1347
Nowhere does the continent of Europe approach Great Britain so closely
as at the straits of Dover, and when our sovereigns were full of the
vain hope of obtaining the crown of France, or at least of regaining
the great possessions that their forefathers has owned as French nobles,
there was no spot so coveted by them as the fortress of Calais, the
possession of which gave an entrance into France.
Thus it was that when, in 1346, Edward III. had beaten Philippe VI. at
the battle of Crecy, the first use he made of his victory was to march
upon Calais, and lay siege to it. The walls were exceedingly strong and
solid, mighty defenses of masonry, of huge thickness and like rocks
for solidity, guarded it, and the king knew that it would be useless to
attempt a direct assault. Indeed, during all the Middle Ages, the modes
of protecting fortifications were far more efficient than the modes of
attacking them. The walls could be made enormously massive, the towers
raised to a great height, and the defenders so completely sheltered by
battlements that they could not easily be injured and could take aim
from the top of their turrets, or from their loophole windows. The gates
had absolute little castles of their own, a moat flowed round the walls
full of water, and only capable of being crossed by a drawbridge, behind
which the portcullis, a grating armed beneath with spikes, was always
ready to drop from the archway of the gate and close up the entrance.
The only chance of taking a fortress by direct attack was to fill up the
moat with earth and faggots, and then raise ladders against the walls;
or else to drive engines against the defenses, battering-rams which
struck them with heavy beams, mangonels which launched stones, sows
whose arched wooden backs protected troops of workmen who tried to
undermine the wall, and moving towers consisting of a succession of
stages or shelves, filled with soldiers, and with a bridge with iron
hooks, capable of being launched from the highest story to the top of
the battlements. The besieged could generally disconcert the battering-
ram by hanging beds or mattresses over the walls to receive the brunt of
the blow, the sows could be crushed with heavy stones, the towers
burnt by well-directed flaming missiles, the ladders overthrown, and in
general the besiegers suffered a great deal more damage than they could
inflict. Cannon had indeed just been brought into use at the battle
of Crecy, but they only consisted of iron bars fastened together with
hoops, and were as yet of little use, and thus there seemed to be little
danger to a well-guarded city from any enemy outside the walls.
King Edward arrived before the place with all his victorious army early
in August, his good knights and squires arrayed in glittering steel
armor, covered with surcoats richly embroidered with their heraldic
bearings; his stout men-at-arms, each of whom was attended by three bold
followers; and his archers, with their crossbows to shoot bolts, and
longbows to shoot arrows of a yard long, so that it used to be said that
each went into battle with three men's lives under his girdle, namely,
the three arrows he kept there ready to his hand. With the King was
his son, Edward, Prince of Wales, who had just won the golden spurs of
knighthood so gallantly at Crecy, when only in his seventeenth year, and
likewise the famous Hainault knight, Sir Walter Mauny, and all that was
noblest and bravest in England.
This whole glittering army, at their head the King's great royal
standard bearing the golden lilies of France quartered with the lions
of England, and each troop guided by the square banner, swallow-tailed
pennon or pointed pennoncel of their leader, came marching to the gates
of Calais, above which floated the blue standard of France with its
golden flowers, and with it the banner of the governor, Sir Jean de
Vienne. A herald, in a rich long robe embroidered with the arms of
England, rode up to the gate, a trumpet sounding before him, and called
upon Sir Jean de Vienne to give up the place to Edward, King of England,
and of France, as he claimed to be. Sir Jean made answer that he held
the town for Philippe, King of France, and that he would defend it to
the last; the herald rode back again and the English began the siege of
the city.
At first they only encamped, and the people of Calais must have seen the
whole plain covered with the white canvas tents, marshalled round
the ensigns of the leaders, and here and there a more gorgeous one
displaying the colours of the owner. Still there was no attack upon the
walls. The warriors were to be seen walking about in the leathern suits
they wore under their armor; or if a party was to be seen with their
coats of mail on, helmet on head, and lance in hand, it was not against
Calais that they came; they rode out into the country, and by and by
might be seen driving back before them herds of cattle and flocks
of sheep or pigs that they had seized and taken away from the poor
peasants; and at night the sky would show red lights where farms and
homesteads had been set on fire. After a time, in front of the tents,
the English were to be seen hard at work with beams and boards, setting
up huts for themselves, and thatching them over with straw or broom.
These wooden houses were all ranged in regular streets, and there was
a marketplace in the midst, whither every Saturday came farmers and
butchers to sell corn and meat, and hay for the horses; and the English
merchants and Flemish weavers would come by sea and by land to bring
cloth, bread, weapons, and everything that could be needed to be sold in
this warlike market.
