THE ARMY OF THE NOBLES--TO 1500
With the rise of feudalism arose a further expansion of the principle
of subdivision of command, though in its earliest days it degraded
fighting to the mere personal prowess of the individual, and tactics as
an art of war consequently made little, if any progress. Armies were
built up much as before, and were still in many respects a species of
militia. The knightly tenure was one of personal service for variable
periods,--generally of about forty days,--during which the knight
received no pay, and beyond which the king or overlord was supposed to
defray the cost, and too frequently didn’t.
Sometimes he compounded for service by a money payment to the king,
which enabled the latter to pay others to do his work; this indirectly
leading to the mercenary soldier, or one who serves for pay. Throughout
all the feudal times armies for foreign service therefore had to be
paid, as campaigns could never be concluded within the period of free
service. Hence they were composed partly of feudal retainers, partly
of forced levies or mercenaries raised by some knight or gentleman,
expert in war, to serve the king at a fixed rate of pay, which was
often higher than that of a day labourer at home, with the prospect of
adventure and booty. There seems to have been little difficulty in thus
raising recruits. The money for this, which was paid in advance, was
raised from the royal revenues, crown funds, fines, or parliamentary
grants. These armies were disbanded, therefore, directly the war ceased.
It is calculated that this system produced a levy of about 60,000
knights and men-at-arms, and the country was divided into areas or
“knights’ fees,” each of which provided one armed man.
The main “arm” in battle was the mailed cavalry, and infantry was
long thought little of; but in England speedily grew up the steady
and trustworthy bowmen, the foundation of that infantry which has
carried the national flag to victory in every part of the world, and
which had no counterpart in those days in foreign armies, such as
France, where the footmen were, till much later, merely armed serfs
or dependants, armed indifferently, and treated with contumely. In
England it was otherwise. There were both greater freedom, and better,
because more independent men. The trust that successive governments
had in the people is best evidenced by the fact that all classes were
armed. As far back as the reign of Henry II. it had been enacted that
every man should possess at least a bow, and it is said that a good
bowman could fire twelve shots a minute at two hundred and forty yards.
Archery and archers were encouraged on the one side of the Channel,
and on the other looked upon with contempt. Nowhere is the difference
between the English and foreign footmen better shown than at Crecy
and Poitiers; and the former is a type of the fighting of the period
immediately before the active employment of gunpowder. The political
events which brought about the battle need not be detailed here: it
will be sufficient to bear in mind that the “Hundred Years’ War” with
France commenced by the claim of Edward III. to the throne of France,
and the corresponding effort on the part of Philip to possess Guienne,
which the King of England held in fief as Duke of Aquitaine, one of
the six “peers of France.” After sundry fruitless expeditions, Edward
landed at St. Vaart on the 11th October, with an army composed of 4000
men-at-arms, 10,000 bowmen, 12,000 Welshmen, and 6000 Irishmen, and one
of his first acts was to bestow on his gallant son, the Black Prince,
the honour of knighthood.[5]
It is interesting to notice how even at this date footmen and infantry
formed an important part of the British army, which, after advancing
almost to the gates of Paris, was compelled to fall back to the coast
for many reasons, among which want of supplies predominated, and
finally, after a brilliant skirmish in crossing the Somme, took up
a position at Crecy-en-Ponthieu--whence, even if defeated, it had a
secure retreat through Flanders--there to give battle to the French.
When day dawned on the 26th August 1346, the battle was formed on the
slopes of the Vallé des Clercs, with the right flank resting on the
village of Crecy, situated _à cheval_ the river Maye, a shallow stream
some ten feet broad. The left flank was protected somewhat by a belt
of trees near Wadicourt, and the position--about a mile long--faced
south-east, and was held in three bodies; the first, on the right,
under the Prince of Wales, with Lords Warwick and Oxford, was composed
of 800 men-at-arms, 1000 Welsh infantry, and 200 archers, with 2000
Welsh and Irish infantry in support;[6] the second, on the left,
commanded by the Earls of Arundel, Northampton, and Willoughby, with
Lords Basset and Ross, contained 800 men of all arms; while in rear
of the right wing was the reserve, 1700 men-at-arms and 2000 archers,
commanded by the king in person.
The baggage was securely packed in a wood in rear of all. Each of the
wings was arranged with archers “formed in the manner of a portcullis
or barrow,” and the men-at-arms dismounted. The king utilised the
steadiness of the dismounted men-at-arms to resist the charge of the
enemy’s cavalry, while shaking and demoralising him in his advance by
fire. It was not unlike the “Battaglia” of the civil war in principle,
which were composed of “pikes” in the mass and “shot” at the angles.
