great body of cross-bowmen from Genoa;
and these he ordered to the front to begin
the battle, on finding that he could not
stop it. They shouted once, they shouted
twice, they shouted three times, to alarm the
English archers; but, the English archers would
have heard them shout three thousand times
and would have never moved. At last the
cross-bowmen went forward a little, and began
to discharge their bolts; upon which, the
English let fly such a hail of arrows, that the
Genoese speedily made off—for their cross-
bows, besides being heavy to carry, required
to be wound up with a handle, and
consequently took time to re-load; the English, on
the other hand, could discharge their arrows
almost as fast as the arrows could fly.

When the French King saw the Genoese
turning, he cried out to his men to kill those
scoundrels, who were doing harm instead of
service. This increased the confusion.
Meanwhile the English archers, continuing to shoot
as fast as ever, shot down great numbers
of the French soldiers and knights; whom
certain sly Cornish-men and Welchmen, from
the English army, creeping along the ground,
despatched with great knives. The Prince
and his division were at this time so hard-
pressed, that the Earl of Warwick sent a
message to the King, who was overlooking
the battle from a windmill, beseeching him
to send more aid. "Is my son killed?" said
the King. "No, sire, please God," returned the
messenger. "Is he wounded?" said the
King? "No, sire." "Is he thrown to the
ground?" said the king. "No, sire, not
so; but, he is very hard-pressed." "Then,"
said the King, "go back to those who sent
you, and tell them that I shall send no
aid; because I set my heart upon my son
proving himself this day a brave knight,
and because I am resolved, please God, that
the honour of a great victory shall be his!"
These bold words, being reported to the
Prince and his division, so raised their
spirits, that they fought better than ever.
The King of France charged gallantly
with his men many times; but it was of no
use. Night closing in, his horse was killed
under him by an English arrow, and the
knights and nobles who had clustered thick
about him early in the day, were now
completely scattered. At last, some of his few
remaining followers led him off the field by
force, since he would not retire of himself,
and they journeyed away to Amiens. The
victorious English, lighting their watch-fires,
made merry on the field, and the King,
riding to meet his gallant son, took him in his
arms, kissed him, and told him that he had
acted nobly, and proved himself worthy of the
day and of the crown. While it was yet
night, King Edward was hardly aware of the
great victory he had gained; but, next day,
it was discovered that eleven princes, twelve
hundred knights, and thirty thousand common
men, lay dead upon the French side.

Among these was the King of Bohemia, an
old blind man; who, having been told that
his son was wounded in the battle, and that
no force could stand against the Black Prince,
called to him two knights, put himself on
horseback between them, fastened the three
bridles together, and dashed in among the
English, where he was presently slain. He
bore as his crest three white ostrich feathers,
with the motto Ich dien, signifying in English
"I serve." This crest and motto were taken
by the Prince of Wales in remembrance of
that famous day, and have been borne by the
Prince of Wales ever since.

Five days after this great battle, the
King laid siege to Calais. This siege—ever
afterwards memorable—lasted nearly a year.
In order to starve the inhabitants out, King
Edward built so many wooden houses for
the lodgings of his troops, that it is said
their quarters looked like a second Calais
suddenly sprung up around the first. Early
in the siege, the governor of the town drove
out what he called the useless mouths, to
the number of seventeen hundred persons,
men and women, young and old. King
Edward allowed them to pass through his
lines, and even fed them, and dismissed them
with money; but, later in the siege, he was
not so merciful—five hundred more, who
were afterwards driven out, dying of starvation
and misery. The garrison were so hard-
pressed at last, that they sent a letter to King
Philip, telling him that they had eaten all the
horses, all the dogs, and all the rats and mice
that could be found in the place; and, that if
he did not relieve them, they must either
surrender to the English, or eat one another.
Philip made one effort to give them relief;
but they were so hemmed in by the English
power, that he could not succeed, and was
fain to leave the place. Upon this they
hoisted the English flag and surrendered to
King Edward. "Tell your general," said he
to the humble messengers who came out of
the town, "that I require to have sent here,
six of the most distinguished citizens, bare-
legged, and in their shirts, with ropes about
their necks; and let those six men bring
with them the keys of the castle and the
town."

When the Governor of Calais related this
to the people in the Market-place, there was
great weeping and distress; in the midst of
which, one worthy citizen, named Eustace de
Saint Pierre, rose up and said, that if the six
men required were not sacrificed, the whole
population would be; therefore, he offered
himself as the first. Encouraged by this
bright example, five other worthy citizens
rose up one after another, and offered
themselves to save the rest. The Governor, who
was too badly wounded to be able to walk,
mounted a poor old horse that had not been
eaten, and conducted these good men to the
gate, while all the people cried and mourned.

Edward received them wrathfully, and