Sir Nigel

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  XXIII. HOW THIRTY OF JOSSELIN ENCOUNTERED THIRTY OF PLOERMEL

  All night the Castle of Ploermel rang with warlike preparations, for thesmiths were hammering and filing and riveting, preparing the armor forthe champions. In the stable yard hostlers were testing and grooming thegreat war-horses, whilst in the chapel knights and squires were easingtheir souls at the knees of old Father Benedict.

  Down in the courtyard, meanwhile, the men-at-arms had been assembled,and the volunteers weeded out until the best men had been selected.Black Simon had obtained a place, and great was the joy which shoneupon his grim visage. With him were chosen young Nicholas Dagsworth, agentleman adventurer who was nephew to the famous Sir Thomas, Walter theGerman, Hulbitee--a huge peasant whose massive frame gave promise whichhis sluggish spirit failed to fulfil--John Alcock, Robin Adey and RaoulProvost. These with three others made up the required thirty. Great wasthe grumbling and evil the talk amongst the archers when it was learnedthat none of them were to be included, but the bow had been forbidden oneither side. It is true that many of them were expert fighters bothwith ax and with sword, but they were unused to carry heavy armor, anda half-armed man would have short shrift in such a hand-to-hand struggleas lay before them.

  It was two hours after tierce, or one hour before noon, on the fourthWednesday of Lent in the year of Christ 1351 that the men of Ploermelrode forth from their castle-gate and crossed the bridge of the Due. Infront was Bambro' with his Squire Croquart, the latter on a great roanhorse bearing the banner of Ploermel, which was a black rampant lionholding a blue flag upon a field of ermine. Behind him came RobertKnolles and Nigel Loring, with an attendant at their side, who carriedthe pennon of the black raven. Then rode Sir Thomas Percy with his bluelion flaunting above him, and Sir Hugh Calverly, whose banner bore asilver owl, followed by the massive Belford who carried a huge ironclub, weighing sixty pounds, upon his saddlebow, and Sir Thomas Waltonthe knight of Surrey. Behind them were four brave Anglo-Bretons, Perrotde Commelain, Le Gaillart, d'Aspremont and d'Ardaine, who fought againsttheir own countrymen because they were partisans of the Countess ofMontfort. Her engrailed silver cross upon a blue field was carried attheir head. In the rear were five German or Hainault mercenaries, thetall Hulbitee, and the men-at-arms. Altogether of these combatantstwenty were of English birth, four were Breton and six were of Germanblood.

  So, with glitter of armor and flaunting of pennons, their warhorsestossing and pawing, the champions rode down to the midway oak. Behindthem streamed hundreds of archers and men-at-arms whose weapons had beenwisely taken from them lest a general battle should ensue. With themalso went the townsfolk, men and women, together with wine-sellers,provisions merchants, armorers, grooms and heralds, with surgeons totend the wounded and priests to shrive the dying. The path was blockedby this throng, but all over the face of the country horsemen andfootmen, gentle and simple, men and women, could be seen speeding theirway to the scene of the encounter.

  The journey was not a long one, for presently, as they threaded theirway through the fields, there appeared before them a great gray oakwhich spread its gnarled leafless branches over the corner of a greenand level meadow. The tree was black with the peasants who had climbedinto it, and all round it was a huge throng, chattering and callinglike a rookery at sunset. A storm of hooting broke out from them at theapproach of the English, for Bambro' was hated in the country where heraised money for the Montfort cause by putting every parish to ransomand maltreating those who refused to pay. There was little amenity inthe warlike ways which had been learned upon the Scottish border. Thechampions rode onward without deigning to take notice of the taunts ofthe rabble, but the archers turned that way and soon beat the mob tosilence. Then they resolved themselves into the keepers of the ground,and pressed the people back until they formed a dense line along theedge of the field, leaving the whole space clear for the warriors.

  The Breton champions had not yet arrived, so the English tethered theirhorses at one side of the ground, and then gathered round their leader.Every man had his shield slung round his neck, and had cut his spear tothe length of five feet so that it might be more manageable for fightingon foot. Besides the spear a sword or a battle-ax hung at the side ofeach. They were clad from head to foot in armor, with devices uponthe crests and surcoats to distinguish them from their antagonists.At present their visors were still up and they chatted gayly with eachother.

