JUSTIN HUNTLY MCCARTHY.

“The Flower of France. ”

For fear that the men would fall into disorder while plundering the fortress Jeanne had the buildings of the Augustins burned. On the morrow the Tourelles

must be attacked and taken, and the men must be in readiness for it. For this reason they were to encamp for the night on the hard won field. Jeanne wished to remain with them so that she might be ready to push the assault in the early morning; then too, she feared that a night attack might be made by the English, which of course was the proper procedure for the enemy. Jeanne always foresaw

what an opposing force ought to do, and then tried to forestall it. But La Hire and the captains besought her to return to the city and seek the services of a leech 2 .

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She had been wounded in the foot by a chausse-trape (a small piece of iron, which, falling in any position, turned a foot-piercing point uppermost). Both English and French lances carried them as part of their equipment. To be ready

for the great work of the next day she must have proper rest, they told her.

Finally the maiden consented, and with most of the captains and squires crossed

the river to the town. The archers with a body of citizens remained on the field.

It was Friday, and Jeanne was wont to fast on that day, but on this night she broke her fast and ate a little meat, for she was worn and weary. While she was eating a knight came to tell her that the captains were in Council, and that it had been decided that enough had already been done; that their forces were too much inferior to those of the English to hazard an attack upon the Tourelles the next day; that God had greatly favored them already, and that now it seemed wisest to await reinforcements from the King. The town was now well victualled and could afford to wait. Therefore, it did not seem best to the Council to fight the next day.

Jeanne heard the announcement with quiet disdain.

“You have been with your Council,” she said, “and I have been in mine, and you

may believe that the counsel of my Lord, the King of Heaven, shall prevail, while councils of your sort shall come to naught. Get up early to-morrow morning, fight your best, and you shall accomplish more than you have done to-day.”

As the knight left she turned to her confessor, and said:

“Rise to-morrow even earlier than to-day. Do your best to keep near me, for to-

morrow I shall have yet more to do, and much greater things. To-morrow also blood will flow from my body here.” And again she placed her hand upon a spot

above her right breast between her neck and shoulder.

The Maid was up early the next morning, but early as it was some of the burghers were waiting to see her. They had heard the decision of the captains not to fight, and had held a meeting of their own. They were not minded to wait for reinforcements from the King, they said. They had been in siege for seven months, and had nothing but broken promises from the King and his Councillors.

Therefore, as God was with her, and had sent them succour through her it seemed madness not to avail themselves of the divine favour. And they besought

her to go out against the enemy that day in spite of the captains, and so accomplish the mission with which she had been charged.

Jeanne needed no urging, but answered them with solemn intensity:

“Be of good cheer. In God’s name I will go against the English to-day. And the

captains will go also, and will fight with us.”

The delighted burghers departed to spread the tidings, while the maiden ran down to the courtyard to mount her charger, followed by her attendants.

“Stay, Jeanne,” spoke her host Jacques Boucher, coming into the yard with a large fish, a shad, in his hand. “This is for your breakfast. Wait until it is cooked before you go. You need food before starting upon so great an enterprise.”

“Keep it until supper, messire,” cried the girl gaily. “I will back a Godon to share it with me, and to-night, gentle sir, I will come back by the bridge.”

“To-night, Pucelle? That may not be, for an arch of the bridge is broken.”

Jeanne laughed again without replying, and was off. The decision of the captains not to fight had been far from unanimous. There were those who felt that the assault ought not to be postponed, and who were desirous of following the Maid, for over some of them she had gained great influence. Consequently when the great standard appeared in the streets, and the Maid with her company was making for the Burgundy Gate these men gladly flocked to her. Dunois, La Hire,

Florent d’Illiers, Poton Zaintrailles, Gaucourt, and many others crossed the river with her; there were some who remained in the city to guard it against attack.

“I will have much to do, more than ever I had,” Jeanne had said the night before.

In truth it was no easy task that lay before the French.

There was first a supporting work called a boulevard, on the south bank of the

Loire, on solid land, to be taken before the Tourelles could be assailed. Its rear communicated with the bastille by a drawbridge, under which ran a deep, swift

strip of the river. It was strong, with high walls and surrounded by a deep fosse.

Should it be taken the garrison could retire by the drawbridge to the Tourelles which, being shut off by the Loire into an islanded position was considered impregnable. Its six hundred men, the pick of the English army, were made a host by their captain, Sir William Glasdale, a brave and valorous knight. To drive such a man from such a position would be no light feat. The garrison was amply

provided with cannon and small arms, and were full of determined courage.

The French were as well equipped as the English with everything necessary for

the attack: arrows and crossbolts, and all small arms, “pavoises,” or strong wide screen shields, and movable wooden shelters to protect the advance of small advancing companies of assailants, cannon, ladders, beams for the ditches, and all the munitions of war. The French had the advantage in numbers over the English, but the latter were possessed of a seemingly unconquerable position.

The French army, whom the men of Orléans had been busy all night feeding and

encouraging, lay in the morning sunlight waiting for the leaders. When Jeanne and the captains appeared there was instantly the bustle of activity. With D’Aulon carrying her standard, accompanied by her faithful knights, her

brothers and pages, the Maid passed through the ranks and took up her place on the border of the moat of the boulevard. About her the army was arranged in companies under its several captains, each flying its own standard.

At six o’clock the assault began by a bombardment of the boulevard by the artillery, the stone balls of the cannons being thrown sometimes as far as the Tourelles itself. From the town the guns kept up a constant fire against the fortress.

With uncalculating valour the French made the assault, varying the

bombardment by furious sorties against the walls. The noise of attack and repulse was terrific. From every side the onset was made. Stooping forward with their shields slung over their backs for protection the French ran up the scaling ladders in swarms, attacking the men at the top with such hardihood that the English cried in amazement:

“Do they think that they are immortal?”

“FRANCE AND ST. DENYS!”

Again and again the ladders were flung down, the climbers were shot, or smitt

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