Henry of Monmouth, Volume 2 / Or, Memoirs of the Life and Character of Henry the Fifth, as Prince of Wales and King of England

by James Endell Tyler

CHAPTER XXIII.

henry, with troops much weakened, leaves harfleur, fully purposed to make for calais, notwithstanding the threatened resistance of the french. — passes the field of cressy. — french resolved to engage. — night before the conflict. — FIELD of AGINCOURT. — slaughter of prisoners. — henry, his enemies themselves being judges, fully exculpated from every suspicion of cruelty or unchivalrous bearing. — he proceeds to calais. — thence to london. — reception by his subjects. — his modest and pious demeanour. — superstitious proceedings of the ecclesiastical authorities. — reflections. — songs of agincourt.
1415.

Immediately after the surrender of Harfleur, Henry held a council to deliberate on his future measures. All agreed that, as winter was fast approaching, the King and his army should return to England; but there arose a difference of opinion as to the manner of their return. Henry entertained an insuperable objection against returning by sea; and, notwithstanding all the dangers to which he must inevitably be exposed, he resolved to march through Normandy to his town of Calais. He wished to see with his own eyes, he said, the territories which were by right his own; adding, that he put full trust in God, in whose name he had engaged in this, as he certainly deemed it, his righteous cause. His army had been frightfully diminished by the dysentery; he was compelled to leave a portion of the remainder to garrison Harfleur; and, after the most impartial consideration, the number of fighting men with whom he could enter upon his perilous journey cannot be supposed to have exceeded 9000, whilst the strong probability is that the army consisted of little more than 6000. What portion of admiration for bravery, and what of blame for rashness, an unprejudiced mind would mingle together, when endeavouring to assign the just reward to Henry for his decision to make his way through the very heart of his enemy's country, himself so weak in resources, his enemy both so strong already, and gathering in overwhelming numbers from every side, is a problem of no easy solution. Probably we are very scantily provided with a knowledge of all his motives; and our praise or our censure might now be very different from what it would be, were we acquainted with all the circumstances of the case. How far he expected that the dissensions among the French would prevent them from uniting to offer him any formidable opposition, though not easy to answer, is a question not to be neglected. Especially might he have been influenced by the expectation that the French would not withdraw their forces from the interior, from fear of the Duke of Burgundy, who was ever on the watch to seize a favourable moment of attack. The fact is beyond doubt, that, having garrisoned Harfleur, he quitted that town about the 8th of October; leaving there all the heavy articles and carriages, with whatever would be an impediment to his progress, and conveying all the baggage of the army on horseback. Henry issued a proclamation, forbidding his soldiers, on pain of death, to be guilty of any kind of injustice or cruelty towards the inhabitants as they passed along.

The King of France had collected an army from all sides: he had more than 14,000 men-at-arms under valiant generals, with the greater part of whom he remained at Rouen, watching the motions of the English. On the 20th of October it was resolved in his council, by a large majority, that the English should be resisted in a regular and pitched battle. The King had received the celebrated standard, the Oriflamme, with much solemnity: and war had been declared by unfurling that consecrated ensign. There seemed at length to have spread through King and princes, and nobles and people alike, an enthusiastic spirit, determined to crush the invaders. The Dauphin himself could scarcely be prevailed upon to obey his father's injunctions, and to abstain from joining the army; his life being considered too precious to be exposed to such danger.

Henry meanwhile, after leaving Harfleur,[124] proceeded without any important interruption through Montevilliers, Fecamp, Arques, a town about four miles inland from Dieppe; and on Saturday, October 12, he passed about half a mile to the right of the town of Eu, where part of the French troops were quartered. These sallied out on the English in great numbers, and very fiercely, but were soon repulsed; and a treaty was agreed upon between Henry and the inhabitants, who supplied refreshments to his army. He was now informed that the French would offer him battle in a day or two, whilst he was passing the river Somme. Undaunted by these tidings, he resolved to advance; and to cross that river at Blanchetache, the very spot at which Edward III. had passed it before the battle of Cressy. The field of Cressy was only ten English miles in advance; and it may be safely inferred that the remembrance of the struggle and victory of that day filled both Henry himself and his men with additional zeal and resolution. By the false assurance of a prisoner,[125] that the passage there was defended by many noblemen with a strong force, Henry was induced to change his route, and to proceed up the Somme on its left bank. He reached Abbeville on Sunday the 13th of October; but, to his sad disappointment, he found all the bridges broken down, and the enemy stationed on the opposite bank to resist his passage. At this time Henry's situation was most perilous and dispiriting. His provisions were nearly exhausted,—the enemy had laid waste their own country to deprive his army of all sustenance; and no prospect was before them but famine at once, and annihilation from the overwhelming forces of the French. His army proceeded next day, and passed within a league of Amiens, and were much refreshed with plenty of provisions; wine was found in such abundance that the King was obliged to issue a proclamation prohibiting excess. On the Thursday they reached a plain near Corbie, from which town the French made a sally against them, but were repulsed after a brief but spirited engagement. Here John Bromley gallantly recovered the standard of Guienne, and for his valour was allowed to bear its figure for his crest. Here too Henry showed that, amidst all his perils and hardships, he was resolved to maintain the discipline of his army by inflicting the punishment denounced by his proclamation against violence or sacrilege. One of the soldiers was detected with a copper-gilt pix in his sleeve,[126] which he had stolen from a neighbouring church. Henry sentenced him forthwith to be hung, as a warning to all others not to offend with the hope of impunity.

