In his letters and official papers back to England, Cromwell gloated. He believed he had performed a righteous killing “upon these barbarous wretches.” In describing his triumphs, he gloried in the intricacies of bloodlust by his fighting machine—death by sword to the heart and lungs, by fire to hair and face, by the crushing of skulls, the gouging of eyes, the strangling of throats, drowning and smothering, all for the greater good. “It hath pleased God to bless our endeavors at Drogheda,” he wrote.
