University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

Scott's Rokeby.

Though but of brief duration and trifling magnitude
as to the number of the troops engaged on
either hand, yet was the victory of Cromwell upon
Winsley field of vast importance, when considered
in its bearings on the general aspect of the war;
since by it only was the Marquis of Newcastle
prevented from co-operating with the royal forces
in the West, when, elevated as they were in spirit

by the defeat of Waller upon Roundway Down,
and the disgraceful fall of Bristol, they might too
probably have marched triumphantly to the metropolis,
had they been re-enforced, as they expected,
by the northern chivalry. In consequence of this
repulse, then, Newcastle sat down before the walls
of Hull, while Charles, thus disappointed in his
schemes, as fatally laid siege to Gloucester, which
he was soon compelled to raise by the activity of
Essex. The desperate drawn battle before Newbury
ensued, signal for nothing but the death of the
good Falkland, the only counsellor that now remained
about the king who could be deemed a
patriot or a true lover of the English constitution.
The Hampden of the royalists, this gallant nobleman
fell with his country's name the last sound on
his lips; but fell not till he had become aweary of
a life which was imbittered so by the disasters of
his native land, that he was wont to sink, even
when circled by the gayest of his friends, into desponding
apathy, and “to ingeminate, after deep silence
and continual sighs, with a shrill sad accent,
the words `Peace—peace!”' The winter
which succeeded was by the cavaliers spun out in
feuds, dissensions, and intrigues among themselves,
the king remaining obstinately bent on prostrating
all opposition to his will, and countenancing
such alone of his advisers as urged the fiercest and
most downright measures. Not so the parliament
at Westminster, in which the independent party
were, by the death of Hampden first, and afterward
of Pym, gaining an ascendency which was increasing
daily through the abilities of Cromwell, St.
John, and the younger Vane, the leading politicians
and debaters of the lower house. The energy
and deep-laid shrewdness of these men suffered
not one false step, however trivial, on the
part of Charles, to pass unnoted or unimproved to
their advantage; and, ere the spring was far enough
advanced for the commencement of a third campaign,
they had so thoroughly aroused the spirit of
the land, inflamed already by the king's impolitic
and shameful treaty with the rebellious Catholics
of Ireland, that, early in the month of March, five
several armies were on foot! Essex preparing to
oppose the king in person—Waller commanding in
the West—the Scotch, who had invaded England
in accordance with the solemn league and covenant,
and Fairfax, with his Yorkshire levies, shutting
up Newcastle in York—and Manchester, with
Cromwell's cavalry, hurrying from the associated
counties of the East toward the same important
point.

And now, for the first time since the commencement
of the war, did fortune show herself in favour
of the liberal party; the total and complete annihilation
of Lord Hopton's force at Alresford by
Waller, was in itself sufficient to compel even
Charles to give up all attempt at a campaign on
the offensive. Nor was this all; for Newcastle's
express advised him that he must surrender unless
succoured in the brief space of three weeks. It
was on this intelligence that Rupert, having
achieved much reputation and some eminent successes
in that large county, marched out of Lancashire
with all the flower of the royalists—drawn
from the midland counties, burning with gallant
ardour, confident in their successful leader, appointed
with a noble train of ordnance, and re-enforced
by Goring's excellent brigade of horse
from Lincolnshire—hastening ably, and no less fortunately,
to the relief of York, reduced already to
extremity, and on the point of yielding to the parliament.
During the dark and melancholy winter

