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.