32—
'My Marching Army'

The peace proposals indicated by the Commissioners at Oxford in the autumn of 1644 were repeated more formally at Uxbridge in the early months of 1645 and lost nothing of their sting. Charles smothered his indignation and infinitely improved his constitutional image among those who had time to think about such matters by his counter-proposals which, in substance, proposed the adoption of the constitution as it stood in the summer of 1641, the preservation of the Common Prayer Book from 'scorn and violence', and the framing of a Bill for 'tender consciences'. He even suggested that both armies should be disbanded and he himself come to Westminster — though what he meant by the proposal was not clear. He assured Henrietta-Maria that it did not mean surrender: 'As for trusting the rebels, either by going to London or disbanding my army before a peace, do no ways fear my hazarding so cheaply or foolishly.' I 'pretend to have a little more wit', he said, 'than to put myself in the reverence of perfidious rebels.'

Both sides, indeed, knew that the position was not yet amenable to peace propositions. Parliament continued its plans for remodelling its army, the fruits of which appeared in the New Model Ordinance of January 1645. Charles strained every nerve to build up his fighting force. He had never despaired of foreign aid, but one by one his contacts were failing. His Uncle of Denmark remained unmoved, the French made no response to his wife's importuning. In an effort to make available further resources from the family of Orange, the Prince of Wales was offered as husband to the daughter of Dutch William, but the match no longer sounded worth the expense to that practical sovereign; he was said to have informed Jermyn that the best course for the King of England would be to make peace at any price with his subjects. But Charles had said to Newcastle years before that he saw no reason why his Catholic subjects should not fight for him,

and he saw no reason why he should persecute them for their religion. Now his thoughts turned to Ireland. If he could satisfy the Catholic Irish he could bring them to fight for him and at the same time release the English soldiers who were holding them and thus, in one operation, acquire two armies. By the beginning of 1645 he was deep in plans with the Catholic Earl of Glamorgan, the son of the Marquis of Worcester who at the beginning of the war had so unstintingly poured money into his cause. Glamorgan was to offer the Irish a mitigation of the recusancy laws with their total repeal later in return for 10,000 Irish who would land in North Wales to help the King and a further 10,000 in South Wales, where they would be joined by loyal Welshmen. At the same time French troops, encouraged by France and by the Pope, would land in the eastern counties to assist a monarch whose attitude to Catholics was so sympathetic.

One of the many difficulties of the situation was that the Marquis of Ormonde, who became Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in 1644, had himself arranged a 'Cessation' with the Irish, although not upon such favourable terms, and had already sent Irish troops both to England and to Scotland. He knew nothing of Glamorgan's commission, while Glamorgan, in his enthusiasm, exceeded the terms of Charles's authority and disregarded his injunction not to proceed to action without consulting the Lord Lieutenant. Charles, holding many irons in the fire, was sorely missing his wife and his dependence upon her grew in her absence as they communicated about the troops who would come to his assistance and where they would land. Some might march through France, thought Charles — but, he hastily adds, 'this is an opinion, not a direction'. On even the smallest matter he waits for her consent — even a bedchamber post in the Prince's household. He begs Jermyn to given him an account of her health. It was altogether a different man from the one who had commanded in the Lostwithiel campaign.

But with willows whitening along the rivers and the meadow grasses springing underfoot the King's mind turned once more to the new season's campaigning, and his spirits rose at the prospect of action. The victories of Montrose in Scotland indicated a northward march to join forces with him but Charles's freedom of movement was inhibited by the activities of Cromwell who was harrying the country round Oxford, keeping the garrisons on the alert, scooping up all the available draught horses. Before he could leave the city Charles

needed more than 400 of these animals and they had to be found in an area already heavily drawn upon. It was not until May 11 that his needs were supplied and he managed to elude Cromwell, marching out with 11,000 men to join a Council of War at Stow.

