(1330-1376)
[Illustration: The black Prince's seal. [TN]]
Edward, Prince of Wales, commonly called the Black Prince, was born in
1330. He was the eldest son of Edward III., and a model of the highest
virtues of his times, a loyal son, and a brave, yet merciful, warrior.
He sailed with his father to attack the French in 1346, and though
only sixteen was knighted by the king immediately on reaching France.
He "made a right good beginning," for he rode with a small force on a
daring foray, and then distinguished himself at the taking of Caen and
in the engagement with the force under Gondemar du Fay, which
endeavored to prevent the English army from crossing the Somme. King
Edward and his small army compelled to face a far larger French force,
made some of the most daring and successful marches on record in the
annals of warfare.
At length they encamped in a forest, a little to the west of the small
town of Crecy. The French army, outnumbering them some say as four,
some say as twelve to one, was not far distant; but, confident in his
troops and himself, and animated by the memory of many triumphs, the
English king resolved to make a stand. The field of Crecy, from the
capabilities of the ground, was made choice of for the expected
battle; and the plan being drawn out by Edward and his counsellors,
the king, as the greatest and most chivalrous favor he could confer,
determined to yield the place of danger and of honor to the prince,
and in his own words, "to let the day be his."
To insure his success, most of the famous knights were placed in the
division which the Black Prince (as he was now called, from the sable
suit of armor he usually wore) was to command; while the Earl of
Warwick and the celebrated Sir John Chandos were ordered not to quit
his side, but be ever ready to direct and aid him.
Early on the morning of August 26, 1346, the trumpets sounded, and the
army marched to take up the position which had been selected on the
previous day. The ground was an irregular slope, looking toward the
south and east--the quarters from which the army were expected. The
prince's division, composed of 800 men-at-arms, 4,000 archers, and
6,000 Welsh foot, was stationed nearly at the bottom of the hill; the
archers, as usual, in front, the light troops next, and then the
men-at-arms, in the midst of whom was the prince himself, with twelve
earls and lords, as his staff. To the left of this, and higher on the
slope, appeared the second division, of about 7,000 men, commanded by
the Earls of Arundel and Northampton. On a rising ground, surmounted
by a windmill, aloof from the rest, was King Edward himself, with
12,000 men, as a reserve. The wagons and baggage were in the rear of
the prince, under the charge of a small body of archers. As the battle
was to be fought entirely on foot, all the horses were also left with
these.
Mounted on a palfrey, with a white staff in his hand, the king, with a
smiling and cheerful countenance, rode from rank to rank. By noon he
had passed through all the lines exhorting the men to do their duty
gallantly, and defend his honor and right.
The soldiers now had permission to refresh themselves, while waiting
the enemy's approach. They accordingly ate and drank at ease, and
afterward lay down in ranks on the long grass, with their bows and
steel caps beside them.
Meantime the French army had approached very near. Four knights had
ridden forward, and observed King Edward's plan of battle; when,
having seen how fresh and vigorous the English troops appeared, they
advised Philip, the French king, to delay the engagement till next
day, by which time his troops, now hungry and wearied, would be
refreshed. Philip at once saw the wisdom of this counsel, and one of
his marshals immediately galloped to the front, and the other to the
rear.
"Halt your banners, in the name of God, the king, and St. Denis!" was
the command given to the leaders. The advanced troops instantly
obeyed; but the others pressed on, hoping to be among the foremost.
This obliged the soldiers in front to move on again. In vain the king
commanded, and the marshals threatened; hurrying forward in
disgraceful confusion, the French, passing through a small wood,
suddenly found themselves in the presence of the English. The surprise
caused the first line to fall back, and thus increase the confusion.
The English soldiers now rose steadily from the grass, and stood in
fair and martial order on the hillside, with the standard of the Black
Prince in their front.
The sky had by this time become clouded; a thunder-storm came on, and
torrents of rain soon fell--slackening the strings of the cross-bows
of the Genoese archers, who had advanced to break the firm front of
the English bowmen. The clouds cleared quickly away, and the western
sun soon shone out bright and clear, full in the faces of the French.
At the moment the Genoese drew their arbalists, and commenced their
discharge, each English archer stepped forward a single pace, as he
took his bow from the case in which it had been protected from the
rain; and a flight of arrows fell among the Genoese, piercing their
heads, arms, and faces, and causing them instantly to retreat in
confusion among the horsemen in their rear.
