Suddenly terrible news arrived from Ireland. The native Irish, who were Roman Catholics to a man, had attacked the Protestant English colonists, and had slaughtered five thousand of them with horrible cruelty. The leader of the Irish had showed his followers a letter purporting to come from the king and encouraging him to the massacre. The letter had the royal seal attached to it, and looked genuine, but it was a forgery. The English Puritans, however, were now ready to think the worst of Charles, and they firmly believed that he had instigated the Irish to slaughter their fellow-countrymen and his own subjects. When Parliament reassembled, the Puritan leaders drew up a long list of all the illegal acts which the king had done, and issued it as a manifesto to the nation. Tact and conciliation might have worked wonders at this time, but Charles was in no mood for pacific measures. His wife urged him to go to Parliament and seize the five Puritan leaders. “Pull the rascals out by the ears,” she cried, and in fatal hour Charles took her advice. He went down to Westminster at the head of five hundred men, and entered the House only to discover that “the birds had flown.” The five members had escaped to the city, and the king was foiled and humiliated. He left the House amidst low mutterings of fierce discontent and loud cries of “Privilege! privilege!” The London militia rose in arms to protect the five members, and war could no longer be avoided. In April 1642 the king rode to Hull, where there was a large magazine of arms and gunpowder, and demanded admittance. The gates were shut in his face, and the governor declared that he would only take orders from Parliament. This was the first act of war. On the stormy evening of August 22 the king raised his standard at Nottingham, and when it was blown down there were many who saw in the occurrence an evil omen. Then began a series of miserable years, during which father fought against son and brother against brother. The fortune of war at first favoured the king; but the tide turned, and the forces of the Parliament gradually gained the upper hand. It was inevitable that they should win: London and the most populous and wealthy part of the country were with them; the great military genius, Cromwell, rose amongst them; and a deep, religious fervour inspired them. For three years the land rang with the tumult of battle, but on one June day in the year 1645 the crisis arrived. The Parliamentary horsemen scattered the Cavaliers of the king like chaff before the wind, and they were never dangerous again. The king fled from the field, and in his captured baggage the victors found damning proof of his intrigues with the French and the Irish, and proposals that foreign armies should come over and subdue his revolting subjects.