which had thus elapsed, Ardenne, in close attendance
on his duties, whether civil in the house at
Westminster, or active in the field, had struggled,
with more of steadiness than of success, to banish
from his heart the recollection of his own depressed
and wellnigh hopeless circumstances. Of his implacable
and stubborn father he had heard but little
since their last interview at Woodleigh, save that a
copy of the document for the securing the estates
to Sibyl and breaking the entail had been transmitted
to him for inspection; and that a rumour,
as it proved well founded, had reached London
that the old baronet, having been strenuous and incessant
in stimulating warlike measures, had left
Oxford in the dead of winter, dismantled his fine
residence, and thrown himself, together with his
niece, into the capital of Yorkshire, some short
time only ere it was invested by the united troops
of Fairfax and the Earl of Leven. Such was the
state of matters when, on a lovely evening of July,
some few days after the strong succours under
Manchester and Cromwell had joined the northern
army, Edgar returned from a reconnaissance which
he had been sent, in consequence of rumours that
the cavaliers had been observed in force toward the
neighbouring towns of Wetherby and Bramham,
to execute, with his whole regiment, in that direction.
During the two days which had been consumed
in scouring thoroughly that district of the
country, he had discovered nothing to justify, in
any sort, the vague reports which had prevailed
ere his departure from the camp; and it was therefore
much to his amazement that he perceived the
forces of the parliament drawing off from the siege
in no small hurry and confusion, and forming line
of battle upon Marston Moor, some eight miles to
the westward of the city. It was not without
strenuous exertion that Ardenne found at length
the post assigned to his immediate superior, now
lieutenant-general of the horse, who was intently
occupied with Leslie, Fairfax, Manchester, and
others of the chief commanders, in ordering their
array so as to intercept the gallant host of royalists,
some twenty thousand strong, with which
Prince Rupert had wellnigh surprised them in their
trenches. Night fell upon them ere the task was
well completed; yet such was the determination
and the spirit of the leaders, such the quick apprehension
and obedience of the soldiery, that, by the
aid of torches and the long summer twilight, their
position was made good; and that, too, on the
strongest ground that could be chosen from the extensive,
low, and somewhat marshy meadows lying
between the Ouse and the great Northern road.
Provisions were served out, with liquor, in abundance
to the troops, who, for the most part, passed
the night upon their arms, though some were quartered
in the neighbouring villages, commanding the
anticipated line of Rupert's march. Patrols of
horse and foot swept the surrounding roads; the
officers, with jealous zeal, made constant circuits
of the host, their progress being clearly indicated
by the acclamations of the men, and the loud
psalms of exultation and defiance which usually
answered their inspiriting addresses. Yet was
their active energy on this occasion destined to be
wasted; for scarcely was their host arrayed, ere
the discharge of ordnance from the town, and the
tremendous cheering, which was distinctly borne
to the ears of the now disappointed puritans, announced
that Rupert—who, by the aid of better information
and the exertion of great military skill,
had executed a detour far to the right of their position—was
actually entering the beleaguered city
from the eastward side, whence they had drawn
their troops in the vain hope to intercept him.
Great was the consternation and dismay which this
discovery created in the breast, not of the privates
only, but of the best and boldest leaders of the parliament;
and in no less degree did merriment and
wild triumphant revelry possess the citizens, relieved
beyond their utmost expectation. Throughout
the livelong night the eastern sky was reddened,
wellnigh to the zenith, by the crimson glare
of bonfires blazing in every street and court within
the walls; while the square towers of the minster,
illuminated by the fierce discoloured light, were
visible distinctly at some miles' distance, their huge
bells swinging to and fro, a deafening peal of shortlived
exultation. Upon the moor a council was
called instantly, and sentries posted round the quarters
of the Scottish general, with the avowed intention
of maintaining an inviolable secrecy concerning
the debates of the stern martialists assembled
there. Such was, however, the tumultuous and
noisy character of the discussion between the English
officers and the fanatical enthusiastic Presbyterian
clergy, whom the Scotch brought habitually
into their warlike councils, that no precaution could
have hindered the entire army from perceiving
that dissensions, fired by their religious differences,
and fed to wilder heat by prejudice and
national disgusts, had fallen, with a perilous and
most pernicious influence, upon their leaders. It
was now nearly dawn, when, breaking up their
long-protracted session, they at length came forth.
Despondency and gloom sat heavy on the resolute
and manly brow of Fairfax as he strode forth and
leaped into his saddle, without altering his garb,
though in immediate prospect of a general action.
He was not, indeed, utterly unarmed, for he had
entered the court-martial with but brief time for