Quitting Corbie, they passed close to Nesle on the 18th October; when Henry, on the point of laying waste that district, heard that a passage over the Somme was at length discovered. The French, meanwhile, had contented themselves with proceeding before him, and guarding the passages of the river. Whether the policy of allowing the English to exhaust their strength of body and mind be sufficient, or not, to account for their conduct, we have not evidence enough to pronounce decidedly; but, on many occasions, their abstinence from striking a blow seems otherwise almost inexplicable. Henry made now one of his most vigorous efforts to effect a passage; nothing, we are told, could exceed his own personal exertions.[127] The French had broken up the lanes leading to the fords, and thrown every obstacle in the way. However, nothing seemed able to resist his resolution; and in a few hours the whole of his army had crossed. Great was the joy of the English on having surmounted this formidable obstacle; and they now hoped to reach Calais without a battle. But on the following day two heralds came to announce to Henry the resolution of the French to give him battle, and to take vengeance on him for invading their country. Henry, without any change of countenance, with much gentleness replied, "All would be done according to the will of God." On the heralds then asking him by what route he proposed to proceed, "Straight to Calais" was the reply. He then advised them not to attempt to interrupt his march, but to avoid the shedding of Christian blood. The heralds fell down upon their knees as they first approached him; and on dismissing them, he gave them a hundred golden crowns. From the hour of these heralds departing, Henry and his men always wore their warrior-dress, in readiness for battle; and he spoke to his army with much tenderness and spirit, and evidently with a powerful effect. To his surprise, next morning none appeared to oppose him, and he proceeded on his journey. Many circumstances happened from day to day, and hour to hour, calculated to dispirit the English, by exciting an assurance that the French army was near, and waiting their own time to seize upon their prey; delaying only in order to make their utter demolition more certain. Henry's route probably was taken through Peronne, Albert, Bonnieres,[128] Frevent; and he reached the river Ternoise (called the River of Swords) without any remarkable occurrence. No sooner, however, had he passed the Ternoise, and mounted the hill not far from Maisoncelle, than a man came, breathless, and told the Duke of York that the enemy was approaching in countless numbers. Henry forthwith commanded the main body to halt, and setting spurs to his horse hastened to view the enemy, who seemed to him like an immense forest covering the whole country. Nothing dismayed, he ordered his troops to dismount and prepare for battle; animating them by his calm, intrepid bearing, and by his language of kindness and encouragement. The French, who were first seen as they were emerging from a valley a mile off in three columns, halted at the distance of about half a mile.

The English felt assured that they would be immediately attacked; and, as soon as they were drawn up in order of battle, they prepared for death. The greatest want then felt in the camp was the lack of priests,[129] every one being anxiously desirous of making confession and obtaining absolution. Henry's presence of mind, and noble soul, and pious trust, and intrepid spirit, showed themselves on this occasion in words which ought never to be forgotten. Sir Walter Hungerford having expressed his sorrow that they had not ten thousand of those gallant archers who would be most desirous of aiding their King in his hour of need, the King rebuked him, saying, "He spoke idly, for, as his hope was in God, in whom he trusted for victory, he would not, if he could, increase his forces even by a single person; for, if it was the pleasure of the Almighty, few as were his followers, they were sufficient to chastise the confidence of the enemy, who relied on their numbers."

About sun-set the French took up their quarters in the orchards and villages of Agincourt and Ruissauville. Henry, anxiously seeking lodgings for his exhausted soldiers, at length found in the village of Maisoncelle a better supply for their wants than they had met with since they left Harfleur; and a small hut afforded the King himself protection from the weather.[130] Before the English quitted their position to go to Maisoncelle, Henry permitted all his prisoners to depart, upon condition that if he gained the approaching battle, they should return and surrender themselves; but, if he were defeated, they should be released from their engagements. This night, through nearly the whole of which rain fell heavily, was passed by the two hostile armies, about one mile distant from each other, very differently, but not inconsistently with their relative circumstances. Both suffered severely from the weather as well as from fatigue; but whilst the French, anticipating an easy and sure victory, played at dice for their prisoners as their stake; the English, having prepared their weapons for the conflict, betook themselves to prayer, and the observance of the other ordinances of their religion.

At day-break, on Friday, October 25, the French drew up in order of battle, in three lines, on the plain of Agincourt, through which was the route to Calais. Of their numbers the accounts both of English and French writers vary exceedingly, and it is impossible to fix upon any amount with confidence; probably, however, at the very lowest calculation they were more than fifty thousand men.

Henry was up at break of day, and immediately attended mass. He then, mounted on a small grey horse, bearing on his coat the arms of France and England, and wearing a magnificent crown on his head, drew up his men in order of battle in an open field. His main body, consisting of men-at-arms, he commanded himself; the vanguard was committed, as a right wing, to the Duke of York at his own request; and the rear-guard was posted, as a left wing, under the command of the Lord Camois. The archers were placed between the wings in the form of a wedge, with their poles fixed before them as a protection against the cavalry. Henry then rode along the lines, and addressed them in a speech full of spirit, well fitted to inspire in his men enthusiastic ardour and devotedness. "Sir," was the reply, "we pray God to give you a good life, and victory over your enemies." At this juncture (we are told by one historian[131]) an attempt was made at negociation, but it failed; Henry, in the midst of all his present perils, insisting virtually on the same terms which he had offered when in safety within the realm of England.[132]

The King assigned to the gallant veteran, Sir Thomas Erpingham, a friend of Henry, no less venerable for his age than distinguished for his bravery and military skill, the honourable duty of arraying his host. He first calmly marshalled the troops, placing the archers foremost and the men-at-arms behind them; and then, riding in front of the line, exhorted his brother-warriors in the name of their prince to fight valiantly. A third time did this aged and fearless knight ride before the ranks which were stationed to receive the first shock of the enemy, and if possible to turn back the apparently resistless and overwhelming tide of battle; and then, having deliberately executed his commission to the full, he threw up into the air the truncheon which he held in his hand, shouting, "Now strike!" and, immediately dismounting, joined the King and his attendants, who were all on foot. When the soldiers saw the staff in the air, and heard the cry of the veteran, they raised such a tremendous shout as startled the enemy, and filled them with amazement.[133]

