we have seen our enemies."
He also added:
"I am on the right heritage of Madam, my mother, which was given her in
dowry. I will defend it against my adversary, Philip of Valois."
We do not, of course, know his motives positively, but we may be pretty
sure that he would not have been so eager to defend his mother's
possessions, had he not felt sure that it would be to his advantage to
do so. Accordingly he and his forces encamped in the little village of
Crecy, behind which the ground rises into a broad ridge and from here
could be seen the surrounding country through which the French army
must advance, and the young prince eagerly strained his eyes in search
of the advancing enemy, so eager was he to take part in a real battle.
At midnight, when all the army had been cared for and suitably arranged
in their tents, King Edward lay down for a much needed rest, but was up
again at dawn, when he and the young prince, not only heard mass but
also received the sacrament, and we can fancy how that solemn preface
to a day which proved so momentous to the Black Prince, must have
lingered long in his memory as a sacred recollection.
It was Saturday, the 26th of August, 1346 when King Edward drew his men
up in three divisions--one commanded by the prince, assisted by the
Earls of Warwick and Oxford, which division consisted of eight hundred
men at arms, two thousand archers and one thousand Welsh-men. The
second division under Lords Arundel and Northampton had only eight
hundred men at arms, twelve hundred archers, while the third division,
under the king's own command, had seven hundred men at arms and two
thousand archers. This division occupied the summit of the hill, from
which the king watched the entire battle, never engaging in it--and for
this reason.
King Philip was so determined to destroy the English army, that he had
hoisted the sacred banner of France, the great scarlet flag,
embroidered with the gold lily which was the emblem of France, as a
sign that no mercy whatever would be shown to the English, under any
conditions. When this Oriflamme, as it was called, was raised, and King
Edward saw it, he realised how great the chances of his death would be,
should he engage in the battle, and that this would expose, not only
the army, but the whole kingdom to the gravest danger, so throughout
the entire battle he remained in the tower of a wind-mill on the ridge
overlooking the battle-field, while the young prince, who had only been
knighted a month before, was practically left in command of the entire
army, and went forward into the very heat of the combat.
When the army had been suitably arranged and every earl, baron and
knight knew what he was to do in the hour of battle, King Edward
mounted his small white horse and rode slowly from line to line among
his men, talking earnestly to them of their duty as warriors, and
urging them to defend his rights with all their strength. His words and
smile were so stimulating that the men were filled with courage as they
listened to him, and every man promised to do as the king wished. Then
he ordered them all to eat and drink heartily, that they might be
thoroughly refreshed in body as well as in spirit and after fulfilling
his command, his small army, sat down on the ground at nine o'clock in
the morning with their helmets and cross-bows beside them, and
patiently waited for the attack of an enemy of ten times their number.
Meanwhile, King Philip and his army having crossed the Somme at last,
were advancing towards them as fast as possible, and when they were
only a short distance from Crecy, King Philip sent four knights ahead
of the army, to reconnoitre and bring back news to him of the position
and condition of the English forces.
When his knights saw the little army of the English sitting quietly on
the ground, calm and courageous, ready to fight when the moment for
combat should come--they went back to King Philip and advised him to
allow his men who were weary after a long, hard march, to halt and rest
over night, so that they might be as well fitted for the battle as the
English were. King Philip felt that this was good advice and at once
issued the command to halt. The foremost ranks of his horsemen obeyed
the order, but the horsemen in the rear pressed forward regardless of
the order, determined to have the glory of victory at once, and rode on
and on, with fast and furious frenzy until they came in sight of that
little army, sitting on the high ridge, waiting for their attack, when
they suddenly were filled with apprehension and turned back, throwing
all the unmanageable multitude of men behind them into the wildest kind
of confusion, but on they charged, their every step watched by the
English army, and as the young Prince saw them, in his breast beat the
heart of a happy warrior on whose broad young shoulders the burden of
his first great responsibility rested lightly. He had been dressed for
the battle by the king's own hand, in glistening black armour, with
shield and helmet of burnished iron and the horse he rode was as black
as his armour, from which he gained the title of the Black Prince,
which he was called ever afterwards.
