THE CAPTURE OF CALAIS.
When the bar was once ready for removal the captives delayed not a
minute, for although it was now so late that there was little chance of
a visit being paid them, it was just possible that such might be the
case, and that it might occur to the knight that it would be safer to
separate them.
"Now, Ralph, do you go first, since I am lighter and can climb up by
means of the strap, which you can hold from above; push the bar out and
lay it down quietly in the thickness of the wall. A splash might attract
the attention of the sentries, though I doubt whether it would, for the
wind is high and the rain falling fast. Unbuckle the strap before you
move the bar, as otherwise it might fall and I should have difficulty in
handing it to you again. Now, I am steady against the wall."
Ralph seized the bar and with a great effort pushed the bottom from him.
It moved through the groove without much difficulty, but it needed a
great wrench to free the upper end. However, it was done, and laying it
quietly down he pulled himself up and thrust himself through the
loop-hole. It was a desperate struggle to get through, for it was only
just wide enough for his head to pass, and he was so squarely built that
his body with difficulty followed. The wall was four feet wide, and as
the loop-hole widened considerably without, there was, when he had once
passed through from the inside, space enough for him to kneel down and
lower one end of the strap to Walter. The latter speedily climbed up,
and getting through the slit with much less trouble than Ralph had
experienced--for although in height and width of shoulder he was his
equal, he was less in depth than his follower--he joined him in the
opening, Ralph sitting with his feet in the water in order to make room
for him.
The dungeon was upon the western side of the castle, and consequently
the stream would be with them in making for shore. It was pitch-dark,
but they knew that the distance they would have to swim could not exceed
forty or fifty yards.
"Keep along close by the wall, Ralph. If we once get out in the stream
we might lose our way; we will skirt the wall until it ends, then there
is a cut, for as you saw when we entered, the moat runs right across
this neck. If we keep a bit further down and then land we shall be
fairly beyond the outworks."
Ralph slipped down into the water, and followed by Walter swam along at
the foot of the wall. They had already been deprived of their armor, but
had luckily contrived to retain their daggers in their belts, which
they had again girdled on before entering the water. The stream hurried
them rapidly along, and they had only to keep themselves afloat. They
were soon at the corner of the castle. A few strokes further and they
again felt the wall which lined the moat. The stream still swept them
along, they felt the masonry come to an end, and bushes and shrubs lined
the bank. They were beyond the outer defenses of the castle. Still a
little further they proceeded down the stream in order to prevent the
possibility of any noise they might make in scrambling up being heard by
the sentinels on the outer postern. Then when they felt quite safe they
grasped the bushes, and speedily climbed the bank. Looking back at the
castle they saw lights still burning there. Short as was the time they
had been in the water they were both chilled to the bone, for it was the
month of February, and the water was bitterly cold.
"It cannot be more than nine o'clock now," Walter said, "for it is not
more than four hours since darkness fell. They are not likely to visit
the dungeon before eight or nine to-morrow, so we can rely upon twelve
hours' start, and if we make the best of our time we ought to be far on
our way by then, though in truth it is not fast traveling on a night
like this through a strange country. I would that the stars were
shining. However, the direction of the wind and rain will be a guide to
us, and we shall soon strike the road we traveled yesterday, and can
follow that till morning."
They were not long before they found the track, and then started at a
brisk pace along it. All night they struggled on through wind and rain
until the first dawn enabled them to see the objects in the surrounding
country; and making for the forest which extended to within a mile of
the road, they entered deep into its shelter, and there, utterly
exhausted, threw themselves down on the wet ground. After a few hours of
uneasy sleep they woke, and taking their place near the edge of the
forest watched for the passage of any party which might be in pursuit,
but until nightfall none came along.
"They have not discovered our flight," Ralph said at last, "or they
would have passed long before this. Sir Philip doubtless imagines that
we are drowned. The water was within a few inches of the sill when we
started, and must soon have flooded the dungeon; and did he trouble to
look in the morning, which is unlikely enough seeing that he would be
sure of our fate, he would be unable to descend the stairs, and could
not reach to the door, and so discover that the bar had been removed.
