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The Yorkists began to be scattered; several times Dick found himself
alone among his foes and plying his bright sword for life; several times
he was conscious of a hurt. And meanwhile the fight swayed to and fro in
the street without determinate result.
Suddenly Dick was aware of a great trumpeting about the outskirts of the
town. The war-cry of York began to be rolled up to heaven, as by many
and triumphant voices. And at the same time the men in front of him
began to give ground rapidly, streaming out of the street and back upon
the market-place. Some one gave the word to fly. Trumpets were blown
distractedly, some for a rally, some to charge. It was plain that a
great blow had been struck, and the Lancastrians were thrown, at least
for the moment, into full disorder, and some degree of panic.
And then, like a theatre trick, there followed the last act of Shoreby
Battle. The men in front of Richard turned tail, like a dog that has
been whistled home, and fled like the wind. At the same moment there
came through the market-place a storm of horsemen, fleeing and pursuing,
the Lancastrians turning back to strike with the sword, the Yorkists
riding them down at the point of the lance.
Conspicuous in the mellay, Dick beheld the Crookback. He was already
giving a foretaste of that furious valour and skill to cut his way across
the ranks of war, which, years afterwards upon the field of Bosworth, and
when he was stained with crimes, almost sufficed to change the fortunes
of the day and the destiny of the English throne. Evading, striking,
riding down, he so forced and so manoeuvred his strong horse, so aptly
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