THE REIGN OF HENRY V.
Character of the King--Oldcastle's Rebellion--Attempts
to Reform the Church--Henry's Reasons for the French
War--Distracted Condition of France--Henry's Claims on the French
Throne--Conspiracy of Cambridge--Fall of Harfleur--The March to
Calais--The Battle-field of Agincourt--Events of the Battle--Visit
of Sigismund to England--French Attack on Harfleur--Anarchy in
France--Alliance between the Queen and the Burgundians--Henry's
Second Invasion--Final Rebellion and Death of Oldcastle--Reduction
of Lower Normandy--Siege and Capture of Rouen--Negotiations for
Peace--Henry Advances on Paris--Murder of Burgundy--His Son Joins
Henry--Treaty of Troyes--Defeat of the English at Beaugé--Henry in
Paris--His Death.
The short reign of Henry V. is like a chapter of romance. It is the
history of the life of a prince who was especially a hero. Young,
handsome, accomplished not only in arms but in learning, skilled in and
fond of music, valorous, chivalrous, generous, and successful to the very
height of human glory in arms, he lived beloved and died young, the pride
of his native country, whose martial fame he raised above that of all
others, and made it the wonder of the world.
The fears which Prince Henry's wildness had created in the mind of his
father, who seemed to anticipate in his son another Richard II., do not
appear to have been at all participated in by the people. They saw in
the prince too many proofs of a clear, strong, and generous spirit to
doubt of his ultimate conduct. The cold and ungenerous nature of his
father, his continual demands on their purses, to put down the enemies
which his criminal ambition had raised around him; his murder of Richard
II., and his many executions of his opponents, members of the noblest
families of the realm, had completely alienated their affections, and
they looked with the most lenient eyes on the jollities and practical
jokes of his more warm-hearted son. The manner in which Henry justified
these expectations immediately on the death of his father must have
been particularly flattering to the sagacious foresight of the public.
The base and obsequious found to their astonishment that they had lost
instead of won his favour. Those who apprehended his wrath by the
fulfilment of stern duties, were cheered to find themselves appreciated
and advanced. The upright Chief Justice Gascoigne stood first and
foremost in the full sunshine of his favour.
The removal of the body of Richard II. from Langley to Westminster, where
it was buried with royal pomp, has been attributed to policy rather
than generosity in Henry, as trusting to convince the public by it that
Richard was actually dead; but the whole of Henry's character shows
that he was far above any such miserable policy; that he was as open and
straightforward in following his honest convictions as he was intrepid
in despising mere state tricks; and the very next fact that we have to
record proves this strikingly. Henry could afford to pay respect to a
dead monarch, but a living claimant to the throne was a more formidable
thing. The Earl of March, the true heir to the throne, was not only
living, but still a young man, and had been brought up much in Henry's
society. So far, however, from entertaining any jealous fear of him,
like his father, he at once received him with the utmost courtesy and
kindness, gave him the most unlimited freedom, and full enjoyment of
all his honours and estates. He displayed the same generous disposition
in reversing the attainder of the Percies, and in recalling the young
Lord Percy from Scotland to the full restoration of all his titles and
demesnes. Still further; all those who during his father's time had
sought to recommend themselves by a ruthless zeal for the Lancastrian
interests, he removed from their offices, and supplied their places by
men of more honourable and independent minds, without regard to party. No
conduct could have been more just and noble, and, therefore, more wise,
than that of the young king; and the consequence was, that he won all
hearts to him, and fixed himself as firmly on the throne as if he had
been descended in the strictest course from its true kings. Amongst the
very first to support him in his royal position was the Earl of March
himself, who continued to the last his most faithful subject and attached
friend.
But no character is without its defective side, and that in Henry showed
itself in regard to ecclesiastical reform. The followers of Wycliffe had
now increased into a numerous body, under the name of Lollards. They
consisted chiefly of the commonalty, and included few of the upper ranks.
But amongst them was Sir John Oldcastle, a bold and able man, Sir Thomas
Talbot, Sir Roger Acton, and others. Sir John Oldcastle was more commonly
known as Lord Cobham, having married the heiress of that nobleman, and
being called to the House of Lords in right of his wife. Lord Cobham,
it appears, had, while the companion of Henry, as Prince of Wales, been
so distinguished for his gaiety and humouring of all the prince's whims
that his enemies called him "the ruffian knight, commonly brought in by
the commediants on their stage." For a century after his time he is
represented as walking the boards of the theatre in the character which
Shakespeare has now transferred to Sir John Falstaff. But as the prince
had reformed, so it appears had Lord Cobham also. He had embraced the
principles of the Lollards, and the ability and high character of the man
inspired the Church with alarm.
The Church, startled at the new phenomenon of the laity assuming the
office of self-inquiry and self-decision, and still more by the obstinacy
with which the people maintained this novel function, began to punish and
coerce. The prelates persecuted the reformers, and the reformers, raised
to a sublime sense of their own right by a nearer approach to Christian
truth, rebelled as vigorously. The war of opinion assumed its bitterest
aspect. The Church, too far removed from the experience of the primitive
ages, had again to learn the power of persecution to produce that which
it would destroy.
In a fatal hour, Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, obtained the statute
_De heretico comburendo_, by which William Sawtrey had been burnt, and
now again sought to apply the same deceptive remedy. With this intent he
applied to Henry for permission to indict Lord Cobham, as the head and
great encourager of the sect, for heresy, and by his public execution
to strike terror into the whole body of reformers. Henry, however,
was by nature too averse from persecution, and too mindful of his old
friendship for this nobleman, to accede at once to so violent a measure.
He undertook to have some conversation with Lord Cobham on the subject,
observing very truly to the primate that gentleness and persuasion were
the best means of conversion. He therefore called Cobham into his closet
at Windsor, and exerted the knowledge which he had acquired of school
divinity at Oxford, to convince his friend. Words probably of severity
arose between the king and Lord Cobham, for the latter suddenly left
Windsor and withdrew to his own house of Cowling in Kent.
Henry now seems to have lost his tenderness towards his old friend in
the awakened feeling of a determination to subdue where he failed to
convince, and to have given Arundel permission to take his own way
with the offender; for, immediately on Lord Cobham's withdrawal, there
appeared proclamations ordering all magistrates to apprehend every
itinerant preacher, and directing the archbishop to proceed against
Cobham according to law; that is, the recent law against heresy. This
alarming measure brought back Lord Cobham to Windsor, having drawn up
a confession of faith, probably in conjunction with his most eminent
friends. This confession still exists, subscribed by Cobham himself, and
on looking it over at this time of day, one is at a loss to discover in
it what any true Catholic could object to.