[Illustration: _The Black Prince at Crecy_]
On came the French, with Philip at their head--and his great reliance
at this critical moment of attack was on the skill of fifteen thousand
archers from Genoa who were his most valued allies. They were extremely
tired after their long march on foot, and wished to rest before the
attack was made, but seeing the confusion into which his ranks had been
thrown, Philip commanded them to give battle at once. They murmured,
but were about to comply, when nature unexpectedly conspired to help
the English forces.
The sky, a few moments before blue and cloudless, became overcast, a
tremendous storm gathered from the west, broke in all its fury of rain,
hail and thunder and lightning--even a partial eclipse of the sun
occurred. There was a terrible downpour, and to the horror of the
moment was added the hoarse cries of crows and ravens which fluttered
before the storm, and in the gathering darkness, circled around the
heads of the army, terrifying the Italian bowmen who were
superstitious, and not accustomed to the severity of Northern storms.
At last the sky cleared, the clouds lifted and the sun shone out again
in dazzling brightness, shining directly in the eyes of the Italians,
and not only were they blinded by it, but their bows had become so wet
by the rain that when they attempted to draw them, they found it
impossible.
The sun was shining at the back of the English archers, who could
consequently see just where to aim, and as they had kept their bows in
cases during the storm, they were perfectly dry, and now the English
began to shoot--shot so well and so fast that their arrows poured down
like rain on the Genoese, who had never before encountered such archers
as these. Unable to stand the storm of shots, they turned and fled
ignominiously and from the moment of their flight the panic of the
French army was so great that the day was lost.
Seeing the uselessness of the fleeing archers, King Philip was enraged
at them and ordered the soldiers to kill them, as they were simply
barring the way of his other men to no purpose. So the poor archers
were cut down by the swords of their own comrades, and the French
horsemen waded through their blood and approached the English.
The confusion among the ranks of the French increased. The old King of
Bohemia who was blind, but filled with zeal for the cause, being
surrounded by his followers, asked how the battle was progressing. When
told the truth he begged to be led forward that he might strike one
blow with his sword for the deliverance of France. His followers
consented to his wish, but fearing that they might lose him in the
press of battle, they tied the reins of their bridles together, with
him in their midst, but alas, all were killed together. The crest of
the King of Bohemia which consisted of three white ostrich feathers,
with the motto Ich dien (I serve) were taken by the Black Prince in
memory of that day, and the crest and motto have ever since been used
by the Prince of Wales.
During all the time that the battle was raging, King Edward was
watching from his hill-top, his glance never for one moment straying
from the panorama of the battlefield, as the combat deepened into a
mortal one. The French cavalry was close upon the Black Prince. He and
his men were in great danger. He was young and inexperienced. The Earl
of Northampton hastily sent a messenger to the king, begging him to
come down to his son's aid.
King Edward, who had been watching the prince's manoeuvres with
breathless interest, and had determined on his course in regard to the
lad, answered the messenger with a question.
"Is my son killed?"
"No sire, please God," replied the messenger.
"Is he wounded?"
"No, sire."
"Is he thrown to the ground?"
"No, my lord, not so, but he is in the thick of the fray and is in
great need of your assistance."
"Return to those who sent you," answered the king, "and tell them not
to send for me again while my son is still alive, but to let the youth
win his spurs, for I intend if it please God that this day be his."
Such a retort as this showed plainly that King Edward had the greatest
confidence in his son's courage and ability and the bold words being
repeated to the prince and his men, so raised their spirits that they
fought more valiantly than before. Again and again the French army
charged on the enemy, but it was of no use. At one moment, the Black
Prince was in mortal danger, having been wounded and thrown to the
ground, and was only saved by a brave knight, Richard de Beaumont, who
was carrying the huge banner of Wales, and who, seeing the prince fall,
instantly threw the banner over him as he lay on the ground, and stood
on it until he had driven back the enemy, after which the prince was
raised up and revived, and took his place again in the battle.
