William smiled, and rode out of the trees on to the little clearing beside the guns.
The battle beat fiercely to and fro in the green meadows. M. de Soubise had turned his attention to the position held by M. Bentinck’s untaught valour, and at the foot of the wood the Dutch and French struggled desperately together.
The Prince’s keen glance swept over the field.
A cannon-ball fell beside him and exploded, frightening his horse into rearing frantically. He kept his seat and quieted the animal, wiping the foam from its face with his lace handkerchief.
Just beneath him a Dutch company had been repulsed by the enemy; nearly all the officers had fallen, and the men, left leaderless, were retreating in a confusion.
The Prince galloped down the incline, and to the head of the disheartened company. They were men of his own province, part of a Holland regiment.
“Gentlemen,” he said, drawing his sword, “will you have me for your leader?”
He was still smiling.
“It is the Prince!” they cried.
He lifted his sword and led them straight against the French dragoons.