‘He’s a highlander, sir,’ remarked Hane. ‘I understand them to be a wild breed, noted for their unreliability. Ahh, see there …’
Monck observed the man seized by others and dragged down from his conspicuous position. Clearly opinion was divided within the fortress but, an hour or so later, an officer emerged with authority to treat for a capitulation. Monck acceded.
Monck agreed that Conyngham and his men might march out with their colours flying. He need not have given such generous terms and overheard Colonel Okey say as much the following day, whereupon he upbraided the cavalry officer.
‘But, sir,’ Okey responded with that freedom of opinion that Monck had learned came easily to officers of the New Model Army, ‘we shall only have to defeat them anew when next we encounter them.’ The sentiment roused a rumble of agreement from other officers then within Monck’s headquarters, so that he looked up and took them all in at a glance.
‘Do not mistake me, gentlemen,’ he said firmly, ‘and see this as a weakness, but as an augmentation of our position. What Colonel Okey says is incontrovertible. We shall surely meet these fellows again – but consider what we have gained. The way is now open to us to advance further; the enemy’s main power is in England, the remnant of his forces left in Scotland is now wary of our puissance and these fellows who march out so boldly were as much destroyed by their own disloyalty in a mutiny as by our artillery. True, they will console themselves with their survival, but we have the measure of them and, in marching out they despoiled some of their fellow-countrymen who are now the better inclined to submit to our government, providing it is maintained with scruple under the rule of law. Thus, Colonel Okey is correct, in a strictly military sense, as he should be as a colonel of horse.’
Monck looked at the half-moon of faces, unaware that their opinion of him was undergoing transformation, and went on: ‘For my part, gentlemen, the matter is of greater moment. That handful of liberated men are better employed spreading the word of our victory among their fellows, admitting by their presence their own failure and thus relieving us of the obligation to quarter, guard and feed them.’ He paused, looking about him. ‘Have you anything more to say upon the subject, Colonel Okey?’
‘Nothing, sir,’ said Okey, his face downcast.
‘I do not rebuke you, Colonel,’ Monck said, looking from the dejected Okey to the wider circle of attending officers, ‘but I shall not explain myself twice.’ Monck paused a moment before continuing. ‘And now, let us settle the matter of the garrison and the orders for the route of march for the morrow …’ He gestured to the attending Clarke and, as that worthy dipped his quill, began to issue his orders. ‘Colonel Alured, you will lead the advance and command the vanguard …’
Although Monck’s army had not pillaged Stirling castle, being rewarded by a distribution of disposable booty, his power was augmented by the capture. Three heavy iron and twenty brass guns, eleven of the light, highly mobile leather-bound cannon were seized, along with twenty-six barrels of black-powder, reels of slow-match, shot and small-arms ball all fell into English hands, besides rundlets of claret and two score barrels each of beef and beer. In addition to these necessaries, Monck took possession of an earl’s coronet, his robes and sundry tapestries, all of which he sent off in the shallop which had brought the mortars up the Forth to tranship for London at Leith.
The surrender of the castle marked the end of Monck’s obligations to Cromwell; hereafter the six thousand men under his command were at his own disposal, subject to his own plan of campaign for the reduction of Scotland.
Sending some of his heavy siege artillery back to Edinburgh by water, a week after taking Stirling, Monck marched out of the town. The majority of the horse led, followed by the main column, the vanguard consisting of Berry’s and Grosvenor’s foot while Monck followed Ashfield’s infantry with the artillery train, three so-called ‘battering pieces’ and one mortar. Behind this came Monck’s own regiment, the rear being covered by Colonel Okey’s horsemen.
Monck’s line of march led first towards Dunblane, then, with the Ochill Hills rising to the right, alongside the sparkling river through Strathallan towards Blackford. Beyond, near St Johnston’s, his army bivouacked in open country on the 23rd. That evening, as Monck sat down at their mess with his senior officers in a small, requisitioned farmhouse whose occupants watched fearfully as the English officers quartered themselves in their yard, an orderly brought a stranger in.