The passionate French king, instead of trying to rally the fugitives,
at once ordered the men-at-arms to fall upon them. The cavalry, the
heavy troops, and the cross-bow men, soon formed a wild and reeling
crowd, amid which the English poured a continued flight of unerring
arrows, and not a single bowstring was drawn in vain.
Meantime the Count of Alencon, dividing his men into two parties,
swept round on one side of this scene of confusion; while the Count of
Flanders did the same on the other side, and, avoiding the archers,
furiously attacked the men-at-arms around the prince. England's
chivalry, headed by the gallant boy, met the impetuous charge with
equal valor and with greater success; and as each headlong effort of
the French deranged the ranks for a moment, they were formed anew,
each man fighting where he stood, none quitting his place to make a
prisoner, while growing piles of dead told of their courage and vigor.
The two counts were slain, and terror began to spread through their
troops. A large body of German cavalry now bore down on the prince's
archers, and, in spite of the terrible flight of arrows, cut their way
through, and charged the men-at-arms. By this time nearly forty
thousand men were pressing round the little English phalanx; but the
combat was renewed, hand to hand, with more energy than ever, while
the Earls of Northampton and Arundel moved up with their division, to
repel the tremendous attack.
King Edward still remained with his powerful reserve, viewing the
battle from the windmill above. The Earl of Warwick now called a
knight, named Thomas of Norwich, and despatched him to the king.
"Sir Thomas," demanded Edward, "is my son killed, or overthrown, or
wounded beyond help?"
"Not so, my liege," answered the knight; "yet he is in a rude shock of
arms, and much does he need your aid."
"Go back, Sir Thomas, to those who sent you," rejoined the king, "and
tell them from me, that whatever happens, to require no aid from me,
so long as my son is in life. Tell them, also, that I command them to
let the boy win his spurs; for, God willing, the day shall be his, and
the honor shall rest with him, and those into whose charge I have
given him."
The prince, and those around him, seemed inspired with fresh courage
by this message; and efforts surpassing all that had preceded were
made by the English soldiers. The French men-at-arms, as they still
dashed down on the ranks, met the same fate as their predecessors;
and, hurled wounded from their dying horses, were thrust through by
the short lances of the half-armed Welshmen, who rushed hither and
thither through the midst of the fight. Charles of Luxembourg, who led
the German cavalry, seeing his banner down, his friends slain, his
troops routed, and himself wounded severely in three places, fled,
casting off his rich surcoat, to avoid recognition.
This prince's father, the veteran King of Bohemia, was seated on
horseback at a little distance from the fight. The old man had fought
in almost every quarter of Europe; but, though still full of valor, he
was now blind. Unable himself to mark the progress of the fight, he
continued to inquire anxiously, and soon discovered that the day was
lost.
"My son," demanded the veteran monarch of his attendants; "my
son!--can you still see my son?"
"The King of the Romans is not in sight, sire," was the reply; "but
doubtless he is somewhere engaged in the _melee_."
"Lords," continued the old king,--drawing his own conclusions from
what he heard, and resolved not to quit the field alive--"Lords, you
are my vassals, my friends, and my companions; and on this day, I
command and beseech you to lead me forward so far that I may deal one
blow of my sword in the battle."
They linked their horses' bridles to one another, and placing their
venerable lord in the centre, galloped down into the field. Entering
the thickest strife, they advanced directly against the Prince of
Wales. Here the blind monarch was seen fighting valiantly for some
time; but at length his banner went down. Next day he was found dead
on the field of Crecy--his friends around him--their horses still
linked to each other by the bridles.
It was growing dark ere the angry Philip could force his way through
the confusion he had himself chiefly caused by the imprudent command
he gave at the commencement of the battle. The unremitting arrows of
the English still continued to pour like hail; and his followers fell
thickly around him. Many fled, leaving him to his fate; and presently
his own horse was killed by an arrow.
One of his attendants, John of Hainault, who had remained by his side
the whole day, mounted him on one of his own chargers, and entreated
him to quit the field. Philip refused; and, making his way into the
thickest battle, fought for some time with great courage. At
length--his troops almost annihilated, himself wounded in two
places--he suffered John to half force him from the field; and, with a
few of his lords, and only sixty men-at-arms, reached his nearest
castle of Broye in safety. At midnight he again set out, and did not
slacken his flight till he reached Amiens.