No; whatever his motive may have been in compassing my death, he is
doubtless satisfied that he has attained it, and we need have no further
fear of pursuit from him. The rain has ceased, and I think that it will
be a fine night; we will walk on, and if we come across a barn will make
free to enter it, and stripping off our clothing to dry, will sleep in
the hay, and pursue our journey in the morning. From our travel-stained
appearance any who may meet us will take us for two wayfarers going to
take service in the army at Amiens."
It was not until nearly midnight that they came upon such a place as
they sought, then after passing a little village they found a shed
standing apart. Entering it they found that it was tenanted by two cows.
Groping about they presently came upon a heap of forage, and taking off
their outer garments lay down on this, covering themselves thickly with
it. The shed was warm and comfortable and they were soon asleep, and
awaking at daybreak they found that their clothes had dried somewhat.
The sun was not yet up when they started, but it soon rose, and ere noon
their garments had dried, and they felt for the first time comfortable.
They met but few people on the road, and these passed them with the
ordinary salutations.
They had by this time left Amiens on the right, and by nightfall were
well on their way toward Calais. Early in the morning they had purchased
some bread at a village through which they passed; Walter's
Norman-French being easily understood, and exciting no surprise or
suspicion. At nightfall they slept in a shed within a mile of the ruins
of the castle of Pres, and late next evening entered the English
encampment at New Town. After going to his tent, where he and Ralph
changed their garments and partook of a hearty meal, Walter proceeded to
the pavilion of the prince, who hailed his entrance with the greatest
surprise.
"Why, Sir Walter," he exclaimed, "what good saint has brought you here?
I have but an hour since received a message from the Count of Evreux to
the effect that you were a prisoner in the hands of Sir Philip de
Holbeaut, with whom I must treat for your ransom. I was purporting to
send off a herald to-morrow to ask at what sum he held you; and now you
appear in flesh and blood before us! But first, before you tell us your
story, I must congratulate you on your gallant defense of the Castle of
Pres, which is accounted by all as one of the most valiant deeds of the
war. When two days passed without a messenger from you coming hither, I
feared that you were beleaguered, and started that evening with six
hundred men-at-arms. We arrived at daybreak, to find only a smoking
ruin. Luckily among the crowd of dead upon the breach we found one of
your men-at-arms who still breathed, and after some cordial had been
given him, and his wounds stanched, he was able to tell us the story of
the siege. But it needed not his tale to tell us how stanchly you had
defended the castle, for the hundreds of dead who lay outside of the
walls, and still more the mass who piled the breach, and the many who
lay in the castle yard spoke for themselves of the valor with which the
castle had been defended. As the keep was gutted by fire, and the man
could tell us naught of what had happened after he had been stricken
down at the breach, we knew not whether you and your brave garrison had
perished in the flames. We saw the penthouse beneath which they had
labored to cut through the wall, but the work had ceased before the
holes were large enough for entry, and we hoped that you might have seen
that further resistance was in vain, and have made terms for your lives;
indeed we heard from the country people that certain prisoners had been
taken to Amiens. I rested one day at Pres, and the next rode back here,
and forthwith dispatched a herald to the Count of Evreux at Amiens
asking for news of the garrison; but now he has returned with word that
twenty-four men-at-arms and fifty-eight archers are prisoners in the
count's hands, and that he is ready to exchange them against an equal
number of French prisoners; but that you, with a man-at-arms, were in
the keeping of Sir Philip of Holbeaut, with whom I must treat for your
ransom. And now tell me how it is that I see you here. Has your captor,
confiding in your knightly word to send him the sum agreed upon, allowed
you to return? Tell me the sum and my treasurer shall to-morrow pay it
over to a herald, who shall carry it to Holbeaut."
"Thanks, your royal highness, for your generosity," Walter replied, "but
there is no ransom to be paid."
And he then proceeded to narrate the incidents of his captivity at
Holbeaut and his escape from the castle. His narration was frequently
interrupted by exclamations of surprise and indignation from the prince
and the knights present.
"Well, this well-nigh passes all belief," the prince exclaimed when he
had concluded. "It is an outrage upon all laws of chivalry and honor.
