The waters at Bath completely restored Monk's health, and in July the Council requested Cromwell to order him back to his duty in Scotland, that he might report on the state of the country. Monk did not go.

A new act in the drama had begun. With Dunbar, Worcester, and Monk's successes in Scotland, the Presbyterian party was reduced to impotency. The Independents were triumphant, and the factors of which that party was composed began to detach themselves with ominous distinctness. On the one hand was the Parliament, reactionary in spite of its purging; on the other the army, radical in spite of its leader. For the purpose of understanding Monk's relation to them it is unnecessary to enter minutely into the characteristics of both factions. To place ourselves in sympathy with a political situation it is necessary not so much to understand the aims of the several parties which create it, as to grasp the motives which each party attributes to the other. The great body of politicians are moved more by distrust of their adversaries than by confidence in themselves. Monk at any rate, with his soldierly contempt for politics, was incapable of taking a higher view of the situation than this. Parliament credited the army with a desire to establish an arbitrary military government. The army suspected Parliament of an intention to perpetuate itself as a tyrannical oligarchy. The latter idea Monk could endure, the former was for him intolerable. If it came to a question of army or Parliament, Cromwell knew that his incorruptible lieutenant would be obstinately true to his principles and side with the civil power. It is easy to understand that on the eve of his great stroke he preferred that his devoted partisan, Major-General Deane, who was acting in Monk's absence, should continue to command the army in Scotland.

The outbreak of the Dutch war was made an excuse for keeping the general in England. In view of the coming struggle it was considered advisable to make Great Yarmouth a formidable naval port. Monk was the highest authority on fortification in the service, and the Council had to consent to his being employed to carry out the necessary work. In this congenial occupation he remained until November. It was then in contemplation to appoint two admirals to command the fleet jointly with Blake, according to the usual practice. Deane, having a considerable naval reputation, was naturally one, and he was summoned from Scotland, where Colonel Lilburne, an advanced radical of Anabaptist opinions, succeeded him. Monk was proposed as the other, but again Cromwell opposed the appointment. He saw the coming crisis almost within measurable distance, and naturally wished to see the fleet as well as the army in the right hands. But this time his opposition was in vain. On the last day of the month Blake was defeated by a greatly superior force under Tromp. The Thames was in danger, and four days later Monk and Deane were ordered to be ready to put to sea in twenty-four hours.

Tromp's victory was, however, too dearly bought for him to pursue Blake, and after his famous cruise in the Channel, as the broom-myth tells, he bore away to RhÉ to fetch home the Dutch merchant-fleet that was to assemble there for convoy. All the winter the three generals were busy fitting out a new fleet, and in February they put to sea to intercept Tromp and his costly charge. On the 18th they met, and there ensued one of those extraordinary engagements which distinguished these wars. For three days it lasted, and at the end both sides claimed the victory. Tromp practically saved his huge convoy, while Blake and his partners defeated the Dutch fleet.

Monk's share in the engagements had been comparatively small, as his flagship was a hopelessly slow sailer. Out of his love for heavy artillery he had probably over-gunned it—a common error in the English navy then. At the age of forty-four it is not easy to suddenly take up a new profession, and he made no pretence to seamanship. His complete ignorance of nautical matters became a standing joke. When his ship was coming into action, and the master cried larboard or starboard, Monk used to reply with a cheery shout of "Ay, ay, boys, let us board them!" and he never heard the last of it. When at nightfall on the first day he at length got into action he refused to retire, though his master urgently showed him the danger he ran from fire-ships. "Why," he cried, "the very powder of this ship is enough to blow a fire-ship from it. Charge again!" and away he went through the opposing squadron once more regardless of every protest. Blake had borne the brunt of the action, and had been so severely wounded by an iron splinter that he had to withdraw from active service and leave the command to his two colleagues.

