“They need encouragement,” he exclaimed. “They dare not stand up to such veteran troops—yet it could be done——”
“If every man had your spirit,” muttered William D’Aylva, again looking at him curiously, “I believe it could.”
The Prince gathered together the last of the cavalry and rode back into the hottest part of the battle.
William D’Aylva, though with no hope, led the reserve regiment of Guelderlanders into action. Nearly all the Dutch artillery was useless; some of the guns were spiked, others had lost their gunners, and there was little powder left.
The right wing of the Holland regiments was utterly cut to pieces; M. Bentinck, coming too late to the rescue, could bring off no more than the colours and one tattered detachment. Still the centre and the left fought on. The Captain General found himself separated from his men; he galloped to the Spanish cavalry, where he had stationed it to defend the entrance to the wood.
Close to the rescued cottage he met a band of men who were doing nothing.
He drew up his horse and turned in the saddle.
“Why do you not charge?” he asked in French, thinking they were the Spanish who used that language.
The leader answered civilly that they had no powder, and even as he spoke William saw that they were French.
He was entirely in their power. His pride did not permit him to fly; he backed his horse.