"These brave fellows are crazy! We shall be mowed down," observed the Franc-Taupin in turn to Antonicq. "I would die without first having done my twenty-five Catholic priests to death! The devil still owes me seven of them. Be firm, my boy. Let us not be separated from each other. We shall then at least both have the same stream for our tomb. To think of it! I who in my young days loved wine so well, now to die in water!"
The column set itself in motion in a compact mass, at a quick pace, and with drums beating at its head. Before the drummers marched Pastor Feron, who again intoned a psalm that was speedily taken up in chorus by the Protestants in the midst of a veritable hailstorm of balls and bullets:
| "God ever was both my life and my light!0 |
| Death, I defy thee! What have I to fear? |
| God's my support with His infinite might! |
| Have I not from Him my title quite clear? |
| "When the malignants did fire on me, |
| When they expected to tear out my heart, |
| Have I not seen them all thrown down by Thee, |
| Scattered, and smitten, and struck by Thy dart? |
| "Come, let a whole camp surround me on all sides, |
| Never my heart will be shaken with fright! |
| Close by my side, Oh! the Lord ever strides, |
| Need I to fear of a foe any blight?" |
The battle raged with fury. Colonel Plouernel's apprehensions were realized. Despite prodigies of intrepidity, his column, as it waded through the stream in serried and compact ranks, was received in front and from the two flanks by a terrific cross-fire of arquebuses and artillery. Three-fourths of the volunteers fell under the torrent of lead, even before reaching the middle of the stream. Wondering at the length of this vanguard attack, the successful execution of which he considered certain by entrusting it to Colonel Plouernel. Admiral Coligny suddenly saw Antonicq Lebrenn riding back at top speed with his thigh pierced by a bullet. Informed by Antonicq of the reason of the disastrous result of the encounter, the Admiral promptly ordered Colonels Bueil and Piles to proceed at their swiftest with their respective regiments to the jetty, and take the road entrenchment from the flank. Soubise, La Rochefoucauld and Saragosse received and, with their wonted skill, executed another set of orders. Within shortly battle was engaged all along the line, changing the aspect of the conflict. The Huguenots' artillery responded to and silenced the fire from the opposite side. Attacked in front, from the right and the left, the royalists were dislodged from their entrenchments near the lake. They retired behind the palisaded ground, from which they kept up a murderous fire. But the palisade was broken through. First the infantry, then the cavalry of the Protestants rushed through the breaches. A stubborn melee ensued, and was at its height when the muffled rumbling of distant thunder, immediately followed by heavy rain-drops from the blackening sky overhead, announced the approach of the storm that Coligny had that morning predicted.[72]
I, Antonicq Lebrenn, who write this account, am overcome with grief in completing it. Its close revives sad memories.
After I informed Admiral Coligny of the check sustained by the column of Colonel Plouernel, the kindhearted old man insisted that his own surgeon dress my wound. Though painful, the wound did not prevent me from keeping in the saddle. After being attended by the surgeon, I hastened back to the thick of the battle. A large body of cavalry, commanded by Marshal Tavannes, with the Duke of Anjou, brother of Charles IX, and young Henry of Guise at his side, covered the right wing of the royalist camp. Against that armed body of heavy and light troopers Admiral Coligny hurled twenty squadrons of horsemen under the command of Prince Franz of Gerolstein. It was at that moment that I rejoined the battle. The thunder claps, now succeeding one another with increasing frequency and vehemence, drowned the roar of the artillery. The storm was soon to break out in all its fury. The Protestant cavalry was advancing at a gallop three ranks deep upon the Catholic horsemen. Sword in hand, Franz of Gerolstein led, a few paces in advance of his troopers. The Prince was accompanied by his knights and pages. Among the latter was Anna Bell. The dashing sight soon disappeared from before my eyes in the cloud of pistol smoke, and the dust raised by the horses, as the two opposing masses of riders met each other, pistol in hand and exchanged fire. Suddenly I heard my father's voice calling to me:
"God sends you, my son! Come and fight by my side."
"Father," I said to him drawing up my horse beside his own, he being on the right wing of our army and at the end of a line composed of Rochelois volunteer horsemen who followed upon the heels of the charging contingent of the Prince of Gerolstein, "did you have time to see my sister again after you left me last night?"
"Alas, no; but I found a letter that she left behind, and—"
My father could proceed no further. Two regiments of mounted arquebusiers under the command of Count Neroweg of Plouernel, the colonel's brother, made a charge upon us with the object of isolating us from the German troopers. The manoeuvre succeeded. The impetuosity of the charge threw our ranks into disorder. The enemy broke through them. We could no longer fight in line. A general melee ensued. It was a combat of man to man. Despite the disorder I managed to remain at my father's side. Fate drove us, him and me, face to face with Count Neroweg of Plouernel, at whose side rode his son Odet, a lad of sixteen years, and a great favorite with the Duke of Anjou. I heard the Count cry to him: