"Gentlemen of the Scottish Guard, prepare to charge! Uncase the standards! Sound trumpets!"
The banneroles were unfurled, the trumpets sounded, the kettle-drums ruffled, and each brave cavalier pressed forward in the saddle, as if impatient for the order to rush to the charge.
"Ach tuyfel!" shouted De Ginckel through his trumpet; "Scots' Horse--der tuyfel! Sabre de brisoners--cut dem into de towsand becies! Fall on, you Schelms!" But there was no time.
"'Tis Claverhouse, and the remains of his regiment. I would know his black steed among a thousand horse!" exclaimed the Earl. "Now God be with thee, thou gallant Grahame, for at last our hour of vengeance is come! Oh for a sword! How gallantly they formed line! Now, now! forward, my Scottish hearts!"
The dark eyes of the proud Douglas gleamed with fire, as the deep and distinct order, "Cavaliers of the Life Guard--forward! _charge!_" burst from the lips of Dundee; and with the force of a whirlwind, the sixty Scottish Guardsmen, bridle to bridle and boot to boot, rushed with their uplifted swords to the onset.
"Unsling carbines--blow matches--fire!--tousand tuyfels!--no!--traw sworts!" bellowed De Ginckel through his trumpet, as the front rank of his Ruyters recoiled in confusion on the rear.
"Gentlemen, prepare to save yourselves!" exclaimed the Earl of Dunbarton, as the Dutch troopers cast off the cords that bound the prisoners to their waist-belts.
"Heaven save us!" ejaculated Dr. Joram; "'tis a perilous case this, truly!"
"To the rescue, Claverhouse! A Grahame! A Grahame! God for Scotland and James VII.! To the devil with the Stadtholder! hurrah!" cried the Life Guards.
It was a critical moment for the dismounted prisoners, who were hemmed in among the hostile horsemen, and each felt his heart beat like lightning, and his breath come thick and fast, for death or deliverance were at hand.
Between the close files of the Swart Ruyters, Walter Fenton saw the full rush of the advancing troop, in their shining harness, and chief of all, the lordly Viscount of Dundee, a lance-length in front, with his sword brandished aloft, and his white ostrich-feathers streaming behind him, his cheek glowing, and his wild dark eyes flashing with that supernatural brightness which was the true index of his fierce and heroic spirit. Though the Dutch were as four to one, the Scottish cavaliers were fearless.