Rebels and Traitors (90 page)

The English Council of State decided to pre-empt an invasion by attacking Scotland. Cromwell took sixteen thousand troops, most of them experienced New Model Army men, though recruited anew for this task. Gideon Jukes was one of the volunteers.

Gideon had considered asking for a place again with Colonel Okey He had heard on the veterans’ grapevine that Okey had tried bitterly to rid his regiment of Captain Francis Freeman, a curious mystic. The dragoons had a reputation as religious fanatics, but their colonel wanted fanaticism that chimed with his own. He eventually court-martialled Freeman, who had been overheard playing music with his landlord, carolling what Freeman claimed were innocent traditional ditties, but Okey said were lewd songs. Neither would back down. To solve the impasse, Cromwell had instructed the captain to resign.

Gideon had been known to hum while he polished his boots, but did not flaunt it. He thought he was safe with Okey. But when he called at the Hackney house, he was informed that Okey had left for the north with Freeman’s captaincy already filled. Undeterred — well, still desperate to escape from London — Gideon devised a new plan. At Derby House, where the committee in charge of military affairs sat, he asked to see Samuel Bedford. Gideon had known Bedford slightly as Sir Samuel Luke’s trusted deputy at Newport Pagnell, subsequently poached to work in intelligence for the New Model Army.

On first approach, Gideon was merely asked to leave his personal details. Returning next day, he was informed that gentlemen of the committee would examine him.

An officer who never gave his name took charge, while a clerk took notes, and another man sat looking sombre: wearing a long black coat — late middle age, blue chin, beady eyes that gave the impression he knew more than he ought. Gideon repeated everything he had said the previous day. He did so quietly and patiently, for he knew how army bureaucracy worked. Eventually, the interviewer and the man in the black coat walked off together to the far end of the large room. They held a muttered discussion, sometimes glancing back at Gideon.

Black coat must have lost. He leaned back on his heels for a moment, surveying Gideon ruefully, then left in mild dudgeon. The interviewer recrossed the room. ‘Well, Captain Jukes. Do you remember that gentleman? He met you once, and maintains if you are the man he thought, you will recall it.’

Turnham Green. Half a lifetime back. ‘His name,’ Gideon acknowledged, ‘— or the name he used then — is Mr Blakeby.’

The interviewer looked at him oddly, as if this long-stored memory marked out Gideon as a queer obsessive. Gideon sat quiet, managing to do so without looking smug. ‘He tried to recruit you?’

‘I turned him down, sir.’

‘Well, he has lost you again. You volunteered yourself to the scoutmaster. The army takes precedence over Blakeby’s business -though Sir Thomas Scott will never thank me for it.’ At that time, Gideon had no idea who Sir Thomas Scott might be, though when he returned home later, Robert Allibone said the man had been placed in charge of intelligence — political spying. ‘You will go to Scotland. Unregimented — you’ll wear a tawny coat and answer to Scoutmaster-General William Rowe, surveying the terrain.’ Gideon did briefly wonder how intelligencers were supposed to scout in a completely foreign country where the locals were trying to kill them. Still, a Londoner always had confidence.

The journey was three hundred miles. Gideon refused the chance to go by sea, claiming he wanted to get used to his horse, a strong, speedy pony which he had been promised could turn on a sixpence. When pointed north, it seemed enthusiastic and cantered along day after day, giving no trouble. This allowed him plenty of time for thought — and for trying to avoid thought, where it was too painful.

The man who rode to Scotland at the end of July 1650 was now in his full prime. He was almost thirty, as mature in character as he would ever be, and by the end of that long trip physically hard again. He had not lost his ideals, but he was beginning to see that he had spent much of his life in a struggle that could have no straightforward resolution.

