These would form an obvious shelter to an attacking force, and their destruction was a necessity.
Meanwhile the Admiral (Coligni) was lining the ramparts with arquebusiers, to protect the forces on sortie.
The English camp was the first to receive the alarm and to come into action, as Lord Clinton saw to his great joy.
On all sides they were hurrying up, and presently from their serried ranks a heavy musketry fire poured forth. The distance was great, for the Somme and the morass lay between them and their foe, and this Lord Clinton instantly perceived.
"Ride, boy, to Count Brederode, and bid him bring up some field-pieces," he cried hotly to William, who dashed off on his errand.
Now the French arquebusiers began a heavy fusillade on the advancing besiegers, and soon a thick veil of smoke hid the town of St. Quentin from view.
Little harm was being done by the hot musketry fire, and Lord Clinton soon saw that the object of the garrison would be attained.
"Oh, Brederode, Brederode! when will your guns speak?" he cried, as he heard the enemy's trumpets sound the recall.
Suddenly a roar of artillery rent the air, and the brave foe began to retreat slowly and sullenly. Many a gallant man lay dead outside the walls, stricken by that fierce fire; but their work was done—the Admiral's object was gained.
The town of St. Quentin, though rich and prosperous, was protected only by ancient fortifications, long since "out of date," and in ruinous condition.