The archduke, too, whose personal conduct throughout the day was admirable, had been slightly wounded by a halberd stroke on the ear.  This was at an earlier stage of the action, and he had subsequently mounted another horse, exchanged his splendid armour for a plain black harness, over which he wore a shabby scarf.  In the confusion of the rout he was hard beset.  “Surrender, scoundrel!” cried a Walloon pikeman, seizing his horse by the bridle.  But a certain Flemish Captain Kabbeljaw recognising his sovereign and rushing to his rescue, slew his assailant and four others with his own hand.  He was at last himself killed, but Albert escaped, and, accompanied by the Duke of Aumale, who was also slightly wounded, by Colonel La Bourlotte, and half a dozen troopers rode for their life in the direction of Bruges.  When they reached the fatal bridge of Leffingen, over which the archduke had marched so triumphantly but a few hours before to annihilate Count Ernest’s division, he was nearly taken prisoner.  A few soldiers, collected from the scattered garrisons, had occupied the position, but knowing nothing of the result of the action in the downs, took to their heels and fled as the little party of cavaliers advanced.  Had the commander at Ostend or the States-General promptly sent out a company or two so soon as the news of the victory reached them to seize this vital point, the doom of the archduke would have been sealed.  Nothing then could have saved him from capture.  Fortunately escaping this danger, he now pushed on, and never pulled bridle till he reached Bruges.  Thence without pausing he was conveyed to Ghent, where he presented himself to the Infanta.  He was not accompanied by the captive Maurice of Nassau, and the curiosity of the princess to know how that warrior would demean himself as a prisoner was not destined on this occasion to be gratified.

Isabella bore the disappointment and the bitter intelligence of the defeat with a stoicism worthy of her departed father.  She had already had intimations that the day was going against her army, and had successively received tidings that her husband was killed, was dangerously wounded, was a prisoner; and she was now almost relieved to receive him, utterly defeated, but still safe and sound.

Meantime the mad chase continued along the beach and through the downs.  Never was a rout more absolute than that of Albert’s army.  Never had so brilliant a victory been achieved by Hollander or Spaniard upon that great battleground of Europe—­the Netherlands.

Maurice, to whom the chief credit of the victory was unquestionably due, had been firm and impassive during the various aspects of the battle, never losing his self-command when affairs seemed blackest.  So soon, however, as the triumph, after wavering so long, was decided in his favour—­the veteran legions of Spain and Italy, the picked troops of Christendom, all flying at last before his troops—­the stadholder was fairly melted.  Dismounting from his horse, he threw himself on his knees in the sand, and with streaming eyes and uplifted hands exclaimed, “O God, what are we human creatures to whom Thou hast brought such honour, and to whom Thou hast vouchsafed such a victory!”