The prolonged and doubtful struggle naturally wearied out the patience of the non-combatants behind Gillies Hill. Choosing a captain, says Barbour, they marshalled themselves--15,000 to 20,000 in number--improvised banners by fastening sheets on boughs and spears, and advanced over the brow of the hill in view of the battle raging below. The English, it is said, believing them to be a fresh army, were struck with panic. Bruce marking the effect shouted his war-cry and urged his men to their utmost efforts. The English van at last yielded ground, though not at all points. The Scots, however, seized their advantage, and pressed with all their might. The English line broke, falling back on the Bannock. Confusion increased at every step. Horsemen and foot, gentle and simple, were driven pell-mell into the Bannock, and but few of them were lucky enough to gain the south bank; the burn, Barbour says, was 'so full of horses and men that one might pass over it dry-shod.' The panic ran through the whole English army. The day was lost and won. King Edward refused to believe the evidence of his senses, and obstinately refused to quit the field. But it is the merest bravado--though countenanced by Scott--when Trokelowe relates how the King, in the bitterness and fury of his wrath, 'rushed truculently upon the enemy like a lion robbed of whelps,' copiously shed their blood, and was with difficulty withdrawn from the orgy of massacre. Unquestionably he stood aloof from the battle, watching its progress at a safe distance. When the English gave way in hopeless rout, Valence and Argentine seized his rein and hurried him off the field in spite of all remonstrance. It was not a moment too soon, for already, says Gray, Scots knights 'hung with their hands on the trappings of the King's destrier' in a determined attempt to capture him, and were disengaged only by the King's desperate wielding of a mace. They had even ripped up his destrier, so that presently he had to mount another. Once the King was clear of immediate pursuers, Argentine directed him to Stirling Castle and bade him farewell. 'I have not hitherto been accustomed to flee,' he said, 'nor will I flee now. I commend you to God.' And striking spurs to his steed he charged furiously upon Sir Edward Bruce's division, but was quickly borne down and slain. The turning of the King's rein was the signal for the general dispersal of the army in flight.