The gallant Prince of Wales still held his station firmly in the
battle; the utmost efforts of the French had not made him yield a
single step. By degrees, as night fell, the assailants decreased in
numbers, the banners disappeared, and the shouts of the knights and
the clang of arms died away. Silence at last crept over the field, and
told that victory was completed by the flight of the enemy. Torches
were then lighted, in immense numbers, along the English lines to
dispel the darkness.
King Edward now first quitted his station on the hill; he hastily
sought his conquering boy, and clasped him proudly to his bosom.
"God give you perseverance in your course, my child!" cried the king,
as he still held him. "You are indeed my son! Nobly have you acquitted
yourself, and worthy are you of the place you hold!"
The youthful hero had hitherto, in the excitement and energy of the
battle, felt only the necessity of immense exertion, and had been
unmindful of all but the immediate efforts of the moment; but now, the
thought of his great victory--which his father's praise seemed first
to bring fully to his mind--overcame him, and he sank on his knees
before the king, and entreated his blessing, after a day of such glory
and peril. And thus ended the battle of Crecy.
The prince had now fully established his character as a warrior. Two
or three years afterward, he showed that he could display equal
courage at sea as on land; this was in an engagement with the
Spaniards.
Peter the Cruel--as he was termed--was at that time King of Castile,
and encouraged, to a great extent, the pirates who infested the
English seas. His own fleet even, in passing through the British
Channel, had captured a number of English merchantmen, returning from
Bordeaux, and after putting into Sluys, were preparing to sail back in
triumph with the prizes and merchandise.
King Edward determined to oppose their return, and collected his fleet
off the coast of Sussex, near Winchelsea. When he heard that the
Spaniards were about putting to sea, he immediately embarked to
command the expedition in person. The Black Prince, now in his
twentieth year, accompanied him, and commanded one of the largest
vessels. The day on which the Spanish fleet would make its appearance
had been nicely calculated. Edward waited impatiently for its
approach, and, to beguile the time, made the musicians play an air
which the famous Chandos, who was now with him, had brought from
Germany. During the concert, the king, from time to time, turned his
eye to the watcher at the masthead. In a short time the music was
interrupted by the cry of--"A sail!" Ordering wine to be brought,
Edward drank one cup with his knights, and, throwing off the cap he
had worn till now, put on his casque, and closed his visor for the
day.
The Spanish ships came on in gallant trim. The number of fighting men
which they contained was, compared with the English, as ten to one;
and their vessels were of a much greater size. They had also large
wooden towers on board, filled with cross-bowmen, and were further
provided with immense bars of iron, with which to sink the ships of
their opponents. They approached, with their tops filled with
cross-bowmen and engineers, the decks covered with men-at-arms, and
with the banners and pennons of different knights and commanders
flying from every mast. They came up, in order of battle, a few hours
before night. King Edward immediately steered direct against a large
Spanish ship; endeavoring, according to the custom of ancient naval
warfare, to run her down with his prow. The vessel, which was much
superior to his own in magnitude, withstood the tremendous shock--both
ships recoiling from each other. The king now found his ship had
sprung a leak, and was sinking fast. In the confusion the Spanish
vessel passed on; but Edward immediately ordering his ship to be
lashed to another of the enemy, after a desperate struggle, made
himself master of a sound vessel.
The battle now raged on all sides. Showers of bolts and quarrels from
the cross-bows, and immense stones, hurled by powerful engines, were
poured upon the English. The Black Prince, imitating the example of
his father, had fixed on one of the largest ships of the enemy; but,
while steering toward her, the missiles she discharged pierced his own
vessel in several places. The speedy capture of his enemy was now
necessary; for, as he came alongside, his barque was absolutely
sinking. The sides of his opponent's vessel being much higher than his
own rendered the attempt very hazardous; and while, sword in hand, he
attempted to force his way, bolts and arrows poured on his head from
every quarter. The Earl of Lancaster, sweeping by to engage one of the
enemy, saw the situation of the prince, and immediately dashed to the
other side of the antagonist, and after a fierce but short struggle,
the Spanish ship remained in the hands of the prince; and scarcely had
he and his crew left their own vessel, before she filled and went
down.