The longbow was no bad weapon as time went. It could range four hundred
yards, was silent, and rapid to shoot, and, like modern smokeless
powder, did not obscure the field of view. There is little doubt that
the real formation was that of a line of men-at-arms, flanked by two
wings of archers, thrown forward, and with a central body of archers
forming a “herse” by the meeting of the inner wings.[7] Cannon, in the
shape of six small pieces slung to a beam, and called “brakes,” were
used for the first time, and both entrenchments and abattis seem to
have been made along the front.
Philip himself, with an army estimated at as much as 120,000 men, was
meanwhile advancing from Abbeville with 15,000 Genoese crossbowmen,
forming an advanced guard, led by Antonio Doria and Carlo Grimaldi,
followed by 4000 men-at-arms and foot soldiers under the Dukes of
Alençon and Flandres, behind which came the remainder of the army in
four lines, under the command of the king. The march was disordered
and confused. “There is no man,” writes Froissart, “unless he had been
present, that can imagine or describe truly the confusion of the day.”
It was a case again of “those behind cried Forward, and those in front
cried Back”; and while the masses surged backward and forward, under
contradictory orders and want of plan, a gathering thunderstorm burst
with peals of heaven’s artillery, and the driving rain lasted long
enough to wet the bowstrings of the crossbowmen and render them of
little use. The superiority of the longbow was fully shown then, for
the English were able to keep the bows cased and the strings dry until
the moment for their use came. And come it did; for the sunshine again
broke through the clouds, and now full in the faces of the French.
Other omens too were there, which in days of superstition helped to
raise the courage of one side and depress that of the other; for over
the French early gathered great flocks of ravens, which “was deemed,”
so writes De Mezeray, “a presage of their defeat.”
When, therefore, the Genoese were ordered to attack, they did little
execution, and under a fire of clothyard shafts so heavy that “it
seemed as if it snowed,” they fell back in panic and disorder. Whether
Edward’s artillery had any real effect is doubtful, but the noise of
the new weapon, probably firing stone shot, may have tended to add
to the _débâcle_, even if the actual loss it caused was small. The
Genoese were between two fires. In front were still the English line,
cool on the defensive, as they have always been; behind was Alençon’s
cavalry, who cared but little--in that chivalric age--for mere men on
foot. “Kill me those scoundrels,” said Philip, “for they block up our
road without any reason. “Truly,” also answered D’Alençon, “a man is
well at ease to be charged with these kind of rascals who are faint,
and fail us now when most at need;” so through the flying men rode the
French knights, whilst over the disordered crowd still fell the heavy
rain of English arrows. To add to the confusion, too, the Irish and
Welsh infantry, though they were of little value apparently otherwise,
joined in the mêlée, to slay with their long knives the dismounted
knights, whether wounded or not, “nor was any quarter given that day by
the victors.”
But when the French cavalry had cleared a way to the English line,
they were a mere crowd, and the Black Prince advanced his line to
counter attack. But there was no lack of bravery in his antagonists.
They fought brilliantly and well, and so far succeeded as to place the
prince’s command in some danger. And while the French knights assailed
the flanks of the English right wing, a sharp attack was made by
some German and Savoyard cavalry which broke through the bowmen, and
even engaged the men-at-arms in rear. To his aid, therefore, pressed
Arundel’s left wing, and soon the French second line also fell back
routed, leaving its chief behind dead. It was too late to retrieve
the disaster, and it is somewhat pitiful to read how at that moment
the poor old blind King of Bohemia turned to those around him to say,
“Sirs, ye are my men, my friends and companions, I require you to lead
me so far forward that I may strike one stroke with my sword.” Verily
there were men in those days, and two knights did not fear to humour
him; so, tying their reins to his, they led him into the thick of the
fight, where, seeking death, the king “struck a stroke with his sword,
yea, and more than four, and fought valiantly, and so did all his
company; but they adventured so far forward that they were all slain,
and the next day were found in the place about the king, with their
horses tied to each other.” His was a valiant death, and though his
son, the King of the Romans, had fled, with him fell the flower of the
French army, the King of Majorca, the Duke of Lorraine, the Count of
Flanders, the Count of Blois, eight other counts, two archbishops, 1200
knights, and 30,000 men. The loss on the English side is not recorded,
but was probably small, and the battle was won chiefly by the fire of
infantry,--in this case, arrow-fire,--as modern battles are mainly
decided by the bullet.
Among the spoil of eighty banners was captured the banner of the King
of Bohemia, charged with three ostrich feathers, and the motto “Ich
Dien,” though the statement that the Black Prince thereupon adopted
them for his crest and motto is probably mythical, as many such stories
are.