  "By Saint Dunstan!" cried Percy, slapping his gauntleted hands togetherand stamping his steel feet. "I shall be right glad to get to work, formy blood is chilled."

  "I warrant you will be warm enough ere you get through," said Calverly.

  "Or cold forever. Candle shall burn and bell toll at Alnwick Chapel ifI leave this ground alive, but come what may, fair sirs, it should be afamous joust and one which will help us forward. Surely each of us willhave worshipfully won worship, if we chance to come through."

  "You say truth, Thomas," said Knolles, bracing his girdle. "For myown part I have no joy in such encounters when there is warfare to becarried out, for it standeth not aright that a man should think of hisown pleasure and advancement rather than of the King's cause and theweal of the army. But in times of truce I can think of no better way inwhich a day may be profitably spent. Why so silent, Nigel?"

  "Indeed, fair sir, I was looking toward Josselin, which lies as Iunderstand beyond those woods. I see no sign of this debonair gentlemanand of his following. It would be indeed grievous pity if any cause cameto hold them back."

  Hugh Calverly laughed at the words. "You need have no fear, young sir,"said he. "Such a spirit lies in Robert de Beaumanoir that if he mustcome alone he would ride against us none the less. I warrant that ifhe were on a bed of death he would be borne here and die on the greenfield."

  "You say truly, Hugh," said Bambro'. "I know him and those who ridebehind him. Thirty stouter men or more skilled in arms are not to befound in Christendom. It is in my mind that come what may there will bemuch honor for all of us this day. Ever in my head I have a rhyme whichthe wife of a Welsh archer gave me when I crossed her hand with a goldenbracelet after the intaking of Bergerac. She was of the old blood ofMerlin with the power of sight. Thus she said--

  "'Twixt the oak-tree and the river Knightly fame aid brave endeavor Make an honored name forever.'

  "Methinks I see the oak-tree, and yonder is the river. Surely thisshould betide some good to us."

  The huge German Squire betrayed some impatience during this speech ofhis leader. Though his rank was subordinate, no man present had moreexperience of warfare or was more famous as a fighter than he. He newbroke brusquely into the talk. "We should be better employed in orderingour line and making our plans than in talking of the rhymes of Merlin orsuch old wives' tales," said he. "It is to our own strong arms and goodweapons that we must trust this day. And first I would ask you, SirRichard, what is your will if perchance you should fall in the midst ofthe fight?"

  Bambro' turned to the others. "If such should be the case, fair sirs, Idesire that my Squire Croquart should command."

  There was a pause while the knights looked with some chagrin at eachother. The silence was broken by Knolles.

  "I will do what you say, Richard," said he, "though indeed it is bitterthat we who are knights should serve beneath a squire. Yet it is not forus to fall out among ourselves now at this last moment, and I have everheard that Croquart is a very worthy and valiant man. Therefore, I willpledge you on jeopardy of my soul that I will accept him as leader ifyou fall."

  "So will I also, Richard," said Calverly.

  "And I too!" cried Belford. "But surely I hear music, and yonder aretheir pennons amid the trees."

  They all turned, leaning upon their short spears, and watched theadvance of the men of Josselin, as their troop wound its way out fromthe woodlands. In front rode three heralds with tabards of the ermine ofBrittany, blowing loudly upon silver trumpets. Behind them a great manupon a white horse bore the bann
er of Josselin which carries nine goldentorteaus upon a scarlet field. Then came the champions riding twoand two, fifteen knights and fifteen squires, each with his pennondisplayed. Behind them on a litter was borne an aged priest, the Bishopof Rennes, carrying in his hands the viaticum and the holy oils thathe might give the last aid and comfort of the Church to those who weredying. The procession was terminated by hundreds of men and womenfrom Josselin, Guegon, and Helleon, and by the entire garrison of thefortress, who came, as the English had done, without their arms. Thehead of this long column had reached the field before the rear wereclear of the wood, but as they arrived the champions picketed theirhorses on the farther side, behind which their banner was planted andthe people lined up until they had inclosed the whole lists with a densewall of spectators.

  With keen eyes the English party had watched the armorial blazonry oftheir antagonists, for those fluttering pennons and brilliant surcoatscarried a language which all men could read. In front was the banner ofBeaumanoir, blue with silver frets. His motto "J'ayme qui m'ayme" wascarried on a second flag by a little page.