The divided counsels that were so common among the Royalists led to the decision to separate, Charles and Rupert heading north, Goring marching westward to confront Fairfax. Neither deployment was initially successful. Goring failed to hold Parliament's forces in the West with the result that Fairfax was able to join Cromwell at Marston, a couple of miles from the centre of Oxford, on May 22. Oxford was poorly supplied and its ability to withstand a siege was sufficiently uncertain to keep the main Royalist army within striking distance of the city. Within these limits, however, it was moving fairly freely and on May 31 it captured Leicester and made towards Daventry.

Its pace was on the whole leisurely, though on one occasion it marched from 4 am to 6 pm without rest, and there was ample scope for young Richard Symonds, a trooper in Charles's Lifeguard — one of a divided family, for his brother was with Parliament — to satisfy his passion for topography and to fill his notebook with interesting details of their marches: the black earth which people cut into turf above Uttoxeter, curiously wrought statues in alabaster in a church, 'a flowery cross', 'a private sweet village'.^[1] But a free-moving Royalist army jotting down its impressions of the countryside was not what the Parliamentarian army command had envisaged, and on June 7, at Daventry, Charles learned that his opponents had changed their tactics and lifted the siege at Oxford. The welcome news, however, was mitigated not only by the necessity of revictualling the city before he moved on, but by the knowledge that Fairfax and Cromwell were now free to harrass him more directly.

The first move of the Parliamentarian commanders was to the Eastern Association, which they thought was Charles's objective and which, indeed, his Privy Council at Oxford had urged him to attack instead of persisting on his north wards march. When Charles replied to this advice he was at his most dignified and unrealistic. 'You know', he wrote to them from Daventry on June 11, 'that the Council was never wont to debate upon any matter not propounded to them by me, and certainly it were a strange thing if my marching army — especially I being at the head of them — should be governed by my sitting Council at Oxford.' The following day forces even less acceptable were dictating his strategy.

Charles was in the grip of that lethargic belief that all was well, or would become so, which in times of stress sometimes overcame him. His attitude was also bound up with the luxury of dependence, in this case upon Rupert, which was so much part of his character. When he was in sole charge, as in the Loswithiel campaign, he planned every move with the greatest care. Now he was so little heeding the New Model Army, which could not be so very far off, that on the 12th he went hunting in Fawsley Park, three miles south of Daventry on the Banbury Road, the property of that Knightley family who had been prominent among his opponents. As at the taking of Broughton Castle there may have been some feeling of retribution in the action. The exhilaration of the sport was rudely disturbed towards evening, however, by Rupert's urgent summons: enemy horse were in the neighbourhood.

The first instinct of the Royalists was to put ground between themselves and their opponents. Neither Goring nor Gerard had joined them from the West and they would be heavily outnumbered. So throughout the night of the 12th the scattered Royalist troops and equipment were called in from the villages round Daventry, and by the morning of the 13th the King's army was making its way towards Harborough. Meanwhile Fairfax had reached Kislingbury, about eight miles from Daventry, and on the 13th he was joined there by Cromwell. That same evening a party of Parliamentarian horse under Henry Ireton, probing forward, found a group of Rupert's cavalry playing quoits and another eating supper at Naseby, apparently unaware of, or unheeding, the proximity of the enemy. Charles himself spent the night at the village of Lubenham near Harborough and before turning in he wrote to Nicholas, perhaps intending to mitigate the sharpness of his earlier letter. 'I assure you', he said, 'I shall look before I leap further north.' But he had little time for looking. He was aroused in the middle of the night by the news that the Parliamentarian army was upon them.

When manoeuvring for position was complete the two armies were facing one another from serrated ridges of higher ground separated by broken land of furze and scrub, the Parliamentrians having the advantage of slightly higher ground as well as a superiority in numbers of two to one, their combined forces amounting to some 14,000 against 7500 Royalists. Both sides were drawn up in similar conventional array with cavalry on either flank, infantry in the centre and supporting musketeers lining the hedges at appropriate points.

