Cromwell had hitherto been under the impression that the Scots intended to advance through Yorkshire, and, relieving Pontefract on their way, to march straight for London. He now learnt that Hamilton had chosen the Lancashire route, and was already on his way through that county. Accordingly, on Sunday, August 13th, he set out to cross the hills which separate Lancashire from Yorkshire, and to attack the invaders. On Monday night, he quartered at Skipton; on Tuesday night, at Gisburn. On Wednesday, he marched down the valley of the Ribble into Lancashire. Two courses were now open to him. He might cross by Hodder Bridge to the southern bank of the Ribble, and seek to bar Hamilton’s advance southwards by placing himself somewhere in his path; or he might keep along the northern bank of the river and engage Hamilton somewhere near Preston itself. Cromwell chose the second course, and he did so with a full consciousness of the importance of the choice. “It was thought,” he wrote, “that to engage the enemy to fight was our business,” and to march straight upon Preston was more likely to bring about a battle because it seemed probable that Hamilton would stand his ground there. There was also a second reason. If he put himself to the south of Hamilton, a defeat would throw Hamilton back upon his supports in Westmoreland and on the road to Scotland. If he defeated Hamilton at Preston, he might be able to drive him southwards, separating him from his supports, and cutting off his line of retreat. Under such circumstances, a defeat would lead to the annihilation of the Scottish army instead of merely forcing it to retire to Scotland. It was for these reasons, and not by any happy accident, that Cromwell adopted the second plan. As he explained a couple of years later, “Upon deliberate advice we chose rather to put ourselves between their army and Scotland.” All Wednesday, therefore, he continued his march down the northern bank of the Ribble, and camped his army for the night at Stonyhurst, about nine miles from Preston.
Meanwhile, Hamilton’s army was marching through Lancashire as carelessly and loosely as if Cromwell were fifty miles away. Hamilton himself, with ten thousand foot and perhaps fifteen hundred horse, was at Preston. The Earl of Callendar and General Middleton, with the bulk of the Scottish horse, were at Wigan, fifteen miles ahead of the infantry, while thirty miles in the rear, at Kirby Lonsdale, in Westmoreland, lay Major-General Monro, with about three thousand veteran horse and foot drawn from the Scottish army in Ulster, and two or three thousand English Royalists under Sir Philip Musgrave. Between Cromwell and Preston, covering Hamilton’s flank, was Sir Marmaduke Langdale’s division of English Royalists, numbering three thousand foot and six hundred horse. Hamilton had been warned of the enemy’s approach by Langdale, but discredited his information, and believed he was threatened merely by some Lancashire militia forces.
Early on Thursday, the 17th of August, Cromwell fell upon Langdale’s division with tremendous vigour, and beating his foot from hedge to hedge drove them towards Preston. Langdale sent pressing appeals to Hamilton, but the Duke gave him no adequate support. Instead of helping him, he drew the Scottish foot out of Preston and to the south of the Ribble, in order to facilitate their junction with the cavalry at Wigan. To defend Preston, he kept merely a couple of brigades of foot, and the fifteen hundred or sixteen hundred horse of his rearguard. Against forces so divided, Cromwell’s attack was irresistible. At nightfall on Thursday, Preston was in his possession, and not only the town but the bridge over the Ribble, and the second bridge over the Darwen, a mile or so to the south of it. His whole army was solidly planted between Hamilton and Scotland. Langdale’s division had ceased to exist, and of Hamilton’s two brigades of foot hardly a man had escaped. A thousand had fallen in the fight, Cromwell had four thousand prisoners, and his cavalry had chased Hamilton’s flying horse ten miles on the road to Lancaster.
In the Scottish camp there was great distraction and depression. Hamilton’s forces were still superior in number to Cromwell’s, for he had six or seven thousand foot on the south side of the river, who had scarcely fired a shot, besides Middleton and the vanguard of cavalry at Wigan. But the Duke, who had shown plenty of personal courage, was weak and irresolute in council. Major-General Baillie, who commanded his foot, urged him to make a stand where he was until Middleton and the horse rejoined them. The Earl of Callendar, Hamilton’s second in command, proposed that the foot should march away as soon as it was dark, to join Middleton, and Callendar’s proposal was accepted. It involved the abandonment of Hamilton’s train, for they had no horses left to draw the waggons; and all the ammunition except what the men carried in their flasks fell into Cromwell’s hands. All night the Scottish infantry marched. “Our march,” says one of them, “was very sad, the way being exceeding deep, the soldiers both wet, hungry, and weary, and all looked on their business as half ruined.” They had lost many stragglers when they arrived at Wigan. On Friday morning, Cromwell, leaving the Lancashire militia to guard Preston and his prisoners, set out in pursuit of Hamilton with three thousand foot and twenty-five hundred horse. The fighting on Friday was mainly between the horse of the two armies. While the Scottish infantry were marching to Wigan to join Middleton, Middleton was marching to Preston to join them, and as he went by a different road they failed to meet. On reaching the camp of the infantry, he found nothing but deserted fires and a few stragglers, and turned back to follow Hamilton’s track to Wigan. Cromwell’s horsemen were at his heels all the way, “killing and taking divers,” though Colonel Thornhaugh, who commanded Cromwell’s van, was killed by a Scottish lancer.
Hamilton’s army, when the horse joined, drew up on the moor, north of Wigan, as if to give battle, but, judging the ground disadvantageous, Hamilton retreated into the town before Cromwell came up. “We lay that night in the field,” says Cromwell, “close by the enemy, being very dirty and weary, and having marched twelve miles of such ground as I never rode in my life, the day being very wet.” There was no rest, however, for the Scots in Wigan. Their commanders resolved to make another night march to Warrington, intending to break down the bridge, and put the Mersey between themselves and their pursuer. On Saturday, Cromwell’s cavalry found the Scottish foot posted in a good position at Winwick, about three miles from Warrington.
“We held them in dispute,” wrote Cromwell, “till our army came up, they maintaining the pass with great resolution for many hours, ours and theirs coming to push of pike and very close charges, which forced us to give ground; but our men by the blessing of God quickly recovered it, and charging very home upon them, beat them from their standing. We killed about a thousand of them, and took, as we believe, about two thousand prisoners.”
This was the last stand the Scots made. When Cromwell reached Warrington the same Saturday evening, General Baillie and the rest of the Scottish infantry surrendered as prisoners of war. Hamilton and Callendar, with two or three thousand horse escaped into Cheshire, intending to join Lord Byron who was in arms for the King, but their fate was not long delayed. Cromwell sent Lambert with four regiments of horse in pursuit, and called on the neighbouring counties to send all the horses they could muster after the fugitives.
“They are so tired, and in such confusion, that if my horse could but trot after them I could take them all. But we are so weary we can scarce be able to do more than walk after them. My horse are miserably beaten out—and I have ten thousand of them prisoners.”
Skirmishing incessantly with the country people and the local militia, Hamilton made his way as far as Staffordshire, party after party of his followers dropping off by the way, either to surrender or to escape in disguise. With the few who remained, he capitulated to Lambert at Uttoxeter, on Friday, August 25th. On the Monday following, Colchester surrendered to Fairfax, and the Second Civil War was practically over.