Consideration of Fairfax’s commission had begun on the same day that the Commons considered the second Self-Denying Ordinance. As eventually passed it required officers to resign their position within forty days, but re-employment was not debarred. Part of the price of the legislation was the requirement that all officers take the Solemn League and Covenant, which led John Lilburne to resign from the army. He was acting partly from sympathy with Independency – that consciences should be free from secular restraint – but also on the grounds that this oath cut across others which had previously been demanded. This was an example of parliamentarian tyranny, and he was fighting not for Parliament so much as against tyranny.5 There were others like him.
In early April, however, the measures were finally passed: Essex, Manchester and Denbigh lost their commands, and Warwick resigned his (replaced by Batten). These were all men who favoured a moderate approach to the war, and were on the whole of Presbyterian sympathies. Oliver Cromwell, on the other hand, did not lose his command and was in fact to achieve higher command in the New Model. This led to a persistent suspicion that he had successfully manipulated the process to his own advantage; an example of how his high-minded rhetoric contrasted with a deep personal hypocrisy. Modern scholarship has tended to exonerate him from this charge, both at this moment and others, but it is an example of the ambiguities that surround the biography of ‘God’s Englishman’. What we do know is that he was in active service at the time when the Self-Denying Ordinance was passed, and was therefore given short-term exemption. This allowed him to fight at Naseby, where his contribution made it all but impossible to dismiss him – two days later his command was renewed for a further three months.6
In military terms the new army was remarkably successful. Its supply and provisioning were superior and this proved an advantage in recruitment too. By late April it was nearly at full strength and the cavalry units had been filled very easily. The infantry included many conscripts, who were not always easily secured, but also attracted deserters from other, less well-supplied, armies. There was a constant problem of desertion from the infantry, but its military success clearly rested on the relative attractiveness of service in the new army.7 And while keeping the infantry at full strength required conscription, it should not be forgotten that there were many who served through choice.
We will never know much about what motivated common soldiers in the war, but there is evidence that ideas were significant in all the armies for at least some of the men. They marched behind colours that were protected with pride and bravery, and the messages on those colours suggest differences in what the men might have been fighting for. On the parliamentary side they emphasized the religious cause; on the royalist side there was more emphasis on personal honour and loyalty.8
Both sides produced catechisms, short pamphlets explaining how fighting for one cause or another could be reconciled with a good Christian conscience. This was by 1645 apparently a successful publishing venture, with rival versions for sale in London. Parliamentarians were, for example, armed against the ‘base and absurd objection’ that they were in arms against the King: they sought ‘to rescue the King out of the hands of his and the Kingdom’s enemies’. Royalists, by contrast, were assured that their opponents ‘were rebels, and I fear (without God’s great mercy and their own repentance) they shall be tormented by the Devil and his Angels’. Of course, they may not have been produced primarily, or only, for the edification of the rank and file, to offer guidance on matters of conscience, but for propaganda effect. The behaviour of troops was a significant factor in the political battle, and the reputation of some royalist commanders for failing to restrain their troops cost the King some support.9 Either way, this was seen as a significant exercise – an extremely plausible-looking ‘eighth edition’ of the parliamentary catechism was produced, which completely subverted the message of the real catechism. It was so inflammatory that it was ordered to be burned by the common hangman.10 Once in the New Model Army, conscripted or not, those who stayed long were given a clear message about the godliness of their calling – the army was full of hot Protestant preaching, and it seems clear that it bolstered morale.11