Charles, his lethargy vanished in the need for action, reviewed his men. His army was a splendid sight, the regiments in the colours of their commanders, banners fluttering, horses groomed to a peak of perfection. Charles was filled with pride and drew his sword as he paraded before them in full armour, the very picture of a mighty sovereign leading his men to war. Then he took his place in front of the reserve of horse and foot which was stationed immediately behind Astley's infantry. When Cromwell, on that bright June morning, looked across the little valley and saw his enemies in full array involuntary words of admiration rose to his lips, but he merely felt the more elated that it was he who was the chosen instrument of the Lord to humble that mighty show.

At ten o'clock in the morning of June 14 Rupert on the Royalist right wing led the cavalry charge against Ireton's horse on the Parliamentarian left, his accustomed speed and force somewhat diminished by the nature of the ground between the two ridges and the subsequent uphill drive. But he broke through and was at Naseby attempting to secure the Parliamentarian baggage trains while Cromwell on their right was routing the Royalist left with cavalry to spare to help his foot in the centre. Charles immediately brought his reserves into action to help Astley's infantry: 'One charge more, gentlemen, one charge more', he was crying, 'and the day is ours!' In the midst of the mêlée the Earl of Carnwath seized his bridle. 'Will you go upon your death in an instant!' he cried, with several full-blooded Scottish oaths, and swung the horse's head to the right. The confusion was too great for Charles to repair the move instantly and to some of his men it appeared as though an order to right turn had been given; in obeying it they left Cromwell's cavalry unmolested and themselves galloped off some quarter of a mile to the rear, carrying the King with them. Rupert had not lingered at Naseby but when he returned the situation was already beyond repair. The remnants of the Royalist army made for Leicester, fourteen miles away, harassed by enemy troopers. The bodies of the slain covered an area of four square miles; they were thickest upon the little hill where the King had commanded.

Naseby was a complete military disaster for Charles. A thousand of his men were dead; 5000 were prisoners or wounded, including 500 officers; his foot, as a fighting force, had ceased to exist; the royal standard was taken, the Queen's colours, the Duke of York's, the banner of every infantry regiment on the field was with the enemy. Charles's artillery train, powder, arms, baggage and wagons, includ-

ing his own coach where he kept copies of his correspondence and his private papers, including his wife's letters and copies of his letters to her, fell to the enemy. Thirty-five of the letters, going back to his letter to Buckingham about his wife's 'Monseiurs' and including many of personal endearment, were immediately published by Parliament. More important to them were the letters that revealed the plans for military assistance which Charles had been discussing with his wife: the landing of French troops on the English coast at Selsey or thereabouts; the intended rising in Wales to coincide with the landing of Irish troops; the parts played by Ormonde and Glamorgan; Charles's offer to suspend, and ultimately to repeal, the penal laws against Catholics.

Naseby was a victory of 14,000 over 7,000 and was defeat without dishonour, owing much to the fact that Cromwell had sufficient cavalry to turn on the Royalist centre after he had dealt with their left wing. Moreover, while it was a defeat that had scattered Charles's infantry and destroyed his arms it had left him with a considerable force of cavalry. Could he retrieve the remnants of the foot, add to them the armies that still existed in the West, and recruit more men to build another fighting force? With thoughts of support among the Welsh, of help from Ireland, and of Montrose's victories in Scotland, his only idea was to try.^[2]

Charles spent the night of Naseby at Ashby-de-la-Zouche while the wounded were taken to Leicester, then, with his remaining cavalry, he marched westward through Lichfield to hereford, which he reached on the 18th after a difficult march through hilly and woody country where, as young Symonds noted, the churches were very poor. At Hereford Charles learned that Fairfax had taken Leicester, and here Rupert left him to take command of the garrison at Bristol, which was sorely pressed. Charles pushed on and was at Abergavenny on July 1 and on the 3rd reached Raglan, the splendid and well-fortified home of the Earl of the Earl of Worcester whose generosity had enabled him to begin his campaign in 1642. Here for a few days he was able to refresh his mind and body while remaining at the centre of what he hoped could be a revival of his cause. Glamorgan was still in Ireland and he had the brief and relaxing experience of viewing the waterworks, pumps, irrigation devices and hydraulic lifts which the busy mind of that young man had erected in his family home. But Charles's mind was more upon his own son, the Prince of Wales, whom he had sent, in the charge of two of his most trusted councillors, to Cornwall.

