THE BATTLE.
The morning of the twenty-fifth of October, St. Crispin's day, dawned
bright, but not altogether clear. There was a slight hazy mist in the
air, sufficient to soften the distant objects; but neither to prevent
the eye from ranging to a great distance, nor the sun, which was
shining warm above, from pouring his beams through the air, and
tinging the whole vapour with a golden hue. Early in the morning, both
armies were on foot; but more bustle and eagerness were observable in
the French camp, than amongst the English, who showed a calmer and
less excited spirit, weighing well the hazards of the day, and though
little doubting of victory, still feeling that no light and joyful
task lay before them.
The French, however, were all bustle and activity. Men-at-arms were
seen hurrying from place to place, gathering around their innumerable
banners, ranging themselves under their various leaders, or kneeling
and taking vows to do this or that, of which inexorable fate forbade,
in most cases, the accomplishment. Nothing was heard on any side but
accents of triumph and satisfaction, prognostications of a speedy and
almost bloodless victory over an enemy, to whom they were superior by
at least six times the number of the whole English host,--and bloody
resolutions of avenging the invasion of France, and the capture of
Harfleur, by putting to death all prisoners except the King and other
princes, from whom large ransoms might be expected; for a vain people
is almost always a sanguinary one. A proud nation can better afford to
forgive. Nothing was heard, I have said, but such foolish boastings,
and idle resolutions: but I ought to have excepted some less jocund
observations, which were made here and there in a low tone, amongst
the older, but not wiser of the French nobility, prompted by the
superstitious spirit of the times, which was apt to draw auguries from
very trifling indications.
"Heard you how the music of these islanders made the whole air ring
throughout the night?" said one.
"And ours was quite silent," said another.
"We have no instruments," rejoined a third. "This King of theirs is
fond of such toys, and plays himself like a minstrel, I am told: but I
remarked a thing which is more serious; their horses neighed all
night, as if eager for a course, and ours uttered not a sound."
"That looks bad, indeed," observed one of the others.
"Perhaps their horses, as well as their men, are frightened," answered
another.
"I have seen no sign of fear," replied one of the first speakers, with
a shake of the head.
"Why the rumour goes," said the first, "that Henry of England sent on
Wednesday, to announce that he would give up Harfleur, and pay for all
the damage he has done, if we would but grant him a free passage to
his town of Calais."
"It is false," replied the first speaker. "I asked the Constable last
night myself, and he said that there is not a word of truth in the
whole tale, and that Henry will fight like a boar at bay: so every
Frenchman must do his devoir; for if, with six times his numbers, we
let the Englishmen win the day, it must be by our folly or our own
fault."
As he spoke, the Constable D'Albret, followed by a gallant train of
knights and noblemen, rode past on a splendid charger, horse and man
completely armed; and, turning his head as he passed each group, he
snouted, "To the standard, to the standard, gentlemen! Under your
banners, men of France! You will want shade, for the sun shines, and
we have a hot day before us."
Thus saying, he rode on, and the French lines were speedily formed in
three divisions, like the English. The first, or vanguard, comprised
eight thousand men-at-arms, all knights or squires, four thousand
archers, and fifteen hundred crossbowmen, and was led by the
Constable, the Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, with some twenty other
high lords of France, while upon either wing appeared a large body of
chosen cavalry. The whole line was glittering with gilded armour, and
gay with a thousand banners of embroidered arms; and, as the sun shone
upon it, no courtly pageant was ever more bright and beautiful to see.
The main body consisted of a still larger force, under the Dukes of
Bar and Alencon, with six counts, each a great vassal of the crown of
France. The rear guard was more numerous still; but in it were
comprised the light armed and irregular troops, and a mixed multitude
upon whom little dependence could be placed.
