Authors: Michael Arnold
But, on 16 June, the mine at St Mary’s was exploded prematurely. Sir Henry Vane wrote the following account of the incident in a letter to the Committee for Both Kingdoms.
“
Since my writing thus much Manchester played his mine with very good success, made a fair breach, and entered with his men and possessed the manor house, but Leven and Fairfax not being acquainted therewith, that they might have diverted the enemy at other places, the enemy drew all their strength against our men, and beat them off again, but with no great loss, as I hear.
”
Vane mentions Lord Manchester, but it was actually Major-General Lawrence Crawford who commanded the St Mary’s mine, sending 600 Eastern Association infantry through the breach, without alerting anyone else to the attack. The Royalists counter-attacked in much the manner that I have described in the book, and eventually secured the breach. The attackers were cut off and forced to surrender, suffering large casualties.
Why Crawford exploded his mine in isolation is a mystery. Some accounts blame the weather, saying the persistent rain was threatening to flood the tunnel, thus forcing his hand. Sir Thomas Fairfax, however, was quite clear in his belief that Crawford was, “
Ambitious to have the honor, alone, of springing ye myne
.” I confess, Fairfax’s view made it into the book because I found it more interesting. Manchester’s collusion, however, is entirely a product of my imagination.
Whatever the real reasons for the abortive attack, the result seems to have been a general slowing in activity by the besiegers. Partly, I dare say, because Crawford’s failure took a significant toll on morale, and partly because supplies of powder and ammunition had begun to peter out following so protracted a bombardment. Camp fever was rife, which cannot have helped matters, and then rumours began to circulate of Prince Rupert’s approach. All eyes were suddenly looking westward.
With an army now approaching 15,000 strong, Prince Rupert had made swift progress, reaching Denton Hall, the residence, ironically enough, of the Fairfaxes, on 29 June. He then made the first of two moves that completely outwitted his enemies, pushing northwest in a lightning march to arrive at Knaresborough (fourteen miles west of York) the following day.
The Parliamentarians had stationed cavalry to block the southern Pennine passes, and the thrust had entirely outflanked them. He was now within striking distance of the besieged city, and sent an advance guard of cavalry eastwards from Knaresborough to give the impression that he was making a direct play on York. The Allied generals responded by breaking up the siege and mustering on moorland around Hessay and Long Marston with the purpose of blocking Rupert’s assumed line of march. On 1 July, the prince again wrong-footed his opponents by taking the main body of his army north-eastwards in an ambitious 22-mile flanking march. He crossed the River Ure at Boroughbridge, continued on to cross the Swale at Thornton Bridge, then marched down the eastern bank of the Ouse to approach York from the north. Late in the evening, Rupert’s forces drove off a party of dragoons guarding the bridge of boats over the river at Poppleton, thus securing the only crossing north of York. It was a stunning piece of leadership, leaving the city open to his army while the Allies were left on the far bank wondering how they had allowed the far smaller force to engineer the relief of the city with almost no shots fired.
Most crucially, Rupert could now link up with the Marquis of Newcastle’s army, adding at least three thousand new troops to his force in advance of the inevitable battle.
That night, the Royalists made camp in the Forest of Galtres while his cavalry secured the approaches to York. The Marquis invited the prince into York to discuss their collective plans, but it was during this exchange that Rupert, after so many acts of military genius, made what could be regarded as a fatal faux pas. Not only did he decline the invitation, he replied with a brusque order for Newcastle to be ready to march against the enemy early next morning. The prince was technically senior to the marquis, but the latter took offence at the manner of the order. Moreover, his military adviser, Lord Eythin, held a longstanding grudge against Rupert, which must have compounded matters. The poor cooperation between these three leaders would render the Royalist army virtually headless during the fighting of the following evening.
The events of 2 July 1644 unfolded much as I have described, with the Army of Both Kingdoms first marching towards Tadcaster (concerned the prince would actually strike south in an attempt to join with the King) and then returning when they realised Rupert intended to fight. The Allied generals decided to make a stand on Marston Moor, holding the ridge, and urgently recalling their infantry.