‘Captain Nehemiah Bourne, General Monck,’ the stranger introduced himself, ‘commander of the man-o’-war Speaker, of the third-rate, lately come south from my station on the Tay.’ Bourne cheerfully added, ‘where I sent some shot into Dundee to stir the Jocks up. I also laid my guns on St Andrew’s and sent them a summons by way of an obliging fisherman, promising them a visitation from your army if they did not comply.’ Bourne’s chirpiness was catching, and several of those present laughed at the naval commander’s effrontery.
‘That was well done, sir,’ responded Monck, ‘though I was not intending to invest St Andrew’s.’
‘So I judged, sir, but I thought it none the less wise to set the wind at their deliberations,’ Bourne replied, not a whit dismayed.
‘You rode from Burntisland?’
‘Aye, sir, and with the news that biscuit, cheese and other provender for your troops is on its way.’ Bourne was now serious. ‘You are for Dundee, I think. That is where the Scots presently fasten their seat of government.’
‘So I hear, Captain Bourne, and you are for your supper, no doubt. Please,’ Monck waved at the end of the table, motioning an orderly to find a chair, plates and cutlery for the visitor, ‘do you join us.’ They resumed the meal and, after a few moments’ thought Monck looked at Bourne. ‘In view of what you have said, Captain Bourne, I think we ought to send a summons to St Andrew’s.’
Bourne, who was chewing vigorously on a large slice of mutton, nodded vigorously, swallowed hurriedly and added, ‘I promised protection and free-trade, sir, if that …’
‘Yes, that is entirely in accord with my objective. Let us move the army across the river towards Perth tomorrow and then consider St Andrew’s.’
On the following day the advance continued as Monck forced his troops onwards. In late August the weather was fair, the roads, such as they were, were passable and the countryside sufficiently cowed to pose no threat. Monck had had sufficient experience of rain and wind not to waste the clemency of the elements. They crossed the Earn without mishap but, bereft of boats, the Tay east of Perth posed a problem and they did not pass it without casualties. Four men and as many horses were lost to the river as Monck sent most of Alured’s cavalry and the dragoons ahead to clear the route towards Dundee, ordering a single troop of Alured’s horse to St Andrew’s with his summons. Under Monck’s impatient impetus, the main army followed, reaching Beligarney that night; there remained only a day’s march to Dundee.
The next morning, accompanied by several officers, Monck rode forward to join Alured. Colonel Matthew Alured was a fanatical Anabaptist, a man reborn in Christ Jesus who applied this invigoration to the pursuit of his craft: a commander of cavalry. Like so many of his fellow New Model Army colonels, Alured derived his professional drive not from a pure dedication to soldiering, as did Monck, but from the conviction that he did God’s work on earth and was thus an instrument of the Almighty. Imbued with such a numinous motive Alured was, like Lambert, always keen to prove the superiority of his method over the dogged plodding of the old soldiers of fortune who, to many of the officers of the New Model, raised by necessity and a smiling fortune, were not as good as they thought themselves. In pursuit and battle Alured and his fellows had a point; they excelled where sudden and determined action was needed, such was required of a Christian soldier, but war was not all about pursuit and battle and while he rode headlong towards Dundee, Monck and his entourage riding hard to catch up with him, Alured dreamed of appearing before the city and striking fear into the heart of
its defenders so that they lay down their arms upon the instant. How could they not, for he had God at his saddle-bow?
Despite Bourne’s brief bombardment of the city, a small but potent symbol of the long arm of English power, a rumour was rife that King Charles had already gained a victory over his enemies in England. Thus it was that when Alured thundered up to the city gates they were flung shut in his face and his summons was turned off with derision. His pride pricked and God insulted, Alured was less than pleased to greet Monck who also sent word forward, only to receive the same rebuff. Worse, the governor of Dundee, Sir Robert Lumsden, convinced of Charles’s turn of fortune and Monck’s rashness, ordered Monck himself to lay down his arms and seek enlistment in the King’s service, ‘In which you so lately distinguished yourself.’