The Governor, Sir Jean de Vienne, began to perceive that the King did
not mean to waste his men by making vain attacks on the strong walls of
Calais, but to shut up the entrance by land, and watch the coast by sea
so as to prevent any provisions from being taken in, and so to starve
him into surrendering. Sir Jean de Vienne, however, hoped that before he
should be entirely reduced by famine, the King of France would be able
to get together another army and come to his relief, and at any rate he
was determined to do his duty, and hold out for his master to the last.
But as food was already beginning to grow scarce, he was obliged to turn
out such persons as could not fight and had no stores of their own, and
so one Wednesday morning he caused all the poor to be brought together,
men, women, and children, and sent them all out of the town, to the
number of 1,700. It was probably the truest mercy, for he had no food to
give them, and they could only have starved miserably within the town,
or have hindered him from saving it for his sovereign; but to them it
was dreadful to be driven out of house and home, straight down upon
the enemy, and they went along weeping and wailing, till the English
soldiers met them and asked why they had come out. They answered
that they had been put out because they had nothing to eat, and their
sorrowful, famished looks gained pity for them. King Edward sent orders
that not only should they go safely through his camp, but that they
should all rest, and have the first hearty dinner that they had eaten
for many a day, and he sent every one a small sum of money before they
left the camp, so that many of them went on their way praying aloud for
the enemy who had been so kind to them.
A great deal happened whilst King Edward kept watch in his wooden town
and the citizens of Calais guarded their walls. England was invaded
by King David II. of Scotland, with a great army, and the good Queen
Philippa, who was left to govern at home in the name of her little son
Lionel, assembled all the forces that were left at home, and crossed the
Straits of Dover, and a messenger brought King Edward letters from his
Queen to say that the Scots army had been entirely defeated at Nevil's
Cross, near Durham, and that their King was a prisoner, but that he had
been taken by a squire named John Copeland, who would not give him up to
her.
King Edward sent letters to John Copeland to come to him at Calais,
and when the squire had made his journey, the King took him by the
hand saying, 'Ha! welcome, my squire, who by his valor has captured our
adversary the King of Scotland.'
Copeland, falling on one knee, replied, 'If God, out of His great
kindness, has given me the King of Scotland, no one ought to be jealous
of it, for God can, when He pleases, send His grace to a poor squire
as well as to a great Lord. Sir, do not take it amiss if I did not
surrender him to the orders of my lady the Queen, for I hold my lands of
you, and my oath is to you, not to her.'
The King was not displeased with his squire's sturdiness, but made him a
knight, gave him a pension of 500l. a year, and desired him to
surrender his prisoner to the Queen, as his own representative. This was
accordingly done, and King David was lodged in the Tower of London.
Soon after, three days before All Saint's Day, there was a large and gay
fleet to be seen crossing from the white cliffs of Dover, and the King,
his son, and his knights rode down to the landing place to welcome
plump, fair haired Queen Philippa, and all her train of ladies, who had
come in great numbers to visit their husbands, fathers, or brothers in
the wooden town.
Then there was a great Court, and numerous feasts and dances, and the
knights and squires were constantly striving who could do the bravest
deed of prowess to please the ladies. The King of France had placed
numerous knights and men-at-arms in the neighboring towns and castles,
and there were constant fights whenever the English went out foraging,
and many bold deeds that were much admired were done. The great point
was to keep provisions out of the town, and there was much fighting
between the French who tried to bring in supplies, and the English who
intercepted them. Very little was brought in by land, and Sir Jean
de Vienne and his garrison would have been quite starved but for two
sailors of Abbeville, named Marant and Mestriel, who knew the coast
thoroughly, and often, in the dark autumn evenings, would guide in a
whole fleet of little boats, loaded with bread and meat for the starving
men within the city. They were often chased by King Edward's vessels,
and were sometimes very nearly taken, but they always managed to escape,
and thus they still enabled the garrison to hold out.
So all the winter passed, Christmas was kept with brilliant feastings
and high merriment by the King and his Queen in their wooden palace
outside, and with lean cheeks and scanty fare by the besieged within.
Lent was strictly observed perforce by the besieged, and Easter brought
a betrothal in the English camp; a very unwilling one on the part of
the bridegroom, the young Count of Flanders, who loved the French much
better than the English, and had only been tormented into giving his
consent by his unruly vassals because they depended on the wool of
English sheep for their cloth works. So, though King Edward's daughter
Isabel was a beautiful fair-haired girl of fifteen, the young Count
would scarcely look at her; and in the last week before the marriage
day, while her robes and her jewels were being prepared, and her father
and mother were arranging the presents they should make to all their
Court on the wedding day, the bridegroom, when out hawking, gave his
attendants the slip, and galloped off to Paris, where he was welcomed by
King Philippe.