Philip seems to have been stunned by the disaster, and long refused
to leave the field. When late that night he reached the castle of La
Broyes, he had with him, of all his armed host, but Sir John Heynault
and five barons. On the other hand, Edward had the joy of embracing his
victorious son, with the words, “Persevere in your honourable career.
You are indeed my son, for valiantly have you acquitted yourself this
day, and shown yourself worthy of empire.”
When the sound of conflict ceased, even Edward did not then know the
magnitude of the victory he had gained. And the night passed without
festivity, while the king himself “made frequent thanksgiving to the
Lord.”
The battle of Crecy is a marked stage in the history of our own army,
for it shows clearly the value of the English infantry of the past,
the importance of infantry fire, and the dawn of the employment of
artillery. But by other nations and in other parts of the world, too,
had the value of resolute infantry been recognised, except in France.
The age of chivalry--so called--had increased, and fostered the use
of body armour. Its very dead weight literally and metaphorically
prevented the growth of tactics. There was no real organisation in
the crusading hosts; they were but gatherings of armed men such as
William led at Hastings, and battles were but a series of incidents
of rivalry between leading or ambitious chiefs. The age of chivalry
was an age of vanity, both of deeds and of iron clothes. Magnificent
was the armour of the knight; magnificent, too, his inordinate desire
to be noticed! These were not the days of personal interviews, daily
papers, or self-advertisement; but Sir Galahad, going from tournament
to tournament to show he was a stronger man, or with a Christian
desire to hurt somebody, did his best in that line none the less! The
Irishman who drags his coat along the ground at a fair--another sort
of tournament--in the hope that somebody will tread on the tail of it,
differs little from the challenger at Ashby de la Zouche. There was the
same human nature at the bottom of both--each was spoiling for a fight!
Still the spirit of the time sensibly increased the military spirit.
To individual prowess was open the tournament where doughty deeds, or
what were considered such, met with immediate reward and encouragement.
No better school for mediæval war ever existed than that in which men
learned to fight under the personal criticism of women. Vanity, pride,
love were all brought to play in these contests, and poetry spread far
and wide through the songs of the troubadour the deeds of the valiant,
the defeats of the weaker--
“Throngs of knights and barons bold,
In weeds of peace high triumph hold,
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while both contend
To win her grace whom all commend.”
War was for long the only career open to men who did not care to
don the cowl of the monk. It, therefore, in the Middle Ages, was
essentially the one pursuit of the gentle born. It tended in a brutal
time to lessen some of the evils of war, which “is a barbarism which
civilisation only intensifies.” “_Væ victis_” was softened by the
feeling that the conquered opponent could be held to ransom and treated
gently. The very training of the knights combined the religious, the
romantic and combatant elements. The right of conferring it from time
to time varied. Before 1102 abbots of the Church had the power to
bestow the golden spurs. Hereward the Wake received his knighthood from
the Abbot of Crowland. But later on, only bishops, princes, or knights
themselves were permitted to bestow the honour, and, with them all,
great care was exercised that the recipient should be worthy thereof.
Considering the value of money in those days, the costs were heavy, the
robes alone amounting to £33. The golden collar of SS. or Esses, part
of the knightly decoration, must have been costly. Its origin is very
doubtful. Whether from “Souveraine,” from “Sanctus Simo Simplicius” (an
eminent Roman lawyer) or in compliment to the Countess of Salisbury,
has not yet been determined.
The knightly duty was laid down with exactness, though probably few
carried out all the wholesome rules in their entirety. “They must learn
from the beginning to labour, run, carry weights, and bear the sun and
dust; to use sparing and rustic food, sometimes to live in the open
air and sometimes in tents; then to practise the use of arms.” The
“true merit of a knight is correctly stated by the Troubadour Arnaud
de Marveil.” It is “to fight well, to conduct a troop well, to do his
exercise well, to be well armed, to ride his horse well, to present
himself with a good grace at courts, and to render himself agreeable
there. Seldom are these qualities in the same person. To unite martial
habits and vigour with the courteous elegancies of polished life, could
not be often accomplished in a half-civilised age.”