When all were arranged in order, on the side of the hill, the
Constable addressed the troops, in words of high and manly courage,
tinged perhaps with a little bombast; and when he had done, the whole
of that vast force remained gazing towards the opposite slope, and
expecting every moment to see the English army appear, and endeavour
to force its way onward towards Calais. As yet, but a few scattered
bodies of the invaders were apparent upon the ground, and some time
passed, ere the heads of the different corps were descried issuing
forth in perfect order to the sound of martial music, and taking up
their position on the field, marked out by Henry during the night
before. Their appearance, as compared with that of the French host,
was poor and insignificant in the extreme. Traces of travel and of
strife were evident in their arms and in their banners; and their
numbers seemed but as a handful opposed to the long line which covered
the hill before them. Yet there was something in the firm array, the
calm and measured step, the triumphant sound of their trumpets and
their clarions, the regular lines of their archers and of their
cavalry, the want of all haste, confusion, or agitation, apparent
through the whole of that small host, which was not without its effect
upon their enemies, who began to feel that there would be indeed a
battle, fierce, bloody, and determined, before the day, so fondly
counted theirs, was really won.
Prompt and well-disciplined, with their bows on their shoulders, their
quivers and their swords at their sides, and their heavy axes in their
hands, the English archers at once took up the position assigned to
them, with as much precision as if at some pageant or muster. Each
instantly planted in the earth a heavy iron-shod stake, which he
carried in his left hand, and drove it in with blows from the back of
his axe; and then each strung his bow, and drew an arrow from the
quiver. Behind, at a short distance, came the battle of the King,
consisting of heavy armed infantry, principally billmen, with a strong
force of cavalry on either hand. The rearward, under the Duke of
Exeter, appeared shortly after on the hill above; and each of the two
last divisions occupied its appointed ground with the same regularity
and tranquil order which had been displayed by the van.
The preparations which they perceived, the pitching of the stakes, the
marshalling of the English forces, and the position which they had
taken up, showed the French commanders that the King of England was
determined his battle should be a defensive one; and the appearance of
some bodies of the enemy in the neighbourhood of the village of
Agincourt, with the burning of a mill and house upon the same side,
led them to believe that some stratagem was meditated, which must be
met by prompt action with the principal corps of Henry's army.
That there were difficulties in attacking a veteran force in such a
position, the Constable D'Albret clearly saw, but he was naturally of
a bold and rash disposition; his enemies of the Burgundian party had
more than once accused him of his irresolution and incapacity; and he
resolved that no obstacle should daunt, or induce him to avoid a
battle, with such an overpowering force at his command. He gave the
order then to move forward at a slow pace, and probably did not
perceive the full perils of his undertaking, till his troops had
advanced too far, between the two woods, to retreat with either honour
or safety. When he discovered this, it would seem an order was given
to halt, and for some minutes the two armies paused, observing each
other, the English determined not to quit their ground, the French
hesitating to attack.
A solemn silence pervaded the whole field; but then Henry himself
appeared, armed from head to foot in gilded armour, a royal crown
encircling his helmet, covered with precious stones, and his beaver
up, displaying his countenance to his own troops. Mounted on a
magnificent white horse, he rode along the line of archers in the van,
within half a bow shot of the enemy, exhorting the brave yeomen, in
loud tones, and with a cheerful face, to do their duty to their
country and their King. Every motive was held out that could induce
his soldiery to do gallant deeds; and he ended by exclaiming, "For my
part, I swear that England shall never pay ransom for my person, nor
France triumph over me in life; for this day shall either be famous
for my death, or in it I will win honour and obtain renown."
Along the second and third line he likewise rode, followed close by
Sir Thomas of Erpingham, with his bald head bare, and the white hair
upon his temples streaming in the wind; and to each division the King
addressed nearly the same words. The only answer that was made by the
soldiers was, "On, on! let us forward!" and the only communication
which took place between the King and his marshal of the host occurred
when at length Henry resumed his position in the centre of the main
battle.
"They are near enough, my Liege," said the old knight. "Is your Grace
ready?"
"Quite," replied Henry. "Have you left a guard over the baggage?"
"As many as could be spared, Sire," replied the Marshal. "Shall we
begin?"
Henry bowed his head; and the old knight, setting spurs to his horse,
galloped along the face of the three lines, waving his truncheon in
his hand, and exclaiming, "Ready, ready! Now, men of England, now!"
Then, in the very centre of the van, he stopped by the side of the
Duke of York, dismounted from his horse, put on his casque, which a
page held ready; and then, hurling his leading staff high into the
air, as he glanced over the archers with a look of fire untamed by
age, he cried aloud, "Now strike!"