Twenty-four of the enemy's ships had by this time been captured; the
rest were sunk, or in full flight; and, night having fallen, King
Edward measured back the short distance to the shore. Father and son,
then mounting horse, rode to the Abbey of Winchelsea, where Queen
Philippa had been left, and soon turned the suspense she had suffered,
since darkness had hidden the battle from her sight, into joy and
gratitude.
The French king, Philip, was now dead, and had been succeeded by his
eldest son John. Some proceedings, on the part of the new monarch,
were regarded as a signal to break the truce which had subsisted for a
short time between the English and the French. Various displays of
hostilities followed, and many negotiations were entered into without
success. The Black Prince, being appointed captain-general, sailed for
Bordeaux in August, 1355, and arrived there after an easy passage. His
first movements were always successful; and, even when winter set in,
the judicious manner in which he employed his troops enabled him to
add five fortified towns and seventeen castles to the English
possessions.
Spring and summer passed by--the prince still continuing active. At
length, the French king collected an immense army, and marched to
intercept him. Though well aware that John was endeavoring to cut off
his retreat, the Black Prince was ignorant of the exact position of
the French army, until, one day, a small foraging party fell in with a
troop of three hundred horsemen, who, pursuing the little band across
some bushes, suddenly found themselves under the banner of the Black
Prince. After a few blows they surrendered, and from them the prince
learned that King John was a day's march in advance of him.
A party, despatched to reconnoitre, brought back intelligence that an
army of eight times his force lay between him and Poitiers. Though
without fear, the prince felt all the difficulties of his situation;
yet his simple reply was--"God be our help!--now let us think how we
may fight them to the best advantage."
A high ground, commanding the country toward Poitiers, defended by the
hedges of a vineyard, and accessible from the city only by a hollow
way scarcely wide enough to admit four men abreast, presented to him a
most defensible position. Here he encamped, and early next morning,
disposed his troops for battle. He dismounted his whole force; placed
a body of archers, drawn up in the form of a harrow, in front, the
men-at-arms behind, and stationed strong bodies of bowmen along the
hedges, on each side of the hollow way. Thus, while climbing the hill,
the French would be exposed to the galling flights of arrows, while
the nature of the ground would further render their superiority in
numbers of little avail.
The French host now began to advance;--yet, as its ocean of waving
plumes rolled up the hill, the prince, in the same firm tone which had
declared the day before, that England should never have to pay his
ransom, now spoke the hope of victory.
Three hundred chosen horsemen soon reached the narrow way, and,
putting their horses at full gallop, poured in to charge the harrow of
archers. The instant they were completely within the banks, the
English bowmen along the hedges poured a flight of arrows, which threw
them at once into confusion.
The bodies of the slain men and horses soon blocked up the way; but a
considerable number, forcing a path through every obstacle, nearly
approached the first line of archers. A gallant knight, named James
Audley, with his four squires, rushed against them; and thus, almost
single-handed, he fought during the whole day, hewing a path through
the thickest of the foe, until late in the evening; when, covered with
many wounds, and fainting from loss of blood, he was borne from the
field.
Meantime the shower of arrows continued to pour death, while the
English men-at-arms, passing between the lines of the archers, drove
back the foremost of the enemy, and the hollow soon became one scene
of carnage. One of Edward's officers, named the Captal de Buch, at the
same time issued from a woody ravine situated near the foot of the
hill,--where, with three hundred men-at-arms and three hundred archers
on horseback, he had lain concealed,--and attacked the flank of one of
the divisions of the French army, commanded by the Dauphin, as it
commenced the ascent. This, with the confusion in front, and a rumor
that part of the army was beaten, carried terror into the rear ranks,
and vast numbers, who had hardly seen an enemy, galloped madly from
the field. The arrows discharged by the horse-archers now began to
tell on the front line of the enemy:--the quick eye of Sir John
Chandos marked it waver and open.
"Now, sir," he exclaimed, turning to the prince, "ride forward, and
the day is yours. Let us charge right upon the King of France, for
there lies the fate of the day. His courage, I know well, will not let
him fly; but he shall be well encountered."
"On! on! Chandos," replied the prince, "you shall not see me tread one
step back, but ever in advance. Bear on my banner! God and St. George
be with us!"
