At an early hour of the following morning,
while the east was yet gray with the lingering
shadows of the night, the army of the independents
drew out into line, and formed itself on ground of
the most advantageous nature. This was a long
range of low hillocks, dominating the whole plain
or valley that separates the towns of Harborough
and Naseby, the latter lying in the flat a little to
the northwest of the parliament's position. Their
centre, for the most part, was made up of musketeers
and pikemen, with a good park of field artillery,
and Fairfax's life-guard in the reserve, the

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

whole commanded personally by that true gentleman
and gallant soldier—the right wing was composed
of Cromwell's ironsides, with Rossiter's and
Ardenne's lighter regiments; while the left, consisting
likewise all of horse, was under Ireton's direction.
All their arrangements were completed
ere the first flush of daylight broke through the
leafy screens of woodland which fringed the eastern
verge of that wide champaign; but soon the
thin clouds that were scattered over the summer
sky assumed a rosy tinge; a flood of golden light
succeeded, and then the great disc of the sun himself
rushed up in living splendour from the low
horizon. The vapours gradually melted from the
lowlands, and disclosed a beautiful expanse of rural
scenery; deep velvet pastures studded with noble
trees, green hedges rich in the flowery garniture
of spring, masses of forest throwing their dark
blue shadows in long checkered lines across the
laughing meadows—all sparkling with the morning
dewdrops—all clothed, as with a radiant mantle,
in gay and gorgeous sunshine. The cattle
lowed in the abundant valleys, the lark sprang upward
from the pearly sod, the rooks sailed forth
upon their matin voyage, their harsh voices pleasingly
mellowed by the distance, the hares limped
through the young wheat, scattering the dew from
the thick herbage in lengthened mazes—but not
one sound or sight was there betokening aught
save happiness and peaceful quietude.

The royal host, meanwhile, was also in array
some six miles distant, on a height just south of
Harborough, and posted yet more strongly than
their enemies, could the mad impetuosity of those
whom Heaven had marked out for destruction have
tarried to avail itself of their advantage. But, as
the day drew on, Rupert, who led the cavalry of

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the king's right—leaving the centre under Lord
Astley, and the left commanded by the noble
Langdale, still in position on the hills, with the life
and horse guards in reserve—dashed forth, two
thousand strong, to reconnoitre. About the same
time Ardenne's regiment had been detached for
a like purpose; but that wary partisan, feeling
his way with caution through the wood-roads and
defiles of the valley, easily detected the advance of
the royalists, himself unperceived. Placing three
troops in ambush, with instructions to check the
prince's march by one deliberate volley, and then
to fall back on the spur, he drew the rest off, and
in a short half hour had the satisfaction of collecting
his whole force under the guns of their position,
Rupert having been fairly staggered by the
fire of his skirmishers. Still, with his wonted obstinacy,
that rash leader porsisted in believing that
the Puritans were in retreat, and despatched message
after message, to order first, and then to hurry
the advance of the main army, which left its vantage
ground and fatally descended into the open
plain; so that, before three hours had elapsed, the
generals of the parliament might see the whole of
the king's host rushing like birds into the fowler's
net. With admirable foresight, Fairfax resolved
to suffer them to clear the broken country ere he
should attack them; seeing that, if defeated, the
enemy must be cut off among the lanes and passes,
which would be choked with fugitives the instant
that the battle should be turned into a rout. The
ground immediately below the hill was open, as
was the whole width of the slope, excepting two
or three stout timber fences and a group or two of
trees, which were at once pulled down or felled
by Ireton's pioneers, leaving as fair a field for the
encounter as ever was defaced and trampled into

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]

gery mire by the death shock of thousands. A
little after ten on that bright summer morning, Rupert's
bold cavaliers had cleared the woodlands;
the heads of Astley's columns were seen slowly
taking up their ground, and wheeling into line to
form the centre, while Langdale with his northern
horse was toiling at a full mile's distance in the
rear to bring up their field-ordnance. Still no material
opposition was offered to the royalists, except
that now and then a solitary cannon belched
forth its snow-white cloud, and hurled its shot with
terrible precision into the crowded files as they
debouched upon the plain. But now the trumpets
of Sir Marmaduke were heard upon the left, and
he appeared with all his Yorkshire chivalry; though
still the cannon of the cavaliers were at the least
a mile behind, encumbered by the fat loam of that
fertile district. Still the impetuous Rupert paused
not; the instant that the cavalry of Langdale came
into view upon the left, his bugles sounded for
the charge; and with a cheery shout, leading his
fiery squadrons, himself the foremost man, he
hurled himself against the horse of Ireton with
the velocity and brightness of a thunderbolt. Forward
they rushed—a torrent of plumes, scarfs, and
rich embroidery—their brandished rapiers glittering
aloft like lightning, and their high-blooded
chargers tearing the turf to atoms in their furious
speed. Such was the fury of their onset, that, neglecting
to discharge their carbines, they plunged
at once into the closest conflict. There was a
clang as of ten thousand smiths plying their iron
trade! a shout that was heard, as men say, at Harborough!
And brave although they were, stubborn
and resolute, the cavalry of Ireton wavered—
in vain their high-souled leader strained every
nerve and bled at every pore; new here, now

