XXXVIII
Of the Surrender of Pontefract Castle
So Dennis Watson had escaped me, and there was naught for it but to wait with what patience I could for some future opportunity of settling matters with him. We left the wretched old man his father to the care of his own people, and returned to Dale’s Field. Until that moment our recent adventures had not brought me any feeling of fatigue, for I had thought of naught but punishing my enemy, but when we found Dennis flown beyond our immediate reach, a reaction came over me, and I was glad to get home and into my bed, where I slept as soundly as a bear in winter.
It was now the first day of June, and we had been away from the castle four days. During our absence no news had come to Dale’s Field of any change in the position of affairs, only, said Jacob Trusty, who took a keen interest in the siege, the cannonading had been much more vigorous than previously. We were not inclined to remain longer away from the scene of hostilities than we could help, and we therefore determined to make an attempt to pass the enemy’s lines that night. We passed the day at Dale’s Field, resting after our exertions, and receiving many messages from my mother and Lucy for Ben Tuckett, who they imagined must by that time have suffered exceedingly from his long privation. Also in the afternoon of that day I went round my farm with Rose, whom until then I had not seen for a long time, and did not know when I should see again.
We left Dale’s Field after dark, and pushed on towards Pontefract, hearing now and then the sound of a solitary gun fired by besiegers or besieged. It was no easy matter to pass the enemy’s lines, for they had begun to keep a very zealous watch; but by the exercise of care and patience we eluded their vigilance, and were admitted to the Castle again about an hour before midnight. Then we learned that the Governor had that day received letters from Sir Marmaduke Langdale to the effect that the King’s forces had been successful at Derby, and that success was everywhere attending the royal arms. This joyful news had raised the spirits of the garrison to a high degree, for now there was good hope of his Majesty’s coming to sweep away the Roundheads and raise the siege.
To no one was this prospect more grateful than to Ben Tuckett, whom I perceived to have grown at least two inches less in girth since I had left him, notwithstanding the fact that there was now plenty of fresh meat in the Castle. The fact was, poor Ben was beginning to feel the effect of the confinement, and he was also pining for a sight of his sweetheart. He was in a very dolorous mood when we found him, in spite of the good news from Derby.
“Thou hast been to Dale’s Field, Will?” said he, having heard all we had to tell him concerning our adventures.
“Indeed we have, Ben. We lay there last night, and passed the day there into the bargain.”
“Ah!” said he, sighing deeply, “it must have been exceeding pleasant. Did they speak of me at all, Will?”
“There was a time, Ben, when they spoke of naught else. I am charged with a thousand messages for thee, only the mischief is that I have forgotten them. I remember that Lucy sent thee her dearest love and duty, and my mother bade me tell thee to mind and not take a chill after thou hast gotten warm with fighting, but what else they said I cannot now think of. However, thou canst imagine it all.”
“ ’Tis very kind of them,” he answered, “very kind indeed to remember such an unfortunate mortal. Do not forget to tell them that I always thought of them, Will.”
“ ’Od’s mercy, Jack!” said I, “what is he talking about? One might suppose he was going to die before ever he got out of the Castle.”
“And what have I to live for?” groaned Ben. “I am a ruined man. Alas! thou knowest not what terrible things have happened since you and Master Lisle there rode away.”
“Nay,” said Philip, “we have heard of naught particular.”
“ ’Twas but day before yesterday,” said Ben, “the Roundheads went up town and occupied my house in the Marketplace. You must know, gentlemen, that I have always kept an eye on my house, having gone up to the Round Tower three or four times a day to see if it still stood. Well, ’twas bad enough for these rogues to go and occupy my house, for between you and me I had hidden a pretty stock of goods in it before I fled to the Castle, hoping they would not be found until the siege was over, but what was my horror to find that our gunners were playing the cannon from the Swillington Tower full upon it! Yea, and continued to do so in spite of my prayers and admonitions, saying that they cared not whose house it was as long as they drove the Roundheads out of it. And now my house is a ruin, and as for the goods that I had hidden—”
“Never mind, Ben,” said I; “you will find another house easily enough.”
“And shall I find my stock and my furniture?” he groaned. “Alas! I am a ruined man. However, they have not destroyed my money, lads, because Lucy and I buried what I had under the hearthstone at Dale’s Field.”
“I thought it would be a wonderful thing if they had burnt all thy ships, Ben,” said Jack Drumbleforth. “Why, you old miser, you ought to have given that money to the King’s cause.”
“Will the King set me up in business again?” asked Ben. “I trow not, lads. Every man for himself, say I. If his Majesty would but come and relieve us, I would not object to parting with some of my store, but he delays so long that I fear he will never come at all.”
On the 3rd of June, however, there came to us letters from Newark, conveying intelligence of a great victory achieved by the King at Leicester. His Majesty had made a vigorous assault upon that town, and had finally carried the siege, making the garrison prisoners to the number of fifteen hundred, and securing an immense booty, which was instantly divided amongst the Royalist soldiers. Upon learning this news we were all greatly pleased, and Ben Tuckett so far plucked up his fallen spirits as to offer to lead a sally against the Roundheads in their trenches.