The horses had been kept in readiness; and each man now springing into
saddle, the army bore down on the enemy with levelled lances, the
Captal de Buch forcing his way onward to regain the main body. The
hostile forces met with a terrible shock, while the cries of "Denis
Mountjoye!" "St. George, Guienne!" mingled with the clashing of steel,
the shivering of lances, and the sound of the galloping steeds. The
sight of the conflict struck terror into a body of sixteen thousand
men, who had not yet drawn a sword. Panic seemed to seize them; and
these fresh troops, instead of aiding their companions, fled
disgracefully with their commander, the Duke of Orleans. This probably
decided the day.
King John was now seen advancing with his reserve, in numbers still
double the force of the English at the commencement of the battle. He
saw his nobles flying, but though indignant, felt no alarm; then,
dismounting with all his men, he led them, battle-axe in hand, against
the English charge. The black armor of the young leader of the English
rendered him also conspicuous; and, while the French king did feats of
valor enough to win twenty battles if courage could have done all, the
prince was seen raging like a young lion amid the thickest of the
enemy. Knight to knight, and hand to hand, the battle was now fought.
The French were driven back, step by step, till John found himself
nearly at the gates of Poitiers, now shut against him. While, however,
the oriflamme waved over his head, he would not believe the day lost;
but, at length it went down, and his hopes fell with it. Surrounded on
every side by foes eager to make him prisoner, he still wielded his
battle-axe, clearing at each stroke the space around him and his
little son, who had accompanied him through the fatal field. A knight
of Artois, of gigantic height, who had been outlawed and had taken
service with England, seeing that the monarch's life would be lost if
he protracted his resistance, suddenly rushed into the circle.
"Yield, sire, yield!" he exclaimed in French.
"Who art thou?" inquired John.
"I am Denis de Mortbec, a poor knight of Artois," answered the outlaw,
"but now in the service of England, because a banished man from my own
country."
"Well, I yield me to you," cried the king, giving him in sign of
surrender, his right gauntlet.
By this time nothing was seen but dead and dying on the field, with
groups of prisoners, and parties of fugitives escaping over the
distant country. The prince, by the advice of Chandos, now pitched his
banner on a high spot; and, while the trumpets sounded a recall to the
standard he dismounted, and, unbracing his helmet, took a draught of
wine with the band of knights who had accompanied him throughout the
arduous day.
The unfortunate French king was soon brought to him by the Earl of
Warwick and Lord Cobham. The prince received his vanquished adversary
with deep and touching respect. Bending his knee before John, he
called for wine, and, with his own hands, presented the cup to the
unhappy king.
By mid-day the battle was over; but, as the pursuing parties did not
return till evening, it was only then that the prince learned the
greatness of his victory. With eight thousand men he had vanquished
more than sixty thousand, and the captives were double the number of
the conquerors.
At night a sumptuous entertainment was served in the tent of the Black
Prince to the King of France and the principal prisoners. John, his
son, and six of his chief nobles, were seated at a table raised higher
than the rest; but no place was reserved for the prince himself. Great
was the surprise when the victor appeared to officiate as page. This
in the days of chivalry implied no degradation, though it showed the
generous humility of the young hero. John repeatedly entreated the
prince to seat himself beside him, and could scarcely be persuaded to
taste the food while his vanquisher remained standing, or handed him
the cup on bended knee. The respectful manner in which the prince
conducted himself, and the feeling he expressed for the misfortunes of
his foe, so touched John, that at last the tears burst from his eyes,
and mingled with the marks of blood on his checks.
The example of their leader was followed throughout the English camp;
every one treating his prisoners as friends, and admitting them to
ransom on terms named, in most cases, by the vanquished themselves.
After this event the prince again distinguished himself in France, for
the claims of his father, which the treaty had in part recognized,
were again disputed. Many battles were fought, and much negotiation
was carried on, extending over several years; while in the midst of
these harassments, the prince, who had long been ill, became worse.
His surgeons advised his return to England. He complied; but day after
day his strength failed him, and fainting fits of long continuance
often led those around him to suppose him dead. At length, on Sunday,
June 8, 1376, he closed a life which for years had been one sad scene
of suffering. He was interred with due pomp in Canterbury Cathedral,
his favorite suit of black armor being suspended over his tomb. Thus,
scarcely past his prime, died "the valiant and gentle Prince of Wales,
the flower of all chivalry in the world at that time."