ceremony, after toiling from the preceding day-break
at the evacuation of the trenches; yet did
he lack much of the heavy armature which was
still worn by officers in high command. A buff
coat, richly laced with silver, its open sleeves displaying
the white satin of its lining; stout breeches
of the same material, fringed at the knee with costly
Flanders lace; and boots of russet leather, formed
the chief part of his defensive dress, although he
wore a short but highly polished breastplate, half
covered by his falling collar from the looms of Valenciennes,
and by the sash of crimson silk and
gold which was wound many times about his waist,
supporting his long silver-hilted broadsword. He
bore his truncheon in his hand, and, ere he mounted,
buckled on his head the open bacinet of steel
peculier to the day, which an attendant held in
readiness. Upon the faces of the other generals
anger, irresolution, and disgust were variously but
strongly written; and in the features of the Scottish
tords especially, Ardenne imagined he could
trace a settled disaffection for the service they had
bound themselves to execute. No time was lost,
however, and, by a series of manœuvres, not less
judiciously than rapidly effected, the whole position
of the army was reformed and taken up anew; so
that its front, which had originally faced toward
the west, as to oppose an enemy advancing against
York from that direction, was now turned easterly,
in readiness to meet the sally, which they hoped,
rather than expected, to be made on them from
that same city. Sir Thomas Fairfax, with his
new-levied Yorkshire cavalry and three Scotch
regiments of horse, held the extreme right wing,
and next to him the infantry of his brave father,
with two brigades of Scottish horse in readiness
for his support. In the main body and reserve
were all the regiments of Scottish foot, appointed
well and officered by their own covenanting lords,
and two of Manchester's brigades; while the left
wing was occupied by Cromwell, with all his iron
cavalry, and three good regiments of Northern
cuirassiers under Lieutenant-general Leslie, and
Colonel Frizell's regiment of Berwickshire dragoons,
who did good service in the action, posted
yet farther to the left, by a cross ditch intersecting
the main dike, which ran along the whole front of
the puritans, excepting a brief space before the
Earl of Manchester's pike-regiments. The plain,
upon the western side of which the army was
drawn up, was, on the whole, well suited for a general
action, being of considerable extent, entirely
open, and untraversed by any hedge or fence save
on the left, where a long narrow lane between high
banks and bushes of old thorn debouched upon the
field, forming the only pass by which Fairfax could
cross the drain and bring his horsemen into action.
The rear of the parliamentarians was covered by
the thickly-planted orchards, each with its quickset
fence, the narrow garths and gardens surrounded
by stout walls of limestone, and the young plantations
round the straggling village of Long Marston;
which, with its solid cottages of masonry,
would form an excellent and easily-defended point
whereon to fall back if repulsed from their original
position; while on both wings the strong enclosures
of the pasture fields, studded with hedgerow
timber, would present most serious obstacles to
any movement of the enemy to overflank them.
Of all the generals, it seemed to Edgar that Cromwell
was the least disturbed in mind or aspect;
yet even he, as he addressed his ironsides, spoke
not with the short, terse, and energetic style which
he was wont to use when he chose to be understood,
but in interminable and confused harangues,
resembling more the doctrinal discourses of a fanatical
and visionary preacher than the heart-stirring
oratory of a dauntless captain; nor did he
hesitate to declare openly to Ardenne, when at a
little distance from the troopers, that—“Of a truth,
there is sore need of prayer and supplication—
not of lip-service or knee-bending—but of soul-searching
cries, of earnest and continual wrestling
with the Lord; for verily, unless he work great
things this day in Israel's behalf, verily, Edgar
Ardenne, you shall behold this host melting away
like now before the April sunshine. Unless the
God, even the God of Battles—harden the hearts
and blind the understanding of yon perverse and
fiery Rupert, even as of yore he hardened the heart
of Pharaoh, that he might bring him to destruction,
with his captains, and his chariots, and his horsemen—unless
he do all this, and more, I tell thee,
we shall fall into the pit ourselves have digged!
If the prince have but wisdom to abide in yon
fenced city which he has won from us, then shall
you see the carnal-minded and the feeble-witted of
the host—those who, like babes and sucklings, may
not endure the rich meats and strong waters of the
Word—those who are ill-assured, self-seekers, and
backsliders—then shall you see all these, and they
outnumber half our army, falling away by tens, by
hundreds, and by thousands! But lo!” he added,
in a quick, clear voice, strangely at variance with
the drawling snuffle he had thus far adopted,
“whom have we here? Tidings, I trow, from my
lord general;” for, as he spoke, a youthful officer
dashed at a hasty gallop up to his side, and checking,
for a moment's space, his fiery horse, “The
earl,” he cried, “lieutenant-general, prays you
will hold yourself in readiness for instant action!
Rupert and Newcastle are even now without the
gates, and marching hitherward to fight us!”

