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