Investigations of a Dog

In the previous posts I discussed the historiography and theory of cavalry charges in the English Civil War. Now I’m going to try to get at what really happened. What did cavalry try to do in practice? How successful was it? How did it work, or why didn’t it work?

(Warning: this one is even longer than yesterday’s.)

I can’t cover every battle in detail in one post, so I’ll be picking a few examples. Although I have thoroughly investigated the primary sources, that was over 10 years ago and I can’t remember everything. For now I’ve just picked out a few accounts which best illustrate the points I’m trying to make. Therefore you should be suspicious, because it’s possible that the sources could be interpreted in different ways or contradicted by other sources. I haven’t attempted a comprehensive account of how tactics developed over the course of the First Civil War or how they might have differed between armies. It has to be remembered that there was no fixed or well-defined tactical doctrine in this period, and so tactics could vary according to circumstances and individual officers. The empirical premise applies here: I’m assuming for the purposes of this discussion that the sources I’ve quoted can tell us something about the reality of the past. Most of the sources are available on EEBO or ECCO if you have access, but they are also frequently quoted in secondary works and/or available in printed editions.

I’m going to follow historiographical tradition by starting with the battle of Edgehill (23rd October 1642). This was the first major battle of the war, and is usually a central part of the narrative in which Swedish tactics easily defeat Dutch tactics, thereby proving the genius of both Prince Rupert and Gustavus Adolphus, and the stupidity of relying on firearms instead of shock. Sir Richard Bulstrode, who was in the Prince of Wales’s horse regiment on the royalist right wing, gives the impression of a stereotypically Swedish approach. After noting that the royalist cavalry were three deep, he describes Prince Rupert’s orders and how they were carried out (Sir Richard Bulstrode, Memoirs and reflections upon the reign and government of King Charles the Ist. and K. Charles the Iid, 1721, pp. 81-82):

Just before we began our March, Prince Rupert passed from one Wing to the other, giving positive Orders to the Horse, to march as close as possible, keeping their Ranks with Sword in Hand, to receive the Enemy’s Shot, without firing either Carbin or Pistoll, till we broke in amongst the Enemy, and then to make use of our Fire-Arms as need should require; which Order was punctually observed. The Enemy stayed to receive us, in the same Posture as was formerly declared; and when we came within Cannon Shot of the Enemy, they discharged at us three Pieces of Cannon from their left Wing, commanded by Sir James Ramsey; which Cannon mounted over our Troops, without doing any Hurt, except that their second Shot killed a Quarter-Master in the Rear of the Duke of York’s Troop. We soon after engaged each other, and our Dragoons on our Right beat the Enemy from the Briars, and Prince Rupert led on our right Wing so furiously, that, after a small Resistance, we forced their left Wing, and were Masters of their Cannon;

There are always question marks over memoirs and memories but I generally believe what Bulstrode says. His is the most detailed description of orders given to cavalry during the First Civil War. The fact that he remembered Prince Ruperts instructions and wrote them down in his memoirs could suggest that he found them particularly unusual (cognitive psychologists call this “schema-inconsistent”; see Mixing Memory for an explanation of schematic memory). However, it’s difficult to tell whether Bulstrode found Rupert’s orders novel because they were a break with established practice, or because Bulstrode himself had little military experience. It could be that other authors had less to say about cavalry charges because the found the details schema-irrelevant. Things are complicated because memoirs are written with the benefit of hindsight, but it could be that Bulstrode was using his former inexperience as a narrative device, constructing a plot in which he went from new recruit to veteran. And there’s always the possibility that he was adding spurious details to create a truth effect.

If we take the passage at face value, it roughly fits in with the shock myth, but on closer examination there are some significant gaps and differences. Notice that there is no mention of the cavalry being “knee to knee” or “cheek by jowl”. Rupert’s order was a more realistic “march as close as possible”. Breaking in amongst the enemy might imply a shock, but it might not. If you need to use your firearms when you get in among the enemy, that implies that they haven’t been swept away by an “equine battering ram” and are still a potential threat.