But Henry would not even receive Cobham's confession. His blood was
evidently up, and in that mood he was firm as a rock. He declared that he
had nothing to do with confessions of faith; they belonged to bishops:
forgetting that he had just before undertaken to expound his own faith
in order to convert his heretical friend. Cobham then offered, in the
spirit of the times, for he was a brave and experienced soldier, to purge
himself from the charge of heresy by doing battle with any adversary,
Christian or infidel, who dared to accept his challenge. But Henry simply
asked him whether he would submit to the decision of the bishops, which
he refused; but still, like a good Catholic, offered to appeal to the
Pope. Henry's only answer was to leave him to the tender mercies of
Arundel, who summoned him before him, and, in conjunction with his three
suffragans, the Bishops of London, Winchester, and St. David's, condemned
him to be burnt. But Henry still was not prepared to acquiesce in so
desperate a doom on one who had spent with him so many mirthful days. He
granted the reformer a respite of fifty days; and before that time had
expired, Lord Cobham had managed to escape from his prison, probably by
the connivance of his lenient sovereign.
But once more at large, and in communication with his friends and
confederates, Cobham became all the more active in his plans for the
maintenance of the great cause. The Church had now manifested its
intentions; it had shown that it was not conversion, but destruction
of the whole body of the reformers that it was resolved upon; and the
question, therefore, with the persecuted sect naturally was, by what
means it was to prevent the fate which menaced it. If we are to believe
the chroniclers of the times, the Lollards resolved to anticipate their
enemies, to take up arms, and to repel force by force. Seeing clearly
that war to the death was determined against them by the Church, and that
the king had yielded at least a tacit consent to this iniquitous policy,
they came to the conclusion to kill not only the bishops, but the king
and all his kin.
So atrocious a conspiracy is not readily to be credited against men
who contended for a greater purity of gospel truth, nor against men
of the practical and military knowledge of Lord Cobham. But over the
whole of these transactions there hangs a veil of impenetrable mystery,
and we can only say that the Lollards are charged with endeavouring
to surprise the king and his brother at Eltham, as they were keeping
their Christmas festivities there, and that this attempt failed through
the court receiving intimation of the design, and suddenly removing to
Westminster. Disappointed in this scheme, the Lollards were next summoned
from all quarters to march towards London, there to secure and kill all
the principal clergy. They were, according to these accounts, to meet in
St. Giles's Fields, on the night of the 6th of January.
The king, it is stated, being warned of this movement, gave due notice
to the city, and on the day previous to the proposed meeting, the Mayor
of London made various arrests of suspected persons, amongst others of
a squire of Lord Cobham's, at the sign of the "Ark," in Bishopsgate
Without. The aldermen were ordered to keep strict watch each in his own
ward, and at midnight Henry himself issued forth with a strong force. He
is represented as being greatly alarmed for the public safety, from the
popular insurrections which had lately been raging in Paris, and to which
we shall presently have to draw attention. He ordered all the city gates
to be closed, to keep the Lollards who were within the walls separate
from those without, hastening then to the place of rendezvous.
Here again the narratives of this unaccountable affair contradict each
other. One declares that all the roads were covered with the adherents
of Lord Cobham, hastening to the appointed spot in St. Giles's Fields;
that on asking the first overtaken whom they were for, they replied by
the preconcerted watchword--"For Sir John Oldcastle;" and that these
being seized, the rest took the alarm and fled. By other accounts there
were expected to be 25,000 men collected in the same fields, but only
fourscore were found there. Cobham made his escape, but about forty of
the captives were drawn and hanged as traitors, and then burnt; amongst
them Sir Roger Acton, whose body, instead of being burnt, was buried
under the gallows.
Nevertheless Parliament was eager for Church reform. We find in Hall,
folio 35, that on the king demanding supplies, they renewed the offer
which they had made to his father to seize all the ecclesiastical
revenues, and convert them to the use of the Crown. The clergy were
greatly alarmed by this demonstration from their own coadjutors, and
feeling that the age was ripe for compelling them to disgorge a good
portion of their enormous wealth, they agreed to confer upon Henry all
the alien priories which depended on capital abbeys in Normandy, and
had been bequeathed to those abbeys when that province continued united
to England. It was now that the new Archbishop Chicheley, endeavoured
to turn the attention of the king by recommending him to carry war into
France.
Henry was himself already meditating that very step. It was the dying
advice of his father not to permit his subjects to remain long in
inaction, which, in an age which possessed few resources but hunting or
war to sufficiently occupy the minds of the great barons, was sure to
breed domestic factions, while successful war kept them about the person
of their prince, and attached them to him by every motive of honour
and advantage. The state of France at that epoch was such as rendered
a fresh attempt to conquer it most alluring, and even to suggest the
idea to a monarch like Henry, chivalrous and ambitious of glory, that he
was, in a manner, called by God to the salutary work of rescuing a great
nation from its own suicidal frenzy, and punishing the iniquity of its
people--which was actually monstrous--as the Israelites were led up to
punish the corrupt inhabitants of Canaan. Having, therefore, consented
to the desires of the Church, and of Parliament, that all judges and
magistrates should arrest any persons suspected even of Lollardism, and
deliver them over to the tender mercies of the ecclesiastical courts, and
that these unfortunate schismatics should, on conviction, forfeit all
their lands, goods, and chattels, as in cases of felony--he addressed
himself to his great enterprise, the conquest of France.
That unfortunate country was in the most deplorable condition. The
dissension, the unbounded dissoluteness, and the mutual murder of the
princes, seemed to have utterly debauched and demoralised the people.
From head to foot, the whole body, political and social, was diseased.
Every principle of honour and of rectitude, every feeling of conscience
or of pity appeared extinct. Cruelty, rapacity, crime, and lawlessness
were become the grand features of the nation. It was high time that
some power should interpose to scourge that debased generation and
restore some sense of patriotism and virtue through a better _régime_,
if possible; and this was, in truth, the only title which Henry had to
interfere. Bad as had been the claims set up by the Edwards, his was far
worse; for he was the son of the usurper even in his own country, and if
any just right to the crown of France could be established by the English
Plantagenets, it resided in the Earl of March, and not at all in him.
