eld out for the parliament. All other parts of the country were in a
state of insurrection. On the 15th of August, Cromwell and his
son-in-law, Ireton, landed near Dublin with an army of six thousand
foot and three thousand horse only; but it was an army of Ironsides
and Titans. In six months, the complete reconquest of the country was
effected. The policy of the conqueror was severe and questionable; but
it was successful. In the hope of bringing the war to a speedy
termination, Cromwell proceeded in such a way as to bring terror to
his name, and curses on his memory. Drogheda and Wexford were not only
taken by storm, but nearly the whole garrison, of more than five
thousand men, were barbarously put to the sword. The Irish quailed
before such a victor, and town after town hastened to make peace.
Cromwell's excuse for his undeniable cruelties was, the necessity of
the case, of which we may reasonably suppose him to be a judge.
Scotland was in array, and English affairs, scarcely settled, demanded
his presence in London. An imperfect conquest, on the principles of
Rousseau's philanthropy, did not suit the taste or the notions of
Cromwell. If he had consumed a few more months than he actually
employed, either in treaty-making with a deceitful though oppressed
people, or in battles on the principles of the military science then
in vogue, the cause of Independency would have been lost; and that
cause, associated with that of liberty, in the eyes of Cromwell, was
of more value than the whole Irish nation, or any other nation.
Cromwell was a devotee to a cause. Principles, with him, were every
thing; men were nothing in comparison. To advance the principles for
which he fought, he scrupled to use no means or instruments. In this
he may have erred. But this policy was the secret of his success. We
cannot justify his cruelties in war, because it is hard to justify the
war itself. But if we acknowledge its necessity, we should remember
that such a master of war as was Cromwell knew his circumstances
better than we do or can know. To his immortal glory it can be said
that he never inflicted cruelty when he deemed it unnecessary; that he
never fought for the love of fighting; and that he stopped fighting
when the cause for which he fought was won. And this is more than can
be said of most conquerors, even of those imbued with sentimental
horror of bloodshed. Our world is full of cant. Cromwell's language
sometimes sounds like it,