Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc, vol 2 | Page 8

that did not trouble me. I knew we
should find him, and that we should strike him; strike him the promised blow--the one
from which the English power in France would not rise up in a thousand years, as Joan
had said in her trance.
The enemy had plunged into the wide plains of La Beauce--a roadless waste covered with

bushes, with here and there bodies of forest trees--a region where an army would be
hidden from view in a very little while. We found the trail in the soft wet earth and
followed it. It indicated an orderly march; no confusion, no panic.
But we had to be cautious. In such a piece of country we could walk into an ambush
without any trouble. Therefore Joan sent bodies of cavalry ahead under La Hire, Pothon,
and other captains, to feel the way. Some of the other officers began to show uneasiness;
this sort of hide-and-go-seek business troubled them and made their confidence a little
shaky. Joan divined their state of mind and cried out impetuously:
"Name of God, what would you? We must smite these English, and we will. They shall
not escape us. Though they were hung to the clouds we would get them!"
By and by we were nearing Patay; it was about a league away. Now at this time our
reconnaissance, feeling its way in the bush, frightened a deer, and it went bounding away
and was out of sight in a moment. Then hardly a minute later a dull great shout went up
in the distance toward Patay. It was the English soldiery. They had been shut up in a
garrison so long on moldy food that they could not keep their delight to themselves when
this fine fresh meat came springing into their midst. Poor creature, it had wrought damage
to a nation which loved it well. For the French knew where the English were now,
whereas the English had no suspicion of where the French were.
La Hire halted where he was, and sent back the tidings. Joan was radiant with joy. The
Duke d'Alen‡on said to her:
"Very well, we have found them; shall we fight them?"
"Have you good spurs, prince?"
"Why? Will they make us run away?"
"Nenni, en nom de Dieu! These English are ours--they are lost. They will fly. Who
overtakes them will need good spurs. Forward--close up!"
By the time we had come up with La Hire the English had discovered our presence.
Talbot's force was marching in three bodies. First his advance-guard; then his artillery;
then his battle-corps a good way in the rear. He was now out of the bush and in a fair
open country. He at once posted his artillery, his advance-guard, and five hundred picked
archers along some hedges where the French would be obliged to pass, and hoped to hold
this position till his battle-corps could come up. Sir John Fastolfe urged the battle-corps
into a gallop. Joan saw her opportunity and ordered La Hire to advance--which La Hire
promptly did, launching his wild riders like a storm-wind, his customary fashion.
The duke and the Bastard wanted to follow, but Joan said:
"Not yet--wait."
So they waited--impatiently, and fidgeting in their saddles. But she was ready--gazing
straight before her, measuring, weighing, calculating--by shades, minutes, fractions of
minutes, seconds--with all her great soul present, in eye, and set of head, and noble pose
of body--but patient, steady, master of herself--master of herself and of the situation.
And yonder, receding, receding, plumes lifting and falling, lifting and falling, streamed
the thundering charge of La Hire's godless crew, La Hire's great figure dominating it and
his sword stretched aloft like a flagstaff.
"Oh, Satan andhis Hellions, see them go!" Somebody muttered it in deep admiration.
And now he was closing up--closing up on Fastolfe's rushing corps.
And now he struck it--struck it hard, and broke its order. It lifted the duke and the Bastard
in their saddles to see it; and they turned, trembling with excitement, to Joan, saying:

"Now!"
But she put up her hand, still gazing, weighing, calculating, and said again:
"Wait--not yet."
Fastolfe's hard-driven battle-corps raged on like an avalanche toward the waiting
advance-guard. Suddenly these conceived the idea that it was flying in panic before Joan;
and so in that instant it broke and swarmed away in a mad panic itself, with Talbot
storming and cursing after it.
Now was the golden time. Joan drove her spurs home and waved the advance with her
sword. "Follow me!" she cried, and bent her head to her horse's neck and sped away like
the wind!
We went down into the confusion of that flying rout, and for three long hours we cut and
hacked and stabbed. At last the bugles sang "Halt!"
The Battle