Through all that long summer evening of August 26th, and far into the
night, the Black Prince and his army fought the army of France, fought
until the flower of the French force lay dead, and their troops were
utterly discouraged, and disorganised.
Then seeing that the case was hopeless for them, and that the victory
had been won by the sturdy little English army, John of Hainault seized
the bridle of King Philip's horse and led him away, led him away from
the danger and tumult of the battle-field. Out into the quiet country
they rode in silence, with five horsemen only following them. On they
journeyed through the blackness of the night and on until they reached
Amiens. But of their flight or journey or destination, not one of the
victors thought or cared, for the battle-field had become the seat of
wild rejoicing and of revelry.
On the field of Crecy great fires were being lighted by tired but
jubilant warriors, and torches flamed high to celebrate the victory of
the Black Prince and his army over an enemy ten times as strong in
numbers. And as the torches flashed and the fire-glow flamed high, King
Edward came down from his hill-top and before the whole army, in the
red glow of the blazing fires put his arms around the young prince, his
son, who had given battle so bravely to the French, and said with
solemn earnestness:
"Sweet son, God give you good perseverance. You are my true son, right
royally have you acquitted yourself this day, and worthy are you of a
crown."
What a moment that was for the young prince!
With the reverence due not only to a king but to his father, for so
were sons taught in those chivalrous days, Edward the Black Prince,
though hot with the joy of victory, bowed to the ground before his
father and gave him all the honour, as his king and commander.
And so ended the great day on which was fought the memorable battle of
Crecy, the result of which was not only deliverance of the English army
from an imminent danger, but also later the conquest of Calais, which
King Edward almost immediately besieged and won, and which remained in
the possession of the English from then until the time of Queen Mary.
And from that day, the Black Prince became the idol of the English
people, and the terror of the French, who cherished an almost
superstitious fear of his youthful valour and strategy in battle, and
the king, realising that there was stern stuff in his son, from that
day treated him as an equal, and discussed matters of gravest
importance with him, as with one in whose counsel he had implicit
confidence, and on the day after the battle, they might have been seen
arm in arm, walking together on the field of the combat, talking it
over in detail, and as they walked, the king asked his son:
"What think you of a battle? Is it an agreeable game?"
What the prince answered we do not know, but we do know that in after
years whenever he had the game of war to play, he played it in such a
masterly manner that his name has come down to us as the most famous
warrior of his age. And he won his spurs, remember, at the battle of
Crecy, when only a boy of sixteen years!
TYRANT TAD:
The Boy in the White House
At the time when the Civil War was at its height, and Abraham Lincoln,
who was then President of the United States, was staggering under an
almost crushing load of responsibility, because of his great anxiety
for the future of his beloved country, there were many of his enemies,
who were bitterly opposed to the continuance of the struggle between
the North and the South for the freeing of the slaves, who used to call
the good and great president "tyrant" a most unjust word to use in
reference to the big-souled, tender-hearted Lincoln.
One day an eminent politician who was leaving the White House, met an
acquaintance and in passing him said with a quizzical smile: "I have
just had an interview with the tyrant of the White House."
Then noticing his companion's surprise at his making such a speech, he
added: "_Tad!_" and passed on, chuckling over his little joke.
And to Tad the title really belonged--to President Lincoln's youngest
son--who was a small whirlwind of impetuous despotism; and woe to the
man, woman or child who resisted his tempestuous tyranny.
Few did, and the most willing of all his subjects was the great
President, whom tyrant Tad ruled despotically.
Before President Lincoln's day there had been a succession of
administrations when no children's voices rang through the stately
rooms and corridors of the White House, so it was indeed a change when
the three Lincoln boys arrived, in March of 1861, bringing with them
all the clatter and chatter which belongs to normal healthy boyhood.
