"We must stop them," said Coligny, speaking in evident pain, "turn them back, beg them to fight, or the Cause is lost."

Again and again we endeavoured to make a stand; calling on the fugitives to halt, to remember they were Frenchmen, to look their foes in the face--it was useless, every little group that formed for a moment being swept away by the raging, human torrent.

"Some one must find Count Louis of Na.s.sau," said our general, "and say I trust to him to cover the retreat. We may yet rally the runaways."

We looked at each other in doubt. It was not the fear of death that kept us tongue-tied, though death lay in our rear, but each man wished to spend his life for our beloved leader.

"Let three or four of you go," he said; "one may reach him," and as he spoke his glance seemed to light on my face.

"I will take the Count your message, my lord!" I cried, and without waiting for a reply turned my horse's head, and dashed into the whirlpool.

The battle-field was a hideous scene. Wherever the eye could reach, men were fighting and dying. There was no order even among the conquerors. I came across a little knot of Huguenot gentlemen who had turned furiously at bay.

"For the Admiral!" I cried, plunging in wild excitement into the midst of the hostile sworders. "For the Admiral!" Perhaps my comrades thought me mad, and in sober truth they would not have been far wrong; but they were generous souls, and with a yell of defiance they cut their way through after me.

"Count Louis," I said breathlessly to the first man, as we emerged on the other side, "where is he?"

"I do not know; he was on our right wing when the crash came."

"I must find him; I have a message from the chief"

"Let us try the right wing," he said, "they are making a stand there."

A dozen gentlemen had followed me, one of them carrying a flag, and as we galloped forward others joined us until we were fifty or sixty strong. It was like riding into the very jaws of death, but they asked no questions; the sight of the flag was sufficient. A body of infantry barred our path; we turned neither to right nor left, but crashed straight through them. A few foot-soldiers ran with us, holding by the stirrups, going cheerfully to death, rather than seek safety in shameful flight.

Suddenly a burst of cheering in a foreign tongue reached us. "Hurrah!

Hurrah! For the Admiral!" and a troop of horse came tearing down. It was the band of gallant Englishmen, and I recognized Roger Braund still bearing the captured trophy. Fearing they might mistake us for royalists I rode forward hastily, crying in English, "Friends! Friends! We are Huguenots!"

CHAPTER XII

The Return to Roch.e.l.le

The conference was brief. "Have you seen Count Louis?" I asked their leader.

"No, monsieur, but we will help you to find him. Forward, brave boys; another blow for the Cause!"

They replied with a cheer--oh, how those Englishmen cheered!--and we raced on together, French and English, side by side, and death all around us. I glanced at Roger; he had been wounded again, but there was no time to speak.

The retreat in this part of the field had not become general; numbers of soldiers in tolerably good order were still battling stubbornly, and presently we reached the remnant of several troops of cavalry.

In front of them was the venerable Count of St. Cyr, his snow-white beard sweeping to his waist.

"My lord," I said, riding up, "can you tell me where to find Count Louis of Na.s.sau?"

"Farther on the right, monsieur," he replied courteously; "but you will find it difficult to reach him. Ah, here they come!" and, glancing ahead, I perceived a cloud of hors.e.m.e.n preparing to swoop down upon us.

"Pray, my lord," pleaded his chaplain, who was close by, "say something to encourage your troops. They are faint and weary with fighting, and the odds against them are terrible."

The stout-hearted warrior turned to his followers. "Brave men need no words!" he cried; "do as you see me do!" and they greeted his speech with frantic cheers.

"You will be lucky to meet Count Louis after this!" cried Roger, as I returned to my men.

The royalists swept forward, threatening to engulf us as the wild sea swallows a tiny boat, and I must admit that my heart sank at sight of them. But I was in the company of brave men, and following the flag of as brave a leader as could be found in all France.

He glanced round at us; there was a proud smile on his resolute face; his eyes glowed with fiery ardour.

"Charge, my children!" he cried, "and strike a last blow for St. Cyr!"

He pressed his horse's sides with the spurs, and waving his sword dashed forward, his battle-cry, "St. Cyr!" ringing out high and clear. It was a sight to make one weep, and yet feel proud that one's country could produce such a hero.

Forward we went, and the air was filled with cries of "St Cyr! For the Admiral! Hurrah! Hurrah!" as we plunged into the midst of the press.

"Forward, my children!" cried St Cyr, as he carved a pa.s.sage for himself through the throng; "forward!"

He was a splendid rider and a skilful swordsman, but his enemies closed round him thickly. Savage blows rained upon him from every side, and at last, with a "Fight on, my children!" the gallant veteran sank bleeding to the ground. Montcontour cost France numerous brave men but none braver than the chivalrous St. Cyr.

His fall, instead of dispiriting his followers, roused them to fury! No one asked or gave quarter; it was a fight to the death, and when finally we succeeded in breaking through the royalist horse, half of our number lay lifeless on the plain. Some there were--St. Cyr's personal attendants notably--so fired with grief and anger at the death of their beloved chief that they were for turning back and renewing the combat.

This, however, was stark madness, so we galloped on, with the royalists like sleuth-hounds on our track.

Presently they slackened their pace, and then abandoned the pursuit, for we were approaching our cavalry, commanded by Count Louis of Na.s.sau.

"You are welcome, brave hearts!" he exclaimed, "every man is needed,"

and his troops cheered us vigorously.

"My lord," I said, riding up and saluting, "I have come from the Admiral; he begs that you will cover the retreat, for unless you can do so all is lost."

"Where is the Admiral, monsieur?"

"My lord, when the centre broke, he was carried away by the rush. He has been wounded in the head, and I fear seriously."

"Did you leave him in safety?"

"He was surrounded by his bodyguard; at least, by all those who were left alive."

"Will the centre rally, think you?"

"There is no centre; it is a scattered mob. I fear there is no army except the troops you have here. The left, I am sure, has given way."

He was about to reply when a cavalier galloped up to us. His horse's sides were flaked with spume, and the gallant beast quivered in every limb. The rider was deathly pale; one arm hung down limply, his side was stained with blood. He rolled from side to side, having scarcely sufficient strength to keep his seat in the saddle.

He endeavoured to salute Count Louis, while I, leaning forward, placed my arm round his waist to support him.

"My lord," he said, "the Admiral----" and stopped helpless.