This was not then the Leveller army of later legend. Self-Denial had been in one sense an attack on aristocratic influence, but the officer corps was initially well-leavened with the sons of the gentry and aristocracy. Formation of the army had been a victory for those anxious for a more vigorous prosecution of the war, and a defeat for supporters of Manchester and Essex in particular. It had led to the exodus of Scottish Presbyterians, and there is some evidence that Independents were over-represented among its chaplains.12 But it was not an army of Independents. Moreover, although it was the best-equipped and best-supplied army in the field, and played a crucial role in winning the war, it accounted for only half of the parliamentary soldiers in England. Massey and Brereton retained their regional commands and the Northern Association forces were put under the command of Sydenham Poyntz, a man later known for his Presbyterian sympathies. Besides these armies there were numerous local garrisons and the London Trained Bands, all of which retained their autonomy. It is necessary to say all this because the New Model Army, having won the war, was eventually to dictate the peace, purging Parliament and underwriting the trial and execution of Charles I. This intervention was not on the horizon in the summer of 1645.13
Within months of taking the field the New Model had won the most significant single victory of the war, at Naseby in Leicestershire. As always, however, there was a measure of chance about it – both in the field and that the battle was joined at all. Indeed, it is not easy to explain what had brought the two armies together in the Midlands. For Parliament the twin objectives of the spring were Oxford and Taunton, which had become significant to the whole of the West Country. The Prince of Wales had been sent to Bristol to forge a new western command, with an obvious threat to Parliament (although, on the other hand, this new command created a power base from which Goring and others could resist Rupert’s influence and therefore further complicated royalist politics). Taunton, currently in parliamentary hands, was under siege; if it fell it would facilitate the raising of forces by this new association, which could provide the basis for a new offensive. The Committee of Both Kingdoms was also worried about a possible royalist assault on the Eastern Association, and Cromwell took up position east of Oxford from where he could prevent forces picking up artillery en route from Wales to the parliamentary heartlands of East Anglia. Fairfax had in the meantime advanced to Reading.14
In response to these deployments near Oxford and at Reading, Goring was recalled from the West Country and, after a victory at Radcot Bridge, pushed Cromwell back. This also led to a recall of Fairfax, to support Cromwell rather than Taunton. On 8 May the royalist council of war met at Stow. An advance on the Eastern Association was ruled out and it was decided to split the armies between the relief of Chester and Taunton. Rupert advocated a decisive commitment to joining Montrose’s forces in the north, with the hope then of bringing in Irish forces. Cheshire, and more particularly Chester, was crucial to both elements of this plan, providing a corridor between north and south and an entry point for troops from Ireland. On the other hand, the chance of capturing Taunton could not easily be ignored. Backing a northward march would have been a defeat for Rupert’s enemies, similarly a westward march would have offered support to his rivals. Doing both was understandable, but not perhaps the shrewdest decision.15
Nonetheless, Goring was despatched to the west once more while the rest of the royalist forces were to move northwards. Those marching northwards were shadowed by Cromwell. As they approached Chester, Brereton called off the siege and asked Leven to cross the Pennines to help him confront the royalist army. This Leven refused to do, with an eye on Scotland, preferring instead to move to the northern side of the Lake District. In Scotland, Montrose had continued to enjoy military success, associated closely with plunder and excess. On 4 April, Dundee fel