Within a week Charles's hopes were dashed. Goring was defeated at Langport on July 10, Bridgwater fell on the 23rd, support promised from Wales failed to materialize. All men, it was said, 'grew less affected or more frighted', many were compounding with Parliament, scattered pockets of Royalist resistance were giving up. There was talk of peace, in which even Rupert shared. Charles was at the bottom of the trough. 'Nephew', he wrote to Rupert on August 3 from Cardiff, having left Raglan on July 18,

I confess that, speaking either as a mere soldier or statesman, I must say there is no probability but of my ruin; but as a Christian, I must tell you, that God will not suffer rebels to prosper, or this cause to be overthrown . . . I know my obligations to be neither to abandon God's cause, injure my successors, nor forsake my friends.

Charles was repeating his stand on his religion, his Crown, and his friends; and, like Cromwell, he believed that God was with him.

Two days later Charles wrote to his son. 'It is very fit for me now to prepare for the worse', he said, and he instructed the Prince: 'whensoever you find yourself in apparent danger of falling into the rebels' hands, that you convey yourself into France, and there to be under your mother's care; she is to have the absolute power of your education in all things, except religion, and in that not to meddle at all, but leave it entirely to the care of your tutor, the bishop of Salisbury.' On the same day, August 5, with some 2500 horse and foot he set off over the rough Welsh mountains to Brecknock, Radnor and Ludlow, with the general intention of proceeding north to join Montrose. With little rest he passed through Shropshire and on to Derbyshire until on August 15 he came to Welbeck in Nottinghamshire, one of the homes of the Duke of Newcastle, where he rested for two nights, leaving after Sunday service on August 17. The following day he was at Doncaster, where he was heartened by the appearance of some volunteers who came in to join him. But there was no rest, for enemy forces were gathering to the north under Colonel-General Poyntz while Leslie with 4000 Scottish horse was approaching from the west. So he made south-eastward, reaching Huntingdon on the 24th and Woburn on the 26th, where he slept in the house of the Duke of Bedford, and two days later, with his men and animals badly needing refreshment, he came once more to Oxford, reaching the city on August 28.

In two days he was off again. There was something of desperation in his ceaseless marching. Even the ebullient Digby began to despair:

there is such an universal weariness of the war, despair of a possibility for the King to recover, and so much of private interest grown from these upon everybody [he wrote to Jermyn], that I protest to God I do not know four persons living besides myself and you that have not already given clear demonstrations that they will purchase their own and — as they flatter themselves — the kingdom's quiet at any price.

But Charles's obsession now was the relief of Bristol, which even Rupert's presence in the city had not been able to free from the pressure of enemy troops. He instructed Goring to draw what force he could from the west and march to the Somerset side of the town, while he himself advanced with horse and foot across the Severn not far from Gloucester. To make final plans for this unrealistic scheme Charles went once more to Raglan and here, on September 11, he received the 'monstrous intelligence', as he termed it, of Rupert's surrender of Bristol the previous day.