  "Whose is the shield behind him--silver with scarlet drops?" askedKnolles.

  "It is his Squire, William of Montaubon," Calverly answered. "And thereare the golden lion of Rochefort and the silver cross of Du Bois theStrong. I would not wish to meet a better company than are before usthis day. See, there are the blue rings of young Tintiniac, who slewmy Squire Hubert last Lammastide. With the aid of Saint George I willavenge him ere nightfall."

  "By the three kings of Almain," growled Croquart, "we will need to fighthard this day, for never have I seen so many good soldiers gatheredtogether. Yonder is Yves Cheruel, whom they call the man of iron, Carode Bodegat also with whom I have had more than one bickering--that ishe with the three ermine circles on the scarlet shield. There too isleft-handed Alain de Karanais; bear in mind that his stroke comes on theside where there is no shield."

  "Who is the small stout man"--asked Nigel--"he with the black and silvershield? By Saint Paul! he seems a very worthy person and one from whommuch might be gained, for he is nigh as broad as he is long."

  "It is Sir Robert Raguenel," said Calverly, whose long spell of servicein Brittany had made him familiar with the people. "It is said that hecan lift a horse upon his back. Beware a full stroke of that steelmace, for the armor is not made that can abide it. But here is the goodBeaumanoir, and surely it is time that we came to grips."

  The Breton leader had marshaled his men in a line opposite to theEnglish, and now he strode forward and shook Bambro' by the hand. "BySaint Cadoc! this is a very joyous meeting, Richard," said he, "and wehave certainly hit upon a very excellent way of keeping a truce."

  "Indeed, Robert," said Bambro', "we owe you much thanks, for I can seethat you have been at great pains to bring a worthy company against usthis day. Surely if all should chance to perish there will be few noblehouses in Brittany who will not mourn."

  "Nay, we have none of the highest of Brittany," Beaumanoir answered."Neither a Blois, nor a Leon, nor a Rohan, nor a Conan, fights in ourranks this day. And yet we are all men of blood and coat-armor, who areready to venture our persons for the desire of our ladies and the loveof the high order of knighthood. And now, Richard, what is your sweetwill concerning this fight?"

  "That we continue until one or other can endure no longer, for since itis seldom that so many brave men draw together it is fitting that we seeas much as is possible of each other."

  "Richard, your words are fair and good. It shall be even as you say. Forthe rest, each shall fight as pleases him best from the time that theherald calls the word. If any man from without shall break in upon us heshall be hanged on yonder oak."

  With a salute he drew down his visor and returned to his own men, whowere kneeling in a twinkling, many colored group whilst the old bishopgave them his blessing.

  The heralds rode round with a warning to the spectators. Then theyhalted at the side of the two bands of men who now stood in a long linefacing each other with fifty yards of grass between. The visors had beenclosed, and every man was now cased in metal from head to foot, some fewglowing in brass, the greater number shining in steel. Only their fierceeyes could be seen smoldering in the dark shadow of their helmets. Sofor an instant they stood glaring and crouching.

  Then with a loud cry of "Allez!" the herald dropped his upraised hand,and the two lines of men shuffled as fast as their heavy armor wouldpermit until they met with a sharp clang of metal in the middle of thefield. There was a sound as of sixty smiths working upon their anvils.Then the babel of yells and shouts from the spectators, cheering on thisparty or that, rose and swelled until even the uproar of the combat wasdrowned in that mighty surge.

  So eager were the combatants to engage that in a few moments all orderhad been lost and the two bands were mixed up in one furious scrambling,clattering throng, each man tossed hither and thither, thrown againstone adversary and then against another, beaten and hustled and buffeted,with only the one thought in his mind to thrust with his spear or tobeat with his ax against anyone who came within the narrow slit ofvision left by his visor.

  But alas for Nigel and his hopes of some great deed! His was at leastthe fate of the brave, for he was the first to fall. With a high hearthe had placed himself in the line as nearly opposite to Beaumanoir as hecould, and had made straight for the Breton leader, remembering that inthe out set the quarrel had been so ordered that it lay between them.But ere he could reach his goal he was caught in the swirl of his owncomrades, and being the lighter man was swept aside and dashed into thearms of Alain de Karanais, the left-handed swordsman, with such a crashthat the two rolled upon the ground together. Light footed as a cat,Nigel had sprung up first, and was stooping over the Breton Squire whenthe powerful dwarf Raguenel brought his mace thudding down upon theexposed back of his helmet. With a groan Nigel fell upon his face, bloodgushing from his mouth, nose, and ears. There he lay, trampled over byeither party, while that great fight for which his fiery soul had pantedwas swaying back and forward above his unconscious form.