But, while Henry, in an amusingly confident manner, still talked of his
hereditary title to the French throne, he did not omit to add what really
was more obvious, that he was the appointed instrument of Providence to
chastise the flagrant iniquity of the rulers of France.
That reconciliation of the Duke of Orleans to Burgundy, the murderer of
his father, which we have recorded, did not last three months. After
the retirement of the Duke of Clarence to Guienne, this feud broke out
with fresh fury. The Count of Armagnac, the father-in-law of Orleans,
one of the most clear-sighted men amongst them, indeed, never laid down
his arms. Burgundy continued in Paris, and there he got up a popular
faction which gradually drew the whole city into scenes and outrages
which remind us of the Parisian revolutions of our own times. He made
a league with the butchers, who came out with ferocious alacrity, glad
of such a sanction to play a conspicuous part on that great theatre of
national confusion. They adopted a white hood as their badge; and, being
in alliance with the Duke of Burgundy, they also opened a communication
with his revolutionary subjects in Flanders. The judges, the barristers,
the members of Parliament, the noblesse, the professors and students of
the university, the clergy, the monks, every class of the community,
in short, were obliged to wear the white hood, as the only livery of
patriotism. A reign of terror now commenced; the whole of the populace
were ranged under the white hood, and had acquired the name of Cabochiens
from one of their most ferocious leaders. They had reduced the upper
classes of all descriptions to an ostensible submission to their
despotism, and they now began to perpetrate every species of disorder.
To make confusion worse confounded, the dissolute and heartless Louis,
the dauphin, quarrelled with the Duke of Burgundy, and fomented intrigues
and parties against him. Chief was arrayed against chief, and mob against
mob. The respectable portion of the citizens, long made dumb with terror,
took heart as the host of their plebeian tyrants began to direct their
terrible energies against each other, and sent secretly to the Armagnacs.
From being stout Burgundians thousands now declared openly for Orleans
and his father-in-law; and when the Duke of Berri endeavoured to force
on the city a heavy tax, to carry on the war against the Armagnacs, they
rebelled resolutely. In vain were the master butchers employed to levy
the hateful impost; their rude compulsion only drove the burghers more
rapidly into the arms of the opposite faction. The butchers mustered in
formidable force in the Place de Grève, so memorable for its horrors on
a more recent day; but, after a vigorous fight, they were vanquished,
and were eventually driven out of Paris. The Duke of Burgundy was soon
compelled to follow his butcher faction, and in August, after making
an abortive attempt to carry off the king, he retired to Flanders. The
Duke of Orleans entered the city with the Armagnacs. Everything, except
disorder, was changed. The ministers and magistrates were removed,
and replaced by others of the party in the ascendant. Those who had
imprisoned and persecuted, now had the same, or a severer measure meted
out to themselves. The faction of the dauphin was there struggling with
that of the Armagnacs, and that of the queen against her own son, Louis,
who had been amongst the first to call in the Armagnacs, now as earnestly
implored the return of the Duke of Burgundy.
[Illustration: HENRY V.]
Early in 1414 Burgundy accordingly marched to Paris with a large army,
expecting to find the gates opened to him by the dauphin; but, on the
contrary, it was stoutly defended by Orleans and the Count of Armagnac,
who threatened to hang up any one on the spot who showed the least
disposition to favour Burgundy. The duke was compelled to retreat again
into Flanders, and leave the Armagnacs in complete superiority. They had
the king in their hands, and they compelled him to sign anything they
pleased. The Duke of Burgundy was declared by royal proclamation guilty
of "the damnable murder of the late Duke of Orleans," as well as of
sundry other high crimes and treasons, and condemned to the forfeiture of
all his territories.
The Armagnacs, having issued this proclamation, marched out of Paris,
seized the duke's city of Compiègne and laid siege to Soissons. This town
was defended by the brave Count de Bournonville, and at this siege the
archers of England were found fighting against their fellow subjects, the
archers of Guienne. But the English very soon opened the gates to their
countrymen from Bordeaux; the Armagnacs rushed in, and perpetrated one of
the most frightful massacres in history. From the butchery of Soissons
this fanatic army marched to Arras, into which Burgundy had managed to
retire; but they were there successfully resisted. While meditating to
raise the siege, the alarming news arrived of the King of England's
preparations for the invasion of France. A hollow truce was patched
up between the contending parties; but, before the Armagnacs withdrew
from the city, the house in which the king lodged was found to be on
fire (probably from design by some of the desperadoes of one or other
faction), and he escaped with difficulty.
Once more Paris became the rendezvous of the various chiefs of these
revolting factions; where, in the autumn, the infamous dauphin originated
a conspiracy to drive both Burgundians and Armagnacs from the capital, to
secure the person of the king, and to make himself dictator. The scheme
failed; and Louis was himself obliged to flee to Bourges. The Armagnacs
once more rose on his retreat, fell on the Burgundians with fury, and
expelled their wives and children from the city.
Again in April of the following year, 1415, the dauphin regained
possession of Paris by a base stratagem. He invited his mother, Queen
Isabella, the Dukes of Orleans and Berri, with the other princes of the
blood, to meet at Mélun, in order to settle all differences and unite
with one accord against the English invader. The queen and princes fell
into the snare. They set out for Mélun, and the dauphin simultaneously
hastened into the capital, closed the gates against them, and ordered
them, with the exception of Berri, severally to retire to their estates.
Never was a country so torn by faction and desolated and degraded by
crime; and it was at this moment that Henry of England prepared to
descend on the devoted land.
In little more than twelve months after mounting the throne, Henry
forwarded to France, in July, 1414, his demand of the crown of that
country. No answer was returned. He then reduced his requisition from
the whole realm to the following modest one--namely, the provinces of
Normandy, Maine, and Anjou; the territories which formerly composed the
duchy of Aquitaine; and the several towns and counties included in the
treaty of Brétigny. He further required that Charles VI. should put
him in possession of half of Provence, the inheritance of Eleanor and
Sanchia--the queens of Henry III., and of his brother Richard, and two of
the four daughters of Berenger, once sovereign of that country; that he
should pay up the arrears of King John's ransom, 1,600,000 crowns, and
give Henry his daughter Catherine, with 2,000,000 crowns more.
To this astounding demand the French Government replied that the king was
willing to give the hand of his daughter, with 600,000 crowns, a higher
sum than had ever been paid with any princess of France, and all the
territories anciently included in the duchy of Aquitaine.
