It was not until several days after our return to Lathom that Alexander and I received news of Prince Rupert’s startling victory at Newark. At the time, of course, I was entirely unaware that both Simon and James Skinner had been present at that particular encounter, fighting on opposing sides, and it wasn’t until several months later that I began to realise the role that particular event would have in determining the direction my brother’s life would take, and the impact it would have on our own relationship.
On March 21st, Rupert, after a march by moonlight through the Nottinghamshire countryside, had taken Sir John Meldrum’s force by surprise, leading his cavalry to the south-east of Newark and attacking Meldrum’s men at two in the morning. When the rest of the royalist cavalry and foot arrived some time later, Meldrum’s horse was forced back over the bridge of boats onto the island, leaving his infantry stranded. At the same time, the prince had sent a detachment of men to capture the bridge at Muskham on the far side of the island, Meldrum’s only possible escape route. Trapped and surrounded by royalists and with no more than three days provisions, Meldrum had been forced to call a parley, and, although he and his men were given free passage off the island, he had been obliged to surrender all his artillery, firearms, and ammunition, consisting of over 3,000 muskets, two mortars, and eleven artillery pieces.
It was indeed a comprehensive victory, the significance of which was not lost on Colonel Rigby and his fellow commanders, for they understood that, with the siege of Newark lifted, Rupert would now be free to direct his attentions elsewhere, and that addressing the issue of Parliament’s superiority in Lancashire would be high on his list of priorities.
Rigby himself had begun to look increasingly troubled, for it had become patently obvious that Lady Derby’s various attempts at negotiation had been little more than a pretence to waste time, and she clearly had no intention whatsoever of surrendering her house. The colonel’s behaviour had become progressively more erratic, ranging from periods of solemn introspection to moments of seething rage, as he contemplated ways in which he might achieve his ultimate goal of reducing Lathom House to rubble.
The fact that Rigby’s force was not adequately financed did not help either. Ammunition was in short supply, men were forced to walk miles every day to serve in trenches they were not familiar with, and pay was in arrears. To add to the problems, communication between Assheton and Moore on the one hand and Rigby and Egerton on the other had begun to break down.
I had assumed that the antipathy between the commanders was due to their difference of opinion on how to manage the siege. Assheton and Moore, it was clear, were of the view that we should use our obvious numerical superiority and storm the house, whereas Rigby favoured a more patient approach, using artillery to bombard the garrison whilst simultaneously starving it into submission.
But there was more to it than that, as the engineer, Browne, pointed out to me on the Monday morning following my return.
“It is the tax that Rigby and Egerton wish to levy in order to pay for this siege,” he explained. “More than four thousand pounds to be paid for by people who can ill afford it – and by more or less the whole of Lancashire too. Assheton believes the proposed tax is illegal.”
“Illegal? How so?” I asked. “Someone has to pay, surely? We have no ammunition.”
“That is true,” conceded Browne, “and it is said much of this money will be used to buy the mortar shells we will need. After all, our cannon is useless in this terrain. Rigby, however, claims the money is for extra soldiers, not ammunition, and what do we want with more soldiers when we already have ten times more than they do? Furthermore, Assheton argues that only West Derby Hundred should be paying for the siege, not the whole of the county.”
“I have heard these arguments before,” I said, “but is it true that the legality of this may be in doubt?”
“Who can say?” said Browne. “I am no lawyer, but this is not the only point of contention between the two parties. Firstly, Assheton believes that this siege is an irrelevance and that we should not be here at all. Lathom, he says, is of little import in this war. Lady Derby offers no threat to our forces, and, in truth, taking the house would be little more than a symbolic victory. And there is more. The Earl of Derby raised a similar tax himself during the Bishops’ War, almost the same sum, in fact, and Rigby had the earl impeached for that particular action.”
I understood the point immediately. “So Assheton holds Rigby for a hypocrite?” I said.
“Precisely, and Moore is with him on that. In truth, it is no surprise that Assheton and Moore hold the Manchester Committee in such low regard. They question not only the military skill of Rigby, Egerton, and Colonel Holland, but their honesty and motives too. Things cannot carry on in this manner for much longer,” he added. “Mark my words.”
As it happened, the observant Browne was right, and over the following week things came rapidly to a head, starting, oddly enough, on the very same day I had spoken to the engineer.
On that afternoon, Morgan’s artillerymen decided to give some action to their demi-cannon and culverin and fired several rounds at the gatehouse. One of these shots ricocheted off the ground in front of the house and crashed through the sturdy oaken gates, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. The little Welshman was jubilant as he and his artillery team watched the garrison men rushing to stop up the gates. The scene was made even more impressive by the fact that Rigby had once again assembled a crowd of onlookers to enjoy the show.
Ever the cynic, Browne, who was also present, was suitably unimpressed. “You lucky bastard,” he said to Morgan, instantly wiping the smile from the Welshman’s face. “You fired seven shots at the gates and missed six because you can’t see properly what you’re aiming at, and the one you got lucky with you nearly buried in the fucking ground.”
