THE MARCH OF THE FORLORN SEVEN THOUSAND
It will now be necessary to relate the final incidents of the siege of
Harfleur, after Geoffrey had been removed from the shadow of the
gallows.
All that night a heavy cannonade was directed against the doomed town in
order to prepare the way for the grand assault. But ere the latter was
delivered the Lord of Gaucourt sent a herald to the King of England
offering to capitulate within three days unless the town should be
succoured before the expiration of that term.
Incredibly inactive, the King of France made no effort to relieve the
fortress that had held out so bravely and desperately for more than
thirty days, and on Sunday, September 22, Gaucourt, accompanied by the
principal knights and burgesses of Harfleur, delivered up the keys of
the town.
On the following day Henry and his forces entered Harfleur with all the
pomp and magnificence of a conqueror, but at the North Gate he removed
his casque and shoes, and with impressive humility walked barefooted to
the principal church of the town, where the _Te Deum_ and _Non Nobis_
were sung with the greatest fervour by hundreds of battle-worn English
warriors.
Having done his spiritual duty Henry's next care was to secure the
captured town against attacks from without, and to take steps to husband
his resources. Accordingly the captured knights and men-at-arms were
compelled to give up their arms and armour, and allowed to retain only
those garments sufficient to cover them. Those who were willing to give
their parole to surrender themselves at Calais at Martinmas were
dismissed. A few who declined to give such assurances were sent to
England with the booty.
The English had, by sheer valour and perseverance, secured the chief
town and port in Normandy; but in so doing their losses by wounds and
sickness were so great that the primary object of the invasion—the
conquest of France—was for the time being out of the question.
Henry had three courses open to him: he could either remain within the
walls of Harfleur till reinforcements arrived from England, or he could
re-embark and give up the fruits of victory; or he could adopt the
desperate step of marching along the coast to Calais, a distance of more
than one hundred and seventy miles. Something had to be done; so, with
the glorious record of his great grandfather, Edward III, to raise the
enthusiasm of his men, Henry decided upon the third and most dangerous
alternative.
His preparations were soon complete, for the massing of a huge French
army hastened his actions. Five hundred and fifty men-at-arms and twelve
hundred archers were to be left at Harfleur to hold the town at all
costs; the sick and wounded, together with the artillery and heavy
transport, were sent back to Southampton, and with a bare seven thousand
men King Harry set out upon his desperate enterprise on the morning of
October 8.
"By St. George, 'twill be a question of no little advancement or a
glorious death," exclaimed Sir Thomas Carberry to his squire as from his
position in the vanguard of the host he turned and saw the orderly lines
of men breasting the hill beyond the town of Harfleur. "If we gain our
end our deed will be sung as long as England remains a nation. Failing
that, _dulce et decorum est pro pâtria mori_—what sayest thou,
Geoffrey?"
"Fair lord, I am in accord with thee, though to speak plainly I would
rather return to England victorious than lay my bones in the soil of
France. What thinkest thou of our chance, Sir Thomas?"
"'Tis not a chance: our future lies in the hands of One above. Yet,
speaking as a man well versed in war, our position is very little
different from that of the worthy King Edward III before Crécy, and,
certes, not worse than before Poictiers. Mark yon line of hungry men
clad in rags and rusty armour: I'll warrant they'll fight as blithely
and as well as did their forefathers. Times and manners change, in
sooth, but the character of the English soldier will, I trow, ever
remain the same."
Day after day the weary march was maintained, the troops sleeping in the
open at night, in constant expectation of a sudden onfall by the
overwhelming host that was known to be hovering in the vicinity. Yet
without any serious opposition the English Army reached the mouth of the
Somme, where Edward III had made a successful crossing on his march to
Calais.
But the fortune that had favoured his great-grandsire was denied the
brave and headstrong King Henry, for at Blanche-Taque, the scene of the
passage of the Somme, the French were massed in such a strong position
that it would have been sheer madness to attempt the ford.