“Said I not,” shouted Oliver, so loudly that
every one of his own cavalry might catch the import
of his words—“said I not that the Lord would
harden the heart of our foe and blind his understanding?
The Lord he is on our side; blessed
be the name of the Lord!” and instantly he raised,
with his own tongue, the first notes of a hymn, in
which he was accompanied at once by full five
thousand deep and manly voices.

The fierce sounds rolled along the front, from
corps to corps, till one half of the host had kindled
with the same enthusiastic confidence and swelled
the same high chorus! It was one of those bright
flashes of that brightest talent in a leader, the talent
of inspiring trust, of awakening energy and zeal,
of lighting into sudden flame the hearts of thousands
by a single word—a talent, by-the-way, in
which no captain ever has excelled, and probably
but two[1] have ever in the least degree approached
the wondrous man who was that very day about
to make himself a reputation with the mightiest.
As the thunders of that glorious psalm rolled onward,
gaining strength at every pause, and echoing
for miles around, doubt and despondency passed
instantly away—pulses, that but an hour before
had throbbed with cold and feeble beatings, now
leaped exultingly—eyes, that had rested sullenly

upon the earth, flashed cheerfully and vividly to
the new-risen sun—and tongues, that had half
uttered words of evil omen, and almost of fear,
now swelled the warlike anthem to the skies.
Before the psalm had yet well ceased, and while
its echoes were still alive and ringing in the air,
the pikeheads of the royal foot might be seen
twinkling in the level sunbeams above the coppices
and furze-brakes that fringed the east side
of the plain. And now a massive column burst
into open view, their bright steel sallets and their
coats of plate reflecting in broad sheets the light,
which flashed in long and dazzling streaks from
their tall weapons as they wheeled up into line
—and now a strong brigade of field artillery, its
caissons and its tumbrils following, came rumbling
up at a full trot—and now, with many a
blazoned standard streaming, and a white sea of
plumes floating above them, squadron after squadron
of that superb and highborn cavalry, to which
the king owed all his previous victories, rounded a
distant wood, and formed in accurate array upon
the royal left. Then, as these formed, the heads
of column after column debouched upon the plain,
their mounted leaders darting along their flanks
and fronts, their music sounding joyously, and the
thick trampling of their march shaking the very
ground beneath them—as these fell in, another
train of field-pieces and a yet more magnificent
array of horse wheeled up at the full gallop, and
fronted Cromwell's ironsides at a mile's distance
on the open plain. By seven of the clock both
armies were in full array of battle, facing each
other, when a gallant group of mounted officers
advanced a little from the centre of the cavaliers,
and instantly, amid the blare of trumpets and the
exulting shouts “God save the king” of the brave
gentlemen who mustered under it, the royal standard,
with its gorgeous quarterings, was displayed
to the light breeze, which bore its folds to their
full length, and shook them toward the squadrons
of its unrelenting foes. At the same moment,
from the midst of the dark masses of the puritans,
coldly arrayed in buff and plain gray steel, with
neither scarf, nor plume, nor lace of silver or of
gold to break the dull monotony of their appearance,
was hoisted the blue banner of the covenant, bearing St. George's cross of red, but not yet intersected
by the white diagonals of Scotland's
patron saint. The elevation of this broad dark-coloured
sheet was greeted by a stern and solemn
acclamation, as different from the wild and animated
clamour of the cavaliers as is the deep incessant
booming of the ocean-surf from the sharp
keen explosions of a thunder-storm. Then followed
a short pause—a fel and appalling interval
of quiet, like the brief space that often intervenes
between the mustering of the storm-clouds and
the outbreaking of the hurricane. The faces of
the bravest paled, and their pulses beat with a
quickened and irregular motion, not from the slightest
touch of fear, but from the intense violence of
their excitement. Prayers were recited in this
interval at the head of every regiment among the
parliamentarians, and many of the officers—and
not a few even of the private troopers—men whom
the spirit of the Lord had blessed with the high
gift of expounding mysteries—held forth in their
wild jargon, savouring to the ears of Edgar rather
of blasphemous and profane phrensy than of devotion
or well-ordered piety. It was at this conjuncture—just
as Cromwell had concluded a long
and fervent prayer, tinctured at times with true
heartfelt religion, bursting occasionally into gleams
of real eloquence, and throughout fixing the attention
of the zealots, who applauded him from time
to time with voice and gesture—that the same
group of officers which had displayed the royal
standard galloped in full career along the whole
front of the cavaliers midway between the armies.
The leading officer, as Edgar gazed upon him
through his perspective-glass, was a tall, strongly-built,
and splendidly-accoutred man, superbly
mounted on a jet-black barb of the tall breed of
Dongola—his cuirass literally blazed with stars
and decorations of a dozen military orders; his
mantle of dark purple velvet, fringed and laid down
with lace of gold three inches broad, displayed the
diamond insignia of the garter, and his high-crowned
Spanish hat was overshadowed by an
ostrich plume nearly two feet in height. Yet were
his features coarse and ill-favoured, marked with a
supercilious sneer, and an expression ill-humoured,
haughty, and imperious; his hair, which flowed
far down his shoulders, was harsh and quite
uncurled; his figure, too, though tall and powerful,
was graceless; his body corpulent and gross,
betraying symptoms of debauchery and license,
as plainly as his countenance reflected a mind despotic,
brutal, and self-willed. The most profound
respect attended his swift passage through the
lines, and ever and anon some change of station
or some delicate manœuvre was executed on his
bidding; but, when he reached the extreme right
of the royalists, he paused some time in deep and
earnest contemplation of the post occupied by
Cromwell with his cavalry, which were even then
engaged in chanting one of their vengeful and
prophetic hymns. Then sending off a dozen officers
on the full spur in different directions, he
cantered coolly forward with but two attendants,
and these private troopers, till he was distant scarce
three musket shots from the grim ironsides. Here
he again drew in his horse, leaped to the ground,
and, levelling his glass upon the pommel of his
demipique, swept the array of Oliver with careful
scrutiny. Edward had from the first concluded that
this leader was no other than the impetuous and
daring Rupert; had he, however, doubted it, the
bitter imprecations and fierce shouts of the excited
puritans, to whom his cruelty and his successes
had rendered him an object of especial hatred,
must have at once convinced him. But he had
little time for observation; for Rupert, in his
audacious reconnaissance, had, as it seemed, miscalculated
his own distance from Frizell's Scotch
dragoons, or overlooked the ditch that ran obliquely
from their station to a point within a few yards of
the elevation he had chosen, as commanding much
of the parliament's position—an oversight which
escaped not that experienced officer. A dozen of
his men, as the prince halted, had dismounted
from their horses, and, with their arquebuses
ready and their matches lighted, stole on from
bush to bush, behind the bank, unseen and unsuspected
by the engrossed and anxious leader, till
within short carbine distance—then, flash after
flash, their scattering fire burst from the willow-bushes
and the tufts of flags that lined the water-course—and,
ere the sharp reports had reached the
ears of Ardenne, one of the prince's followers
leaped up in his saddle, and fell dead at his general's
feet, while the perspective-glass dashed from
his fingers, and the white plume severed by another
bullet, showed how well-aimed and narrowly-escaped
had been the volley destined for Rupert's
person. The charger of the fallen trooper
dashed masterless across the field, followed
with nearly equal speed by the surviving soldier,
who halted not till he had reached his comrades—
but he whose life was aimed at more peculiarly
did not so much as look toward the enemy, whose
fire had so nigh slain him, till he had raised his
follower from the bloody sod, and ascertained that
aid was useless. Then, quietly remounting, he
shook his clinched hand in the air at the dragoons,
who had reloaded and were now in open view
preparing for a second shot, and trotted leisurely
away toward his chosen horsemen.

