The river Ruhr was a wide but desultory stream, easily fordable in many places.  On the opposite bank to Mulheim was the Castle of Brock, and some hills of considerable elevation.  Bax was ordered to cross the river and seize the castle and the heights, Count Henry to attack the enemy’s camp in front, while Maurice himself, following rapidly with the advance of infantry and wagons, was to sustain the assault.

Marcellus Bax, rapid and dashing as usual, crossed the Ruhr, captured Broek Castle with ease, and stood ready to prevent the retreat of the Spaniards.  Taken by surprise in front, they would naturally seek refuge on the other side of the river.  That stream was not difficult for infantry, but as the banks were steep, cavalry could not easily extricate themselves from the water, except at certain prepared landings.  Bax waited however for some time in vain for the flying Spaniards.  It was not destined that the stadholder should effect many surprises that year.  The troopers under Frederic Henry had made their approaches through an intricate path, often missing their way, and in far more leisurely fashion than was intended, so that outlying scouts had brought in information of the coming attack.  As Count Henry approached the village, Trivulzio’s cavalry was found drawn up in battle array, formidable in numbers, and most fully prepared for their visitors from Wesel.  The party most astonished was that which came to surprise.  In an instant one of those uncontrollable panics broke out to which even veterans are as subject as to dysentery or scurvy.  The best cavalry of Maurice’s army turned their backs at the very sight of the foe, and galloped off much faster than they had come.

Meantime, Marcellus Bax was assaulted, not only by his late handful of antagonists, who had now rallied, but by troops from Mulheim, who began to wade across the stream.  At that moment he was cheered by the sight of Count Henry coming on with a very few of his troopers who had stood to their colours.  A simultaneous charge from both banks at the enemy floundering in the river was attempted.  It might have been brilliantly successful, but the panic had crossed the river faster than the Spaniards could do, and the whole splendid picked cavalry force of the republic, commanded by the youngest son of William the Silent, and by the favourite cavalry commander of her armies, was, after a hot but brief action, in disgraceful and unreasonable flight.  The stadholder reached the bank of that fatal stream only to witness this maddening spectacle, instead of the swift and brilliant triumph which he was justified in expecting.  He did his best to stem the retreating tide.  He called upon the veterans, by the memory of Turnhout and Nieuport, and so many other victories, to pause and redeem their name before it was too late.  He taunted them with their frequent demands to be led to battle, and their expressed impatience at enforced idleness.  He denounced them as valiant only for plundering defenceless peasants, and as cowards against armed men; as trusting more to their horses’ heels than to their own right hands.  He invoked curses upon them for deserting his young brother, who, conspicuous among them by his gilded armour, the orange-plumes upon his calque, and the bright orange-scarf across his shoulders, was now sorely pressed in the struggling throng.