The prince of Condé, as has been mentioned, occupied the mill which commanded the other ford, on the right of Montmorency. From its summit he could descry the movements of the Spaniards, and their battalions debouching on the plain, with scarcely any opposition from the French. He advised the constable of this at once, and suggested the necessity of an immediate retreat. The veteran did not relish advice from one so much younger than himself, and testily replied, "I was a soldier before the prince of Condé was born; and, by the blessing of Heaven, I trust to teach him some good lessons[{93}] in war for many a year to come." Nor would he quit the ground while a man of the reinforcement under Dandelot remained to cross.[206]
The cause of this fatal confidence was information he had received that the ford was too narrow to allow more than four or five persons to pass abreast, which would give him time enough to send over the troops, and then secure his own retreat to La Fère. As it turned out, unfortunately, the ford was wide enough to allow fifteen or twenty men to go abreast.
The French, meanwhile, who had crossed the river, after landing on the opposite bank, were many of them killed or disabled by the Spanish arquebusiers; others were lost in the morass; and of the whole number not more than four hundred and fifty, wet, wounded, and weary, with Dandelot at their head, succeeded in throwing themselves into St. Quentin. The constable, having seen the last boat put off, gave instant orders for retreat. The artillery was sent forward in the front, then followed the infantry, and, last of all, he brought up the rear with the horse, of which he took command in person. He endeavored to make up for the precious time he had lost by quickening his march, which, however, was retarded by the heavy guns in the van.
The duc de Nevers, as we have seen, declining to give battle to the Spaniards who had crossed the stream, had prepared to retreat on the main body of the army. On reaching the ground lately occupied by his countrymen, he found it abandoned; and joining Condé, who still held the mill, the two officers made all haste to overtake the constable.
Meanwhile, Count Egmont, as soon as he was satisfied that he was in sufficient strength to attack the enemy, gave orders to advance, without waiting for more troops to share with him the honors of victory. Crossing the field lately occupied by the constable, he took the great road to La Fère. But the rising ground which lay between him and the French prevented him from seeing the enemy until he had accomplished half a league or more. The day was now well advanced, and the Flemish captain had some fears that, notwithstanding his speed, the quarry had escaped him. But, as he turned the hill, he had the satisfaction to descry the French columns in full retreat. On their rear hung a body of sutlers and other followers of the camp, who, by the sudden apparition of the Spaniards, were thrown into a panic, which they had wellnigh communicated to the rest of the army.[207] To retreat before an enemy is in itself a confession of weakness sufficiently dispiriting to the soldier. Montmorency, roused by the tumult, saw the dark cloud gathering along the heights, and knew that it must soon burst on him. In this emergency, he asked counsel of an old officer near him as to what he should do. "Had you asked me," replied the other, "two hours since, I could have told you; it is now too late."[208] It was indeed too late, and there was nothing to be done but to face about and fight the Spaniards. The constable, accordingly, gave the word to halt, and made dispositions to receive his assailants.[{94}]
Egmont, seeing him thus prepared, formed his own squadron into three divisions. One, which was to turn the left flank of the French, he gave to the prince of Brunswick and to Count Hoorne,—a name afterwards associated with his own on a sadder occasion than the present. Another, composed chiefly of Germans, he placed under Count Mansfeldt, with orders to assail the centre. He himself, at the head of his Burgundian lances, rode on the left against Montmorency's right flank. Orders were then given to charge, and, spurring forward their horses, the whole column came thundering on against the enemy. The French met the shock like well-trained soldiers, as they were; but the cavalry fell on them with the fury of a torrent sweeping everything before it, and for a few moments it seemed as if all were lost. But the French chivalry was true to its honor, and, at the call of Montmorency, who gallantly threw himself into the thick of the fight, it rallied, and, returning the charge, compelled the assailants to give way in their turn. The struggle, now continued on more equal terms, grew desperate; man against man, horse against horse,—it seemed to be a contest of personal prowess, rather than of tactics or military science. So well were the two parties matched, that for a long time the issue was doubtful; and the Spaniards might not have prevailed in the end, but for the arrival of reinforcements, both foot and heavy cavalry, who came up to their support. Unable to withstand this accumulated force, the French cavaliers, overpowered by numbers, not by superior valor, began to give ground. Hard pressed by Egmont, who cheered on his men to renewed efforts, their ranks were at length broken. The retreat became a flight; and, scattered over the field in all directions, they were hotly pursued by their adversaries, especially the German schwarzreiters,—those riders "black as devils,"[209]—who did such execution with their fire-arms as completed the discomfiture of the French.
Amidst this confusion, the Gascons, the flower of the French infantry, behaved with admirable coolness.[210] Throwing themselves into squares, with the pikemen armed with their long pikes in front, and the arquebusiers in the centre, they presented an impenetrable array, against which the tide of battle raged and chafed in impotent fury. It was in vain that the Spanish horse rode round the solid masses bristling with steel, if possible, to force an entrance, while an occasional shot, striking a trooper from his saddle, warned them not to approach too near.
It was in this state of things that the duke of Savoy, with the remainder of the troops, including the artillery, came on the field of action. His arrival could not have been more seasonable. The heavy guns were speedily turned on the French squares, whose dense array presented an obvious mark to the Spanish bullets. Their firm ranks were rent asunder; and, as the brave men tried in vain to close over the bodies of their dying comrades, the horse took advantage of the openings to plunge into the midst of the phalanx. Here the long spears of the pikemen were of no avail, and, striking right and left, the cavaliers dealt death on every side. All now was confusion and irretrievable ruin. No one thought of fighting, or even of self-defence. The only thought was of flight. Men overturned one another in their eagerness to escape. They were soon mingled with the routed cavalry, who rode down their own countrymen. Horses ran about the field without riders. Many of the soldiers threw away their arms, to fly the more quickly. All strove to escape from the terrible pursuit which hung on their rear. The artillery and ammunition[{95}]-wagons choked up the road, and obstructed the flight of the fugitives. The slaughter was dreadful. The best blood of France flowed like water.
ARMY ROUTED.
Yet mercy was shown to those who asked it. Hundreds and thousands threw down their arms, and obtained quarter. Nevers, according to some accounts, covered the right flank of the French army. Others state that he was separated from it by a ravine or valley. At all events, he fared no better than his leader. He was speedily enveloped by the cavalry of Hoorne and Brunswick, and his fine corps of light horse cut to pieces. He himself, with the prince of Condé, was so fortunate as to make his escape, with the remnant of his forces, to La Fère.