The case seemed hopeless. Surrender appeared the only resource of the
English. Just ten years before, at Crecy, Edward III., in like manner
driven to bay, had with a small force of English put to rout an
overwhelming body of French. In that affair the Black Prince, then
little more than a boy, had won the chief honor of the day. But it was
beyond hope that so great a success could again be attained. It seemed
madness to join battle with such a disproportion of numbers. Yet the
prince remembered Crecy, and simply said, on being told how mighty was
the host of the French,--
"Well, in the name of God, let us now study how we shall fight with them
at our advantage."
Small as was the English force, it had all the advantages of position.
In its front were thick and strong hedges. It could be approached only
by a deep and narrow lane that ran between vineyards. In the rear was
higher ground, on which the small body of men-at-arms were stationed.
The bowmen lay behind the hedges and in the vineyards, guarding the lane
of approach. Here they lay that night, awaiting the fateful morrow.
With the morning's light the French army was drawn up in lines of
assault. "Then trumpets blew up through the host," says gossipy old
Froissart, "and every man mounted on horseback and went into the field,
where they saw the king's banner wave with the wind.
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