And now came shouts and cries, and all at once the streets were filled with people who cried loudly that the English were slaughtering the French. Straight through the town Jeanne galloped, riding toward the loudest noise, which proved to be at the Burgundian Gate on the east side of the city. The gate was open to let in a rabble of retreating French who were bringing some wounded men with them. Overwhelmed with pity at the sight Jeanne paled, and half drew rein. "I can never see French blood but my hair rises with horror," she said to D'Aulon, who had now overtaken her. Through the gate they passed, and met a disorganized band of men-at-arms, archers, and burghers flying before the English. For the coup which had been planned by the captains was a sortie against the strong bastille of St. Loup, and it had proven disastrous to those who had undertaken it. There went up a great shout from the French as they caught sight of Jeanne as she galloped through the gate. They rallied, turned, and swept onward after her. Clear and sweet above the din of battle sounded her bell-like voice: "Friends, friends, have good courage. On! On! They are ours." There never was anything like the response that followed. The French surged forward upon the English, who had sallied confidently out of the bastille to meet the first assault, and swept their foes before them, driving them back into their fortress. Gallantly the English fought, but they were no match for men imbued with divine ardour by the Maid. Everywhere in the thick of battle the shining figure appeared, encouraging and urging the men to greater efforts. Against the formidable walls of the bastille the French hurled themselves with irresistible fury. Back and forth the tide of battle surged; back and forth, for the English made a desperate resistance. Back and forth until the vesper hour when, with a mighty rush, the French carried the place by storm. St. Loup was taken. Before the English camp on the west side could hurry reinforcements around the walls the bastille was sacked, riddled, burned. The English were cut off from Jargeau. Dizzy with the first victory that had been theirs in years the soldiers and burghers re-entered the city with banners flying, proudly displaying the prisoners and captured munitions. And the city went wild over the Maid who had wrought the miracle. La Hire, Dunois, Poton Zaintrailles, Rais and Boussac were ready to follow wherever she might lead. The citizens pressed upon her as she rode, adoring and worshipping. All the bells in the city rang joyfully, and in the churches soldiers and citizens alike "gave thanks to God by hymns and devout orisons." It was Jeanne's first battle, and she wept as she prayed for those who had died unshriven. As she rose from her confession she said to Father Pasquerel: "In five days the city shall be delivered; but I shall be wounded on Saturday, here." And she placed her hand upon a spot between her neck and shoulder.