Les Quarante-cinq. English

by Alexandre Dumas

  CHAPTER LXV.

  FRENCH AND FLEMINGS.

  At the moment when the members of the council left the Hotel de Ville,the officers went to put themselves at the head of their troops, andexecute the orders they had received. At the same time the artillerysounded. This artillery surprised the French in their nocturnal march,by which they had hoped to surprise the town; but instead of stoppingtheir advance, it only hastened it. If they could not take the city bysurprise, they might, as we have seen the king of Navarre do at Cahors,fill up the moats with fascines and burst open the gates with petards.

  The cannon from the ramparts continued to fire, but in the darkness tookscarcely any effect, and after having replied to the cries of theiradversaries, the French advanced silently toward the ramparts with thatfiery intrepidity which they always show in attack.

  But all at once, doors and posterns opened, and from all sides pouredout armed men, if not with the fierce impetuosity of the French, with afirmness which rendered them massive as a rolling wall.

  It was the Flemings, who advanced in close ranks, and compact masses,above which the cannon continued to thunder, although with more noisethan effect. Then the combat began hand to hand, foot to foot, sword tosword, and the flash of pistols lighted up faces red with blood.

  But not a cry--not a murmur--not a complaint was heard, and the Flemingsand French fought with equal rage. The Flemings were furious at havingto fight, for fighting was neither their profession nor their pleasure;and the French were furious at being attacked when they meant to havetaken the initiative.

  While the combat was raging furiously, explosions were heard near St.Marie, and a light rose over the city, like a crest of flames. It wasJoyeuse attacking and trying to force the barrier across the Scheldt,and who would soon penetrate into the city, at least, so the Frenchhoped.

  But it was not so; Joyeuse had weighed anchor and sailed, and was makingrapid progress, favored by the west wind. All was ready for action; thesailors, armed with their boarding cutlasses, were eager for the combat;the gunners stood ready with lighted matches; while some picked men,hatchet in hand, stood ready to jump on the hostile ships and destroythe chains and cords.

  The seven ships advanced in silence, disposed in the form of a wedge, ofwhich the admiral's galley formed the point. Joyeuse himself had takenhis first lieutenant's place, and was leaning over the bowsprit, tryingto pierce the fogs of the river and the darkness of the night. Soon,through this double obscurity, he saw the pier extending itself darklyacross the stream; it appeared deserted, but, in that land of ambushes,there seemed something terrifying in this desertion.

  However, they continued to advance, and soon were within sight of thebarrier, scarcely ten cable lengths off; they approached nearer andnearer, and yet not a single "qui vive!" struck on their ears.

  The sailors only saw in this silence a carelessness which rejoiced them;but their young admiral, more far-seeing, feared some ruse. At last theprow of the admiral's ship touched the two ships which formed the centerof the barrier, and made the whole line, which was fastened together bychains, tremble.

  Suddenly, as the bearers of the hatchets received the order to board andcut the chains, a crowd of grappling irons, thrown by invisible hands,seized hold of the French vessels. The Flemings had forestalled theintended movement of the French. Joyeuse believed that his enemies wereoffering him a mortal combat, and he accepted it with alacrity. He alsothrew grappling irons, and the two lines of ships were firmly boundtogether. Then, seizing a hatchet, he was the first to jump on a ship,crying, "Board them! board them!" All his crew followed him, officersand men, uttering the same cry; but no cry replied to them, no forceopposed their advance.

  Only they saw three boats full of men gliding silently over the water,like three sea-birds.

  The assailants rested motionless on the ships which they had conqueredwithout a struggle.

  All at once Joyeuse heard under his feet a crackling sound, and a smellof sulphur filled the air. A thought crossed his mind, and he ran andopened a hatchway; the vessel was burning. A cry of, "To our ships!"sounded through all the line. Each climbed back again more quickly thanhe had come in; but Joyeuse, this time, was the last. Just as he reachedhis galley, the flames burst out over the whole bridge of boats, liketwenty volcanoes, of which each ship or boat was the crater; the orderwas instantly given to cut the ropes and break the chains andgrappling-irons, and the sailors worked with the rapidity of men whoknew that their safety depended on their exertions. But the work wasimmense; perhaps they might have detached those thrown by the enemy ontheir ships, but they had also to detach those which they themselves hadthrown.

  All at once twenty explosions were heard, and each of the French shipstrembled to its center. It was the cannons that defended the port, andwhich, fully charged and then abandoned by the Antwerpians, exploded asthe fire gained on them, breaking everything within their reach.

  The flames mounted like gigantic serpents along the masts, rolledthemselves round the yards, then, with their forked tongues, came tolick the sides of the French vessels.

