The impatience of all the men of the Wight became very great. They uttered their grumblings aloud. "Let’s charge them, my Lord Captain. Don’t be kept back by that old dotard of a Frenchman. He’s changed sides twice; maybe he’d fain do it a third time." This was a very awkward suspicion, and one at such a moment most sinister in its influence on the minds of the English and Breton troops. The Captain of the Wight saw he could restrain them no longer. He also longed to take an active part in the battle. He turned to the Marechal de Rieux. "Sir, I can keep my people together no longer. We must charge and retrieve the fortunes of the day, or die in the attempt." "Comme vous voulez," said the Marshal, shrugging his shoulders. "Mais tout est perdu. On ne peut plus." The Captain of the Wight turned in his saddle--he raised his sword. "Men of the Wight, now is our time. Men-at-arms, close your ranks. Archers and billmen, prepare to charge. Let all men follow me." A loud and ringing cheer broke from all that eager band of armed men, and with a fierce alacrity the square broke up. The little force of men-at-arms in front, the infantry forming their serried ranks behind. "’Tis too late!" muttered Tom o’ Kingston, and many of the older and cooler heads agreed with him. "’Twould be better to march off the field as we are," said Sir John Trenchard; "they’ll never dare to touch us--they’ve had too much of it already, and we could join the garrison of Fougéres, who are marching upon Rennes." But these experienced soldiers kept their grumblings to themselves, and prepared to do their duty, even though they knew death to be the reward. As Dicky Cheke rode behind his chief, he noticed a wounded archer, and was struck by his calm courage. The man had lost one leg from a cannon shot, but he was still sitting up supporting himself on the other and shooting steadily at the French. When he saw his comrades were about to leave him, without a word or thought of himself, he called out to his comrade,-- "Dickon, have thou mine arrows, I can go no more. There are still three left. Take them and riddle yonder Frenchmen. Give my love to Sue, poor lass! I’ll just lay me down a while." And so the archers parted; and Dicky rode on more grave than he had ever been in his life. "Ralph," he muttered; "Ralph, dear boy, if I should be left behind too, there’s a gold chain I would like thee to have, and my goshawk, she’s been well trained, and thou wilt be kind to her, I know. There’s little Alice, my sister, too, give her my bells and jesses; and to mother--No, certes, Ralph, I’ll not play the girl. Art not ashamed of me, Ralph?" and Dicky tried to whistle a tune, but it only came in a melancholy pipe from out his barred helm. "Marry, ’tis the heat," said Dicky ruefully. "Nay, Dicky, cheer up. There’s thy Frenchman in the gay armour a-head. Think of the ransom thou art going to get."