It was now approaching mid-day; when Henry, perceiving that the enemy would not commence the attack, but were waiting either for reinforcements, or in the hope of compelling him by want of provisions to surrender, issued the command, "Banners, advance!" His soldiers fell down instantly upon the ground prostrate, and implored the Almighty to succour them; each, as it is said, putting a morsel of earth into his mouth in remembrance of their mortality. They then rose, and advanced firmly towards the enemy, shouting, and with the sound of trumpets. The Constable of France commanded his advanced guard to meet them, who instantly obeyed, with the war-cry "Montjoye!" The battle commenced by a shower of arrows from the English, which did great execution. The French cavalry were immediately thrown into confusion, chiefly in consequence of the horses rushing on the pointed stakes which were fixed before the English archers, and, maddened with pain, turning upon their own ranks. The battle was then tremendously obstinate: at one time, the shock of the French body caused the English to give way; but it was only to rush again upon their enemies with a renewed and still more impetuous and desperate attack. Their charge, like a torrent of mighty waters, was resistless; and the archers, having exhausted their quivers, and betaking themselves to their swords and bills and hatchets, the slaughter among the ranks of the French was dreadful. The Duke of Alençon endeavoured in vain to rally his men, now giving way, and being worsted on every side; and, returning himself to the struggle, he fell in single combat with King Henry himself. Whilst the conflict was raging, Anthony, Duke of Brabant, came up with such of his forces as could keep pace with him in his rapid haste towards the field of battle, and instantly mingled in the thickest of the fight: he fell too; gallantly, but unsuccessfully, striving to stem the flood. The battle seemed now to be decided, when that event took place, which every one must lament, and which nothing but necessity could justify,—

THE SLAUGHTER OF THE PRISONERS AT AGINCOURT.

The name of Henry of Monmouth is inseparable from the Battle of Agincourt; and immeasurably better had it been for his fair fame had himself and his little army been crushed in that tremendous struggle, by the overwhelming chivalry of France, than that he should have stained that day of conquest and glory by an act of cruelty or vengeance. If any cause except palpable and inevitable necessity could be proved to have suggested the dreadful mandate for his soldiers to put their prisoners to the sword, his memory must be branded by a stigma which no personal courage, not a whole life devoted to deeds of arms, nor any unprecedented career of conquest, could obliterate. The charge of cruelty, however, like some other accusations, examined at length in these Memoirs, is of comparatively recent origin; and as in those former instances, so in this, our duty is to ascertain the facts from the best evidence, and dispassionately to draw our inference from those facts after an upright scrutiny and patient weighing of the whole question in all its bearings. Our abhorrence of the crime may well make us hesitate before we pronounce judgment against one to whose mercy and chivalrous honour his contemporaries bore willing and abundant testimony; the enormity of so dreadful an example compels us, in the name of humanity and of justice, not to screen the guilty. We may be wisely jealous of the bias and prejudice which his brilliant talents, and his life of patriotism and glory, may unconsciously communicate to our minds; we must be also upon our guard lest an excessive resolution to do justice, foster imperceptibly a morbid acquiescence in the condemnation of the accused.

The facts, then, as they are gleaned from those authors who wrote nearest to the time (two of whom, one French, the other English, were actually themselves present on the field of battle, and were eye-witnesses of some portion at least of the circumstances which they narrate,) seem to have been these, in their order and character.

At the close of one of the most desperate struggles ever recorded in the annals of ancient or modern warfare, whilst the enemy were in the act of quitting the field, but had not left it, the English were employing what remained of their well nigh exhausted strength in guarding their prisoners, and separating the living from the dead, who lay upon each other, heaps upon heaps, in one confused and indiscriminate mass. On a sudden a shout was raised, and reached Henry, that a fresh reinforcement[134] of the enemy in overwhelming numbers had attacked the baggage, and were advancing in battle-array against him. He was himself just released from the furious conflict in which, at the close of his almost unparalleled personal exertion, he engaged with the Duke of Alençon, and slew him on the spot. Precisely, also, at this juncture, the main body of the French who had been engaged in the battle, and were apparently retreating, were seen to be collecting in great numbers, and forming themselves into bodies, throughout the plain, with the purpose, as it appeared, of returning to the engagement.

To delay might have been the total sacrifice of himself and his gallant little band; to hesitate might have been death. Henry instantly, without a moment's interval, by sound of trumpet ordered his men to form themselves, and attack the body who were advancing upon his rear, and to put the prisoners to death, "lest they should rush upon his men during the fight." These mandates were obeyed.[135] The French reinforcement, advancing from the quarter where the baggage was stationed, no sooner felt a shower of arrows, and saw a body of men ready to give them battle, than they turned to flight; and instantly Henry, on seeing them run, stopped the slaughter of the prisoners, and made it known to all that he had had recourse to the measure only in self-defence. Henry, in order to prevent the recurrence of such a dreadful catastrophe, sent forthwith a herald to those companies of the enemy who were still lingering very suspiciously through the field, and charged them either to come to battle at once, or to withdraw from his sight; adding, that, should they array themselves afterwards to renew the battle, he would show no mercy, nor spare either fighting-men or prisoners.

