men, and a force on foot which is variously
given as anything from 800 to 8,000. They covered the thirty-odd miles
by the time evening fell: and as the Scots were at supper in their
little huts, they were startled by a tumult amongst their grooms and
camp-followers, and cries of "a Percy! a Percy!" and the Englishmen were
among them. The Scottish leaders had placed their camp-followers and
servants at the outermost; part of their encampment, facing the
Newcastle road; and Hotspur's force, ignorant of this, mistook it for
the main camp. While they were thus engaged, the Scottish knights were
enabled to make a detour around the scene of the first attack, and take
the English in the rear. With loud shouts of "Douglas! Douglas!" they
fell upon them, and a fierce hand-to-hand struggle began. The moon rose
clear and bright, and the quiet evening air was filled with the din of
battle, the ring of steel on steel, the crash of axe on armour, the
groans of the wounded, and the battle-cries of the combatants on each
side. Sir Ralph Percy, pressing too rashly forward, was captured by a
newly-made Scottish knight, Sir John Maxwell. The battle was turning in
favour of Hotspur, when Douglas sent his silken banner to the front and
with renewed shouts of "Douglas!" the Scots pressed forward and overbore
their foes. According to Froissart, there was not a man there, knight,
squire, or groom, who played the coward. "This bataylle was one of the
sorest and best foughten without cowards or faynte hearts; for there was
neither knight nor I squire but that did his devoyre and foughte hande
to hande." Great deeds were done, and the fame of none amongst them is
greater than that of the gallant Widdrington;

"For Witherington my heart is woe,
That ever he slaine sholde be!
For when his legs were hewn in two
He knelt and fought on his knee"

Douglas rushed into the thickest of the fray, and Hotspur tried to find
him, but in the dim light that was difficult, especially as Douglas
had, in his haste, come to the fight without helmet or breastplate.
Presently he was borne to the ground by three English spears; and as he
lay guarded by his faithful chaplain, Sir John and Sir Walter Sinclair,
with Sir James Lindsay, came upon him. "How fare you, cousin?" asked Sir
John. "But poorly, I thank God," answered Douglas; "for few of my
ancestors died in bed or chamber. I count myself dead, for my heart
beats slow. Think now to avenge me. Raise my ba