To this Henry refused to consent, but summoned a Parliament, the Speaker
of which was Thomas Chaucer, the son of the great poet, and received from
it the unwontedly liberal supply of two-tenths and two-fifteenths. To
give an air of moderation to his demands, however, Henry still pretended
to negotiate. He sent over to Paris a splendid embassy, consisting of
600 horsemen, headed by the Earl of Dorset and the Bishops of Durham and
Norwich. They entered the capital with so much parade and magnificence,
that the French vanity was surprised and mortified by it. The ambassadors
first proposed a continuation of the truce for four months. They repeated
the terms of the former embassy as to peace and the matrimonial alliance
of the two countries, but consented to accept the princess with half the
original sum. On the other side, the French raised the amount proffered
from 600,000 to 800,000 crowns. Here the matter ended, and the embassy
returned.
This was, no doubt, precisely what Henry expected; and now he made
preparations for an immediate invasion. On the 16th of April he summoned
at Westminster a council of fifteen spiritual and twenty-eight temporal
peers, when he announced his resolve "to recover his inheritance by
arms." His speech was received with the utmost applause and enthusiasm.
The great barons, and knights eager to obtain military fame, engaged to
furnish their quotas of troops to the utmost of their ability; Parliament
granted two-tenths and fifteenths, and dissolved and made over to the
king no less than a hundred alien priories, not conventual. Henry himself
exerted every means of increasing his resources. He raised loans by
pawning his crown jewels, the magnificent crown itself of Henry IV.,
and by other means, and altogether amassed the sum of 500,000 nobles in
ready money. He rifled the cupboards and buffets of the royal palaces,
and gave them as pledges of the ultimate payment of their prices to great
creditors.
The Duke of Bedford, Henry's brother, was appointed regent of the kingdom
during the royal absence; and the youthful monarch, full of aspirations
of glory and conquest, set forward towards Southampton, the port of
embarkation.
But in the midst of Henry's active occupation of embarking his troops,
danger was near him. A conspiracy to assassinate him was discovered at
the very moment that it was intended to carry it into execution; and what
is singular, the discovery came from the very person for whose special
benefit the movement was intended.
The young Earl of March, as we have already had occasion to state, was
not only the true heir to the throne, but had been brought up with
Henry, and was really attached to him. The sister of the young earl
was married to Richard, Earl of Cambridge, and brother to the Duke of
York. Cambridge, by his alliance with the true prince, appears to have
been infected with the ambitious desire of seeing himself not merely
brother to a legitimate prince who was contented in his station, which,
though that of a subject, was honourable and happy, but brother to a
king. From the little light thrown by cotemporary historians on the
progress of the plot, we can only perceive that Cambridge had sought
the co-operation of several persons who were known to have acted or
suffered in the opposition to the late king. These were Sir Thomas Grey
of Heton, in Northumberland, and Lord Scrope of Masham, both of whom had
been involved in the Percy insurrections themselves, or by their near
relatives. Scrope was at this time high in the favour of his sovereign.
He was his trusted chamberlain, and one of the most confidential of
his privy council. In the chase and in his social hours, he was the
chosen companion of Henry. Yet he appears to have given in to this base
conspiracy, and Henry was to be assassinated before embarking, after
which, the conspirators were to escape to Wales with the Earl of March,
and there raise the banner of revolt in his behalf.
It would seem that the conspiracy was as ill-constructed as it was
wicked. The conspirators do not appear to have obtained the decided
sanction of the principal person concerned. Probably Cambridge might
have speculated on private conversations with his brother-in-law, the
Earl of March, and have persuaded himself that he would fall in with
such a scheme when it appeared to him feasible. But when, at the moment
of action, March was apprised of the intended blow, he refused, by the
earnest advice of his man Lacy, to swear to keep the secret, but required
an hour in which to consider of the proposal. However the persuasions
of Cambridge or his own secret feelings might have inclined him at any
previous moment, now, when his friend and noble patron Henry was menaced
with instant death, March at once decided, and hastened to apprise the
king of his danger. That March had listened to the voice of the tempter
is plain from his first requesting a pardon from Henry for his giving ear
"to rebels and traitors sufficiently to understand their schemes."
This pardon Henry at once accorded, but he seized the conspirators,
and brought them immediately before a council, where their fate was to
be decided by twelve jurors of the county. Grey pleaded guilty to the
charge of having conspired to kill the king, "to proclaim the Earl of
March, in case Richard II. was really dead," to having by their emissaries
solicited the said Richard--or, as he was by the indictment declared to
be, Thomas of Trumpington, who personated that monarch--to invade the
king's dominions with a body of Scottish forces and Scottish lords.
Cambridge and Scrope demanded to be tried by their peers, whereupon all
the lords of the army were summoned; the Duke of Clarence was appointed
to preside in place of the king, and the Duke of York, that he might not
sit in judgment on his own brother, nominated the Earl of Dorset his
proxy.
Cambridge made an earnest appeal to the king for mercy, and Scrope
pleaded, like March, that he had only listened in order to ascertain
the objects of the conspirators, so that he might effectually defeat
them. The plea did not avail him any more than the cowardly prayer of
Cambridge. They were all three condemned, were led out to the north gate
of the town, and had their heads struck off, just as the royal fleet,
with a favourable wind, hoisted sail, and bore out of the harbour of
Southampton on the 13th of August, 1415.
This memorable expedition, thus painfully inaugurated by the blood
of treason in the very near kindred of the king, consisted of 6,000
men-at-arms, and 24,000 archers, which so many occasions had now
demonstrated to be the real power of England. These troops were carried
in a fleet of 1,500 sail; and, with an auspicious wind, entered the mouth
of the Seine on the second day, August 15th. Three days were consumed in
landing the troops and stores, and it does not appear that there was any
opposition from the enemy.
Henry at once laid siege to the strong fortress of Harfleur, situated
on the left bank of the river, and defended by a numerous garrison,
under the command of the Sire D'Estouteville. The French knights of the
garrison displayed the utmost bravery, and made repeated assaults on the
troops of Henry while throwing up their entrenchments, but they were
received in such a manner by the archers that they were soon very glad to
keep within the shelter of their walls. These walls themselves were in
bad repair; the succours which had been promised by the Government did
not arrive; the English cannon was fast demolishing the outworks, and
sappers were undermining the towers. A worse enemy than the English was
also amongst them--the dysentery, owing to the dampness of the place, and
the unhealthy quality of the provisions; and the garrison surrendered on
the 22nd of September, after a defence of thirty-six days.