The thing I find most striking is that the pace of the charge is not explicitly mentioned. Was it at a trot, canter, or gallop? Bulstrode is not unusual in this respect, because hardly any accounts of civil war battles make any mention of the pace used by cavalry. This has not stopped later writers from making assumptions. When I was involved in wargaming, the orthodox view among wargamers was that royalists always galloped and parliamentarians always trotted. While C. H. Firth did not believe that “modern” (ie late 19th/early 20th century) shock tactics were in use during the civil wars, and cautioned against reading too much into imperfect records, he was convinced that charges were not “as rapid as a modern cavalry charge. At its fastest the pace seemed to have been a trot rather than a gallop” (Cromwell’s Army, p. 142 in the 1962 reprint). Wanklyn and Jones are equally convinced that the Swedish tactics called for a full gallop: “They would advance towards the enemy at a steadily quickening pace, and 50 yards from contact the flank squadrons would raise the pace to a full gallop and charge home” (p. 34). Curiously they cite Cruso as one of the sources for this, even though there is little evidence of any new Swedish ideas in his work.

It seems reasonably clear that by 1658 English cavalry were using the trot while the French were using the canter, and that contemporaries found this schema-inconsistent enough to remark on (see Firth, p. 142). That doesn’t necessarily tell us what happened in the 1640s. Furthermore, the ambiguity of the word “charge” (see previous post) can create problems, especially where historians are already convinced that they are going to find shock rather than firing. Cromwell once mentioned his men advancing at “a pretty round trot” (cited in Firth, p. 137) but starting at a trot doesn’t necessarily imply staying at the trot. From the late eighteenth to early twentieth centuries, when the concept of shock was at its strongest, cavalry were usually instructed to advance at the trot, speed up to a canter at a certain point, and only break into a full gallop towards the end of the charge. There is no proof that Cromwell was doing this in 1643, but there’s equally little proof that he wasn’t. The evidence is far too vague and ambiguous to draw any reliable conclusions. The evidence for the royalists is equally problematic. Richard Atkyns mentions charging at a gallop at Little Dean in 1643 (p. 20):

The Charge was seemingly as desperate as any I was ever in; it being to beat the Enemy from a Wall which was a Strong Breast Work, with a Gate in the middle; possest by above 200 Musqueteers, besides Horse: We were to charge down a Steep plain Hill, of above 12 score Yards in length; as good a Mark as they could wish: Our party consisting of between Two and Three Hundred Horse, not a man of them would follow us; So the Officers, about 10 or 12 of us, agreed to Gallop down in as good Order as we could, and make a desperate Charge upon them; the Enemy seeing our resolutions, never Fired at us at all, but run away;

This doesn’t look like a typical engagement for cavalry, and it could be that Atkyns remembered and wrote about galloping because it was equally schema-inconsistent. Also note the potential ambiguity the first time he uses the word “charge”. At Chewton, Atkyns was involved in a more usual fight against enemy cavalry: “when we came within 6 score of them, we mended our pace, and fell into their left Division” (p. 27). This might describe advancing at a slower pace then breaking into a gallop for the last 120 yards. Or it might not. In his account of Roundway Down, all Atkyns says about pace is: “we advanc’d a full Trot 3 deep, and kept in order” (p. 37). Really we’re clutching at straws here. That most sources say even less about the pace of the charge could suggest that it was so schema-irrelevant that nobody remembered it or considered it worth writing about.

Whatever pace Rupert’s cavalry used at Edgehill, we know that his charge was successful. It’s difficult to know what the parliamentarians were trying to do, because most of them ran away before they could do it. Sir James Ramsey, commanding the left wing, was court-martialled as a result of their failure, but found to have done nothing wrong. The report of these findings was published, and seems to be concerned with establishing Ramsey’s ideological credentials as much as his military competence, but there is not much reason to disbelieve the witnesses’ description of the action (Thomason Tracts: 669.f.6.88):

