Again and again the ladders were flung down, the climbers were shot, or smitten, or grappled with and dashed into the fosse. Valiantly the English fought with bow-shot and gunshot, with axes, lances, bills, and leaden maces, and even with their fists, so that there were many killed and wounded. But like Antaeus, of whom it was fabled that being a son of the goddess, Tellus, or the earth, every fall he received from Hercules gave him more strength, so the French returned to the charge after every repulse with such vigour that it was marvellous to behold. The air was filled with shouts and cries of the captains: "France and St. Denys!" "St. George for England!" It whirled to the singing of arrows, the twang of bowstrings, the clang of axes on armour, and the roar of guns. Exposed to all the dangers of the fray Jeanne stood, her clear girlish voice sounding high above the din and confusion of battle: "Be of good cheer. The hour is at hand!" But after many hours of desperate fighting the spirit of the assailants began to flag. Seeing this the Maid seized a scaling ladder, and placing it against the walls started to mount amid a rain of arrows and stones. As she did so she cried clearly: "On, on! Be of good courage! They are ours." With a shout the French swarmed over the fosse with their ladders until there seemed a forest of ladders against the walls. Up Jeanne mounted, still crying out encouragements, and then--all in a moment a bolt whizzed, and uttering a cry of terror and pain the maiden reeled and fell. A great Hurrah! went up from the English--a mighty shout of triumph and rejoicing. The witch had fallen, and with her went the mysterious force that had overwhelmed them. She was slain, or if not killed her blood was shed, which forever spoiled her witchcraft; for such was the superstition. Therefore they rejoiced, and renewed the defence with confidence. It was De Gamache, the captain who had said that he would not follow a girl of the fields whom nobody knew, who raised her, and carried her back. "Take my horse, brave creature," he said. "Bear no malice. I confess that I was in the wrong." "It is I that should be wrong if I bore malice," cried Jeanne, "for never was knight so courteous." Her own people had followed her when she was carried out of the fray. The bolt stood out a hand-breadth behind her shoulder, and the maiden wept with the pain. She was General-in-Chief of the army, but she was seventeen, and after all but a girl, so she cried just as any girl would have done. Some one of the soldiers proposed to charm the wound with a song of healing, but the maiden cried: "I would rather die than do so, for it would be sin."