THE NEXT day Joan wanted to go against the enemy again, but it was the
feast of the Ascension, and the holy council of bandit generals were
too pious to be willing to profane it with bloodshed. But privately they
profaned it with plottings, a sort of industry just in their line. They
decided to do the only thing proper to do now in the new circumstances
of the case—feign an attack on the most important bastille on the
Orleans side, and then, if the English weakened the far more important
fortresses on the other side of the river to come to its help, cross in
force and capture those works. This would give them the bridge and free
communication with the Sologne, which was French territory. They decided
to keep this latter part of the program secret from Joan.
Joan intruded and took them by surprise. She asked them what they were
about and what they had resolved upon. They said they had resolved to
attack the most important of the English bastilles on the Orleans side
next morning—and there the spokesman stopped. Joan said:
“Well, go on.”
“There is nothing more. That is all.”
“Am I to believe this? That is to say, am I to believe that you have
lost your wits?” She turned to Dunois, and said, “Bastard, you have
sense, answer me this: if this attack is made and the bastille taken,
how much better off would we be than we are now?”
The Bastard hesitated, and then began some rambling talk not quite
germane to the question. Joan interrupted him and said:
“That will not do, good Bastard, you have answered. Since the Bastard is
not able to mention any advantage to be gained by taking that bastille
and stopping there, it is not likely that any of you could better
the matter. You waste much time here in inventing plans that lead
to nothing, and making delays that are a damage. Are you concealing
something from me? Bastard, this council has a general plan, I take it;
without going into details, what is it?”
“It is the same it was in the beginning, seven months ago—to get
provisions for a long siege, then sit down and tire the English out.”
“In the name of God! As if seven months was not enough, you want
to provide for a year of it. Now ye shall drop these pusillanimous
dreams—the English shall go in three days!”
Several exclaimed:
“Ah, General, General, be prudent!”
“Be prudent and starve? Do ye call that war? I tell you this, if you
do not already know it: The new circumstances have changed the face of
matters. The true point of attack has shifted; it is on the other side
of the river now. One must take the fortifications that command the
bridge. The English know that if we are not fools and cowards we will
try to do that. They are grateful for your piety in wasting this day.
They will reinforce the bridge forts from this side to-night, knowing
what ought to happen to-morrow. You have but lost a day and made our
task harder, for we will cross and take the bridge forts. Bastard, tell
me the truth—does not this council know that there is no other course
for us than the one I am speaking of?”
Dunois conceded that the council did know it to be the most desirable,
but considered it impracticable; and he excused the council as well as
he could by saying that inasmuch as nothing was really and rationally to
be hoped for but a long continuance of the siege and wearying out of
the English, they were naturally a little afraid of Joan’s impetuous
notions. He said:
“You see, we are sure that the waiting game is the best, whereas you
would carry everything by storm.”
“That I would!—and moreover that I will! You have my orders—here and
now. We will move upon the forts of the south bank to-morrow at dawn.”
“And carry them by storm?”
“Yes, carry them by storm!”
La Hire came clanking in, and heard the last remark. He cried out:
“By my baton, that is the music I love to hear! Yes, that is the right
time and the beautiful words, my General—we will carry them by storm!”
He saluted in his large way and came up and shook Joan by the hand.
Some member of the council was heard to say:
“It follows, then, that we must begin with the bastille St. John, and
that will give the English time to—”
Joan turned and said:
“Give yourselves no uneasiness about the bastille St. John. The English
will know enough to retire from it and fall back on the bridge bastilles
when they see us coming.” She added, with a touch of sarcasm, “Even a
war-council would know enough to do that itself.”
Then she took her leave. La Hire made this general remark to the
council:
“She is a child, and that is all ye seem to see. Keep to that
superstition if you must, but you perceive that this child understands
this complex game of war as well as any of you; and if you want my
opinion without the trouble of asking for it, here you have it without
ruffles or embroidery—by God, I think she can teach the best of you how
to play it!”