The success, however, was dearly purchased. The weather was extremely
hot, and the place, lying low on the banks of the Seine, was at that
season extremely unhealthy. A dysentery, partly from those causes,
and partly from the incautious eating of unripe fruit, and the putrid
exhalations from the offal of animals killed for the camp, broke out, and
raged amongst the soldiers far more mortally than the awkward artillery
of that age. About 2,000 of the troops had perished, besides great
numbers who were disabled by sickness. Several officers of rank died, and
when Henry had shipped off his sick for England, including the Duke of
Clarence, the Earls of March, Arundel, and many other great officers, his
army was reduced to about one-half of its original number.
A council of war, which Henry had called before shipping off his
invalids, had come to the decision of returning wholly to England, and
making preparations for the next year; but to this Henry would not listen
for a moment. To embark altogether, he said, would look like fear, and
convert their conquest into a flight. He was resolved, he added, to march
to Calais, and dare every peril, rather than the French should say he
was afraid of them. France was his own, he contended, and he would see a
little more of it before quitting it. He trusted in God that they should
take their way without harm or danger, but if compelled to fight, glory
and victory would be theirs, as it always had been that of his ancestors
in that country. He declared his route to be Normandy, Picardy, and
Artois to Calais.
Having taken this resolution, nothing could turn him from it, though he
had only 900 lances and 5,000 archers, barely 6,000 men in all; while a
French army of 100,000 men was already on foot to intercept his march.
Before setting out he repaired the fortifications of Harfleur, and placed
it under the command of his uncle, the Earl of Dorset, as governor, and
Sir John Fastolf as lieutenant-governor, with a garrison of 2,000 men,
who were independent of the 6,000 men he intended to take with him. He
invited over many English families to settle in Harfleur, and make it
a second Calais, granting them the houses and premises of the former
inhabitants.
Having made these arrangements, on the 8th of October he set forward on
his most daring march. He disposed his little host in three divisions,
attended by two detachments, which served as van and rear guards on the
march, ready to be converted in the field into wings for protecting
his flanks. Never was a more daring enterprise undertaken. It might,
according to all ordinary principles, be termed fool-hardy. But all the
victorious expeditions of the first and third Edwards had been of the
same character, and, had they failed, would have been recorded in history
as unexampled instances of rashness and folly: so much depends on the
result, rather than the antecedents, of an action.
At every step the little army of England was watched by overwhelming
forces. The Constable of France, Count D'Albret, lay directly in their
way in Picardy with 14,000 men-at-arms, and 40,000 foot, and laid waste
the whole country before them. At Rouen the king and dauphin lay with
another large army, and fresh troops were hastening from all quarters
towards his line of march. The French host mustered in his track already
upwards of 100,000; some writers say 140,000 men. Henry had to traverse a
long tract of country infested with these exasperated enemies. His troops
were in want of provisions, lodgings, guides, which their enemy took
care to deprive them of. They had, in fact, to march through a desert,
defended by strong towns, intersected by deep rivers, and were exposed
every moment to have their scouts, foragers, and stragglers cut off,
while the foe took care to avoid a general engagement.
[Illustration: THE ENGLISH BEFORE HARFLEUR. (_See p._ 552.)]
The army was sometimes whole days without food. The wretched people were
themselves starving, from the devastations purposely made by their own
countrymen, and sickness began to decimate the British troops from their
excessive fatigues and want of necessary food. At the passage of the
river Bresle, the garrison of Eu made a furious sortie, and fell upon the
rear of the army with loud shouts and amazing impetuosity, but, spite of
the exhausted condition of the soldiers, they received the attack with
coolness, slew the French commander, and drove back the garrison to its
fortress.
In four days, that is, on the 12th of October, Henry had arrived at the
ford of Blanchetaque, where his grandfather, Edward III. had passed the
Somme. He had intended to do the same, but the French, taught by their
former failure, had taken care to make this ford impassable by driving
strong stakes into the bottom, and D'Albret appeared on the right bank
with a numerous force. Disappointed in this expectation he retreated
to the little town of Airennes, where Edward III. had slept two nights
before the battle of Creçy. He then advanced up the river, searching for
a ford or bridge, as Edward had sought down it. He avoided Abbeville,
where D'Albret lay with his main army, and marched to Bailleul, where he
slept on the 13th.
Still advancing upwards, he found every bridge broken, every ford
secured, and D'Albret and his forces marching along the right bank in
exact time with him, ready to repel any attempt at crossing the river.
Seeing this, many of his soldiers, already enervated with fatigue and
sickness, began to lose heart.
The next day Henry attempted to force a passage at Pont St. Rémy, but
without success, as Edward III. had done before him. On the 15th, the
following day, he made another endeavour to cross at Ponteau de Mer, but
was again foiled. Still going on, he tried other passages on the 16th and
17th, but without avail. Everywhere appeared the most hopeless obstacles.
Taking advantage of the winding of the river, Henry now dashed across the
country from the neighbourhood of Corbie to Boves, and thence marched on
Nesle. On the way he made a halt in a valley, and ordered his archers to
provide themselves each with a stake of six feet long, and to sharpen it
at both ends. He then pushed forward again to out-march the constable,
who was obliged to follow a more circuitous route by Péronne. He had
sent, however, strict orders to guard all the fords of the river, but not
being present to see this enforced, Henry at Nesle received information
that the passage was still open between Voyenne and Béthancourt. On the
19th, he came up to this place, and made a dash across it. Four bannerets
led the way successfully; the rest of the army and the baggage followed
rapidly in their track; and in twelve hours the English had arrived
safely on the right bank. Henry marched on to Monchy-la-Gauche; while the
constable, instead of daring to attack him, fell back on Bapaume, and
thence on St. Pol.
While D'Albret had been guarding the passages of the Somme, the French
princes, instead of attacking Henry, had held a council of war at Rouen
in presence of the king. Here they had resolved to give battle to the
English by a majority of thirty-five to five, and they fixed the 25th
as the important day of action. They sent three heralds to announce this
resolve to the King of England.
