7. VII.
THE LAST HOPE OF THE KING AND OF THE CECILS.
I shall speak but briefly of the tragic combat of
Naseby. For long a curse seemed to weigh on the
very name, to me; even now, I wellnigh shudder when
'tis pronounced.
The king commanded his army in person,—Prince
Rupert leading the right, Sir Marmaduke Langdale the
left. On the enemy's side, Fairfax was the general-in-chief;
and his right was led by General Cromwell, his
left by Ireton.
Rupert opened the battle, as was habitual with him,
by a cavalry charge. He rushed upon Ireton, and to
that resolute officer I found myself personally opposed.
A brief sword-encounter followed, and I was near disarming
him.
“Surrender!” I cried.
“Never!” was his gallant reply.
With a sweep of his broadsword he cut the feather
clean from my hat, and it is probable that I would have
fared badly in the encounter, when a trooper ran his
weapon through his thigh, and he was taken prisoner,
still fighting and refusing to surrender, like the brave
man he was.
Rupert had meanwhile pushed on, driving the enemy's
left before him. It was the strange fate of this headlong
cavalier to defeat the enemy always at the outset,
but ever by some blunder to lose all the fruits of his
victory. Such was the event now at Naseby. The
enemy's left was routed and driven. The prince could
fight, but could not command: he stopped to summon
the enemy's artillery to surrender before charging it;
thus precious time was lost, and the golden moment
passed. A deafening shout from our left and rear
attracted all eyes to that quarter.
The spectacle was terrible.
As Rupert charged, the king had advanced his whole
line, leading it in person. Mounted upon a superb
charger, his head bare, and waving his hat, his majesty
rode in front of his line, exposing himself to the heaviest
fire, and calling upon his troops to follow him. They
responded with cheers, and in a moment the opposing
lines clashed together. Before the royal charge the
parliament forces gave back, as before Rupert; but
suddenly there appeared upon the scene that terrible
new element, the “Independent” pikemen of Cromwell.
These now advanced, slow and stern as an incarnate
Fate. Nothing stood before the surging hedge
of steel; the triumphant royalists were first checked,
then forced back, then broken wellnigh to pieces: the
whole left wing of the king was crushed by this irresistible
weight of pikes.
We saw this, we of the Guards, from a distance, and
heard the fierce shouts. Prince Rupert understood all,
and his eyes blazed as they witnessed the spectacle. I
was near him, and our eyes met.
“Go to the king! go to the king!” he cried, “and
say I will be with him instantly!”
I saluted, and wheeled my horse.
“Stay! Take Hans with you. You may be shot.
Say I will come instantly.”
And, turning to the gigantic corporal who always rode
near him, the prince exclaimed,—
“Go with him.”
At the word, the huge black-bearded Hans thundered
to my side.
“I gome mit you,” he said, drawing his sword, and
putting spur to his horse. Without a word, I went
back at full speed, and we were near the king, when I
saw my companion reel.
“You are shot!” I cried.
“Hilf Himmel!” escaped from the giant's lips. Then
he raised his huge hand to his breast, threw back his
head, and, falling from his horse, was trampled under
the iron hoofs.
I had no time to aid him, even had not a glance told
me that he was dead. I spurred straight to the king,
who was fighting in the midst of his men. He saw me
coming, and exclaimed,—
“Where is the prince?”
“He bids me say he will be with your majesty
instantly.”
“I fear 'tis too late; the left wing is broken.”
The tumult drowned his voice, and the king continued
to fight personally, like a private soldier, careless
of all peril. I was near him, and now witnessed a
still more tragic event. The hedge of steel slowly
moved, as on a pivot, and enveloped the king's left.
Stern and menacing swept round the immense wall of
pikes, and through the smoke I saw their commander,
the thenceforward terrible General Cromwell. He sat
his horse perfectly motionless, in front of his left. No
statue could be stiller, and he resembled rather a bronze
or stone figure than a man. From time to time his lips
moved, and a brief command seemed to issue from
them. Otherwise the man was even fearfully cold and
immovable,—a Fate incarnate.
Suddenly Rupert appeared, and I wheeled my horse
and joined my comrades. Without a word, and seeing
all at a glance, the prince charged straight on the hedge
of steel. It did not move: the horses impaled their
chests on the sharp steel points, but made no opening.
Then I knew that all was over: the terrible wall was
closing around us; nothing was left for the followers
of the king but to die, sword in hand.
I had faced that conviction, and set my teeth close
for the event, when Harry, covered with dust and blood,
rushed past me on his superb courser.
“Come on, Ned!” he shouted, waving his sword,
and laughing; “there's time yet ere sunset to drive
these carles back!”
I spurred to his side.
“The day is lost, brother, but we can die here,” I
said; and we charged side by side.
A moment, and all was over. A pike pierced the
chest of Harry's horse, and the animal reared and
fell backward. At the same instant my own horse was
wounded and recoiled. Harry's sword cut the air; I
heard him utter a defiant shout; then he was hurled to
the ground, and a pike was driven into his breast.
The awful sight unmanned me, almost. A second
cry—of agony this time—burst from my lips. I seemed
to see for an instant, through the cloud of smoke, the
dying face of my brother; his eyes turned upon me for
the last time. Then a hot iron seemed to pass through
my breast,—a bullet had struck me,—and I reeled in the
saddle. My bridle was violently grasped by the pikeman
in front of me; I could make no resistance; but
suddenly my horse tore away from his assailant, turned,
and lashed out with his heels; the man was hurled back
by the iron feet, and I found myself—faint, reeling,
senseless almost—borne, at a swift gallop, back to the
king's line.
I ran almost against his majesty. He was bareheaded;
his eyes flamed. With clothes covered with dust and
grimed with smoke, and cheeks which seemed on fire,
he drove into the midst of the combatants, waved his
sword above his head, and shouted, in hoarse tones,
which echo still in my memory,—
“One charge more, and we recover the day!”
A roar drowned his voice, and there was scarce more
than a feeble cheer in response to his shout. The day
was decided: all felt that Cromwell's terrible pikemen,
advancing resistless as fate, would bear down all before
them. No further stand was made; and the royal
forces were seen on all sides retreating in disorder
from the field.
I was tottering in the saddle, and through the mist
before my eyes I could see but little. I made out,
however, in that cloud, one face, over which was
spread the pallor of despair. It was the face of the
king, who had checked his horse and sat looking with
a sort of stupor upon the scene before him. He sat
thus for a moment only. Two noblemen seized his
bridle and bore him from the field at a gallop.
Unconsciously I followed; leaning upon my horse's
neck, faint and dying almost, I went on at full speed.
After that I remember only confused cries, the clash
of arms, the roar of guns in pursuit. Then green woods
were around me, the noises died away, darkness seemed
to descend upon me, and I lost consciousness.
