WHILE the army of Jeanne d'Arc, starting with but four or five thousand men and gathering numbers from every side as it goes, is marching toward Orléans, let us look at the military situation of that town and of the English cause in France. To begin with, the force of the besiegers had never been large; during the long siege it had been reduced by disease, by loss in battle, by defections, till the English army itself was almost in as great straits as the garrison. Moreover, in order to secure themselves, the English had constructed a dozen or more small forts, or bastilles, on both sides of the Loire, and the garrisons of these places had no sure means of intercommunication. It is true that plans were on foot for reinforcing the besiegers, but the political conditions in France and England were such as very seriously to handicap Bedford. There was never hearty cooperation between him and the all-powerful Cardinal Winchester; the Duke of Gloucester was wrangling with Winchester, and had not long ago seriously offended Bedford's most important ally, Philippe de Bourgogne, by marrying Jacqueline of Flanders and espousing her cause against the Burgundians. Though Gloucester had since married another lady--bigamy was but a small matter--and had patched up matters with Philippe de Bourgogne, the latter was showing distinct signs of estrangement from the English. Much depended therefore on the successful termination of the siege of Orléans, and the English power, apparently at its climax, needed but a slight check to start it on the decline.
All this must lead us to ponder upon the achievements of that force now collected under the white banner of Jeanne, and to ask ourselves, were those achievements indeed so marvellous, from a military point of view? When the chemist has evaporated his solution of a salt almost to the point of crystallization, and yet it will not crystallize, a mere splinter cast into the dish will suddenly gather to itself the hesitating particles, and the crystals form as if by magic. The figure will help us to understand the condition of the dauphin's cause and the kind of influence exerted by Jeanne d'Arc. She was the nucleus, lacking which the French forces might have continued mere floating and helpless bands, without a leader, without a common cause; above all, without hope or enthusiasm. There was no lack of valiant soldiers on the side of the dauphin, the Constable de Richemont, Dunois, Xaintrailles, Lahire, Gilles de Retz, Armagnac; all these were either in Jeanne's army or in Orléans. It was her presence, her influence, that enabled them to combine successfully. She was essential to them, no doubt; but had she herself not said wisely and well: "The men-at-arms will fight, and God will give the victory "?
The captains of the dauphin's army thoroughly appreciated the value, the inestimable value, of the enthusiasm aroused by the Maid, and they made shrewd use of it; but they had no intention of trusting the whole campaign to spiritual direction, whether of saints or devils; and some of them were not a little inclined to view Jeanne as hardly better than a witch. It might have been better for France had they trusted to the guidance of the heroine. She would have marched up to Orléans on the side of the river held most strongly by the English and have defied them, be the risk what it might. By a deception she was led to cross the Loire, and was indignant when, on reaching Orléans, she discovered that the river lay between her and the town.
Dunois, commander-in-chief in Orléans, seeing her from the ramparts, crossed the river at once and came to give her reverent and joyful greeting. After reproaching him and the other captains for placing more reliance upon human prudence than upon Divine behests, she said: "I bring you the best succor that ever knight or city had; it is the succor of the King of Heaven, and comes not from me, but from God." It was the 29th of April, and that same evening, at eight o'clock, Jeanne entered Orléans with provisions and an escort, the main body of the army retiring to Blois to cross the Loire.
Orléans went mad with joy at the advent of its heaven-sent deliverer. As she rode through the streets the crowds blocked her way, and eager admirers rudely jostled each other in the struggle but to touch the horse that bore her. With sweet kindliness, she thanked them, losing none of her humility, and exhorting them to thank not her, but God and the dauphin. For that night and the rest of her stay in Orléans she was lodged with the wife of the treasurer of Charles d'Orléans, and slept with one of the daughters of the house. Sturdy and healthy as she was, the unaccustomed rough life of the camp, sleeping with her armor on and none but men about her, had occasioned her great fatigue.