What could have induced this caitiff knight, instead of treating you
with courtesy and honor until your ransom arrived, to lodge you in a
foul dungeon, where, had you not made your escape, your death would have
been brought about that very night by the rising water? Could it be,
think you, that his brain is distraught by some loss or injury which may
have befallen him at our hands during the war and worked him up to a
blind passion of hatred against all Englishmen?"
"I think not that, your royal highness," Walter replied. "His manner was
cool and deliberate, and altogether free from any signs of madness.
Moreover, it would seem that he had specially marked me down beforehand,
since, as I have told you, he had bargained with the Count of Evreux for
the possession of my person should I escape with life at the capture of
the castle. It seems rather as if he must have had some private enmity
against me, although what the cause may be I cannot imagine, seeing that
I have never, to my knowledge, before met him, and have only heard his
name by common report."
"Whatever be the cause," the prince said, "we will have satisfaction for
it, and I will beg the king, my father, to write at once to Philip of
Valois protesting against the treatment that you have received, and
denouncing Sir Philip of Holbeaut as a base and dishonored knight, whom,
should he fall into our hands, we will commit at once to the hangman."
Upon the following day Walter was called before the king, and related to
him in full the incidents of the siege and of his captivity and escape;
and the same day King Edward sent off a letter to Philip of Valois
denouncing Sir Philip Holbeaut as a dishonored knight, and threatening
retaliation upon the French prisoners in his hands.
A fortnight later an answer was received from the King of France saying
that he had inquired into the matter, and had sent a seneschal, who had
questioned Sir Philip Holbeaut and some of the men-at-arms in the
castle, and that he found that King Edward had been grossly imposed upon
by a fictitious tale. Sir Walter Somers had, he found, been treated with
all knightly courtesy, and believing him to be an honorable knight and
true to his word, but slight watch had been kept over him. He had basely
taken advantage of this trust, and with the man-at-arms with him had
escaped from the castle in order to avoid payment of his ransom, and had
now invented these gross and wicked charges against Sir Philip Holbeaut
as a cloak to his own dishonor.
Walter was furious when he heard the contents of this letter, and the
king and Black Prince were no less indignant. Although they doubted him
not for a moment, Walter begged that Ralph might be brought before them
and examined strictly as to what had taken place, in order that they
might see that his statements tallied exactly with those he had made.
When this had been done Walter obtained permission from the king to
dispatch a cartel to Sir Philip de Holbeaut denouncing him as a perjured
and dishonored knight and challenging him to meet him in mortal conflict
at any time and place that he might name. At the same time the king
dispatched a letter to Philip of Valois saying that the statements of
the French knight and his followers were wholly untrue, and begging that
a time might be appointed for the meeting of the two knights in the
lists.
To this King Philip replied that he had ordered all private quarrels in
France to be laid aside during the progress of the war, and that so long
as an English foot remained upon French soil he would give no
countenance to his knights throwing away the lives which they owed to
France in private broils.
"You must wait, Sir Walter, you see," the king said, "until you may
perchance meet him in the field of battle. In the mean time, to show how
lightly I esteem the foul charge brought against you, and how much I
hold and honor the bravery which you showed in defending the castle
which my son the prince intrusted to you, as well as upon other
occasions, I hereby promote you to the rank of knight banneret."
Events now passed slowly before Calais. Queen Philippa and many of her
ladies crossed the Channel and joined her husband, and these added much
to the gayety of the life in camp. The garrison at Calais was, it was
known, in the sorest straits for the want of food, and at last the news
came that the King of France, with a huge army of two hundred thousand
men, was moving to its relief. They had gathered at Hesdin, at which
rendezvous the king had arrived in the early part of April; but it was
not until the 27th of July that the whole army was collected, and
marching by slow steps advanced toward the English position.
King Edward had taken every precaution to guard all the approaches to
the city. The ground was in most places too soft and sandy to admit of
the construction of defensive works; but the fleet was drawn up close
inshore to cover the line of sand-hills by the sea with arrows and war
machines, while the passages of the marshes, which extended for a
considerable distance round the town, were guarded by the Earl of
Lancaster and a body of chosen troops, while the other approaches to the
city were covered by the English camp.