  Joyeuse, with his magnificent armor covered with gold, giving calmly,and in an imperious voice, his orders in the midst of the flames, lookedlike a fabulous salamander covered with scales, and at every movementthrew off a shower of sparks. But the explosions became louder thanever; the gun-room had taken fire, and the vessels were flying inpieces.

  Joyeuse had done his best to free himself, but in vain; the flames hadreached the French ships, and showers of fire fell about him. TheFlemish barrier was broken, and the French burning ships drifted to theshore. Joyeuse saw that he could not save his ships, and he gave ordersto lower the boats, and land on the left bank. This was quickly done,and all the sailors were embarked to a man before Joyeuse quitted hisgalley. His sang-froid kept every one in order, and each man landed witha sword or an ax in his hand. Before he had reached the shore, the firereached the magazine of his ship, which blew up, lighting the wholehorizon.

  Meanwhile, the artillery from the ramparts had ceased, not that thecombat had abated, but that it was so close it was impossible to fire onenemies without firing on friends also.

  The Calvinist cavalry had charged, and done wonders. Before the swordsof its cavaliers a pathway opened, but the wounded Flemings pierced thehorses with their large cutlasses, and in spite of this brilliantcharge, a little confusion showed itself in the French columns, and theyonly kept their ground instead of advancing, while from the gates of thecity new troops continually poured out. All at once, almost under thewalls of the city, a cry of "Anjou! France!" was heard behind the massof the Antwerpians. This was Joyeuse and his 1,500 sailors, armed withhatchets and cutlasses. They had to revenge their fleet in flames andtwo hundred of their companions burned or drowned.

  No one could manage his long sword better than Joyeuse: every blow cutopen a head, every thrust took effect. The group of Flemings on which hefell were destroyed like a field of corn by a legion of locusts.Delighted with their first success, they continued to push on; but theCalvinist cavalry, surrounded by troops, began to lose ground. M. de St.Aignan's infantry, however, kept their place.

  The prince had seen the burning of the fleet, and heard the reports ofthe cannon and the explosions, without suspecting anything but a fiercecombat, which must terminate in victory for Joyeuse; for how could a fewFlemish ships fight against the French fleet? He expected, then, everyminute a diversion on the part of Joyeuse, when the news was brought tohim that the fleet was destroyed, and Joyeuse and his men fighting inthe midst of the Flemings. He now began to feel very anxious, the fleetbeing the means of retreat, and consequently the safety of the army. Hesent orders to the Calvinist cavalry to try a fresh charge, and men andhorses, almost exhausted, rallied to attack the Antwerpians afresh. Thevoice of Joyeuse was heard in the midst of the melee crying, "Hold firm,M. de St. Aignan. France! France!" and, like a reaper cutting a field ofcorn, his sword flew round, and cut down its harvest of men; thedelicate favorite--
the Sybarite--seemed to have put on with his cuirassthe strength of a Hercules; and the infantry, hearing his voice aboveall the noise, and seeing his sword flashing, took fresh courage, and,like the cavalry, made a new effort, and returned to the combat.

  But now the person that had been called monseigneur came out of the cityon a beautiful black horse. He wore black armor, and was followed bythree hundred well-mounted cavaliers, whom the Prince of Orange hadplaced at his disposal.

  By a parallel gate came out William himself, with a picked body ofinfantry who had not yet appeared.

  Monseigneur hastened where he was most wanted, that is to say, whereJoyeuse was fighting with his sailors.

  The Flemings recognized him, and opened their ranks, crying, joyfully,"Monseigneur! monseigneur!" Joyeuse and his men saw the movement, heardthe cries, and all at once found themselves opposed to a new troop.Joyeuse pushed his horse toward the black knight, and their swords met.Joyeuse was confident in his armor and his science, but all his thrustswere skillfully parried, and one of those of his adversary touched him,and in spite of his armor, drew some drops of blood from his shoulder.

  "Ah!" cried the young admiral, "this man is a Frenchman, and what ismore, he has studied fencing under the same master as I have."

  At these words the unknown turned away, and tried to find a newantagonist.

  "If you are French," cried Joyeuse, "you are a traitor, for you fightagainst your king, your country, and your flag."

  The unknown only replied by attacking Joyeuse with fresh fury; but nowJoyeuse was on his guard, and knew with what a skillful swordsman he hadto deal. He parried two or three thrusts with as much skill as fury, andit was now the stranger who made a step back.

  "See!" cried Joyeuse, "what one can do fighting for one's country! Apure heart and a loyal arm suffice to defend a head without a helmet, aface without a vizor;" and he threw his helmet far from him, displayinghis noble and beautiful head, with eyes sparkling with pride, youth andanger.

  His antagonist forebore answer, uttered a cry, and struck at his barehead.

