The cavalry were not idle, while the blockade of Schomberg's camp
continued, frequently making excursions over the country to bring in
cattle for the army; for the villagers had, for the most part, deserted
their homes, and herds of cattle were grazing without masters. One day,
Captain Davenant's troop had ridden some thirty miles out of camp, and
had halted for the night in a village. In the morning, they broke up into
small parties and scattered round the country. Walter, with fifteen of
the troopers, had collected some cattle and stopped for an hour, to feed
and rest the horses, in a deserted village. He took the precaution to
place two or three men on sentry round it.

The men were sitting on the doorsteps, eating the food they had brought
with them, when one of the outposts dashed in at full gallop, shouting
that the enemy were upon them; but his warning came too late, for, close
behind him, came a body of wild-looking horsemen, shouting and yelling.
There was a cry of "The Enniskilleners!" and the men ran to their horses.

They had scarcely time to throw themselves in the saddle, when the
Enniskilleners charged down. For a minute or two there was a confused
medley, and then three or four of the troopers rode off at full speed,
hotly pursued by the Enniskilleners.

Walter had discharged his pistols and drawn his sword, but before he had
time to strike a blow, his horse was rolled over by the rush of the
enemy, and, as he was falling, he received a blow on the head from a
sabre which stretched him insensible on the ground. He was roused by two
men turning him over and searching his pockets. A slight groan burst from
his lips.