But in the midst of this scurry I heard the sound of cheering. ’Twas Sir John Berkeley’s troop (till now posted under cover of the hedges below) that had come to our support; and the rebels, fearing to advance too far, must have withdrawn again behind their earthwork, for after a while the pressure eas’d a bit, and, to my amaze, the troop which but a minute since was a mere huddled crowd, formed in some order afresh, and once more began to climb. This time, I had a thickset pikeman in front of me, with a big wen at the back of his neck that seem’d to fix all my attention. And up we went, I counting the beat of my heart that was already going hard and short with the work; and then, amid the rattle and thunder of their guns, we stopp’d again.
I had taken no notice of it, but in the confusion of the first repulse the greater part of our men had been thrust past me, so that now I found myself no further back than the fourth rank, and at the very foot of the earthwork, up the which our leaders were flung like a wave; and soon I was scrambling after them, ankle deep in the sandy earth, the man with the wen just ahead, grinding my instep with his heel and poking his pike staff between my knees as he slipp’d.
And just at the moment when the top of our wave was cleaving a small breach above us, he fell on the flat of his pike, with his nose buried in the gravel and his hands clutching. Looking up I saw a tall rebel straddling above him with musket clubb’d to beat his brains out: whom with an effort I caught by the boot; and, the bank slipping at that instant, down we all slid in a heap, a jumble of arms and legs, to the very bottom.
Before I had the sand well out of my eyes, my comrade was up and had his pike loose; and in a twinkling, the rebel was spitted through the middle and writhing. ’Twas sickening: but before I could pull out my pistol and end his pain (as I was minded), back came our front rank atop of us again, and down they were driven like sheep, my companion catching up the dead man’s musket and ammunition bag, and I followed down the slope with three stout rebels at my heels. “What will be the end of this?” thought I. The end was, that after forty yards or so, finding the foremost close upon me, I turn’d about and let fly with my pistol at him. He spun round twice and dropp’d: which I was wondering at (the pistol being but a poor weapon for aim) when I was caught by the arm and pull’d behind a clump of bushes handy by. ’Twas the man with the wen, and by his smoking musket I knew that ’twas he had fired the shot that killed my pursuer.
“Good turn for good turn,” says he: “quick with thy other pistol!”
The other two had stopped doubtfully, but at the next discharge of my pistol they turn’d tail and went up the hill again, and we were left alone. And suddenly I grew aware that my head was aching fit to split, and lay down on the turf, very sick and ill.
My comrade took no notice of this, but, going for the dead man’s musket, kept loading and firing, pausing now and then for his artillery to cool, and whistling a tune that runs in my head to this day. And all the time I heard shouts and cries and the noise of musketry all around, which made me judge that the attack was going on in many places at once. When I came to myself ’twas to hear a bugle below calling again to the charge, and once more came the two troops ascending. At their head was a slight built man, bareheaded, with the sun (that was by this, high over the hill) smiting on his brown curls, and the wind blowing them. He carried a naked sword in his hand, and waved his men forward as cheerfully as though ’twere a dance and he leading out his partner.
“Who is that yonder?” asked I, sitting up and pointing.
“Bless thy innocent heart!” said my comrade, “dostn’t thee know? ’Tis Sir Bevill.”
’Twould be tedious to tell the whole of this long fight, which, beginning soon after sunrise, ended not till four in the afternoon, or thereabouts: and indeed of the whole my recollection is but of continual advance and repulse on that same slope. And herein may be seen the wisdom of our generals, in attacking while the main body of the enemy’s horse was away: for had the Earl of Stamford possessed a sufficient force of dragoons to let slip on us at the first discomfiture, there is little doubt he might have ended the battle there and then. As it was, the horse stood out of the fray, theirs upon the summit of the hill, ours (under Col. John Digby) on the other slope, to protect the town and act as reserve.
The foot, in four parties, was disposed about the hill on all sides; to the west—as we know—under Sir John Berkeley and Sir Bevill Grenville; to the south under General Hopton and Lord Mohun; to the east under the Colonels Tom Basset and William Godolphin; while the steep side to the north was stormed by Sir Nicholas Slanning and Colonel Godolphin, with their companies. And as we had but eight small pieces