The French reconnoitering parties found no way open to attack the
English unless under grievous disadvantages. The Cardinals of Tusculum,
St. John, and St. Paul endeavored to negotiate terms of peace, and
commissioners on both sides met. The terms offered by Philip were,
however, by no means so favorable as Edward, after his own victorious
operations and those of his armies in Brittany and Guienne, had a right
to expect, and the negotiations were broken off.
The following day the French king sent in a message to Edward saying
that he had examined the ground in every direction in order to advance
and give battle, but had found no means of doing so. He therefore
summoned the king to come forth from the marshy ground in which he was
encamped and to fight in the open plain; and he offered to send four
French knights, who, with four English of the same rank, should choose a
fair plain in the neighborhood, according to the usages of chivalry.
Edward had little over thirty thousand men with him; but the same
evening that Philip's challenge was received a body of seventeen
thousand Flemings and English, detached from an army which had been
doing good service on the borders of Flanders, succeeded in passing
round the enemy's host and in effecting a junction with the king's army.
Early the next morning, after having consulted with his officers, Edward
returned an answer to the French king, saying that he agreed to his
proposal, and inclosed a safe-conduct for any four French knights who
might be appointed to arrange with the same number of English the place
of battle.
The odds were indeed enormous, the French being four to one; but Edward,
after the success of Cressy, which had been won by the Black Prince's
division, which bore a still smaller proportion to the force engaging
it, might well feel confident in the valor of his troops. His envoys, on
arriving at the French camp, found that Philip had apparently changed
his mind. He declined to discuss the matter with which they were
charged, and spoke only of the terms upon which Edward would be willing
to raise the siege of Calais. As they had no authority on this subject
the English knights returned to their camp, where the news was received
with great disappointment, so confident did all feel in their power to
defeat the huge host of the French. But even greater was the
astonishment the next morning, when, before daylight, the tents of the
French were seen in one great flame, and it was found that the king and
all his host were retreating at full speed. The Earls of Lancaster and
Northampton, with a large body of horse, at once started in pursuit, and
harassed the retreating army on its march toward Amiens.
No satisfactory reasons ever have been assigned for this extraordinary
step on the part of the French king. He had been for months engaged in
collecting a huge army, and he had now an opportunity of fighting the
English in a fair field with a force four times as great as their own.
The only means indeed of accounting for his conduct is by supposing him
affected by temporary aberration of mind, which many other facts in his
history render not improbable. The fits of rage so frequently recorded
of him border upon madness, and a number of strange actions highly
detrimental to his own interests which he committed can only be
accounted for as the acts of a diseased mind. This view has been to some
extent confirmed by the fact that less than half a century afterward
insanity declared itself among his descendants.
A few hours after the departure of the French the French standard was
lowered on the walls of Calais, and news was brought to Edward that the
governor was upon the battlements and desired to speak with some
officers of the besieging army. Sir Walter Manny and Lord Bisset were
sent to confer with him, and found that his object was to obtain the
best terms he could. The English knights, knowing the determination of
the king on the subject, were forced to tell him that no possibility
existed of conditions being granted, but that the king demanded their
unconditional surrender, reserving to himself entirely the right whom to
pardon and whom to put to death.
The governor remonstrated on the severe terms, and said that rather than
submit to them he and his soldiers would sally out and die sword in
hand. Sir Walter Manny found the king inexorable. The strict laws of war
in those days justified the barbarous practice of putting to death the
garrison of a town captured under such circumstances. Calais had been
for many years a nest of pirates, and vessels issuing from its port had
been a scourge to the commerce of England and Flanders, and the king was
fully determined to punish it severely. Sir Walter Manny interceded long
and boldly, and represented to the king that none of his soldiers would
willingly defend a town on his behalf from the day on which he put to
death the people of Calais, as beyond doubt the French would retaliate
in every succeeding siege. The other nobles and knights joined their
entreaties to those of Sir Walter Manny, and the king finally consented
to yield in some degree. He demanded that six of the most notable
burghers of the town, with bare heads and feet, and with ropes about
their necks and the keys of the fortress in their hands, should deliver
themselves up for execution. On these conditions he agreed to spare the
rest. With these terms Sir Walter Manny returned to Sir John of Vienne.