Of the general accuracy of this statement of the facts little doubt can be entertained, though in the midst of the confusion of such a battle-field it would not be matter of surprise were some of the circumstances mistaken or exaggerated. In reflecting on this course of incidents, the thought forces itself upon our mind, that the mandate was given, not in cool blood, nor when there was time and opportunity for deliberation and for calculating upon the means and chances of safety, but upon the instant, on a sudden unexpected renewal of the engagement from a quarter from which no danger was anticipated; at a moment, too, when, just after the heat of the battle was passing over, the routed enemy were collecting again in great numbers in various parts of the field, with a view evidently of returning to the charge and crushing their conquerors; at a moment, too, when the English were scattered about, separating the living from the dead, and all was yet confusion and uncertainty. Another fact, as clearly and distinctly recorded as the original issuing of the mandate, is, that no sooner was the danger of the immediate and inevitable sacrifice of the lives of his men removed by the retreat of the assailants, than, without waiting for the dispersion of those menacing bodies then congregating around him, Henry instantly countermanded the order, and saved the remainder of the prisoners. The bare facts of the case, from first to last, admit of no other alternative than for our judgment to pronounce it to have been altogether an imperative inevitable act of self-preservation, without the sacrifice of any life, or the suffering of any human being, beyond the absolute and indispensable necessity of the case.

But, perhaps, the most striking and conclusive testimony in vindication of Henry's character on that day of slaughter and victory, is borne both by the silence and also by the expressed sentiments of the contemporary historians. This evidence deserves to be put more prominently forward than it has ever yet been. Indeed, as long as there was no charge of cruelty, or unnecessary violence, brought against his name in this particular, there was little need of alleging any evidence in his defence. It remained for modern writers, after a lapse of centuries, to stigmatize the command as an act of barbarity, and to represent it as having tarnished and stained the victory of him who gave it.[136] It is, however, a most remarkable and satisfactory circumstance that, of the contemporary historians, and those who followed most closely upon them, who have detailed the proceedings with more or less minuteness, and with a great variety though no inconsistency of circumstances, in whose views, moreover, all subsequent writers, with few exceptions, have unreservedly acquiesced, not one single individual is found to cast the slightest imputation on Henry for injustice or cruelty; while some, in their account of the battle, have not made the most distant allusion to the circumstance. All the earlier writers who refer to it appear, with one consent, to have considered the order as the result of dire and unavoidable necessity on the part of the English King. Not only so: whilst no one who witnessed the engagement, or lived at the time, ever threw the shadow of reproach or of complaint on Henry or his army, various writers, especially among the French historians, join in reprobating the unjustifiable conduct of those among the French troops who rendered the massacre inevitable, and cast on their own countrymen the entire responsibility and blame for the whole melancholy affair. Instead of any attempt to sully and tarnish the glory won by the English on that day, by pointing to their cruel and barbarous treatment of unarmed prisoners, they visit their own people with the very strongest terms of malediction, as the sole culpable origin and cause of the evil. And that these were not only the sentiments of the writers themselves, but were participated in by their countrymen at large, is evidenced by the record of a fact which has been generally overlooked. Those who were deemed guilty of thus exposing their countrymen to death, by unjustifiably renewing the attack when the conflict was acknowledged to be over, and after the French soldiery had given up the field, not only were exposed to disgrace in their characters, but suffered punishment also for the offence in their persons. Anticipating censure and severe handling as the consequences of their misconduct, they made valuable presents to such as they thought able to screen them; but so decided was the indignation and resentment of their countrymen, that the leaders of the offending parties were cast into prison, and suffered a long confinement, as the punishment for their misconduct on that day.

The inference, then, which the facts, as they are delivered by English and French writers, compel us to draw, coincides with the professed sentiments of all contemporaries. Those, on the one hand, who shared the glory and were proud of the day of Agincourt, and those, on the other, whose national pride, and wounded honour, and participation in the calamities poured that day upon the noblest families of France, and in the mourning spread far and wide throughout the land, caused them to abhor the very name of Agincourt, all sanction our adoption of that one inference: Henry did not stain his victory by any act of cruelty. His character comes out of the investigation untarnished by a suspicion of his having wantonly shed the blood of a single fellow-creature.

To enable the reader to judge for himself how far the view taken in the text is justified by the evidence, the Author has thought it desirable to cite from different writers, French as well as English, the passages at length in which they describe the transaction.

The Chaplain of Henry V, an eye-witness, who was himself stationed with the baggage, and whose account is contained in the fasciculus known as "MS. Sloane, 1776, p. 67," thus reports the transaction:

"When some of the enemy's foreranks were slain, those behind pressed over the dead, and others again falling on them were immediately put to death; and near Henry's banners so large was the pile of corpses, and of those who were thrown upon them, that the English stood on heaps which exceeded a man's height, and felled their adversaries below with swords and axes. And when, at length, for the space of two or three hours, that powerful body of the first ranks had been broken through and crushed to pieces, and the rest were forced to fly, our men began to move those heaps, and to separate the living from the dead. And behold, suddenly, with what angry dispensation of Providence it is not known, (nescitur in quâ irâ Dei,) a shout is made that the cavalry of the enemy in an overwhelming and fresh body were rallying, and forming themselves to attack our men, few in number, and worn out with fatigue. And the captives, without any respect of persons, (except the Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, and certain other illustrious men, and a few besides,) were put the sword, to prevent their becoming our ruin in the approaching struggle. And, after a little while, the enemy, (by the Almighty's will,) having tasted the sharpness of our arrows, and seeing that our King was approaching them, left us a field of blood, with chariots and many other carriages filled with provisions and weapons, lances and bows."

