But at this moment a cavalier cried:
"Monseigneur, no more skirmishing; your presence is wanted over there."
Glancing toward the point indicated, the unknown saw the Flemings giving way before the Calvinist cavalry.
"Yes," cried he, "those are the men I wanted."
At this moment so many cavaliers pressed on the sailors, that they made their first step in retreat.
The black cavalier profited by this movement to disappear in the melée.
A quarter of an hour after the French began to give way. M. de St. Aignan tried to retreat in good order, but a last troop of 2,000 infantry and 500 horse came out fresh from the city, and fell on this harassed and already retreating army. It was the old band of the Prince of Orange, which had fought in turns against the Duc d'Alva, Don John, Requesens, and Alexander Farnese. In spite of the coolness of the chiefs and the bravery of many, a frightful rout commenced.
At this moment the unknown fell again on the fugitives, and once more met Joyeuse with his now diminished band. The young admiral was mounted on his third horse, two having been killed under him; his sword was broken, and he had taken from a sailor one of their heavy hatchets, which he whirled round his head with the greatest apparent ease. From time to time he turned and faced his enemy, like the wild boar who cannot make up his mind to fly, and turns desperately on his hunter. The Flemings, who by monseigneur's advice had fought without cuirasses, were active in the pursuit, and gave no rest to the Angevin army. Something like remorse seized the unknown at the sight of this disaster.
"Enough, gentlemen," cried he, in French, "to-night they are driven from Antwerp, and in a week will be driven from Flanders; ask no more of the God of battles."
"Ah! he is French," cried Joyeuse; "I guessed it, traitor. Ah! be cursed, and may you die the death of a traitor."