THE BATTLE OF ST. QUENTIN
War had been declared with all due form and ceremony between England and
France, and King Philip was now eager to return to the Continent.
He had obtained from Mary all the assistance she could wring from
reluctant England.
For though the Queen entered with all her heart and soul into his
projects, as became the daughter of Catharine of Aragon, English people
felt that this was no quarrel of theirs, and they remembered that when
the "Spanish match" was hotly debated, a provision had been made in the
royal contract "that England should not be made a party to Philips
Continental wars."
During the four months that he had been in England the King had exerted
himself strenuously to overcome this reluctance, and he had so far
succeeded that a well-equipped contingent of eight thousand stalwart
Englishmen had joined his army.
Lords Pembroke, Clinton and Gray were in chief command of their
countrymen, and many a gallant young high-born Englishman had joined the
force, eager to gain military renown.
Such was the feeling, undoubtedly, that influenced the three sons of the
Earl of Northumberland to accompany it, and similar hopes beat high in
the breasts of the two Jefferays and Geoffrey de Fynes.
The King took his last adieu of Mary at the old palace of Greenwich; he
was never to see the fond, forsaken woman again!
Poor Mary, who would not pity her?
Philip hastened to Brussels, where the great army was assembling which
was to invade France and bring King Henry the Second to his knees.
It was a motley army, consisting altogether of thirty-five thousand foot
and twelve thousand horse, besides a strong train of artillery.
The flower of the infantry was drawn from Spain, Spanish warriors of
great experience, and bearing a reputation second to none in the world.
The English force was entirely made up of foot soldiers, the cavalry
of the army being mercenary troops from Germany, known as
"Schwartzreiters."
These "reiters" were the most dreaded troops of the age. Dark, swarthy
men, of whom Brantôme speaks as "noirs comme de beaux diables," each
carrying five or six pistolets in his belt, with swords and, sometimes,
a short arquebus.
Truly a formidable armament!
These were augmented by a fine corps of Burgundian lances, and a great
number of noble Castilian youths, eager to fight for the honour of Spain
under the eye of their King.
The whole army was under the command of Emanuel Philibert, Duke of
Savoy, a youthful warrior of but twenty-nine years of age, yet
possessing already a great reputation as a clever, dashing soldier.
This was the man whom Philip (probably for reasons of State) was
strongly supporting in his suit for the hand of the Princess Elizabeth
of England—an alliance which that astute lady firmly declined.
Besides the Duke of Savoy there were other illustrious soldiers in
command of Philip's army—the Counts Egmont, Horn, Mansfeld being of the
number.
Egmont was the hero of the army, as he was destined to become the
darling of his nation!
Handsome beyond the usual share of mortals, young, ambitious, "sans peur
et sans reproche," he was the "preux chevalier" of Europe.
Alas! that he was destined to die a felon's death in the market-place of
Brussels, with his illustrious brother-in-arms, Count Horn.
Such was the army, such were its leaders. For miles and miles tents in
many thousands shone in the sunlight, in the pleasant month of August,
on the heights above the ancient town of St. Quentin. At the foot of the
great camp a morass and the River Somme intervened between it and the
beleaguered city.
Well might the hearts of Englishmen beat high as they beheld the river
and thought of Agincourt and Crécy! Such thoughts filled the hearts of
four horsemen grouped together on the highest plateau whereon stood the
English camp.
It was the 9th of August, and the day was breaking, flooding the scene
before them with rosy light. The pennons surmounting the snow-white
tents of the Spanish camps fluttered lightly in the breeze, which was
scarcely enough to unfurl the heavily emblazoned standards of the great
chiefs present.
There were the ensigns of Eric and Henry, Dukes of Brunswick, of the
gigantic Lewes of Brederode, of Almoral, Count of Egmont and of Count
Horn.
"Look, boys," cried Lord Clinton to Geoffrey, William and Ralph, whom he
had made his aides-de-camp. "Look well, the town is awake right early
to-day, and Coligni's men are mustering heavily around the great gates.
They are about to attempt a sortie, unless I am deceived.
"You, Geoffrey, will remain here on watch with me; but you, Ralph, ride
at top speed to the Duke's tent and give the alarm; and you, William, to
Count Egmont. Haste, haste!" he cried, "the sortie has begun!"
It was a wondrous scene.
Out from the town poured the Dauphin's regiment under the command of the
brave but rash Teligni, and in a few minutes the object of the sortie
became evident. Close to the walls, between them and the Somme, stood
many houses of the humbler sort, and an avenue of thick plane-trees grew
beside them.
