Three Treasures

by Jack Elwin

CHAPTER 9 NAT

  THERE WAS MORE shouting outside, and the corporal wanted to see what was happening, so he dragged me into the alcove where the window overlooked the main gate so that he could keep hold of me while he had a look. I could hear the portcullis being raised and the creak as the great doors were opened, and the clatter of hooves on the cobbles of the yard. Next moment the shouts turned to yells, bellows even—there were some clashes of swords and a pistol shot, then more horse-hooves galloping and entering the castle.

  ‘By God!’ the corporal exclaimed, ‘Lord help us, we’ve been betrayed!’

  He turned from the window in a fury and shook me violently.

  ‘What had you to do with this?’ he shouted furiously. He shook me again then stepped back and drew his dagger, and I felt my life at that moment was not worth a pin. Even if he was about to die at the hands of the enemy he would kill me first.

  ‘Behind you!’ I shouted, and as he glanced round I kicked him hard in the groin. He staggered back against the wall and I turned to run. But the other soldier was still there barring the door. I dashed behind the Governor’s table desperately trying to free my wrists, but they were too well tied. Then the corporal recovered and with a bellow of rage came towards me with his dagger. Feet were pounding up the stairs and as the corporal lunged at me I rolled under the table.

  ‘Stand where you are! Drop your weapons!’ someone shouted. Soldiers were crowding into the room and I heard the rasp of a sword being drawn. Then the corporal’s dagger clattered to the floor.

  ‘Take ’em down to the yard with the rest,’ someone ordered, and the corporal and (I suppose) the soldier from by the door were marched away.

  ‘What have we here?’ said the voice, and I saw a face looking at me under the table. ‘Come out, we won’t hurt you.’

  ‘Thank God you came when you did,’ I said as I rolled out and clambered to my feet. ‘These Roundheads made me a prisoner, and I would have been killed if you hadn’t come. Could you free me, please?’

  I turned to show my bound wrists, and the soldier—a sergeant —picked up the corporal’s dagger and cut the rope. As I rubbed my sore wrists where the rope had been too tight he ordered his men to search for any more Roundheads who might be lurking in other parts of the Castle. They moved off through the door which led to the Governor’s bedroom, and beyond to the upper gun platform.

  I began to thank the sergeant, but he interrupted.

  ‘You don’t look like a soldier. Who are you? Which side are you on?’

  ‘I’m an apothecary’—How many times had I had to say that in the last few hours!—‘The Roundheads captured me and said I was a spy. It isn’t true, but I tell you I would have died if you hadn’t come.’

  ‘I can’t stop now,’ he said. ‘The captain will have to decide what to do with you.’ He ran to follow his men through the door to the Governor’s bedroom, leaving me standing alone.

  You may be sure I didn’t wait long. I ran through the other door and down the stairs. I thought it might be possible for me to escape while there was still a lot of confusion.

  There were soldiers hurrying to and fro in the central hall, and I was just in time to see the tail end of a line of the sick men from the lower gun-room being hustled out towards the courtyard. No one stopped me, so I followed them, and when I came out into the yard I was astonished at the sight.

  The whole place seemed full of men and horses. The Roundhead garrison, including the Governor, were being assembled against one wall, and the sick men were at that moment being shepherded across to join them. They were allowed to sit on the ground while some of the Cavaliers stood guard over them. Most of the rest of the newcomers were milling around, slapping each other on the back and laughing as if they were drunk. Some pushed past me into the keep, and soon appeared leaning over the battlements and calling to their friends below.

  I could see that the gates had been closed again, so I would not be able just to slip out as I had hoped. So I thought then of my apothecary’s bag, which I had left in the cart when I was seized, and began to elbow my way towards it in the hope that it was still there. I had almost reached it when I was grabbed from both sides by a couple of soldiers.

  ‘Over here with the rest, you!’ one shouted in my ear, and they began to drag me through the crowd toward the other prisoners. But then above the din I heard a shout behind me: ‘Hey, you, apothecary, what are you doing here?’

  My captors allowed me to turn enough to see the speaker, a captain in breastplate and helmet. For a moment I did not recognise him in his armour.

  ‘Did you use the pass I gave you?’ he asked, and then I realised—it was Captain Masters.

  I shook the soldiers off and grasped his hand.

  ‘It was fine amongst your people,’ I said, ‘but then I was captured by the Roundheads, and nearly killed as a spy. Your men freed me in the nick of time, though these two seem to want me to be a prisoner again.’

  ‘You can let him be,’ he told them. ‘But what brings you here? You were looking for something, I seem to remember. A cart, wasn’t it? Did you find it?’

