ghting convinced both the Scottish leaders that a master-spirit now
headed their foes; that they were struggling at infinitely greater odds
than before; that unity of purpose, greater sagacity, and military skill
were now at work against them, they scarce knew wherefore, for they
recognized the same war-cry, the same banners; there were the same
gallant show of knights, for in the desperate _melee_ it was scarcely
possible to distinguish the noble form of Lancaster from his fellows,
although marking the azure plume, which even then waved high above all
others, though round it the work of death ever waxed hottest; the
efforts of the English earl were all bent to meet its gallant wearer
hand to hand, but the press of war still held them apart, though both
seemed in every part of the field. It was a desperate struggle man to
man; the clash of swords became one strange continuous mass of sound,
instead of the fearful distinctness which had marked their work before.
Shouts and cries mingled fearfully with the sharper clang, the heavy
fall of man and horse, the creaking of the engines, the wild shrieks of
the victims within the walls mangled by the stones, or from the
survivors who witnessed their fall--all formed a din as terrific to
hear, as dreadful to behold. With even more than their wonted bravery
the Scotch fought, but with less success. The charge of the English was
no longer the impetuous fury of a few hot-headed young men, more eager
to _despite_ their cooler advisers, than gain any permanent good for
themselves. Now, as one man fell another stepped forward in his place,
and though the slaughter might have been equal, nay, greater on the side
of the besiegers than the besieged, by one it was scarcely felt, by the
other the death of each man was even as the loss of a host. Still, still
they struggled on, the English obtaining possession of the palisades,
though the immense strength of the barbacan itself, defended as it was
by the strenuous efforts of the Scotch, still resisted all attack:
bravely, nobly, the besieged retreated within their walls, pellmell
their foes dashed after them, and terrific was the combat on the
drawbridge, which groaned and creaked beneath the heavy tramp of man and
horse. Many, wrestling in the fierceness of mortal strife, fell together
in the moat, and encumbered with heavy armor, sunk in each other's arms,
in the grim clasp of death.

Then it was Lancaster met hand to hand the gallant foe