Joan followed them, and planted her banner half an arrowshot’s distance from the wall. Suddenly there was a shout, “The English are coming from Fort St. Rivi.” The little band retreated to the Loire, all save fifteen, La Hire and Jean among the latter. These fell back a little distance, so as not to expose themselves needlessly to the enemy’s assault, seeing which the English plucked up courage and attacked them, shouting loudly.
“Follow me,” cried Joan, waving her banner and advancing upon the English. The fifteen did not hesitate, rash as the undertaking seemed. They pressed forward, cutting their way through. When those who had retreated to the river saw this they came to their assistance, and in a few minutes the English were driven back into the fort. Joan rushed on until she reached the palisades, dashed through a breach which Daulon had made, and planted her banner on the wall. The French rapidly came up, captured the fort, and burned it. It may well be imagined this fresh victory was hailed with delight in the city. The bells again pealed as the soldiers entered, but their reception was a quiet one as compared with the enthusiastic homage which the Maiden received on her way to her lodgings.
Though Joan was wounded in the foot during the battle and passed a restless night, she was again on horseback early in the morning. She rode to the Burgundian Gate with a little band, and ordered it to be opened. The keeper would not obey, saying that the leaders had decided not to give battle that day, and had ordered the gate to be kept closed. When Joan insisted a tumult arose. The people demanded it should be opened, and at last opened it by force. With joyful acclamations the crowd followed their inspired leader to the river. The boats which had been used the day before were lying there, and served this time to carry her across. Joan held her horse by the bridle and let it swim after her, and thus the left bank was reached. A shout of joy from the French who had garrisoned the captured fort welcomed the lily banner. They came out to meet her, and Joan placed herself at their head. “Forward, my brave ones,” she cried. “The victory to-day also will be ours.” An enthusiastic shout was the reply as they impetuously rushed on to assault Fort Tournelles.
This fort, the strongest bulwark of the English, was close to the river, a drawbridge furnishing the only approach to it. On the land side it was surrounded by a high wall, which had to be passed before reaching the fort itself. Its garrison was the very flower of the English warriors, led by the experienced Glasdale. An assault by a mere handful of troops without ordnance or storming appliances seemed to the English the height of madness.
In the meantime the number of the assailants continually increased, for when the leaders in Orleans witnessed the courageous dash of the Maiden they realized that they must support her. One after another La Hire, Dunois the Bastard of Orleans, De Retz, Gaucourt, Gamache, Graville, Tintey, Villars, Chailly, Couraze, D’Illiers, Thermes, Gontaut, Eulant, Saintrailles, and others appeared upon the scene. By ten o’clock the assault was general. The French hurled long spears. The English brandished leaden maces and iron battle-axes and hurled beams, stones, boiling oil, and molten lead upon the heads of the assailants. After three hours of furious fighting the French fell back.
“Courage,” cried Joan, whose banner was always in the front. “Courage in God’s name. The victory is ours.” She rushed to a ladder and ascended. “Surrender!” she shouted to the English, “or you will be massacred.” The reply was an arrow, which pierced her shoulder so that it protruded five inches out of her back. She gave a cry of pain and came down to the trenches. The English rushed upon her furiously, but a hand was stretched out to her at once. A heavy battle-axe struck her protector down. It was the brave Gamache who had come to her rescue. In a trice other heroes were on the spot, and the English fell back. They bore the maiden tenderly away and took off her armor. She looked up with tearful eyes, but they were fixed upon heaven, as was her wont.
“How is it going, Count Dunois?” she asked.
“We have ordered a retreat,” he replied, whereupon she partly sprang up, seized the arrow with both hands, and pulled it out. “Let there be no retreating,” she urged. “Quick, my armor.” In a few minutes she mounted her steed and galloped through the flying ranks. “Halt!” she pleaded. “Have courage, in God’s name. In half an hour the English will be in our hands.”
The effect of her heroic resolution was wonderful. The soldiers turned back with cheers. Daulon grasped the lily banner and carried it to the wall. Joan hastened forward and again led the assault. The terror of the English at the reappearance of the Maiden cannot be described. They had believed her dead. They were certain now that she was in league with Satan. They dropped their weapons and fled, and fear lent wings to their flight. Loud cries of horror from the water side completed the disasters of the day. An attack had been made upon the drawbridge. Glasdale had hastened there to protect the weak point. A shot fired by Daulon shattered the pier, and the bridge with all its defenders fell with a crash into the Loire. Glasdale, weighed down by his heavy armor, was drowned. It was this disaster which had caused the outcries. The day ended in a tragedy for the English. “Save yourselves as you can,” was the signal for flight. The fort was taken.
In Orleans the bells rang welcome to the troops. They rang the whole night long in celebration of the victory. The churches were thronged, and from thousands of grateful hearts rose the Te Deum laudamus to heaven. The next morning dense smoke ascended from the English camp. Suffolk and Talbot had abandoned the siege, set fire to their camp, and retreated with the remnant of their army.