His oath declared his duty to be “To defend the Church, to attack
the perfidious, to venerate the priesthood, to repel the injuries
of the poor, to keep the country quiet, and to shed his blood, and
if necessary to lose his life, for his brethren.” But if his duties
were grave, his privileges were great. Knights were freed from all
“gelds” and taxes and from all other services and burthens by Henry
I., in order “that being so alleviated, they may instruct themselves
in the use of horses and arms, and be apt and ready for my service and
the defence of my kingdom.” Salisbury also mentions that knighthood
“rejoices in many immunities and more eminent privileges, and has not
to provide horses, carriages, and other sordid burthens.” Yet another
advantage, of doubtful value perhaps, was that of being rated at a high
value when taken prisoner in war. His ransom, always higher than a less
titled personage, sometimes amounted to ten thousand crowns, but if of
higher value than that, the captor was obliged to surrender him to the
king. Those who were knighted for valour on the field of battle were
empowered to use the square instead of the swallow-tailed pennon, as
knights banneret, and had the privilege of a war-cry. From this came
the mottoes of the modern “coats of arms.”
The history of knighthood is a part, and a very important part too,
of the history of arms. To its institution can be traced many of the
decorations and forms of the arms and armour of the Middle Ages. The
honours it offered were so great and highly prized, that it increased
martial enthusiasm and encouraged military exercises; and the part
taken by women in rewarding the exertions of the knights both in the
tournament and in battle, exercised an enormous influence over the
warlike portion of mankind. Where the prizes were so great, attention
to arms of offence and armour of defence became natural and right. The
chivalric feeling engendered by knighthood and knightly exercises was
not confined to joust and tournament in times of peace. It was a useful
and valuable adjunct to personal bravery in war. “Oh that my lady could
see me now!” said a knight as he successfully led his men to the storm
of a well defended breach. The spirit thus aroused was due to the
knightly customs of the times.
But this “chivalrous” and in a wide sense “cowardly” system was to
receive two rude shocks. The first came from the Swiss mountaineers,
who with the pike grievously routed the gorgeous knighthood of Charles
of Burgundy, and the second from the results of the brain-thought of
the peaceful chemist who rediscovered gunpowder.
That cavalry were useless against determined infantry was a new and
lurid light to the iron-coated feudalist, and led to a considerable
increase of foot-soldiers and the use of the half pike. As the
firearms improved, so the unhappy knight tried to meet the bullet by
thickening his armour of proof, until on foot he was helpless, and
mounted not much better.
[Illustration: _Complete Plate (Circa 1500)._]
Armour, therefore, had much changed since the Conquest, and was still
changing. The Norman knight was chiefly clad in mail, composed at
first of rings sewn side by side on quilted cotton or leather, rings
overlapping (jazerant), scales overlapping (lorica), or square plates
overlapping (tegulated); to be followed by rings set edgewise (as
single mail); and finally regular double mail extending over the head
and entire body. Over the mail coif was worn a conical helmet with a
“nasal” or nose-piece, followed by a cylindrical flat-topped helmet
over the coif; and finally the latter was replaced by a round topped
helmet from which depended a mail cape or _camail_. Similarly as iron
replaced mail for the headpiece, so were knee-pieces, elbow-guards and
neck-guards of plate added. The foot-soldier wore an iron headpiece,
and now and then a back and breast plate, but he was generally badly
provided with defensive armour, and relied on the leather “buff” coat
or clothing of quilted cloth. But the armour from the end of the
fourteenth century to the beginning of the sixteenth century became
more and more massive. At first mixed armour,--mail and plate,--then
plate armour chiefly. In the former period more and more pieces of
iron plate were used to cover weak parts, such as knees, elbows and
shoulders, cuirasses, leg-pieces, thigh-pieces, gorgets (for the
neck), shoes (_sollerettes_), and gauntlets for the hands, appear
successively, until the only mail armour was that hung from the waist
in front, between the plate _cuisses_ that protected the outer part of
the thighs. The helmet or headpiece also became gradually closer, with
a visor that could be opened or closed at will, until it completely
covered the face, so that by the fifteenth century, the whole of the
armour was practically plate. Underneath the armour was generally worn
a leather suit, and over it the “tabard,” which not only bore the
wearer’s coat of arms, but protected him from the sun. Arms remained
much the same--sword, lance and dagger chiefly for the mounted man,
with at times the axe and mill-pick; on foot the two-handed sword,
with halberts and partisans of various types, such as the glaive or
byl, together with sword or dagger. The missile weapons, the longbow
and crossbow, were still common, though giving way slowly but surely to
the firearm; and the former was long more formidable than the latter.
It could be discharged much more quickly, it was less liable to get
out of order, it did not require heavy stores of powder and shot. The
arrow missiles were twofold in character. “Flight” arrows had both
heads and feathers small, and were used for ranges up to two hundred
and forty yards. “Sheaf” arrows were shorter in the shaft, were heavily
feathered and pointed, and were intended for close range. Even when
this ammunition was expended, there was no lack of similar missiles to
be found, either in the bodies of the slain or sticking in the ground.