Jean Le Fevre, Seigneur de St. Remy, who was also an eye-witness, being present in the English camp, records the event, and his own opinion of it, thus:

"Then there befel them a very great misfortune; for a large body of the rear-guard, in which were many French, Bretons, Gascons, and others, who had betaken themselves to flight, and had with them a large number of standards and flags, showed signs of an intention to fight, and were marching in order. When the English perceived them thus congregated, orders were given by the King of England for every one to slay his prisoners; but those who had taken them were unwilling to put them to death, because they had taken those only who could give a high ransom. On the King being apprised that they would not kill their prisoners, he gave in charge to a gentleman with two hundred archers to put them all to death. The order of the King was obeyed by this esquire, which was a lamentable affair; for all that body of French nobility were in cold blood cut and hewed, head and face,—a wonderful thing to see. That accursed band of Frenchmen, who thus caused that noble chivalry to be murdered, when they saw that the English were ready to receive them and give them battle, betook themselves to flight suddenly; and those who could, saved themselves; and the greater part of those who were on horseback saved themselves, but of them who were on foot the greater part were put to death."

Elmham thus records the transaction:—

"The English, already wearied, and for the most part destitute of arms fit for a charge, when the French were arraying themselves for battle with a view to the renewal of the conflict, fearing lest the persons they had taken should rush upon them in the struggle, slew many of them, though noble, with the sword. The King then, by a herald, commanded those French soldiers who were still occupying the field either to come to battle at once, or speedily to depart out of his sight; assuring them that, if they should again array themselves for a renewed engagement, both they and the prisoners yet remaining should perish without mercy, with the most dire vengeance which the English could inflict."

Fabyan's account differs from that of other writers only in one particular; he represents the retirement of the French, who had rallied for a renewal of the conflict, to have been the result of the message sent to them by the Duke of Orleans and his fellow-prisoners, in their panic on hearing Henry's mandate, which seemed to put their lives into immediate jeopardy.

"When the King, by power and grace of God more than by force of man, had gotten this triumphant victory, and returned his people from the chase of his enemies, tidings were brought to him that a new host of Frenchmen were coming towards him. Wherefore he commanded his people to be embattled; and, that done, made proclamation through the host that every man should slay his prisoners: by reason of which proclamation the Duke of Orleans, and the other lords of France, were in such fear, that anon, by the licence of the King, they sent such word unto the said host that they withdrew."

The contemporary author whose work is translated by Laboureur, having in impassioned language spoken of the "eternal reproach, and ever deplorable calamity of the miserable battle of Agincourt," instead of attempting to make the English partake in any degree of the disgrace which on that day stained the annals of France, tells us that Henry, believing a great body of the vanguard, who had been broken through, were running, not in flight, but to join the rest of the army and renew the attack, gave orders for all the prisoners to be put to the sword; and the carnage lasted till it was known they were actually running away. He then stopped it; and explained that his orders were given in doubt of the enemy's intentions.—This writer seems to have been mistaken in his view of the circumstances; but the thought of Henry having acted unjustifiably does not seem to have crossed his mind.

Monstrelet's account is somewhat different from the two last, and more full in its details:

"During the heat of the combat the English made several prisoners; and then came news to the King of England that the French were attacking them from the rear, and that they had already taken his sumpter-horses and baggage. This was true; for Robinet de Bournonville and Rifflart de Clamasse, Ysambert d'Azencourt, and some other men-at-arms, accompanied by six hundred peasants, went to plunder the baggage, and carried off a great quantity of the property of the camp, and a large number of horses, whilst those who were their guards were engaged in the battle. This pillage caused the King great trouble, for he saw also at the same time in the open field those French who had taken to flight rallying themselves in companies; and he doubted whether their intention was not to renew the engagement. He therefore caused a proclamation to be made by sound of trumpet, that every Englishman should on pain of death[137] slay his prisoners, to prevent their succouring their own people in the time of need; and then, on the sudden, followed a very great carnage of French prisoners. For which proceeding, Robinet de Bournonville and Ysambart d'Azencourt were afterwards punished and imprisoned a long time by order of John Duke of Burgundy, notwithstanding they had given to Philip Earl of Charolois, his son, an exceedingly valuable sword, studded with precious stones and jewels, belonging to the King of England, which they had found and taken with the other booty, that the Earl might interest himself for them should any trouble overtake them in consequence of this circumstance."

Des Ursins represents the catastrophe to have been occasioned by the news spread through the field that the Duke of Brittany was arrived with a powerful reinforcement, on which the French rallied. He gives, however, two accounts; in one of which he reports the prisoners taken by the English to be fourteen thousand, a number exceeding the whole body of fighting men in the English army.

Paradin de Cuyseault, in his Annals of Burgundy, marks very strongly in how serious a light the offence of the French assailants was viewed by their contemporaries:

"And this [the order for the slaughter of the prisoners] was executed, of which the said Bournonville and Azencourt were the cause: and they being accused of this charge before the Duke of Burgundy, his will was that they should suffer death: but the Earl of Charolois saved them, in return for the beautiful sword."

Pierre de Fenin, a contemporary esquire, and a clerk of the household to Charles VI, employs expressions very pointedly exculpatory of the English; he does not speak of Henry's mandate at all:

"Whilst the battle between the English and French was yet pending and going on, and the English had already almost gained the mastery, Isambert d'Azencourt, and Robinet de Bournonville, accompanied by some men-at-arms of little note, made an assault on the baggage of the English, and caused a great [affray] terror. When the English saw that it was the French who were coming upon them to attack them, in that necessity they felt themselves obliged to put to death many whom they had already made prisoners; for which the two persons above mentioned were afterwards made the objects of severe execration, and were also punished for the offence by the Duke of Burgundy."[138]

Among the many instances of heroism which occurred during the battle, Henry's conduct was particularly distinguished. He fought on foot like a lion, as our annalists express themselves, and was throughout the noblest example of valour. Especially was his gallant rescue of his brother, the Duke of Gloucester, remembered with admiration. That prince had been wounded by a dagger, and thrown on the ground by the Duke of Alençon and his soldiers, when Henry rushed between them, and defended his brother till he was removed from the conflict. This noble deed nearly cost him his life; for, stooping down to raise his brother, the Duke of Alençon, or one of his men, struck him such a blow as to break off a part of his crown.