Morgan, haughty and intolerant of criticism at the best of times, exploded in anger. “And you, sirrah,” he snapped, “do you suppose you have much room to talk? You, who took forever to build these siege works and who dug the trenches so damned close to the walls that our men are in constant danger of being shot? Are you sure you are not on the side of the King? It would not surprise me.”
A full-scale brawl between the two men was only avoided by the swift intervention of Rigby himself, who had overheard Browne’s words and reprimanded both him and Morgan for their behaviour. The tone for the following days, however, was set, and men began to openly discuss whether Rigby and Egerton were in the right or whether Assheton and Moore’s approach was more likely to succeed. It should have come as no surprise, therefore, that when Rigby and Egerton were called away to Manchester on Thursday March 28th, an attempt would be made to alter the course of the siege.
On that day, Assheton and Moore announced a change of strategy, stipulating that, henceforward, all focus would be on the main gates and the turrets around the gatehouse, in preparation for storming the house. Morgan, I was told, fired two cannon shots in the air in defiance, and reiterated his support of Rigby’s strategy, but ultimately had little option but to comply with the orders given by the two senior commanders.
On the following morning, artillery and musketeers alike focussed their efforts on the gateway and, to my surprise, they met with some success. In the morning, an over-confident marksman on the battlements was shot dead by one of our musketeers, and in the afternoon a series of cannon shots was aimed at the guns on the turrets around the gatehouse, one of which scored a direct hit, killing a cannonier outright.
Such insubordination could clearly not last, though, for ostensibly Egerton was in charge, and when he and Rigby returned from Manchester two days later, they immediately reversed the orders given by Assheton and Moore. I was, of course, not privy to the subsequent meeting held between the four commanders, but it must have been a lively affair, because from that date we did not see Assheton and Moore again.
We did not find out what had happened until nearly a full week later, when As
sheton and Moore issued an open letter to well-wishers in the vicinity, the content of which is still etched in my mind.
To all Ministers and Parsons in Lancashire, well-wishers to our success against Lathom House, these-
For as much as more than ordinary obstructions have, from the beginning of this present service against Lathom House, intersposed our proceedings, and yet, still remain, which cannot otherwise be removed nor our success furthered, but only by divine assistance, it is thus our desires to the ministers and other well-affected persons of this county of Lancaster, in public manner, as they shall please, to commend our care to God, so the Almighty would crown our weak endeavour with speedy success in the said design.
Ralph Assheton
John Moore
Ormskirk Apr. 5, 1644
So that was it. Assheton and Moore had departed in exasperation and left us to our fate. The inference of their letter was that, with Egerton and Rigby in charge, only God could help us now. Browne, I noticed, read the letter with a cynical chuckle. I suspected he was of the same view as Assheton and Moore, but, as a civilian, and with Rigby and Egerton paying his fees, he took great care not to show this to his paymasters.
Rigby, for his part, was a changed man with his main detractors off the scene, and, displaying renewed energy and enthusiasm, he lost no time in pursuing his own strategy of causing maximum damage to Lathom House and its occupants without actually storming the building.
On the day following Assheton and Moore’s departure, he had Morgan fire two cannon shots into the upper rooms of the house. By the following day, however, it had become clear that one of the main reasons for the upturn in Rigby’s mood was the fact that the long-promised mortar had arrived from Sir William Brereton and had been positioned in the gun battery outside the main gates. To find room for the mortar, Rigby needed to relocate the demi-cannon and culverin, so he spent all day on Monday April 1st showering the occupants of the house with chain shot and iron bars in order to keep them quiet, whilst he completed the repositioning of his big guns.
By the Wednesday, the mortar was in position, secured in a location about eight feet higher than the ditch surrounding the house.
“Now we shall see what Lady Derby is made of,” said Morgan, with unrestrained glee, once he had Rigby’s approval to start firing on the house. It was certainly true that the mortar threatened to change the whole course of the siege. With cannon, Morgan could only shoot at the walls, which were bolstered on the inside with thick turves. However, with the mortar, he could now fire stones and grenades over the walls and into the house. The only question was how quickly Morgan could get the necessary supply of mortar shells to enable him to bring the siege to a conclusion. For the time being, he only had a limited supply of grenades, so Morgan began by firing showers of stones and rocks over the walls at the house. Even without grenades, the effect of the mortar was mesmerising. The awe-inspiring machine threw rocks so far into the air that they almost disappeared from view before crashing down onto the towers and buildings inside the walls. Morgan used his grenades sparingly, and fired the first one on Thursday 4th April. However, he promptly wasted it by sending it sailing right over the house, having failed to recalculate the trajectory properly. Despite this, the feeling amongst our ranks was clear. So long as Morgan was supplied with enough mortar shells, Lady Derby’s days in Lathom House were numbered.
Whilst all this was going on, I tried to use my spare time constructively by cultivating relationships with those I felt might ultimately help me get to the bottom of what had happened to Katherine Seaman and the Bootles. In particular, I found I was spending an increasing amount of time in the company of Lawrence Seaman, who I judged to be a most personable and interesting young man. As the spring weather started to improve, I found welcome respite from the growing squalor of the encampment by exploring the villages around Ormskirk – Burscough with its mill and ruined priory, Newburgh, and Parbold. Lawrence, being of a similar disposition, joined me on many of these expeditions. Alexander, whose preferences in terms of entertainment and diversion tended to be of a somewhat baser nature, preferred to stay within the confines of New Park House or the alehouses in Ormskirk.