Henry was at Monchy when the heralds arrived. They delivered their
message on their knees, which was that the King of France and his nobles
were prepared to meet him in the field on the following Friday. Henry
replied, with apparent indifference, "The will of God be done." The
heralds then inquired by what way he meant to march, so that they might
meet with him. He replied, "By that which leads straight to Calais: and
if my enemies attempt to intercept me it will be at their peril. I shall
not seek them, and I will not move a step quicker or slower to avoid
them. I could, however, have wished that they had adopted other counsels,
instead of attempting to shed the blood of Christians."
The Constable had placed himself in advance directly in Henry's route
to Calais; but he followed leisurely on his track, as if no enemy
were either before or behind him. Yet all this time fresh forces had
been flocking in to the standard of the Constable; and his army was
now so overwhelming, that it began to be impatient to fall on the
English, confident that they could surround and destroy them. But the
experienced D'Albret remembered the days of Creçy and Poitiers, when
the like confidence had produced the most complete destruction to the
French armies from a mere handful of these iron Englishmen. He fell
back from St. Pol to the villages of Ruisseauville and Agincourt before
he consented to stand and await the English king. It was evident that
the eve of a decisive battle had arrived. It was equally impossible for
Henry to advance towards Calais or retreat towards Harfleur. In fact,
to attempt in the slightest degree to retreat would be synonymous with
destruction; for that would utterly dishearten his own men and bring the
immense swarms of the enemy like a flock of hungry wolves upon them. Even
if they could beat back such a host under such circumstances, they must
soon perish by the way, for the whole region was a wilderness, destitute
of food or shelter. The hour of action had come.
[Illustration: THE MORNING OF AGINCOURT.
FROM THE PICTURE BY SIR JOHN GILBERT, R.A., P.R.W.S., IN THE GUILDHALL
ART GALLERY, BY PERMISSION OF THE CORPORATION OF THE CITY OF LONDON.]
Once more the French generals made the profound blunder of selecting a
confined plain where their huge army had no room to move. The Constable
planted his banner on the Calais road, a little in advance of the village
of Ruisseauville, and the Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, of Berri,
Alençon, and Brabant, and all the great lords planted theirs round it
with loud acclamations and rejoicings that the hour was come which was
to give up to them their enemy and all his spoil. But the joy was soon
damped, for the night set in dark and rainy. The ground was a clay which
soon swam with water, and became so slippery that the horses slid and
stumbled about in disorder. The pages and valets rode to and fro seeking
straw to lay on the muddy ground for their officers and themselves.
There were great bustling and moving to and fro; people shouting to one
another and making much noise, but obtaining very little comfort; and it
was at length observed that their horses stood silent and did not neigh,
which was looked upon on the eve of battle as a very bad omen. When they
would have cheered themselves with music, very few instruments could be
found. At length, however, they succeeded in lighting fires along their
lines, and bursts of laughter and merriment were repeatedly heard by the
English, while their enemies were, no doubt, calculating the value of
their horses and the arms on their backs.
The English, on their part, passed a night of serious reflection. They
had made a long march under great difficulties and privations. Many
of them were wasted by sickness, worn down by fatigue and scanty and
unwholesome fare. They were in the presence of an immense force. But they
were descendants of the heroes of Creçy, which lay not far off, and they
had the utmost confidence in the bravery of their leader. They spent the
early part of the night in making their wills, and in devotion. The king
visited every quarter of his little camp, and sent out, as soon as the
moon gave light enough, officers to arrange the plan of the battle on the
next day, and ordered bands of music to play through the whole night.
At break of day Henry summoned the men to attend matins and mass, and
then leading them into the field, arranged them in his usual manner, in
three divisions and two wings; but in such close array that the whole
appeared but as one body. The archers, who were his grand strength, he
posted in advance of the men-at-arms, four in file, in the form of a
wedge. Besides their bows and arrows, the archers were now armed each
with a battle-axe and a sword. The fatal field of Bannockburn, where the
archers were rendered useless by their want of side arms, when Bruce
rode his cavalry amongst them, seems to have taught the English this
precaution. Every man, too, bore on his shoulder the stout stake, which
Henry had ordered them to provide themselves with, pointed at each
end, and tipped with iron. These they planted obliquely before them, as
chevaux de frise, and thus presented a formidable rampart to the French
cavalry.
The French had drawn up their host in a manner similar to that of Henry,
but instead of their files being four, they were thirty-nine deep. The
Constable himself commanded the first division; the Dukes of Bar and
Alençon the second. But in their eagerness to come at the English, they
had crowded their troops into a narrow field between two woods, where
they had no room to deploy, or even to use their weapons freely, and
the ground was so slippery with the rain, that their horses could with
difficulty keep on their legs; while the English archers, who were
immediately opposed to them, were not only on foot, but many of them
barefooted, and, disencumbered of their clothes, were ready to make their
way alertly over the soft ground.
Both the French and English commanders had ordered their men to seat
themselves on the ground with their weapons before them, and thus
they continued to face each other without action for some time. The
Constable, most probably to gain time for the arrival of the expected
reinforcements, still lay quiet, and Henry took the opportunity to
distribute refreshments of food and wine through his ranks. He also
seized the opportunity to send off secretly two detachments, one to lie
in ambush in a woody meadow at Tramecourt, on their left flank, and the
other to set fire to some houses in their rear as soon as they were
engaged, to throw them into alarm.
Scarcely had the king executed this manoeuvre, when he was surprised
by a deputation of three French knights from D'Albret, the commander.
They came to offer him a free passage to Calais, if he would agree to
surrender Harfleur, and renounce his pretensions to the throne of France.
Henry disdained to enter into any negotiations except on the very same
terms that he had dictated before he left England; and, penetrating the
real object of these overtures, that of gaining time, he impatiently
dismissed the matter. But the envoys were not to be so readily
despatched. One of them, the Sire de Helly, who had been a prisoner in
England, and was accused of breaking his parole, introduced that matter,
and offered to meet in single combat, between the two armies, any man who
should dare to asperse his honour.
"Sir Knight," said Henry, curtly, "this is no time for single combats.
Go, tell your countrymen to prepare for battle, and doubt not that, for
the violation of _your_ word, _you_ shall a second time forfeit your
liberty if not your life."
"Sir," replied De Helly, insolently, determined to prolong the parley, "I
will receive no orders from you. Charles is our sovereign. Him we will
obey, and for him we will fight against you whenever we think proper."
"Away, then," said Henry, "and take care that we are not before you." And
instantly stepping forward he cried, "Banners, advance!"