  ‘It’s right here,’ I said, wondering whether I was being unwise to tell him so much. But he had seemed ready to help before, so I hoped he might still do so.

  Another soldier pushed through the throng and spoke to the Captain, who turned back to me and said, ‘We need your services again, apothecary. One of my men has hurt himself.’

  I elbowed my way to the cart to pick up my bag, which to my relief had lain there undisturbed where I had left it, and followed the Captain through the crowd to the keep. We went across the hall to the kitchen, where lying on the floor was a soldier. He was groaning with pain while some of his friends stood around rather helplessly.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘He was coming through the door and didn’t notice the stairs,’ said one. ‘He tripped and fell over that scuttle.’

  ‘It’s my leg,’ said the hurt one. ‘I think it’s broken.’

  I knelt beside him and gently felt his left leg, and he gave a cry of pain. It was soon clear to me that he had broken his shin bone.

  ‘I need a splint and some bandages,’ I said. ‘Find me a sheet, or maybe a shirt would do.’

  Fortunately there was a load of wood there for the kitchen fire, from which I was able to find two pieces suitable for use as splints, and one of the soldiers found a sheet from which I tore strips to bind the leg. I was half way through doing so when I saw the rag still round the hurt one’s hand and realised who it was—none other than Dickon, whom I had bandaged in Melcombe the previous day.

  ‘You seem to get hurt rather often,’ I said. He only groaned but one of his mates said,

  ‘You’re right there, sir. Dickon could cut himself on a feather bed.’

  ‘Well, that will keep his leg in place for the moment,’ I said, standing up, ‘but he ought to be in the care of a surgeon. Is the one I saw at Sandsfoot with you?’

  ‘No,’ said the Captain, ‘we have no surgeon with us. Perhaps we had better send Dickon back to Weymouth.’

  ‘If you have a cart I could take him,’ I said.

  ‘A good idea,’ said the Captain, and I thought I saw a twinkle in his eye. ‘That green one out there, would it do?’

  ‘The one with yellow wheels?’ I said. ‘Excellent!’

  Some of the soldiers lifted Dickon onto a blanket and carried him through the hall and along the crooked passage to the yard. The Captain went ahead to clear the way, and they laid Dickon carefully in the cart. The Roundhead prisoners had disappeared.

  ‘Bluett, you go along with him to Weymouth and deliver him to the surgeon,’ the Captain ordered one of his men. ‘Fetch a horse from the stable there, and take Mr Apothecary along with you.’

  Soon one of the horses was harnessed and backed between the shafts. I climbed aboard with my bag, and the driver, Bluett, climbed up beside me and took the reins. The other soldiers drew back to let us pass, the ga
tes were opened, and we were away.

  We had not gone far before we overtook a melancholy procession of prisoners walking towards the ferry— Captain Arthur the Governor, the Sergeant, Corporal Heller who had tried to kill me, the sick men stumbling along and the rest of the Roundhead garrison. They stood at the side of the road to let us pass, and I heard someone—the harsh-voiced Corporal Heller, I think—call out, ‘Bloody cursed spy!’ and one of the guards told him to shut his mouth.

  But we soon left them behind, though I made the driver go more gently than he wanted. He seemed to have little sympathy for the hurt man behind us groaning at every jolt.

  ‘Dickon’s always getting himself hurt,’ he told me, ‘especially when there are dangerous duties to be done.’

  ‘That’s a lie, Nat, an’ you know it,’ cried Dickon. ‘Who’d want to break a leg to get out of guard duty?’

  ‘You, seem so,’ retorted Nat.

  ‘So your name is Nat Bluett?’ I said trying to keep the peace.

  ‘’s right,’ he said, ‘Nathaniel Bluett at your service, Nat to my mates.’

  I asked him where his home was, and he told me it was not all that far away, in fact on the eastern side of Dorsetshire.

  ‘It’s a village not far from Poole,’ he said, ‘Corfe Mullen—nice little place. I’ll settle down there when all these wars are over.’

  ‘What family have you got?’ I asked.

  ‘An old mother. She didn’t want me to join the army, but I wanted to go and see the world. And she’s got my brothers and sisters at home, so she’s being looked after all right.’

  We then talked about the capture of the Castle, and I asked him how it had come about.