This made Edward very wrathful, and more than ever determined to take
Calais. About Whitsuntide he completed a great wooden castle upon the
seashore, and placed in it numerous warlike engines, with forty men-at-
arms and 200 archers, who kept such a watch upon the harbour that not
even the two Abbeville sailors could enter it, without having their
boats crushed and sunk by the great stones that the mangonels launched
upon them. The townspeople began to feel what hunger really was, but
their spirits were kept up by the hope that their King was at last
collecting an army for their rescue.
And Philippe did collect all his forces, a great and noble army, and
came one night to the hill of Sangate, just behind the English army, the
knights' armor glancing and their pennons flying in the moonlight, so as
to be a beautiful sight to the hungry garrison who could see the white
tents pitched upon the hillside. Still there were but two roads by
which the French could reach their friends in the town--one along the
seacoast, the other by a marshy road higher up the country, and there
was but one bridge by which the river could be crossed. The English
King's fleet could prevent any troops from passing along the coast
road, the Earl of Derby guarded the bridge, and there was a great tower,
strongly fortified, close upon Calais. There were a few skirmishes, but
the French King, finding it difficult to force his way to relieve the
town, sent a party of knights with a challenge to King Edward to come
out of his camp and do battle upon a fair field.
To this Edward made answer, that he had been nearly a year before
Calais, and had spent large sums of money on the siege, and that he had
nearly become master of the place, so that he had no intention of coming
out only to gratify his adversary, who must try some other road if he
could not make his way in by that before him.
Three days were spent in parleys, and then, without the slightest
effort to rescue the brave, patient men within the town, away went King
Philippe of France, with all his men, and the garrison saw the host that
had crowded the hill of Sangate melt away like a summer cloud.
August had come again, and they had suffered privation for a whole year
for the sake of the King who deserted them at their utmost need. They
were in so grievous a state of hunger and distress that the hardiest
could endure no more, for ever since Whitsuntide no fresh provisions had
reached them. The Governor, therefore, went to the battlements and
made signs that he wished to hold a parley, and the King appointed
Lord Basset and Sir Walter Mauny to meet him, and appoint the terms of
surrender.
The Governor owned that the garrison was reduced to the greatest
extremity of distress, and requested that the King would be contented
with obtaining the city and fortress, leaving the soldiers and
inhabitants to depart in peace.
But Sir Walter Mauny was forced to make answer that the King, his lord,
was so much enraged at the delay and expense that Calais had cost him,
that he would only consent to receive the whole on unconditional terms,
leaving him free to slay, or to ransom, or make prisoners whomsoever he
pleased, and he was known to consider that there was a heavy reckoning
to pay, both for the trouble the siege had cost him and the damage the
Calesians had previously done to his ships.
The brave answer was: 'These conditions are too hard for us. We are but
a small number of knights and squires, who have loyally served our
lord and master as you would have done, and have suffered much ill and
disquiet, but we will endure far more than any man has done in such a
post, before we consent that the smallest boy in the town shall fare
worse than ourselves. I therefore entreat you, for pity's sake, to
return to the King and beg him to have compassion, for I have such an
opinion of his gallantry that I think he will alter his mind.'
The King's mind seemed, however, sternly made up; and all that Sir
Walter Mauny and the barons of the council could obtain from him was
that he would pardon the garrison and townsmen on condition that six of
the chief citizens should present themselves to him, coming forth with
bare feet and heads, with halters round their necks, carrying the
keys of the town, and becoming absolutely his own to punish for their
obstinacy as he should think fit.
On hearing this reply, Sir Jean de Vienne begged Sir Walter Mauny
to wait till he could consult the citizens, and, repairing to the
marketplace, he caused a great bell to be rung, at sound of which all
the inhabitants came together in the town hall. When he told them of
these hard terms he could not refrain from weeping bitterly, and wailing
and lamentation arose all round him. Should all starve together, or
sacrifice their best and most honored after all suffering in common so
long?
Then a voice was heard; it was that of the richest burgher in the town,
Eustache de St. Pierre. 'Messieurs high and low,' he said, 'it would be
a sad pity to suffer so many people to die through hunger, if it could
be prevented; and to hinder it would be meritorious in the eyes of our
Saviour. I have such faith and trust in finding grace before God, if I
die to save my townsmen, that I name myself as the first of the six.'
As the burgher ceased, his fellow townsmen wept aloud, and many, amid
tears and groans, threw themselves at his feet in a transport of grief
and gratitude. Another citizen, very rich and respected, rose up and
said, 'I will be second to my comrade, Eustache.' His name was Jean
Daire. After him, Jacques Wissant, another very rich man, offered
himself as companion to these, who were both his cousins; and his
brother Pierre would not be left behind: and two more, unnamed, made up
this gallant band of men willing to offer their lives for the rescue of
their fellow townsmen.
