dismay, while the Spaniards, leaping the barriers, scattered hither and
thither in the ardour of pursuit. The routed Englishmen fled swiftly
along the oozy dyke, in hopes of joining the main body of the relieving
party, who were expected to advance, with the dawn, from their position
six miles farther down the river. Two miles long the chace lasted, and
it seemed probable that the fugitives would be overtaken and destroyed,
when, at last, from behind a line of mounds which stretched towards
Batenburg and had masked their approach, appeared Count Hohenlo and Sir
John Norris, at the head of twenty-five hundred Englishmen and
Hollanders. This force, advanced as rapidly as the slippery ground and
the fatigue of a two hours' march would permit to the rescue of their
friends, while the retreating English rallied, turned upon their
pursuers, and drove them back over the path along which they had just
been charging in the full career of victory. The fortune of the day was
changed, and in a few minutes Hohenlo and Norris would have crossed the
river and entered Grave, when the Spanish companies of Bobadil and other
commanders were seen marching along the quaking bridge.

Three thousand men on each side now met at push of pike on the bank of
the Meuse. The rain-was pouring in torrents, the wind was blowing a
gale, the stream was rapidly rising, and threatening to overwhelm its
shores. By a tacit and mutual consent, both armies paused for a few
moments in full view of each other. After this brief interval they
closed again, breast to breast, in sharp and steady conflict. The
ground, slippery with rain and with blood, which was soon flowing almost
as fast as the rain, afforded an unsteady footing to the combatants.
They staggered like drunken men, fell upon their knees, or upon their
backs, and still, kneeling or rolling prostrate, maintained the deadly
conflict. For the space of an hour and a half the fierce encounter of
human passion outmastered the fury of the elements. Norris and Hohenlo