The din of battle ended suddenly as it had commenced;
the weary and discomfited forces of the islanders were now
concealed behind their palisades, save here and there a solitary
warder, pacing to and fro on the low bastions, his steel-cap
and spear-point flashing back the rays of the noontide sun.
The long array of France, which had fallen orderly and slowly
back without the flight of arrow or the range of ordnance,

[figure description] Page 197.[end figure description]

might be seen midway between the town and the works of the
besiegers. Horses were picqueted, and outposts stationed
along their front; while, their weapons stacked, their helmets
unlaced, and their bodies cast leisurely on the ground, the
troops enjoyed to the utmost their brief interval of truce.
Camp fires had been lighted, and their smoke curled peacefully
in fifty places toward the bright sky above them; sutlers
had come out from the town, beeves had been slaughtered,
wine-casks broached, and without a sign of revelry, or wild
debauch, the army feasted after their noonday strife.

At a short distance in advance of the line occupied by the
main body of the forces, there stood a magnificent elm-tree,
the only one in sight, which had risen in height sufficient to
protect those beneath its shadow from the glare of a meridian
sun. Immediately from under its roots a pure cold spring
welled forth into a basin of stone artificially, though roughly,
hewn to receive its waters; and trickling thence in a small
but limpid streamlet wound its way toward the distant river.
Beneath this tree, and around the basin of the spring, a group
of warriors was collected whom the slightest glance might
have discovered to be of no ordinary rank; their splendid
arms, their gallant steeds, let forth and backward by squires
of gentle birth and gay attire, and their emblazoned banners
pitched into the ground beside their place of rest, designated
at once the leaders of the host.

A wide sheet of crimson damask had been spread out upon
the turf; bottians of leather or flasks of metal were plunged
into the vivid waters to cool their rich contents; goblets of
gold, and dishes already ransacked, were mingled in strange
confusion with sculptured helmets, jewelled poniards, and the
hilts of many a two-handed blade cast on the sod in readiness
to the grasp of its bold owner.

The visage of the king was flushed, and his eye sparkled

[figure description] Page 198.[end figure description]

with the intoxication, not of the grape, but of his recent victory.
Nor did the brow of Dunois wear its wonted gravity;
gay words and boasts, rendered less offensive by their prowess
of the morning, passed among the younger knights; but on
the lips of Joan there was no smile, and in her eye no flash;
steadfastly gazing on the heavens, she sat with a deep shade
of melancholy on her chiselled lineaments, resembling rather
some sad captive waiting the hour of her doom, than a prophetess
whose words had been accomplished — a warrior whose
first field had been a triumph.

“Why lies so deep a shadow on the brow of our fair champion!”
cried the youthful monarch. “In such an hour as this
sadness is ominous, and open melancholy — treason! Cheer
thee, bright being — the king drinks to his preserver!” and,
suiting the action to the word, he filled a goblet with the mantling
wine of Auvergnat, and tendered it to the silent maiden.
“One more carouse,” he said, “and then to horse, to horse,
and we will win the trenches of those dog-islanders ere the
sun sinks on the lea!”

“And you are then determined,” she replied in tones of sorrowful,
not angry, import; — “and you are then determined to
risk all — honor, life, victory, your country's hope, your people's
happiness, by this mad haste, this rash and obstinate impiety!
I tell you now, as heretofore I told you, be patient
and victorious — be rash, and infamy shall fall on you; the
infamy of flight, and terror, and defeat!”

“I am determined!” was the cool and somewhat haughty
answer; “I am determined to force these ramparts ere I
sleep this night; or under them to sleep that sleep which
knows no earthly waking!”

“And thou shalt force those ramparts — wilt thou but tarry.
Tarry till the shadows of this elm-tree fall far eastward; till
the sun hath stooped within a hand's breadth of the horizon;

[figure description] Page 199.[end figure description]

tarry till then, and thou shalt conquer — advance now, and, 'tis
I that say it — I, Joan of Orleans — advance now, and thou
shalt rue the hour!”

