University of Virginia Library

8. VIII.
I VISIT THE HAGUE.

These memoirs, may it please the reader, are not
a history of the reign of his majesty King Charles I.,
nor even a narrative of the military occurrences of
the “Great Rebellion.” Guns will roar on the page,
bugles sound, and swords clash, sometimes; but 'tis
the adventures of Edmund Cecil which will chiefly
compose the story.

Therefore of Edgehill I present but a passing sketch;
and I think all battles had best be treated in that
manner. What are they but a hurly-burly of shouts,
explosions, and cheers or groans! The movements of
columns or wings are described in a few words; then
nothing is left but that confused struggle of the opposing
masses. I have been in many battles; and all
resemble each other in the one great feature of men in
clothes of different colors essaying to tear each other
to pieces.

The king's army, of about ten thousand men, was
drawn up on the slope of Edgehill. In the vale of the
Red Horse, beneath, the ten or fifteen thousand men
of Lord Essex confronted them in order of battle. All
day the opponents faced each other thus. Towards
sunset the battle began. With fluttering banners,
blasts of the bugle, and the roar of artillery, the royal
forces advanced to charge those of the parliament.

Prince Rupert, on our right, commanding the horse,
began the struggle, as was thereafter his wont. He
charged the left wing of Lord Essex, consisting of a
strong body of cavalry; and, riding with the Guards
in front, I witnessed a singular incident. The troop
of horse we were charging suddenly fired their pistols
into the ground; their commanding officer spurred to
meet us, and made a parade-salute with his sabre to
Prince Rupert, with whom he exchanged a few words;
an instant afterwards the troop had wheeled and ranged
themselves on the side of the king. Sir Faithful Fortescue—forced,
'twas said, to march with the parliament's
forces against his will—had changed his flag on
the day of battle, for which I, a royalist, could never
forgive him.

Struck thus by the whole weight of Rupert's horsemen,
the enemy's left wing gave way. A wild chaos
followed, the pursuers cutting down the fugitives as
they fled. They were followed nearly a league thus;
and Heaven knows how far the pursuit would have extended,
had not a thunder of shouts in the distance
recalled the prince to a sense of his indiscretion.

Sir Arthur Aston had broken the right of Lord Essex,
as Rupert had broken the left; but the infantry of the
king was thus stripped of its supports of horse. Sir
William Balfour, commanding the parliament's reserve
force, advanced; the lines clashed together furiously.
Lord Lindsey, our commander, was mortally wounded
and taken prisoner; and Sir Edmund Verney, bearing
the king's standard, fell dead,—the standard falling
into the enemy's hands.

Such was the state of things when Prince Rupert led

back his horse from the ill-timed pursuit. He came
too late to be of much service. The king's standard
was recaptured; but the enemy continued to present
an unbroken front. Then night descended:—the two
armies retained their positions; the watch-fires blazed
in long lines within sight of each other in the vale of
the Red Horse:—the fight of Edgehill, which left
five thousand dead men on the field, had resulted in
success to neither side.

The sole ground for claiming a victory over the
parliament was the fact that Essex retired, and the
king advanced towards London afterwards. But this I
did not witness. I was on my way to Holland.

At midnight his majesty had delivered to me his
letter to the queen, containing, doubtless, additional
matter relating to the battle.

“This with speed to her majesty at the Hague,
Mr. Cecil,” the king said. “At Yarmouth a vessel
awaits you: here is my order to the captain. Travel
rapidly; and, if you are in peril, destroy the letter. A
good journey, sir! I would fain go in your place.”

I took the letter, bowing low, and ten minutes afterwards
was in the saddle.

A hand in the darkness was placed on my knee.

“You forget to bid me good-by, Ned!”

The voice was gentle,—almost tender. In my foolish
joy at the thought of seeing Frances Villiers, I had
quite forgotten my dearest Harry; but he had not forgotten
me.

His arm was placed around me: a few words, and
we had parted.

Of all persons after my father, I loved this one the

best. 'Tis my pride and joy now to remember that he
too loved me.

But I did not think of Harry then; nor did I know
the full wealth of that noble heart and the extent of
my brother's self-sacrifice.

I passed across the country at full speed, avoiding
the enemy's scouting-parties, reached Yarmouth, found
the king's vessel—a small sloop—waiting, and gave the
captain the order. We put to sea at once, and, after a
stormy passage, saw the low shores of Holland appear
like a long green line on the water.

In due time I disembarked at the Hague and delivered
the king's letter to her majesty.