The dearest revolutionary principles of Gideon’s life were already lost. The Levellers had been destroyed. There had been Lockyer, Burford, Wellingborough. John Wildman had given up and turned himself into a land speculator, buying up the estates of disgraced and impecunious Royalists. John Lilburne, ‘Freeborn John’, Cromwell’s most implacable antagonist, had been tried for treason to the Commonwealth; found not guilty, he was nonetheless exiled to Bruges, whence he fulminated darkly. Lilburne’s Leveller associates were freed from prison; it was conditional on their taking the oath of engagement to the new regime. Richard Overton had done so with his usual grim wit, saying that he would be as faithful to his oath as the Council of State had been to the Covenant (that was, not at all). Sexby Gideon’s old Leveller colleague, had gone ahead of him to Scotland. Sexby’s Scottish service would go wrong and he would react to the loss of their cause very differently from Gideon.

To the new, caustic, steely Gideon the world had been turned upside down, but it had been turned into muddle and chaos. Conflict seemed never-ending. His depression deepened on the long, solitary journey north; it held poignant memories, as he passed close to Holdenby, then Doncaster and Pontefract. He remembered past events, both stirring and disastrous, then brooded on the unexpected turn in his personal life, where he had charged in full of his usual cheerfulness and determination, but had been so knocked back. It made him think more forcefully about his own existence, his wishes and intentions.

The timing was cruel. He had spent years believing he felt no desire for women, blaming Lacy. Now he knew that he did want a woman, not just physically — although his great ache for Juliana Lovell was painfully physical — but emotionally and intellectually too. Yet it must not be any woman, only
that
woman. The speed of his falling for her shocked him; it also indicated the sureness of his devotion. He was even calm about knowing they must not meet again -

No; he was not calm. He would not be a hypocrite.

The journey took over. He had his work cut out now. Once he passed Doncaster, where he did not stop, and Pontefract, he was in unknown territory. His route took him via York, Durham, Newcastle and Berwick, where Cromwell had concentrated his forces before he crossed the border. After that, Gideon was in bandit country. He had to keep his wits about him. Even with regular rest-breaks he was tired, but the routine precautions of his craft came back and protected him. He began meeting soldiers in New Model uniform, who gave him directions, along with rations and companionship. Soon he found the main force, was brought to the scoutmaster general and introduced himself.

Naturally there were other scouts already here. Captain Jukes had to woo their respect, learn to work with them. He had done it before; he would do it now. He was kicking his heels for the first few days, before he wound his way in, making his place among them in his quiet way, as he always did. He found his role. He got to know the territory and even made a few contacts in the local population. He was first seen as gormless and harmless, then useful, then indispensable.

The Scots had been informed that the English Parliament did not intend any interference with their chosen way of government — provided they exercised respect for the Commonwealth. Cromwell, who shared much of their religious fervour, wrote to the Scottish clergy, begging them to reconsider whether Charles Stuart was a fit king for a godly people and famously pleading:
‘I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible you may be mistaken.’
To no avail.

The Covenanters urged their new King to issue a public statement attacking his mother’s Catholicism and his father’s bad counsellors. Charles refused to do that but the clergy dourly accepted his signed oath of allegiance to their Covenant. They remained uneasy with their new figurehead. Alarmed by his charisma and his suspected unreliability they made Charles withdraw and wait across the Firth of Forth in Dunfermline while they faced Cromwell.

The Scottish forces were commanded by the tough David Leslie -no stranger to invading England under the Covenant banner. He was hampered by a Committee of the Kirk. They dogged his every move. Their first action was to purge his army of eighty good officers and more than three thousand experienced soldiers they suspected of loose morals or swearing in public. These valuable troops were replaced with raw recruits —
‘nothing but useless clerks and ministers’ sons, who have never seen a sword, much less used one’.
The committee then accompanied Leslie on his march.