the said Sir James, having the command of the left Wing of our Horse, did so place and order the severall Squadrons of Horse of the Wing at best advantage for fight, and did place severall Rankes of Musqueteers betwixt the Squadrons of Horse, and interlarded them so well for offending of the enemy, and for defending of themselves, as could be desired, and did also lay upon the left hand of the Horse, in a hedge two or three hundred Musqueteers, for to Flanke the Front of our Horse, and give fire to the Enemies at their charging of our Horse, and all those three above named Gentlemen affirme that the said Sir James did before the Combatte exhort and entreate all the Troopes that stood thus imbattailed to stand firme yet notwithstanding all this, they affirme that at the approach of the Enemy our Troopes did discharge their long peeces afarre of, and without distance, and immediately thereafter wheeled all about, and ranne disorderly, leaving the Musqueteers to be cut in peeces by the Enemy, so did their Officers shew them the way

Interlining the cavalry with musketeers is usually associated with the Swedish school, but cavalry standing and firing is associated with the Dutch school. Ramsey himself apparently had some Swedish experience, but he said at his trial that he was following orders from his superiors:

After I had Orders from his Excellency the Lord Generall of our Army, and others my Superiours, for ordering and commanding the left Wing of the Cavallery, I did accordingly put them in Posture Defensive, and Offensive, interlining the Squadrons with a convenient number of Musqueteers, and likewise did place three hundred Musqueteers on a Hedge on the Left hand of the left Wing; which did Flanke the whole Front of the left Wing and after desiring, and heartily exhorting them to give the enemy a brave race charged their Carbines at a long distance, and thereafter basely runne away, and that in mighty confusion

Note another use of charge meaning aiming or firing weapons. It’s easy to take a teleological view that because of the outcome of the combat, the royalists must have chosen the right tactics and the parliamentarians the wrong ones. But at Marston Moor in 1644, things were very different. Rupert interlined his cavalry with musketeers and ordered them to wait for the enemy to advance to them, knowing that they would have to cross difficult ground. It didn’t work on the right wing, where Byron is usually blamed for advancing too soon. However, the tactic was a success on the left wing, where most of Fairfax’s cavalry, having been hampered by furze bushes and suffered casualties from the volley of musket shot, were routed by the royalist counter charge. By 1644, the royalists evidently had the experience to pull it off, but in 1642 tactical options might have been more limited. The tactics of both sides at Edgehill could be seen as attempts to work with men and horses who lacked training and experience.

Inexperience is very evident in Edmund Ludlow’s account of the skirmish at Powick Bridge in September 1642, the first time that the regular cavalry of the newly raised armies met in combat (Memoirs of Edmund Ludlow, 1698, pp. 45-6 — ie the dodgy original version which was heavily altered by its editor, but I think this passage is reliable [Edit: it probably isn't because the surviving MS doesn't cover this period]):

The Body of our routed Party returned in great Disorder to Parshot, at which place our LifeGuard was appointed to quarter that Night; where, as we were marching into the Town, we discovered Horsemen riding very hard towards us with drawn Swords, and many of them without Hats, from whom we understood the Particulars of our Loss, not without Improvement, by reason of the Fear with which they were possessed, telling us, that the Enemy was hard by in pursuit of them: whereas it afterwards appeared, they came not within four Miles of that place. Our Life-Guard being for the most part Strangers to things of this nature, were much alarm’d with this Report; yet some of us unwilling to give credit to it till we were better informed, offered our selves to go out upon a further Discovery of the matter. But our Captain Sir Philip Stapylton not being then with us, his Lieutenant one Bainham, an old Souldier (a Generation of Men much cried up at that time) drawing us into a Field, where he pretended we might more advantageously charge if there should be occasion, commanded us to wheel about; but our Gentlemen not yet well understanding the difference between wheeling about, and shifting for themselves, their Backs being now towards the Enemy, whom they thought to be close in the Rear, retired to the Army in a very dishonourable manner, and the next Morning rallied at the Head-quarters, where we received but cold Welcome from the General, as we well deserved.

