He turned reluctantly away, and rode a mile and a half back to the entrenchments, suffering extreme pain, for his leg was dreadfully shattered.  As he past along the edge of the battle-field his attendants brought him a bottle of water to quench his raging thirst.  At, that moment a wounded English soldier, “who had eaten his last at the same feast,” looked up wistfully, in his face, when Sidney instantly handed him the flask, exclaiming, “Thy necessity is even greater than mine.”  He then pledged his dying comrade in a draught, and was soon afterwards met by his uncle.  “Oh, Philip,” cried Leicester, in despair, “I am truly grieved to see thee in this plight.”  But Sidney comforted him with manful words, and assured him that death was sweet in the cause of his Queen and country.  Sir William Russell, too, all blood-stained from the fight, threw his arms around his friend, wept like a child, and kissing his hand, exclaimed, “Oh! noble Sir Philip, never did man attain hurt so honourably or serve so valiantly as you.”  Sir William Pelham declared “that Sidney’s noble courage in the face of our enemies had won him a name of continuing honour.”

The wounded gentleman was borne back to the camp, and thence in a barge to Arnheim.  The fight was over.  Sir John Norris bade Lord Leicester “be merry, for,” said he, “you have had the honourablest day.  A handful of men has driven the enemy three times to retreat.”  But, in truth, it was now time for the English to retire in their turn.  Their reserve never arrived.  The whole force engaged against the thirty-five hundred Spaniards had never exceeded two hundred and fifty horse and three hundred foot, and of this number the chief work had beer done by the fifty or sixty volunteers and their followers.  The heroism which had been displayed was fruitless, except as a proof—­and so Leicester wrote to the Palatine John Casimir—­“that Spaniards were not invincible.”  Two thousand men now sallied from the Loor Gate under Verdugo and Tassis, to join the force under Vasto, and the English were forced to retreat.  The whole convoy was then carried into the city, and the Spaniards remained masters of the field.

Thirteen troopers and twenty-two foot soldiers; upon the English side, were killed.  The enemy lost perhaps two hundred men.  They were thrice turned from their position, and thrice routed, but they succeeded at last in their attempt to carry their convoy into Zutphen.  Upon that day, and the succeeding ones, the town was completely victualled.  Very little, therefore, save honour, was gained by the display of English valour against overwhelming numbers; five hundred against, near, four thousand.  Never in the whole course of the war had there been such fighting, for the troops upon both sides were picked men and veterans.  For a long time afterwards it was the custom of Spaniards and Netherlanders, in characterising a hardly-contested action, to call it as warm as the fight at Zutphen.