Bowmen of England

by Donald Featherstone

  There were a number of valid reasons for the English victory at Poitiers; a success prominent among the consistent English victories over numerically stronger forces that marked this sixteen-year period in the middle of the fourteenth century. In a way, Poitiers was a throw-back to the previous century in that it was won by men-at-arms with a successful late action of mounted against dismounted troops. Although it began in the Crécy tradition, the archers did not really play their usual prominent part.

  The eventual result of the battle was much affected by the manner in which the two opposing commanders handled their armies. The Black Prince never let go his strong personal grip; he most adequately utilised the lull after beating off the Dauphin’s attack by brilliantly deciding to mount and attack, coupling the onslaught with a mounted flank attack. He chose his ground well in that it was suitable for the size of his army: the hedge served its purpose admirably, the vineyard in front broke up the cavalry attacks, and the nature of the ground on the right lent itself to the flank move. The Prince gave his force mobility by keeping his horses handy – without this there could have been no combined frontal and flank attack, so unusual for battles of the period.

  On the other hand, King John of France lacked combined control over his forces, who were formed into what amounted to three distinct and separate armies. This is reflected in the manner in which he allowed his own division to be so far behind the battlefield at the time when the Dauphin was being repulsed; at that moment he should have been handy and ready to take it up again. Instead his men had a long and slow advance to make, giving the Black Prince time to formulate alternative, winning tactics. Obsessed with King Edward’s defence at Crécy, King John dismounted his men-at-arms, but failed to observe that the circumstances were absolutely different in that he required a vigorous impact through shock and mobility, whereas Edward sought defensive stability. Coupled with this error and connected with his lack of overall control, the French King allowed his army to be formed into one gigantic wedge that, division by division, dashed itself against the strongest part of the English position.

  So ended another French king’s attempt to defeat the English army in France, a failure attended by even greater ignominy than that of his predecessor at Crécy.

  Chapter 16

  Homildon Hill – 1402

  The royal captive from Poitiers was marched in triumph through London and, eventually, a two years’ truce was signed. Sought as a healing-time, this period became one of internal warfare between bands of routed soldiery who formed themselves into free companies of bandits; the miserable country that was France found no rest in herself. Next, Paris rose against the Crown in a rising that was hardly crushed before Edward was again ravaging the wasted land. The defeat at Poitiers had such a profound effect upon the French military mind that they made no further attempts to meet the English in a pitched land battle. They allowed the English to wear themselves out marching the length and breadth of the land, whilst they sullenly shut themselves in their castles. Famine was proving France’s best defence, so that these tactics were reasonably well suited to the circumstances; but they inevitably drove yet another nail into the coffin of chivalry by being opposed to every precept of that feudal state which bade every good knight to accept each and all challenges.

  At last both countries seemed to be worn out. Edward’s army had fallen back on the Loire when proposals of peace reached them. By the Treaty of Bretigny, in May 1360, Edward waived his claims on the crown of France and on the Duchy of Normandy; on the other hand, the Duchy of Aquitaine, which included Gascony, Guienne, Poitou, Saintonge, Limousin, Périgord and Rouergue, were left to him, no longer as a fief but in full sovereignty, while his new conquest of Calais remained a part of the possessions of the English crown. Edward also retained the country of Ponthieu (with Abbeville and the site of Crécy) on the Channel Coast. If it was not all that Edward wanted, it was still triumph; a triumph well earned by the dominant monarch whose personality and persistence had brought victory. Possessing a natural talent for war, his attitude and methods inspired confidence in the rugged, experienced and gifted commanders he had gathered around himself. It was a confidence that flowed naturally from them down to the rank-and-file, leading to a vibrant morale and a high level of discipline. When the Treaty of Bretigny was signed, there was little doubt that the English soldier and, therefore, the English army formed a professional body of fighting men without equal in the world. Only in this way was it able so consistently to defeat one several times larger than itself, its campaigning bringing a polished experience that refused to accept the existence of anything less than overwhelming victory.