Scarce had this passed ere Edgar's notice was
attracted by the raised voice of Cromwell, on
whom he had been hitherto in close attendance,
but who had ridden a short space to the left to give
some orders to the colonel of one of his own regiments.
His words were lost to Ardenne from
the distance; but, by the short stern intonation of
his accents, he knew that something was amiss,
and galloped up to him at once. The officer whom
Cromwell had addressed was sitting motionless
before his regiment, his bridle loose upon his
charger's neck, his open hands raised upward, his
dull and heavy features lighted up by a phrensied
glare, and his voice rolling forth sentence after sentence
of unconnected texts, strung, as it were, together
by a running commentary of his own ill-digested
ravings.

“Heard you me not? Ho! Colonel Obadiah
Jepherson,” shouted the general close in his
ears, his features kindling and his voice quivering
with rage, “heard you me not command you
straightway to despatch troops to bring up the fascines,
that, when we list advance, we may have
wherewithal to cross the ditch! Heard you not,
or do you dare to disobey me?”

“Must I not, then,” replied the other, in a

drawling tone, “as Balak said to Balaam, `must I
not take heed to speak that which the Lord hath
put into my mouth?' ” and, turning toward the
troops, he again went on—“Wherefore be ye as
those, O brethren, whom the Lord set apart to
Gideon—”

But not for many words did he continue his
oration; for, plunging both his spurs up to the
rowel-heads into his mighty charger, and plucking
forth a pistol from his holster, Oliver dashed
against him. Leaving the rein at liberty, by the
mere pressure of his limbs he wheeled the horse,
as he was on the point of riding down his disobedient
officer, and, seizing with his left hand the
collar of his buff coat, with the right he pressed
the muzzle of his weapon to his temples; and with
such violence that, when the pistol was withdrawn,
a livid ring remained on the indented and discoloured
flesh.

