ON TO JERUSALEM.
The zeal of the mass of crusaders urged them to an immediate advance
upon Jerusalem. This, however, was opposed by the discretion of Godfrey,
who predicted the hardship of the campaign in a Syrian midsummer. The
evident dissensions among the Moslems and their apathy in further
warfare, if they gave opportunity for rapid conquest by the Christians,
at the same time allayed the feeling of necessity for immediate advance.
It was therefore resolved to postpone the enterprise southward until
November.
While waiting for the order to march, an epidemic broke out in the
camps, which was more fatal than would have been any perils of the
journey. Upward of fifty thousand perished in a month, among them
Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, the special representative of the Holy Father,
and the spiritual head of the crusade. Idleness also engendered strife
among brethren. Bohemond and Raymond threatened each other with the
sword. Common soldiers fought in opposing bands for the possession of
the booty captured in their raids. Restless spirits, disgusted with the
general apathy, joined Baldwin, now the master of Edessa. Some made
alliance with such Moslems as were at war with their fellow-Moslems.
Even Godfrey fought for the emir of Hezas against Redowan, Sultan of
Aleppo.
Heaven also seemed to have become impatient at the inaction of the
crusaders. A luminous mass, as if all the stars had combined their
fires, like a suspended thunderbolt, glared down from the sky upon the
quiet ramparts of Antioch. Suddenly it burst and scattered in sparks
through the air. Did it mean that God was about to thus disperse the
Christians, or that He would scatter their enemies? The omen, though not
clearly interpreted, sufficed to rouse the indolent host.
Raymond and Bohemond, with worthy compeers, assaulted Maarah, between
Hamath and Aleppo. A novelty of the defence of this place was the
hurling upon the assailants of hives filled with stinging bees. The
resistance of the inhabitants, however, proved unavailing, and was
punished by their indiscriminate massacre when the city had been gained.
A dispute between Raymond and Bohemond for sole possession of what they
had jointly conquered delayed further operations, until the soldiers who
were left in Maarah with their own hands destroyed the fortifications,
and thus rendered it useless to the ambition of either of the leaders.
It was not until far into the year that the united host took up the
march southward. Everywhere they were lured from their grand objective,
the sacred city, by the sight of goodly lands and strong towers, the
spoil or possession of which might compensate the sacrifices of the
campaign. Raymond laid siege to Arkas, at the foot of the Lebanons;
others captured Tortosa.
While detained before the walls of Arkas they were met by an embassy
from the caliph of Egypt, composed of the same persons that had
previously visited the camp at Antioch. They narrated how they had been
thrown into prison because of the failure of their former mission, when
their master heard of the straits of the Christians; and how they had
been liberated and sent back upon his hearing of the subsequent triumph
of the Latins. They announced that Jerusalem had recently come into the
hands of the Egyptians, and as its new possessors, proposed peace and
privilege of pilgrimage to all who should enter the city without arms.
They offered splendid bribes to the chieftains in person; but these
worthies rejected the proposal.
The fame of the Christians’ victory at Antioch brought new crusaders
from Europe, among them Edgar Atheling, the last Saxon claimant of the
crown of England against its possession by William the Conqueror.
On the way southward the hosts harvested the groves of olives and
oranges, and the waving fields which have always enriched the western
slopes of Lebanon. They discovered a rare plant, juicy and sweet,
refreshing like wine and nourishing as corn. The inhabitants called it
_zucra_. The later crusaders introduced it as the sugar-cane into Italy.
Proceeding along or near to the coast, that they might be able to
receive succor from over the sea, they traversed the plain of Berytus
(Beirut) and the territory of Tyre and Sidon. Many pilgrims, whose
zealotry had led them to settle in the Holy Land notwithstanding its
hostile possession, hailed their brethren with benedictions and
provisions. On the bank of the river Eleuctra their camp was invaded by
hosts of serpents, whose bite was followed by violent and often mortal
pains. At Ptolemaïs (Jean d’Acre) the commanding emir averted assault by
pledging himself to surrender the place as soon as he should learn that
the Christians had taken Jerusalem. His pretence of peaceableness was
singularly exposed. A hawk was seen to fly aloft with a dove in its
talons. By strange chance the lifeless bird fell amid a group of
crusaders. It proved to be a carrier-pigeon, whose peculiar instinct was
then unknown to Europeans. Under its wing was a letter written by the
emir of Ptolemaïs to the emir of Cæsarea, containing the words: “The
cursed race of Christians has just passed through my territories and
will soon cross yours. Let all our chiefs be warned and prepare to crush
them.” This timely revelation of the treachery of their assumed ally,
coming literally down from the sky, was regarded as a special sign of
Heaven’s favor.
Pressing still southward, they captured Lydda and Ramleh, on the road
between Jaffa and Jerusalem. Here the enthusiasm of the Christians
blinded their judgment. It was with difficulty that the more cautious
leaders restrained the multitude from moving against Egypt, in the vain
expectation of conquering not only Jerusalem, but the ancient empire of
the Pharaohs, at a single swoop. The credulity as to Heaven’s favor was
matched by an equal display of very earthly motives. The crusaders
devised a system for dividing the spoil. Whatever leader first planted
his standard upon a city, or his mark upon the door of a house, was to
be regarded as its legitimate owner. This appeal to human greed led many
to leave the direct march upon Jerusalem, which was but sixteen miles
away, and to expend in petty conquests or robberies the ardor which for
weary months had been augmenting as they approached the grand object of
the crusades. A faithful multitude, however, pushed on. They took off
their shoes as they realized that they were on holy ground. Tancred,
with a band of three hundred, making a circuit southward by night, set
the standard of the cross on the walls of Bethlehem, to signal the birth
of the kingdom in the birthplace of its King.
On the morning of June 10, 1099, the sight of the Holy City broke upon
the view. The shout of the host, “Deus vult! Deus vult!” rolled over the
intervening hills like the “noise of many waters.” Had a host of angels
filled the sky, it would have seemed to their enthusiastic souls but a
fitting concomitant of their approach. The joy of the apparent
accomplishment of their purpose was, however, followed by the affliction
of their souls, as the most devout among them reminded the others of the
spiritual significance of the scene before them. Jerusalem had witnessed
the death of their Lord. For a while the soldier remembered only that he
was a pilgrim; knight and pikeman knelt together and laid their faces in
the dust.