Moreover, the flight of the clothyard projectile could be directed over
the heads of the men fighting in first line, and reach therefore the
reinforcements hurrying up in rear. Still the firearm slowly gained
ground, and the extensive use of body armour practically lasted until
the end of the sixteenth century, though by that time leg-armour was
generally falling into disuse.
During this same period there was a corresponding growth, in addition
to the increasing appreciation of infantry already referred to, of
permanently organised armies. Their origin as “Free Companies” from
the twelfth to the fourteenth centuries was probably largely due to
the constant state of war and political contests that characterised
the time. A numerous soldiery, disbanded after the termination of
a campaign, were only too eager for further employment, however
hazardous. Their mode of life had destroyed their peaceful instincts,
and so as paid soldiers they served under the banner of any of the
unscrupulous leaders, often of noble birth, that such a condition of
affairs was likely to force to the front. Thus arose the mercenary
soldier, the forerunner of the paid soldier; and from the continuous
training the former perforce received also came the permanently
embodied armies of later days. The system insensibly influenced the
feudal levies, for among them served many others besides knights who
made a profession of arms. Finally, the practical value of a permanent
force was recognised in France, when “Compagnies d’ordonnance” were
raised by paid officers and composed of paid men. So things and matters
went, until the first of the great civil wars brought into the field
English armies that fairly typify the final development of the feudal
system that had been growing up. It differed much from what obtained
elsewhere still. There were but few mercenaries in England, at least
of foreign origin. The native independence of character had produced
a splendid infantry as times were. And with the Wars of the Roses
terminated mediæval tactics and its warfare, as with them finally came
in the dire foe to feudal knight and iron-clad noble, that “villainous
saltpetre” which was to revolutionise war and abolish armour altogether.
So when, on the 13th October 1453, a prince, Edward, was born to the
feeble Henry VI. of Lancaster, the hope Edward of York cherished of
peacefully succeeding to the throne was rudely destroyed. Before him
lay the chance of a long minority under an imperious queen, Margaret
of Anjou, a prospect that pleased neither the duke nor the people.
Many who would have otherwise lived and died peaceful, unwarlike,
citizens sided, half in apprehension, half in sympathy, with the
“White Rose,” a feeling which acquired political importance by the
temporary appointment of the Duke of York as Protector during the
king’s mental feebleness and his son’s minority. “This Richard of York
was a personage to be reckoned with.” And political excitement was soon
followed by a political badge, as in later days the primrose became a
party emblem. In the gardens of the Temple--so tradition has it--the
white and red roses were plucked and worn by the spectators, the
latter by those who followed the reigning house of Lancaster; and from
this small beginning, from this outward and visible sign of internal
disagreement, sprang an internecine contest that lasted for thirty
years, brought about on English soil twelve pitched battles, more than
decimated both branches of the royal family, all the noble houses, and
for savage rancour and hideous cruelty is unequalled in the world’s
history. Yet it is not a war as modern military historians would class
it: there was little method, no “plan of campaign,” worthy the name.
Where “armies”--or rather, bodies of armed men--gathered together,
there a similar body went to fight them like two pugnacious cocks in a
farmyard.
Not that Richard of York began with any certain idea of kingship,
though his son, afterwards to be Edward IV., was less scrupulous.