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

there; rallying, shouting, charging; in vain he
crossed swords with the fiery prince, and checked
him for one moment—they bent, they broke, they
fled; then flashed the pistol-shots, and in unbroken
force over them swept the cavaliers! The
ground was cumbered with the slain—but still,
over the dead and dying, over the voiceless trumpet
and the tattered banner, over the mute dismounted
ordnance, amid the groans and blasphemies,
the shivering clash of steel, the neigh of
maddened chargers, and the wild shouts of his
victorious troopers, on charged the daring leader!
on! fetlock deep in gore!

“Now, an he wheel upon our flank, the battle
is half lost already,” bissed the deep tones of
Cromwell in the very ear of Ardenne; “but lo!
the Lord hath blinded him—the God of hosts hath
robbed him of his understanding! See where he
drives along, heedless of aught save massacre and
havoc. Ho! by the light of heaven, this day shall
crown the whole.”

And, in good truth, neglecting all, wild as the
whirlwind, that destroys and still sweeps on, hearing
destruction it knows not and it recks not
whither, Rupert pursued the flyers—mile after
mile they fled—mile after mile he followed—beyond
the heavy ordnance, beyond the baggage of
the parliament, cheering until his throat was parched,
and his voice clove to his jaws! slaying until
his sword was blunted, and his arm weary and exhausted!
Scarce five troops of the whole left
wing had held their ground, and these under the
valiant Ireton, as, fired by the success of their companions,
Astley's stout infantry came steadily and
firmly onward, charged gallantly upon a stand of
pikes—they were hurled backward as from a castle
wall; and still that deep array of pikes rolled

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

onward. They rallied, and again they charged,
driving their horses in upon the serried spears, and
firing their pistols in the faces of the sturdy footmen.
But the cavaliers received them as the bull
receives the mastiff, and hurls him from his unseathed
front—their leader was dismounted and
made prisoner—their bravest were stabbed down
and mangled by the goring pikes—they scattered
and fled diverse. But now the musketry awoke,
mixed with the louder bellowing of artillery; and,
save the rolling smoke-wreaths which packed above
the hosts in the calm hush of the hot noontide, and
the red glare that ever and anon surged upward, and
now the waving of a standard, and now the flash
of wheeling weapons half seen among the volleying
clouds, naught could be now descried. Yet still
the royal foot pressed on, unbroken and invincible;
and Fairfax, though his lines fought stubbornly and
well, and formed again when shaken by the musket-buts
and halberts of the royalists—who hardly
fired a shot, still fighting hand to hand—and poured
their volleys in deliberate yet fast, felt that he still
was losing ground, and that the vantage of the hill
alone preserved him. On the right of the parliament's
array the conflict had been long delayed,
for Langdale had scarce formed, even when Rupert's
charge had pushed the horse of Ireton clear
off the field; and Cromwell dared not flank the
foot of Astley, lest he should be in turn outflanked
by Langdale. But now, with kettledrum and
trumpet, and shot of carbine and of pistol, Sir Marmaduke
advanced upon the gallop; and Cromwell,
tarrying not to receive his charge, swung forth his
heavy squadrons, with a thundering hymn, to meet
him. An officer rode forward from the Yorkshiremen,
as both lines halted to reload, and Oliver
dashed out in person to encounter him. Their

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

pistols were discharged in vain, for Cromwell's
bullet glanced from the corslet of the cavalier, and
the other fired at random—then blade to blade
they met; a dozen passes flashed with the speed
of light between them; their horses wheeled and
bounded obedient to the bit; Oliver missed a parry,
and his morion with the chin-strap severed fell
clanging to the ground; but, without hesitation, in
he went, and hailed so thick a storm of blows upon
his foeman, that he beat down his guard and hurled
him headlong. The whole passed in an instant—ere
another had elapsed the adverse lines were mingled;
yet, as they closed, Born-again Rumford sprang
to earth, caught up the general's morion, and tossed
it to his saddle-bow. Hastily, as he galloped on,
shouting his battle anthem, and still at every shout
striking a cavalier down from his saddle, he threw
the morion on, but with its peak behind, and so
unwittingly fought on through all that deadly strife.
Equal in numbers and well-matched in spirit, the
tug of war was dubious and protracted between
the Northern horse and the unconquered ironsides;
but, in the end, Cromwell's enthusiastic energy prevailed,
and Langdale, fighting to the last, was
driven from the field. Then! then was the superior
moral of Oliver's men proved past doubt.
Obedient to the first word, they drew off, careless
of plunder or pursuit, although their blood was
stirred almost to phrensy by the protracted struggle
and by the beat of their religious zeal.

