The Wars of the Roses; or, Stories of the Struggle of York and LancasterEdgar, John G. (John George)
History
The Wars of the Roses; or, Stories of the Struggle of York and Lancaster
Edgar, John G. (John George)
Great Britain -- History -- Wars of the Roses, 1455-1485
Ere this, Richard had mounted his tall steed--the White Surrey of
Shakspeare--ascended an eminence, since known as "Dickon's Mount,"
called his captains together, and addressed them as his "most faithful
and assured friends." The speech, not unworthy of one whom his enemies
confess to have been "a king jealous of the honor of England," elicited
some degree of enthusiasm; but Richard must have sighed as he recalled
to memory how enthusiastic, in comparison, had been the burst of
sympathy which rose from Edward's soldiers on the field of Barnet. The
bold usurper, however, appeared undismayed. "Let every one," he said
in conclusion, "strike but one sure blow, and certainly the day will
be ours. Wherefore, advance banners, sound trumpets; St. George be our
aid; and GOD grant us victory!"
As the king concluded, and placed his helmet, with a crown of ornament,
on his brow, the Yorkists raised a shout, sounded trumpets, and moved
down the hill; and, with banners flying and plumes waving, the hostile
armies came hand to hand.
The day opened not inauspiciously for Richard. His army would be little
inferior to that of his adversaries even should Stanley join Richmond;
and his position on Amyon Hill had been selected with judgment.
Moreover, to intimidate and outflank the foe, he had extended his van
to an unusual length, and this artifice proved so far successful, at
least, that Oxford was somewhat dismayed at the danger that threatened
his scanty ranks.
Oxford, however, was a leader of extraordinary calibre. He had not,
indeed, seen many fields, but to him Barnet had been worth thirty years
of experience to men not gifted with the military genius which rendered
the Anglo-Norman barons such formidable war-chiefs. Over the events of
that disastrous day the earl may be supposed to have mused for twelve
years in his prison at Hammes, and to have learned, in sadness and
solitude, wholesome lessons for his guidance in the event of being
again called to encounter the warriors of the White Rose. The day had
now arrived, and John De Vere was resolved not to be outwitted either
by "Jocky of Norfolk" or "Dickon his master."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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