Sir Jean de Vienne mounted a little horse--for he had been wounded,
and was still lame--and came to the gate with them, followed by all the
people of the town, weeping and wailing, yet, for their own sakes and
their children's not daring to prevent the sacrifice. The gates were
opened, the governor and the six passed out, and the gates were again
shut behind them. Sir Jean then rode up to Sir Walter Mauny, and told
him how these burghers had voluntarily offered themselves, begging him
to do all in his power to save them; and Sir Walter promised with his
whole heart to plead their cause. De Vienne then went back into the
town, full of heaviness and anxiety; and the six citizens were led by
Sir Walter to the presence of the King, in his full Court. They all
knelt down, and the foremost said: 'Most gallant King, you see before
you six burghers of Calais, who have all been capital merchants, and who
bring you the keys of the castle and town. We yield ourselves to your
absolute will and pleasure, in order to save the remainder of the
inhabitants of Calais, who have suffered much distress and misery.
Condescend, therefore, out of your nobleness of mind, to have pity on
us.'
Strong emotion was excited among all the barons and knights who stood
round, as they saw the resigned countenances, pale and thin with
patiently endured hunger, of these venerable men, offering themselves
in the cause of their fellow townsmen. Many tears of pity were shed; but
the King still showed himself implacable, and commanded that they should
be led away, and their heads stricken off. Sir Walter Mauny interceded
for them with all his might, even telling the King that such an
execution would tarnish his honor, and that reprisals would be made on
his own garrisons; and all the nobles joined in entreating pardon
for the citizens, but still without effect; and the headsman had been
actually sent for, when Queen Philippa, her eyes streaming with tears,
threw herself on her knees amongst the captives, and said, 'Ah, gentle
sir, since I have crossed the sea, with much danger, to see you, I have
never asked you one favor; now I beg as a boon to myself, for the sake
of the Son of the Blessed Mary, and for your love to me, that you will
be merciful to these men!'
For some time the King looked at her in silence; then he exclaimed:
'Dame, dame, would that you had been anywhere than here! You have
entreated in such a manner that I cannot refuse you; I therefore give
these men to you, to do as you please with.'
Joyfully did Queen Philippa conduct the six citizens to her own
apartments, where she made them welcome, sent them new garments,
entertained them with a plentiful dinner, and dismissed them each with
a gift of six nobles. After this, Sir Walter Mauny entered the city,
and took possession of it; retaining Sir Jean de Vienne and the other
knights and squires till they should ransom themselves, and sending out
the old French inhabitants; for the King was resolved to people the city
entirely of English, in order to gain a thoroughly strong hold of this
first step in France.
The King and Queen took up their abode in the city; and the houses of
Jean Daire were, it appears, granted to the Queen--perhaps, because she
considered the man himself as her charge, and wished to secure them for
him--and her little daughter Margaret was, shortly after, born in one of
his houses. Eustache de St. Pierre was taken into high favor, and placed
in charge of the new citizens whom the King placed in the city.
Indeed, as this story is told by no chronicler but Froissart, some have
doubted of it, and thought the violent resentment thus imputed to Edward
III inconsistent with his general character; but it is evident that
the men of Calais had given him strong provocation by attacks on his
shipping--piracies which are not easily forgiven--and that he considered
that he had a right to make an example of them. It is not unlikely that
he might, after all, have intended to forgive them, and have given the
Queen the grace of obtaining their pardon, so as to excuse himself from
the fulfillment of some over-hasty threat. But, however this may have
been, nothing can lessen the glory of the six grave and patient men who
went forth, by their own free will, to meet what might be a cruel
and disgraceful death, in order to obtain the safety of their fellow-
townsmen.
Very recently, in the summer of 1864, an instance has occurred of self-
devotion worthy to be recorded with that of Eustache de St. Pierre. The
City of Palmyra, in Tennessee, one of the Southern States of America,
had been occupied by a Federal army. An officer of this army was
assassinated, and, on the cruel and mistaken system of taking reprisals,
the general arrested ten of the principal inhabitants, and condemned
them to be shot, as deeming the city responsible for the lives of his
officers. One of them was the highly respected father of a large family,
and could ill be spared. A young man, not related to him, upon this,
came forward and insisted on being taken in his stead, as a less
valuable life. And great as was the distress of his friend, this
generous substitution was carried out, and not only spared a father to
his children, but showed how the sharpest strokes of barbarity can still
elicit light from the dark stone--light that but for these blows might
have slept unseen.