l to him and atrocities ensued. His forces withdrew shortly after, the closest thing to good news for Parliament from Scotland, and marked with a day of thanksgiving in the mistaken belief that this was a victory. Chased by a superior force led by William Baillie he successfully avoided battle and reached the hills by Arbroath, where the superiority of the cavalry facing him was rendered ineffective. On 9 May he had the better of the battle of Auldearn, a cavalry engagement. Montrose’s military reputation could hardly be higher following these victories and this record certainly gave Leven pause for thought in undertaking manoeuvres in England. In taking up position north of the Lakes he was covering any attempt by the royalists to join forces in Scotland. Parliament’s force shadowing the royalist march was now broken up – part moving north to support Leven and part moving south to join Fairfax in laying siege to Oxford.16
The decision to besiege Oxford has been much criticized, but again there was a clear logic. It would force a response from the royalists and bring an end to the frustrating manoeuvres of the campaign to date. It would also stop any further advance to the north. But the response was devastating for parliamentary morale. On 31 May, Leicester was stormed by the royalists, following effective resistance. The victors then ‘miserably sacked the whole town, without any distinction of persons or places’. The sack of Leicester caused consternation in London: after a month of campaigning Parliament’s military reorganization had brought no dividend at all, and now a defeat that was catastrophic for morale. It prompted decisive action though. The siege of Oxford was broken up and the parliamentary army moved into the Midlands in search of a battle.17
As a result of these manoeuvres the two sides had ended up in positions that they had not initially anticipated. In early June the King was at Leicester, with Fairfax not far off, and Goring moving back towards Oxford. Having taken Leicester the royalists abandoned their northern march, much to the chagrin of the northern contingents in the army, and moved instead towards Market Harborough – a feint intended to draw Fairfax away from Oxford. Rupert remained committed to marching northwards, thinking (probably rightly) that this would draw the parliamentary army away from Oxford without risking a battle. But after Fairfax left Oxford on 5 June, Rupert’s counsels were disregarded. The royalist army took up position at Daventry, intending to resupply Oxford with food and to receive munitions from there. It was with complete surprise that they learned of Fairfax’s advance, but once it was discovered how close Fairfax was it might have been prudent to avoid battle. However, the open country northwards was unpromising for an armed retreat and there may have been hopes that Goring would arrive. In fact, he had good reasons to stay where he was, which he had set out in a letter to the King. In any case, by the time he was summoned by the King he was too far away to have arrived in time for the battle at Naseby.18
On 14 June 1645, after this frustrating and inconclusive manoeuvring, the New Model finally engaged the main royal army at Naseby in Leicestershire. Fairfax had a significant numerical advantage: he commanded between 14,500 and 17,000 men against the 9,000 or 10,000 led by the King. Parliament also had the advantage of the ground. After jockeying that began at 3 a.m., Fairfax took up position on a small hill, behind the brow of which the army formed up in order to conceal their numbers from the royalists. Charles’s army would have to advance across wet ground and uphill.19
Despite these disadvantages, the royalists nearly won. The parliamentary infantry in the centre were commanded by Sir Philip Skippon, the cavalry on the right by Cromwell. Those on the left were commanded by Henry Ireton, a close associate of Cromwell and a rising star in the army who was soon to be a major political player, as well as being Cromwell’s son-in-law. Ireton was faced by Prince Rupert, Cromwell by Langdale and Skippon by Byron. Battle was joined at 11 a.m., following a short and largely ineffective exchange of artillery fire. Rupert charged and Ireton advanced to meet him, but Ireton’s line broke up and he also sent a detachment to protect the infantry, which appeared to be beleaguered. Rupert’s charge was decisive and Ireton was seriously wounded and captured. The parliamentary infantry were also in retreat, and Skippon also wounded – so badly that it was a year before he was fit to fight again. Although Skippon was still on the field, Parliament had lost one of its cavalry commanders and its infantry commander.
