One regiment he sent to pursue Langdale's flying host; the rest he wheeled round to the support of the foot.
Rupert had left the field in pursuit of Ireton; there was no one to withstand the charge of the Ironsides as they hurled themselves, sword in hand, into the centre of the battle.
A great cheer and shout arose from the almost overborne ranks of Fairfax and Skippon when they saw the cavalry dashing to their rescue, and a groan broke from Charles when he beheld his foot being cut down before the charge of the Parliamentarians.
He rode up and down like a man demented, crying through the storm and smoke—
"Where is Rupert? Is he not here to protect my loyal foot?"
But the Prince was plundering Fairfax's baggage at Naseby, and the infantry were left alone to face the Ironsides.
They faced about for their death with incredible courage, being now outnumbered one to two, forming again and again under the enemy's fire, closing up their ranks with silent resolution, one falling, another taking his place, mown down beneath the horses till their dead became more than the living, yet never faltering in their stubborn resolution.
One after another these English gentlemen, pikemen, and shotmen went down, slain by English hands, watering English earth with their blood, gasping out their lives on the rabbit holes and torn grass, swords, pikes, and muskets sinking from their hands, hideously wounded, defiled with blood and dirt, distorted with agony, dying without complaint for the truth as they saw truth and loyalty as they conceived loyalty. One little phalanx resisted even the charge of the Ironsides, though attacked front and flank; they did not break. As long as they had a shot they fired; when their ammunition was finished they waited the charge of Fairfax with clubbed muskets. Their leader was a youth in his early summer with fair, uncovered head and a rich dress. He fell three times; when he rose no more his troop continued their resistance until the last man was slain. Then the Ironsides swept across their bodies and charged the last remnant of the King's infantry.
Charles Stewart, watching with agony and dismay the loss of his foot and guns, rode from point to point of the bitter battle, vainly endeavouring to rally his broken forces.
Such as was left of Langdale's horse gathered round him, and at this point up came Rupert, flushed and breathless, his men exhausted from the pursuit and loaded with plunder.