  ‘Captain told us it was all the idea of a man called Bragge, Mr Richard Bragge, I think he is. He’s a gentleman, not a soldier, but it seems he knew the Castle Governor or some of the garrison. Anyway, they thought he was on their side, though he’s really on ours, and he had this scheme for capturing the place. Captain called us out and told us we were going to pretend to be Roundheads, so we mustn’t have anything about us that would give the game away, and show who we really were. We took some of the Roundhead colours we’d captured in Weymouth and set off across the water at low tide, about sixty of us there were. Then another lot formed up behind. We set off at a gallop and came up to the gate all in a panic as it were. It must have been quite a sight to see, with us rushing along waving our swords and shouting. Did you see us, sir?’

  ‘I’m sorry. Nat, but I didn’t. I was a prisoner accused of being a spy, so you came along just at the right moment, otherwise I’d probably be dead.’

  ‘That was lucky then. At all events, it was good to have a bit of action, instead of just hanging around and doing fatigues. So we came roaring up to the gate, with the other lot shouting and chasing us about half a mile behind. We called out to the sentries that we were reinforcements for the garrison, but were being chased by the Cavaliers, and (knowing Mr Bragge as they did) they believed us and opened up. Once inside we overpowered the guards and got into the keep, and then let the others, who had been pretending to chase us, come in too. It was really too easy!’

  ‘It was very neatly done,’ I said, ‘and with nobody hurt it was a marvellous victory.’

  ‘I was hurt,’ came Dickon’s voice from behind.

  ‘Yeah, but that was your own fault for not looking where you were sticking your big clumsy feet,’ said Nat.

  We reached the ferry, and called out several times until at last the ferryman came out of a hut on the far side and hauled the ferry across. It was quite tricky to get the horse and cart aboard, but Nat led the horse and I came behind to see that the cart wheels went where they should. Just as we were about to push off a horseman came galloping along from Portland, leapt off his horse and led it aboard. He was a junior officer, a Cornet, carrying news of the success of the assault to Prince Maurice, and so full of excitement that he told us all about his mission while we crossed the Fleet.

  Getting off onto firm ground at the far side was easier. Nat took us past the sentries without trouble, and while the Cornet cantered ahead we jolted more slowly along the rough track on the shore, with Dickon groaning more than ever in the back.

  ‘What will you do when we’ve left Dickon with the surgeon,’ I asked Nat.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘I suppose I’m meant to take the cart back to Portland.’

  ‘Not so,’ I said, ‘I’m to take it on to Dorchester.’

  ‘I hadn’t heard that,’ he objected. ‘I’ll have to ask an officer.’

  ‘Your home isn’t all that far away,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you take the chance of going to see your old mother and the rest of your family? It must be quite a time since you’ve seen them, and I’m sure they would love to see you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing them again. But I don’t know how I’d get there, and I don’t want to be hanged as a deserter.’

  ‘It wouldn’t take you long to walk,’ I said, ‘especially if you came part of the way with me. And you wouldn’t be a deserter, just visiting your mother for a day or two and then coming back. Provided you kept away from where the soldiers are you would have no trouble.’

  I could see he was tempted by the idea, and so I went on:

  ‘I’ll tell you what, you come with me half way to Dorchester, and if we meet any soldiers on the way we’ll vouch for each other. Then at the Ridgeway at the top of the hill you can bear off to the right, that’s eastwards and on the way to your home. That way you’ll avoid the garrisons both at Melcombe and Dorchester, and if you bear north of Wareham across the heath-land you’ll be safe enough and be home by tomorrow night. In fact you won’t have to walk more than twenty miles, I should think. You might manage to beg a lift with a carter or farmer for part of the way, and be home even sooner.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, and put his finger to his lips and jerked his head in the direction of Dickon. But we had been speaking quietly and he had been groaning loudly, so I don’t think he had overheard. However, it was clear that Nat did not want him to know that we had been discussing possible desertion, which encouraged me, for it made me think that Nat was seriously considering my suggestion. I hoped he would come with me part of the way for two reasons: I thought his presence would be some protection if other soldiers asked our business or tried to requisition the cart, and also I wanted to question him further about Sergeant Barnby.

  We climbed the steep little hill from the beach and reached the camp around Sandsfoot Castle. The Cornet’s news had spread rapidly, and soldiers came running up to us to hear more—exactly what had happened, who was hurt, and anything else we could tell them. Nat gave them an account much as he had to me, and there was much laughter as he described the astonishment of the guards as they were suddenly overpowered. I asked to be directed to the surgeon, and found his tent still in the same place at the end of a line. I got down, leaving Nat to hold the horse, and stuck my head through the tent door. There was the surgeon lying on his back as before, though this time he was reading a book.

  ‘Ha, the apothecary!’ he said when he saw me. ‘I thought we had lost you. Did you find what you were looking for?’

