The generals who had gone on in front now returned with their men to the assistance of their rearguard, and the whole army was brought into position on the high ground in the middle of the day, July 2nd, 1644.  The position was a good one, sloping down gradually towards the enemy.  The Royalist army numbered about 23,500 men, and that of the Parliament slightly more.  It must have been a wonderful sight to see these 50,000 of the best and bravest men the kingdom could produce, ready to wound and kill each other.  The war-cry of the Royalists was “God and the King,” and that of the others was “God with us”—­both sides believing they were fighting for the cause of religion.  There were curses on one side and prayers on the other, each captain of the Parliament prayed at the head of his company and each soldier carried a Bible bearing the title “The Souldier’s Pocket Bible, issued for use in the Commonwealth Army in 1643.”  It only consisted of fifteen pages of special passages that referred particularly to the soldier’s life and temptations.  Cromwell stood on the highest point of the field—­the exact position, locally know as “Cromwell’s Gap,” was pointed out to us—­but at the time of the great battle it was covered with a clump of trees, of which now only a few remained.  The battle, once begun, raged with the greatest fury; but Cromwell and his “Ironsides” (a name given to them because of their iron resolution) were irresistible, and swept through the enemy like an avalanche; nothing could withstand them—­and the weight of their onset bore down all before it.  Their spirit could not be subdued or wearied, for verily they believed they were fighting the battles of the Lord, and that death was only a passport to a crown of glory.  Newcastle’s “White Coats,” a regiment of thoroughly trained soldiers from the borders of Cheshire and Wales, who would not retreat, were almost annihilated, and Prince Rupert himself only escaped through the superior speed of his horse, and retired into Lancashire with the remains of his army, while Newcastle and about eighty others fled to Scarborough, and sailed to Antwerp, leaving Sir Thomas Glemham, the Governor of York, to defend that city.  But as most of his artillery had been lost at Marston Moor, and the victors continued the siege, he was soon obliged to surrender.  He made a very favourable agreement with the generals of the Parliamentarian forces, by the terms of which, consisting of thirteen clauses, they undertook to protect the property and persons of all in the city, not plunder or deface any churches or other buildings, and to give a safe conduct to officers and men—­who were to march out with what were practically the honours of war—­as far as Skipton.

The agreement having been signed by both parties on July 16th, 1644, Sir Thomas Glemham, with his officers and men, marched out of the city of York with their arms, and “with drums beating, colours flying, match lighted, bullet in mouth, bag and baggage,” made for Skipton, where they arrived safely.  The Battle of Marston Moor was a shock to the Royalist cause from which it never recovered.