But before Derby had decided--for all that we have related took place in a few moments--a cry arose from his men in the rear, who, overpowered by numbers, could neither fight nor advance. The dragoons, headed by Sir Richard Houghton, had so surrounded them, that they must either surrender, or die to a man. That knight conducted himself most valorously, for, in every enemy who approached, he expected to recognize those whose perfidy (such he thought it) he burned to revenge. At every attempt of the small band of royalists to rally, by shouting “Derby and Tyldesley,” he dealt his blows more fiercely. Still, the royalists did not call for quarter; and soon, in this awful emergency, they heard the voice of Derby cheering them on, as he came to their succour. So sudden was the assault, and so much impetus was given to it, that the enemy, in the terror of the moment, crowded to the hedges, over which many of them leapt their horses. But Sir Richard Houghton kept his station, at the head of a few followers, who remained firm; when his eye, falling upon young Tyldesley, he spurred his horse forward, aiming a blow at his enemy. A shriek, at that moment arising from the page, arrested his arm. “No! no!” exclaimed Sir Richard, “it cannot be; and yet, so like in sound!” Ere he had uttered these words, his arms were gently grasped by the page; but a follower of the knight soon freed him from the encumbrance, and the wounded youth fell into the arms of Harry Tyldesley, who bore him forth, himself fatally wounded. Bloody was the harvest which the royalists now began to reap, as they charged the fugitives, with impetuous fury. The earl, and his brave fellow-leader, Sir Thomas Tyldesley, met, having literally cut down, and cut through the intervening troops of the enemy. Several officers had been slain, and Sir Richard Houghton had been carried from the field by his men, faint from wounds. “Again!” was the exclamation of the loyal leaders, as they separated to lead their followers once more to the work of death.