A Glorious Victory
The steady courage and resolute will of our great leader raised the
spirits of every soldier under his command; the disaster at Jarnac
became more and more a dream; the retreat to Niort was conducted without
the least disorder or confusion. Every one trusted Coligny, and felt
that under his rule all would go well.
And, as far as human skill and foresight could prevail, the Admiral
deserved our confidence. All through the day, and far into the night, he
toiled, and never grew weary; at one time inspecting his troops, at
another strengthening his defences; now endeavouring to form some useful
alliance, again writing cheerful letters and putting heart into the more
timid of our friends.
We had another leader, too, who, though she did not lead us into battle
was worth many a troop of horse to the Cause. I shall never forget the
day when Joan of Albret, the great-hearted Queen of Navarre, came riding
into our camp at Niort, bringing her son, Henry of Beam, and her nephew
Henry, the son of the murdered Condé. True and steadfast in the hour of
our defeat--more steadfast even than some of those who would ride
fearlessly in the wildest charge--she came to prove her unswerving
loyalty.
"I offer you my son," said this noble lady--may her name ever be held
in reverence--"who burns with a bold ardour to avenge the death of the
Prince we all regret. Behold also Condé's son, now become my own child.
He succeeds to his father's name and glory. Heaven grant that they may
both show themselves worthy of their ancestors!"
While she spoke, not another sound broke the silence in all that vast
assembly; but when the echo of the last word had died away, such a shout
arose that few have ever heard its like. The whole army cheered and
cheered again with one voice; hundreds of swords flashed in the air; men
went wild with enthusiasm as they cried, "Long live Joan of Albret! long
live the Queen of Navarre!"
When at length silence was restored there rode to the front that gallant
youth, Henry of Beam, whose winning manners had already charmed us at
Rochelle. I have seen him since with all the world at his feet, and
crowned with victory; but after his most glorious triumph he did not
look more noble than on that memorable day at Niort. He was, as I have
said, a splendid horseman, and he managed his fiery charger with
exquisite grace and ease. His eyes, usually so sweet, were bright and
burning; the hot blood reddened his clear brown skin.
"Soldiers!" he exclaimed--and I would you could have heard the music of
his voice--"your cause is mine. I swear to defend our religion, and to
persevere until death or victory has restored us the liberty for which
we fight."
Once again the thundering cheers pealed forth, and had Monseigneur but
met us that day, I warrant he would not have carried a hundred men with
him from the field.
"Your Henry of Beam is a gallant youngster, Edmond," remarked Roger
Braund that evening; "I would he had been with us at Jarnac!"
"That might have prevented his being here now!"
"True! On the other hand, his presence might have saved the day.
However, he will have an opportunity of showing his mettle. Do we move
soon?"
"We are waiting for a body of German foot-soldiers, and for the troops
from Languedoc. Directly they arrive, I believe we break camp."
"The sooner the better," said he; "we shall rust out by staying here."
Most of the troops, indeed, had begun to weary of inaction, and when, on
the arrival of our reinforcements, Coligny determined to offer battle
once more, the whole camp received the news with satisfaction. A great
grief had befallen our leader. His brother, the kindly genial Sieur
Andelot, whom all men loved, had broken down under the terrible strain,
and died at Saintes. It was a terrible blow, but the Admiral sternly
repressed his sorrow, counting no sacrifice too great for the success of
the Cause.
We marched out from the camp at Niort, twenty-five thousand strong, all
in good spirits, and all placing the most implicit trust in our gallant
leader. The dead Condé's troops were especially eager for the fray, and
as they mounted and rode off, the words "Remember Jarnac!" passed from
man to man. It was a watchword that boded ill for their opponents.
From day to day our scouts brought in word of the royal forces. They
outnumbered us by several thousands, but that did not damp our ardour;
in spite of Jarnac, we felt that we were marching to victory.
We had advanced within two days' distance of the city of Limoges, when
our scouts galloped in with the information that they had encountered a
strong force of hostile cavalry. Our preparations for battle were all
made, so Coligny continued his march, the horsemen retiring before us,
and making no effort to attack.
We passed an anxious night: the sentries were doubled, the outposts
strengthened, and the men slept with their weapons in their hands, ready
to spring up at the first note of warning. For the Admiral's personal
attendants there was no sleep whatever. We passed our time in visiting
the outposts, and in seeing that everything was secure. Only after day
broke were we able to snatch an hour or two's rest.
