Cromwell and his six hundred, dusty from the night's ride, swept, a flash of steel on leather, a tramp of hoofs, a cloud of dust, through Naseby, where the villagers crowded at windows and doors, not knowing whether to curse them or bless them, and so to the headquarters of General Sir Thomas Fairfax.
As the new-comers passed through the army and were recognized for Lieutenant-General Cromwell and his men, whom Rupert had, after Marston Moor, nicknamed "Ironsides," the soldiers turned and shouted as with one voice, for it had lately been very commonly observed that where Cromwell went there was the blessing of God.
Sir Thomas Fairfax was already on horseback, and the two Generals met and saluted without dismounting.
Oliver Cromwell looked pale, and when he lifted his beaver the grey strands showed in his thick hair: the war had told on him. He had lost his second son and a nephew. His natural melancholy had been increased by this and by the bloody waste he had daily to witness, by the continual bitterness and horror of the struggle; but the exaltation of his stern faith still showed in his expression, and he sat erect in his saddle, a massive figure solid as carved oak, in his buff and steel corselet.
General Fairfax was a different type of man, patriotic and honourable as his Lieutenant-General, but cultured, fond of letters, lukewarm in religion, and not given to extremes. Cromwell, however, found him more acceptable than Manchester or Essex.
"Sir," cried the General, "you are as welcome to me as water in a drought. Sir, I give to you the command of all the horse, and may you do the good service you did at Long Marston Moor."
"We are but a company of poor ignorant men, General Fairfax," replied Oliver Cromwell, "and the malignants, I hear, make great scorn of us as a rabble that are to be taught a lesson. Yet I do smile out to God in praises, in assurance of victory, for He will, by things that are not, bring to naught things that are!"
"We have to-day a great task," said Sir Thomas Fairfax, "for if the King gaineth the victory he will press on to London—and once there he may regain his old standing; whereas if he faileth, he will never more, I think, be able to bring an army into the field."
"Make no pause and have no misgiving, sir," replied Cromwell. "God hath put the sword into the hands of the Parliament for the punishment of evil-doers and the confusion of His enemies, and He will not forsake us. Sir, I will about the marshalling of the horse, for I do perceive that we are as yet not all gotten in order."
The army indeed, though armed and mounted, was not yet arranged in any order of battle, and at this moment there came a message from one of the outposts that the King's forces, in good order, were marching from Harborough.