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POSITION OF THE ENGLISH AND FRENCH ARMIES,

ON THE MORNING OF THE 25TH OF OCTOBER, 1416.

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CHAPTER VIII.

"This day is called the feast of Crispian,

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian."

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.

Ir is a remarkable fact that the most memorable victories of the English over the French, have been gained by turning at bay upon a closely pursuing army. It has been when no resource was left but to face the enemy with an inferior force, that the choicest laurels have rewarded English valor. So Edward the Third, making all haste to retire, received the impet uous onset of Philip of Valois, and won Crecy; so Henry the Fifth rushed headlong upon the legions of the Constable D'Albret, and achieved that great triumph which is about to be recorded; so, in a manner, Wellington planted himself against Napoleon in his exultant march at Waterloo. No situation could call for a greater effort of military genius. The commander who, at last, is brought to bay, has but one advantage the advantage of desperation. With an inferior force, with despondency in his ranks, on an unfamiliar soil, amid a hostile people, in presence of a larger and confident army, having no choice of ground, in want of provisions, arms, and clothing, where de

lay was dangerous, and attack almost destruction, we cannot imagine a more favorable occasion on which to exhibit, if it exists, the rare powers of a truly great general. We have followed Henry the Fifth on that dreary and desperate march which he made from Harfleur toward Calais. We have seen him oppressed by every distress to which an army can be exposed— to famine, to disease, to hostile menace and pursuit, to fatigue, to cold, to despondency, to daily loss of men, to the obstructions of nature, to constant danger of surprise and consequent ruin. We at last find him safely over the Ternoise. Here he confronts his enemy. This is to be the last and greatest trial. There is no avoiding the crisis. There is no middle fate between entire success and entire destruction. The adversary has girded up his loins with his strongest buckler; he has been roused to his highest pitch of indignation; he has waited and repressed his spirit of vengeance, until vengeance now seems certain, until the end of the flying invader seems at hand. All the hate of France because of hereditary grudges, because of fields devastated, towns sacked, posts occupied, royalty insulted, internal faction taken advantage of, arrogant boasts, and, so far, the steady success of the invader, all the hate of France for these things is centred in that dread host, which "fills the field as with an innumerable host of locusts," and which puts a human wall between the retreating army and their haven of safety. At the head of this angry mass stand the stalwart nobility of France; vassals who have defied their king; warriors, whom the shock of a hundred battles has not moved. Their armor glistens fresh from the artificer's hand; their lances are keen of edge; their guns are newly bored; their shields are

yet unscarred by the hostile onset. Their camps abound in food and warm clothing. They have the cause of their country; vengeance is theirs to visit upon the aggressor. They are confident in their cause, and in their strength.

Henry had scarcely seen the last of his battalions across the river, when a scout, who had reconnoitred beyond the lines, came breathless to the Duke of York, and announced that the enemy were in view, in full force, at a short distance off. York at once gave the intelligence to the King. Henry promptly rode forward to a hillock, and found that the report was indeed true. There they were, swarming over the hills and plains, their banners flying, their trumpets sounding, and their artillery rumbling over the yielding ground. With an unruffled countenance the King returned to his main body, deliberately ordered his soldiers to be in readiness for battle, and addressed them so calmly and cheerfully that confidence took possession of every breast. The army with one accord leapt from their horses, and, prostrating themselves upon the ground, appealed to the Almighty that he would protect and save them. The priests went about, exhorting them to prayer, and urging them to put themselves with confidence into the hands of God. It was now dusk, on the evening of the 24th of October. The French, having reached some orchards below the village of Agincourt, were evidently not disposed to risk a fight so late. The English, therefore, had the night in which to prepare themselves for the crisis. Sir Walter Hungerford, in presence of Henry, wished that he had brought with him but ten thousand more archers; but the King, turning suddenly upon him, said: "Now, in the Lord's name, I would not have one

man more.

The number we have is that which He has willed; these folks place their confidence in their multitude, and I in Him who so often gave victory to Judas Maccabæus." No word fell from the hero's lips but those of cheerfulness and confidence. He led his little army to a small elevation near Maisoncelles, between which and the French position there was a valley; having first dismissed what prisoners he had, with the parole promise that they should report themselves at Calais.

As night advanced, the soldiers set lustily about their preparations for the morrow. The rain began to fall, and the ground throughout the country was soon soaked and slippery. The banners were furled and covered. The archers put fresh strings to their bows, the swords and lances were carefully burnished, the armor was supplied with new rivets, the emblazoned frocks were carefully put in dry places, straw was laid about upon which to rest, the baggage was piled up in the rear, and stakes were prepared to oppose the onset of the hostile cavalry. As for Henry himself, he took up his quarters in a small hut at Maisoncelles; but he did not think of rest until every thing was in readiness. The work done that night was done with a will. No noise issued from that solemn camp. Every thing was said in whispers, every thing was done quickly and quietly. When all the preparations had been made, the soldiers devoted themselves to confession and prayer. The priests were everywhere, active in their sacred offices, granting absolutions, cheering the sinking hearts, leading in the supplications to the Divinity. Meanwhile the cold storm raged, and wet through and through the devoted troops. The young King appeared in all parts

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