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July 8th. Duke Hamilton, with the actual Scotch Army, is 'at Annan' on the Western Border, ready to step across to Eng land. Not quite Forty thousand; yet really about. half that number, tolerably effective. Langdale, with a vanguard of Three thousand Yorkshiremen, is to be guide: Monro, with a body of horse that had long served in Ulster, is to bring up the rear. The great Duke dates from Annan, 8th July, 1648.* Poor old Annan ;—never such an Army gathered, since the Scotch James went to wreck in Solway Moss, above a hundred years ago !f Scotland is in a disastrous, distracted condition; overridden by a Hamilton majority in Parliament. Poor Scotland will, with exertion, deliver its ' King from the power of Sectaries and is dreadfully uncertain what it will do with him when delivered! Perhaps Oliver will save it the trouble.

July 11th. Oliver at last is loose from Pembroke; drunken Colonel Poyer, Major-General Laughern and some others surrender ' at mercy;' a great many more on terms ; and the Welsh War is ended. Cromwell hurries northward: by Gloucester, Warwick; gets '3,000 pairs of shoes' at Leicester; leaves his prisoners at Nottingham (with Mrs. Hutchinson and her Colonel, in the Castle there); joins Lambert among the Hills of Yorkshire,J where his presence is much needed now.

July 27th. In these tumultuous months the Fleet too has partially revolted; 'set Colonel Admiral Rainsborough ashore,' in the end of May last. The Earl of Warwick, hastily sent thither, has brought part of it to order again; other part of it has fled to Holland, to the Young Prince of Wales. The Young Prince goes hopefully on board, steers for the coast of England; emits his summons and manifesto from Yarmouth roads, on the 27th of this month. Getting nothing at Yarmouth, he appears next week in the Downs; orders London to join him, or at least to lend him 20,000Z.§

• Rushworth, vii., 1184. t James V., A.d. 1542.

J At Barnard Castle, on the 27th July,' his horse' joined (Rushworth vii., 1211); he himself not till a fortnight after, at Wetherby farther south

§ Rushworth, vii.; 29 May, p. 1131; 8 June, i Tune, pp. 1145,1151 37 July, pp. 1207, 1215, &c.

It all depends on Hamilton and Cromwell now. His Majesty from Carisbrook Castle, the revolted Mariners, the London Presbyterians, the Besieged in Colchester, and all men, are waiting anxiously what they now will make of it when they meet.

LETTERS XL., XLI.

PaESTON BATTLE.

The Battle of Preston or Battle-and-Rout of Preston lasts three days; and extends over many miles of wet Lancashire country, —from ' Langridge Chapel a little on the east of Preston,' southward to Warrington Bridge, and northward also as far as you like to follow. A wide-spread, most confused transaction ; the essence of which is, That Cromwell, descending the valley of the Ribble, with a much smaller but prompt and compact force, finds Hamilton flowing southward at Preston in very loose order; dashes in upon him, cuts him in two, drives him north an$ south, into as miserable ruin as his worst enemy could wish.

There are four accounts of this Affair by eye-witnesses, still accessible; Cromwell's account in these Two Letters ; a Captain Hodgson's rough brief recollections written afterwards; and on the other side, Sir Marmaduke Langdale's Letter in vindication of his conduct there; and lastly the deliberate Narrative of Sir James Turner ('alias Dugald Dalgetty,' say some). As the Affair was so momentous, one of the most critical in all these Wars, and as the details of it are still so accessible, we will illus,. trate Cromwell's own account by some excerpts from the others. Combining all which, and considering well, some image of this* rude old tragedy and triumph may rise upon the reader.

Captain Hodgson, an honest-hearted, pudding-headed Yorkshire Puritan, now with Lambert in the Hill Country, hovering on the left flank of Hamilton and his Scots, saw Cromwell's face at Ripon, much to the Captain's satisfaction. 'The Scots,' says he, 'marched towards Kendal; we towards Ripon, where Oliver met us with horse and foot. We were then between Eight and Nine thousand: a fine smart Army, fit for action. We marched up to Skipton; the Forlorn of the Enemy's horse,' Sir Marmaduke's, 'was come to Gargrave; having made havoc of the country,—it seems, intending never to come there again.' 'Stout Henry Cromwell,' he gave them a check at Gargrave ;*—and better still is coming.

