More than a hundred and fifty troopers and horses fell prone on the frozen heath, dead or rolling in the agonies of death, and were fearfully trampled and kicked as the rearward squadrons, instead of dashing onward, reined up simultaneously, and appalled by the slaughter, and aware of the inutility of attacking a square of resolute infantry, began to recoil. A shout of fierce derision burst from the retreating Scots, as de Ginckel, like a vast Triton blowing on a conch, galloped from troop to troop, bellowing in furious Dutch the order to advance, accompanied by a storm of hoarse abuse; but his Ruyters were immoveable, and he beat both officers and men with the bell of his trumpet in vain. While reloading and blowing their matches the musketeers continued retiring with all expedition towards a thick coppice that grew on the margin of the moor about a mile distant. The Dutch cavalry re-formed, for pursuit. The roadway on the snow-covered moorland was scarcely visible in the grey twilight; on the right it branched off towards Boston, and on the left towards Folkingham. Dunbarton knew not the exact route, but his whole aim for the present moment was to reach the copse wood, where he would be less assailable by horse. When but a quarter of a mile from this friendly bourne, a drum was heard to beat within its recesses, a long line of bright arms flashed under its dark shadows, and as if by magic the fugitive band beheld Maitland's brigade of the Scots Guards two thousand strong, drawn up in firm array, with the red matches of their shouldered muskets gleaming like a wavy line of wildfire in the twilight of the evening. The shout of wrath and dismay that burst from the soldiers of Dunbarton, was immediately succeeded by another--for lo! a dense body of cavalry debouched from the Boston road, forming line at full gallop as they spread over the wold, while another in dark and close array, came leisurely up at a trot from the ancient town of Folkingham, and all their trumpets sounded at once in martial and varying cadence, as they came in sight of the fugitives, and reined up for further orders. "Lanier's troopers on the right!" said Finland. "Marmaduke Langstone on the left!" added Dr. Joram; "hemmed in--lost--there is nothing for it now but surrender to the Philistines." "Or die in our ranks!" said Walter Fenton. "Right, my young gallant!" replied the Earl. "All is indeed lost now--but discretion is oft the better part of valour, and by yielding for the present we may the better serve King James at a future period, than by being shot on the instant, and thus ending our lives and our loyalty together. What say ye, cavaliers and comrades?" Though the Earl spoke thus lightly, his heart was throbbing with smothered passion, and the murmur that broke from his soldiers was expressive rather of wrath and fury than acquiescence to his advice.