scended,
two of Gloucester's followers, Parr and Milwater by name, dashed from
the halting lines at the distance, and bore down to their young prince's
aid. At the same moment, Sir Marmaduke Nevile and the Lord Fitzhugh
spurred from the opposite line; and thus encouraged, the band on either
side came boldly forward, and the melee grew fierce and general. But
still Richard's sword singled out the earl, and still the earl, parrying
his blows, dealt his own upon meaner heads. Crushed by one sweep of the
axe fell Milwater to the earth; down, as again it swung on high, fell
Sir Humphrey Bourchier, who had just arrived to Gloucester with messages
from Edward, never uttered in the world below. Before Marmaduke's lance
fell Sir Thomas Parr; and these three corpses making a barrier between
Gloucester and the earl, the duke turned fiercely upon Marmaduke, while
the earl, wheeling round, charged into the midst of the hostile line,
which scattered to the right and left.

"On! my merry men, on!" rang once more through the heavy air. "They give
way, the London tailors,--on!" and on dashed, with their joyous cry, the
merry men of Yorkshire and Warwick, the warrior yeomen! Separated thus
from his great foe, Gloucester, after unhorsing Marmaduke, galloped off
to sustain that part of his following which began to waver and retreat
before the rush of Warwick and his chivalry.

This, in truth, was the regiment recruited from the loyalty of London;
and little accustomed, we trow, were the worthy heroes of Cockaigne to
the discipline of arms, nor trained to that stubborn resistance which
makes, under skilful leaders, the English peasants the most enduring
soldiery that the world has known since the day when the Roman sentinel
perished amidst the falling columns and lava floods [at Pompeii], rather
than, though society itself dissolved, forsake his post unbidden. "Saint
Thomas defend us!" muttered a worthy tailor, who in the flush of his
valour, when safe in the Chepe, had consented to bear the rank of
lieutenant; "it is not reasonable to expect men of pith and substance
to be crushed into jellies and carved into subtleties by horse-hoofs
and pole-axes. Right about face! Fly!"--and throwing down his sword and
shield, the lieutenant fairly took to his heels as he saw the charging
column, headed by the raven steed of Warwick, come giant-like through
the fog. The terror of one man is contagious, and the Londoners actually
turned their backs, whe