He was already nearly half way between
the armies, and reckoned that before any of the French cavalry
could overtake him he would be within reach of succour by his
friends.
A loud shout from behind him showed that he was seen, and looking
round he saw that a French general officer, accompanied by another
officer and a dragoon, were out in front of their lines
reconnoitring the British position. They, seeing the fugitive, set
spurs to their horses to cut him off. Rupert ran at the top of his
speed, and could hear a roar of encouragement from the troops in
front. He was assured that there was no cavalry at this part of the
lines, and that he must be overtaken long before he could get
within the very short distance that then constituted musket range.
Finding that escape was out of the question, he slackened his
speed, so as to leave himself breath for the conflict. He was armed
only with a heavy stick. The younger officer, better mounted, and
anxious to distinguish himself on so conspicuous an occasion, was
the first to arrive.
Rupert faced round. His cap had fallen off, and grasping the small
end of the stick, he poised himself for the attack.
The French officer drew rein with a sudden cry,
"You!" he exclaimed, "you! What, still alive?"
"Yet no thanks to you, Monsieur le Duc," Rupert said, bitterly.
"Even Loches could not hold me."
His companions were now close at hand, and with a cry of fury the
duke rode at Rupert.
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