With that Sir Thomas Erpingham, a brave old warrior, threw his warder
into the air, exclaiming, "Now strike!" and the English moved on in
gallant style till they came within bowshot of the French lines. Then
every man kneeling down kissed the ground, a custom which they had
learned from the Flemish, who at the great battle of Courtray, where they
defeated the French cavalry with such brilliancy, had thus each taken
up a particle of earth in his mouth, while the priest in front elevated
the Host. It was a sign of consecration to the great duty of the day;
and having done this homage to the God of battles, they rose up with
a tremendous shout, struck each man his pointed stake into the ground
before him, and stepping in front of these stakes, sent a flight of
arrows at their foes, and again retired behind them.
The Constable, who well knew the terrible effect of the English archers
on the French troops, had prepared a scheme similar to that of Bruce at
Bannockburn to break their line, and throw them into confusion. He had
few or no archers, for the French at that period adhered to the feudal
notion that knights and gentlemen only must handle arms. The dreadful
defeats of Creçy and Poitiers had not cured them of the foolish idea that
arms must not be trusted to plebeian hands. He therefore had trained a
body of 1,200 men-at-arms under Messire Clignet, of Brabant, who were to
make a desperate charge on the archers, and break up their ranks. They
came on with fierce cries of "Mountjoye! St. Denis!" but the slipperiness
of the ground, and the fierce flight of arrows which struck through
their visors and their armour, threw them at once into confusion. Their
horses reeled and stumbled against each other in the muddy clay, and to
avoid the iron hail of arrows they turned their heads aside, and thus
knew not how to guide their steeds. Of the whole 1,200 not more than
seven score ever reached the spiked barricade of the archers, from which
the few remaining horses recoiled; and the whole troop in a few minutes
lay dead or wounded on the ground. Only three horses are said to have
penetrated within the line of stakes, and there they fell perforated
with wounds. Meantime, hundreds of wounded steeds were dashing to and
fro, and continually returning upon the French lines, stung to madness
by their pain. All became confusion and disorder in the first division.
The men-at-arms were so wedged together that they could not extricate
themselves from the throng to advance or retreat. While the bravest
strove to rush on the enemy, the timid endeavoured to fall back on the
next division, and the most awful chaos arose.
Still the English archers poured in their arrows, dropping multitudes
at each discharge; and when their arrows failed they seized their
battle-axes, and, leaving their stakes, rushed on with fierce cries. At
this signal the men in ambush replied with similar shouts, and, falling
on the flank of the French army, added immensely to the terror and
disorder. While they showered their arrows in that direction, the archers
in front hewed their way with their hatchets through all opposition.
They dashed amid the steel-clad horsemen, burst through the whole array
of horses and armour, slew the commander-in-chief and many of his most
illustrious officers, and in a very short time, without any aid whatever
from the men-at-arms, dispersed the whole of the first division.
The second division opened to receive the fugitives, which occasioned
fresh disorder; and at this crisis, the Duke of Brabant, who had hastened
on before his expected reinforcements, galloped up with a fresh body
of horse, and charged the advancing archers. Those indomitable men,
however, speedily cut him down, destroyed his detachment, and kept on
their way, laying prostrate all before them. They soon arrived at the
second division, who, though wallowing up to their horses' girths in the
middle of a ploughed field, the men on foot being sunk by the weight of
their armour almost up to their knees, yet kept their ground. At this
moment Henry advanced with his men-at-arms; but, seeing the nature of
the ground, he rallied his brave bowmen, who, having no weight to carry,
could do active battle, even on that rotten ground. At his call they
speedily reformed, and under his command made a fresh charge.
[Illustration: THE THANKSGIVING SERVICE ON THE FIELD OF AGINCOURT. (_See
p._ 558.)]
It was now that the real battle took place. The Duke of Alençon, who with
the Duke of Bar headed this division, had made a vow to kill or take
captive the King of England, or to perish in the attempt. He led on his
troops with desperate valour, and a mortal struggle of two long hours
took place. The English archers still wielded their massive axes in the
front, and the French men-at-arms fought with undaunted bravery. Henry
combated in the midst of his archers, who still plied their weapons with
loud hurrahs, and, animated by battling under the eye of the king, seemed
still as active and fresh as if they were just come into the strife.
Henry's life, however, was repeatedly in danger. His brother, the Duke
of Clarence, was thrown down near him, wounded, and in danger of being
killed, when Henry rushed to his assistance, strode across the body, and
beat off the assailants till the prince could be removed. But no sooner
was Clarence in safety than a band of eighteen knights, headed by the
Lord of Croy, confronted the king. They had sworn to each other to take
or kill him.
One of these knights struck Henry with his battle-axe, and brought him to
his knees; but his brave followers closed round him instantly, and slew
every one of the assailants. The Duke of Alençon then fought his way to
the royal standard. With one stroke of his battle-axe he beat the Duke
of York to the ground, and killed him; with the next he cleft the crown
on Henry's helmet. At that sight every arm was raised--every weapon was
directed at him. He saw his imminent peril, and cried out to Henry, "I
yield to you; I am Alençon!" Henry held out his hand, but it was already
too late; the gallant duke lay dead.
Here the battle may be said to have ended; for though the third division,
which was the most numerous of all, was still unbroken, at the sight of
the Duke of Alençon's troops flying in all directions, they too fell
back and began to waver. Another moment and they would have been in full
flight, but in the rear of Henry's army, where the priests and baggage
were posted, there rose a loud tumult, and messengers came galloping
to say they were attacked by a large force. Henry immediately believed
that this force was that expected hourly under the Duke of Brittany; and
fearful of being surrounded, he immediately gave orders to kill all the
prisoners, lest they should turn against them.
As they had taken their captives, who, after the death of Alençon,
yielded in crowds, they removed their helmets, that, should any occasion
arise, they might readily despatch them. The slaughter now made of these
helpless men was terrible. Many fell without a chance of resistance, many
others struggled and wrestled with their destroyers, but in vain. The
scene was terrible, and the French third division, also becoming aware of
the attack in the rear, took fresh courage, and prepared to make battle
still. But a short time discovered the real cause of the alarm, which
the fears of the English had converted into a formidable assault. It was
merely a body of peasants, who thought they would profit by the battle,
and, while the combatants were in the heat of the action, drive off the
English horses, which were all left with the baggage. They little dreamed
that their scheme would prove so disastrous to their countrymen, many a
noble French knight falling a victim to this stratagem, the authors of
which were afterwards severely punished by their feudal lord, the Duke of
Burgundy.