The Royalist army arrived on Marston Moor early on the morning of the 2nd. Prince Rupert had ordered a rendezvous with the York garrison before dawn, but, to his annoyance, the army inside the city were almost deliberately sluggish in their activity. We’ll never know if this was directly caused by the terse nature of the prince’s correspondence the previous night, but it seems highly likely. The marquis himself arrived at around 9 o’clock, but Lord Eythin did not appear with the main body of foot until around 4 o’clock in the afternoon, by which time the Allies were drawn up in battle order and singing psalms. If Rupert had attacked early, catching the Parliamentarians and Covenanters as they were strung out on the road, perhaps he might have won a great victory. Due to the late arrival of a significant part of his army, he was forced to face the full might of the Army of Both Kingdoms.
The combined Allied army – approaching twenty-eight thousand strong – occupied cornfields on the low northern slope of the ridge running between the villages of Long Marston and Tockwith. Their infantry formed up in the centre in four lines supported by artillery. The first line was comprised of brigades from all three armies, though their exact deployment is a matter of debate, some historians arguing that Fairfax’s men were on the right, while others believe they held the centre. I have taken the latter stance based on the available eyewitness accounts. What we know for certain, however, is that Major-General Lawrence Crawford commanded the English contingent and Major-General William Baillie commanded the Scots. Four Scottish brigades, under Major-General James Lumsden, occupied the second line, while Lord Fairfax and the Earl of Manchester led their own brigades in the third. The fourth line was made up of a small contingent of Scots.
As was typical for the time, the flanks were taken up by cavalry. To the west, the Allied left flank, Oliver Cromwell and David Leslie commanded around four thousand horsemen from the Eastern Association and Covenanter armies, while Sir Thomas Fairfax (nicknamed Black Tom for his swarthy complexion) held the right wing of around five thousand.
The main feature of the battlefield was a long ditch, sparsely fringed with hedges, that separated the opposing armies. Prince Rupert deployed to the north of the ditch, positioning musketeers in and around the feature to harass any Allied advance. His own infantry held the centre, though they were massively outnumbered by the Allied troops arrayed opposite. They were arranged in three lines with supporting cavalry, their foremost brigades, under Sergeant-Major General Henry Tillier, made up of the men that had marched to York with Prince Rupert. The remaining lines comprised the units of Newcastle’s army that arrived on Marston Moor late in the afternoon.
Rupert’s left wing horse was under the command of George Goring and Sir Charles Lucas, while, facing Cromwell to the west, the Royalist right wing horse was commanded by Lord Byron. They too were heavily outnumbered, but Rupert had ordered them to stay behind the ditch to disrupt any charge from the ridge, and it was here, below the place known as Bilton Bream, that the battle of Marston Moor began.
The day of the battle must have been strange indeed for those standing to arms on either side of the ditch. The late arrival of Lord Eythin and the York foot meant that it was already approaching dusk when the two armies had fully assembled. The acrimonious scenes between Eythin and Rupert really did happen, and Eythin was vocal in his criticism of the young general’s battle plan. Discouraged, Rupert decided that there would be no engagement until the next day, for time was simply running out. While an artillery duel continued, and the Parliament men sang (the incident with the Royalist officer sent mad by the singing was relayed by an eyewitness), he ordered his army to rest for the night, while the Marquis of Newcastle left the field.
At around 7 o’clock, to the utter surprise of the Royalist troops, Lord Leven, commanding the Allies from up on the ridge, took the opportunity to launch a surprise attack. During the preceding hour, the fight, as described in the novel, had grown into a bitter brawl over on the western flank. The Royalists had identified an advantageous scrap of ground from which to set cannon, and they had harassed Cromwell’s harquebusiers mercilessly during the late afternoon. Cromwell had eventually snapped, sending a pair of his own guns forward to form a counter-battery that was escorted by two regiments of foot. By turns, these regiments found themselves embroiled in a firefight with Rupert’s musketeers lining the ditch, and it seems logical that more and more troops would have become engaged as the skirmish escalated. Did Leven, watching from his high vantage, always plan to launch a late assault, or did he simply see that the battle had already effectively started? Either way, at around half past seven, beneath a massive thunderstorm, he ordered the rest of his huge army to surge down the slope onto Marston Moor.
