troops of Hastings; for, by a similar position, the strength of the
hostile numbers being arrayed with Gloucester, the duke's troops had
almost entirely surrounded him [Sharon Turner]; and Gloucester himself
wondrously approved the trust that had consigned to his stripling arm
the flower of the Yorkist army. Through the mists the blood-red
manteline he wore over his mail, the grinning teeth of the boar's head
which crested his helmet, flashed and gleamed wherever his presence
was most needed to encourage the flagging or spur on the fierce. And
there seemed to both armies something ghastly and preternatural in the
savage strength of this small slight figure thus startlingly
caparisoned, and which was heard evermore uttering its sharp war-cry,
"Gloucester to the onslaught! Down with the rebels, down!"

Nor did this daring personage disdain, in the midst of his fury, to
increase the effect of valour by the art of a brain that never ceased
to scheme on the follies of mankind. "See, see!" he cried, as he shot
meteor-like from rank to rank, "see, these are no natural vapours!
Yonder the mighty friar, who delayed the sails of Margaret, chants his
spells to the Powers that ride the gale. Fear not the bombards,--
their enchanted balls swerve from the brave! The dark legions of Air
fight for us! For the hour is come when the fiend shall rend his
prey!" And fiendlike seemed the form thus screeching forth its
predictions from under the grim head-gear; and then darting and
disappearing amidst the sea of pikes, cleaving its path of blood!

But still the untiring might of Warwick defied the press of numbers
that swept round him tide upon tide. Through the mist, his black
armour, black plume, black steed, gloomed forth like one thundercloud
in the midst of a dismal heaven. The noble charger bore along that
mighty rider, animating, guiding all, with as much ease and lightness