“Hugh, give me my pistols and take your own; leave the horses, and come with me.”

It took upwards of an hour to make their way along the dyke, sometimes pushing forward between the soldiers, sometimes wading in the ditch, but at last they reached the spot where, over ground high heaped with dead, the battle raged as fiercely as ever.  With a shout of encouragement to the men the party of officers threw themselves in front and joined in the fray.  Desperate as the fighting had been before, it increased in intensity now.  The Dutch, cheered by the leading of their officers, pressed forward with renewed energy.  The Spaniards fought desperately, nor indeed could they have retreated, from the crowd of their comrades behind.  The struggle was desperate; bayonet clashed against bayonet, heavy muskets descended with a showering thud on head and shoulders, swords flashed, men locked together struggled for life.  Those who fell were trampled to death, and often those in front were so jammed by the pressure, that their arms were useless, and they could do nought but grasp at each other’s throats, until a blow or a bayonet thrust from behind robbed one or other of his adversary.  Slowly, very slowly, the Dutch were forcing their way forward, but it was by the destruction of the head of their enemy’s column, and not by any movement of retreat on their part.

After a few minutes of desperate struggles, in which twice Hugh saved his life by shooting a man on the point of running him through with a bayonet, Rupert found himself on the edge of the road.  He drew out of the fight for an instant, and then making his way back until he came to a Dutch colonel, he pointed out to him that the sole hope was for a strong body of men to descend into the ditch, to push forward there, and to open fire on the flank of the enemy’s column, so as to shake its solidity.

The officer saw the advice was good; and a column, four abreast, entered the ditches on each side, and pressed forward.  The water was some inches above their waists, but they shifted their pouches to be above its level, and soon passing the spot where the struggle raged as fiercely as ever on the dyke above, they opened fire on the flanks of the Spaniards.  These in turn fired down, and the carnage on both sides was great.  Fresh Dutchmen, however, pressed forward to take the place of those that fell; and the solidity of the Spaniards’ column being shaken, the head of the Dutch body began to press them back.

The impetus once given was never checked.  Slowly, very slowly the Dutch pushed forward, until at last the Spaniards were driven off the road, and the line of retreat was open to the Dutch army.  Then the rear guard began to fall back before the French; and fighting every step of the way, the last of the Dutch army reached Fort Lille long after night had fallen.

Their loss in this desperate hand-to-hand fighting had been 4000 killed and wounded, besides 600 prisoners and six guns.  The French and Spaniards lost 3000 killed and wounded.