"Faith," laughed Felix, as the march was resumed, "this is fine
preparation for a battle! Edmond, rub the dust from your eyes; you look
sleepy enough to fall from your saddle!"
"And all our labour was wasted!" I grumbled. "Those fellows just went
comfortably to sleep, laughing at us for our pains."
"Never mind!" said my comrade merrily, "it may be our turn to laugh
next. And, after all, I would rather laugh last."
All that day we marched through a woody, irregular district, the
horsemen watching our movements, but retiring steadily at our approach,
as if wishing to lure us into some cunning trap. But Coligny was not to
be tempted; he kept his troops well in hand, and in the evening we
camped by the side of a small stream with a marsh in our front.
"We have caught him," cried Felix, in a tone of delight.
"Or he has caught us!" said I dubiously. "Anjou has some skilful soldier
at his elbow who chose that position."
On the other side of the marsh rose a rugged hill, and at the summit the
royalist general had pitched his camp. Rude breastworks, from which the
muzzles of several guns peeped out, had been erected, and altogether it
looked as if Monseigneur had provided us with a hard nut to crack.
Coligny rode out across the marsh to examine the enemy's position more
clearly, and I fancied there was a shade of anxiety on his usually
serene face. It was a heavy responsibility he had to bear, for, should
his troops be defeated, the Huguenot Cause was lost. There was no other
army to replace the one under his command.
"The longer you look at it the less you'll like it," said Roger Braund
cheerfully--for our English comrade often came over for a chat when we
had pitched camp--"Monseigneur has fenced himself in marvellously well."
"The more credit in digging him out!" laughed Felix. "Don't make Edmond
more doleful; he is half afraid now of meeting with a second Jarnac. De
Pilles"--the commander of our artillery--"will soon batter down those
walls, and a sharp rush will carry the hill."
"'Tis a simple matter winning a battle--in our minds," laughed Roger,
"but not always so easy in practice. Monseigneur's troops fought well
enough at Jarnac."
"Ah," said Felix merrily, "they will fight well here, but we shall fight
better!"
"Is an assault decided on?"
"No one knows," I replied; "there is to be a meeting of the Council
presently. But I take it that we must attack. Monseigneur has the
advantage of us. He can obtain provisions; we can't."
"And we aren't likely to retreat!" exclaimed Felix.
"In that case we must go forward; but we shall hear the decision in an
hour or two."
The Council sat for a considerable time, while we of the Admiral's
household discussed the situation among ourselves. There were various
opinions given, the older men declaring Monseigneur was too strongly
posted to be dislodged, the younger and more hot-headed making light of
the danger.
At length the Council broke up, and, though nothing was actually
disclosed, we soon became aware that Coligny had resolved on risking a
battle.
"Bravo!" said Felix, as we went to our tent, "'twill be a pity if Roche
Abeille does not make up for Jarnac!"
The bugle-call roused us at daybreak, and after a hasty breakfast we
prepared for the fray. It was a glorious summer morning, with only a
few fleecy clouds dotting the blue sky. The country was bathed in
sunlight, and the green, leafy foliage of the numerous trees on our left
made a delightful picture. The waters of the little stream in our rear
danced and sparkled, and the chorus of the birds made wondrous music.
Before long every feathered creature was flying hastily away in
amazement and affright.
The army was drawn up in battle array, and the noble Coligny, serene and
confident, rode along the lines.
"Soldiers!" he exclaimed, "the time has come. The enemy are before us.
We must beat them or die. Soldiers, if we lose this battle, the sacred
Cause to which we have pledged our lives is overthrown. Our religion
will be destroyed, our wives and little ones slain, we ourselves shall
go to the prison, the block, or the stake. Soldiers, the safety of the
Cause is entrusted to your arms! I know you are worthy of the honour."
A great cheer greeted these stirring words, a cheer that, echoing far
and wide, sounded like a haughty challenge of defiance to the foe.
I had little to do but to watch the opening of the battle, and my heart
beat fast as De Pilles, a rough and fearless fighter, went forward with
his artilery. Almost instantly the excitement became tense.
"He is into the marsh!" cried Felix. "His guns are stuck fast! He cannot
get them out! Ah, see, Monseigneur is launching his horsemen at them!"
