Our company was in the first division of Prince Rupert’s Horse, and made a fine show, every man being well equipped and mounted, and apparently eager and anxious to fight. I sat between Jack Drumbleforth and Philip Lisle, being largely dependent upon them for guidance in nice matters of wheeling and turning. My horse, Captain, comprehended, I think, the nature of our business, for he neighed and snuffed the wind, and pawed impatiently at the ground. As the shouting of the main body of the Roundheads, led by Lord Manchester, came along to us on the wind, he tugged impatiently at his bridle.
“We shall soon be at it now,” said Jack, on my right. “Keep a firm bridle and a loose sword-arm, Will, until you are close in, and then let them have it, weight and all.”
Prince Rupert, his eyes flashing as he dashed forward, came sweeping along our line on his great warhorse. Right over against us were posted General Cromwell’s division of three hundred horse, looking like figures cut out of bronze and just as rocklike. We were to charge against these in front and flank, and the Prince was to lead us himself. The words of command came short and sharp, and with a great cry of “God and the King!” we were galloping over the rough ground in a rattling mass of steel and iron that flashed and clanked in the bright sunlight. The great sword in my hand felt like a switch. The fast pace intoxicated me, a red mist sprang up before my eyes; I had no other desire but to kill, and kill, and kill again.
“Steady, Will, steady!” said Jack. “Now for the crush!” and the two wings met with a sound that echoed and tingled in my ears. But above it all I heard the cry of the Parliamentarians, “God with us!”
I could no more tell you of what happened in that first few moments than I could describe the battle of Creçy. It was all confusion and tumult to me. Shouts, screams, groans, yells of pain and fierce oaths as a sword went home, the neighing of frightened horses and loud commands of the officers, made up an indescribable noise. When I came to my full senses I suddenly found myself as cool as if I were riding about in my own fields. I was slashing and stabbing and guarding with the rest of them, Jack at my right working away like a Trojan, while Philip Lisle on the left was fighting warily and coolly. Again and again we dashed on the front rank of the Ironsides, striving to break through them, but without success. They stood firm as a rock, giving thrust for thrust and cut for cut, and every now and then shouting out their battle-cry, “God with us!”
“They are like rocks,” said Jack, breathless, as we drew together to dash at them once more. “Like rocks of iron.”
The Prince, reckless and brave as a lion, was here and there in front and flank, encouraging and prompting his men. Beyond the Ironsides I saw a remarkable-looking man mounted on a hardy horse, very plainly accoutred, who gave his directions in a cool voice, as if knowing well how they would be obeyed. “See yonder, that’s Cromwell!” cried Jack, pointing to this man, and I looked again with wonder at the famous general. And then the two bodies closed once more, and once more we fought desperately to break the enemy’s line. The fighting became looser; the steady phalanx broke up on each side, and cutting and slashing became general. The Ironsides began to ride at us instead of allowing us to ride at them. A great trooper rode headlong at me, shouting his battle-cry and poising his long keen blade to cut me off forever. All my strength seemed to go into my arm and shoulder as I rose at him. My sword came down over his like a thunderbolt and shore its way through helmet and cap and head, while his own fell from his hand and rattled with him to the ground, where he lay a grim corpse and the tide of war rolled over him.
“Well struck, Will!” shouted Jack, who was parrying and thrusting on his own behalf. “A great blow. Ah, sir, your lunge was too low.”
His sword went straight through a man’s breast and came out behind. The trooper threw up his arms and would have fallen, but the sword, firmly fixed, held him up, let Jack tug at it as he would. Another trooper rode up to cut Jack down, thinking him defenceless. I reached over and hit him so true and full on the breastpiece with my sword that he tumbled over his horse’s crupper and lay kicking on the ground, while Jack tore his sword away from his antagonist, whose body immediately sank and was trampled into shapelessness by the hurrying crowd that pressed over it.
But the Ironsides, cool and intrepid, were breaking our ranks. Fast as a man fell another closed in, and their grim shout waxed more and more triumphant. A great gap opened in