  England was a young nation and its fires of national consciousness were to be stoked up by this series of Continental successes, bringing with them a pride that has never left these shores. It is probably no mere coincidence that the signing of the Treaty of Bretigny practically coincided with the introduction of the English tongue into Parliamentary proceedings. The incontestable military superiority of the English in the fourteenth century lay, above all, in the dexterity with which they used good weapons combined with the high proportion of archers to other arms. With this must be coupled the high standards of English morale; they entered the Hundred Years War with a reasonably high state of morale, due to the successes against the Scots; by Poitiers this mental state was at its very peak among both officers and men.

  Although a treaty had been signed, the men who fought still had ability and hot blood to put at the disposal of anyone who needed first-class fighting men and could pay well for them. On the 16th of March 1364 a Free Company of English archers, numbering about 300, fought for the King of Navarre against the King of France at Cockerel. It was a small battle, only about 1,500 on each side, but made notable by attempts of the French to combat the now familiar English tactics. They dismounted their men-at-arms, who fought on foot, their armour being of such superior quality that it turned the English arrows. Coupled with a slight superiority in numbers, this factor forced the King of Navarre’s men from the field. It was only a very slight success, but the defeat of even a small body of English was such a rarity in those days that it aroused great hopes in French breasts for the future.

  The following year saw a battle at Auray, on the 29th of September 1365, when English troops aided John of Montfort in his quarrel with Charles of Blois. The forces were small again, about 4,000 a side; both dismounted and the French discarded their lances, to fight with battle-axe and sword. The English archers opened the engagement, but, as at Cockerel, their shafts could not penetrate the French armour. After some futile shooting, with great deliberation, they threw down their bows and boldly advanced towards the French men-at-arms. Their lightness of foot and nimble tactics are said to have enabled them literally to ‘run rings around’ the armoured men, whose axes and swords they plucked from their hands and used against their former owners! In a series of detached struggles between brawny, active Englishmen in doublet and hose against panting Frenchmen cased stiffly in mail and plate-armour, staggering and rattling as they cursed from behind closed visors, the struggle swayed back and forth. Quickly, men-at-arms came to the assistance of the archers, and, after a desperate engagement, the French were driven from the field of battle.

  In the year 1377 the French landed a considerable body of troops on the Isle of Wight; they took and razed the city of Francheville,4 and then, splitting into two columns, made for the fortress of Carisbrooke. The first column, ambushed by English archers, was completely wiped out; the second was so sorely beaten, again by bowmen, at the castle, that the French were forced to retreat. At this time Richard II was King of England; records indicate that he maintained a standing bodyguard of archers, some authorities placing their numbers as high as 4,000. On one occasion, when trouble arose in London, the bodyguard, fearing for the life of their master, drew their arrows and ranked themselves outside Parliament, it is said, ‘to the terror of the people’.

  Towards the end of the
fourteenth century the armour of the period became much more elaborate, partaking of the more extravagant modes of the age. Plate was so universally worn that the gussets of chain at the joints and the chain apron were all that remained of the old mail of the tenth century. The jupon and military girdle were still worn, and visored bascinets were sometimes used, with the ventaille fashioned like the beak of a bird, while the bascinet itself was often encircled by a band or fillet of ermine, or a border of beautiful workmanship. Milan was now the grand emporium for equipping the chivalry of Europe. Heraldic crests on the helmet were worn in England by all men of rank, but not generally used in Scotland for almost a hundred years after being common in England. The armour of the Earl of Douglas, defeated Scots commander at Homildon Hill, was said to have taken a year to temper and make.

  The old enemy, the Scots, ever on the lookout for an opportunity to profit by England’s occupation in other directions, crossed the border in September 1402, and penetrated as far as Newcastle. Under the leadership of Archibald, fourth Earl of Douglas, the Scots force, numbering perhaps 8,000, laid waste the land and then turned back towards the border. Henry IV being engaged at the time on a Welsh expedition, an English force to oppose the Scots was hastily collected under the leadership of the Earl of Northumberland and his son, the gallant Hotspur. These experienced border leaders, together with the Earl of March, decided to intercept the Scots when on their homeward march, encumbered with spoil and herds of cattle.

