Letters to Thurloe 4-6

4.

 

 

Monday 17^th September 1646.

 

   Since conducting my first interrogation I have discovered more about the prisoner, Edmund

Dawes. The boy, it seems, does not lack courage for I have learned of a remarkable sequence

of events that took place prior to the siege.

   Dawes had been billeted at Pendennis Castle for less than two weeks in the role of ensign

when the Prince of Wales took refuge there prior to his escape to France. This was in March.

As you will recall Fairfax was sweeping through the south west and forces loyal to the king

were engaged in a desperate retreat. I believe I am correct when I say that these two

characters, Dawes and Charles the younger, brought together through the cold hand of fate,

are of similar age – sixteen years both - yet are many leagues apart in education, upbringing

and prospects. 

 

   The plan for the Prince of Wales’s escape had been determined thus: a schooner was lying 

in wait, anchored off the headland. Upon the given signal the Prince and his retinue left the

castle via the southern wall and made their way down the steep gradient, populated by dense

woodland, in order to rendezvous with a smaller vessel that would ferry them alongside ship.

The Prince’s retinue comprised of Sir Abraham Shipman, Major General Molesworth,

Richard Arundel (son of the castle governor and de facto Lieutenant-Colonel), a trooper

(name unknown) as well as the aforementioned ensign, Edmund Dawes. Dawes was placed at

the rear of the group. His sole occupation during the operation was to bear the royal standard.

   The group’s progress was slow. The Prince, unused to prolonged walking, and finding the

steep descent tiresome, required numerous stops, whereupon Sir Abraham Shipman was

instructed to produce a silver flask filled with brandy in order that His Royal Highness might

stiffen his resolve. Shipman and Molesworth were nervous. They were aware that Fairfax had

taken Launceston and parliamentary forces were expected in Falmouth town at any moment.

The crew manning the tender, also fearful - in their case of hostile parliamentary ships - sent

repeated messages by torchlight that they were ready and willing to depart.

   Three quarters of the descent had been negotiated when the Prince asked once again for a

moment of rest. The small boat was in sight. Men were in place on the jagged grey rocks to

help Charles the younger navigate his way towards the tender. It was during this pause that

Dawes was the first to spot a shape - an unknown figure lurking amongst the trees. Before he

could alert the others the figure fully revealed himself - a ragged naer-do-well, his beggarly

countenance compounded by shrieks and wails. The man ran in the direction of the prince

and his retinue. Dawes was able to see that the foul individual was brandishing a knife and he

stood himself ready, the attacker oblivious to all possibilities of danger in his quest to murder

the young royal. As the Prince’s would-be-attacker gained momentum Dawes took decisive

action. He used the flag pole he was carrying as a weapon, extending it towards the assailant

at the optimum moment. Upon impact the brute was knocked off course and flailed

helplessly, allowing time for Molesworth to shield the prince and the trooper to draw his

sword. Floundering between the trees, the wretched attacker was promptly dispatched

whereupon the Prince made haste to the tender and made good his flight.

 

 

 

5.

 

Thursday 20^th September 1646.

 

   Yesterday I once again visited the castle.

   Upon my entrance into the prisoner’s cell Dawes asked if I might refrain from bringing in

torchlight as he had become so accustomed to darkness. He seemed calmer and more lucid

than on my previous visit and so I ordered the guard to provide us with a single lighted

candle. Once settled, I asked Dawes if he was being given sufficient nourishment. Through

the gloom I became aware of his sunken eye sockets as well as the gauntness of his face. He

replied that he wanted for little solid food, preferring water to sustain him. Despite his calm

nature he persevered with the random ticks and nervous scratching I noted during my

previous visit. I was left with the impression that his mood was subject to rapid change, at

once benevolent and reflective, at other times anxious and severely distraught.

   We sat opposite one another in the manner of two friends. At no time did I feel threatened

by the young man. His speech was measured and without anger throughout. I asked him to

confirm the incident with the Prince of Wales, which he did.  He described how the prince

approached him in the aftermath of the incident and ordered him to kneel. The prince then

praised god for his own deliverance from danger, proclaiming that the young ensign had

acted bravely under the lord’s guidance. Before he boarded the tender the prince announced

to Sir Abraham in full voice that Edmund Dawes should be rewarded for his courage and

promoted through the ranks.

   Dawes fell into a deep silence then. He rocked to and fro on his stool, shivering as if

suddenly overcome by a curious affliction of the brain. I ordered him sharply to stop and he

did so. Then, when he was settled, I told him I was curious to hear as to what happened when

he returned to the castle.

   ‘I was taken to the governor’s quarters, sir’ he said. ‘Sir Abraham recounted to the governor

the events that had taken place. He said that the Prince had ordered that I should be granted a

promotion as reward for my endeavours.’

   ‘And what did the governor say to this ?’

   ‘He proclaimed that I was to return to my duties as ensign, sir. And no more was said about

the matter.’

