Henry of Monmouth, Volume 2

J >> J. Endell Tyler >> Henry of Monmouth, Volume 2

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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 (p. 166)
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 (p. 167)
realm of England.[132]

[Footnote 131: St. Remy.]

[Footnote 132: The statement that Henry offered to
repair all the injury he had done to France, is
deservedly considered unworthy of credit.]

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]

[Footnote 133: The present reading in Monstrelet,
who details these circumstances with much life and
clearness, reports the word used by the English
warrior to have been "Nestroque," which has been,
with much probability, considered a corruption of
"Now strike!" Whether the word is now read as the
Author wrote it, is very questionable; many French
words in Monstrelet have been mistaken and
corrupted by his copyists.]

It was now approaching mid-day; when Henry, perceiving that the (p. 168)
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 (p. 169)
to their swords and bills and hatchets, the slaughter among the
ranks of the French was dreadful. The Duke of Alencon 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 (p. 170)
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 (p. 171)
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 Alencon, 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.

[Footnote 134: It must be remembered that the
arrival of fresh reinforcements was by no means an
improbable occurrence. Anthony, Duke of Brabant,
had only reached the field with his men just before
the tide of battle turned finally and fatally
against the French; nor could Henry possibly know
what forces were yet hastening on to dispute with
him for the victory afresh.]

To delay might have been the total sacrifice of himself and his
gallant little band; to hesitate might have been death. Henry (p. 172)
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.

[Footnote 135: One author alone, Jean Le Fevre,
states that some of the English, who had taken the
prisoners of greatest note and wealth, hesitated to
execute the order, from an unwillingness to lose
their ransom; and that two hundred archers were
commissioned to perform the dreadful office in
their stead.]

Of the general accuracy of this statement of the facts little doubt
can be entertained, though in the midst of the confusion of such (p. 173)
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, (p. 174)
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 (p. 175)
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 (p. 176)
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.

[Footnote 136: The passage of M. Petitot, in his
History, published in the year 1825, vol. vi. p.
322, which contains this accusation, is as follows:
"The Duke of Alencon fought hand to hand with the
King of England, and fell gloriously. Towards the
end of the struggle, some hundreds of peasants of
Picardy, commanded by two gentlemen of the country,
believing that the English were vanquished, came to
plunder their camp. Henry, fancying that he was
about to be attacked by a reinforcement, whose
march had been concealed from him, ordered the
massacre of the prisoners, and only excepted the
princes and generals. This barbarous order was put
into execution, and tarnished his victory."]

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 (p. 177)
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 qua ira 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 (p. 178)
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. (p. 179)
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 (p. 180)
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 (p. 181)
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."

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