  ‘Yes, and a wounded soldier. Perhaps you could have a look at him.’

  He scrambled to his feet and came over to the cart.

  ‘What have we here?’ he said. ‘A broken leg? Did you bind this up? Good, good. I expect it will do.’

  ‘All the same you had better have a look at it,’ I said. ‘I had to make do with what was available, and may not have lined up the bones right. And anyway the poor chap has been so tossed about in the cart that his leg will probably need to be re-set.’

  ‘Come along with me then,’ he said, and led the way to a cottage which the army had taken over, and we lifted Dickon and laid him on a mattress on the floor. I left the surgeon attending to him and got back on the cart and took up the reins.

  ‘Are you
coming with me?’ I asked Nat, who was holding the horse’s head, ‘or are you going back to Portland?’

  ‘I’ll come with you for a bit,’ he said, ‘but we need a bite to eat first.’ And indeed I was feeling hungry, not having eaten since the previous evening. So Nat guided us to where a field kitchen had been set up. While he joined a line of soldiers who were about to be fed I found a trooper corporal who showed me where I could get food and water for the horse. After I had attended to his needs I hitched the reins to a post, and managed to get some food for myself—a slab of coarse bread and a ladle of stew, which I was able to have in a bowl I borrowed from a soldier who had just finished his meal.

  I kept a wary eye on the horse and cart, and was worried all the time we were with the soldiers that some officer or sergeant might come and requisition it again for army service. Indeed, I had just finished my stew and returned the bowl to the soldier with my thanks, when I saw a sergeant stop by the cart as if he was considering using it. I stepped over to him at once.

  ‘This cart has already been taken,’ I said. ‘It’s ordered down to the town right away.’ I did not of course tell him that the order came from me.

  ‘Damnation!’ he said crossly, ‘well, when it comes back I shall have a job for it.’

  I called Nat, and we were soon clattering down into Weymouth. There we had to cross the River Wey by the drawbridge. Another lot of soldiers were manning the guard-post where I had first met Dickon, but Nat showed his usefulness by getting us through without trouble.

  ‘All right, mates,’ he called, ‘picking up supplies for the camp—be back soon,’ and they waved us past.

  We went through Melcombe, and turned away from the sea on the Dorchester road. Nat might have tried heading directly for his home by the track along the beach and on through Osmington, but I suspect he did not know his way about as well as I did, and I was not going to tell him, for I wanted him to come further with me. In truth on that road he might have been stopped by sentries on the outskirts of the town, or caught by a patrol and punished as a deserter, so I was not doing him a disservice, for if he came with me to the Ridgeway he would probably be safer. In any case, I don’t think he had quite made up his mind what to do.

  I thought we might be stopped on the edge of the town on the Dorchester road, but together we were more likely to get through safely, for I could provide an excuse for us to be leaving, while Nat would be the guarantee that we would come back.

  And that is roughly what happened. We reached the guard-post a little to the north of the town, and a soldier stepped into the road to stop us.

  ‘We’re going to get supplies,’ said Nat. ‘I’m taking the doctor to fetch medicines.’

  ‘Where’s your pass?’ demanded the soldier.

  I still had Captain Masters’ unofficial pass in my pocket, now somewhat scrumpled. I pulled it out and waved it in front of the soldier, who probably couldn’t read anyway.

  ‘We didn’t have time to get a proper pass,’ I said, ‘but Captain Masters wrote this out for me.’

  Nat backed me up by saying, ‘I’m in charge of ‘im, Johnny boy, so don’t you worry.’

  ‘Who are you, calling me Johnny boy?’ said the soldier.

  ‘Nat Bluett, don’t you remember me? ’Twas the night Sergeant Barnby got himself drowned.’

  ‘Oh, the Blue Anchor, yeah, yeah, all right, see you then,’—and he let us pass.

  ‘Lucky I remembered ’im,’ said Nat, ‘but I’m surprised he remembered anything about that night, ’cause he was as drunk as a newt.’

  ‘That Sergeant Barnby,’ I said, ‘you were in his troop all along, weren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right, from the time I joined up. He wasn’t a bad sort really, but a bit mean.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, if he had a bit o’ luck he wouldn’t share it, not like some sergeants might, kept it to himself. In fact when we divided up his stuff after he was drownded I was surprised he hadn’t got more.’

  ‘Yes, it is very surprising,’ I said, ‘specially as I happen to know he got a good haul in Dorchester before he left.’

  ‘Yeah, Dickon told me he saw the sergeant pick a bag o’ something there from under a bed. Gold, Dickon thought. But what he can have done with it I can’t imagine. He must ha’ lost it I reckon,’ said Nat.