   I remained with the prisoner for another hour. His manner during this time seemed to

improve although he again showed signs of his distress when I asked him about life at the

castle during the months of siege. I must say, Thurloe, he described conditions that were both

foul and loathsome in the extreme. The population of the castle during the siege comprised

five hundred soldiers. Some, fearing the wrath of the Parliamentary army, had managed to

spirit their families into the compound before Fairfax entered town. The barracks were only

partially used to house these pitiful wretches. The governor ordered the troops whose women

and children had arrived to make their own shelter on the parade ground and these flimsy

constructions, a combination of fallen boughs and bracken scavenged from the nearby forest,

gave little protection from the wind and rain, not to mention the missiles that were fired in the

castle’s direction by our occupying forces. Dawes recounted moments of great terror. Not

only were these poor souls subject to artillery fire, but food was scarce and disease was given

free rein. Meanwhile the governor and his commanders remained protected within their

quarters on the upper level, enjoying meat and good wine which had been stored in the cellar

for their exclusive consumption. Governor Arundel refused all offers of an honourable

surrender and much needless suffering was caused by his stubborn intransigence.

   I left Dawes in a subdued frame of mind. As I prepared to take my leave he implored me

once again to visit his grandmother. I said that I would try my best if the business of my

investigations allowed me to do so. We parted on good terms. The images he described

stayed with me for the following days.

 

 

 

6.

 

Sunday 23^rd September, 1646.

 

   Thank you, dear Thurloe, for your letter. It arrived yesterday. You must not worry yourself

about the toll this particular investigation is taking upon my spirit. I put faith in God and in

Parliament’s ability to dispense justice in our ravaged land, as well as in my own strength of

character to unravel the truth of this case.

   I did as you requested and visited the grandmother of Edmund Dawes. She was a pitiful

sight to behold – aged and infirm, given to indecipherable mutterings, sometimes in the

Cornish tongue. She lives in a hovel, subsiding on food begged from the town market. I asked

her about her grandson and she looked at me with a sense of incomprehension. Eventually

she told me that her daughter, Dawes’s mother, was a godless soul who had succumbed after

a life of wastefulness and drink, leaving the old woman to raise the boy alone despite her

advanced age. I told her, gently, of the charges levelled against her grandson. To this she

merely shook her head and said that God would judge. I felt obliged to give her a shilling for

her time. She kissed the coin and my hand and returned to her chair next to the lukewarm

brazier where I suspect she remains with only herself for company.

 

*

 

   Before my meeting with the governor of the castle, which has been arranged for

Wednesday, I have spent time in Falmouth town, observing the locals as they go about their

daily business. The wharf is always busy with small boats landing their catch and two

Parliamentary cutters patrol the Carrick straits. I am aware that I am looked upon with

suspicion as I stroll along the high street. The market especially is a place of seditious activity

- our Colonel warned me that many free thinkers and braggards loyal to the king assemble

there, inciting rebellion. Roundhead soldiers patrol the area with regularity but the culprits, if

they are seen, soon fade into the shadows, helped by the local population who harbour these

troublemakers despite threats of punishment.

   I have also spent time walking along the sea front, in order to take in the fresh air. The

castle looks down from the tip of the peninsula like a stern, unwelcoming dowager. During

one such evening walk, as I made my way along the sea front road, I saw black smoke rising

from within the castle walls. I have since learned that the smoke was the result of troops

burning the accumulated debris from the siege – the shelters and wooden dwellings

constructed by those squatting on the parade ground. At that moment I felt an overwhelming

grief for the young soul locked therein, pacing to and fro in the cold and darkness of his cell.

The sad image of Edmund Dawes was imprinted upon my mind and I lingered a while as the

day’s light began to fade in order to regain my composure. I closed my eyes, Thurloe, and

prayed to God that He grant the boy peace and freedom despite the nature of his crime. When

I opened my eyes I looked up and saw that another fire had been lit, this time amongst the

trees on the steep slope of the headland. With the incident concerning Dawes and the Prince

of Wales still fresh in my mind, I was drawn towards the expanse of woodland, so curious

was I to detect the fire’s precise location. Only a muddied track gives access to this region

and I followed it, steadily rising above the rocks and sea. It took me close to a half hour to

make my way to the level of the small blaze, the day’s light diminishing with every step.

When I eventually came upon the fire I saw two distinct forms moving thereabouts – one a

man, broad and wearing a long black cloak and boots not unlike my own; the second a ragged

girl aged no more than nine or ten years. I settled myself behind a bower and looked on as the

two of them sat before the blaze with their backs to me. I must have made an inappropriate

movement triggering a noise that alerted them to my presence. It was the girl who first looked

in my direction. She possessed a sweet, angelic face for a vagabond. She then stood and said

something to the figure beside her. Now the man turned. Thurloe, I can only conclude that the

figure before me was not after all human. He was much older and his eyes were bright red –

fierce, reptilian eyes that burned into mine own. His was the gaze of a supernatural being – a

being that made me sickly in my gut, as if I had looked on the Devil himself. I turned in panic

and scurried as fast as I was able along the trackway, not once turning to see if the demon

was in pursuit. It was only when I emerged from the woodland onto the sea front road that I

dared to look up – and now I saw that the fire had been extinguished. It was if the strange

beings no longer existed or had been transported back to the shadowy realm to which they

belong.

 

 

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