  The Earl of Douglas was at Wooler when he received the news that his way to Scotland was barred by an English force at Millfield, on the river Till, about five miles north-west of Wooler. Douglas immediately took up a position on an eminence, Homildon Hill, about two miles west by north of Wooler. The hill itself was terraced in three successive tiers, and had an elevation of nearly 1,000 feet above sea-level; it had a flat top and traces of a rude earthwork were detectable; on its lower slopes burial mounds existed.

  Here the Scots were noisily forming themselves into their schiltrons – the defensive formations of pikemen that had served them well in the past – when they were suddenly attacked by a body of about 500 English archers who had been sent forward on a reconnaissance. The bowmen opened fire at long range on their hereditary enemies and caused some damage among the massed Scots ranks; then they came closer and men began to fall fast – well might the archers of England boast that each carried twelve Scots lives at his belt! With Douglas was a small body of archers, who attempted to reply to the hail of English arrows without doing much damage; a fact that can be put down to the Scottish bow being smaller and weaker than its English counterpart, only being pulled to the chest it had a much shorter range. Spasmodically, bodies of Scots spearmen attempted to charge down the hill, but all were thrown back by showers of arrows. Under the galling hail, the national temperament of the fiery Scots rose to boiling point; they began to move from their defensive position and to surge down the hill.

  When the surge became a flood, the English archers commenced to retire in sections, discharging volleys in succession, causing the baffled spearmen to lose men at every step as they impulsively pressed forward. A body of Scots horse lumbered to the front but, in the same way, were unable to get into close quarters. It was maddening and ridiculous that this small body of men should be causing such heavy casualties without losing a single man of their own.

  The chase, or luring, went on, until the English archers had drawn the entire Scottish force down from their hill to a field known as Red Rigg on the other side of the river Till. Here, the remainder of the English force waited, impatient for action; in fact, Hotspur proposed an immediate charge on the disordered Scots but the Earl of March seized his bridle and suggested that the archers should first be allowed to discharge all their shafts. The Scots attempted to re-form their normally close-packed ranks into a defensive formation when they saw the massed ranks of the English awaiting them, but were still being ruthlessly assailed by the hissing clothyard shafts of the archers. These Scottish pikemen, if they had any armour at all it was only the very lightest, so unprotected and in close-knit groups, fell in dozens upon each other. Their leaders, who still used the old English chain mail, found it no defence against the deadly arrows; horses, wounded and ungovernable, their breasts and flanks bristling with bloody arrows, galloped madly to and fro, trampling both dead and wounded into a gory pulp.

  Sir John Swinton, an old Scots knight of distinguished record, cried out bitterly:

  ‘Why stand we thus to be shot down like deer? Where is our wonted courage? Are we to be still as if our hands were nailed to our lances? Follow me and let us at least sell our lives as dearly as we can!’

  At the head of about 100 men, he desperately charged forward, completely unsupported by the rest of the Scots army, to be quickly overthrown and destroyed almost to a man. Then Douglas made a final effort to save the day by making a desperate charge at the head of his men. Before the attack broke down under the fire of the archers, Douglas himself had lost an eye and been wounded in four places. When this onslaught came forward, the archers retired before it, dropping back on to their cavalry, but continued to shoot until the advancing Scots wavered and broke.

  Percy and March now saw that the time had come to act; they sent in the English mounted men. With a shout, the archers dropped their bows and took to their swords and axes, rushing in and mingling with the horsemen, to play their final part in the mêlée. There was not a great deal for the men-at-arms to do. They drew their swords and laid their lances in rest, but the Scots had had enough; broken by the archers, they turned to flee. They were pursued as far as Coldstream, the old crossing place of the Tweed; it was said by the chroniclers that the Scots’ losses in the pursuit were even greater than those of the battle!