  "Ah!" cried Joyeuse, parrying the blow, "I said you were a traitor, andas a traitor you shall die. I will kill you, and carry off this helmetwhich hides and defends you, and hang you to the first tree that I see."

  "I SAID YOU WERE A TRAITOR, AND AS A TRAITOR YOU SHALLDIE."]

  But at this moment a cavalier cried:

  "Monseigneur, no more skirmishing; your presence is wanted over there."

  Glancing toward the point indicated, the unknown saw the Flemings givingway before the Calvinist cavalry.

  "Yes," cried he, "those are the men I wanted."

  At this moment so many cavaliers pressed on the sailors, that they madetheir first step in retreat.

  The black cavalier profited by this movement to disappear in the melee.

  A quarter of an hour after the French began to give way. M. de St.Aignan tried to retreat in good order, but a last troop of 2,000infantry and 500 horse came out fresh from the city, and fell on thisharassed and already retreating army. It was the old band of the Princeof Orange, which had fought in turns against the Duc d'Alva, Don John,Requesens, and Alexander Farnese. In spite of the coolness of the chiefsand the bravery of many, a frightful rout commenced.

  At this moment the unknown fell again on the fugitives, and once moremet Joyeuse with his now diminished band. The young admiral was mountedon his third horse, two having been killed under him; his sword wasbroken, and he had taken from a sailor one of their heavy hatchets,which he whirled round his head with the greatest apparent ease. Fromtime to time he turned and faced his enemy, like the wild boar whocannot make up his mind to fly, and turns desperately on his hunter. TheFlemings, who by monseigneur's advice had fought without cuirasses, wereactive in the pursuit, and gave no rest to the Angevin army. Somethinglike remorse seized the unknown at the sight of this disaster.

  "Enough, gentlemen," cried he, in French, "to-night they are driven fromAntwerp, and in a week will be driven from Flanders; ask no more of theGod of battles."

  "Ah! he is French," cried Joyeuse; "I guessed it, traitor. Ah! becursed, and may you die the death of a traitor."

  This furious imprecation seemed to disconcert the unknown more than athousand swords raised against him; he turned, and conqueror as he was,fled as rapidly as the conquered. But this retreat of a single manchanged nothing in the state of affairs. Fear is contagious, it seizedthe entire army, and the soldiers began to fly like madmen. The horseswent fast, in spite of fatigue, for they also felt the influence offear; the men dispersed to seek a shelter, and in some hours the army,as an army, existed no longer. This was the time when the dykes were tobe opened. From Lier to Termonde, from Haesdouk to Malines--each littleriver, swollen by its tributaries--each canal overflowed, and spreadover the flat country its contingent of furious water.

  Thus, when the fugitive French began to stop, having tired out theAntwerpians, whom they had seen return to the town, followed by thesoldiers of the Prince of Orange--when those who had escaped from thecarnage of the night believed themselves saved, and stopped to breathefor an instant, some with a prayer, and others with a curse, then a newenemy, blind and pitiless, was preparing for them. Joyeuse had commandedhis sailors, now reduced to eight hundred, to make a halt; they were theonly persons who had preserved some order, the Comte de St. Aignanhaving vainly tried to rally his foot soldiers.

  The Duc d'Anjou, at the head of the fugitives, mounted on an excellenthorse, and accompanied by a single servant, pushed forward withoutappearing to think of anything.

  "He has no heart," cried some.

  "His sang-froid is magnificent," said others.

  Some hours of repose, from two to six in the morning, restored to theinfantry the strength to continue their retreat; but provisions werewanting.

  As for the horses, they seemed more fatigued than the men, and couldscarcely move, for they had eaten nothing since the day before.

  The fugitives hoped to gain Brussels, where the duke had many partisans,although they were not free from anxiety as to their reception. AtBrussels, which was about eight leagues off, they would find food forthe famishing troops, and a place of security from whence to recommencethe campaign at a more favorable time. M. d'Anjou breakfasted in apeasant's hut, between Heboken and Heckhout. It was empty, but a firestill burned in the grate.

  The soldiers and officers wished to imitate their chief, and spreadthemselves about the village, but found with a surprise mingled withterror that every house was deserted and empty.

  M. de St. Aignan, who had aided them in their search, now called to theofficers:

  "March on, gentlemen."

  "But we are tired and dying with hunger, colonel."

  "Yes, but you are alive; and if you remain here another hour you will bedead. Perhaps it is already too late."

  M. de St. Aignan knew nothing; but he suspected some great danger. Theywent on; but two or three thousand men straggled from the main body, or,worn out with fatigue, lay down on the grass, or at the foot of a tree,wearied, desolate, and despairing. Scarcely three thousand able menremained to the Duc d'Anjou.