lles, the strongest of the English works. It was ten
o'clock in the morning; the passive and active powers of both parties
were concentrated on this point; and for a moment the French appeared
weary and downcast. Joan took a scaling-ladder, set it against the
rampart, and was the first to mount. There came an arrow and struck her
between neck and shoulder, and she fell. Sire de Gamaches, who had but
lately displayed so much temper towards her, found her where she lay.
"Take my horse," said he, "and bear no malice: I was wrong; I had formed
a false idea of you." "Yes," said Joan, "and bear no malice: I never saw
a more accomplished knight." She was taken away and had her armor
removed. The arrow, it is said, stood out almost half-a-foot behind.
There was an instant of faintness and tears; but she prayed and felt her
strength renewed, and pulled out the arrow with her own hand.

[Illustration: Herself drew out the Arrow----109]

Some one proposed to her to charm the wound by means of cabalistic words;
but "I would rather die," she said, "than so sin against the will of God.
I know full well that I must die some day; but I know nor where nor when
nor how. If, without sin, my wound may be healed, I am right willing."
A dressing of oil and lard was applied to the wound; and she retired
apart into a vineyard, and was continually in prayer. Fatigue and
discouragement were overcoming the French; and the captains ordered the
retreat to be sounded. Joan begged Dunois to wait a while. "My God,"
said she, "we shall soon be inside. Give your people a little rest; eat
and drink." She resumed her arms and remounted her horse; her banner
floated in the air; the French took fresh courage; the English, who
thought Joan half dead, were seized with surprise and fear; and one of
their principal leaders, Sir William Gladesdale, made up his mind to
abandon the outwork which he had hitherto so well kept, and retire within
the bastille itself. Joan perceived his movement. "Yield thee," she
shouted to him from afar; "yield thee to the King of Heaven! Ah!
Glacidas, thou hast basely insulted me; but I have great pity on the
souls of thee and thine." The Englishman continued his retreat. Whilst
he was passing over the drawbridge which reached from the out-work to the
bastille, a shot from the side of Orleans broke down the bridge;
Gladesdale fell into the water and was drowned, together with many of his
comrades; the French got in