Even now they could not break through the circle of spears, but from every window and roof commanding them a deadly fire was poured in.  Colonel Lindsay was shot dead.  Captain Moncrieff, Lieutenant Keith, and Farquhar fell close to Malcolm.  The shouts of “Kill, kill, no quarter,” rose from the masses of Imperialists.  Parties of the Scotch, preferring to die sword in hand rather than be shot down, flung themselves into the midst of the enemy and died fighting.

At last, when but fifty men remained standing, these in a close body rushed at the enemy and drove them by the fury of their attack some distance down the principal street.  Then numbers told.  The band was broken up, and a desperate hand-to-hand conflict raged for a time.

Two of the Scottish officers alone, Captain Innes and Lieutenant Lumsden, succeeded in breaking their way down a side lane, and thence, rushing to the wall, leapt down into the moat, and swimming across, succeeded in making their escape, and in carrying the news of the massacre to the camp of Gustavus, where the tale filled all with indignation and fury.  Among the Scotch regiments deep vows of vengeance were interchanged, and in after battles the Imperialists had cause bitterly to rue having refused quarter to the Scots at New Brandenburg.

When the last melee was at its thickest, and all hope was at an end, Malcolm, who had been fighting desperately with his half pike, found himself for a moment in a doorway.  He turned the handle, and it opened at once.  The house, like all the others, was full of Imperialists, who had thrown themselves into it when the Scots made their charge, and were now keeping up a fire at them from the upper windows.  Closing the door behind him, Malcolm stood for a moment to recover his breath.  He had passed unscathed through the three days’ fighting, though his armour and helmet were deeply dinted in many places.

The din without and above was tremendous.  The stroke of sword on armour, the sharp crack of the pistols, the rattle of musketry, the shouts of the Imperialists, and the wild defiant cries of the Highlanders mingled together.

As Malcolm stood panting he recalled the situation, and, remembering that the syndic’s house was in the street behind, he determined to gain it, feeling sure that his host would shelter him if he could.  Passing through the house he issued into a courtyard, quickly stripped off his armour and accoutrements, and threw them into an outhouse.  Climbing on the roof of this he got upon the wall, and ran along it until behind the house of the syndic.  He had no fear of being observed, for the attention of all in the houses in the street he had left would be directed to the conflict below.

The sound of musketry had already ceased, telling that the work of slaughter was well nigh over, when Malcolm dropped into the courtyard of the syndic; the latter and his wife gave a cry of astonishment as the lad entered the house, breathless and pale as death.