fy lanes that led
to the Chilterns, and swooped on the villages that lay beneath their
slopes. At three in the morning he fell on the troops quartered at
Postcombe, then on those at Chinnor. Here some fifty were slain, and
more taken prisoners, as they sprang half-naked from their beds. The
village was fired, and Rupert again called his men together to pursue
their foray. But the early summer sun had now risen; it was too late to
attack Wycombe as he had purposed; and the horsemen fell back again
through Tetsworth to secure their retreat across the Thame.

[Sidenote: Death of Hampden.]

It was time to think of retreat, for Hampden was already in pursuit. He
had slept at Watlington; but the tidings of the foray in the village
hard by roused him from slumber, and he at once despatched a trooper to
Essex to bid the Earl send foot and horse and cut off the Prince from
Chiselhampton bridge. Essex objected and delayed till Hampden's patience
broke down. The thought of his own village blazing in that Sunday dawn,
his own friends and tenants stretched dead in the village streets,
carried him beyond all thought of prudence. A troop of horse volunteered
to follow him; and few as they were, he pushed at once with them for the
bridge. The morning was now far gone; and Rupert had reached Chalgrove
Field, a broad space without enclosures, where he had left his foot
drawn up amidst the standing corn to secure his retreat. To Hampden the
spot was a memorable one; it was there, if we trust a Royalist legend,
that "he first mustered and drew up men in arms to rebel against the
king." But he had little time for memories such as these. His resolve
was to hold Rupert by charge after charge till Essex could come up; and
the arrival of these troops of horse with some dragoons enabled him to
attack. The attack was roughly beaten off, and the assailants thrown
into confusion, but Hampden rallied the broken troops and again led them
on. Again they were routed, and Rupert drew off across the river without
further contest. It was indeed only the courage of Hampden that had
fired his little troop to face the Cavaliers; and he could fire them no
more. In the last charge a shot struck him in the shoulder and disabled
his sword-arm. His head bending down, his hands resting on his horse's
neck, he rode off the field before the action was done, "a thing he
never used to do." The story of the country-side told how the wounded
man rode first towards Pyrt