We now lived in daily hopes of seeing the arrival of a great force charged with the mission of relieving us, but we heard of nothing until the 6th of June, when a prisoner taken in the Castle mill informed us that the King’s troops were coming to our relief, and had already reached Tuxford. He further said that the Parliamentary forces were retreating northward before the King, and would probably assemble in our neighbourhood, where a great battle was therefore to be expected shortly. This information we believed to be true, for two days later there came a great body of Parliamentary horse from the southward, which had been obliged to quit their quarters about Doncaster and Tickhill. The next day, too, we heard heavy firing in the direction of Sheffield, and from this circumstance augured that our friends were drawing near. Two days, however, passed away, and no relief force appeared, so that we knew not what to think. Nevertheless, we were so far from being cast down by the delay, that on the 11th we made a great sally from the Castle in different directions, and prevailed so mightily against the enemy that we left forty of them dead upon the field, and brought eleven prisoners into the Castle, together with a great supply of muskets, pikes, and ammunition, which we found in their trenches and outworks. As for our own losses, they were but very slight, for none of our men were killed, and only two wounded.
We heard no more news until the 16th of June, when General Poyntz, commander of the Parliamentary forces at Pontefract, sent a drum to the Castle with a letter for Sir William Lowther, in which it was stated that a great battle had been fought at Naseby two days previously, whereat the King had been utterly routed, nearly two thousand Royalists having been left dead on the field and five thousand taken prisoners, together with all the King’s artillery and baggage. The letter further summoned us to surrender at once, saying that it were best policy to do so while mercy was yet to be hoped for, for there was now a great Parliamentary force at hand, and we should shortly be obliged to submit whether we would or not.
Now, we did not believe this news, because we had but a little time previously received letters from Newark, dated June 14th, in which Colonel Washington informed us that his Majesty was at that time at Melton Mowbray, and was preparing to march forward to our assistance. We therefore regarded General Poyntz’s letter as a trick of the enemy, and Sir William Lowther immediately informed the officer who had brought it that he neither feared the forces that might come against us, nor valued the mercy which was offered, and bade him begone with that answer to his commander. We were subsequently strengthened in our belief that General Poyntz’s news was false by the reception of more letters from Newark, in which the King was still spoken of as advancing to succour us. But as the days passed on no help came, and we presently began to wonder whether our information was correct or not. Shortly, however, we received news from our own friends of the battle of Naseby, but their account differed vastly from that given us by General Poyntz; for whereas he had represented the affair as a Roundhead victory, our informants told us that the fight had been resumed after the defeat of the King, and that our forces rallying had put the Parliamentary troops to flight, routing them utterly and slaying thousands of them, including General Cromwell.
We continued in this fashion for many days after that, now hearing one thing and now another, and hardly knowing which rumour to believe. Meanwhile, our enemy often received reinforcements which came marching from north or south as the case might be, and formed fresh obstacles to our success. The siege went on in the same fashion, each side doing its best to cripple the other. But while we were able to slay many of the Roundheads, they did us little damage owing to our secure position. Nevertheless, we had an enemy inside the Castle whose power we feared far more than even the terrible Cromwell himself. This was starvation, which now began to creep upon us slowly but very surely. By the 27th of June, we had no fresh provisions whatever, and there was no prospect of relief coming to us from any quarter. This scarcity of food bred discouragement and discontent amongst our men, several of whom deserted at this time.
We were now indeed in a sad plight. The help which had been so constantly promised to us, and the thought of which had lifted up our hearts in the struggle, came not, and we were therefore not only hungry but heartsick. Nevertheless we were resolved, or at any rate the majority of us were, to hold the Castle in the King’s name until the last moment. About the beginning of the second week in July we had more letters from Newark, one of which named the day and hour when Sir Marmaduke Langdale would come to our aid, and this good news was presently confirmed by another letter from Sandal Castle, wherein we were told that the relieving force was at hand. But we had barely read these letters when definite tidings reached us of the complete defeat of the Royalist forces under Goring and Langdale, and of the approach of further reinforcements to the Parliamentary army already surrounding us.
So now our last hopes were fled, and there was naught for it but to make an honourable surrender. We had defended the Castle for a space of five months, and during that time we had slain over a thousand of our enemies with very little loss to ourselves. If we had been able to secure provisions we could have held out for the King forever, for the place was so strong as to be well-nigh impregnable. Food, however, we could not get, and we could do the King no good by starving to death. At this point the besiegers made us honourable offers as to our surrender, which we presently accepted, marching away from the Castle at eight o’clock on the morning of July 21, 1645. The major portion of the garrison went forward to Newark, but I and my companions stayed at Dale’s Field, and were not sorry to see somewhat in the way of home comforts after our long and serious privations.