The loss on both sides has been very variously reported. Probably of the French not less than ten thousand fell in that field of blood;[139] of the English perhaps less than one-tenth of that number. But France did not on that day reckon her loss by the number of the slain; the chief of her chivalry[140] and nobility fell there. On the English side the only men of note who were slain in the battle were the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, Sir Richard Keghley, Thomas Fitz-Henry, John de Peniton, and David Gamme.[141]

The last-mentioned person is that David Gamme who was ransomed from Owyn Glendowr, and who is reported to have replied, when questioned as to the number of the enemy, "My liege, there are enough to be slain, enough to be taken prisoners, and enough to run away!" This gallant speech of David Gamme immediately before the battle, has been delivered down from father to son among his Cambrian compatriots with feelings of exultation and pride. A circumstance of a very opposite character and tendency (which has never, it is believed, hitherto appeared in our histories,) must not be suppressed here. Among those who swelled the enormous host which on that day gave battle to the King of England, were found natives of his own Principality. During the dreadful devastations caused by Owyn Glyndowr, great numbers left their mansions and estates a prey to his fury, and saved themselves from personal violence by taking refuge in England, or beyond the seas. Many, too, of those who had made themselves notorious as Owyn's partisans, fled from Wales when his cause began to falter, and avoided the penalty of perseverance in their rebellion, or the humiliating alternative of submission to one whom they deemed a tyrant and usurper. Quitting their native soil in the enjoyment of health and strength, not a few of these inhabitants of the Principality enlisted under the standard of foreign powers; especially (as it is reasonable to conclude) of the King of France, who had espoused the cause for which they were expatriated. How large or how small a number of Welshmen fell in the ranks of the French on that day, or how many escaped, we have no means of ascertaining. Our attention is drawn to the subject by the record of a fact too specific, and too well authenticated, to be doubted or evaded.[142] William Gwyn of Llanstephan, was in the army of the enemy on the field of Agincourt, and his corpse was found among the slain. His castle of Llanstephan was in consequence forfeited to the crown, and was granted to the King's brother, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester.

Being left master of the field, Henry withdrew his army a few paces, and addressed them in a speech very characteristic of his mind. After thanking them for their services, he bade them consider his success as undoubted proof of the justice of his cause; and directed them not to pride themselves on the event, but to give the glory to God. Henry then called to him Montjoye, the principal herald of France, and demanded of him to whom the victory belonged; who replied, that it was to the King of England. He then asked the name of the neighbouring castle; and, being informed that it was Agincourt, "Then," said he, "this shall for ever be called

"THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT."[143]

Henry, naturally anxious to hasten with his troops beyond the reach of his enemies, and to arrive at Calais before they could recover from their present overwhelming distress, removed from his quarters, passing through the field of battle early on the next day, taking his prisoners with him. Many vague expressions occur in some writers, which might be wrested to imply wanton cruelty in the English after the battle; but no direct charge of the sort is brought against them; and we may reasonably hope that there was no more of human suffering than of necessity followed so tremendous a conflict: whilst all writers agree in recording and extolling the kindness, and compassion, and courtesy shown by Henry to his prisoners, especially to the Duke of Orleans; endeavouring by all means in his power to cheer and console them. Just as after the battle of Grosmont, when he was only seventeen years old, so now in the prime of manhood, on the field of Agincourt, we find in him the same kind and warm-hearted conqueror: "In battle a lion; but, duty appeased, in mercy a lamb!"

The army found great difficulty at Calais from the scarcity of provisions; and the prisoners, as may be supposed, were in still greater distress. The moment Henry, who was staying at Guisnes, heard of it, he ordered vessels to be procured to convey both soldiers and prisoners to England. Henry himself reached Calais[144] on the 29th of October, and was received with every demonstration of loyalty. He was met by the clergy singing Te Deum; whilst the inhabitants shouted, "Welcome the King, our Sovereign Lord!" News reached London very early, whilst the citizens were yet in bed, on Tuesday, October 29; and on that day the victory was celebrated by religious processions, in which we are told the Queen Dowager joined, though Arthur, Count of Richmond, her own son, was among the prisoners. On Monday, November 4, the Duke of Bedford announced the welcome news officially to parliament. Henry embarked for England on Saturday, 16th of November, and reached Dover late on the same day, though the wind had been very boisterous, and one or two of his vessels were lost. So overflowing was the joy and zeal of his subjects, that we are told they rushed into the sea, and brought him to shore in their arms. At Canterbury he was met by the archbishop and clergy: on Friday, 22nd of November, he slept at Eltham. The next day he was met, about ten o'clock, at Blackheath, by the Mayor and all the civic authorities of London, dressed in their most splendid robes, and accompanied by not less than twenty thousand citizens on horseback.