Having read Lumsden’s missive Monck spared no more than a contemptuous glance at his emissary, leaving Alured to chivvy him back whence he came, while he himself rode back along the line of advance to encourage the artillery train and its escort of trudging fusiliers forward at its best speed. Watching the crest-fallen Alured display his frustration, Monck issued a series of orders as his regiments came up. He had been alerted by his spies that a mere fourteen miles away, in the small town of Alyth lying under a shoulder of the Grampian Mountains, the Scottish Committee of Estates and an assembly of military officers had gathered to decide how to counter the movements of the remnant of the English army left in Scotland. After a brief conference with Clarke and Morgan, Monck ordered another of his flying-columns to make themselves ready.
Besides English troops, he included a group of Scots deserters and ordered his own men to attire themselves as like the Scots as possible. Choosing Morgan to lead this odd detachment, supported by the restless Alured, Monck despatched it to Alyth without delay. Hoping thereby to catch the Scots hierarchy by surprise, he turned his own attention back to Dundee.
These bold moves might have mighty consequences, but there were other matters to concern him. The news that the shallop taking the mortars downstream from Stirling had sunk thanks to the excessive weight of her cargo displeased Monck greatly but there was little he could do about it. Of greater importance was the concentration of his army. The speed of his advance from Stirling had meant that many of his soldiers had straggled and that evening he passed a general order by galloper back down the line of advance that on pain of death all should muster to their respective colours without delay. So solidly established was his reputation that this admonition brought the laggards hurrying into camp, copious inventive excuses ready on their lips. But Monck had no taste for delay and told his colonels to stay their hands. Such men would fight the better for a touch of leniency.
As the guns began their bombardment of Dundee, Monck lay down to sleep, wrapped in his cloak, only to be awoken in the dawn as Morgan and Alured clattered triumphantly back into camp.
‘Sir! Sir!’ the orderly shook his commander-in-chief without ceremony, starting Monck from a dream in which he had lain upon a litter in an improbable suit of golden armour, a coronet upon his head.
‘What in God’s name …?’ The reassuring crump of his guns came to him, as their projectiles landed among the frightened citizens of Dundee, denying them a night’s rest and confirming that the garrison had not sallied. Before the orderly could explain, the small figure of Morgan loomed over him.
‘Is that you, Tom?’ Monck asked, bestirring himself, and wiping he sleep from his eyes. ‘How did your matter pass?’
‘Well enough, General Monck, if you wish to break your fast with the Earl of Leven, the Earl Marischal and the Earl of Crawford, not to mention three hundred lairds and gentlemen and some heap of church ministers – who are a deal of trouble and certainly not worth your solicitude, let alone your breakfast.’
‘You have done well, then.’
‘Well, sir? Well? We have bagged the whole lot of them, by God! In my judgment Scotland will be paralysed, but for those savages in the mountains.’
Over breakfast Morgan told his yarn, of how they had reached Alyth unmolested and, to allay suspicion, passed right through the town and bivouacked on its farther side as if an expected reinforcement. After a cool few hours’ rest they had reassembled and struck their blow. Entering the town they hurriedly roused it, taking from their beds Alexander Leslie, the Earl of Leven and head of the provisional government King Charles had left in charge of his northern kingdom, along with several other nobles and notables. It was a feat-of-arms worthy of both Morgan and Alured, and Monck said as much.
Later that day, having sent out a second flying column under Okey and Grosvenor, and as the artillery pressed its demands upon the city of Dundee, Monck wrote to Parliament, adopting the formal style beloved by Cromwell, but thinking of the dashing Alured:
It is a very great mercy which the Lord of Hosts hath been pleased to bestow upon us, observing the time and season. This is the Lord’s work and therefore he alone ought to have the praise.
That was all very well, he thought, chewing his quill, and should satisfy Alured, but what about Morgan? After a moment he drew up a separate paper and commended the two officers, requesting a colonelcy of dragoons for Morgan. It is but due recompense for his services here in Scotland, Monck concluded. He laid down his pen and fell to scratching himself.
‘What a damnable country,’ he muttered as he sanded and sealed his despatch, calling for William Clarke. ‘Have you the rest of the regimental returns for London?’ he asked his secretary.
‘Everything is ready, sir, and the courier is waiting, and, er …’ Clarke held some additional papers.