In a few minutes the houses were enveloped in flames, and the soldiers
were levelling the trees to the ground with axes.
These would form an obvious shelter to an attacking force, and their
destruction was a necessity.
Meanwhile the Admiral (Coligni) was lining the ramparts with
arquebusiers, to protect the forces on sortie.
The English camp was the first to receive the alarm and to come into
action, as Lord Clinton saw to his great joy.
On all sides they were hurrying up, and presently from their serried
ranks a heavy musketry fire poured forth. The distance was great, for
the Somme and the morass lay between them and their foe, and this Lord
Clinton instantly perceived.
"Ride, boy, to Count Brederode, and bid him bring up some field-pieces,"
he cried hotly to William, who dashed off on his errand.
Now the French arquebusiers began a heavy fusillade on the advancing
besiegers, and soon a thick veil of smoke hid the town of St. Quentin
from view.
Little harm was being done by the hot musketry fire, and Lord Clinton
soon saw that the object of the garrison would be attained.
"Oh, Brederode, Brederode! when will your guns speak?" he cried, as he
heard the enemy's trumpets sound the recall.
Suddenly a roar of artillery rent the air, and the brave foe began to
retreat slowly and sullenly. Many a gallant man lay dead outside the
walls, stricken by that fierce fire; but their work was done—the
Admiral's object was gained.
The town of St. Quentin, though rich and prosperous, was protected only
by ancient fortifications, long since "out of date," and in ruinous
condition.
The garrison consisted of but one thousand men, and these were miserably
armed; there was practically no artillery.
When the gallant Admiral had thrown himself into the town he found but
one culverin on the ramparts, and for that one no ammunition had been
provided!
The town was not provisioned for a siege—a month's rations for the
troops was all that Coligni could find in St. Quentin.
Then the Admiral took a desperate step which nothing but the cruel
exigencies of war could justify.
All the aged and infirm, all the sick and helpless, were ordered to
leave the city, and seven hundred individuals were thus expelled, most
of them to perish from want and misery!
The women were shut up in the cathedral and the churches, "lest their
terror and their tears should unman the troops." Coligni himself was the
very life and soul of the defence; foremost in every danger, sharing all
hardships, and cheering all despairing hearts, he was prepared to die
under the ruins of the town—he would never surrender to the foe!
Meanwhile, a great French army, numbering eighteen thousand foot and six
thousand horse, was approaching to the relief of St. Quentin under the
Constable Montmorency.
It was mainly composed of German mercenary troops, but the chivalry of
France were represented there in splendid array, proud to fight under
such leaders as Montmorency, the Prince of Condé, the Duke de Nevers,
Daudelot (the brother of the Admiral), and many another illustrious
chief.
The relief army had encamped on the banks of the Somme at La Fère and
Ham; the Admiral sent messengers to Montmorency imploring instant
succour.
The next day, August 8th, Daudelot strove to break through the lines of
the besiegers at the head of two thousand men, and he failed miserably!
Most of his men perished in the morass, his guides mistaking the paths,
and thus bringing them into contact with the outposts of the besiegers.
Their leader, under the cover of night, succeeded in making good his
retreat to La Fère, at the head of a mere straggling group of beaten
men!
That same night a different scene took place in the great military tent
of Lord Clinton: he was entertaining the Lords Pembroke and Gray, and
many of the leaders of the Spanish army were there.
The night was chilly, and a fine rain was falling. Around the camp fire
sat warriors of world-wide fame, and the English aides-de-camp, watchful
for the comforts of their lord's guests, marked each word that fell from
their lips.
Especially did Almoral, Count Egmont, call forth their fervent
admiration.
"He is like a young war-god," whispered Ralph to William. "Never saw I
so glorious a specimen of the _genus homo_. Oh, to follow such a leader
as that into the hot din of battle!"
"Listen to what he is saying," replied his brother in a low voice;
"methinks our chance of such an honour will soon come." For Almoral was
relating how that very night his reiters had captured a messenger sent
by Coligni to Montmorency.
"He had short shrift, I suppose!" said Brederode, with a hoarse laugh.
"By my faith, no!" replied Egmont. "When I had read his message, I sent
him on his way to the French Constable, and bade him deliver it duly.
For this was the message—
"'Par l'amour de Dieu, des sècours, ou nous allons perir.'"
"You did well, Egmont," said Philibert of Savoy, "for I know the fiery
old Constable well, and this message will sting him to frenzy.
"Ah! would that to-morrow were the day of battle; for, mark you, we
stand in a strange position of peril. In front of us is St. Quentin,
which we dare not abandon. Northward lies the French army, while from
the south Guise is hurrying up with his victorious army from Italy.