“Oh! Ardenne, on!” Oliver shouted, as he
halted his own five regiments. “Pursue—pursue!
suffer them not to rally—support him, Rossiter;
away! Break them to pieces—scatter them!
The Lord of hosts hath given them a prey into our
hands! All glory to the name of our God!”

And, as he spoke, he wheeled at once upon the

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

flank and rear of Astley's infantry, which still
maintained the conflict in the centre, slowly but
steadily forcing their way against the stubborn
valour of the puritans. One hope remained for
Charles—one only! In the reserve himself, with
his lifeguard, commanded by Lord Lindesay, and
his own picked horseguards—his troupe dorée of nobles—
under the Earl of Litchfield, and Rupert's
best foot regiment, in all some thirteen hundred men,
fresh and unwearied, who had not, on that day, unsheathed
a sword or pulled a trigger, he had a fair
occasion to draw out and fall upon the flank of
Cromwell, as he swept round to charge the foot;
and so, to do him but free justice, he proposed.
Bidding his trumpets sound, and drawing his own
rapier—sheathed as he was in glittering steel from
crest to spur, conspicuous by his broad blue scarf
and diamond George—he plunged his rowels into
that snow-white charger, rendered immortal by the
deathless pencil of Vandyck. His pale and melancholy
features transiently lighted up by strong
excitement, “Follow me,” he exclaimed, “follow
me, all who love Charles Stuart.” Full of ecstatic
valour, they sprang forth—another instant would
have hurled them on the unexpecting and unguard—ed flank of Oliver, who was already hewing his
way, crimson with blood from plume to saddle-bow,
through the now reeling infantry. The charge
must have been perilous to Cromwell in the extreme—
might have destroyed him utterly; and,
had it so fallen out, the victory was the king's, for
Rupert's scattered troops were even now beginning
to return, and Fairfax could scarce hold his
own. But the charge was not made! Whether
from folly, cowardice, or treason, it now can never
be discovered, the Earl of Carnewarth, a mere cipher
in that band of England's noblest peers,

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seized on the bridle of the king. “Saul o' my body,”
he exclaimed, in his broad Scottish accent, “will
you, then, go upon your death this instant?” and,
ere the hapless monarch could comprehend his
meaning or arrest the movement, he dragged his
charger toward the rear. Then, on the instant, a
strange panic fell on all around, so that they fled
upon the spur, although no enemy was near them;
and though, at length, the king's exertions—who
spurred through the ranks beseeching them to
stand, and even striking at the fugitives in impotent
but noble indignation—brought them to rally
and ride back toward the field, the moment had
gone by! It was too late! For Fairfax, when he
saw how Cromwell had succeeded on his right,
and felt the consequences of his charge upon the
royal foot, in the disorder of that sturdy mass,
moved down at once his own lifeguard from the
reserve, and brought it into action. The prince
had, indeed, just returned from his insane pursuit;
but his men, deeming that their part was played
for that day, could not be brought to form again on
charge by any effort of their leaders. And now
but one battalion held its ground, a solid square of
foot, presenting an impenetrable front of pikes on
every side to the assailing horse, while from its inner
ranks it poured a constant shower of balls, that
mowed down all before it. Cromwell, meantime,
was overthrowing every thing, traversing Astley's
line from the left endwise toward the centre, when
Fairfax, wheeling his lifeguards round upon the
rear of that undaunted square, charged it himself
in front. Two horses were shot under him; but,
a third time remounting, he brought up his men,
though shattered by the constant volleys, to renewed
exertion. In the last deadly rush his helmet
was torn violently off by a pike's point—the

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colonel of his lifeguard proffered his own—but no!
bareheaded as he was, he dashed upon the spears—
he hewed his way into that serried band—with
his own hand he cleft the ensign of the regiment,
who crossed his path, through morion and scull
down to the very teeth—he waved the captured
banner round his head, and threw it to a private for
safe keeping, who afterward would fain have claimed
the honour. That line of pikes once broken,
in swept the independents with the rush of a
springtide; and, where it fought, that firm battalion,
refusing quarter and resisting to the last, was
trodden to the earth, annihilated, but unconquered.

The victory was complete, the rout disastrous!
Even to the walls of Leicester Cromwell's fierce
zealots did execution on the flying cavaliers; from
three miles south of Harborough to nine beyond
it, the country was one widespread scene of flight,
and massacre, and havoc. Five thousand of the
royalists were slain or taken, from an army which
had mustered but eight thousand in the morning.
Two hundred wagons, laden with arms and baggage,
all the artillery and colours, the royal standard,
and the king's own carriage, fell to the victors'
share; and, above all, that fatal cabinet of letters,
which—though, with a delicate and generous point
of honour not often to be met with in such times,
Fairfax declined to open them—when published
by the orders of the parliament, proved, past all
doubt or question, the utter insincerity of Charles;
and his resolve—as firm at the last hour as when
he first set up his standard—of reigning, if at all,
a monarch irresponsible and absolute.

That victory decided the campaign, and that
campaign the cause of England's freedom!

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