“Now, by the Lord that liveth,” he hissed between
his set teeth, but in a whisper so emphatic
and distinct that all around him heard it—“if you
but wink an eyelid, much more speak, or move to
disobey me, it were better for thee thou hadst
ne'er been born! Away! and do my bidding, dog,
or you shall die the death”—and, as he spoke, he
shook him off so suddenly that he had wellnigh
lost his saddle as he turned hastily away to set
about his duty with as much alacrity as though
he did so of his own free will. At the same time
a loud sharp roar told that the action had commenced;
and, riding once more to his station, Edward
beheld a snow-white cloud surge slowly up
toward the royal left—a bright flash followed—
another burst of dense and solid smoke—another
sharp explosion—and then, each after each, they
woke the cannon of the cavaliers, till their whole

front was veiled in wreathed smoke, drifting toward
the parliament's array, and filling all the intermediate
space as with a palpable and massive
substance—while the continuous and deafening roar
precluded for a while the possibility of hearing, and
almost of thought. Anon the answering ordnance
of the puritans belched forth its flame and smoke,
and added its din to the awful uproar. At times,
when the clouds melted for a moment under the
freshening breeze, Edgar and his yet more observant
leader might catch glances of the royal pikemen
pouring in solid columns to the charge, the
long lines of their levelled weapons glittering
through the smoke—or, farther to their right, the
masses of their horse, wheeling like flights of
seabirds to and fro—now all in gorgeous sunshine,
and now all in gloom. Meanwhile the rattling
of the musketry was mingled with the deeper
bellowing of cannon; and, among all and over all,
the thundering accents of that most potent of all
vocal instruments, the voice of man, pealed upward
to the polluted heavens. A long half hour elapsed,
and they might hear the battle raging at every instant
fiercer toward their right, yet they remained
still unengaged themselves, and without tidings or
directions how to act.

“By Heaven,” cried Ardenne, as he caught the
distant glitter of the royal standard floating among
the smoke almost within the puritan position—“by
Heaven, our right must be repulsed;” and, as he
spoke, an aid-de-camp dashed in, wounded and
ghostly, from the right; and, as he reined his charger
up, the gallant brute fell lifeless under him.
“Fairfax is beaten back, and all our right wing
scattered,” he exclaimed as he arose.

“Silence, man,” Cromwell sternly interrupted
him. “Wouldst thou dismay all these? Say on—

but here apart, and not above your breath, an you
would live to speak it out! Say on!”

“Fairfax is beaten utterly, and all the right wing
broken—you may not find two score of it together.
As he charged through you accursed lane, the
musketry of Belial mowed his ranks like grass
before the scythe—and lo! the sons of Zeruïah—”

“Tush! tell me not of Belial and of Zeruïah!
or, by the life of the Eternal, I will smite thee with
my truncheon! Speak out in plain blunt English,”
again interrupted Oliver. “Fairfax was broken—
and what then?”

“His Yorkshire levies, flying all disorderly,” replied
the officer, confused and panting still from
the effects of his late fall, “trampled beneath their
feet and utterly dispersed Lord Ferdinando's foot;
Balgony's lancers only broke one royal regiment,
and stout Sir Thomas, with but six troops of all
our northern horse, has cut his passage through
the cavaliers. These are now struggling hitherward—the
rest are routed past redemption! Lucas,
and Porter, and the malignant Goring are playing
havoc on the flank of our best Scottish foot, and
Newcastle, with all his whitecoats, is winning way
in front at the pike's point.”

“What message from the general? Quick, sir,”
cried Cromwell—“quick!”

“That you draw out with all despatch, and
charge Prince Rupert!”

“Why said you not so sooner?” Oliver replied.
“Thou, Righteous Lambert, ride to Jepherson;
bid him advance with the fascines and fill you
ditch! Hulton and Barnaby, off with you to the
first and second regiments; we will advance and
cross the drain at a brisk trot, and—Ha! their
ordnance ceases on the left; Rupert will meet us
straightway! Forward!—advance! Ardenne, be

near me thou! Forward! Sound trumpets;” and at
a quick trot they advanced, but in the deepest silence,
save for the clashing of their armour and the
earth-shaking clatter of their hoofs. “Ha!” Oliver
exclaimed again, as a quick spattering volley
on their left was heard distinctly, though the smoke-wreaths
were too closely packed to suffer objects
to be seen above a spear's length distant—“there
goes the musketry of Frizell—and now we clear
the smoke!” and, even with the words, they passed
the ditch, which was filled level with the surface
just at the moment of their reaching it; and, as
they passed it, the dense clouds from the royal
cannon, which, after the discharge had ceased, sailed
sluggishly down wind and hung about the puritans
some minutes longer than around the cavaliers,
soared slowly upward, and disclosed the whole of
that eventful field. One glance showed Cromwell
that the whole right of their position was indeed
broken—scattered to the four winds of heaven
—and that their centre, though supported by the
whole reserve, could scarce maintain itself against
the desperate odds with which it was engaged;
though, by the fast and rattling volleys, and the
repeated charges of the pikemen, he saw that all
was not yet over!