The operations of the siege had been suspended by the English, who sullenly kept to their bastilles. Jeanne insisted upon an immediate attack, and during the week that followed she was with difficulty restrained from rash enterprises. Indeed, she could not always be restrained, and her rashness was not infrequently rewarded with unexpected success. Warned of the approach of English reinforcements under Sir John Fastolf, she conjured Dunois to let her know without delay of his coming. She suspected Dunois of intending to engage Fastolf without her, and in her nervous eagerness to be up and doing for France she precipitated a successful attack upon the bastilles. She had retired to rest for a few hours in the middle of the day when the noise of a tumult in the streets aroused her; the cry was that the French were being slaughtered at one of the gates. Leaping from her couch, and hardly taking time to have half of her armor buckled on, she mounted her horse and, seizing her banner as it was reached to her from a window, galloped toward the gates. On the way, she met the wounded and her heart was moved at the sight of blood. Without the authority of Dunois the garrison had undertaken an assault upon the bastille of Saint-Loup, which stood most directly across the path of those who would bring supplies into Orléans. The French had been beaten back, but with the arrival of Jeanne hope and courage returned. Jeanne in person led a fresh assault, while Talbot, the English commander, vainly strove to rally his men and dissipate their fears of "the witch." The English were forced to retire, and the fort fell into the hands of Jeanne, who, lapsing at once from warrior into woman after this first experience of an actual battle, wept over the slain, cared for the wounded, and did her best to protect the English prisoners from her own savage followers.
The military success was not great, but the mere fact of success in this first active enterprise enhanced Jeanne's credit in the eyes of her own party. Nevertheless, the military chiefs hesitated to trust her, perhaps because they were jealous of her; and while she was spending Ascension day in fasting and prayer they held a council at which it was determined to attack the principal English fort under cover of a feint upon one on the other side of Orléans. She was told only of the feigned attack, but Dunois later confessed the truth, refusing, however, to allow her to proceed to the assault in person. As she watched the battle from afar, saw the French carry and burn one fort, and then saw them repulsed from before another, her impatience could no longer be restrained. Crossing the river with a few followers, she rallied her people, who followed her charmed standard and captured the fort, which Jeanne fired with her own hand.
Once more the wisdom or the expediency of her seemingly rash counsels had been vindicated; but still the leaders hesitated, and determined to await reinforcements before attacking the fort of Les Tournelles, in which the English had now concentrated a considerable part of their forces. "Nay," said Jeanne, "you have been at your councils, but I have been at mine. Know that the counsel of my King and Lord shall prevail over yours." She ordered her chaplain to be ready to attend her at break of day: "For I shall have much to do, more than I have done any day yet. Blood shall issue from my body, for I shall be wounded." With the English daily awaiting reinforcements, it is difficult to comprehend what could have induced experienced military leaders to meditate delay instead of pursuing the advantage already gained; yet they shut the gates next morning to keep Jeanne in, and her host, Milet, begged her to remain quietly to sup with him. "Keep your supper," she said; "I shall bring back some Goddems to eat it with us." The national oath, which Figaro was to consider sufficient for all conversation in English, was manifestly familiar and characteristic three centuries before his time.
In spite of the orders of their chiefs the men-at-arms followed their idol, forced the gates, and charged upon the English fort. As the sun rose over the Loire the desperate struggle began, the English defending themselves with determination and driving back column after column till the dead and wounded lay in heaps beneath the walls of Les Tournelles. Sword in hand, La Pucelle placed a ladder against the wall, and as she mounted an arrow pierced her shoulder. As she fell fainting to the earth the English sallied forth to capture her, but she was rescued by the Sire de Gamaches, who had been one of those who refused to serve as a captain in an army dominated by "a mere girl, who may have been God knows what." Though sceptical of her mission, he was a gallant soldier, and succeeded in removing the wounded heroine to a place of safety.
If the pain of the wound and the sight of her own blood had unnerved Jeanne, the spectacle of their wounded deliverer completely demoralized her soldiers. They pressed about her offering to dress the wound, to remove the arrow, to charm away the pain by magic incantations. She would have none of the works of Satan for her healing. Praying to her saints for strength, she rallied her courage, pulled the arrow out with her own hands, and had the wound dressed with oil. It was nearly dark, and the captains were for retiring, but Jeanne's spirits inspired her to continue the fight. The Sire de Daulon, her knight, rushed back to the fosse of the fort to recover the sacred banner, dropped there in the confusion of the fray. As he raised it to the breeze its folds were opened, and the disheartened French soldiers charged again. "If my banner but touch the walls," said Jeanne, "the fort will fall." Wounded as she was, she mounted her horse and rode toward the fort. Panic seized the English at what seemed to them a miraculous restoration to life of one whom they thought dead, and their excited imaginations saw the heavenly hosts, led by Michael, fighting on the French side. Attempting a hurried evacuation, the English captain, Glasdale, was precipitated into the Loire from a frail bridge on which he was crossing; the fort was taken, and the remnant of its defenders put to the sword.