In London a most magnificent pageant was ready to welcome him. Minute descriptions of the various devices, such probably as England had never seen before, have come down to us. But we need take no further notice of them than to remark, that during the splendid scene, which lasted from ten o'clock till three, (in the course of which Henry humbly returned thanks both in St. Paul's and in Westminster Abbey,) the King's deportment was singularly modest. His dress was simple; he rode gravely on, attended by a small retinue; and, his thoughts apparently wrapped up in contemplating the power and goodness of the Almighty, he seemed altogether indifferent to the splendour of the scenes and the devotedness of the crowds through which he passed. So anxious was he to avoid exciting the applause of his people, that he would not allow the helmet which he wore at Agincourt to be exhibited on this occasion; the battered state of which bore evidence to the danger he had encountered: nor would he allow the minstrels to compose verses, or sing songs, to his praise; but persisted in attributing the glory of his victory to God alone.

It is pleasing to trace the rewards[145] bestowed by Henry on his companions in arms at Agincourt, and the measures which he adopted to preserve their names from oblivion. With this view he doubtless caused a roll to be made recording their names; though only a transcript of one part has been yet discovered among the archives. We may hope that not many years will elapse before numbers of those most interesting documents which now lie buried in heaps of confusion will be brought to light. Henry selected to fill every vacancy in the order of the Garter, (not bestowed on sovereign princes,) the peers and distinguished commanders who fought with him at Agincourt; and when he restricted the use of coats of arms in a subsequent expedition to those who could prove their right to them, he excepts those only who bore arms with him at Agincourt. To commemorate this victory with more especial honour, he created a King-at-arms, called "Agincourt."

Our reformed views of Christian truth must not make us undervalue the testimony borne to Henry's gratitude towards his companions in arms, though they were removed by death from all earthly favours and rewards. He did for them what he could; and though we believe him to have been performing a vain office, and profitless to those whom it was intended to benefit, in the prevailing superstition of those days we see traces of the kindness and grateful spirit of the hero.[146]

Many of the French princes taken at Agincourt remained prisoners in England for many years. The Duke of Bourbon died in confinement. The Duke of Orleans was not released for five-and-twenty years. Whilst a captive in the Tower of London, he had recourse to the solace of literature; and composed many pieces of poetry, still preserved in the British Museum, which indicate genius and cultivated taste.

How highly the people of England valued this victory is seen in very many particulars. The superstition of those times was also made to contribute to its celebrity. The victory of Agincourt was gained on the feast of the Translation of St. John of Beverley, and was ascribed to his merits. His festival had before been kept on the 7th of May; but now it was ordained to be celebrated for ever on the 25th of October. But that was the feast of Crispin and Crispianus; and so the authorities of the church decreed that all three saints should share in the offices of that day.[147]

The Archbishop declares that this ecclesiastical constitution was made in full convocation by the will, counsel, and consent of all his brothers, and also at the special instance of their most Christian King.

The document abounds to the overflow with the gross superstition of the age. It is only by recalling what that degrading superstition was, that we can estimate at their proper value the blessings of the Reformation. Of the genuineness of this document there can be no doubt. It was addressed by Henry Chicheley, Archbishop of Canterbury, to the Vicar of the Bishop of London, who was then at the council of Constance; and its preamble at least deserves a place here.

"Henry, by divine permission, Archbishop of Canterbury, Primate of all England, and Legate of the Apostolic see, to our beloved son the spiritual Vicar-general of our venerable brother R. by the grace of God, Bishop of London, now in foreign parts. The holy honour of the English church (whose praise and fame, in devoted veneration of God and his saints, the whole world extols above the churches of other regions and provinces,) requires that the same church shall more abound with the praises of those, and more exultingly rejoice in glad devotion to them, by whose patronage and grace of miracles she rejoices to flourish; and by whose pious intercession the state, not only of the church, but of the whole realm, together with the inward sweetness of peace and quiet, and with victory gained over foreign enemies, is defended by just rulers.

"The grace of this help, though God to the same church, and to the inhabitants of the realm of England, hath often decreed to show by the merits of divers saints, (with whom she shines gloriously on every side,) yet in these last days He has evidently deigned more miraculously and more especially to console the aforesaid church, together with the aforesaid nobles, inhabitants, and all members of the kingdom, by the especial suffrage of her (almifici) gracious confessor and bishop, the most blessed John of Beverley, as we verily believe!

"Oh! ineffable consolation, especially in our times, in every age pleasant, and ever to be called to mind; namely, the victory of our most Christian Prince, King Henry V. of England, and of his army, in the battle of Agincourt, lately fought in the parts of Picardy; which on the Feast of the Translation of the said Saint, to the honour of the divine name, and to the honour of the realm of England, from the boundless mercy of God, was granted to the English.

"On which Feast of his Translation, whilst the struggle between our countrymen and the French was being carried on, as to the hearing of us and our brethren in our last convocation, abundantly and especially, the true report of the inhabitants of that country brought the tidings, that from his tomb sacred oil flowed, drops falling as of sweat, indicative of the divine mercy towards his people, doubtless obtained by the merits of that most holy man.

"Wishing, therefore, in our province to spread an increase of divine worship, and especially to extol further the praise of so great a patron, with the wills, counsel, and assent of our brethren and the clergy in the said convocation, and no less at the special instance of the said most Christian Prince, we have determined that the memory of that most holy confessor everywhere throughout our province should be exalted with feelings of prayers and devotions [votivis et devotis affectibus]."

Then follows the decree above mentioned.

This mass of extravagant folly and blind superstition, this presumptuous sharing of God's omnipotence and sovereign might with the power of such poor erring fellow-mortals as the corrupt ministers of a corrupt church had presumptuously ranked among the inhabitants of heaven,—thus daring to forestal the judgment of Christ at the last day, and to pronounce on the glory of a man whose spiritual state Omniscience alone can know,—it is impossible to contemplate without feelings of gratitude that Heaven's mercy has released us from such perverted use of the Gospel of the Saviour; nor without a prayer that the Spirit of light and truth would guide those of our fellow-creatures who are still walking in the same land of darkness and error, into the clear light of Christian truth.