"We may be caught between three fires unless we can destroy this French
army and capture St. Quentin before Guise can arrive. And if we can do
this, as by the help of Heaven we shall, there lies no other fortified
city between us and Paris, and Guise may arrive to find us in possession
of that noble city."
The guests rose with one consent and cheered lustily. They drew their
swords and clashed them overhead with fierce joy!
"Yes," whispered Ralph to William again, "we shall fight to-morrow, and
may you and I be in the thick of the strife!"
Saturday, August 9th, broke hazily; St. Quentin was enveloped in a thick
mist which arose from the swampy plain surrounding it.
At early dawn Montmorency put his whole army in motion; he would relieve
St. Quentin, or perish!
His first effort was attended with surprising success. Intervening low
hills hid the advance of his troops from the Spaniards, and thus he was
able to secure possession of a windmill which commanded a ford over the
Somme, which led to the Spanish camp.
The mill was held by a small force of the enemy, but Montmorency quickly
captured it and placed there a strong garrison under the Prince of
Condé. The main body pressed across the ford, and the artillery opened a
heavy fire on the Spanish camp, to the infinite surprise of the
Spaniards.
It was as though their foe had dropped from the clouds. So near was the
range that the Duke of Savoy's tent was levelled to the ground, and
Philibert had barely time to escape, carrying his armour in his hand! He
took refuge in the quarters of the commander of the cavalry, Count
Egmont.
This brief success seemed to Montmorency to be the presage of victory,
and Daudelot was sent with a strong force to cross the river and the
morass, and so bring succour to the besieged town. Meanwhile the French
army would keep the Spaniards in check.
Soon the arquebusiers, in their heavy armour, were plunging horribly in
the quagmires of the morass, and by this time the Spanish artillery was
dealing death among them.
Moreover, boats were required, and only four could be found; and these,
heavily laden with soldiers and the munitions of war, crossed and
recrossed the river slowly and with great difficulty. Two, overladen
with their burdens, sank in the deep waters, and the shouts and screams
of the drowning men added to the horrors of the scene.
Eventually Daudelot, with five hundred men, reached the gates of St.
Quentin; all the rest perished miserably. Montmorency now gave the order
to retreat; a strong reinforcement (though at great loss) had been
thrown into the city, and so far his object was effected.
Meanwhile, a brief council of war was held in Egmont's tent, in which
the fiery vehemence of the Count carried everything before it.
The Duke of Savoy urged _caution_.
The French army was so situated that the Spanish infantry, on which he
placed his chief confidence, could not act effectually against it.
But the cavalry officers carried the day.
"Shall we let so rich a prize escape?" cried Egmont, with wild
enthusiasm. "Heaven has placed within our power the destruction of the
flower of the French army, a Prince of the blood royal, and the great
Constable Montmorency. Capture them, and St. Quentin will be ours to-
morrow; and, by the grace of God, Paris will follow!"
And, as he spoke, the auburn locks which fell over his shoulders shook
like a lion's mane; his eyes flashed fire, his burning eloquence was
irresistible!
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From the English quarters, where every man was drawn up in battle array,
Lord Clinton watched the progress of the battle and the movements of the
contending armies, ready at any moment to take part therein.
He marked the Spanish cavalry drawing together in one dense mass in
Egmont's quarters. By his side stood his young aides-de-camp.
"It will be a cavalry battle, I fear," he cried, "and England will have
no share in the glory of the day!"
The young men around him, full of martial fire and thirsting for
conflict and victory, groaned audibly in dismay.
Then Clinton turned suddenly to his faithful three, whom he had learned
to love.
"Ah! I see how it is," he cried, "and you shall have the chance of glory
you thirst for! Ride, all three of you, to Egmont, and tell him that the
English force will follow swiftly on in the rear of his cavalry, in case
he need support. Tell him I make him a gift of your three swords, if he
can find place for you, and Heaven send you back to me in safety, and
forgive me if I err!"
"Oh, thanks, my Lord, a thousand thanks!" cried the three with one
voice, and in another moment they were thundering forth to the spot
where Egmont's emblazoned standard fluttered heavily in the breeze.
They were just in time; a minute longer and they had been too late!
The sun had burst forth suddenly from a dark bank of clouds; it shone
vividly on Count Egmont as he sat on his great Flemish war-horse,
splendidly armed, in front of his eight thousand cavalry.
Availing themselves of the privilege attached to aides-de-camp, the
three Englishmen traversed the plain in front of the grim line of the
cavalry, motionless, but eagerly awaiting the signal to charge.
