n losses during the siege. Inside was John de
Vienne, the unyielding governor, and his brave garrison. Outside was
plenty; inside was famine; between were impregnable walls, which all the
engines of Edward failed to reduce or surmount. No resource was left the
English king but time and famine; none was left the garrison but the
hope of wearying their foes or of relief by their king. The chief foe
they fought against was starvation, an enemy against whom warlike arms
were of no avail, whom only stout hearts and inflexible endurance could
meet; and bravely they faced this frightful foe, those stout citizens of
Calais.

An excellent harbor had Calais. It had long been the sheltering-place
for the pirates that preyed on English commerce. But now no ship could
leave or enter. The English fleet closed the passage by sea; the English
army blocked all approach by land; the French king, whose great army had
just been mercilessly slaughtered at Crecy, held aloof, nothing seemed
to remain for Calais but death or surrender, and yet the valiant
governor held out against his foes.

As the days went on and no relief came he made a census of the town,
selected seventeen hundred poor and unsoldierly folks, "useless mouths,"
as he called them, and drove them outside the walls. Happily for them,
King Edward was just then in a good humor. He gave the starving outcasts
a good dinner and twopence in money each, and passed them through his
ranks to make their way whither they would.

More days passed; food grew scarcer; there were more "useless mouths" in
the town; John de Vienne decided to try this experiment again. Five
hundred more were thrust from the gates. This time King Edward was not
in a good humor. He bade his soldiers drive them back at sword's-point.
The governor refused to admit them into the town. The whole miserable
multitude died of starvation in sight of both camps. Such were the
amenities of war in the Middle Ages, and in fact, of war in almost all
ages, for mercy counts for little when opposed by military exigencies.

A letter was now sent to the French king, Philip de Valois, imploring
succor. They had eaten, said the governor, their horses, their dogs,
even the rats and mice; nothing remained but to eat one another.
Unluckily, the English, not the French, king received this letter, and
the English host grew more watchful than ever. But Philip de Valois
needed not letters to tell him of the extremity of the garrison; he