Not that I was averse to a tankard of ale myself, of course, and I did take care to visit some of the taverns in search of Old Isaac, who, when he was not blind drunk, provided good conversation himself and proved especially useful as a source of information as to what was going on in and around the town. Despite his weakness for drink, he was an observant and inquisitive character, and not much of the day-to-day business of the inhabitants of Ormskirk escaped his notice.
I also took the opportunity to talk more in depth with William Bootle, who, after the death of his brother, had lost no time in clearing and cleaning up the empty cottage and installing a tenant.
“I cannot leave the house empty and abandoned in the knowledge of what happened within those walls,” he told me one morning. “A house does not easily forget such horrors. ‘Tis better a new family live there to help erase the memories of what was here before.” The new tenant, a recently married baker’s son called Fitch, provided Bootle with a selection of cakes and pastries on moving in, which the captain generously shared around his fellow officers at New Park House.
Bootle, although affable and easygoing enough, was somewhat elusive outside the confines of New Park House, where he stayed occasionally. From what I could tell, he rarely went drinking in Ormskirk, but, having told us he possessed a cottage of his own in Burscough, I left him to live his life in private. One thing I did notice, though, was the fact that, despite the relationship by marriage, he and Lawrence Seaman had little to do with each other. Indeed, as time went by and I spent more time with Lawrence, I realised that they barely knew each other, although, with Lawrence having grown up in Chester and with Bootle related to his aunt only by marriage, there was, I supposed, no reason why they should.
My walks through the lanes and fields around Lathom also brought me more into contact with Jenny Reade, who seemed to have the uncanny knack of remaining concealed and then suddenly appearing in amongst the trees or behind some wall with her basket of herbs. In fact, I saw her so often around the woodland and hedgerows that I began to suspect she was following me around, although I could not blame her if she was, for I regularly asked after her welfare and occasionally gave her a penny or two to help feed her and her siblings. She seemed pleased that Chisnall had removed his horse from her cottage, and I gradually began to gain her trust.
One day, she noticed a graze on my hand and my swollen wrist, sustained when I had tripped and fallen in the trenches that morning, so she invited me back to her cottage, where she applied a comfrey poultice, and to my delight, within a couple of days, my injured wrist was entirely healed.
A couple of weeks after my return to Lathom, Alexander and I also received letters from Nantwich, which both delighted us and brought us to the brink of despair at the same time.
My heart jumped when I opened my letter and realised it was from Elizabeth. The town, she wrote, had been peaceful since our departure. Jack Wade was now almost fully recovered and was working hard in the wich house under Gilbert Robinson’s instructions. A kindling had already been carried out since my departure and had been completed successfully, thanks in part to the help of John and Ann Davenport, who, still grateful for my help in clearing John’s name after the murders in December and January, had seconded many of their own workers to my wich house for the duration of the kindling, which they had managed on my behalf.
Wade had also been collecting cheese from local farmers, but it was Elizabeth herself who had managed our stall, ably helped by Amy Padgett, who, according to Elizabeth, spent every Saturday morning accosting shoppers in the square and along Pepper Street, offering them samples of cheese and leading them to Elizabeth. All my growing adopted family, however, especially young Ralph, were missing me, and it tore at my conscience that I was not able to tell them when I would be able to return.
Worse still was the news that word of Simon’s disappearance had reached Nantwich. Rose Bailey, of course, was frantic with worry, but with no news one way or the other, she was, like me, holding out hope that he would make an unannounced appearance before long, as he had a habit of doing. Simkins had apparently also showed some concern, although I suspected that had more to do with the loss of his horse and a cartload of shoes than any particular concern for Simon’s wellbeing.
When I saw Alexander after we had both read our letters, I saw from his face that the news from Marjery Clowes was of a similar kind. I realised that Alexander and I would have to engineer a way of escaping from our duties at Lathom and securing a return to our loved ones in Nantwich. But how were we to achieve this? I was at a loss to know.
However, as is so often the case when spirits are at their lowest ebb, just as we had reached the depths of despair, over a three day period beginning on Wednesday 10th April, things began to happen which reinvigorated my fading hopes that events at Lathom would at last come to a conclusion of sorts.
Shortly after 11 in the morning on the Wednesday, just before the soldiers in the trenches were due to end their twenty-four hour watch, William Bootle burst into the courtyard at New Park House to report that our siege works were under attack. According to a later report by Major Robinson, who was present during the assault, Farmer and his men left by the postern gate and, protected by snipers on the battlements and directed with flags by a captain at the top of the Eagle Tower, marched under the line of fire right up to our gun positions and drove out our gunners. Farmer’s men then proceeded to nail up the guns and charge through the trenches, driving out all our soldiers and killing them indiscriminately. They would have nailed up the mortar too if they had been able, but its mouth was too wide. They therefore tipped it over and tried to hammer the bore out of true.
A Soldier of Substance Page 21