ARMAGEDDON; THE KEY AND SICKLE.
“From the moist regions of the western star,
The wandering hermits wake the storm of war;
Their limbs all iron, their souls all flame;
A countless host the Red Cross warriors came.”—REGINALD HEBER.
As a traveler climbs the mountain to see the sunrise, so he that would
overlook the past or present must needs clamber to some lofty point of
vision in a significant era or historic location. There are two plains in
Syria; one lying along the Mediterranean, the other jutting out from the
base of the former toward Jordan; the two together, in shape very like
a sickle, have witnessed events wonderfully instructive and determinate
to the student of the philosophy of time’s course. These two plains
are known respectively as Esdrælon and Acre. The sea and the mountains
give these plains their sickle shape, and the geographical outlines are
constantly suggestively before the mind as one remembers these plateaus
not only as the highways but the battle-fields of the ancient nations.
For while, as one says, “the face of nature smiles”—“no spot on earth
more fertile,” he also says “no field on earth was so fattened by the
blood of the slain.” There the Philistines, the Ptolemys, Antiochus, the
Maccabees, Herod, Baldwin, King of Jerusalem, Salah-ed-din, Cœur-de-Lion,
Melek-Seruf and Napoleon, each in turn, put their ambitions and their
beliefs to the stern arbitrament of swords. There the kingdom of the
House of David struggled for life; there the splendid dream of the
Crusaders ended as a nightmare.
As a jewel in the haft of the sickle, at the northerly end of the plain
by the sea, sits the city of Acre. This city compels the attention of
the preacher and student of history and gives theme to him who blends
symbol into song. Acre gave its name to its adjacent country round about,
and though both city and plain witnessed many a change of master in the
past, those changing masters, to gratify their whims or strengthen their
policies from time to time, giving the places various names. The Knights
of Saint John made it their elect city, honoring it as Saint Jean de
Acre, the martyr maid of France. From the city itself one may look out
over the sea-highway of nations; from the drear and lofty mountains of
its surrounding country one may look over many memorable places. Acre was
often called the “Key of Palestine” by the soldier strategists and by the
chroniclers of events. To their testimony is added that of the inspired
writers and prophets who made it their key and mountain of outlook
frequently.
These plains, dotted all about by sacred places, memorable for two great
victories; Barak over the Canaanites and Gideon over the Midianites; and
two great disasters, the death of Saul and the death of Josiah, became
to the Jews the symbol of the conflict of right and wrong. Prophetically,
and in the serene hope that righteousness at last would prevail, the
plain was called Armageddon, “the Mountain of the Gospel.” We hear the
rapt Zechariah thus descanting: “The Lord also shall save the glory of
the house of David and the house of David shall be as God.” “And it
shall come to pass in that day, that I will seek to destroy all the
nations that come against Jerusalem. And I will pour upon the house of
David, and upon the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the spirit of grace and of
supplications; and they shall look upon me whom they have pierced, and
they shall mourn for him, as one mourneth for his only son, and shall be
in bitterness for him, as one that is in bitterness for his first-born.”
The prophet looked forth to the Pentecostal day of salvation and the
assured victories of David’s great successor. Following this ancient
seer, John the beloved, in the Visions of the Apocalypse repeats, these
oracles. During the wars of the Crusaders, Acre was sometimes in their
possession and sometimes held by their Turkish foes. In the year 1191
Richard the Lion Heart wrested it from the infidel leader Salah-ed-din.
The Christians held it firmly until 1291, the time when the last wave
of the Crusader advance ebbed, in bloody defeat, from the shores of
the Holy Land. For two hundred years the believer of the West and the
Moslem grappled with each other in deadly conflict; war’s fortunes
often changing, but the awful price in human misery and human blood was
inexorably exacted at every stage of the conflict. Acre was the focus
toward which the eddying tides ever and anon moved; therefore it saw not
only the end but the worst of the Crusades.
Our story begins A. D. 1291 at Acre, the Key of Palestine, in Armageddon,
“the mountain of the Gospel.” The situation may be briefly depicted:
Acre was filled with a mixed and un-homogeneous population. There were
the ubiquitous Galilean traders, without politics; shrewd to the last
degree in traffic and courtly as a Parisian; there some secret, sullen,
silent enemies of the Christian invaders, awaiting the coming end; there
hundreds of those camp-following nondescript “good lord and good devil”
characters, and there the remnants of the Crusader armies. The latter
were not only diminished as to numbers but greatly degraded in moral
tone. Their warfare had been belittled to a defense and a retreat. The
adventurers were uppermost; courts-martial, intrigues and fanfaronade
were their occupation daily. Prince Edward, the Christian leader, had
made a sworn treaty with the Moslems long before this time; but his
pious followers had quickly, wickedly violated it. Thereupon the Sultan,
Kha-tel, had made an irrevocable treaty with himself, sealed with the
most awful oath he could register, that he would never tire until he
had exterminated the last of the Western invaders now circumscribed and
besieged in Acre. With 200,000 dusky followers the Sultan besieged the
last stronghold of the Crusaders. The hearts of the defenders sank within
them, and scores sought safety in homeward flight, loading down every
vessel bound for Europe. Among the first fugitives was the chief leader,
Hugh de Lusignan, who wore the phantom title, “King of Jerusalem.” He
preferred the safety of distant Cyprus to the doubtful regality which
was overshadowed with nearing death. Only 12,000 were left to represent
the Crusade cause which once mustered millions. May 18, 1291, the devoted
city was stormed by the Turks; an entrance was effected and a murderous
carnage, heaping the streets with the dead, and redding the foam of the
moaning sea, followed. But there was no easy victory to the Moslem, for
the steady, vigorous, brilliant, desperate fighting of the knights,
laying low piles of their foes for every one of themselves that fell,
compelled the respect of the Sultan’s host. The Turks attempted to gain
a surrender by offering bribes; these failing, terms were offered. The
latter, which included permission for the Crusade remnant to depart the
country in peace, were accepted. But the Sultan, taught, if he needed
the lesson, by the perfidy of Prince Edward’s Christian truce-breakers,
quickly broke his promise of safe conduct. Though the retreating band was
in no way party to the wrong he sought to avenge, they were mercilessly
ambuscaded. There followed another struggle to the death, a handful
against a host and but few succeeded in cutting their way through the
cordon of death. History has often recounted the preceding events up to
the point; from this point it is proposed to lead the reader along the
career of a fragment tossed out of the foregoing whirlpool of disaster.