It was a blow which in his weakened state he could hardly take, and for the first time Charles refused to support a subordinate or a friend who had failed him. The crime was deeper in that Rupert was the King's own nephew, that to Charles he had been almost another Buckingham. But whereas when things had gone wrong with Buckingham Charles had rewarded him and hidden the hurt that the revelation of a flaw in his idol had occasioned, now his reaction was violently opposite. The Prince had no one in Charles's immediate circle to speak for him, Digby was too likely to believe the worst, and Charles did not wait for details or explanation. Instead, all the anguish of the war, of defeat, the utter weariness of the marching backwards and forwards, came out in one harsh, savage letter:

Nephew,

Though the loss of Bristol be a great blow to me, yet your surrendering it as you did is of so much affliction to me, that it makes me forget not only the consideration of that place, but is likewise the greatest trial of my constancy that hath yet befallen me; for what is to be done? after one that is so near me as you are, both in blood and friendship, submits himself to so mean an action (I give it the easiest term) such — I have so much to say that I will say no more of it: only, lest rashness of judgment be laid to my charge, I must remember you of your letter of the 12 Aug., whereby you assured me, (that if no mutiny happened), you would keep Bristoll for four months. Did you keep it four days? Was there any thing like a mutiny? More questions might be asked, but now, I confess, to little purpose. My conclusion is, to desire you to seek your subsistence (until it shall

please God to determine of my condition) somewhere beyond seas, to which end I send you herewith a pass; and I pray God to make you sensible of your present condition, and give you means to redeem what you have lost; for I shall have no greater joy in a victory, than a just occasion without blushing to assure you of my being Your loving uncle, and most faithful friend.

Rupert was required to deliver up his commission immediately and Charles sent to Nicholas at Oxford to arrest the Governor of the city, who was Rupert's friend, and who Charles felt might try to mitigate the Prince's punishment. 'Tell my son', he added in a postscript to Nicholas, 'that I shall less grieve to hear that he is knocked on the head than that he should do so mean an action as is the rendering of Bristol castle and fort upon the terms it was.'^[3]

Charles had two more lines of hope. He still thought of joining Montrose, not yet knowing that three days after the surrender of Bristol Montrose had been decisively defeated by Leslie at Philliphaugh, but more immediately his mind was on the port of Chester where troops from Ireland might land but which was being threatened, though not yet invested, by Parliamentarian troops. Losing no time he left Raglan on September 18 and started marching again over the Welsh mountains, where ten miles felt like twenty and where for long stretches they 'saw never a house or church' as Trooper Symonds recorded. In an ill-provisioned countryside their fare was meagre and Charles shared even his cheese on one occasion with fellow-travellers at an inn. On Sunday September 21 they came to Chirk Castle, twenty miles south of Chester, whence Charles sent a message to the Governor to hold out for a further twenty-four hours. Chester was still open to the south and west and Charles hoped that his cavalry would be able to repulse the enemy horse while he himself entered the city with his Lifeguard of about a thousand men by the Dee bridge. But at Rowton Heath, two miles from Chester, his troopers suffered another defeat on September 24 and he himself watched from the city walls as the leader of his Lifeguard, young Bernard Stuart, whom he had recently created Lord Lichfield, sallied from the city to their assistance only to be slain himself amid fearful carnage outside the city walls as defenders and attackers became inextricably mixed. It was the end of the gallant troop of horse who had followed him since Naseby.

With no more than a small bodyguard Charles refreshed himself at Denbigh Castle for three days and then made for Newark, arriving

there on October 4. Here Rupert sought him out, demanding to be judged by court martial, compelling Charles to assimilate the stark facts that Bristol was contained by sea and land, that it was bound to fall, and the only question was whether this would be with the minimum loss of life or with great slaughter. The court martial unanimously found Rupert 'not guilty of any the least want of courage or fidelity' but there was an ugly scene between the King and Rupert's friends, and both Charles and the Prince remained angry and bitter.