Each English yeoman suddenly bent down upon his knee and kissed the
ground. Then starting up, they gave one loud, universal cheer, at
which, to use the terms of the French historian, "the Frenchmen were
greatly astounded." Each archer took a step forward, drew his
bow-string to his ear; and, as the van of the enemy began to move on,
a cloud of arrows fell amongst them, not only from the front, but from
the meadow on their flank, piercing through armour, driving the horses
mad with pain, and spreading confusion and disarray amidst the immense
multitude which, crowded into that narrow field, could only advance in
lines thirty deep.
"Forward, forward!" shouted the French knights.
"On, for your country and your King!" cried the Constable D'Albret;
but his archers and cross-bowmen would not move; and, plunging their
horses through them, the French men-at-arms spurred on in terrible
disarray, while still amongst them fell that terrible shower of
arrows, seeming to seek out with unerring aim every weak point of
their armour, piercing their visors, entering between the gorget and
the breast-plate, transfixing the hand to the lance. Of eight hundred
chosen men-at-arms, if we may believe the accounts of the French
themselves, not more than a hundred and forty could reach the stakes
by which the archers stood. This new impediment produced still more
confusion: many of the heavy-armed horses of the French goring
themselves upon the iron pikes, and one of the leaders, who cast
himself gallantly forward before the rest, being instantly pulled from
his horse, and slain by the axes of the English infantry; whilst still
against those that were following were aimed the deadly shafts, till,
seized with terror, they drew the bridle and fled, tearing their way
through the mingled mass behind them, and increasing the consternation
and confusion which already reigned.
At the same moment, the arrows of the English archers being expended,
the stakes were drawn up; and encouraged by the evident discomfiture
of the French van, the first line of the English host rushed upon the
struggling crowd before them, sword in hand, rendering the disarray
and panic irremediable, slaughtering immense numbers with their swords
and axes, and changing terror into precipitate flight.
Up to this period, Henry, surrounded by some of his principal knights,
stood immoveable upon the slope of the hill, but seeing his archers
engaged hand to hand with the enemy, he pointed out with his truncheon
a knight in black armour with lines of gold, about a hundred yards
distant upon his left, saying, "Tell Sir Henry Dacre to move down with
his company to support the van. The enemy may rally yet." A squire
galloped off to bear the order; and instantly the band to which he
addressed himself swept down in firm array, while the King, with the
whole of the main body, moved slowly on to insure the victory.
No further resistance, indeed, was made by the advanced guard of the
French. Happy was the man who could save himself by flight; the
archers and the cross-bowmen, separating from each other, plunged into
the wood; many of the men-at-arms dismounting from their horses, and
casting off their heavy armour, followed their example; and others,
flying in small parties, rallied upon the immense body led by the
Dukes of Bar and Alencon, which was now advancing, in the hope of
retrieving the day. It was known that the Duke of Alencon had sworn to
take the King of England, alive or dead, and the contest now became
more fierce and more regular. Pouring on in thunder upon the English
line, the French men-at-arms seemed to bear all before them; but
though shaken by the charge, the English cavalry gallantly maintained
their ground; and, as calm as if sitting at the council-table, the
English King, from the midst of the battle, even where it was fiercest
around him, issued his commands, rallied his men, and marked with an
approving eye, and often with words of high commendation, the conduct
of the foremost in the fight.
"Wheel your men, Sir John Grey," he cried, "and take that party in the
green upon the flank. Bravely done, upon my life; Sir Harry Dacre
seems resolved to outdo us all. Give him support, my Lord of
Hungerford. See you not that he is surrounded by a score of lances! By
the holy rood, he has cleared the way. Aid him, aid him, and they are
routed there!"
"That is not Sir Harry Dacre, my Lord the King," said a gentleman
near. "He is in plain steel armour. I spoke with him but a minute
ago."
"On, on," cried Henry, little heeding him. "Restore the array on the
right, Sir Hugh Basset. They have bent back a little. On your guard,
on your guard, knights and gentlemen! Down with your lances. Here they
come!" and at the same moment, a large body of French, at the full
gallop, dashed towards the spot where the King stood. In an instant,
the Duke of Gloucester, but a few yards from the monarch, was
encountered by a knight of great height and strength, and cast
headlong to the ground. Henry spurred up to his brother's defence, and
covering him with his shield, rained a thousand blows, with his large,
heavy sword, upon the armour of his adversary, while two of the Duke's
squires drew the young Prince from beneath his horse.