  In 1403, at the Battle of Shrewsbury, the English had a taste of the fearsome medicine dealt out for so long to the French and the Scots. Positioned on a slope, the Cheshire archers of the rebel Hotspur, filled the air with a deadly hail of arrows, taking heavy toll of Henry IV’s men. This first discharge of arrows was, by all accounts, terrifying; Walsingham, a contemporary writer, says: ‘They fell upon the King’s troops like leaves upon the ground in autumn. Every one struck a mortal man.’ Henry V, then the fifteen-year-old Prince Henry, carried to his grave the scar of a facial wound caused by an arrow – he refused to leave the field of combat.

  Had the Cheshire archers been able to maintain their shower of shafts the royal army would have been swept from the field. When it slackened, the archers were overcome by the superior numbers of the King’s men sweeping up the slope. Within three hours, 1,600 out of 8,000 men had been killed, the majority from arrow wounds.

  Chapter 7

  Agincourt – 1415

  Taking advantage of the civil war which convulsed France, these internal calamities offering a tempting opportunity for aggression, Henry V, on his accession, revived Edward III’s claim to the throne of France. Henry’s war was a renewal of the earlier struggle on the expiration of a truce made by Richard. In mid-1415, Henry sailed with his army from Southampton, and in five weeks had reduced the strong fortress of Harfleur. Dysentery and similar diseases made havoc in his ranks during the siege and it was with a mere handful of men that Henry decided to insult the enemy with a daring march, like that of Edward, upon Calais.

  On the 8th of October the English marched off in three columns, with cavalry on their flanks. But Henry found the bridges of the river Somme broken down and the fords rendered perilous by lines of pointed stakes in the river bed. After some delay, an undefended place was discovered near St. Quentin; he crossed rapidly and marched for Calais, only for his weary, sick and half-starved force to find a much larger French force camped right across their line of march. The English King knew that he had no choice between fighting and unconditional surrender; his troops were starving and the way to Calais lay through the French army. The King’s courage rose as his peril grew and, hungry, sick and weary as they were, the handful o
f men whom he led shared the spirit of their leader.

  Amid the darkness of the October night and through the sheets of biting, cold rain, the English could see the whole landscape flickering with the French camp-fires. Over the half-mile of sodden, muddy ground that lay between the armies, the passing wind carried the noise of shouting, singing and bursts of merriment. It contrasted oddly with the disciplined quiet of the English camp, where well-trained soldiers saw to their weapons, confessed and were shriven, chastened by the conviction that most of them would die on the morrow. King Henry took Utile rest; he moved quietly among his men, talking to them. Once, when a brief season of moonlight occurred, he sent officers out to examine the ground over which they would soon fight.

  At three o’clock the moon rose, and the whole army awoke and prepared for the day’s work. To keep their hearts cheerful, the King ordered the trumpets, drums and fifes to play familiar tunes. The night passed away and the dawn stole on – the dawn of the Feast of St. Crispin, the 25th of October 1415. It had stopped raining but the sky was grey and water-laden; the men began to be deployed by their marshals into order of battle. If they did not present a tidy, colourful appearance, their tarnished, dented and well-used armour and equipment gave them a workmanlike status that held a hint of what was to come. It had been bright and burnished when they had left Southampton two months before; bright plumes in the apex of the helmet had long since bedraggled and drooped, but the form of the helm itself was still quite beautiful, with an orle or chaplet around it. The breastplates had become globular in recent years and the steel gorget was replacing the ancient camail which had hitherto protected the throat. Hanging sleeves of rich cloth had been worn with the armour, now hanging in threads and tatters. The lance-rests were hooks just below the right breast; two-handed swords with heavy blades had just been introduced and a pole-axe was often carried by commanders in the field. Monstrelet, in his Chronicles, describes the English archers as being for the most part without armour, and in jackets with their hose loose, without hats or caps and often barefooted; their hatchets or swords hung at their girdle. St. Remy says that they were not bareheaded, and that many of them wore caps of cuir bouilli, or boiled leather, and others of wicker-work crossed over with bars of iron.