“Nay, maiden,” replied Dunois, who hitherto had sat a
silent, though not interested, listener, “for once inust I oppose
thee; to tarry would be but to give space to the troops of Bedford
to shake off their superstitions — to ours to lose their confidence
of glory. To tarry is defeat — to advance, victory!—
victory as surely as steel blade and silver hilt may hold
together!”

“I say to thee, Dunois,” she answered, “the ways of the
Most High are not the ways of man! He who hath raised a
peasant-girl to be a royal leader, can turn defeat to victory,
and triumph to most foul disaster. Neither if ye advance, as
well I know ye will, shall the steel blade and silver hilt hold,
as their wont, together! Seeing, thou shalt believe, and suffering,
tremble!”

“Enough!” shouted the impatient king; “enough of this —
sound trumpets, and advance!”

No further words were uttered, nor had one spoken could
the import of his speech have been discovered, among the clanging
of the trumpets, the wild shouts of the troopers hurrying to
their ranks, the tramp of the cavalry, and the breathless din of
the advance.

The maiden turned her dark eyes plaintively upward; she
stretched her arms slowly apart, and with a gaze of mute appeal
prayed silently. Her brief orisons at an end, she too
buckled her weapon to her side, laced her plumed helmet, and
haughtily rejecting the proffered aid of Charles, vaulted, without
the use of rein or stirrup; into her steel-bound demipique.

The host was already in motion — marching in four solid
columns against the besiegers' lines; the knights and men-at-arms
dismounted from their destriers, crowding the front, on

[figure description] Page 200.[end figure description]

foot, with mace, and battle-axe, and espaldron, instead of lance
and pennon; their hoods of mail drawn closely over their
crested helmets, their small triangular bucklers flung aside,
and each protected from the missiles of the British by his
huge pavesse of polished steel without device or bearing, six
feet in height, and three in breadth, borne by his squire before
him. Behind this powerful mass came on the pioneers, with
axe and mattock, fagots and piles, to undermine the walls,
ladders to scale their summits, and mantelets of plank covered
with newly-severed hides, huge machines, beneath the protection
of which to labor at the walls in safety. In the rear the
light-armed followed: archers, and crossbowmen, and javelineers,
and slingers. It was, indeed, a host to strike dismay
into the hearts of the defenders, as it advanced steadily and
silently, with the deep silence of resolve, right onward to the
bastion.

At the head of the right-hand column rode the monarch,
that to his left commanded by Dunois — Gaucourt and De La
Hire leading the others; and the maiden, who had refused to
serve save as a private lance, riding in sullen apathy beside
the bridle-hand of the bold bastard. At a short mile's distance
the columns halted, while Dunois and the leaders galloped forward,
confident in their coats of plate, to reconnoitre the position
of the heavy ordnance, the effects of which they had too
terribly experienced to endure without an effort at avoidance
a second discharge, which to troops in solid column must have
carried certain destruction. Boldly they performed their duty,
dashing up to within twenty paces of the outworks, under a
storm of bolts and shafts, that rattled against their armor as
closely, but as harmlessly, as hail-stones on a castle-wall.
Two batteries were at once discovered, and as the rude artillery
of that day, placed, when about to be discharged, on motionless
beds of timber, and dragged, when on the march, by

[figure description] Page 201.[end figure description]

teams of oxen, could not be made to traverse or command any
other points than those on which it had been previously laid,
there was but little fear of so arranging the advance as to
avoid their fatal fire. Still as he returned the last from his
reconnoissance, Dunois was ill at ease. “There should be
yet another,” he muttered; “and to encounter it were certain
ruin. A murrain on that wily regent; now hath he masked it
cunningly!”