"By my halidome, my lords," exclaimed the King, when he saw the enemy's
strength and unassailable position, "ere I left Harfleur I registered a
solemn vow not to retrace one step while I wear coat-armour. If I cannot
go on, here I must abide, but since I am unwilling to stand here and
hurl defiance at these Frenchmen, I must needs go on."
To this deliberate vow Henry scrupulously adhered. On one occasion it is
recorded that he inadvertently rode past a house that had been selected
for his night's resting-place. Stubbornly he refused to return, and
spent the night with his troops in the open.
It can be readily understood that a man who rigorously kept his oath
pertaining to small matters would be even more strict in the ordering of
greater things. He now gave orders for the little army to turn aside and
march inland, following the left bank of the swift-flowing Somme.
This meant that the danger of his position was increased fourfold. So
long as he kept to the coast his left flank was secured from attack, but
directly the English Army marched away from the sea, it was liable to be
completely surrounded by the ever-growing French host.
For eight long days the English army marched slowly up the valley of the
Somme, vainly endeavouring to find a bridge or a ford that had been left
slenderly guarded. To the fatigues of their arduous march were added the
difficulties of obtaining provisions in a devastated country, but
encouraged by the personal example of their Sovereign the troops
maintained their courage and self-confidence.
"Canst perceive yon castle?" asked Gripwell of Geoffrey, pointing to the
summit of a square keep that showed itself above a distant hill. "Tis
the Castle of Maissons where the Count, Sir Raoul d'Aulx, holds thy
father captive."
"I have heard much of Maissons, but never before have I perceived it,"
replied Geoffrey, shading his eyes as he looked towards the grim pile.
"How sayest thou, Arnold? Perchance Sir Raoul and most of his men are in
the field. If I obtain my lord's permission to take a score of
men-at-arms, 'twould be an easy matter to ride over to Maissons and
demand its surrender. Without doubt the near presence of the English
army would frighten them into opening their gates."
"Nay, 'tis not to be thought of, Squire Geoffrey," replied Gripwell.
"Hath not the King issued orders concerning stragglers and against
affairs requiring the absence of any soldiers from the army? Think no
more of it yet awhile, for I'll warrant that if we vanquish the host
that threatens us the gates of every castle in Normandy will be thrown
open to the King."
Reluctantly the young squire had to abandon the chance of rescuing his
father, but ere long an event occurred that kept him fully occupied for
some time to come.
"Geoffrey," exclaimed Sir Thomas Carberry, who had just left the King's
presence, "the time hath come when we must prove our courage and
devotion. Dost mark yon mill, at the head of the river? The red roof is
to be seen above the trees on thy left."
"Yes, sir," replied the squire. "Methinks that foes are in force there,
since the smoke of many camp fires rises skywards."
"Nay, 'tis the fires of the wood-cutters of Peronne. But to the point:
my company must seize yon mill at all costs, and hold the ford above but
hard by the mill till the main body of the army can cross. See to it
that the mounted men-at-arms only are to essay this task—of the archers
we have no need. Now, hasten, for every moment is precious."
Led by Sir Thomas Carberry in person, with Geoffrey and Oswald and
Richard Ratclyffe riding close behind him, the eighty men-at-arms rode
steadily through the open valley towards the ford. Then, as the company
rounded an intervening spur of ground, the mill again appeared in sight.
Scattered in and around the rambling stone building were several French
knights, crossbowmen and men-at-arms. Although placed there for the
express purpose of guarding the important passage, it was not until the
head of the English column showed itself that the defenders realized the
danger. Standing in his stirrups Sir Thomas shouted his battle-cry; then
with a roar the horsemen thundered towards the ford.
Ere the horses could gain the water sufficient time had elapsed to
enable the crossbowmen to wind their cumbersome weapons, and with a dull
bass hum the heavy quarrels began to speed over and betwixt the
Englishmen, some finding a billet in the bodies of the charging horsemen
or their steeds. Now and again a horse would sink to earth, throwing its
rider headlong, while those following had much ado to prevent themselves
from being overthrown by the still plunging animal. Sometimes a thrown
rider would struggle to his feet and begin to stumble blindly after his
comrades, but more often the thrown warrior would lie still and
motionless, never again to hear the shouts of his victorious comrades in
arms.