  But Nigel was not long unavenged. The huge iron club of Belford struckthe dwarf Raguenel to the ground, while Belford in turn was felled by asweeping blow from Beaumanoir. Sometimes a dozen were on the ground atone time, but so strong was the armor, and so deftly was the force of ablow broken by guard and shield, that the stricken men were often pulledto their feet once more by their comrades, and were able to continue thefight.

  Some, however, were beyond all aid. Croquart had cut at a Breton knightnamed Jean Rousselot and had shorn away his shoulder-piece, exposinghis neck and the upper part of his arm. Vainly he tried to cover thisvulnerable surface with his shield. It was his right side, and he couldnot stretch it far enough across, nor could he get away on account ofthe press of men around him. For a time he held his foemen at bay, butthat bare patch of white shoulder was a mark for every weapon, until atlast a hatchet sank up to the socket in the knight's chest. Almost atthe same moment a second Breton, a young Squire named Geoffrey Mellon,was slain by a thrust from Black Simon which found the weak spot beneaththe armpit. Three other Bretons, Evan Cheruel, Caro de Bodegat, andTristan de Pestivien, the first two knights and the latter a squire,became separated from their comrades, and were beaten to the groundwith English all around them, so that they had to choose between instantdeath and surrender. They handed their swords to Bambro' and stoodapart, each of them sorely wounded, watching with hot and bitter heartsthe melee which still surged up and down the field.

  But now the combat had lasted half an hour without stint or rest, untilthe warriors were so exhausted with the burden of their armor, the lossof blood, the shock of blows, and their own furious exertions, that theycould scarce totter or raise their weapons. There must be a pause if thecombat was to have any decisive end. "Cessez! Cessez! Retirez!" criedthe heralds, as they spurred their horses between the exhausted men.

  Slowly the gallant Beaumanoir led the twenty-five men who were leftto thei
r original station, where they opened their visors and threwthemselves down upon the grass, panting like weary dogs, and wiping thesweat from their bloodshot eyes. A pitcher of wine of Anjou was carriedround by a page, and each in turn drained a cup, save only Beaumanoirwho kept his Lent with such strictness that neither food nor drink mightpass his lips before sunset. He paced slowly amongst his men, croakingforth encouragement from his parched lips and pointing out to them thatamong the English there was scarce a man who was not wounded, and someso sorely that they could hardly stand. If the fight so far had goneagainst them, there were still five hours of daylight, and much mighthappen before the last of them was laid upon his back.

  Varlets had rushed forth to draw away the two dead Bretons, and a braceof English archers had carried Nigel from the field. With his own handsAylward had unlaced the crushed helmet and had wept to see the bloodlessand unconscious face of his young master. He still breathed, however,and stretched upon the grass by the riverside the bowman tended him withrude surgery, until the water upon his brow and the wind upon his facehad coaxed back the life into his battered frame. He breathed with heavygasps, and some tinge of blood crept hack into his cheeks, but stillhe lay unconscious of the roar of the crowd and of that great strugglewhich his comrades were now waging once again.

  The English had lain for a space bleeding and breathless, in no bettercase than their rivals, save that they were still twenty-nine in number.But of this muster there were not nine who were hale men, and some wereso weak from loss of blood that they could scarce keep standing. Yet,when the signal was at last given to reengage there was not a man uponeither side who did not totter to his feet and stagger forward towardhis enemies.

  But the opening of this second phase of the combat brought one greatmisfortune and discouragement to the English. Bambro' like the others,had undone his visor, but with his mind full of many cares he hadneglected to make it fast again. There was an opening an inch broadbetwixt it and the beaver. As the two lines met the left-handed Bretonsquire, Alain de Karanais, caught sight of Bambro's face, and in aninstant thrust his short spear through the opening. The English leadergave a cry of pain and fell on his knees, but staggered to his feetagain, too weak to raise his shield. As he stood exposed the Bretonknight, Geoffrey Dubois the Strong, struck him such a blow with hisax that he beat in the whole breast-plate with the breast behind it.Bambro' fell dead upon the ground and for a few minutes a fierce fightraged round his body.