Joan had spoken truly; the sagacious English saw that the policy of
the French had undergone a revolution; that the policy of paltering and
dawdling was ended; that in place of taking blows, blows were ready to
be struck now; therefore they made ready for the new state of things
by transferring heavy reinforcements to the bastilles of the south bank
from those of the north.
The city learned the great news that once more in French history, after
all these humiliating years, France was going to take the offensive;
that France, so used to retreating, was going to advance; that France,
so long accustomed to skulking, was going to face about and strike. The
joy of the people passed all bounds. The city walls were black with
them to see the army march out in the morning in that strange new
position—its front, not its tail, toward an English camp. You shall
imagine for yourselves what the excitement was like and how it expressed
itself, when Joan rode out at the head of the host with her banner
floating above her.
We crossed the five in strong force, and a tedious long job it was, for
the boats were small and not numerous. Our landing on the island of St.
Aignan was not disputed. We threw a bridge of a few boats across the
narrow channel thence to the south shore and took up our march in
good order and unmolested; for although there was a fortress there—St.
John—the English vacated and destroyed it and fell back on the bridge
forts below as soon as our first boats were seen to leave the Orleans
shore; which was what Joan had said would happen, when she was disputing
with the council.
We moved down the shore and Joan planted her standard before the
bastille of the Augustins, the first of the formidable works that
protected the end of the bridge. The trumpets sounded the assault, and
two charges followed in handsome style; but we were too weak, as yet,
for our main body was still lagging behind. Before we could gather for a
third assault the garrison of St. Prive were seen coming up to reinforce
the big bastille. They came on a run, and the Augustins sallied out, and
both forces came against us with a rush, and sent our small army flying
in a panic, and followed us, slashing and slaying, and shouting jeers
and insults at us.
Joan was doing her best to rally the men, but their wits were gone,
their hearts were dominated for the moment by the old-time dread of
the English. Joan’s temper flamed up, and she halted and commanded the
trumpets to sound the advance. Then she wheeled about and cried out:
“If there is but a dozen of you that are not cowards, it is
enough—follow me!”
Away she went, and after her a few dozen who had heard her words and
been inspired by them. The pursuing force was astonished to see her
sweeping down upon them with this handful of men, and it was their turn
now to experience a grisly fright—surely this is a witch, this is a
child of Satan! That was their thought—and without stopping to analyze
the matter they turned and fled in a panic.
Our flying squadrons heard the bugle and turned to look; and when they
saw the Maid’s banner speeding in the other direction and the enemy
scrambling ahead of it in disorder, their courage returned and they came
scouring after us.
La Hire heard it and hurried his force forward and caught up with us
just as we were planting our banner again before the ramparts of the
Augustins. We were strong enough now. We had a long and tough piece of
work before us, but we carried it through before night, Joan keeping
us hard at it, and she and La Hire saying we were able to take that big
bastille, and must. The English fought like—well, they fought like the
English; when that is said, there is no more to say. We made
assault after assault, through the smoke and flame and the deafening
cannon-blasts, and at last as the sun was sinking we carried the place
with a rush, and planted our standard on its walls.
The Augustins was ours. The Tourelles must be ours, too, if we
would free the bridge and raise the siege. We had achieved one great
undertaking, Joan was determined to accomplish the other. We must lie on
our arms where we were, hold fast to what we had got, and be ready
for business in the morning. So Joan was not minded to let the men be
demoralized by pillage and riot and carousings; she had the Augustins
burned, with all its stores in it, excepting the artillery and
ammunition.
Everybody was tired out with this long day’s hard work, and of course
this was the case with Joan; still, she wanted to stay with the army
before the Tourelles, to be ready for the assault in the morning. The
chiefs argued with her, and at last persuaded her to go home and prepare
for the great work by taking proper rest, and also by having a leech
look to a wound which she had received in her foot. So we crossed with
them and went home.
Just as usual, we found the town in a fury of joy, all the bells
clanging, everybody shouting, and several people drunk. We never went
out or came in without furnishing good and sufficient reasons for one
of these pleasant tempests, and so the tempest was always on hand. There
had been a blank absence of reasons for this sort of upheavals for the
past seven months, therefore the people too to the upheavals with all
the more relish on that account.