It was a desperate struggle man to man; the clash of swords became one strange continuous mass of sound, instead of the fearful distinctness which had marked their work before.
Shouts and cries mingled fearfully with the sharper clang, the heavy fall of man and horse, the creaking of the engines, the wild shrieks of the victims within the walls mangled by the stones, or from the survivors who witnessed their fall--all formed a din as terrific to hear, as dreadful to behold.

With even more than their wonted bravery the Scotch fought, but with less success.

The charge of the English was no longer the impetuous fury of a few hot-headed young men, more eager to _despite_ their cooler advisers, than gain any permanent good for themselves.

Now, as one man fell another stepped forward in his place, and though the slaughter might have been equal, nay, greater on the side of the besiegers than the besieged, by one it was scarcely felt, by the other the death of each man was even as the loss of a host.

Still, still they struggled on, the English obtaining possession of the palisades, though the immense strength of the barbacan itself, defended as it was by the strenuous efforts of the Scotch, still resisted all attack: bravely, nobly, the besieged retreated within their walls, pellmell their foes dashed after them, and terrific was the combat on the drawbridge, which groaned and creaked beneath the heavy tramp of man and horse.