The defeat seemed total and decided. Wildermuth and his followers thought they would have nothing more to do than march into Geneva, when an unexpected circumstance forced them to begin again. Another _corps d'armée_ of Savoye, that which was nearest, summoned by the noise of the battle, hurried forward to Lugrin's help. It was commanded (as it would appear) by Michael Mangerot, baron of La Sarraz; he is indeed the only chief of his party mentioned by some historians.[645] Mangerot, a Frenchman by extraction and owner of the barony of La Sarraz, had been, since the Sieur de Pontverre's death, the most formidable of the Knights of the Spoon. Despite his efforts, none of his men could stand before the ardor of the Swiss, and intrepidity triumphed over numbers. Those 'tall foreigners,'[646] as the German chronicler styles the Savoyards, were alarmed and discouraged; they threw away their arms, turned their backs, and shamefully took to flight,[647] leaving the field of battle covered with firelocks, breastplates, lances, dead horses and men, among whom (says the catholic Pierre-Fleur) were many _goodly personages_. The loss of the Savoyards has been variously estimated from five hundred to two thousand. In the first rank of the victims of the fight the Swiss recognized their perfidious guides. The latter had lost only seven men and one woman. The hill on which these terrible blows were dealt is still called, in memory of this battle, the _Molard_ or the _mound of the dead_. The valiant band of the Jura, at the sight of the victims of the day, halted on the terrible battle-field, and piously bending their knees amid the scattered arms and blood-stained corpses of their enemies, returned thanks to God for the great and unexpected victory He had granted them. The feelings which animated them have been expressed by a Swiss poet of the time in a _Song of the Bernese Soldier after the Battle of Gingins_, of which we give a few verses: Rejoice, O Berne, rejoice![648] Right joyful shouldst thou be, For when our grief was sorest God sent us victory. By all the world we're hated, Because the glory due We render to His name alone. * * * * Hail to the Bear, the brave old Bear,[649] Who, to uphold our right, Has armed his sons, and covered them With his broad shield in the fight. With haste they marched to succor Geneva, round whose wall Raved fiercely the mass-worshippers, All eager for its fall. But hunger did not stop them, Nor mountains bar their way, Nor the sight of the sudden foemen Could strike them with dismay. One man to seven we stood, With weapons rude and few; But 'God will be our spear,' we said, Sprang through the hedge, and undismayed On their steel-clad ranks we flew. Yes! the Lord was on our side that day, In our hearts we felt His might, And Belial's dainty champions Were scattered in the fight.