The governor left the battlements, and proceeding to the market-place
ordered the bell to be rung. The famished and despairing citizens
gathered, a haggard crowd, to hear their doom. A silence followed the
narration of the hard conditions of surrender by the governor, and sobs
and cries alone broke the silence which succeeded. Then Eustace St.
Pierre, the wealthiest and most distinguished of the citizens, came
forward and offered himself as one of the victims, saying, "Sad pity and
shame would it be to let all of our fellow-citizens die of famine or the
sword when means could be found to save them." John of Aire, James and
Peter de Vissant, and another whose name has not come down to us,
followed his example, and stripping to their shirts set out for the
camp, Sir John of Vienne, who, from a late wound, was unable to walk,
riding at their head on horseback. The whole population accompanied them
weeping bitterly until they came to the place where Sir Walter Manny was
awaiting them. Here the crowd halted, and the knight, promising to do
his best to save them, led them to the tent where the king had
assembled all his nobles around him. When the tidings came that the
burghers of Calais had arrived, Edward issued out with his retinue,
accompanied by Queen Philippa and the Black Prince.
"Behold, sire," Sir Walter Manny said, "the representatives of the town
of Calais!"
The king made no reply while John of Vienne surrendered his sword and,
kneeling with the burghers, said: "Gentle lord and king, behold, we six,
who were once the greatest citizens and merchants of Calais, bring you
the keys of the town and castle, and give ourselves up to your pleasure,
placing ourselves in the state in which you see us by our own free will
to save the rest of the people of the city, who have already suffered
many ills. We pray you, therefore, to have pity and mercy upon us for
the sake of your high nobleness."
All present were greatly affected at this speech, and at the aspect of
men who thus offered their lives for their fellow-citizens. The king's
countenance alone remained unchanged, and he ordered them to be taken to
instant execution. Then Sir Walter Manny and all the nobles with tears
besought the king to have mercy, not only for the sake of the citizens,
but for that of his own fame, which would be tarnished by so cruel a
deed.
"Silence, Sir Walter!" cried the king. "Let the executioner be called.
The men of Calais have put to death so many of my subjects that I will
also put these men to death."
At this moment Queen Philippa, who had been weeping bitterly, cast
herself upon her knees before the king. "Oh, gentle lord," she cried,
"since I have repassed the seas to see you I have neither asked nor
required anything at your hand; now, then, I pray you humbly, and
require as a boon, that for the sake of the Son of Mary, and for love of
me, you take these men to mercy."
The king stood for a moment in silence, and then said:
"Ah! lady, I would that you had been otherwhere than here; but you beg
of me so earnestly I must not refuse you, though I grant your prayer
with pain. I give them to you; take them, and do your will."
Then the queen rose from her knees, and bidding the burghers rise, she
caused clothing and food to be given them, and sent them away free.
Sir Walter Manny, with a considerable body of men-at-arms, now took
possession of the town of Calais. The anger of the king soon gave way to
better feelings; all the citizens, without exception, were fed by his
bounty. Such of them as preferred to depart instead of swearing fealty
to the English monarch were allowed to carry away what effects they
could bear upon their persons, and were conducted in safety to the
French town of Guisnes. Eustace de St. Pierre was granted almost all the
possessions he had formerly held in Calais, and also a considerable
pension; and he and all who were willing to remain were well and kindly
treated. The number was large, for the natural indignation which they
felt at their base desertion by the French king induced very many of the
citizens to remain and become subjects of Edward. The king issued a
proclamation inviting English traders and others to come across and take
up their residence in Calais, bestowing upon them the houses and lands
of the French who had left. Very many accepted the invitation, and
Calais henceforth and for some centuries became virtually an English
town.
A truce was now, through the exertions of the pope's legates, made
between England and France, the terms agreed on being very similar to
those of the previous treaty; and when all his arrangements were
finished Edward returned with his queen to England, having been absent
eighteen months, during which time an almost unbroken success had
attended his arms, and the English name had reached a position of
respect and honor in the eyes of Europe far beyond that at which it
previously stood.