Immediately after the Earl of Douglas had returned to the camp, a council of war was held, and, after a short deliberation, preparations were made for instantly assaulting and scaling the fortifications. The army was drawn out from its entrenchments and was led to the attack arranged in three divisions. The Earl of Douglas, attended by the little chosen band of knights who had that day vowed him their special service, led on the central body directly against the barriers. The right and left wings, commanded by the Earls of Dunbar and Moray, marched on steadily, to attempt the storm of the walls at two several points on each side of the gates, in defiance of a heavy shower of arrows from the English bowmen, mingled with some weightier missiles from the balistæ, which sorely galled them, and which they could but ill return with their cross-bows. Each of these flanking divisions covered the approach of a number of wains, laden with hay and straw collected from the neighbouring country; and so soon as they had come near enough to the fortifications, a signal was given, the wains were brought suddenly forward, and hurled one over another into the ditch, so as in many places to fill it up, and admit of the ladders being raised against the wall with great success. The Scottish soldiers rent the air with their shouts, and wielding their destructive battle-axes, rushed like furies to the escalade. But the English were so well prepared, and defended themselves so manfully that they beat back the assailants at every point, and soon succeeded in setting fire to the combustible materials in the ditch, by throwing down lighted brands, so that all hope of forcing an entrance in that way was soon at an end.
Meanwhile the Douglas forcibly assaulted the wooden barriers that defended the entrance to the town; and Piersie and his chivalry, who were immediately within them, no sooner heard the war-cry of “Douglas, Douglas! jamais arrière!” than, collecting themselves into one great body, they rushed out on [[433]]the Scottish forces with so resistless an impetus, that nothing could withstand the fury of the stream. Douglas and his troops were borne away like trees of the forest before some bursting torrent. But no sooner had the English spread themselves out upon the plain like exhausted waters, than the voice of the Scottish hero was heard above all the clang of the battle, cheering his men to the charge, and his superb figure, exalted on his black courser, was seen towering onwards against the slackening foe, gathering the firmest Scottish hearts around him as he went.
The English now in their turn gave back; but Harry Piersie, recovered from his stunning fall, mounted on a fresh roan, and, surrounded by the brave knights by whom he was formerly attended, restored their courage both by his voice and example. Shouts of “Piersie, Piersie!” and “Douglas, Douglas!” arose from different parts of the field, and were re-echoed from the walls. At length the two leaders caught a glimpse of each other amid the volumes of smoke that, tinged by the setting sun, were rolling along the ground from the blazing straw, which the descending damps of evening now hardly permitted to rise into the air.
“Ha, Douglas, have I found thee at last?” cried Piersie, turning towards him.
“Trust me, ’twas no fault of mine that we met not sooner, Harry Piersie,” cried Douglas, spurring to encounter him with his mace, his lance having been shivered in the melee.
There was time for no more words. Piersie ran his lance at the Douglas as he came on, who with wonderful dexterity turned it aside, and catching it in his hand, endeavoured to wrench it from his owner. Piersie’s embroidered pennon was waving from the spear head. Douglas snatched at it, but his adversary disappointed him, by forcing up the point, and each retaining his grasp, they were now drawn together into close contact. The little silken trifle, utterly worthless in itself, glittered like a child’s bauble over their heads; but if it had been a kingdom they were contending for, they could not have been more eagerly set on the contest. Each forgetful of the defence of his own life, put forth all his strength and skill, the one to obtain what he considered so glorious a prize, and the other to keep what he thought it would be so disgraceful to lose, and what, moreover, he so much valued, for the sake of her whose taper fingers had interwoven its golden threads. The struggle was strong, but it was short in duration, for the iron hands of Douglas snapt the slim ashen shaft in twain, and in an instant he held up [[434]]the broken lance, and waved the pennon triumphantly over his head.
“The Piersie’s pennon! recover the Piersie’s pennon!” was the instant cry, and the English crowded to assist Hotspur, led on by Sir Rafe Piersie.
At that moment a body of Scottish lances, headed by Sir Patrick Hepborne, came pouring down in tremendous charge, shouting “Douglas, Douglas!” and dividing the two combatants as they swept onwards, they bore away the Piersies and the English before them to the very barriers, where the press of the combat was so hot, that they were soon compelled to retreat within their palisadoes, and to close up their defences. The partial breathing of an instant ensued, during which Douglas looked eagerly for Hotspur, and at length having descried him over the pales—
“By St. Andrew,” he cried, rising in his stirrups, and again waving the captured pennon high in the air, “I have good reason, Harry Piersie, to be thankful for the glorious issue of this bicker. Trust me, I value this pennon of thine above all the spoil of Newcastle, nay, or of an hundred such towns. I shall bear it with me into Scotland, fair Sir, in token of our encounter; and in remembrance of thy prowess, I do promise thee it shall grace the proudest pinnacle of my Castle of Dalkeith.”
“Be assured, Douglas,” replied Piersie courteously, though with manifest signs of great vexation, “ye shall not bear it over the Border; nay, ye shall not pass the bounds of this county till ye be met withal in such wise that ye shall make none avaunte thereof.”