But there was no space for further parley; with the
bray of the trumpets, and the deep clang of the kettle-drum, the
signal for the charge was given; the soldiery of France deployed
from column into line, and with a quickened step and
levelled weapons rushed forward to the assault. At the distance
of some fifty paces from the works of the besiegers, the
ground was rugged and broken, the channel of a dry rivulet
running the whole length of their front, its banks scattered
with blocks of stone, and thickly planted with thorny shrubs.
The troops, which had been formed obliquely to avoid the fire
of the artillery, had advanced into this difficult pass before they
were well aware of its existence, and before meeting with any
opposition from the enemy. The most broken ground had been
selected by Dunois as the point of attack, hoping by that
means to escape the range not only of the two batteries, which,
having been discovered, he had already guarded against, but
that of a third which had been so cunningly masked, as to
defy the closest observation. Well, however, as this had been
devised, it so fell out that the column of the king, which, partly
through the obstinacy of the royal chief, and partly from the
ill advice of leaders jealous of the gallant bastard, had failed
to deploy with the remainder of the host, advanced blindly in
its crowded ranks upon the very muzzles of the concealed ordnance.
Hitherto not a symptom of resistance had appeared;
not a man had been seen upon the English ramparts; not a

[figure description] Page 202.[end figure description]

banner was displayed, not a trumpet blown. But at this instant—
when the line had been compelled to halt, within half
bow-shot of the bastions, while the pioneers, with axe and
mattock, were clearing the ground in their front — at this instant
the wailing note of a single bugle rang from within the
works. Ere the signal had well reached the assailants, the
rampart was thronged from end to end with thousands of the
green-frocked archery of England; again the bugle was winded,
and at that brief distance the cloth-yard shafts fell in one
continuous volley, darkening the air with their numbers, and
almost drowning the shouts of the battle with their incessant
whizzing. Close, however, as they fell and bodily, each arrow
there was aimed at its peculiar mark; and each, with few
exceptions, was buried feather-deep in the breast of a French
skirmisher. It was in vain that they replied to that blighting
volley with cross-bow, bolt, and javelin, no missiles could compete
with that unrivalled archery; the advance was strewn
upon the ground in heaps of slaughtered carcases; the host
wavered and was about to fly — but then arose the trumpet-like
shout of Dunois.

“On! on! Orleans! Orleans! to the rescue! Close up!—
close up! even to the palisades; it is but a distance that
their shot is deadly.”

And, seconding his words by deeds, the powerful knight
rushed forth, bearing his pavesse high on his left arm, and his
massive axe sweeping in circles round his head — a dozen
arrows struck him on the crest and corslet and glanced off
harmlessly — on he rushed, though every step was planted on
a writhing corpse, and none came on to second him — he
reached the base of the rampart, his axe smote on the timbers
of the palisade, and down came stones, and beams, and shaft,
and javelin, ringing and rattling upon his heavy shield and
panoply of proof; yet he heeded them no more than the oak

[figure description] Page 203.[end figure description]

heeds the thistle-down that floats upon the summer wind.
Valor, like terror, is contagious; with a mighty effort a dozen
knights broke through the throng of their own disordered sol-diery,
and forced their way to the side of the bold bastard —
but not like him unharmed; an arrow skilfully directed against
the vizor of young Delaserre, shot through the narrow aperture,
and clove his brain; a ponderous axe, hurled from the
hand of Salisbury, crushed through the cerveilliere of Montmorency,
as though it were a bowl of crystal; yet still undauntedly
they hurried on — and now they joined their leader.
The dust already eddying upward, the heavy masses of wood
and timber that rolled down beneath his ponderous blows,
showed that his attack was prosperous as it was gallant. The
din of blows given and taken, hand to hand, between or above
the broken palisades, was mingled with the hurtling of the arrows,
the shouts or cries of the fierce combatants.

“On! on!” the voice of Dunois rose again above the confusion—
“On! on! the breach is opened! — Orleans and victory!”
but as he spoke, a stone heavier than any yet hurled
against him, fell from a huge machine full on his lifted pavesse;
his arm fell powerless by his side, and the tall warrior reeled
backward from the breach, dizzy and helpless as a child — but
yet more evil was the fate of his companions; one dropped,
crushed out of the very form of humanity, by the same stone;
and then a flood of boiling oil was showered upon the heads
of the weak and wearied remnant.