Out on Leven’s left, where the opposing sides had already made contact, Cromwell led his horsemen towards the ditch, having dispatched Fraser’s regiment of dragoons to clear the way. Facing him was Lord Byron, under orders to stand his ground and rely on the terrain for protection. It appears he disobeyed those orders, mounting a charge of his own. Presumably he felt he could gain the upper hand through taking the initiative, but by crossing the ditch he effectively removed any advantage he might have enjoyed. Moreover, his troopers put themselves in the line of fire of the Royalist musketeers stationed in the ditch, preventing them from disrupting Cromwell’s attack. Byron’s decision was rash and very nearly disastrous, his first line collapsing under the impact of Cromwell’s larger, more disciplined force.
As retold in the book, Cromwell was wounded in this exchange, (tradition has it that the wound was inflicted by Colonel Marcus Trevor, but I have given Stryker the task) which coincided with the advance of the Cavalier second line, under Lord Molyneux, to stabilise the Royalist right wing. As Cromwell briefly left the field to have the wound dressed, Major-General Leslie took command in preparation for another attack.
Meanwhile, on the opposite wing, fortunes were reversed, with the Royalist horse having the best of it. Sir Thomas Fairfax’s cavalry swept down from the ridge at the same time as his Eastern Association compatriots, but they immediately ran into far trickier terrain. The ditch on the eastern side was a more significant obstacle, and lined by a thick hedge. The only clear crossing point was Atterwith Lane, but it meant that Fairfax’s troopers were forced to funnel into its narrow mouth to safely cross. They immediately came under heavy fire from Goring’s musketeers, so that by the time they had reached the north side of the ditch they were in considerable disarray. Goring then released his front line of horse, which destroyed most of Fairfax’s wing.
One of the most enjoyable things about writing historical fiction is that the truth is so often more interesting – and unlikely – than anything I could make up, and the fate of Black Tom is one such example. He really did manage to break through the otherwise triumphant Royalist line with a small section of his command and chase a group of fugitives almost back to York, on the mistaken assumption that his horse had routed Goring’s. When finally he returned to the field, he gazed with horror upon the remnants of his clearly defeated wing. I’ll let him take up the tale…
‘returning back to goe with my other Troops, I was gotten in among ye enemy, wch stood up and downe ye Fielde in severall bodys of Horse: so, taking ye signall out of my hat, I passed through ym for one of their owne Commanders, and so got to my Ld Manchesters Horse, in ye other Wing, onely with a Cutt in my cheeke, wch was given me in ye First charge; and a shot wch my horse received.’
He really did ride from one side of the battlefield to the other, with a slashed face and shot horse, successfully passing thousands of enemy soldiers by simply removing the field sign from his hat!
While this was going on, Goring’s front line was off in pursuit of Fairfax’s horsemen, and sweeping up the ridge in order to plunder the Allied baggage train. Sir Charles Lucas commanded Goring’s second line, and he wheeled right, taking them to threaten the Allied infantry who were now so terribly exposed.
While the horse had been contesting the wings, the foot had been engaged in their own bitter struggle. The Earl of Leven’s infantry had advanced quickly down the slope to storm the Royalist musketeers in the ditch, and the fight developed much as I have described, with the Allies making rapid gains. Crawford – perhaps, as I have suggested, with something to prove after the debacle at the St Mary’s mine – led his Eastern Association brigades furthest, swinging to his right as he traversed the ditch to pour flanking fire upon the outnumbered Royalists, who fell back in disorder. The second line of Royalist infantry – bolstered by Newcastle’s hardy Whitecoats – moved forwards in a furious counter-attack, and stemmed the tide, halting the Allied advance and throwing the central brigade of Lord Fairfax’s men into disarray. As the Yorkshire Parliamentarians fought to reform, they were smashed by a body of Royalist horse (probably Blakiston’s, as most of the remaining Cavalier troopers would have been engaged by this point on the respective wings) and panic took hold. They routed, fleeing back over the ditch, and, as the Royalists maintained their momentum, the fear spread like a contagion. Several Scots regiments broke too, both in the front and second lines, and then Goring’s cavalry, under Lucas, hit home, striking at the easternmost brigade of Scots foot, formed of the regiments of Lord Maitland and the Earl of Crawford-Lindsay.