If these men should perish by your means, it were great inhumanity surely. Honour and honesty require this, That though you be prodigal of your own lives, yet not to be so of theirs. If God give you into my hands, I will not spare a man of you, if you put me to a storm.
OLIVER CROMWELL.[1]
Roger Burgess, still unawed, refuses; Cromwell waits for infantry from Abingdon ‘till 3 next morning,’ then storms; loses fourteen men, with a captain taken prisoner;—and draws away, leaving Burgess to crow over him. The Army, which rose from Windsor yesterday, gets to Reading this day, and he must hasten thither.[2]
Yesterday, Wednesday, Monthly-fast day, all Preachers, by Ordinance of Parliament, were praying for ‘God’s merciful assistance to this New Army now on march, and His blessing upon their endeavours.’[3] Consider it; actually ‘praying’! It was a capability old London and its Preachers and Populations had; to us the incrediblest.
By Letter Twenty-eighth it will be seen that Lieutenant-General Cromwell has never yet resumed his Parliamentary duty. In fact, he is in the Associated Counties, raising force; ‘for protection of the Isle of Ely,’ and other purposes. To Fairfax and his Officers, to the Parliament, to the Committee of Both Kingdoms, to all persons, it is clear that Cromwell cannot be dispensed with. Fairfax and the Officers petition Parliament[4] that he may he appointed their Lieutenant-General, Commander-in-Chief of the Horse. There is a clear necessity in it. Parliament, the Commons somewhat more
