Then her silver trumpet voice rang out. She called upon them to
reform, to follow her. She cried that her Lord would give them the
victory, and almost before we who had accompanied her had formed
into rank for the charge, the flying, panic-stricken men from the
front, ashamed and filled with fresh ardour, had turned themselves
about, closed up their scattered ranks, and were ready to follow
her whithersoever she might lead them.
Yet it was to no speedy victory she urged them. No angel with a
flaming sword came forth to fight and overcome as by a miracle. But
it was enough for that white-clad figure to stand revealed in the
thickest of the carnage to animate the men to heroic effort. As I
say, it was the story of St. Loup over again; but if anything the
fighting was more severe. What the Generals had meant for a mere
feint, the Maid turned into a desperate battle. The English were
reinforced many times; it seemed as though we had a hopeless task
before us. But confidence and assurance of victory were in our
hearts as we saw our Deliverer stand in the thick of the fight and
heard her clarion voice ringing over the field.
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