In two days the enemy's batteries were completed, then the storm of war burst with full violence upon the city. The garrison spiritedly returned the fire shot for shot with many to the good, breaches were made in the walls to be repaired by the hands of the women and children, animated to heroic actions by the presence and inspiring words of their beautiful queen, who seemed oblivious to any form of danger. At all hours she visited the ramparts to encourage her soldiers with stirring appeals. Day by day, for seventeen in number, the duel of cannon shot was kept up on both sides, while watchers on the Jhansi citadel cast their vision with anxious eagerness across the Betwa to the north and west. Was Tantia Topi going to abandon them to the mercy of the Foreigners? The question forced itself upon their minds. The situation was fast becoming desperate. Great rents had been made in the solid masonry at strategic points that could not be repaired. The dead and dying numbered hundreds. The besieged began to fight not with the hope of victory, but with the courage of despair. At last the mamelon itself was reduced by the furious cannonade, its guns silenced. A hand to hand conflict seemed imminent. It was then the Rani performed an act of sublime courage which inspired admiration even in the eyes of her enemies. Messenger after messenger had arrived at the palace bearing on their faces expressions of dismay that told without words of the terror seizing upon their hearts. One at length brought the worst news yet received. "My Lady Rani," he spoke hurriedly. "The parapet of the mamelon is shot away, the breach momentarily widens, Ahmad Khan who, although badly wounded, still fights like ten thousand tigers, sends word that it must shortly be abandoned. Alas! the troops are becoming disheartened, and hesitate to obey their orders." The spirit of the Rani rose upon the instant to confront the impending calamity. "No," she cried, "the mamelon shall not be captured, while I have a voice to summon men to its defense." She repaired quickly to her private apartments and arrayed herself in magnificent attire so that in the act she contemplated there might be no doubt concerning her personality. Then she called for a horse and rode swiftly to the threatened spot. As she approached the ramparts, evidences of the terrible devastation wrought by the shell of the enemy confronted her gaze. Broken walls, bodies horribly mangled where they had fallen, the forms of the mortally wounded writhing in their death agony, terrified faces cowering behind any shelter that could be obtained. A wide gap in the outworks of the mamelon proved that the fire of the besiegers had done effective work. A feeble cheer greeted the Rani's arrival. She allowed it to pass unheeded. She dismounted, and without a moment's hesitation, strode fearlessly, past ghastly forms and over shattered blocks of masonry, toward the most exposed part of the walls.