Ludlow was a member of the Earl of Essex’s Lifeguard. They were the best armed and best mounted unit in the army, but they apparently didn’t know what they were doing. Richard Bulstrode and his mount were similarly inexperienced at the same engagement (Bulstrode, Memoirs, p. 74):

This was the first Action I was ever in, and being upon an unruly Horse, he ran away with me amongst the Enemy, while we pursued them to the Bridge, in which Hurly I lost my Hat; but my Horse’s Courage being somewhat abated, I stopp’d him before we came to the Bridge, and so returned with our own Troops.

Standing still and firing, or quickly moving towards the enemy and fighting them at close range, were both reasonably simple concepts that inexperienced men could grasp. With the addition of dragoons and musketeers, and with obstacles in front of them (according to Lord Bernard Stuart the royalist cavalry had to cross several hedges and ditches, see Firth, p. 133), the parliamentarian tactics at Edgehill might have been expected to be more successful, but as it turned out, most of their cavalry fled.

You might have noticed that most of the examples I’ve cited so far involve one side or the other running away before the enemy gets near. That’s no accident, as like any historian I’ve selected evidence which fits with my point of view. It didn’t happen in every battle, but it was at least common enough that it can’t be ignored. Obviously if the two sides didn’t even meet, there couldn’t have been any equine battering going on, but on the other hand it could account for the growth of the shock myth. If the enemy turned and ran in the face of a charge, then cavalrymen might have believed that it was the result of a physical shock.

But if shock existed at all after the abandonment of the lance, it was purely a psychological phenomenon. Seeing a large number of horses (which weigh about half a ton each) coming towards you at any speed (a gallop might be 20 to 30 miles per hour, and even a trot could be over 10 miles per hour) would be quite intimidating. Even if they knew that a physical collision was impossible or unlikely, men might still have lost their nerve and decided to get out of the way. If drill books had any influence on practice (debatable, but let’s suppose they did) then the recurrence of Walhausen’s manoeuvre would only have increased the impression that getting out of the way was the best option. Equine psychology adds another twist, because horses are herd animals. Horses standing still and seeing another herd of horses running towards them might feel a strong urge to run in the same direction. The noise of battle might have scared some horses enough to make them bolt, causing them to gallop uncontrollably. Chris Scott and Alan Turton compared the charges at Edgehill to stampedes (Edgehill: The Battle Reinterpreted, 2004, ISBN: 1844151336). [Edit: no they didn't. I was looking for the quote I thought I remembered from this book and couldn't find it. Did someone else say it, or did I just imagine it?]

This is interesting because the things which are spuriously claimed to cause physical shock would be likely to have a big psychological impact. A solid line is more intimidating than one with gaps in it. A fast charge is more intimidating than a slow advance. Supposing you could get your cavalry galloping knee to knee it would be a very effective way of making the enemy lose their nerve. Of course I still don’t believe that it could be done, but trying to achieve it doesn’t look quite so stupid now. One of the reasons why the perfect shock charge is unattainable is the trade-off between speed and cohesion. The faster the horses go, the harder it is to keep them together and the more gaps appear in the formation. If you want to keep a closer formation you have to go slower. It’s often assumed that Prince Rupert preferred speed and Cromwell preferred cohesion, but as there’s so little evidence of how fast charges were I don’t think we can ever know for sure.

There were many times when neither side ran away. In these cases one of two things could happen, and neither of them was a head on collision between missiles or battering rams. If both sides kept going they would simply pass through each other. The difficulty of keeping a close formation, and the propensity of horses to avoid collisions with solid objects, would result in the horses steering through the gaps even if their riders wanted a shock. Sometimes the riders wanted to go through the gaps as well. After he was deserted by most of his wing at Marston Moor, Fairfax and the remainder of his men saved themselves by going straight through the royalist lines. John Keegan cites more examples of cavalry passing each other at Waterloo (Face of Battle, pp. 147-8) but it seems to have been relatively rare in the English Civil War.