For the next two months Monk was at Portsmouth busily refitting the fleet and crying out continually for supplies and men that would not come, and doing his best to alleviate the sufferings caused by the late battle. No wonder there were vexatious delays when we think what was going on at Whitehall. On April 21st the fleet lay at Spithead all ready for sea except for the delayed stores, when a despatch with strange news was put into the admiral's hands. The blow had fallen: the Revolution was complete: the Rump Parliament was no more. A new Council was sitting at Whitehall, and Cromwell was virtually dictator. What did the fleet mean to do?

In the quiet dignity of the answer we can see little of Deane's partisanship. Monk's honest indignation glows from between the lines. The whole proceeding was detestable to him; but staring him in the face was the one thing that ever raised him from his narrow views of duty, and that was the danger of his country. In spite of its insularity there was a genuineness about his patriotism that even won the admiration of his traducers. He made his choice, and took care that the answer which went back should show the reason why. It told in simple language, without a word of approval, how they had very seriously considered the news, and had finally resolved that as the nation had entrusted them with its defence it was their duty to defend it. In striking contrast was the enthusiastic answer that came back from Lilburne's army in the north. Years afterwards, in a similar crisis, Monk's acquiescence was thrown in his teeth. "I shall answer you that," he wrote. "It was never in my conscience to go out of God's way under the pretence of doing God's work; and you know the variety of times doth much vary the nature of affairs, and what might then patiently be submitted unto, we being engaged with a foreign enemy in a bloody war, cannot be drawn into a precedent at this time after our repentance."

Loyally Monk went on to discharge his country's trust. At the end of April, despairing of their proper equipment, the two generals put to sea and joined Vice-Admiral Penn off Arundel. Together they sailed to the Scotch coast with a fleet of about a hundred sail, and till the end of May cruised in the North Sea from Aberdeen to Yarmouth watching for Tromp and waiting for Blake's squadron to join. On the 30th7 the Dutch, slightly outnumbering them, were sighted, and three days later, early in the morning, the two fleets met.

Monk and Deane were together on board the Resolution, and seem to have attacked line ahead. The wind was light and variable from north-north-west to north-east, and the port division under Lawson, Jordan, and Goodson came into action some time before the rest. The three flagships pierced the line of De Ruyter's division, but as their squadron refused to follow, and Tromp bore down with his whole division to De Ruyter's assistance, for a time they had to engage against overwhelming odds. Monk and Deane, seeing the danger, crowded all sail and plunged into the thick of the fight. Side by side the two generals stood upon the deck as they ranged into action. A furious broadside greeted their approach, and Deane fell at Monk's feet almost cut in two by a round shot. Horror-stricken the sailors left their duty to gather round. In a moment Monk had snatched off his cloak and hidden the shocking sight from view. Sharply he told the seamen to mind their own business, and then without moving a muscle of his face went on fighting his ship as if nothing had happened. The action, however, did not continue much longer. Wise as a serpent, though daring as a lion, the father of naval tactics did not care to fight unless by his skilful manoeuvres he could secure the advantage of numbers, and about three in the afternoon, when the whole English fleet had got into action, Tromp drew off.

Monk followed, and at daybreak found himself in view of the whole Dutch fleet lying off Ostend, but a dead calm prevailed and he could not move. At sunrise he signalled all the flag-officers on board the Resolution and announced to them the irreparable loss of yesterday. By Deane's death the fleet was left in command of a man who hardly knew one end of a ship from another. But the old soldier at least could tell how to inspire confidence. He assembled the officers in council of war and asked for their guidance. "Your advice," he said, "shall be as binding on me as an Act of Parliament." It was at once resolved to engage, and that no part of the fleet might be again isolated by a repetition of yesterday's faint-heartedness, it was agreed that all the three divisions should attack simultaneously and endeavour to break up the enemy's line by piercing it in three places.

