The Making Of The British Army Read Online Free Page B

of the New Model could charge home and then rally quickly to exploit its shock action.
Poor King Charles: he had taken Rupert’s advice to rally the Scots and recover the north of England, but in truth all chance of this had been lost – and with it Rupert’s reputation as a commander – in July 1644 at Marston Moor outside York. Rupert had only evaded capture, indeed, by hiding in the corn; sadly his dog ‘Boy’ failed to do likewise, and was captured and summarily shot. At Naseby, Charles must have known that the tide was running ever more strongly against him, and Rupert that the dashing cavalry charge no longer decided matters. And now they faced the New Model for the first time. Nevertheless, morale was by no means low, for they had stormed Leicester a fortnight before (and dealt with the defending garrison brutally), drawing Parliament’s troops north from the siege of Oxford, Charles’s de facto capital.
If only they had had the high ground. However, it was perhaps as well that the New Model was drawn up
behind
their ridge, for, well trained as they were, many a man had not seen battle, and there was still the touch of majesty in the Cavalier ranks as they formed up below – the drums, the trumpets, the colours streaming, the morning sun glinting on armour. And in the midst of the great, proud panoply rode Charles himself, sword drawn. He would personally command the reserve of infantry (the King’s and Prince Rupert’s regiments of foot) and his Life Guard of Horse: whatever else might be said of this king, he did not lack courage. Jacob Astley, his splendid serjeant-major-general, who had prayed on his knees before Edgehill, was deftly deploying the battle line, while 2,500 horse under Rupert and his brother Prince Maurice champed and pranced on the right wing facing Ireton’s stolid troopers. And over on the left Sir Marmaduke Langdale, high sheriff of Yorkshire, who had come south at the head of 1,500 horsemen known for both hard fighting and indiscipline, was taking unruly post on the flank of the mile-long line opposite Cromwell’s grim-faced professionals.
Rupert was intent on attacking, for all that doing so uphill would be no less risky than the Parliamentarians had found it in the opening battle of the war. But with the sharp spur of his ignominy at Marston propelling him, Rupert now led his Cavaliers in a charge straight at Ireton’s men, with Astley’s infantry beginning their more measured advance behind him. The clash of mounts was violent, and Rupert’s first line was checked. Then into the mêlée galloped the second line under the earl of Northampton, and the unexpected happened: Ireton’s men broke.
The Royalist cavalry swept on after them, baggage-bound exactly as at Edgehill, not stopping till it reached Northampton 15 miles away, giving Ireton a chance to recover – if not quite as quickly as on the New Model’s training grounds of East Anglia. The Royalist advance would now depend on Sir Marmaduke Langdale’s men neutralizing the other flank of the New Model’s cavalry – the flank commanded by Cromwell.
The Royalist infantry, too, was making progress. As Sir Edward Walker, secretary of the King’s war council, later recalled: ‘Presently our forces advanced up the hill, the rebels only discharging five [artillery] pieces at them, but [these] overshot them, and so did their musketeers. The foot on either side hardly saw each other until they were within carbine shot, and so only made one volley; ours falling in with swordand butt end of muskets did notable execution.’ In this push of pike the Parliamentarian foot began to give way, their commander, Skippon, himself badly wounded by a musket ball in the chest (though he would not quit the field).
And now was the moment when Langdale’s cavalry might have tipped the scales. Cromwell knew it, and coolly held his ground rather than shifting to support the wavering infantry, though he could see men in red coats throwing away