made a good road, and paved it well with flesh and iron. Joan and
the rest of us followed it so briskly that we outspeeded our forces
and had the English behind us as well as before. The knights
commanded us to face outward around Joan, which we did, and
then there was work done that was fine to see. One was obliged to
respect the Paladin, now. Being right under Joan’s exalting and
transforming eye, he forgot his native prudence, he forgot his
diffidence in the presence of danger, he forgot what fear was, and
he never laid about him in his imaginary battles in a more
tremendous way that he did in this real one; and wherever he
struck there was an enemy the less.
We were in that close place only a few minutes; then our forces to
the rear broke through with a great shout and joined us, and then
the English fought a retreating fight, but in a fine and gallant way,
and we drove them to their fortress foot by foot, they facing us all
the time, and their reserves on the walls raining showers of arrows,
cross-bow bolts, and stone cannon-balls upon us.
The bulk of the enemy got safely within the works and left us
outside with piles of French and English dead and wounded for
company–a sickening sight, an awful sight to us youngsters, for
our little ambush fights in February had been in the night, and the
blood and the mutilations and the dead faces were mercifully dim,
whereas we saw these things now for the first time in all their
naked ghastliness.
Now arrived Dunois from the city, and plunged through the battle
on his foam-flecked horse and galloped up to Joan, saluting, and
uttering handsome compliments as he came. He waved his hand
toward the distant walls of the city, where a multitude of flags
were flaunting gaily in the wind, and said the populace were up
there observing her fortunate performance and rejoicing over it,
and added that she and the forces would have a great reception
now.
“Now? Hardly now, Bastard. Not yet!”
“Why not yet? Is there more to be done?”
“More, Bastard? We have but begun! We will take this fortress.”
“Ah, you can’t be serious! We can’t take this place; let me urge you
not to make the attempt; it is too desperate. Let me order the forces
back.”
Joan’s heart was overflowing with the joys and enthusiasms of war,
and it made her impatient to hear such talk. She cried out:
“Bastard, Bastard, will ye play always with these English? Now
verily I tell you we will not budge until this place is ours. We will
carry it by storm. Sound the charge!”
“Ah, my General–”
“Waste no more time, man–let the bugles sound the assault!” and
we saw that strange deep light in her eye which we named the
battle-light, and learned to know so well in later fields.
The martial notes pealed out, the troops answered with a yell, and
down they came against that formidable work, whose outlines
were lost in its own cannon-smoke, and whose sides were spouting
flame and thunder.
We suffered repulse after repulse, but Joan was here and there and
everywhere encouraging the men, and she kept them to their work.
During three hours the tide ebbed and flowed, flowed and ebbed;
but at last La Hire, who was now come, made a final and resistless
charge, and the bastille St. Loup was ours. We gutted it, taking all
its stores and artillery, and then destroyed it.
When all our host was shouting itself hoarse with rejoicings, and
there went up a cry for the General, for they wanted to praise her
and glorify her and do her homage for her victory, we had trouble
to find her; and when we did find her, she was off by herself,
sitting among a ruck of corpses, with her face in her hands,
crying–for she was a young girl, you know, and her hero heart was
a young girl’s heart too, with the pity and the tenderness that are
natural to it. She was thinking of the mothers of those dead friends