At noon the wished-for breeze sprang up and a tremendous engagement ensued. The captains who had disgraced themselves, fired by a stirring general order from Monk, vied with the rest to retrieve their reputation, and to such good purpose that the Dutch would not stand by their admiral. In spite of Tromp's signals and angry shots seventy of his ships sailed out of the fight. Thus deserted he was compelled to follow. All day the two fleets stood to the southward close-hauled on a south-westerly breeze, and kept up a hot running fight. About four in the afternoon the wind freshened to a gale, veering to west-south-west, and Monk was able to loose his frigates into the midst of the enemy to reap the harvest of cripples he had put at their mercy. As evening fell Blake's long-expected squadron appeared in the offing, and the Dutch sought refuge towards their own coasts, where at ten o'clock darkness and the shoals stopped further pursuit.

Such was the famous Flanders Battle, the first in which Monk really commanded. The Dutch lost thirty-four ships and for the time were driven from the sea. So well had the English come out of it that without putting in to refit they were able to follow up the victory by a descent upon Cadsand, where a vast quantity of stores were captured or destroyed.

For the next two months, as closely as the weather would allow, the two English admirals blockaded the Dutch coast. Behind their shoals the States were fitting out two fleets. In the Weelings about Flushing was Tromp, at the back of Texel was De Witt; and as Blake was again taken so ill that in July he had to go ashore, on Monk devolved the anxious task of keeping the two consummate Dutch seamen from uniting.

By the end of the month the enemy were ready for sea and Monk was rigorously blockading De Witt at Texel. Early on the 28th a heavy south-westerly gale compelled him to stand out to sea and beat against it all day. At daylight next morning, having recovered sufficient sea-room to be out of danger, he stood away to the south under easy sail, to intercept Tromp whom he expected out. True enough all the previous day the Dutchman had been stealing up the coast to feel for De Witt. About noon on the 29th the two fleets sighted each other. At the same moment the wind shifted to north-north-west and gave Monk the weather-gauge.

Tromp immediately went about. Having lost the wind all he cared to do was to try and draw the English off the Texel. Monk crowded all sail in pursuit, and managed late in the evening to force his enemy into a desultory engagement off Egmont, to which darkness quickly put an end.

All night in thick and heavy weather the chase continued to the southward, but Tromp was too clever for the soldier. In the darkness he doubled back north-north-east, and thus not only recovered the weather-gauge, but in the afternoon managed to join with De Witt, who had slipped out of the Texel as soon as Monk's back was turned.

During the whole of the 30th a tremendous gale was blowing dead on shore. Both fleets attempted to engage, but each time were prevented by the heavy weather. In the morning it cleared. Monk found himself close to the Dutch coast with the enemy to windward. Unwilling to engage where Tromp would have the advantage of his knowledge of the shoals, with harbours of refuge within easy reach, he stood out to sea, and the Dutch gave chase. They had one hundred and forty sail fresh from the yards, while Monk had but ninety storm-beaten ships, with crews sadly thinned and weakened by scurvy, nor had he a single fire-ship to oppose to those of the enemy. But dangers could never daunt the general. As soon as he had recovered sufficient sea-room began "the most fierce and cruel fight that ever was fought." It was already the sixth action of the war, and Monk meant it to be the last. He ordered that no prizes should be taken or quarter given. "The air," says the old historian, "was quickly filled with scattered limbs of men blown up: the sea was dyed with blood."

It was "a very orderly battle" (according to one of the English flag-officers), in which the old soldier strove with extraordinary skill to win back the weather-gauge from the greatest seaman of the day. The two fleets were standing out to sea, line ahead on parallel courses and a southerly wind, when the action began by Monk suddenly tacking on Tromp with the intention of breaking his line. Tromp tacked also to parry the attack, but though he was clever enough to keep the wind with nearly the whole of his fleet, a few of his ships were cut off and put to flight. Then followed three determined encounters, in which each fleet tacked on the other, passing each time closer and closer in the desperate struggle for the weather-gauge. Every time Monk disabled some of the Dutch, and every time he pierced their line and scattered the part he weathered. Still Tromp kept the advantage with the bulk of his force; but it was at a fearful sacrifice. In the last encounter the ships had fought almost at pike's length. Again and again two of the Dutch admirals had tried to board the Resolution, and again and again they had recoiled before the storm of metal that roared from beneath the exultant soldier's feet. Old hands were awestruck at the fury of the fight. "The very heavens," says one, "were obscured with smoke; the air rent with the thundering noise; the sea all in a breach with the shot that fell; the ships even trembling, and we hearing everywhere the messengers of death flying about."

