n," inspired the defeated army with a portion
of their own cheerfulness. Others vehemently shouted victory without any
reason whatever. At that instant Maurice ordered a last charge by those
few cavalry squadrons, while the enemy was faltering under the play of
the artillery. It was a forlorn hope, yet such was the shifting fortune
of that memorable day that the charge decided the battle. The whole line
of the enemy broke, the conquered became the victors, the fugitives
quickly rallying and shouting victory almost before they had turned their
faces to the foe, became in their turn the pursuers. The Catholic army
could no longer be brought to a stand, but fled wildly in every
direction, and were shot and stabbed by the republicans as they fled. The
Admiral of Arragon fell with his hackney in this last charge. Unwounded,
but struggling to extricate himself from his horse that had been killed,
he was quickly surrounded by the enemy.

Two Spaniards, Mendo and Villalobos by name, who had recently deserted to
the States, came up at the moment and recognised the fallen admiral. They
had reason to recognise him, for both had been in his service, and one of
them, who was once in immediate household attendance upon him, bore the
mark of a wound which he had received from his insolent master. "Admiral,
look at this," cried Villalobos, pointing to the scar on his face. The
admiral looked and knew his old servants, and gave his scarf to the one
and the hanger of his sword-belt to the other, as tokens that he was
their prisoner. Thus his life was saved for heavy ransom, of which those
who had actually captured him would receive a very trifling portion. The
great prisoner was carried to the rear, where he immediately asked for
food and drink, and fell to with an appetite, while the pursuit and
slaughter went on in all directions.

The archduke, too, whose personal conduct throughout the day was
admirable, had been slightly wounded by a halberd stroke on the ear. This
was at an earlier stage of the action, and he had subsequently mounted
another horse, exchanged his splendid armour for a plain black harness,
over which he wore a shabby scarf. In the confusion of the rout he was
hard beset. "Surrender, scoundrel!" cried a Walloon pikeman, seizing his
horse by the bridle. But a certain Flemish Captain Kabbeljaw recognising
his sovereign and rushing to his rescue, slew his assailant and four
others with his own hand. He was at last himsel