rival was greeted by
loud shouts of welcome from the troops. On the fourteenth of June 1645
the two armies met near Naseby, to the north-west of Northampton. The
king was eager to fight; "Never have my affairs been in as good a
state," he cried; and Prince Rupert was as impatient as his uncle. On
the other side, even Cromwell doubted as a soldier the success of his
newly-drilled troops, though his religious enthusiasm swept away doubt
in the assurance of victory. "I can say this of Naseby," he wrote soon
after, "that when I saw the enemy draw up and march in gallant order
towards us, and we a company of poor ignorant men, to seek to order our
battle, the general having commanded me to order all the horse, I could
not, riding alone about my business, but smile out to God in praises, in
assurance of victory, because God would by things that are not bring to
nought things that are. Of which I had great assurance, and God did it."
The battle began with a furious charge of Rupert uphill, which routed
the wing opposed to him under Ireton; while the Royalist foot, after a
single discharge, clubbed their muskets and fell on the centre under
Fairfax so hotly that it slowly and stubbornly gave way. But the
Ironsides were conquerors on the left. A single charge broke the
northern horse under Langdale, who had already fled before them at
Marston Moor; and holding his troops firmly in hand, Cromwell fell with
them on the flank of the Royalist foot in the very crisis of its
success. A panic of the king's reserve, and its flight from the field,
aided his efforts. It was in vain that Rupert returned with forces
exhausted by pursuit, that Charles in a passion of despair called on his
troopers for "one charge more." The battle was over: artillery, baggage,
even the royal papers, fell into the conqueror's hands; five thousand
men surrendered; and only two thousand followed the king in his headlong
flight from the field.

[Sidenote: Close of the War.]

The war was ended at a blow. While Charles wandered helplessly along the
Welsh border in search of fresh forces, Fairfax marched rapidly on the
south-west, where an organized royal force alone existed; routed
Goring's force at Langport, in Somersetshire; broke up the Royalist
army; and in three weeks was master to the Land's End. A victory at
Kilsyth, which gave Scotland for the moment to Montrose, threw a
transient gleam over the darkening fortunes of his master's cause; but
the surrender