But Bothwell had his own disadvantages to struggle with.

His detour to the right had not escaped the penetrating observation of Burley, who made a corresponding movement with the left wing of the mounted insurgents, so that when Bothwell, after riding a considerable way up the valley, found a place at which the bog could be passed, though with some difficulty, he perceived he was still in front of a superior enemy.

His daring character was in no degree checked by this unexpected opposition.
"Follow me, my lads!" he called to his men; "never let it be said that we turned our backs before these canting roundheads!" With that, as if inspired by the spirit of his ancestors, he shouted, "Bothwell! Bothwell!" and throwing himself into the morass, he struggled through it at the head of his party, and attacked that of Burley with such fury, that he drove them back above a pistol-shot, killing three men with his own hand.

Burley, perceiving the consequences of a defeat on this point, and that his men, though more numerous, were unequal to the regulars in using their arms and managing their horses, threw himself across Bothwell's way, and attacked him hand to hand.

Each of the combatants was considered as the champion of his respective party, and a result ensued more usual in romance than in real story.