south, and the position of the
English army would be one of dire peril. For now the French were no
more cowed by craven fear of the power of their enemies. They had
found them capable of defeat and overthrow; the spell was broken.
And it was the Maid who had done it!

Oh, how we fought around her that day! She was on foot now, for the
banks of the moat were slippery, and the press around the walls was
too great to admit easily of the tactics of horsemen. I never saw
her strike at any foe. It was her pennon rather than her sword in
which she trusted. Here was the rallying point for the bravest and
most desperate of the assailants, ever in the thickest of the
strife, ever pointing the way to victory.

It was the tower of the Boulevard against which we were directing
our attack. If that fell, Les Tourelles itself must needs follow,
isolated as it would then be in the midst of the river. We did not
know it then, but we were to learn later, that La Hire in the city
with a great band of citizens and soldiers to help him, was already
hard at work constructing a bridge which should carry him and his
men across to Les Tourelles, to take the English in the rear,
whilst their attention was concentrated upon our work on the other
side.

No wonder that the clash and din was something deafening, that the
boom of the great cannon ceased not; smoke and fire seemed to
envelop the walls of the towers; the air was darkened by clouds of
arrows; great stones came crashing into our midst. Men fell on
every side; we had much ado to press on without treading under foot
the dead and dying; but the white pennon fluttered before us, and
foot by foot we crept up towards the base of the tower.

Victory! Victory! was the cry of our hearts. We were close to the
walls now--the Maid had seized a ladder, and with her own hands was
setting it in position, when--O woe! woe!--a great cloth-yard shaft
from an English bow, tipped with iron and winged with an eagle's
plume, struck upon that white armour with such crashing force that
a rent was made in its shining surface, and the Maid was borne to
the ground.

Oh, the terrible fear of that moment! The yell of triumph and joy
which arose from the walls of the fortress seemed to turn my blood
into liquid fire.

The English had seen the fall of our champion. They shouted like
men drunk with victory! They knew well enough that were she dead,
they would drive back the French as sheep are driven by wolves