“St. George for merry England! — forward brave hearts,
and drive them from our palisades!” and with the word, Bedford
and Huntingdon leaped down with axe and espaldron,
while many a youthful aspirant rushed after them in desperate
emulation. The gallant Dunois, roused like a wearied war-horse
to the fray, fought fearlessly and well; yet his blows
fell no longer, as was their wont, like hammers on the anvil —

[figure description] Page 204.[end figure description]

his breath came thick, the sweat rolled in black drops through
the bars of his vizor; he staggered beneath the blade of Bedford.
At this perilous moment, a roar, louder than the ocean
in its fury, louder than the Alpine avalanche, burst on their
senses. “God aid the king,” cried Dunois, even in this
extremity careless of his own peril — “it is the British ordnance!”

The smoke rolled like a funeral pall over the fray, that still
raged beneath it; and a mingled clamor, as of thousands in
agony and despair, smote on the ears and appalled the hearts
of the half-conquered Frenchmen. The column of the king
had advanced upon the very muzzles of the ordnance, as with
heavy loss from the archery they too had passed the channel
of the stream, and had but narrowly escaped annihilation. A
mounted messenger came dashing through the strife, “Draw
off your men, Dunois,” he shouted from a distance; “draw off—
no victory to-day!”

But he shouted to no purpose, for the bold ear which he addressed
was for a space sealed in oblivion deep as the grave—
his well-tried sword had shivered in his grasp, stunned by
the sweeping strokes of Bedford — he had fallen, and must
there have perished, had not a young knight, in azure panoply,
bestriven him, and battled it right gallantly above his senseless
form.

It was the maiden! Fresh and unwearied she sprang to
the strife from which she had refrained before, and he, her
terrible antagonist, the unvanquished Bedford, reeled before
her blows.

Gathering himself to his full height as he retreated from the
sway of her two-handed blade, he struck a full blow with his
axe upon her crest, and again the treacherous helm gave way—
her dark hair streamed on the wind, and her eagle eye met
his with an unblenching gaze; at the same point of time an

[figure description] Page 205.[end figure description]

arrow grazed her neck, and quivered in the joint of her gorget.
“Fly! fly!” shouted the crowd behind her, who had again
rallied during her combat with the regent — “fly! fly! the
maid is slain!”

“Fly not, vile cravens — fly not,” she cried in tones clearer
than human, as she pressed bare-headed after the retreating
Bedford — “fly not, the time hath come, and victory is ours!—
Joan! Joan! to the rescue! Victory! God sends — God
sends us victory! The sun is in the west — our toils are
ended!”

At her high voice, many an eye was turned toward the western
horizon, and her well-remembered prophecy cheered their
faint hearts and nerved their faltering courage. The day had
been spent, had been forgotten, in the fearful strife, and the
sun was hanging like a shield of gold a hand's breadth high in
the horizon. Like wild-fire in the stubblefield the clamor
spread — “Heaven fights for France! Victory! — God sends
us victory!” and still, at the cry, they pressed onward with renewed
vigor to the breach. It was in vain that Salisbury and
Talbot strove — that Bedford plied his axe, taking a mortal life
at every blow — for a panic, a fatal, superstitious panic, had
seized on their victorious countrymen. At every charge of
the encouraged Frenchmen — at every repetition of the cry,
“Heaven fights for France,” they shrunk back timid and
abashed; and it was of necessity, though with evident reluctance,
that the leaders of the English war gave orders to withdraw
the men from the sally, and trust only to the defence of
their entrenchments.

There was a brief pause — a silence like that which precedes
the burst of the thunder-cloud — as Joan arrayed her
followers — “Forward,” she cried, “and conquer! Heaven
has given us the strength — the valor — and the victory! —
Forward and conquer!” and with the word, the living torrent

[figure description] Page 206.[end figure description]

was let loose against the breach. It was but a girl — a weak,
bare-headed girl — that led them, mingling in deadly strife
with the best champions of the day; yet superstition and success
were stronger than the shield or crested casque. Her
cry struck terror to the hearts of the defenders; her sword
was scarcely parried in its sweeping blows; her foot was
planted on the summit of the breach; her sacred banner floated
above her head. From point to point her prophecy had been
accomplished; the sun had sunk in the west, and his last rays
had shone upon the triumph of the French — upon the rout,
the carnage, and the desolation of their island foemen.