The mistake being discovered, Henry gave instant orders to stop the
slaughter of the prisoners, and the third division of the French army
also coming at the truth, galloped off the field at full speed.
Henry's little army was too much exhausted and too much encumbered with
prisoners to be able to pursue the flying legions. He gave orders to see
to the wounded, and then summoning the heralds, he traversed the fields,
accompanied by his chief barons, and saw the coats of arms of the fallen
princes and knights examined, and their names registered. While this was
being done, and others were stripping the dead, he called to him the
French king-at-arms, Mountjoye, who came attended by the other heralds,
French and English, and he said, "We have not made this slaughter, but
the Almighty, as we believe, for the sins of France." Then turning to
Mountjoye, he asked, "To whom does the victory belong?" "To the King
of England," replied Mountjoye, "and not to the King of France." "And
what castle is that which I see at a distance?" continued Henry. "It is
called the castle of Agincourt," replied the herald. "Then," said Henry,
"since all battles ought to be named after the nearest castle, let this
henceforth and lastingly bear the name of the battle of Agincourt."
Having named the field, and "lastingly," according to his own phrase,
for it is a name which will stand for ever amongst the most wonderfully
fought fields in all the annals of nations, Henry--as if impressed with
what appeared to be his sincere idea that it was the work of Heaven, and
that he was its instrument--called together the clergy, and ordered them
to perform a service of thanksgiving on the field before the whole army.
In allusion to their escape from the enemy and the terrible destruction
of their assailants, they chanted the 114th Psalm:--"When Israel went
forth out of Egypt:" and at the first verse of the 115th Psalm, "Not unto
us, O Lord, not unto us, but to Thy name give the glory," every man knelt
on the ground. They then sang the _Te Deum_, and so closed the renowned
battle of Agincourt.
Of all the battles ever fought by France up to that time none was ever
so fatal as that of Agincourt. "Never did so many and so noble men
fall in one battle," says their own chronicler, Monstrelet. It was a
wholesale slaughter of its princes and nobles. Seven princes of the blood
had fallen; the Constable D'Albret; the Dukes of Brabant, of Bar, and
Alençon; the Count of Nevers, the brother of the Dukes of Burgundy and
Brabant, the Counts of Marle and another brother, John, brothers of the
Duke of Bar; the Count of Vaudemont, brother to the Duke of Lorraine, the
Archbishop of Sens, the Count of Dampierre, the Lords Helly--who fell
as Henry had promised him--of Rambure, Verchin, and Messire Guichard
of Dauphiné, another of the deputies who were sent to Henry before the
battle. On the whole there fell that day 10,000 men, amongst whom there
was one marshal, thirteen earls, ninety-two barons, 1,500 knights, and
8,000 gentlemen.
There were 14,000 prisoners left in the hands of the English, amongst
whom were the Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, the Marshal Boucicault,
the Counts of Eu, Vendôme, Richemont, Craon, and Harcourt, and 7,000
barons, knights, and gentlemen. No wonder that the news of so direful an
overthrow, so unexampled a slaughter and capture of the aristocracy of
the country, should spread consternation throughout France.
The highest estimate of the English loss puts it at 1,600, while Elmham
contends that it was only 100, and other contemporary writers that it was
only forty. Taking the highest estimate, it was a wonderful disparity
between the loss of the conquerors and the conquered. The only persons
of note who fell on the English side were the Earl of Suffolk and the
Duke of York, a man whose whole life had been stained with treachery and
meanness, and of which it might be said that its only honourable incident
was its termination. Henry returned in triumph to England.
In the spring of the following year, 1416, Henry had the honour of a
visit from Sigismund, King of the Romans, and Emperor Elect of Germany.
The object of Sigismund was to secure Henry's aid in accomplishing his
great scheme of putting an end to the division in the popedom, which was
still raging. There were no less than three Popes all claiming to have
been lawfully elected. Sigismund had visited France, and was flattered
by cordial promises of co-operation by Charles and his ministers. Henry,
who at this time was by far the most famous sovereign in Europe, was
determined to receive Sigismund in a manner which should convince him
that the wealth of his kingdom and the splendour of the English crown
were in full correspondence with his fame. He summoned all the knights
and esquires of the realm to attend him in London. A fleet of 300 sail
waited at Calais to bring over this unusual guest with all his retinue,
amounting to 1,000 horsemen; and officers were appointed to escort him
from Dover to the capital, discharging all the expenses by the way.
Yet amidst his magnificent arrangements for the reception of his
distinguished guest, Henry was cautious not to endanger in the slightest
degree his national rights. Sigismund, while in Paris, had attended a
cause which was pleaded before Parliament, and was in courtesy invited
to occupy the throne, and while sitting there, had been so incautious as
to knight an esquire who was in danger of suffering wrong because of his
inferior rank. To prevent any such mistake, a precaution was taken which,
for a moment, had an aspect anything but hospitable. No sooner did the
Emperor's ship cast anchor, than Sigismund saw the Duke of Gloucester
and several noblemen ride into the water with drawn swords, and demand
to know whether in coming thus, he designed to exercise or claim any
authority in England. On Sigismund replying in the negative, this hostile
reception immediately gave way to one of courtesy and honour. Besides
his main object, the settlement of the papal schism, Sigismund was also
anxious to effect a peace between the kings of England and France;
and accordingly he was accompanied by ambassadors from Charles, whose
propositions were zealously seconded by William, Duke of Bavaria and
Count of Hainault, who was become a warm admirer of Henry. It is said
that Henry went to such a length of concession as to waive his claims
on the crown, and content himself with the provisions of the treaty of
Brétigny, concluded by Edward III. But even this would have dismembered
France of its most valuable provinces; and, though Charles is stated to
have given a full assent to the proposal, there were others who were more
averse from such terms with England.
In the very midst of this apparently amicable negotiation, amid the
frightful anarchy of France, the Count of Armagnac had now succeeded
to the authority of the Dauphin Louis, recently dead, and being also
Constable in the place of D'Albret, slain at Agincourt, he determined, if
possible, to win popularity by wresting from England its recent conquest
of Harfleur. He marched there with a large army, drew lines around
the town, while a fleet of French ships, aided by a number of Genoese
galleys, which he had hired, blockaded the harbour. It was in vain he
was reminded of the negotiations pending at London; he determinedly
rejected all proposals of truce or peace, and pressed on with all his
characteristic ardour the siege of the place.