After the first battle of St. Albans,[8] matters went quite mildly
to begin with. Henry VI. was made prisoner, but was treated with
courtesy, and but for his determined queen, whose influence on his
weak character was as that of Jezebel on Ahab, the end of his reign
may yet have been peace. She was naturally despotic, and a conspiracy
to seize the Yorkist leaders drove them again into open revolt, and
gave them a victory at Blackheath in 1459, but much panic and some
treachery led to the dispersion of the Yorkist soldiery at Ludlow the
next month; to be followed in February 1460 by a complete victory
at Northampton, in which Richard’s son Edward, Earl of March, with
Warwick the Kingmaker, led the hosts of the White Rose, and Henry
became a prisoner once more. This led to a second temporary compromise,
whereby the Yorkists were promised the succession on the death of King
Henry. But it availed little. The war-spirit and the blood feud were
aroused. Wakefield Green witnessed the defeat and death of Richard
of York, and the cruel murder of his twelve-years old son, Edmund of
Rutland, by Lord Clifford. The cruelties of the Lancastrian party, the
systematic pillaging which their soldiery--recruited often from the
ruder North--so often indulged in, alienated the sympathy of the London
men; while the more commercial spirit of Edward of York also tended
to strengthen the party of the White Rose, to keep alive and embitter
the strife, and postpone the long-looked-for peace. The country had
practically subdivided itself into geographical as well as political
factions. The North and Midlands sympathised with Henry, who had there
the support of the landowners, the nobles, and their retainers; the
south more or less with Edward, with whom the great towns, such as
London, Bristol, and Norwich sided. Hence, after the latter had been
proclaimed king, there was still a powerful army of some sixty thousand
Lancastrians at York that had to be dealt with. And dealt with it was,
by the new king and Warwick his Kingmaker, who at Towton won one of
the most decisive and bloody battles during the struggle, and drove
Margaret first to Scotland, and then to exile. Much as her character
may be disliked,--and she was after all only a type of the imperious
feudal “divinely-appointed” ruler,--her dauntless energy and courage
cannot but meet with sympathy. So exile meant with her but _reculer
pour sauter le mieux_, and in France such poor supplies as she could
raise enabled her to make one despairing effort for her son’s sake, and
she landed in Northumberland in 1462; but nothing came of it except
dispersion again and despair. Unhappy queen! unhappy more by her own
faults than aught else. The legal claim of her branch to the kingdom
was never seriously contested. Her method of asserting that claim _was_
contested, and with results fatal to her and her line, together with
fateful results to her people. Commercial Edward was more likely to
develop English handicraft and English trade than pious Henry. As later
the divine right of Tudor, and still more of Stuart, had to give way
to the rising spirit of freedom from autocratic control, whether of
king or pope, so out of the Wars of the Roses began to sprout, from
the soil of feudalism, broken by many a sword, manured by the best of
English blood, the plant of English liberty. Yet one more great contest
between rulers and ruled, and that plant was to spring into full and
vigorous life, of which we now see the matured and widespreading tree.
The nation hardened under the troubles of that stormy time; and,
hardening, grew to stout manhood. In thinking this we see that Margaret
unknowingly helped to make it. For “God fulfils Himself in many ways”;
and by many means, often seemingly of the meanest, do great things
come. Not that Edward was faultless, it was rather the other way. His
private conduct was not beyond reproach; his marriage with Elizabeth
Woodville, and the rise of that lady’s family, alienated many of the
leading nobles, Warwick among the number. So the smouldering embers
of civil war broke out again into flame, and now Margaret had to help
her the mighty power of Warwick, with and by whose direction her next
descent on England was to be made. But this, too, availed nothing.
Though first so successful that Edward fled, later on, he too returned,
but, unlike Margaret, to conquer. For at Barnet the great earl fell,
and with him the last hope of Lancaster.
This remarkable battle is instructive as showing how slow was the
change in tactics during feudal days. There was still the feeling of
personal chieftaincy, so strongly held, that the result of the battle
depended largely on the life of one of its leaders. With the death of
Warwick the battle became a rout, and the feudal retainers fled when
the head of their house fell. Again, to deal with the special political
details which brought about the great fight would be foreign to the
object of this book. The battle of Barnet must be taken as a type of
the progress, such as it was, that had been made in the art of war
since Crecy and Poitiers had been won. It began thus. Edward, after a
five months’ exile, had landed at Ravenspur, and by the time he reached
Nottingham he had raised an army of about ten thousand men, with, it
is said, three hundred Flemings armed with handguns, and apparently
some other artillery. On the other side, the Lancastrians, about equal
in strength, had also some artillery, and had taken up a position on
Gladmore, or Hadley Heath, north of Chipping Barnet, and awaited the
approach of the Yorkists. The night preceding the battle was dark and
gloomy, and the morning broke in heavy mists and rain; notwithstanding
which the troops engaged between four and five o’clock on the morning
of Easter Day, the 14th of April 1471.
[Illustration: _Battle of Barnet (From a M. S. at Ghent)_]
Warwick had at first his artillery on his extreme right, and this fired
through the gloom, but with no effect, as Edward’s right wing did not
extend so far, and was overlapped by the Lancastrians. This army was
commanded by the Earl of Oxford, who led the van, and by the Marquis
of Montagu, who led the second line; the left wing was commanded by
the Duke of Exeter--both wings being largely composed of cavalry.
The extreme left was occupied by archers and pikemen entrenched or
palisaded in a small wood. This probably extended at that time from
Wrotham Park to the column now marking the site of the battle, and near
which tradition says Warwick fell. The centre, consisting of bows and
pikes, was commanded by the Duke of Somerset; and behind this there
appears to have been a reserve under Lord St. John, Sir John Conyers,
and, for a time at least, Warwick himself.
