His countenance began to change as Lundie gazed intently [[454]]on it under the moonbeam. The weeping chaplain hastily pronounced the absolution, administered the consecrated wafer from a casket in his pocket, and performed the last religious duties bestowed upon the dying, and the heroic spirit of the Douglas took its flight to Heaven.
The grief of Lindsay and the Saintclaires subdued them only whilst they beheld the noble Douglas dying. No sooner had they left the thicket where he lay, than, burning with impatience to revenge his death, they hurried to the field. The younger Sir Patrick Hepborne had already reared his fallen standard, and shouts of “Douglas! Douglas! Jamais arriere!—A Douglas! a Douglas!” cleft the very skies. At this moment the English were gaining ground upon the Scottish centre, but this animating cry not only checked their retreat, but brought aid to them from all quarters. Believing that the Douglas was still fighting in person, down came the Earl of Moray, with Montgomery, Keith, the Lord Saltoun, Sir Thomas Erskine, Sir John Sandilands, and many others, and the shouts of “Douglas, Douglas!” being repeated with tenfold enthusiasm, the charge against the English was so resistless that they yielded before Scotland in every direction. Bravely was the banner of Douglas borne by the gallant Hepborne, who took care that it should be always seen among the thickest of the foes, well aware that the respect that was paid to it would always ensure it the close attendance of a glorious band of knights as its defenders. As he was pressing furiously on, he suddenly encountered an English knight, on whom his vigorous arm, heated by indiscriminate slaughter, was about to descend. The knight had lost his casque in the battle; the moon shed its radiance over a head of snow-white hair, and an accidental demivolt of his horse bringing his countenance suddenly into view, he beheld Sir Walter de Selby.
“I thank God and the Virgin that thou art saved, old man,” cried Hepborne, dropping his battle-axe “oh, why art thou here? Had I been the innocent cause of thy death——”
He would have said more, and he would moreover have staid to see him in safety. But the press came thick at the moment, and they were torn asunder; so that Hepborne, losing all sight of him in the melée, was compelled to look to himself.
And now, “A Douglas, a Douglas!” continued to run through the field, and the English, thrown into complete confusion, were driven through the baggage-camp at the place they had first entered, flying before the Scottish forces. Hotspur alone stood to defend his brother, who was lying on the ground grievously [[455]]wounded. Harry Piersie had abandoned his horse, and was standing over Sir Rafe, fighting bravely against a crowd of Scottish men-at-arms, when Sir Hugh Montgomery, Sir John Maxwell, and Sir William de Keith came up.
“Yield thee,” said Sir Hugh Montgomery, “yield thee, noble Hotspur. God wot, it were bitter grief to see so brave a heart made cold.”
“And who art thou who would have the Hotspur yield?” cried Piersie.
“I trust, Sir Harry Piersie, that to yield thee to Sir Hugh Montgomery will do thee as little dishonour as may be,” replied the Scottish Knight; “yield thee, then, rescue or no rescue.”
“I do so yield to thee and fate, Sir Hugh Montgomery,” said Hotspur; “but let my brother Rafe here have quick attendance, his wounds do well out sorely, and his steel boots run over with his blood.”
“Let him be prisoner to these gentlemen,” said Sir Hugh, turning to Keith and Maxwell, “and let us straightway convoy him to the Scottish camp.”