The battle of Naseby
It was decisive command from Cromwell and Fairfax that turned the day. While Ireton’s cavalry had fallen before Rupert’s charge Cromwell had led a successful charge on the other side of the field, exposing the flank of the royalist infantry. Rupert, rather than come to Langdale’s aid, had gone after the parliamentary artillery train near the village of Naseby, but found unexpectedly fierce resistance. His decision was not the result of indiscipline, but a coherent choice, albeit one that has been criticized subsequently. It allowed Cromwell to cross the field and rally Ireton’s cavalry. Fairfax took command of Cromwell’s cavalry and they co-ordinated assaults on both wings of the royalist infantry. This allowed Parliament’s forces to recover their ground and regroup. By that time Rupert’s divisions were back on the field but, once in battle order and on the advance, Parliament’s superiority in numbers was decisive – the royalist infantry fled, pursued by Cromwell for thirteen or fourteen miles, nearly to the gates of Leicester. The battle was marked by one of the most notorious atrocities of the war. Hundreds of women camp followers were attacked by the triumphant parliamentarians. One hundred of them were murdered – perhaps mainly Welsh women mistakenly identified as Irish, whose long knives were to be used for food preparation rather than the human butchery of which Irish women were thought to be capable. Many others were marked as whores by having their noses slit or their faces slashed.20
Although many fewer men were involved than at Marston Moor, and fewer died, this proved to be a more decisive battle for the course of the war. Fairfax lost 150 men, the King around 1,000. But the royalist infantry were destroyed and 4,000 prisoners captured, and 2,000 horses, the artillery train, arms for 8,000 men and forty barrels of gunpowder were also taken.21 There was an immediate effect on parliamentary morale: a day of thanksgiving was appointed on 19 June, marked by a sumptuous banquet hosted by the City for the two Houses. Two days later 3,000 royalist prisoners were led through streets thronged with a triumphant multitude.22
Whatever each side had been trying to achieve, it is difficult to see why the royalists ended up fighting a pitched battle against a larger army in the Midlands. Behind the various shifts of the spring and summer lay divisions and rivalries but also distinct strategic views, and the mutually paralysing effect of successful manoeuvring by the two sides. The fall of Leicester, the culmination of a month of apparently aimless activity, was blamed on the continuing influence of the old generals who now sat on the Committee of Both Kingdoms every day (an unfair charge). Goring’s reluctance to rejoin the main royalist army has been blamed on personal rivalries and his vanity, although there were sound military reasons for him to stay, or in favour of a march northwards by a united royalist army. The campaign had been shapeless, but not purposeless, and decisions which in retrospect seem misjudged had at the time something to commend them. Moreover, if Cromwell and Fairfax had not rallied the parliamentary cavalry and turned the battle at Naseby all this would seem rather different now. However, although the battle might have gone the other way, it would have been better to have stuck to the plan – it was not really clear what the royalists had to gain from seeking an engagement in Leicestershire. Before the battle, with Montrose’s success inducing caution in Leven’s army, the New Model detained by an ill-advised siege of Oxford and a successful assault on Leicester having been carried out, Charles was in a reasonably strong position. As at Marston Moor, the decision to join in battle with numerically superior forces had been avoidable, and had backfired.
Naseby did not end the war, but it began the end of the war and had important political implications too. It was a victory for the New Model, not the Anglo-Scottish alliance,
and that increased the temperature of discussions about the post-war settlement. Thomas Edwards complained that the sectaries ‘especially in this last year since the victory at Naseby [have] abused (in most insolent and unheard of manner, and that all kind of ways) all sorts and ranks of men even to the highest’.23 For the same reason it was a blow to those who hoped for a rapid settlement, strengthening the hand of those keen to extract maximum advantage from the military victory. Revelation of the King’s private calculations about his public negotiations was used to reinforce the point. It was bad news for the royalists, but also for Presbyterians and those seeking relatively limited concessions from the King. It was certainly a blow for traditionalists: a ballad of the following year complained that Naseby had killed Christmas.24
There could be no doubt that this victory belonged to the New Model, and many contemporaries assumed that it was therefore a victory for Independency and sectarianism. Whatever the truth of that, this was certainly not a victory for the Presbyterian interest. Cromwell wrote to Speaker Lenthall after the battle that ‘Honest men served you faithfully in this action. Sir, they are trusty; I beseech you, in the name of God, not to discourage them… He that ventures his life for the liberty of his country, I wish he trust God for the liberty of his conscience, and you for the liberty he fights for’. The letter, as authorized for publication by the Commons, had these sentences cut – the thought that the war might be for freedom of conscience was not at all consensual among parliamentarians. Oddly, however, the Lords authorized its publication with these sentences included.25 The royalist newsbooks simply failed to mention the defeat, but news of the victory caused frictions among rivals in the parliamentarian alliance.26
God’s FURY, England’s FIRE Page 48