The order of march of the host was with the right wing leading and
the left closing the column of march. On the other side, Edward
from his initial dispositions similarly outflanked the left of his
antagonist, opposite which was the Duke of Gloucester commanding that
wing, and presumably the artillery, if any. The left wing was led by
the Marquis of Hastings; and, as in the Lancastrian army, both wings
were mainly composed of cavalry. In the centre were the Londoners,
infantry armed with bows and bills, and in general reserve was a force
commanded by Edward himself. Some writers speak as if the armies were
formed in three parallel lines, but it would seem that the formation
customary for long after Barnet was that of two wings and a centre.
It is impossible otherwise to account for the curiously isolated and
impulsive attacks on either side by Oxford and Gloucester. Still, it is
practically certain that each of the three bodies into which the army
was divided was more than one line deep. Thus from the outset these
dispositions show a tendency to employ infantry in battle with cavalry
and artillery on the flanks, but the feudal idea still preponderated,
and paramount importance was still attached to the mounted arm, which
on both sides, as in all cavalry actions, simultaneously took the
offensive.
One point, however, is especially noteworthy, and that is, the
appearance of London citizens in Edward’s fighting line. Though not
strong in numbers, they none the less represented the beginning of a
new era, which was to see a citizen soldiery formed of London trained
bands even more important in the next civil war, and which was to find
its climax in the later citizen soldiery, the Volunteer Army of modern
England. The natural result of such a primary disposition of the troops
on either side was that the right wings of both armies, practically
equal in number, gained a temporary success. The battle began by
Oxford’s attack on the wing opposite him, which actually routed it and
dispersed it; but the value of a reserve in the hand of the general
was never more clearly evidenced than when, during Oxford’s absence
and ill-advised, because too prolonged pursuit, Edward launched his
reserve against Warwick’s then exposed flank and the left centre. To
the suddenness of the attack was added the demoralisation caused by
imagined treachery. On that misty Easter morning it was difficult to
distinguish between the badges and banners of one side and the other.
The dress was not a different-coloured uniform, as later on; it had
only the uniforms of iron and steel. A false war-cry was easily raised,
the Oxford banner with a “star” not readily distinguishable from that
of Edward with the “sun.” So that when Oxford returned to the fray, he
fell on his own centre and produced the cry of “Treachery!” which was
always likely to be raised in an army composed of selections from two
factions deadly hostile to one another, and in which the Lancastrians
especially looked with something more than doubt on their new friends,
once the followers of hated York. So that confusion began and spread.
Somerset did little, and soon the centre and right dissolved, and only
on the left assembled round Warwick the relics of the beaten host, and
defended the entrenched wood. Here it was essentially a foot encounter,
with London archers and bills against Lancastrian bows and pikes, aided
by dismounted cavalry and supported by mounted troops, threatening the
flanks and rear. It is said even that Edward’s artillery was brought up
close to aid in destroying the defences; but the defence only delayed
the inevitable end. The battle was lost already, but it wanted yet
one death to make it a type of the death of a system. When Warwick
dismounted of his own will, and after slaying his favourite charger,
so that no retreat should be possible, took up his position with his
friends and personal retainers in the wood at Wrotham, and fell there,
axe in hand, he did something more than destroy the last practical
hope of Lancaster, for with him fell the feudalism of which he was so
magnificent an exemplar. No such man or soldier was ever afterwards
to hold from his own remarkable personality such a position as his.
Cromwell’s resembles it only in his becoming a great and prominent
leader in a civil war. Warwick, and nobles such as he, fought as much
for their order as their king; all succeeding soldiers fought more for
a cause than either.
Meanwhile, Margaret and her son had landed in the West at Plymouth,
to be present at the fatal fight at Tewkesbury where defeat was
followed by the death of her son, whom Edward struck before subservient
attendant lords and stabbed to death, the imprisonment of the queen,
and, later on, the death of Henry VI. in the Tower. Neither he nor all
the house of Lancaster had been able to save his order from decay.
Edward, too, according to his views, had unconsciously aided its
downfall. His death was illumined only by the lurid light of an
ill-spent life. However enthusiastic in bygone years was the following
of the Earl of March, he played the game so badly that with him the
feudal spirit practically disappeared. No son of his succeeded. No
kindly thought clung round the last of the Yorkist line. For he was
practically the last, inasmuch as his son was king but in name, his
brother Richard but a transient star. When on Bosworth field Richard
III. died, with him finished the civil wars of mediæval England and the
feudalism that had accompanied them. In Henry VII., a personality of
no great merit, though he certainly instituted a nucleus of the future
army in raising the “Yeomen of the Guard,” fifty archers strong, was
united the two Roses; and then was born the nation that in the next
civil troubles laid the foundation as far as England is concerned of
modern life, modern armies, and modern war.