Robert, who was then eighteen years old only stayed in the White House
for his father's inauguration, then went back to Harvard to finish his
education, and Willie, and Theodore or "Tad" as he was always called,
from his own pronunciation of his name, (the little fellow had a
serious defect in his speech which made it hard for him to pronounce
words clearly) were left to make the dignified White House echo with
their merry laughter and conversations, as they romped through its long
passages, careless of the fact that they were on historic ground, as
they scattered their balls, bats, kites and other treasures wherever
they chose.
They had few playmates, with whom they were allowed to play frequently,
except two boys, the sons of a government official, and the four boys'
fertile brains were keen to think out all sorts of exciting and
mischievous plans which kept their families on the alert to restrain
their actions within the bounds of safety and propriety. The boys who
were playmates of Tad and Willie were Budd and Hally Taft, and although
they were older than the Lincoln boys, they were much like them in
temperament and in looks, Budd was fair like Willie Lincoln, and Hally
dark, and more like Tad, whose eyes were bright and brown, in keeping
with his quick imperious disposition.
One evening in the spring, the four boys were taken to see a minstrel
show in the city. They were thrilled by what they heard and saw, and
decided on the spot that they would give a show themselves, and began
between the numbers to plan when and where to give it. But, on the
following day, when they discussed it again there seemed to be no room
suited to their plans either in the White House or at the Taft's, but
finally they decided that by having some partitions in the Taft attic,
which was roughly divided into small bedrooms, taken down, they could
be accommodated. However, fortune favoured the preservation of the Taft
home by a sudden shifting of the boys' interest in the direction of the
White House. Mrs. Lincoln was called to New York for a week; Willie and
Tad had such severe colds and the weather was so rainy, that she wished
them to be amused in the house during her absence, and that could only
be done by giving them the society of their playmates. Accordingly one
day Hally and Budd were thrown into a state of feverish excitement by
the arrival of a messenger with Mrs. Lincoln's invitation for them to
spend a whole week at the White House.
Besides delivering the invitation, the messenger also asked whether
Willie and Tad were there, as they had not been at home since breakfast
time, although they had been traced to the Capitol, where they had been
seen sitting in the gallery of the House of Representatives, and later
treated to lunch in the restaurant of Congress by a gentleman whom the
boys always amused, then they had been seen playing marbles with some
of the pages in the Capitol, but now where were they? The messenger who
was well acquainted with the truants, seemed more amused than alarmed
over their disappearance, and soon carried back a note to Mrs. Lincoln
accepting the invitation for Budd and Hally, provided the truants
should be found! While Budd and Hally were excitedly helping to pack
their clothes in a small valise, for the visit, in walked the
wanderers. They carried a very large and much dilapidated umbrella
which Tad said they had borrowed from the cook--doubtless a Southern
mammy who took an endless delight in the boys' pranks, and aided them
all she could in their mischievous plans. Tad's pockets were bulging
with marbles, which showed how successfully he had played his game with
the pages earlier in the day, and both boys had entirely forgotten that
they had bad colds. All four soon set out in high glee together, while
Tad gave a whoop of joy as they left the house.
"You bet we'll have a good time!" he exclaimed, and from all
descriptions of that visit, they certainly must have had it.
On the following day there was a review, and the boys all rode in the
President's carriage, looking as severe and dignified as if they had
never had a mischievous idea, but, with a feeling of mistrust that such
dignity might be only skin deep, a member of the Taft family went to
the White House to find out what was going on. To her relief she saw
that the building was still standing, but on being ushered in, she
noticed that all the orderlies, soldiers and doorkeepers wore broad
grins. Asking where the boys were, and being ushered upstairs she came
upon Tad, who instantly called out:
"Oh, say, we've got a circus in the attic. We're minstrels. I've got to
be blacked up and Willie can't get his dress on--it's too big. Pin it
up, will you? Hurry!"
The horrified question, "Does the President know it?" was answered
impatiently by Tad.
"Oh, yes, he knows it," said Tad. "He doesn't care. He's got some
general or other in there. Come on--hurry!"