Since sunrise the fight had raged. It was now past two o'clock in the afternoon. Yet again the undaunted soldier of fortune charged; but the Dutch had had their fill. Their splendid fleet had suffered terribly. Tromp's flag had been shot away, and he himself was gasping out his heroic life pierced with a musket ball. Of nine flagships only two were to be seen with the main body. Vice-Admiral Eversen was sinking, and scattered over the waters were burning hulks and the wrecks of captures blown up. As Monk tacked the Dutch spread their crippled wings and ran for Holland. Monk limped after them till evening, burning, sinking, and destroying. Over a hundred sail they had stood out proudly, as the sun rose, in pursuit of the English fleet, "but they were very thin when the sun went down."

As Gravesand steeple rose in sight and the Dutch saw their shoals within reach, Monk gave up the chase. The victory, complete as it was, had not been lightly won, and all that night and the following day his triumphant consorts staggered back to Southwold Bay. The carnage had been fearful. Eight of Monk's captains lay dead, and eight more were wounded, though he, with his usual luck, had never a scratch. Killed and wounded amounted to over a thousand. The Dutch had lost at least three times as many. Hardly a single English ship was missing. About thirty Dutch were sunk or taken, and barely half the fleet were together at the last.8

The war was practically at an end. Though the intrepid Dutch were soon as busy refitting as Monk himself, every one knew a decisive action had been fought. A public thanksgiving was ordered, and honours were showered on Monk and poor Blake and their officers. Next to Cromwell the soldier of fortune was now the greatest man in the land. Yet, in spite of his greatness, and in spite of the ardour with which he threw himself into the work of refitting the fleet, he found time and conscience to do a little act of humble duty before he put to sea again.

In the midst of the shouts of triumph was a voice that he loved, perhaps, as well as all his golden chains and medals, whispering that a child was to be born to him, and born in sin. Ratsford was dead. So quietly in the midst of his pressing work he snatched an hour to repair as far as could be the wrong he had done. Like an honest man, he took the perfumer's widow to St. George's Church in Southwark, and there he made her his wife.

During the remainder of this year and the beginning of the next Monk was busily engaged in maintaining the blockade of the Dutch coast, and attending to the routine business of his place at Whitehall and Chatham. Indeed he had little time for anything else. In June, while he was in search of Tromp's fleet, he had been called by the Protector to the Little Parliament, but his legislative duties sat lightly upon him. No doubt he was reconciled to the new form of government by the express declaration of the Council, which almost seems to have been put in for his especial benefit, that the sword ought to have no share in the civil power. Still he appears to have attended the sittings but seldom. Once only are we sure he was there, and that was to receive the thanks of Parliament. His visionary colleagues were for him contemptible. The war and his magnificent new flagship, the Swiftsure, were much more to his mind, and he can only have rejoiced when he saw the power of Parliament suddenly surrendered into Cromwell's hands.

The new rule had his entire approval. A single person, as we have seen, was his ideal of government, and especially when that single person was one well able to apply the "principal and able remedy against civil wars." The crisis had resolved itself into a situation after his own heart. In the despotic Protector he saw a warlike prince; in the Dutch war a physic for him to minister to his country's disease. But he was doomed to disappointment. The Protector's statecraft was less crude than his lieutenant's, and in spite of Monk's energetic and even angry protests peace on comparatively easy terms was signed with Holland on April 5th, 1654.