The second glance showed him the prince in
person, with the whole gallant cavalry of his right
wing, advancing at full trot to charge him, with
scarce five hundred yards between them; while a
strong mass of pikemen, intent on turning the extreme
left of the Scottish centre, had advanced so
far beyond their horse as to expose a portion of
their own right flank. “Ardenne!” he shouted,
with a voice clear as a trumpet, “away! A flying
charge upon the flank of yon pike-regiment—ride
over them, wheel promptly, and fall in upon the

left flank of Prince Rupert! Buxton, ride thou to
Frizell, and tell him not to charge, but to deploy
and to maintain his fire! for life! for life! Now
for the work. Gallop! ho! Charge! Down with
the sons of Zeruïah! Ha! ha! the sword of the
Lord and of Gideon!”

An instant was enough; his messengers rode
like the wind; and with a mighty shout, that rose
above the thousand fearful sounds that mingled to
make up the thundrous voice of battle, the ironsides
plunged headlong on the advancing cavaliers. Five
thousand horse at least on either side, splendid in
all the vain equipments that cast a false and fleeting
light of glory over the ghastly face of havoc! On
they went—man to man, and horse to horse, panting
for bloodshed as for the breath of life—drunk
with excitement—thoughtless of all except the
present! The trumpets of the royalists were
scarcely audible among the yells and shouts of the
wild fanatics. “Ha! Zerubbabel! Down with
the cursed of God! Ho! Napthali; on, Benjamin!
Strike, and spare not! strike in his name—even
his own name, Jah!” The phrensy of their onset,
for they charged like madmen rather than cool and
steady veterans, together with the slight confusion
which always must be felt by an assailing party,
which in the very moment of attack is suddenly
assailed, would have gone hard against the cavaliers;
but when to this was added the continual
and well-aimed fire of Frizell's Scotch dragoons,
cutting down horse and man along their right by
hundreds; and when the fresh and gallant regiment
of Ardenne, which—having fallen at an oblique
tangent on the right flank of the pikemen,
and driven through them like a thunderbolt with
an unbroken front—had wheeled, without a second's
pause, above the dead and dying, as orderly as on

parade, and charged full on the naked left of Ruperts
cavalry—it was no wonder that they were
cast into complete and irretrievable disorder! For
some time all was close and deadly conflict—for
such was the ecstatic valour of the gentlemen who
battled for the crown, and such the rash and stubborn
daring of their leader, that they persisted still, rallying
in squadrons or in troops—when their whole
line was broken and confused—and still, when
these were routed, rushed on in desperate knots of
ten OF twelve against the victors, and dealt them
death on every hand, with pistol, carbine-but, and
broadsword! Five times, at least, did Rupert rally
his own regiment, and bring it up to be again repulsed;
and, in the last charge, singling Ardenne
out, whose prowess he had noticed in the melée,
he drove his horse against him, and smote him
such a blow as shivered the tried rapier which he
raised to guard it to the hilt, and, falling thence
with scarce abated violence upon his morion, cleft
it down to the hair, but, deadened by the trusty
steel, inflicted no wound on the wearer. It was
well for Edgar that at this moment a fresh charge
by Fairfax, Crawford, and Balgony, who had come
up from the right wing across the rear, was made
with equal skill and execution—while Cromwell
drew off and reformed his troops—bearing the
prince and all his bravest backward, pushing his
squadrons, utterly defeated, clear off the field, and
chasing them with fearful havoc to the very walls
of York.

A little interval ensued while they called off
their stragglers, eager for vengeance, and scattered
by the melée; but, ere ten minutes had elapsed,
the ironsides, though thinned in number and above
half of them wounded, were under their own colours
and in their regular ranks. Ten minutes more

flew by, and nothing was yet done—they held the
ground with not a foe before them—while on their
right the enemy's whole infantry, whose flank, by
the defeat of Rupert, was open to their charge, was
gradually pushing back their own foot, step by step,
at the pike's point, from their position. Amazed
at this delay, and fearing some mishap, Ardenne
intrusted his command to his lieutenant, and,
mounting a fresh horse, galloped off in search of
Cromwell, whom he found bleeding fast from two
wounds, both above his shoulders—one in the neck,
a graze, as it was said, by a chance pistol-shot from
his own men; the other a smart sword-cut on the
collar-bone—and evidently faint and failing from
the loss of blood.

“A surgeon, ho!” cried Edgar; “bear him away
to the rear!”

“Not for the world,” said Oliver, in a low voice,
but stern. “Shall I go while the Lord has need
of me? Form to the right, brave hearts, and follow
me! The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!”
and, making a last effort to lead them to the charge,
he tottered in his stirrups, and would have fallen
had not two subalterns supported him and borne
him to the rear.

