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 The town of St. Quentin, though rich and prosperous, was protected only by ancient fortifications, long since "out of date," and in ruinous condition. The garrison consisted of but one thousand men, and these were miserably armed; there was practically no artillery. When the gallant Admiral had thrown himself into the town he found but one culverin on the ramparts, and for that one no ammunition had been provided! The town was not provisioned for a siege—a month's rations for the troops was all that Coligni could find in St. Quentin. Then the Admiral took a desperate step which nothing but the cruel exigencies of war could justify. All the aged and infirm, all the sick and helpless, were ordered to leave the city, and seven hundred individuals were thus expelled, most of them to perish from want and misery! The women were shut up in the cathedral and the churches, "lest their terror and their tears should unman the troops." Coligni himself was the very life and soul of the defence; foremost in every danger, sharing all hardships, and cheering all despairing hearts, he was prepared to die under the ruins of the town—he would never surrender to the foe! Meanwhile, a great French army, numbering eighteen thousand foot and six thousand horse, was approaching to the relief of St. Quentin under the Constable Montmorency. It was mainly composed of German mercenary troops, but the chivalry of France were represented there in splendid array, proud to fight under such leaders as Montmorency, the Prince of Condé, the Duke de Nevers, Daudelot (the brother of the Admiral), and many another illustrious chief. The relief army had encamped on the banks of the Somme at La Fère and Ham; the Admiral sent messengers to Montmorency imploring instant succour. The next day, August 8th, Daudelot strove to break through the lines of the besiegers at the head of two thousand men, and he failed miserably! Most of his men perished in the morass, his guides mistaking the paths, and thus bringing them into contact with the outposts of the besiegers. Their leader, under the cover of night, succeeded in making good his retreat to La Fère, at the head of a mere straggling group of beaten men!