  ‘Did you stop anywhere on the way where he could have left it? Did he visit any house or have a private talk with a stranger, or anything like that?’

  ‘Not that I know of. He was with us all the time. But if he did have a bit o’ luck in Dorchester it would explain why he seemed more cheerful than usual as we marched out. I heard him humming to himself, which I never heard before. But then, if he’d lost whatever it was, would he ha’ been happy? I dunno.’

  ‘So you marched out from Dorchester and bivouacked in a field, I think I heard?’

  ‘That’s right, in the shelter of a big stone wall. I can show you the very place when we get there. It’s just beyond the top o’ the hill.’

  ‘Could your sergeant have hidden anything in the field do you think?’

  ‘I don’t see how. There was nowhere he could have hidden anything, and as I said, we were with him.’

  This was puzzling. The sergeant had certainly had Mr Whittle’s money in Dorchester, and almost certainly still had it when he left, yet he had apparently not got it when he drowned at Weymouth next day. So either he had managed to hide it in Melcombe or Weymouth, which seemed unlikely, seeing that he was a stranger arriving in towns he did not know, or he had managed to leave it somewhere on the way, no doubt hoping to recover it at a later date. But the only place he had stopped was this field at the top of the hill, so that seemed worth examining.

  It was mid afternoon when we reached the hill, and got off the cart to ease the load for the horse pulling it up the steep road. At the top we got back on, and after a few more yards came to the Ridgeway which stretched away at each side of our road.

  ‘There’s the wall,’ said Nat pointing to the left, ‘we were just in the lee of it.’

  There were in fact two walls, one on each side of the Ridgeway at this point. Nat was pointing at the one on the north (or Dorchester) side, which separated the Ridgeway from the wide expanse of grassland that stretched far away down a gentle slope and over a distant rise. Somewhere beyond there down in the valley was the village of Monkton, and further still I could just make out some of the buildings in Dorchester. But as I looked around my heart sank a little, for though I did not really expect to find Mr Whittle’s treasure, it would have been good to try, but now I saw how hopeless it would be. Beside the road there were also two or three thickets mainly of low thorn bushes, with a few other stunted trees, which might have provided the Sergeant with a hiding place, though one of the walls seemed more likely. But if he had hidden it in a wall, he had probably put it behind one of the stones, and only he would have been able to find it again.

  We had stopped the cart while we looked, but now I said, ‘Well, Nat, this is where we must part, unless you want to come all the way to Dorchester with me.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘I will go home for a day or two, and I’ll ride the horse—you can keep the cart.’

  ‘How will I get home then?’ I asked.

  ‘You can walk,’ he laughed. ‘It’s not so far for you as it is for me.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I protested, ‘our agreement was that I would bring you to the Ridgeway here, so that you could then go safely on your way. If you follow the Ridgeway till you reach the highroad you can’t go wrong, and I’ll give you enough for your night’s lodging. Or you can change your mind and go back to Weymouth.’

  ‘I’m riding,’ he swore, and drew a knife from his belt.

  I lurched away from him and slid to the ground, and ran to hold the horse. Nat got down more slowly and came along on the other side. He held the knife with his teeth while he tried to unbuckle the harness, and I gave the horse a slap on its rump.
The cart jerked forward, knocking Nat sideways so that he fell to the ground and was almost run over, and the knife flew from his mouth. Before he could pick it up I dashed past the tail of the cart and threw myself on him. We struggled in the dust, while the cart trundled on down the hill towards Dorchester.

  Nat was stronger than I, but I was more agile, so it was a fairly equal contest. Yet his superior strength was winning, but as he almost succeeded in turning me onto my back under him I managed to roll clear, and leaping to my feet kicked the knife into the long grass and began to run after the cart.

  I could hear Nat pounding along after me, but did not dare to look back. And here my ability to run fast saved me, for I overtook the cart, grabbed the tailboard and hauled myself over it. Then, grabbing the reins which lay loose in the bottom, I urged the horse onward. But Nat was gaining on us, so I shook the reins and shouted at the horse, and at last he began to gallop. The cart creaked and bounced about on the rough chalk road, and I let the reins go slack and held on desperately trying not to be thrown out. But when I glanced back I saw that Nat had given up the race, and was standing shaking his fist at me.

  Silly man, I thought, I would have given him the price of a night’s lodging, but now he’ll have to sleep under a hedge, unless he walks back to join his troop. If he did decide to make for his home at Corfe Mullen, I had no doubt that he would be able to beg a crust here and there, and these August nights were mild if he had to sleep in the open.