The Author, to whom the following "Song of Agincourt" has been familiar from his childhood, cannot refrain from inserting it here. This is that ancient, and, as it is believed, contemporary ballad, which has preserved to our times that golden stanza which appears in the title page of these volumes; and every word of which reflects the character of Henry as a hero and a merciful man. The quotation, also, from Burnet's History of Music, and the contemporary song to which he refers, will, it is presumed, be generally acceptable.

SONG OF AGINCOURT.

As our King lay on his bed,
All musing at the hour of prime,[148]
He bethought him of the King of France,
And tribute due for so long a time.

He called unto him his lovely page,
His lovely page then called he;
Saying, You must go to the King in France,
To the King in France right speedily.

Tell him to send me my tribute home,
Ten ton of gold that is due to me;
Unless he send me my tribute home,
Soon in French land I will him see.

Away then goes this lovely page
As fast, as fast as he could hie;
And, when he came to the King in France,
He fell all down on his bended knee.

My master greets you, sir, and says,
Ten ton of gold is due to me;
Unless you send me my tribute home,
You in French land soon shall see me.

Your master is young, and of tender age,
Not fit to come into my degree;
I'll send him home some tennis-balls
That with them he may learn for to play.

Away then goes this lovely page,
As fast, as fast as he could hie;
And, when he came to our gracious King,
He fell all down on his bended knee.

What news, what news, my trusty page?
What news, what news dost thou bring to me?
I bring such news from the King of France,
That you and he can never agree.

He says you are young, and of tender age,
Not fit to come up to his degree;
He has sent you home some tennis-balls,
That with them you may learn for to play.

Oh! then bespoke our noble King,
A solemn vow then vowed he;
I'll promise him such English balls
As in French land he ne'er did see.

Go! call up Cheshire and Lancashire,
And Derby hills that are so free;
But neither married man, nor widow's son,
No widow's curse shall go with me!

They called up Cheshire and Lancashire,
And Derby hills that are so free;
But neither married man nor widow's son,
Yet they had a right good company.

He called unto him his merry men all,
And numbered them by three and three,
Until their number it did amount
To thirty thousand stout men and three.

Away then marched they into French land,
With drums and fifes so merrily;
Then out and spoke the King of France,
Lo! here comes proud King Henrie!

The first that fired, it was the French,
They killed our Englishmen so free;
But we killed ten thousand of the French,
And the rest of them they did run away.

Then marched they on to Paris gates,
With drums and fifes so merrily;
Oh! then bespoke the King of France,
The Lord have mercy on my men and me!

Oh! I will send him his tribute home,
Ten ton of gold that is due from me;
And the very best flower that is in all France
To the rose of England will I give free.

"At the coronation of Henry V," observes Dr. Burney, "in 1413, we hear of no other instruments than harps;[149] but one of that prince's historians[150] tells us that their number in the hall was prodigious. Henry, however, though a successful hero and a conqueror, did not seem to take the advantage of his claim to praise; and either was so modest or so tasteless as to discourage and even prohibit the poets and musicians from celebrating his victories and singing his valiant deeds. When he entered the city of London, after the battle of Agincourt, the gates and streets were hung with tapestry, representing the history of ancient heroes; and children were placed in temporary turrets to sing verses. But Henry, disgusted at these vanities, commanded, by a formal edict, that for the future no songs should be recited by harpers, or others, in honour of the recent victory. 'Cantus de suo triumpho fieri, seu per citharistas, vel alios quoscunque, cantari, penitus prohibebat.'

"It is somewhat extraordinary that, in spite of Henry's edicts and prohibitions, the only English song of so early a date, that has come to my knowledge, of which the original music has been preserved, is one that was written on his victory at Agincourt in 1415. It is preserved in the Pepysian Collection, at Magdalen College, Cambridge."[151]

After some observations upon the general ignorance of the transcribers of ancient music, Dr. Burney proceeds to say, "that the copy in the Pepysian Collection is written upon vellum in Gregorian notes, and can be little less ancient than the event which it recorded;" and that there is with it a paper which shows that an attempt was made in the last century (17th) to give it a modern dress, but that too many liberties had been taken with the melody, and the drone bass, which had been set to it for the lute, is a mere jargon. He then presents what he says is a faithful copy of this venerable relic of our nation's prowess and glory.

Owre Kynge went forth to Normandy,
With grace, and myght of chyvalry;
The God for hym wrought marv'lusly,
Wherefore Englonde may calle and cry,

CHORUS.

Deo gratias, Anglia!
Redde pro Victoria!

He sette a sege, the sothe to say,
To Harflue town, with royal array;
That toune he wan, and made a fray
That Fraunce shall rywe tyl domes-day.
Deo gratias! &c.

Than, for sothe, that Knyght comely
In Agincourt feld faught manly;
Thorow grace of God, most myghty,
He hath bothe felde and victory.
Deo gratias! &c.

Then went owre Kynge, with all his oste,
Thorowe Fraunce, for all the Frenshe boste;
He spared[152] for drede of leste ne most,
Till he come to Agincourt coste.
Deo gratias! &c.

Ther Dukys and Earlys, Lorde and Barone,
Were take and slayne, and that wel sone;
And some were ledde into Lundone;
With joye, and merth, and grete renone,
Deo gratias! &c.

Now gracious God he save owre Kynge,
His peple, and all his well wyllinge;
Gef him gode lyfe, and gode endynge,
That we with merth may safely synge,
Deo gratias, Anglia! redde pro Victoria!