The Spaniards fought desperately, nor indeed could they have retreated, from the crowd of their comrades behind.

The struggle was desperate; bayonet clashed against bayonet, heavy muskets descended with a showering thud on head and shoulders, swords flashed, men locked together struggled for life.

Those who fell were trampled to death, and often those in front were so jammed by the pressure, that their arms were useless, and they could do nought but grasp at each other's throats, until a blow or a bayonet thrust from behind robbed one or other of his adversary.
Slowly, very slowly, the Dutch were forcing their way forward, but it was by the destruction of the head of their enemy's column, and not by any movement of retreat on their part.
After a few minutes of desperate struggles, in which twice Hugh saved his life by shooting a man on the point of running him through with a bayonet, Rupert found himself on the edge of the road.

He drew out of the fight for an instant, and then making his way back until he came to a Dutch colonel, he pointed out to him that the sole hope was for a strong body of men to descend into the ditch, to push forward there, and to open fire on the flank of the enemy's column, so as to shake its solidity.
The officer saw the advice was good; and a column, four abreast, entered the ditches on each side, and pressed forward.

The water was some inches above their waists, but they shifted their pouches to be above its level, and soon passing the spot where the struggle raged as fiercely as ever on the dyke above, they opened fire on the flanks of the Spaniards.