask, there may be no real evidence, apart from what Mr Perrin says. But at least I can find out if the soldiers were there.’
‘Then you’ll go?’ he said eagerly.
‘All right, Mr Huatt, I will go. I could walk out there tomorrow afternoon, I think. But don’t hope for too much from that. It might help if you wrote a little note for me to take to Mr Perrin, to confirm that you’ve asked me to make some enquiries.
‘I’ll write a note by all means,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think Jacob Perrin can read.’
‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘write the note anyway for me to show him, and I daresay he will recognise the hand even if he can’t read the words.’
He wrote the note there and then, shook my hand heartily, and left m
ore cheerfully than he had come. I wasn’t displeased to help, especially as my business was still rather slack and he would pay me. Also, I thought, I can make myself known as an apothecary as I go round Monkton, and perhaps gain more customers, and maybe on the way call upon Josias Whiteway, the gardener who supplies some of my medicinal plants.
Towards the end of the morning someone else in distress came to see me: Elizabeth Whittle slipped quietly into my shop. I was balanced on my chair counting some empty phials on an upper shelf when I heard a slight noise, and turning saw her standing there just inside the door. She looked as if she had been crying.
‘Why, Mistress Whittle,’ I said, getting down from the chair, ‘whatever is the matter?’
‘Oh Mr Judd, I’m so unhappy, I don’t know what I shall do.’
‘Can you tell me what the trouble is?’
‘It’s Mr Dashwood—Nicholas. I thought he truly cared for me, and wanted to marry me because he wanted me as his wife. But now...’ she broke off.
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘I was so glad to see him after we had been so frightened by the soldiers, and with father so upset and all. When Nicholas came to see me he asked if we had lost anything, and... and I told him about father’s money and the sergeant finding it, and he said... he said...’ she sobbed.
‘Yes?’
‘He said he wouldn’t marry a penniless shopkeeper’s daughter. Father isn’t penniless. He’s lost his savings, I know, and the money he had set apart for my dowry. But he’s still got his business. People always need gloves. In time he could get the money together again, I know he could. But Nicholas says he can’t wait. He doesn’t want me.’
‘Would you want to marry someone who simply wanted your money?’ I asked.
‘No, but I thought he truly wanted me. I know father arranged it all with Nicholas’s father, but I thought Nicholas himself was really pleased with me and that we would grow to love each other.’
‘Did you really think that a man like Nicholas Dashwood would make you happy?’
‘I don’t know. He sometimes said hurtful things.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘But girls don’t have much choice. Father had set his heart on it, and I suppose I tried to hope for the best. But I did think Nicholas cared for me.’
‘Well, now you know the truth,’ I said gently, ‘and in the long run it’s best to know how things really stand. In my opinion you’ve had a lucky escape from a match that would probably have given you much pain, so a little pain now will prove a blessing.’
I know my words sounded unfeeling, but I thought she needed to face the truth. I also suspected her grief was due as much to her wounded pride, because she had been accounted of no value, as to disappointed love.
She stared wide-eyed at me for a moment, then looked at the ground and said, ‘Is that really true?’
‘I believe it is. You are a very lovely girl, Mistress Whittle, and will have other young men, far more deserving, who will love you truly. In fact I know of one already.’
‘I suppose you mean Denis Faire. I know, he—he has made it clear that he cares for me, but while I was betrothed to Nicholas I tried to put Denis out of my mind.’
‘And now...?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose he could be a person I could love. But father would never allow it. He says Mr Faire is a nobody. You see, Father is determined that I shall make what he calls a good match.’
‘Well, come what may, I’m sure you can achieve that,’ I said with a smile. ‘But I hope your father will remember that he started off as poor as Denis, and that Denis may end up as rich or richer than he.’
She gave me back a little smile, and said,
‘I like Mr Faire, what I’ve seen of him, which isn’t much, for father has forbidden him to speak to me. I know father is doing what he thinks is best for me, but I do wish he wasn’t so eager for me to go up in the world.’
‘Losing your dowry may be the best thing that could have happened to you if it frees you from that.’
‘Or it may make father work all the harder to marry me off to a gentleman.’
‘Yes, that’s possible,’ I agreed, ‘but then it will be all the more important that you are firm to follow your heart as well as your mind.’
She was quiet for a moment, then gave me another shy smile.
‘Thank you for listening,’ she said. ‘I feel better for talking to you. Goodbye, Mr Judd.’
She turned and left, and I sincerely hoped that even if her father would not consider Denis Faire, he would at least make a better choice for his daughter than a man like Nicholas Dashwood.
Little did I imagine then how the Dashwoods were to affect my life, and nearly cause my death.