  Then the English drew back, sullen and dogged, bearing Bambro' withthem, and the Bretons, breathing hard, gathered again in their ownquarter. At the same instant the three prisoners picked up such weaponsas were scattered upon the grass and ran over to join their own party.

  "Nay, nay!" cried Knolles, raising his visor and advancing. "This maynot be. You have been held to mercy when we might have slain you, andby the Virgin I will hold you dishonored, all three, if you stand notback."

  "Say not so, Robert Knolles," Evan Cheruel answered. "Never yet hasthe word dishonor been breathed with my name, but I should count myselffaineant if I did not fight beside my comrades when chance has made itright and proper that I should do so."

  "By Saint Cadoc! he speaks truly," croaked Beaumanoir, advancing infront of his men. "You are well aware, Robert, that it is the law ofwar and the usage of chivalry that if the knight to whom you havesurrendered is himself slain the prisoners thereby become released."

  There was no answer to this and Knolles, weary and spent, returned tohis comrades. "I would that we had slain them," said he. "We have lostour leader and they have gained three men by the same stroke."

  "If any more lay down their arms it is my order that you slay themforthwith," said Croquart, whose bent sword and bloody armor showed howmanfully he had borne himself in the fray. "And now, comrades, do notbe heavy-hearted because we have lost our leader. Indeed, his rhymesof Merlin have availed him little. By the three kings of Almain! I canteach you what is better than an old woman's prophecies, and that isthat you should keep your shoulders together and your shields so closethat none can break between them. Then you will know what is on eitherside of you, and you can fix your eyes upon the front. Also, if any beso weak or wounded that he must sink his hands his comrades on right andleft can bear him up. Now advance all together in God's name, for thebattle is still ours if we bear ourselves like men."

  In a solid line the English advanced, while the Bretons ran forwardas before to meet them. The swiftest of these was a certain Squire,Geoffrey Poulart, who bore a helmet which was fashioned as a cock'shead, with high comb above, and long pointed beak in front pierced withthe breathing-holes. He thrust with his sword at Calverly, but Belfordwho was the next in the line raised his giant club and struck him acrushing blow from the side. He staggered, and then pushing forth fromthe crowd, he ran round and round in circles as one whose brain isstricken, the blood dripping from the holes of his brazen beak. So fora long time he ran, the crowd laughing and cock-crowing at the sight,until at last he stumbled and fell stone-dead upon his face. But thefighters had seen nothing of his fate, for desperate and unceasing wasthe rush of the Bretons and the steady advance of the English line.

  For a time it seemed as if nothing would break it, but gap-toothedBeaumanoir was a general as well as a warrior. Whilst his weary,bleeding, hard-breathing men still flung themselves upon the front ofthe line, he himself with Raguenel, Tentiniac, Alain de Karanais, andDubois rushed round the flank and attacked the English with furyfrom behind. There was a long and desperate melee until once more theheralds, seeing the combatants stand gasping and unable to strike ablow, rode in and called yet another interval of truce.

  But in those few minutes whilst they had been assaulted upon bothsides, the losses of the English party had been heavy. The Anglo-BretonD'Ardaine had fallen before Beaumanoir's sword, but not before he hadcut deeply into his enemy's shoulder. Sir Thomas Walton, Richard ofIreland one of the Squires, and Hulbitee the big peasant had all fallenbefore the mace of the dwarf Raguenel or the swords of his companions.Some twenty men were still left standing upon either side, but all werein the last state of exhaustion, gasping, reeling, hardly capable ofstriking a blow.

  It was strange to see them as they staggered with many a lurch andstumble toward each other once again, for they moved like drunken men,and the scales of their neck-armor and joints were as red as fishes'gills when they raised them They left foul wet footprints behind themon the green grass as they moved forward once more to their endlesscontest.

  Beaumanoir, faint with the drain of his blood and with a tongue ofleather, paused as he advanced. "I am fainting, comrades," he cried. "Imust drink."

  "Drink your own blood, Beaumanoir!" cried Dubois, and the weary men allcroaked together in dreadful laughter.