Here, however, let us introduce Sir James Turner, a stout pedant and soldier-of-fortune, original Dugald Dalgetly of the Novels, who is now marching with the Scots, and happily has a turn for taking Notes. The reader will then have a certain ubiquity, and approach Preston on both sides. Of the Scotch Officers, we may remark, Middleton and the Earl of Calendar have already fought in England for the Parliament; Baillie, once beaten by Montrose, has been in many wars, foreign and domestic; he is lefthand cousin to the Reverend Mr. Robert, who heard the Apprentices in Palaceyard bellowing "Justice on Strafford!" long since, in a loud and hideous manner. Neither of the Lesleys is here, on this occasion; they abide at home with the oppressed minority. The Duke, it will be seen, marches in extremely loose order; vanguard and rearguard very far apart,— and a Cromwell attending him on flank!

'At Hornby,' says the learned Sir James alias Dugald, 'a day's march beyond Kendal, it was advised, Whether we should march to Lancashire, Cheshire, and the Western Counties; or if we should go into Yorkshire, and so put ourselves in the straight road to London, with a resolution to fight all who would oppose us? Calendar was indifferent; Middleton was for Yorkshire; Baillie for Lancashire. When my opinion was asked, I was for Yorkshire; and for this reason only, That I understood Lancashire was a close country, full of ditches and hedges; which was a great advantage the English would have over our raw and undisciplined musketeers; the Parliament's Army consisting of disciplined and well-trained soldiers, and excellent firemen; while on the other hand, Yorkshire was a more open country and full of heaths, where we might both make use of our horse, and come sooner to push of pike' with our foot. 'My Lord Duke was foi

• Hodgson's Memoirs (with Slingsoy's Memoirs, Edinburgh, 1808; a duli authentic Book, left full of blunders, of darkness natural and adscititiou*. bj the Editor), pp. 114, 5.

Lancashire way; and it seems t hat he had hopes that some forces would join with him in his march that way. I have indeed heard him say, that he thought Manchester his own if he came near it. Whatever the matter was, I never saw him tenacious in anything during the time of his command but in that. We chose to go that way which led us to our ruin.

'Our march was much retarded by most rainy and tempestuous weather, the elements fighting against us; and by staying for country horses to carry our little ammunition. The vanguard is constantly given to Sir Marmaduke, upon condition that he should constantly furnish guides; pioneers for clearing the ways; and, which was more than both these, have good and certain intelligence of all the Enemy's motions. But whether it was by our fault or his neglect, want of intelligence helped to ruin us; for,'—in fact we were marching in extremely loose order; left hand not aware what the right was doing; van and rear some twenty or thirty miles apart;—far too loose for men that had a Cromwell on their flank!

On the night of Wednesday, 16th August, 1648, my Lord Duke has got to Preston with the main body of his foot; his horse lying very wide,—ahead of him at Wigan, arear of him, one knows not where, he himself hardly knows where. Sir Marmaduke guards him on the left, 'on Preston Moor, about Langridge Chapel,' some four miles up the Ribble,—and knows not, in the least what storm is coming. For Cromwell, this same night, has got across the hills to Clitheroe and farther; this same Wednesday night he lies 'at Stonyhurst,' where now the College of Stonyhurst is,—' a Papist's house, one Sherburne's and tomorrow morning there will be news of Cromwell.

'That night,' says Hodgson, 'we pitched our camp at Stanyares Hall, a Papist's house, one Sherburne's; and the next morning a Forlorn of horse and foot was drawn out. And at Langridge Chapel our horse' came upon Sir Marmaduke , 'drawn up very formidably. One Major Poundall' (Pownell, you pudding-head !) 'and myself commanded the Forlorn of foot. And here being drawn up by the Moorside (a mere scantling of us, as yet, not half the number we should have been), the General' Cromwell 'comes to us, orders us To march. We not having

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