The battle began with the most determined courage. The King was seen every where animating his troops in the post of danger, and he was most nobly seconded by his son, afterwards the renowned Henry V. the conqueror of France. On the other side the chieftains fought like men accustomed to the bloody business of war; and the battle was fierce, obstinate, and doubtful; when the daring Hotspur, supporting the high character which he had purchased by so many victories, and seeking a personal encounter with the King, fell by an unknown hand.
The loss of their gallant leader was the loss of the battle. The fortune of the King prevailed; and although on that day no less than two thousand six hundred gentlemen, and six thousand common men were slain, this victory served to confirm Henry on his usurped throne, humbled the great Barons, and restored peace to England. Had Owen Glyndwr at this juncture pressed forward from Oswestry, where it has been before said he was lying with a fresh army, and as numerous as the English were before they had sustained so severe a loss, he might have changed the aspect of affairs; but at this distance of time a proper judgment cannot be formed. Some historians blame him for his precipitate retreat into Wales, whither he was followed by a part of the English army, under young Henry, who made himself master of the Castle of Aberystwith, which Owen afterwards recaptured.
After this time Owen’s fortunes appeared to decline, [165] and the fatal battle of Husk, fought on the 15th of March, in which Glyndwr’s son was taken, and more than fifteen hundred of his men slain, seems to have sealed his doom. But Glyndwr, although reduced, was not subdued, and he continued a predatory and harassing warfare, most annoying and destructive; sometimes making a sudden eruption into the marches, and sometimes into the heart of the country; for now, the Welch having submitted to the King, and being reconciled, Glyndwr considered his countrymen his enemies. His skill in devices, together with his local knowledge of the country, kept the Principality in a dreadful state of fear and fermentation; and although he eluded every effort made to entrap him, yet his turbulent spirit drew upon his country the vengeance of the King, in the most severe laws that were ever enacted against a civilised people. [166]
Owen Glyndwr, once Prince of Wales, was now reduced to hide himself in the caves and fastnesses of the country, to avoid the pursuit of his enemies. He was concealed and supported for some time by Ednyfed Ap Aron, in a cave near the sea-side, at Llangelynin, in Merionethshire, still called Ogof Owain. [167] The danger past, he again blazed forth in the destruction of a territory he had once aspired to govern; sometimes a fugitive, enduring hunger, thirst, and every privation; at others revelling as a conqueror, on the spoils of his countrymen and former friends. At last his depredations became so general and so indiscriminate that he feared every one, and became as “a wild man, and his hand was against every man, and every man’s hand was against him.” Being thus driven by his fears from society, he fled to the most solitary places, and at length died for lack of sustenance. [168]
Thus ignobly perished Owen Ap Gryffydd Fychan, commonly known by the name of Owen Glyndwr—a man who, from trifling causes, had conceived more determined hostility against the English, and had conducted that hostility with more consummate skill, than any other general the Welch had ever produced. In his early career he was uniformly victorious: he was proclaimed Prince of Wales with the sanction of the chief men of the country, made alliances with princes, and exercised his authority with becoming dignity; but now—
“Mighty victor, mighty Lord,
Low on his funeral couch he lies:
No pitying heart, no eye t’ afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.”
Owen Glyndwr was one of those fiery meteors which Providence sometimes permits to visit the earth, for the instruction of mankind, and to show us the vanity of all sublunary things: astonishing the world with their splendour, they blaze for a short time; and as suddenly decline, and sink into obscurity. Such, in our own horizon, have been Glyndwr and Cromwell, and in later times Bonaparte. Their course was brilliant, but short; and as their greatness grew, so did their suspicions and their fears; until, at last, life itself became burdensome, and the end of their career was clouded by disappointment, misery, and despair.
But Owen Glyndwr had more legitimate reasons to plead than either of his compeers. Deprived of a part of his patrimony by power, and unable to obtain redress by law, he took the law into his own hands, and had recourse to force. Success produced ambition, which proved his overthrow.
Owen was bold, wary, and revengeful: he set no bounds to his resentment. He made a smoking ruin of the dwelling of his countryman, Sir David Gam, and thereby made him an implacable enemy. He was the cause of the loss of one hundred thousand lives, [171] and of the destruction of immense property. Many houses and other buildings were burnt and destroyed by him; among which I find enumerated the Castle of Ruthin, the Cathedral of St. Asaph, the Cathedral of Bangor, the Bishop’s Palace, &c. at Llandaff, the towns of Leominster and Old Radnor, besides the house of Sir David Gam, &c.
It will be right to notice that Mr. Pennant gives the following account of the death of Owen Glyndwr; but as he states there is nothing confirmatory of Owen’s interment at Monnington, I have thought it right to adhere to the older authorities:—“He matched his daughters,” says Mr. Pennant, “into considerable families: his eldest, Isabel, to Adam Ap Iorwerth Ddu; his second, Elizabeth, or as some say, Alicia, to Sir John Scudamore, of Ewyas, and Home Lacy, in Herefordshire; Jane he forced upon Lord Grey De Ruthin; and his youngest daughter, Margaret, to Roger Monnington, of Monnington, in Herefordshire, at whose house some accounts say he died, and was buried in the church-yard there.” [172]