  But now the English had learned from experience, and under the guidanceof Croquart they fought no longer in a straight line, but in one sobent that at last it became a circle. As the Bretons still pushed andstaggered against it they thrust it back on every side, until they hadturned it into the most dangerous formation of all, a solid block ofmen, their faces turned outward, their weapons bristling forth to meetevery attack. Thus the English stood, and no assault could move them.They could lean against each other back to back while they waited andallowed their foemen to tire themselves out. Again and again the gallantBretons tried to make a way through. Again and again they were beatenback by a shower of blows.

  Beaumanoir, his head giddy with fatigue, opened his helmet and gazed indespair at this terrible, unbreakable circle. Only too clearly he couldsee the inevitable result. His men were wearing themselves out. Alreadymany of them could scarce stir hand or foot, and might be dead for anyaid which they could give him in winning the fight. Soon all would be inthe same plight. Then these cursed English would break their circle toswarm over his helpless men and to strike them down. Do what he might,he could see no way by which such an end might be prevented. He cast hiseyes round in his agony, and there was one of his Bretons slinking awayto
the side of the lists. He could scarce credit his senses when hesaw by the scarlet and silver that the deserter was his own well-triedsquire, William of Montaubon.

  "William! William!" he cried. "Surely you would not leave me?"

  But the other's helmet was closed and he could hear nothing. Beaumanoirsaw that he was staggering away as swiftly as he could. With a cry ofbitter despair, he drew into a knot as many of his braves as could stillmove, and together they made a last rush upon the English spears. Thistime he was firmly resolved, deep in his gallant soul, that he wouldcome no foot back, but would find his death there amongst his foemenor carve a path into the heart of their ranks. The fire in his breastspread from man to man of his followers, and amid the crashing of blowsthey still locked themselves against the English shields and drove hardfor an opening in their ranks.

  But all was vain! Beaumanoir's head reeled. His senses were leaving him.In another minute he and his men would have been stretched senselessbefore this terrible circle of steel, when suddenly the whole arrayfell in pieces before his eyes, his enemies Croquart, Knolles, Calverly,Belford, all were stretched upon the ground together, their weaponsdashed from their hands and their bodies too exhausted to rise. Thesurviving Bretons had but strength to fall upon them dagger in hands,and to wring from them their surrender with the sharp point stabbingthrough their visors. Then victors and vanquished lay groaning andpanting in one helpless and blood-smeared heap.

  To Beaumanoir's simple mind it had seemed that at the supreme moment theSaints of Brittany had risen at their country's call. Already, as helay gasping, his heart was pouring forth its thanks to his patron SaintCadoc. But the spectators had seen clearly enough the earthly cause ofthis sudden victory, and a hurricane of applause from one side, witha storm of hooting from the other showed how different was the emotionwhich it raised in minds which sympathized with the victors or thevanquished.

  William of Montaubon, the cunning squire, had made his way across tothe spot where the steeds were tethered, and had mounted his own greatroussin. At first it was thought that he was about to ride from thefield, but the howl of execration from the Breton peasants changedsuddenly to a yell of applause and delight as he turned the beast's headfor the English circle and thrust his long prick spurs into its side.Those who faced him saw this sudden and unexpected appearance. Time waswhen both horse and rider must have winced away from the shower of theirblows. But now they were in no state to meet such a rush. They couldscarce raise their arms. Their blows were too feeble to hurt this mightycreature. In a moment it had plunged through the ranks, and seven ofthem were on the grass. It turned and rushed through them again, leavingfive others helpless beneath its hoofs. No need to do more! AlreadyBeaumanoir and his companions were inside the circle, the prostrate menwere helpless, and Josselin had won.

  That night a train of crestfallen archers, bearing many a prostratefigure, marched sadly into Ploermel Castle. Behind them rode ten men,all weary, all wounded, and all with burning hearts against William ofMontaubon for the foul trick that he had served them.

  But over at Josselin, yellow gorse-blossoms in their helmets, thevictors were borne in on the shoulders of a shouting mob, amid thefanfare of trumpets and the beating of drums. Such was the combat ofthe Midway Oak, where brave men met brave men, and such honor was gainedthat from that day he who had fought in the Battle of the Thirty wasever given the highest place and the post of honor, nor was it easyfor any man to pretend to have been there, for it has been said by thatgreat chronicler who knew them all, that not one on either side failedto carry to his grave the marks of that stern encounter.