calling upon the English to surrender. The
King warned those gentlemen himself to
retire with all speed if they cared for their
lives, and ordered the English banners to
advance. Upon that, Sir Thomas Erpingham, a
great English general, who commanded the
archers, threw his truncheon into the air, joyfully;
and all the English men, kneeling down
upon the ground and biting it as if they took
possession of the country, rose up with a great
shout and fell upon the French.

Every archer was furnished with a great
stake tipped with iron; and his orders were,
to thrust this stake into the ground, to
discharge his arrow, and then to fall back,
when the French horsemen came on. As
the haughty French gentlemen, who were
to break the English archers and utterly
destroy them with their knightly lances, came
riding up, they were received with such a
blinding storm of arrows, that they broke
and turned. Horses and men rolled over
one another, and the confusion was terrific.
Those who rallied and charged the archers
got among the stakes on slippery and boggy
ground, and were so bewildered that the
English archers—who wore no armour and
even took off their leathern coats to be more
active—cut them to pieces, root and branch.
Only three French horsemen got within the
stakes, and those were instantly despatched.
All this time the dense French army, being
in armour, were sinking knee-deep into the
mire; while the light English archers, half-naked,
were as fresh and active as if they were
fighting on a marble floor. But now, the
second division of the French coming to the
relief of the first, closed up in a firm mass;
the English, headed by the King, attacked
them; and the deadliest part of the battle
began. The King's brother, the Duke of
Clarence, was struck down, and numbers of
the French surrounded him; but, King Henry,
standing over the body, fought like a lion
until they were beaten off. Presently, came
up a band of eighteen French knights,
bearing the banner of a certain French lord,
who had sworn to kill or take the English
King. One of them struck him such a
blow with a battle-axe that he reeled and fell
upon his knees; but, his faithful men, immediately
closing round him, killed every one
of those eighteen knights, and so that French
lord never kept his oath. The French Duke
of Alençon, seeing this, made a desperate
charge, and cut his way close up to the Royal
Standard of England. He beat down the
Duke of York, who was standing near it;
and, when the King came to his rescue,
struck off a piece of the crown he wore.
But, he never struck another blow in this
world; for, even as he was in the act of
saying who he was, and that he surrendered
to the King; and even as the King stretched
out his hand to give him a safe and honourable
acceptance of the offer; he fell dead, pierced
by innumerable wounds.

The death of this nobleman decided the
battle. The third division of the French
army, which had never struck a blow yet, and
which was, in itself, more than double the
whole English power, broke and fled. At
this time of the fight, the English, who as
yet had made no prisoners, began to take
them in immense numbers, and were still
occupied in doing so, or in killing those who
would not surrender, when a great noise
arose in the rear of the French—their flying
banners were seen to stop—and King Henry,
supposing a great reinforcement to have
arrived, gave orders that all the prisoners
should be put to death. As soon, however,
as it was found that the noise was only
occasioned by a body of plundering peasants,
the terrible massacre was stopped. Then
King Henry called to him the French herald,
and asked him to whom the victory belonged.
The herald replied, "To the King of England."
"We have not made this havoc and slaughter,"
said the King. "It is the wrath of Heaven
on the sins of France. What is the name of
that castle yonder?" The herald answered
him, "My lord, it is the castle of Azincourt."
Said the King, "From henceforth this battle
shall be known to posterity, by the name of
the battle of Azincourt." Our English historians
have made it Agincourt; but, under
that name, it will ever be famous in English
annals.

The loss upon the French side was enormous.
Three Dukes were killed, two more
were taken prisoners, seven Counts were killed,
three more were taken prisoners, and ten
thousand knights and gentlemen were slain
upon the field. The English loss amounted
to sixteen hundred men, among whom were
the Duke of York and the Earl of Suffolk.

War is a dreadful thing; and it is appalling
to know how the English were obliged, next
morning, to kill those prisoners mortally
wounded, who yet writhed in agony upon the
ground; how the dead upon the French side
were stripped by their own countrymen and
countrywomen, and afterwards buried in great
pits; how the dead upon the English side
were piled up in a great barn, and how their
bodies and the barn were all burned together.
It is in such things, and in many more much
too horrible to relate, that the real desolation
and wickedness of war consist. Nothing can
make war otherwise than horrible. But the
dark side of it was little thought of and soon
forgotten; and it cast no shade of trouble on
the English people, except on those who had
lost friends or relations in the fight. They
welcomed their King home with shouts of
rejoicing, and plunged into the water to bear him
ashore on their shoulders, and flocked out in
crowds to welcome him in every town through
which he passed, and hung rich carpets and
tapestries out of the windows, and strewed
the streets with flowers, and made the fountains
run with wine, as the great field of
Agincourt had run with blood.