Now the head of the column was in the swift-flowing river. The water
soaked through Geoffrey's mailed shoes and greaves, but the squire
heeded it not: his whole attention was directed against a knot of
mail-clad Frenchmen who were urging their steeds into the stream to
contest the possession of the ford.
With a crash the sharpened lance-points met, but owing to the retarding
influence of the water the shock was not so great as that of the
tilt-yard. Some of the less skilful riders were hurled from their
saddles to perish miserably in the river, but the majority, casting
aside their unwieldy lances, fell upon each other with axe, mace and
sword.
Of what happened during the next few moments Geoffrey had but a dim
recollection. It was cut, thrust, and parry, steel ringing on steel,
horses champing and neighing, wounded men shrieking dismally till their
miserable cries were stifled by the silent yet swift-running current,
and above all the hoarse shouts of the English men-at-arms who were not
to be gainsaid in their determination to win the ford.
At length the mêlée thinned, and the squire found himself opposed to a
knight clad in bronzed armour, and armed with a long two-handled sword.
Wedged firmly in his high-pommelled saddle the Frenchman had slung his
shield behind his back, and, with the reins dropped upon his horse's
mane, he was able to devote his whole strength to the wielding of his
mighty weapon.
A sweeping cut delivered at Geoffrey's head the squire caught upon his
shield, with no other ill effect than to shear off its upper corner.
Then with lightning rapidity the cut was repeated, this time full on the
youth's right side. The Englishman's sword barely checked the swinging
blow that all but numbed the lad's sword-arm, while his counter-cut fell
harmlessly upon the French knight's gorget.
Realizing that the only way to avoid the seemingly tireless cuts was to
get within his adversary's guard Geoffrey dug his spurs into the flanks
of his charger. The powerful brute instantly responded, and the two
animals were plunging neck to neck as Geoffrey rained a hail of
ineffectual blows upon the Frenchman, who in turn endeavoured to shorten
his sword and recover his lost advantage.
Heedlessly the two combatants were edging down stream, till with a neigh
of terror the Frenchman's horse lost its footing. Its hind feet had
slipped over a shelf in the bed of the river. Scraping desperately with
its fore hoofs it strove to regain a foothold. Only by his prompt action
was Geoffrey able to save himself and his steed from a similar fate.
"Help me, I yield," shouted the knight, dropping his sword and holding
out his right hand.
In reply, Geoffrey stretched out his gauntleted hand to grasp his
vanquished foe, but ere he could do so the struggling animal's feet
slipped from the ledge, and in an instant horse and knight were lost to
view in the depths of the mill-stream.
By this time the ford was won. Those of the defenders who had escaped
slaughter had fled, save a few who, taking shelter in the mill, resisted
desperately till slain to the last man.
The Constable of Portchester's company had lost heavily. Fifteen gallant
men-at-arms had ridden to their death, while a score more had been
sorely wounded. Ratclyffe was making light of a blow that, cracking his
steel bascinet, had grazed his forehead till he was well-nigh blinded
with blood. Neither Sir Thomas nor his squire Geoffrey had sustained
injury, though dents in their armour bore silent testimony to the heat
of the action. But the object of the engagement was achieved, for
without further molestation the whole of the little English army crossed
the Somme.
"Ay, my lord, they bore themselves right manfully," replied Sir Thomas
Carberry, when the Earl of Exeter complimented him on the gallant
exploit of the company. "But here we are across the river, and I'll
warrant our difficulties are only begun. Yet mark these rascals of mine,
they reck not the odds, so long as there is the prospect of a fight."
"Then they'll have their desire ere long, Sir Thomas," replied the
Earl—"a fight compared with which this gallant deed is but naught. The
fame of the English arms will ring through Christendom ere we reach
Calais."
"Amen," replied the Constable. "For 'tis for this purpose that we are
here."