"Beware, beware, my Lord the King!" cried a voice upon his left; and
turning round, Henry beheld the knight in the black armour, pointing
with his mace to the right, where the Duke of Alencon, some fifty
yards before a large party of the French chivalry, was galloping
forward, with his battle-axe in his hand, direct towards the King.
Henry turned to meet him; but that movement had nearly proved fatal to
the English monarch; for as he wheeled his horse, he saw the black
knight cover him with his shield, receive upon it a tremendous blow
from the gigantic adversary who had overthrown the Duke of Gloucester,
and, swinging high his mace, strike the other on the crest a stroke
that brought his head to his horse's neck. A second dashed him to the
ground; but Henry had time to remark no more, for Alencon was already
upon him, and he had now to fight hand to hand for life. Few men,
however, could stand before the English monarch's arm; and in an
instant, the Duke was rolling in the dust. A dozen of the foot
soldiers were upon him at once.
"Spare him, spare him!" cried the King; but, ere his voice could be
heard, a dagger was in the unhappy prince's throat.
When Henry looked round, the main body of the French were flying in
confusion, the rear guard had already fled; and all that remained upon
the field of Agincourt of the magnificent host of France, were the
prisoners, the dying, or the dead, except where here and there,
scattered over the ground, were seen small parties of twenty or
thirty, separated from the rest, and fighting with the courage of
despair.
"Let all men be taken to mercy," cried the King, "who are willing to
surrender. Quick, send messengers, uncle of Exeter, to command them to
give quarter."
"My Lord the King! my Lord the King!" cried the voice of a man,
galloping up in haste, "the rear-guard of the enemy have rallied, and
are already in your camp, pillaging and slaying wherever they come."
"Ha, then, we will fight them too," cried the monarch. "Keep the
field, my Lord Duke, and prevent those fugitives from collecting
together;" and gathering a small force of cavalry, Henry himself rode
back at speed towards the village of Maisoncelles. But when he reached
the part of the camp where his baggage had been left, the King found
that the report of the French rear-guard having rallied, was false.
Tents had been overthrown, it is true, houses had been burnt, wagons
had been pillaged; and the work of plunder was still going on. But the
only force in presence consisted of some six or seven hundred armed
peasantry, headed by about six score men-at-arms, with three or four
gentlemen apparently of knightly rank. The cavaliers, who had
dismounted, instantly sprang on their horses and fled when the English
horse appeared; and Henry, fearing to endanger his victory, shouted
loudly not to pursue.
"I beseech you, my Liege, let me bring you back one of them," cried
the knight in the black armour, who was on the King's left; and ere
Henry could reply, digging his spurs deep into his horse's sides, he
was half a bow-shot away after the fugitives. They fled fast, but not
so fast as he followed.
"We must give him aid, or he is lost," cried the King, riding after;
but ere he could come up, the knight had nearly reached the three
hindmost horsemen, shouting loudly to them to turn and fight.
Two did so; but hand to hand he met them both, stunned the horse of
one by a blow upon the head, and then turning upon the other,
exclaimed, "We have met at length, craven and scoundrel! We have met
at length!"
The other replied not, but by a thrust of his sword at the good
knight's visor. It was well aimed; and the point passed through the
bars and entered his cheek. At the same moment, however, the black
knight's heavy mace descended upon his foeman's head, the crest was
crushed, the thick steel gave way, and down his enemy rolled--hung for
a moment in the stirrup--and then fell headlong on the ground.
Light as air, the victor sprang from his saddle, and setting his foot
upon his adversary's neck, gazed fiercely upon him as he lay. There
were some few words enamelled above the visor; and crying aloud, "Ave,
Maria!" the black knight shook his mace high in the air, then dropped
it by the thong without striking, and, unclasping his own helmet, as
the King came up, exposed the head of Richard of Woodville. Such was
the last deed of the battle of Agincourt.