“We part not thus, for your mistres’s sake. Ride by my side, and you may command this arm to strike for your safety.”
At this moment the small army heard some half-concealed movement made, behind the hedges, and instantly a close fire of musketry;—only a few were wounded.
“The foe are in ambush!” exclaimed Sir Thomas.
“Nay,” replied the earl, “the greater part are before us,” pointing to a large army which now appeared. “Let us advance. Sir Thomas, take the half of the band, and I shall lead the others. Let a halt be sounded. We can do nothing against those who fire from the hedges. Let us cut through the main body.—A halt!”
Ere the signal had been given, many a brave fellow, had indeed, halted, never more to advance, as a second volley, directed with a steadier aim, was poured in upon them.
Derby, in a moment, was at the head of his detachment. “Soldiers of Charles!” he said, with energetic eloquence, “there are his enemies and yours; and where are your swords? Be mangled—be slain—but yield not. Hear your leader’s vow. Upon this good sword, I swear, that as long as steel can cut, flesh shall wield.—Charge! Upon them! The king! the king!” and they dashed on to meet the enemy.
Colonel Lilbourne, who commanded the enemy, instantly arrayed his men, to bear up against the attack, and a dense square was formed from hedge to hedge, of the regular troops, while the militia of Lancashire and Cheshire were formed into a wing, to close in upon the royalists, when they engaged with the main body.
Derby, with his three hundred men, spurred on with incredible fury, until they found themselves hand to hand with the regular troops. They were instantly surrounded, for the militia wing had wheeled, and now assailed them in the rear. A shout from the Parliamentary army was raised, as the three hundred seemed to be bound in their power, when Sir Thomas Tyldesley, with his men, advanced; and so furious was the onset, that the enemy were literally trodden under foot, and Derby and the knight were riding abreast, at the head of their respective bodies, fighting to cut a passage through the dragoons. Heedless of danger, the royalists followed every direction of their leaders, who, themselves, fought, as well as commanded. They had now almost reached the extremity of Lilbourne’s forces, and bloody was the passage which they had made.
“One effort more,” said the earl to his men, “and all is gained!—On!” The battle raged more furiously—Derby’s sword, at every thrust and plunge, was stained with fresh gore; but, all of a sudden, he stood pale and surprised—for there was Sir Richard Houghton advancing to meet him, from Lilbourne’s guard, with drawn sword. Could he have turned traitor? The earl’s weapon was as ready for a blow, as his heart was for a curse upon a false knight, and instantly they would have crossed swords, had not Derby’s steed been shot from under him, while that of the recreant knight carried his rider beyond him, safe and unharmed. On foot the earl fought with as much execution as when mounted; but his voice could not be heard, as he addressed his men, from amidst the hoofs of the enemy’s horse. An officer of the enemy approached. In a moment he was dragged from the saddle, pierced as he lay on the ground, and as his dying eyes were raised, he beheld Derby mounting his horse. Many blows were then showered upon the gallant nobleman, and some deadly thrusts were made in the direction of his breast, but he seemed to escape unhurt.
The next moment placed Derby at the extremity of the opposing lines. “King Charles and England’s royalty!” was the shout that burst from his lips, and, although it was heard by the enemy, for a few moments they fell back from the single arm of the loyal nobleman. There seemed something supernatural in his bearing, so calm, and yet so furious. Taking advantage of their inactivity, he dashed through the rear. A gleam of sunshine flashed on his armour, and hope entered his soul, as he found himself at the top of the steep and sweeping descent which leads to the town. It was then rocky and precipitous, but his horse never stumbled. For a moment he wheeled round, and no followers were near, except young Tyldesley, and the page. Stern was the expression on the countenance of the former; but the latter, though pale, displayed a heroism still wilder. And yet his sword had not, throughout the battle, been unsheathed, and he had forced a passage without giving a wound.