The slaughter went on until nightfall, but the wearied conquerors were then obliged to desist from the pursuit.  Three thousand Spaniards were slain and about six hundred prisoners were taken.  The loss of the States’ army; including the affair in the morning at Leffingen, was about two thousand killed.  Maurice was censured for not following up his victory more closely, but the criticism seems unjust.  The night which followed the warm summer’s day was singularly black and cloudy, the army was exhausted, the distance for the enemy to traverse before they found themselves safe within their own territory was not great.  In such circumstances the stadholder might well deem himself sufficiently triumphant to have plucked a splendid victory out of the very jaws of death.  All the artillery of the archduke—­seven pieces besides the two captured from Ernest in the morning—­one hundred and twenty standards, and a long list of distinguished prisoners, including the Admiral Zapena and many other officers of note, were the trophies of the conqueror.  Maurice passed the night on the battle-field; the admiral supping with him in his tent.  Next morning he went to Ostend, where a great thanksgiving was held, Uytenbogart preaching an eloquent sermon on the 116th Psalm.  Afterwards there was a dinner at the house of the States-General, in honour of the stadholder, to which the Admiral of Arragon was likewise bidden.  That arrogant but discomfited personage was obliged to listen to many a rough martial joke at his disaster as they sat at table, but he bore the brunt of the encounter with much fortitude.

“Monsieur the Admiral of Arragon,” said the stadholder in French, “is more fortunate than many of his army.  He has been desiring these four years to see Holland.  Now he will make his entrance there without striking a blow.”  The gibe was perhaps deficient in delicacy towards a fallen foe, but a man who had passed a whole winter in murdering his prisoners in cold blood might be satisfied if he were stung only by a sharp sarcasm or two, when he had himself become a captive.

Others asked him demurely what he thought of these awkward apprentices of Holland and Zeeland, who were good enough at fighting behind dykes and ramparts of cities, but who never ventured to face a Spanish army in the open field.  Mendoza sustained himself with equanimity however, and found plenty of answers.  He discussed the battle with coolness, blamed the archduke for throwing the whole of his force prematurely into the contest, and applauded the prudence of Maurice in keeping his reserves in hand.  He ascribed a great share of the result to the States’ artillery, which had been well placed upon wooden platforms and well served, while the archduke’s cannon, sinking in the sands, had been of comparatively little use.  Especially he expressed a warm admiration for the heroism of Maurice in sending away his ships, and in thus leaving himself and his soldiers no alternative but death or triumph.