The other, more common, outcome was that both sides would stop and engage in hand to hand combat. Again, Keegan finds this happening a lot at Waterloo, noting that “we are back with single combat again” (p. 149). If things got to this point, then the charge itself would have achieved nothing. Both sides had to decide to stop and fight, otherwise one side would pass through the other. “Consent — the vital precondition for single combat proper — is thus made to appear equally necessary if cavalry formations were to fight each other in any effective fashion. When they did so, of course, they did not fight as formations, but as individuals or small groups” (Keegan, p. 149). This is exactly what happened when Cromwell’s and Byron’s wings met at Marston Moor (as Firth points out — although he believed that shock existed in his own time he placed more emphasis on close combat in the seventeenth century). There was prolonged close combat before the royalists ran away. Similarly, at Roundway Down speed and formation had little influence as neither side lost its nerve before they met. There was a hard fight, in which Haselrigg’s cuirassiers seemed to be in their element, but eventually the parliamentarians fled.

In the light of this, Rupert’s instructions at Edgehill might not be all that shock obsessed. Breaking into the enemy could just mean moving into the gaps in their formation and engaging individuals in hand to hand combat. Reserving pistol fire until after the charge also makes sense because pistols would be much more effective in close combat than at range. If Rupert knew what he was doing then he might have hoped that the enemy would run before contact was made, but prepared to fight them if they didn’t.

This leaves us with the impression that cavalry combat was chaotic in both the ordinary and scientific sense. The outcome was wildly unpredictable. We shouldn’t ever assume that the results of battles were inevitable, or that they reflect on the competence of the men or their leaders. This is illustrated by the experience of the parliamentarian left wing at Naseby in 1645. Unlike the infantry, which had been reinforced with new conscripts, the cavalry of the New Model Army were mostly veterans. Those who had served under Manchester, with Cromwell as their Lieutenant General, had usually been successful, while many of those from Essex’s and Waller’s armies had got the better of the royalists at Cheriton. In spite of all this experience, and the confidence you might expect it to engender, and supporting fire from Okey’s dragoons, Ireton’s wing was routed by Rupert’s charge.

So, to sum up another absurdly long post, in nearly every engagement between cavalry, at least one side charged. There were three possible outcomes of a charge: one side or the other ran away before contact was made; both sides kept going and passed through each other; both sides stopped and fought hand to hand. In the first case, the charge can be considered a success for the side which didn’t run away, but in the other two cases it didn’t really do anything. There was certainly no physical shock. The idea falls down on empirical as well as rational grounds because there simply isn’t any evidence of it happening. There doesn’t seem to be much influence from pre-war drill books. A more detailed examination of battle accounts would turn up some things which agreed with some parts of the books, but there’s no sign of any coherent doctrines based on written theory. This is partly because none of the books has its own coherent doctrine, being more a synthesis of disparate ideas from other texts. I haven’t tried to work out how the result of hand to hand combat was determined, because there isn’t enough evidence, and there are too many potential complications. Next week I’ll be looking at what happened afterwards.

Bibliography

1. Anon, The vindication and clearing of Sir Iames Ramsey from those base aspersions cast upon him through mis-information, &c. Concerning his carriage in the fight at Kyneton, 23 October 1642. (1642).
2. Richard Atkyns, The Vindication of Richard Atkyns (London, 1669).
3. Richard Atkyns, ‘The Praying Captain’, Journal of the Society for Army Historical Research, 35 (1957).
4. Richard Bulstrode, Memoirs and reflections on the reign and government of King Charles Ist and king Charles IId (London, 1721).
5. Charles Harding Firth, Cromwell’s Army (Methuen: London, 1962).
6. John Keegan, The Face of Battle (Penguin Books Ltd, August 1978).
7. Edmund Ludlow, Memoirs of Edmund Ludlow Esq; lieutenant general of the horse, commander in chief of the forces in Ireland, one of the council of state, and a member of the Parliament which began on November 3, 1640 (1698).
8. Christopher L. Scott, Alan Turton, and Eric Gruber von Arni, Edgehill (Leo Cooper Ltd, 2004).
9. Maclolm D. G. Wanklyn and Frank Jones, A Military History of the English Civil War (Pearson: Harlow, 2005).