Parliament was mopping up fragments of Royalist resistance in the west and the Midlands and Charles decided to make for Oxford. To escape detection he left with a few friends at 10 o'clock in the evening of November 3; at 3 am on the 4th they were at Belvoir but pushed on until, towards evening, Charles was so weary that he was compelled to sleep for the space of four hours in the village of Codsbury, a few miles from Northampton. At ten in the evening they started again and before daybreak were past Daventry, reaching Banbury shortly before noon on the 5th whence a party of horse from Oxford escorted them to the city. It was nearly a year since the King's triumphant return to Oxford from the west. The city was now more grey, more sad, more still than before. Charles had taxed himself physically to the utmost, having been on the move, almost incessantly, for six months, either on horseback or on foot. He had covered more than 1200 miles of difficult country in long marches, sometimes from dawn until midnight, whose nature can be gathered from his men's descriptions: 'a cruel day', 'a long march over the mountains', 'no dinner', 'dinner in the field'. How could so brave an army as he had had have suffered such a sore defeat? Only on the stage of universal history could his own tragedy find its place. But even here he found no compliance. He sent to the Bodleian Library for a copy of D'Aubigné's Histoire Universelle . But John Rous, Bodley's Librarian, sent back a courteous denial and brought the statutes of the Library for the King to see. They forbade lending and could not be set aside, even for a reigning monarch. Charles readily accepted the situation. But in his exhausted condition it seemed like another repulse.^[4]

But, even without D'Aubigné, there was enough to ponder on. Charles had many good commanders both old and young with war experience. Rupert was perhaps the most brilliant but he had faults of arrogance and impetuosity and his close kinship with the King led to difficulties which were exacerbated by the jealousies of others about the King, particularly by Digby — also young, brilliant, and arrogant.

It was possibly a mistake, as some of Charles's advisers thought, to raise Rupert to the supreme command under himself, yet there were many professional soldiers who welcomed the appointment.

In the early stages of the war Cromwell observed a 'spirit' among the cavaliers that he felt was lacking in Parliament's troops. The men who came into Charles were fired with an enthusiasm to defeat the 'rebels' and were inspired by their Cause, by their King, and by Rupert's charisma. But when Cromwell raised his 'men of a spirit' in East Anglia who knew what they wanted and were prepared to fight for what they knew, he was forging an army with a spirit that was even more pervasive and more durable than that of the cavaliers. His 'Ironsides' fought, it was said, with a sword in one hand and a Bible in the other, and when, with the new-modelling of their army, they were also subject to efficient control and direction they became virtually invincible. That Cromwell himself, besides being essentially professional, was also a brilliant soldier, was recognized by his opponents. When Rupert asked before Marston Moor, 'Is Cromwell there?', it was the respect of one brilliant, professional soldier for another.

There was, nevertheless, an amateurishness about a great deal of the Royalist fighting, typified by Charles hunting in Woodstock before leaving Oxford for a major campaign or hunting in Fawsley Park on the eve of Naseby. There were occasions when divided counsels harmed his prospects, particularly at Stow-on-the-Wold in May 1645 when Goring went into the west leaving Rupert and the King to go northward. Charles was probably wrong in sending his most experienced counsellors, including Hyde and Culpepper, into the west with the Prince of Wales, so depriving himself of strong advisers to counterbalance the volatile young men who remained with him. There were probably missed opportunities, like the failure to advance to London after Edgehill or after the first battle of Newbury. But basically Parliament had the more resources in its control of London and Westminster and its access to the City and most of the wealthy towns and ports. It had also a wider-based support than Charles had in the many ills and grievances which united for a time in opposition. The disparate nature of this support would prove to be a weakness, but it helped to win the war. Even so, Parliament had to call upon the assistance of the Scots and its victory was no foregone conclusion.

For Charles himself the war had opened up opportunities that he

took with open hands. He was no cardboard commander but actively participated in general strategy and individual campaigns, rapidly turning theoretical knowledge to practical use. He was brave, he was tireless, he marched with his men, often on foot, rarely using his coach; he shared in camp life, took his place on the battlefield, matched his endurance with the strongest of his men. Yet now his friends were leaving the country or compounding with Parliament on such terms as they could and his last army perished at Stow-on-the-Wold shortly after Charles got back to Oxford, when Sir Jacob Astley was trying to get through to him. After his defeat the old man sat himself on an upturned drum and addressed his captors: 'You have done your work, boys', he said, 'and may go play, unless you will fall out among yourselves.' That they would do so was almost the last hope that Charles had left.