nds
they smote and grappled with the climbers, and I saw a tall man, his
sword being broken, strike down a French knight with his mailed fist, and
drag another from a ladder and take him captive. Boldly they showed
themselves on the crest, running all risk of our arrows, as our men did
of theirs.

Now came the Scots, under Kennedy. A gallant sight it was to see them
advance, shoulder to shoulder--Scots of the Marches and the Lennox, Fife,
Argyll, and the Isles, all gentlemen born.

"Come on!" cried Randal Rutherford. "Come on, men of the Marches, Scots
of the Forest, Elliots, Rutherfords, Armstrongs, and deem that,
wheresoever a Southron slinks behind a stone, there is Carlisle wall!"

The Rough Clan roared "Bellenden!" the Buchanans cried "Clare Innis," a
rag of a hairy Highlander from the Lennox blew a wild skirl on the war-
pipes, and hearing the Border slogan shouted in a strange country, nom
Dieu! my blood burned, as that of any Scotsman would. Contrary to the
Maid's desire, for she had noted that I was wan and weary, and had
commanded me to bide in cover, I cried "A Leslie! a Leslie!" and went
forward with my own folk, sword in hand and buckler lifted.

Beside good Randal Rutherford I ran, and we both leaped together into the
ditch. There was a forest of ladders set against the wall, and I had my
foot on a rung, when the Maid ran up and cried, "Nom Dieu! what make you
here? Let me lead my Scots"; and so, pennon and axe in her left hand,
she lightly leaped on the ladder, and arrows ringing on her mail, and a
great stone glancing harmless from her salade, she so climbed that my
lady's face on the pennon above her looked down into the English keep.

But, even then, I saw a face at an archere, an ill face and fell, the
wolf's eyes of Brother Thomas glancing along the stock of an arbalest.

"Gardez-vous, Pucelle, gardez-vous!" I cried in her ear, for I was next
her on the ladder; but a bolt whistled and smote her full, and reeling,
she fell into my arms.

I turned my back to guard her, and felt a bolt strike my back-piece; then
we were in the fosse, and all the Scots that might be were between her
and harm. Swiftly they bore her out of the fray, into a little green
vineyard, where was a soft grassy ditch. But the English so cried their
hurrah, that it was marvel, and our men gave back in fear; and had not
the Bastard come up with a fresh company, verify we might well have been
swept into the Loire.

So