Down the hill they came in beautiful order, a troop of Italian cavalry,
their helmets gleaming, their swords flashing in the sunlight.
"De Pilles is lost!" muttered a man behind me.
"No, no!" cried Felix; "he will beat them off. See, he is forming up his
men. Ah, bravo! bravo! Look, there isn't a coward among them!"
With a rush, the Italians swept down on the guns. They were brave men
and seasoned fighters, but they came to grief that day. Though their
animals floundered in the soft soil they struggled on valiantly; they
reached the guns, they wheeled and circled, they struck fierce blows
with their glittering blades, but, wherever they rode, there they found
a grim and sturdy opponent.
Back they went for a breathing-space, and then, with a magnificent
charge, once more flung themselves on the handful of gunners. My heart
stood still when, for a moment, our gallant few disappeared as if
overwhelmed by the waves of a human sea.
A triumphant shout from Felix roused me. The waves had rolled back,
broken and shattered, and we raised cheer after cheer as the baffled
horsemen slowly climbed the hill. De Pilles had saved his guns, and in
Monseigneur's Italian troop there were more than a score of empty
saddles. It was a good beginning for us.
The battle now became general. The guns, dragged from the marsh on to
firm ground, opened fire against the breastworks, the infantry marched
steadily forward, two troops of horse worked round to the right, seeking
a favourable place for attack.
But our progress was slow. Monseigneur's troops, fighting with rare
vigour and courage, forced us back again and again; their position
seemed impregnable, and our men fell fast. Unless we could break through
somewhere the battle was lost.
By extreme good fortune, I was close behind the Admiral when he turned
his head, seeking a messenger.
"Le Blanc" he cried, courteous as ever, even in the midst of the
terrible strife, "ride to De Courcy Lamont, and tell him to charge home.
Tell him that unless he can make a gap for us, the day is lost. And say
that the Admiral trusts him."
Bowing low, I spurred my horse sharply, and darted off. Around me rose
the din of battle--the thunder of the guns, the savage cries of angry
men closely locked in deadly combat. Already Monseigneur's troops were
shouting "Victory!" and I had visions of an even more fearful disaster
than at Jarnac.
De Courcy Lamont listened to my message with a proud smile on his face.
His troopers were faint and weary; many were more or less seriously
wounded; they had lost several of their comrades; but Coligny's words
acted like magic.
"The Admiral trusts to us!" said their leader. "Shall we disappoint
him?"
"No! no!" they cried; "we will die for the Admiral! Let us charge!"
"I thank you, gentlemen," said De Courcy simply.
It was a desperate enterprise, and would never have been attempted but
for the love these gallant men bore to our great chief. For his sake
they were going to throw themselves upon death.
"Charge!" Half mad with excitement, I took my place with them, behind
De Courcy, who rode several lengths in advance. From a trot to a canter,
from a canter to a gallop, and then with one mighty rush we swept down
on the foe. A body of horse dashed across our path; we brushed them
aside like a handful of chaff, and never slackened pace.
"The Admiral! The Admiral! For the Cause! Remember Jarnac!" we shouted
hoarsely, as our straining animals flew over the intervening space.
Faster and faster grew the mad gallop, until, like a living whirlwind,
we flung ourselves on a line of bristling pikes.
"For the Admiral!" cried our leader joyously.
"Anjou! Anjou!" came back the defiant answer, and then we were in the
midst of them. We had made a gap, but at terrible expense.
Hotter and hotter waxed the strife; swords flashed, pikes ran red,
shouts of triumph mingled with groans of despair; men went down and were
trampled underfoot in the horrible press; we were tossed and buffeted
from side to side, but we fought on with savage desperation, and the
cry, "For the Admiral!" still rose in triumph. Truly it could not be
said that we grudged our lives that day!
And presently an answering cry of "For the Admiral!" sounded on our
ears. Our charge had not been made in vain! Back went the enemy, slowly
and stubbornly at first, fighting every inch of the ground, but still
retreating.
"They give way!" cried De Courcy, who was bare-headed and wounded,
"they give way! Charge, my brave lads!"
The words decided the fortunes of the day. With a rush and a roar we
swept forward, and Anjou's stubborn troops scattered in flight. Forward
we went in hot pursuit, but suddenly everything became dark to me; the
stricken field with its mob of flying men vanished from sight, and I
sank forward helplessly across my horse's neck.