This article continues the story of Saint Joan of Arc. You can read the previous article about how her journey began or start the full story of Saint Joan of Arc from the beginning.
Saint Joan The Girl General
Sister Marie-Bernard M.I.CM.
Having the approval of Church and king, Joan could at last begin her task. A suit of white armor inlaid with silver, worth the price of one hundred war horses, was made for her at Tours as a gift from the Dauphin. Next came a coat-of-mail over which she wore a cape of steel-plate armor. As all the soldiers of the fifteenth century, she was completely encased in steel. This necessity demanded two or three attendants to help her mount and dismount her beautiful black charger which was another gift from the king. Charles would have also given her a sword, but Joan’s heavenly visitors ordered that instead her otherwise; she had instructed one of the soldiers to go to Fierbois, a village she
had stopped at enroute to Chinon, and fetch the sword which was buried in the ground behind the high altar in the Church of Saint Catherine. The sword, engraved with five crosses, was found by the clergy, cleaned and polished and sent to her in a scabbard of crimson velvet scattered over with gold fleur-de-lys (which she later traded for a strong leather one for daily use.)
Her first care was that an army given to her by God should be worthy of His favor. Though new to the ways of the French army’s dissolute camp life, she kept God’s honor and glory in view. She did not shrink from correcting their lewd and violent ways. She made it clear that if they wished to march with her to victory at Orleans, each man must cease to curse and swear, and prepare for battle as one would prepare for death, by confession and daily Mass.
Lastly, Joan banished from the camp the women of ill repute who usually followed the army. Though they resented this peasant girl’s commands, scolding and cursing her, they soon left, ashamed in the sight of one so pure. Throughout her short military career she never ceased to be disgusted at the sight of such baseness. Once she even broke her beloved sword over the back of an evil woman who refused to leave the camp.
Before Joan began to “raise the siege of Orleans” as her Voices bade, she first sent word to the troops of England to withdraw their king from French soil. The English were furious at her audacity. She had no choice but to make a rapid movement toward the city. Provisioned and ready in both body and soul, Joan d’Arc and her French army started on the historic march on April 27, 1429. After two days in the saddle and two nights lying in her armor on the ground, Joan saw rising before her, on the north side of the river, the mighty fortress Orleans. Surrounded by a Burgundian army with mounted cannon and built-up fortifications, the spectacle was heart-rending and recalled the horrors of the initial battle that had resulted in the almost complete capture of this once great French city. Beneath the steel armor of a soldier, a young French girl’s heart still beat and Joan burst into tears at the sight of the city.
“I bring you better ransom than ever came to knight or town, the succor of the King of Heaven.”
Saint Joan of Arc - Maid of Orleans
It was nearly May and the city had been under siege and encircled by English forces since October. The inhabitants would soon be starving and total defeat was imminent. But God heard the prayers of His people and sent this humble girl to their rescue. One of Joan’s generals made a false attack on the neighboring town of St. Loup to draw attention away from her and her men. Then Joan unnoticed, advanced with only two hundred soldiers into the city unattacked. They had passed within a stone’s throw of the English fortifications. Miraculously, Joan of Arc, from then on known as “the Maid of Orleans,” rode as a vision through the thronged streets. “I bring you better ransom than ever came to knight or town, the succor of the King of Heaven.” With mad enthusiasm the beleaguered city received her and it was with no little difficulty that she made her way on horseback to the great Cathedral where the Holy Cross of the Holy Cross where she thanked God for a safe entrance, and begged help in the coming battles.
The next few days were spent in determining her plan of action. With the keen eye of a soldier, she surveyed the situation. Her generals and tacticians marveled that a girl of seventeen, who was unable to even write her name, could outwit the enemy. Her presence and courage inspired the army with such confidence that one general stated, “Five hundred Frenchmen were now ready to face the whole strength of the English.”
On May 4th, at the urgent bidding of her Voices, she suddenly mounted and rode around to the Burgundian gate. The surprise of friend and foes, so the on her charger for three hours in the very thick of battle. Holding her banner for all to see, she cheered and directed her archers until at last the wild shouts from within the city proclaimed a glorious victory for the French.
The triumph was hers, but it was also Joan’s first real experience of the horrors of war and she wept at the sight of the bloody massacre. With her own hands, she tended the wounded, taking care that they received surgical aid and the Last Rites of the Church. Through all her fame and glory bestowed on her, she never forgot to urge her soldiers to prepare for battle as for death with prayer and the sacraments. It was on these spiritual weapons that she relied for victory far more than on the crossbow and the sword.
May 7th again saw Joan leading her forces in an attack on Tourelles. For ten hours the struggle raged, and again and again the French were driven back, but she urged them on to take the place. Seeing her opportunity, she seized a scaling-ladder, and was about to plant it against the wall of the fortress when an arrow pierced her between the neck and the right shoulder. As she collapsed the English let out a wild whoop at the fall of the “Devil Witch” and the French forces began to loose heart. She was quickly moved out of the range of battle and attended to. Though crying with fear and pain, Joan drew out the barbed arrow from her bleeding shoulder with her own hands. The wound was dressed with olive oil and stanched with cotton, and within an hour she was back in the battle field renewing the attack.
“When my banner touches the wall the place is yours,” she cried. She bounded forward, and with one mighty rush the fortress was taken.
With the capture and fall of Tourelles with the beleaguered city of Orleans was delivered. That night the English struck camp, and before the sun rose on May 8th, were gone. The citizens were nearly crazy with happiness. The streets and alleyways, windows and roofs were crawling with mobs of cheering people as Joan made her way through the city. The throng hailed and praised her. Hands reached out to touch her, her horse or the banner. Peasants kissed her feet or stirrups and even the ground she had ridden upon. Children and infants were raised up that they might be blessed by a look from the Maid. And she had well earned her praise, for in one short week this girl of seventeen had achieved what had balked at for months. The victory of Orléans remains today an insoluble puzzle to the military tactician, and one of the decisive battles of the world.
