poetry

One Michael Woodhead was shot upon his tin-buttons, and his doublet burst near his heart, and the bruised bullet fell downe into his breeches and no more hurt…

real gem among the civil-war-era tracts I’ve looked over so far, the short pamphlet The Rider of the White Horse (1643) provides a lively account of “that wonderfull victory at Bradford” and “the taking of Leeds and Wakefield by the same men.” Both battles take place in the north, within a sort of game at chess that unfolded between the competing Lords Fairfax (a Parliamentarian) and Newcastle (a Royalist). The stories recorded here — although slightly propagandistic — are wonderful things, and I’ll cover a few of the finer details for you here.

First up: Bradford. In this battle, armed townsfolk sought to defend themselves against advancing Royalists. Bradford had proven itself to be a support for the Parliamentarian army, and thus its residents had cause to expect some measure of retribution from troops loyal to the King. Their advance came on Monday, December 18, and with such superiority of numbers that they “expected a surrender, rather than resistance.”

The pamphlet’s author laments Bradford’s lack of trained soldiers, due to the fact that the “poore Parish” could not “pay a Garrison any long time, and none would tarry one day without pay.” Beyond this, he writes, “we had never a Gentleman in the perish to command us, nor would any stranger be perswaded to undertake the charge.” They relied instead on sound tactics (stationing snipers in the church tower), the element of surprise, and some early-modern grit:

a hearty Round-head left by his comrades, environed with the Enemies Horse, discharged his Musket upon one, strooke downe anothers Horse with the thick end of it, broke a thirds Sword, beating it back into his throat, and put them all to flight; which (though as the rest wonderfull) I dare pawne my credit to be true…

With deeds such as these “the Popish army” was driven away. The victory provided Bradford with muskets, horses, and gunpowder — “and thus God supplied our wants out of their store.”

At Leeds the parliamentarians find themselves on the offence, under the direction of Thomas Fairfax (the eponymous Rider). Once again the author focuses on moments of real character. He notes the bravery of Searjeant Major Forbes when “leading on his companies in the plain fields before the great Trenches,” and — my favourite — the zeal of “M. Jonathan Scholefield (the Minister at Crofton chappell in Halifax Parish neare Tolmerdeu),” who, charging the works, “sung the I verse of the 68 Psalm, Let God arise, and then his enemies shall be scattered, and those that hate him flee before him…” The battle ended in victory for Fairfax, though not all were as lucky as the aforementioned Mr Woodhead (of “tin-button” luck); some 20 men were slain in the taking of the city.

Fairfax asserted himself as a capable military commander, and ultimately attained the rank of general. Indeed, some depictions of the regicide portray Fairfax as the king’s headman — never mind that he in fact opposed Charles’s execution, and would go on to play a role in restoring Charles II to the throne. But just as interesting (to this devotee) is Fairfax’s modest literary career; in his retirement the general turned poet, producing numerous poems, and even a verse translation of the book of Psalms. He renders those lines of the 68^th that served Scholefield so well at Leeds in his own way, and I’ll leave you with them for now:

Let all that hate thee Lord, ‘fore thee retire
Thou’art cloth’d w^th power; them farr from thee dysperse
As smoake in aire desolves, or wax with Fire;
Destroy those (from thy Presence) soe perverse…