the finest light cavalry in the known world.[1] As the day grew on they gathered in tens and twenties. Nov. 25.By the afternoon, Sir Thomas Wharton, Lord Dacres, and Lord Musgrave had collected three or four hundred, who hovered about the enemy, cutting off the stragglers, and driving the scattered parties in upon the main body. Being without organization, and with no one to give orders, the Scots flocked together as they could, and their numbers added to their confusion. The cry rose for direction, and in the midst of the tumult, at the most critical moment, Oliver Sinclair was lifted on spears and proclaimed through the crowd as commander. Who was Sinclair? men asked. Every knight and gentleman, every common clan follower, felt himself and his kindred insulted. The evening was closing in; the attacks of the English became hotter; the tumult and noise increased, 'every man calling his own slogan;' and a troop of Cumberland horse showing themselves in the dusk on an unexpected side, a shout was raised that the Duke of Norfolk was upon them with the army of the Tweed. A moment's thought would have shown them that Norfolk could not be within thirty miles of Carlisle; but his name caused a panic, and reflection was impossible. Few or none in the whole multitude knew the ground, and ten thousand men were blundering like sheep, in the darkness, back upon the Border.
But here a fresh difficulty rose. The tide was- ↑ See State Papers, vol. is. p. 127; and the accounts of their value in the Irish campaigns: ibid. vols. ii. and iii.