Reaching Egmont's side, De Fynes, as the eldest, bared his head and
cried—
"A message, my Lord Count, from Lord Clinton!" and he repeated the
message word for word.
Egmont had noted these three young Englishmen as they hung upon his
words in Lord Clinton's tent on the previous night, and he knew the
value of good English swords!
So he smiled as he said—
"Lord Clinton offers your services as my 'aides' to-day; be it so—fall
in behind me."
They bowed their gratitude, then drew their swords and joined the ranks
of the noble youths who followed the banner of Egmont and did him
special and personal service.
Oh, how happy they were!
No fear, no misgiving beclouded their martial souls at that supreme
moment!
Suddenly Egmont waved his sword aloft, and the clarions' shrill notes
gave the eagerly looked for signal to charge, and with a wild "Hurrah!"
the serried squadrons thundered down the slopes.
Meanwhile conflicting counsels destroyed the confidence of the French
army, hesitation and dismay beset them. The keen eye of Condé had
watched the dark masses of Spanish cavalry gathering together on the
hills ready to descend like an avalanche on the retreating enemy. De
Montmorency's artillery dragged heavily through the swampy ground in the
rear, and he would not abandon it.
In vain Condé sent swift and urgent messages to him, pointing out the
danger of delay.
It was too late, the Spaniards were upon them! The retreating army
stayed its course and boldly faced the coming storm.
Egmont with two thousand horse charged on their left flank; the other
side was assaulted by the Dukes Eric and Henry of Brunswick, while
Mansfeld burst on their front.
The French army wavered under the tremendous shock, while the camp
followers, pedlers and sutlers took to instant flight, and thus spread
dismay through the entire army.
The Spanish cavalry carried everything before it; the rout was sudden
and final!
The Duc de Nevers made a despairing effort to restore the battle at the
head of five hundred dragoons; but the "black devils," as the Frenchmen
called the "Schwartzreiters," cut them to pieces, and the Duc barely
escaped at the head of a mere handful of men to La Fère, and with him
was the Prince of Condé.
For a time the French infantry presented a bold front; the Gascons, the
flower of the army, threw themselves into squares, and the fierce
cavalry rode round their solid masses, bristling with steel, unable to
find an entrance.
At this moment the Duke of Savoy, with his artillery, came on the field
of action, and their deadly fire sealed the fate of the foe.
Yet the noble chivalry of France refused to be thus scattered and
beaten; they gathered together in groups, fighting desperately to the
last—brave souls to whom death was preferable to surrender!
Many men threw down their arms on that field of blood, many fled
helplessly before the remorseless reiters, the strong overturning the
weak and trampling down the wounded.
Blood flowed like water, death was on every side, and above all other
sounds were the wild neighing of the war-horses and the fierce curses of
their riders.
The fight and the pursuit of the fugitives had lasted four hours; the
shades of evening were falling as the victors returned to the field to
take up their quarters for the night and to secure their unhappy
prisoners, for whom heavy ransoms would have to be paid to their
captors.
France had not suffered such a defeat since Agincourt; the bravest and
noblest of her sons had fallen on that field of blood!
Montmorency was a prisoner.
A shot from a schwartzreiter had fractured his thigh as he was throwing
himself into the hottest part of the battle, determined to perish.
Covered with mire and blood, unrecognizable in the fierce mêlée, he
would have died where he fell, at the hands of the fierce foe.
But over his fallen body stood three gallant swordsmen, whose determined
attitude warned all men off. And as the fiery stream of battle flowed
onwards, they lifted up the fallen Constable tenderly, and bore him to a
place of safety.
Yet were they not to do this deed of mercy unmolested. A swarthy reiter
followed them, observing that the fallen man was of high rank.
"I claim this man as my prisoner, and I hold to ransom; mine was the
shot that brought him down," said he fiercely.
"Make your claim good to King Philip, we shall not resist it; the ransom
may be yours, but at present the body is ours," answered De Fynes
boldly.
And De Montmorency lived to pay so great a ransom (10,000 ducats), that
his captor was able to buy a fortress on the Rhine and a title of
nobility!
But the Constable's fame as a soldier was lost for ever, and the evening
of his days was spent in obscurity.
That night the three English youths, unwounded and unscathed, reported
themselves to their commander, Lord Clinton. Ah, what a happy meeting
was that! And though the English contingent took no leading part in the
battle, yet their presence before the town prevented Coligni from
succeeding in an attempted sortie from St. Quentin—they did good
service.
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