n' was evidently the generic term for the English, as far back as
the early years of the fifteenth century, and may have been centuries
before the French designation for our countrymen.

Thus, full of spirits and with a brave heart, the Maid rode off to
meet the foe. When she reached the gate called Burgundy, she found it
closed by order of De Gaucourt, Grand Master of the King's Household,
who had done so at the instigation of those officers who wished the
attack on the English deferred until fresh reinforcements arrived.
But the Maid was not to be beaten and kept back even by barred gates.

'You are doing a bad deed,' she indignantly said to those about the
gate, 'and whether you wish it or not, my soldiers shall pass.'

The gate was opened, and Joan, followed by her men, galloped to where
some troops who had been left in possession of the fortifications
taken on the previous day were stationed. The attack on the Tournelles
commenced as soon as Joan arrived--it was then between six and seven
in the morning. Meanwhile Dunois, La Hire, and the principal forces
from the town came up. A desperate struggle ensued; both sides knew
that, whatever the result, that day would decide the fate of
Orleans--even that of the war.

The French were fighting under the eyes of their countrymen, who
manned the walls, and under the guidance of a leader they already
regarded as more than human--and never had they fought so well, during
that long and bloody century of warfare, as they did on that day.

The English, on the other hand, knew that if they were beaten out of
the Tournelles their defeat would be complete, and they too fought
with desperate courage.

Down into the ditches rushed the French, and up the sides of the
glacis; scaling-ladders were placed against the walls, to which the
men upon them clung like a swarm of bees. The defenders met them with
showers of arrows and shot, and hurled them back with lance and
hatchets. Constantly beaten back, they returned as constantly to the
charge. For six hours this fight lasted, and weariness and
discouragement fell on the French. Joan, who had been all these hours
in the thick of the engagement, seeing her men were losing heart,
redoubled her efforts; and, helping to raise a scaling-ladder, she
placed it against the parapet of one of the towers. While thus engaged
she was struck by a bolt from a cross-bow, between her shoulder and
neck. The wound was a severe one; she fell, and was