Never had a class suffered so severely as that of the nobles in this
prolonged struggle. Many of the royal princes, half of the nobility and
gentry of England, and quite a hundred thousand men had fallen in the
great wars. At Barnet the loss was accentuated by Edward’s own orders.
So many of the leaders of the great houses had been killed, murdered,
or beheaded, that the very decimation of the aristocracy rendered the
growth of the middle class more easy, its fusion with the higher class,
as time went on and wealth increased, more possible. The knighthood of
men of low degree was rare in feudal days; the Tudors were to extend it
to the merchant princes who developed English commerce sword in hand,
and taught foreign nations the prowess of the English race.
[Illustration: _Formation of Lines of Battle at Barnet 14^{th} April
1471._]
But there is also a marked distinction between the conduct of the
battles of the houses of York and Lancaster, and those of the Stuarts
and the Parliament of England in the next civil war. Up to Bosworth,
armies raised at a convenient feudal centre advanced, when “mobilised,”
against another army collected in a similar way at another place
convenient for the faction to which it belonged. They met as soon as
they were ready. They selected no “position for defence,” a primary
tactical law for a weaker force, which by so doing enlisted on its side
the elements afforded by such a selection. This was chiefly due to
the fact that the bulk of each army was still cavalry, but the other
“arms” were increasing in number and value, though still not fully
appreciated by the mounted men.
The two battles of St. Albans and the fight at Barnet fully show this.
In both of the former the combatants met _en plein face_. The one was
making for London, the other stopped him. In the second battle the
Lancastrians tried to check the opponent, and failed in preventing his
advance, both armies in which mounted troops predominated. There was
nothing but a mutual offensive, the system that was at the basis of
feudal tactics, and which crystallised in the personal battle between
knight and knight in the lists. Strategy in its best sense was not,
neither were tactics, for tactics mean the development of a means of
equalising the deficiency of one side in numbers, arms, or morale.
So long as a battle depended on personal prowess, the personal fighting
power, or even the personal domestic influence of a leader, so long
were battles often a mere matter of chance. When Warwick fell, Barnet
was lost. The next civil war changed this: neither the death of
Falkland nor that of Carnarvon at Newbury affected the fight seriously
in one single degree. Finally, as a rule throughout all these days
armies moved in order to subsist, and supply trains were rare. Thus
true strategy was barely in existence yet, but shock tactics in battle
were just beginning to give way to the fire tactics of bow and musket.
As regards supplies in the Wars of the Roses, it must be remembered
that, as in later times, notoriously in the Peninsula, when the armies
had at times to collect the enemy’s shot and bullets, the weapons of
either side were interchangeable.
Doubtless at certain places--castles or fortresses--the actual
munitions were stored. To these the armies must have either
periodically gone to refit, or what answered to convoys, conveying
absolutely necessary warlike stores, must have been formed for the
specific purpose of replenishing the locally exhausted stores. All
that was really required for the purposes of such wars must have been
carried on the persons of the combatants, as seems generally to have
been the case, or even on pack animals or country carts. The state
of the roads and both their poverty and paucity must have rendered
regular organised supply trains impracticable. Similarly as regards
food supplies little could have been carried. Like the French about
1811 and 1812, necessity must have rendered the soldiers hardy and
self-dependent, though of course at the cost of the civil population.
Thus it is said of the French troops in 1811 that they “were trained
to reap the standing corn, and grind it by portable mills into flour;
if green, they mowed it down with equal dexterity for their horses;
if reaped (and hidden away by the inhabitants), they forced it from
the peasants’ place of concealment, by placing the bayonet to their
throats.” And Wellington himself writes, that “the French armies in
Spain have never had any secure communications beyond the ground which
they occupy; and provided the enemy opposed to them is not too strong
for them, they are indifferent in respect to the quarter from which
their operations are directed, or upon which side they carry them on.”
And, later, the French “live by the authorised and regular plunder
of the country if any should remain; they suffer labour, hardships,
and privations every day; they go on without pay, provisions, money,
or anything, but they lose in consequence half their army in every
campaign.” This accounts for the enormous losses of the rank and file
in the early days of the nineteenth century, while the losses in the
fifteenth century, with little or no medical or surgical knowledge for
the aid of sick and wounded, can only be surmised.
History, military history especially, always repeats itself in pointing
out the necessary results of such unsystematically organised systems.
[Illustration: _Half Armour (Circa 1640)._]