‘There is something else?’ queried Monck.
‘Yes, General, I have had four reports from different regiments, all of which arise since the regimental returns were made up …’
‘Well?’
‘There is an outbreak of fever, spotted-fever it is said, among the troops.’
‘How many cases?’
Clarke shuffled through the loose sheets. ‘Thirty-two, but Grosvenor’s surgeon hints at a potential epidemic.’
Monck grunted. ‘Send the returns off as they are. I doubt whether London will care much if a few soldiers fall sick.’
He resumed scratching himself as Clarke left the room and then, struck by a thought, unlaced himself to investigate the source of the irritation. ‘Dear God!’ he muttered, picking the blood-bloated tick from his left flank. ‘Spotted-fever!’
The bombardment of Dundee continued, day and night, refusing all summonses to surrender. More guns arrived, along with Hane and his large mortars; serious breaches began to show in the walls as Okey and Grosvenor returned from their sortie. They had penetrated into the Grampian highlands, routing a strong force of Scots horse and taking some one hundred prisoners. Tired and stained, the two colonels stumbled into Monck’s headquarters early one morning, the grime on their dust and sweat streaked faces split by broad grins.
‘You have done well, gentlemen, very well indeed,’ Monck said in a phrase that, unbeknown to him, was passed among the colonels as a mark of high approbation. Monck offered them refreshment, turning aside to scratch himself with a muttered curse. A red rash had appeared upon the backs of his hands.
‘How goes the work here?’ asked Okey, his mouth full.
‘They are stubborn, but we have a breach or two and, since they repudiate my offers of terms, I intend to storm the city tomorrow.’
‘Damn fools!’ mumbled Okey.
‘Aye,’ agreed Grosvenor, ‘they’ll live to regret that.’
‘I fear so,’ added Monck.
Thus, on the morning of 1 September 1651, Monck began to draw his men up to assault the now very considerable breaches in the city’s defences. A further offer of quarter was sent forward and stubbornly rejected, whereupon Monck shrugged; he could do no more out of compassion and gave the order to attack.
The assault would be led by two forlorn hopes, each directed to a separate breach. The western would be stormed by men from M
onck’s own regiment, led by Captain Hart; the eastern breach would be forced by Colonel Ashfield’s regiment and as soon as the defences had been carried, the pioneers under Captain Ely would clear the debris to allow the passage of the horse, three hundred – a dozen from each troop in the army drawn by lot – were to follow the infantry with sword and pistol. A further four hundred seamen had been landed by Bourne and sent up to reinforce the army, while four hundred horse, all mounted, were to be readied to sweep into the city.
‘This,’ Monck assured his officers as they assembled for their briefing, ‘will enable us to clear the streets faster and with every element of surprise of which we are capable; we shall overwhelm them and the effusion of blood will be thereby lessened.’ He paused for their full attention. ‘I am keen not to aggravate the citizens the easier to pacify them and reconcile them to our rule but, alas, I must needs give over the city for the customary period of rapine to assuage our men. Do you impress upon your men that this shall last only twenty-four hours. After that, if they get out of hand, I shall administer summary justice, but make plain my intent before the assault. Are there any questions?’ He looked round; most stood still, a few shook their heads. ‘Very well then. Our word shall be ‘God with us’ and our sign a white shirt-tail hanging out behind …’ A laugh greeted this practical but very necessary precaution. ‘Well, as near white as the men can produce and for those of you unable to comply, a white kerchief.’
All was made ready, not least a sprouting of shirt-tails which greatly amused men otherwise sobered by what they were about to undertake. At eleven o’clock the signal was given: a blare of trumpets and impetuous beating of drums. Ominously for those within the defences, the gun fell suddenly silent as, with a self-encouraging roar, the forlorn hopes, east and west, ran at the breaches to be met by a staunch defence. Monck watched from a vantage point; he was not greatly in doubt of his men’s success, but he was anxious that their losses would not be great, for many were showing signs of sickness and their numbers were consequently limited, notwithstanding the reinforcements that had come from Nehemiah Bourne’s squadron of the fleet.
Sword of State: The Remarkable Story of George Monck Page 15