“What now, lieutenant colonel?” exclaimed
Jepherson from the head of the next regiment as
Cromwell was conveyed away.

“Heard you not then the general's order?” answered
Ardenne. “Each regiment form open column
to the right by troops, and charge all on the
flank of yon dense mass of musketeers and pikemen!
Thou, Jepherson, wheel round upon the rear
of you brigade of whitecoats—thou, Desborough,
cut thy way through yonder pikemen. Sound trumpets!
forward all!”

And on they went, with nothing to oppose or

stand before them. Regiment after regiment, taken
in flank or rear, were cut down, trampled under
foot dashed out of the very shape and semblance
of array. But now they reached the whitecoats;
Newcastle's own brigade, of musketeers and pikemen
mingled, four thousand strong, picked men,
flushed with success and valiant. Well was it
then that Ardenne had wheeled Jepherson upon
their rear; for, as he came upon their flank, while
they were fighting hard in front with the Scotch
infantry, they formed a second face with admirable
skill, and opened on him such a fire from their
second and rear ranks as emptied wellnigh half
his saddles, while their pikes presented an impenetrable
rampart against his gallant horses.
With difficulty he rallied his own regiment and
again brought it to the charge; and, at the self-same
instant, Jepherson burst upon their rear. Assailed
upon three sides at once, they broke; but
fought it out even then, standing in small groups,
back to back, refusing quarter to the last, and lying
in their lines when dead as they had fought when
living! Oh, noble victims! thanklessly sacrificed
in the upholding of a tyrant against their country's
freedom! slain innocently in an evil cause! Alas!
alas for their free English blood, poured out like
water on their native soil, not to defend, but to
destroy its liberties!

With the destruction of the whitecoats the battle
in truth ended; for, though a greencoated brigade
still offered stout resistance, it was but a last
effort of despair. The parliament's whole centre,
now relieved from their assailants, moved steadily
and promptly up, pursuing the advantage gained
by the gallant ironsides, and pressing on the scattered
parties of the royalists with such relentless
zeal, that they could never rally till they had reached

the walls of York. Whole squadrons pushed
into the Ouse, were drowned in its deep waters, or
pitilessly slaughtered on its banks. The cavalry,
with Ardenne at their head, meanwhile still drove
right onward; and, wonderful to tell, traversed the
whole position of the enemy, from end to end, in
perfect and unbroken order, sweeping the relics
of that disastrous fight before them as the surf
drives the wreck which its own violence has made
before its foaming waters. Then, having reached
the farthest royal left, they wheeled once more to
the right, and actually occupied the ground which
Lucas, with his cavaliers, had held at the beginning
of the action. The only enemy now left upon the
field were these same victors; who, having conquered
Fairfax and his tumultuary levies, had
pressed with much success upon the flank of
Manchester's and Lindsay's regiments of foot, till
these stout squadrons, when relieved by Edgar's
overwhelming charge upon their enemies in front,
found leisure to concentrate all their efforts against
the cavalry which had so nigh defeated them, and
were in turn repulsing them; when, on the very
spot where they had first so roughly handled
Fairfax and his northern horse, Ardenne fell on
them unawares, and well avenged his comrades.
In this last conflict the ground was broken with
steep banks and scattered bushes, and the deep
channel of the drain alluded to above. Here, as
before, the fight was obstinate, and hand to hand,
among the troops—when, just as Edgar's men drove
Lucas back, killing his horse and making himself
prisoner, while all was smoke, and tumult, and
confusion, a small but well-appointed troop of cavaliers
wheeled round some alder-bushes and charged
home. These, for a moment, threw his force into
disorder, but unsupported and too weak in numbers,
they fell fast, and at the last drew off—their leader
fighting desperately to cover their retreat, till a
shot struck his charger; and, as he rolled upon
the gory and hoof-dinted sod, a savage fanatic
shortened his sword to stab the prostrate rider.
Edgar's eye caught a glimpse of the gray hairs
and noble features that were now disclosed, blood-stained
and ghastly, by the falling of his battered
monon. With a fierce cry he bounded from his
horse—he was—he was in time! He struck one
rapier up, received another, which he could not
parry in his own sword-arm; but he had saved
his father. It was not he alone, however, who
had perceived Sir Henry's peril—a desperate rally
of his followers was made to rescue him—the tide
of fight had rolled away after the flying cavaliers
of Lucas; and in an instant, ere he could strike a
blow or shout his war cry, Ardenne, second to
Cromwell only as the winner of that bloody day,
was made a captive, and borne off at a gallop by
the flyers from that very field on which his conduct
and his valour had retrieved the fortunes of
his party when on the very verge of absolute annihilation.