Willie was meanwhile struggling with the long, flowered skirt of a
lilac silk reception dress of Mrs. Lincoln's, and Budd was getting into
one of her ruffled morning wrappers, while Tad began to sing at the top
of his voice:
"Old Abe Lincoln came out of the wilderness----"
"Hush," cautioned Budd, "the President will hear you."
"I don't care if pa does hear, and he don't care either," said Tad.
"We're going to sing that in the show." And sing it they did!
Another day when Tad was shouting out a campaign song at the Tafts'
about "Old Abe splitting rails," Willie asked Mrs. Taft if she did not
think it was disrespectful of Tad to sing such a song. Tad overheard
what he said, and kicked a chair, as he always did when displeased, and
said:
"Well, everybody in this world knows Pa _did_ use to split rails!" But
when Mrs. Taft explained to him why she thought he ought not to say or
sing this, Tad said with equal decision:
"Well, I'll sing John Brown's body then." However headstrong he seemed,
he was really very affectionate, and willing to be convinced that he
was wrong, if any one approached him in the right way.
There was much to occupy the boys' attention in Washington, and they
were especially interested in the models of locomotives and steamboats
in the Patent Office, where they spent much time, and they were also
sometimes to be found making a survey of the White House grounds under
the guidance of a good-natured engineer. At other times they invaded
the McClellans' house, where they were allowed to play with the baby
and where General and Mrs. McClellan were very kind to them, and of
course they never missed a review, even riding in the staff, when the
bridle of Willie's horse was held by the Duc de Chartres and Budd's by
the Comte de Paris, while Hally and Tad rode in front of the aides,
sitting as erect and stiff as if they were the chief features in the
parade.
On another day, Tad was not allowed to go to the review, as he had not
been well the day before. The review took place across the Long Bridge,
and after the President's carriage had passed down the line, a rickety
cart came clattering by, drawn by a shambling old horse, and driven by
a grinning negro boy. In it were Tad, Willie, Budd and Hally in new
Zouave uniforms, their swords at a salute! Many a soldier sighed and
smiled as that cart passed by, but there was never a smile on the faces
of the Zouaves, who had paid the darkey a quarter from their precious
circus money to drive that load of glory!
Having the uniform ready they formed themselves into a military company
called "Mrs. Lincoln's Zouaves." Much amused by their military
enthusiasm she presented them with a flag, and the President formally
reviewed them. Willie was colonel, Budd, major, and Hally, captain,
while Tad insisted on having the rank of drum-major or nothing, and all
of them had old-fashioned swords which were given to them by General
McClellan, who greatly enjoyed their pranks and sometimes suggested new
ones. When other amusements failed, the quartet spent their time on the
flat roof of the White House, which was perfectly safe, being
surrounded by a strong balustrade. There they built a cabin, and the
roof was in turn a quarter-deck, or a fort, and they used to raise and
lower the flag with proper ceremony, and look off through a spy-glass
for a "strange sail," and Budd's sister tells how one day when she
ascended to the stronghold with a stern demand for her scissors, which
had been missing for several days she was received at the "side" with
such strict naval etiquette that she meekly retreated without the
scissors.
That first year when President Lincoln was in office was a happy one
for his boys and their companions, but all too soon the pleasures came
to an end, for Willie Lincoln was stricken with typhoid fever, of which
he died. Then the Tafts left Washington and moved to the north, so of
the merry group of boys, "Tad" alone remained to enliven the White
House, and to amuse himself as best he could in the long days which
seemed so quiet in comparison to those which he and his companions had
spent together.
But Tad, who was now ten years old, was equal to any emergency, and as
resourceful as a dozen ordinary boys, and after the first bitter
loneliness had worn off, he made as much commotion by himself as all
four boys had made together, and soon became an object of popular
attention, as he galloped madly around the grounds on his pony, driving
him at break-neck speed, or training his team of dogs on the lawn, or
urging his goats to do some impossible feat.