“Good,” he said; “I will send you some powder.”
Utterly unconscious, they let him go, taking him for a French officer.
Not in the least impressed by what his temerity had exposed him to, William gazed round fiercely for the Spanish, who had apparently forsaken their post.
Suddenly he saw a detachment of them riding through the underwood—but riding away from the battle.
Pale with rage, he spurred up to them.
“What is this?” he asked them. “I think you should have your faces to the enemy!”
They had a look about them such as is seldom seen in men; sometimes in a horse before it shies.
“It is a massacre out there … carnage,” answered one through his teeth. “The day is lost … lost.”
“I’ll shoot the man who says so!” exclaimed the Prince, putting his hand to his holster. “Get back to your places, you cowards, and never care whether the day be lost or no as long as you stay where you are bidden.”