Cromwell had fought alongside Leslie at the battle of Marston Moor and knew he would be a formidable foe. He was in his own territory. Like Ormond in Ireland, he avoided pitched battle, using classic guerrilla tactics. It gave Cromwell’s scouts plenty to do, simply trying to find out where enemy pickets were hiding in the undergrowth. Gideon was busy; he almost enjoyed that. It was dangerous, however. By choosing to bring their campaign onto Leslie’s own ground, where he knew every tussock on the inhospitable hills, the English had rashly exposed themselves. He stripped bare the country. Men vanished into the hills with their livestock, leaving only women, old men and children. Crops were taken from the fields. The bare hills were bad grazing for horses, so even fodder had to be imported. Meanwhile Leslie made excellent use of his forces, particularly his dragoons, who laid ambushes then melted away, leaving their opponents pointlessly wandering to and fro while their strength and their scant resources dwindled.

As in Ireland, supplies had to come by sea. Cromwell had made meticulous arrangements. Bread and Cheshire cheese were provided for the men. Beans and oats for the horses were ferried in too. The troops carried with them their own horseshoes, nails and portable ovens in order to bake unbreakable marching biscuit. But they lacked tents — only a hundred small ones for officers had been supplied — and as the weather closed in, this would severely hamper them.

Leslie had dug in to protect Edinburgh and its port at Leith; after abortive assaults it became clear that Cromwell’s inferior numbers would never prevail there. Throughout August, the Scots skirmished endlessly, while their taunted foes became exhausted and demoralised. The Scots captured a cavalry patrol near Glasgow and sent tortured and mutilated bodies back to Cromwell. Sickness ran rife through the English ranks. In late August, they retreated to Musselburgh on the coast, from where hundreds of sick and wounded men were shipped home. The weather had turned foul and Leslie bothered the remainder mercilessly. They were tired, spent, hungry, apprehensive and harried. Far from home, with his army five thousand down, depleted and sinking, Cromwell retreated to the coast, where he hoped ships could bring supplies or even evacuate the troops.

After more pointless manoeuvring, driving rain and lack of rations drove the English to seek shelter at Dunbar. This could only be a temporary bolt-hole, but Gideon and the other scouts soon discovered the worst. The Scots had arrived ahead of them. They were blocking the route south to Berwick. In this narrow coastal strip, with the lowering sea to one side and the rain-drenched Lammermuir Hills above, they had been boxed in. Leslie marched his main regiments to the top of nearby Doon Hill, from where he dominated their fatal position.

As the rain beat down, Cromwell’s men sought whatever shelter they could, in and around the tiny coastal town. Stationed above on a steep escarpment which was protected by a swollen, raging burn, the Scots poised for the kill. If the New Model chose to fight, they would have to charge uphill on precipitous ground, against superior numbers and into a blaze of artillery.

It was a dismal moment. For once, Cromwell had let himself be out-manoeuvred. His men were outnumbered two-to-one and a third of them were already out of action, with illness claiming more daily. The position looked hopeless. Communication with Berwick, the only possible retreat for the cavalry, had been cut. Evacuation of the infantry by sea, under the Scots’ guns, would be a murderous exercise. There was no time to do it and they had too few ships in any case. Cromwell managed to send out an urgent dispatch to Sir Arthur Haselrigge, at Newcastle, pleading for reinforcements and urging him to keep the army’s predicament a secret from Parliament. But the troops would be done for, long before reinforcements could arrive.

They were in a classic trap. All David Leslie had to do now was to stay where he was and starve them out.

Psalm 117

On the bleak dark night of the 2nd of September 1650, Captain Gideon Jukes of the New Model Army lay on the ground on his belly at the edge of a cornfield, soaked to the skin, believing he would die next day and thinking about life. Life, Gideon believed, should be better than this. He was hungry and freezing. His Monmouth cap was so sodden with rainwater, it had stretched to almost twice its normal size -unwearable, but he diligently kept it on because it was a dark colour and camouflaged his light hair. Corn stubble had prickled his wet skin like six-inch nails, adding to the insect bites that already tormented him.