"Hold your tongues, gentlemen," cried Beau-Pied; "we can't hear
ourselves be killed."
This jest revived the courage of the Blues. Instead of fighting only
at one point, the Republicans spread themselves to three different
points on the table-land of La Pelerine, and the rattle of musketry
woke all the echoes of the valleys, hitherto so peaceful beneath it.
Victory might have remained doubtful for many hours, or the fight
might have come to an end for want of combatants, for Blues and
Chouans were equally brave and obstinate. Each side was growing more
and more incensed, when the sound of a drum in the distance told that
the body of men must be crossing the valley of Couesnon.
"There's the National Guard of Fougeres!" cried Gudin, in a loud
voice; "my man has brought them."
The words reached the ears of the young leader of the Chouans and his
ferocious aide-de-camp, and the royalists made a hasty retrograde
movement, checked, however, by a brutal shout from Marche-a-Terre.
After two or three orders given by the leader in a low voice, and
transmitted by Marche-a-Terre in the Breton dialect, the Chouans made
good their retreat with a cleverness which disconcerted the
Republicans and even the commandant. At the first word of command they
formed in line, presenting a good front, behind which the wounded
retreated, and the others reloaded their guns.
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