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[Illustration: MIDSHIPMAN FARRAGUT ON THE "ESSEX"]
TEN BOYS FROM HISTORY
By
KATE DICKINSON SWEETSER
AUTHOR OF
"TEN BOYS FROM DICKENS"
"TEN GREAT ADVENTURERS"
"BOOK OF INDIAN BRAVES" ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
BOOKS BY
KATE DICKINSON SWEETSER
TEN AMERICAN GIRLS FROM HISTORY. Illustrated.
BOOK OF INDIAN BRAVES. Illustrated.
BOYS AND GIRLS FROM ELIOT. Illustrated.
BOYS AND GIRLS FROM THACKERAY. Illustrated.
TEN BOYS FROM DICKENS. Illustrated.
TEN BOYS FROM HISTORY. Illustrated.
TEN GIRLS FROM DICKENS. Illustrated.
TEN GIRLS FROM HISTORY. Illustrated.
TEN GREAT ADVENTURERS. Illustrated.
HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK
[ESTABLISHED 1817]
TEN BOYS FROM HISTORY
Copyright, 1910, by HARPER & BROTHERS
Printed in the United States of America
PREFACE
In this small volume the boys of many lands and races whose stories
are told, have been selected not because they later became famous men,
although some of them did, but because each one achieved something
noteworthy as a boy. And in each boy's character, whether historic or
legendary, courage was the marked trait. For this reason it is hoped
that their stories will prove stimulating to some who read them.
K. D. S.
CONTENTS
PAGE
STEPHEN AND NICHOLAS: BOY CRUSADERS 11
PETER OF HAARLEM: THE BOY WHO SAVED HIS COUNTRY 45
DAVID: THE SHEPHERD BOY 55
LOUIS SEVENTEENTH: THE BOY KING WHO NEVER REIGNED 91
EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE: THE BOY WARRIOR 131
TYRANT TAD: THE BOY IN THE WHITE HOUSE 145
S. F. B. MORSE: WHO INVENTED THE TELEGRAPH 169
DAVID FARRAGUT: THE BOY MIDSHIPMAN 179
MOZART: THE BOY MUSICIAN 197
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
MIDSHIPMAN FARRAGUT ON THE "ESSEX" _Frontispiece_
DAVID AND GOLIATH Facing p._ 70
THE BLACK PRINCE AT CRECY " 136
TYRANT TAD AND ABRAHAM LINCOLN " 154
DAVID FARRAGUT " 186
TEN BOYS FROM HISTORY
STEPHEN AND NICHOLAS:
Boy Crusaders
"To the sea of fools
Led the path of the children."
_Old Epigram._
Just a word about the Crusades, or Holy Wars, before we begin our
story.
A war is generally a conflict between nations, countries, or individuals,
for possession of land or a throne, but the Holy Wars were not such.
They were expeditions made by those Christians who were determined to
rescue the Sepulchre, or tomb, of Christ and the City of Jerusalem,
from the rule of unbelievers.
For eighty-eight years Christian kings ruled in Palestine, then all the
land was conquered by the Mohammedans, except a few cities, and the
Christians sent out another, and still another, and another expedition
to subdue the enemy, but all were useless. The Holy City and the Holy
Sepulchre were still in the hands of infidels, who persecuted the
pilgrims who visited the Holy Tomb; and the Christians sent a
heart-rending cry to all Europe for help, but Europe was slow to answer
the appeal, and it was several years after Pope Innocent ordered a new
Crusade, before an army departed for the scene of conflict.
It was during this interval that the Children's Crusade or Holy War,
took place--of which we are about to read.
But first let us go back to the city of Chartres, on the 25th day of
April, 1212, when a surging crowd of men and women is filling every
street and by-way of the quaint city.
What are the crowds watching so eagerly? A procession of priests and
laymen, carrying banners and black-draped crosses, and chanting in
solemn unison as they march.
It is the day of the celebration in Chartres of the "Black Crosses," an
old church ceremony instituted centuries before, by Gregory the Great,
during the ravages of the Plague, but now celebrated as an appeal to
the people to free Jerusalem and the Holy Tomb from the hands of the
infidels.
The solemn ranks of the procession move slowly through the streets of
Chartres, carrying black-draped symbols of a Saviour's death, chanting
deep-toned litanies, and that the old ceremony has lost none of its
emotional power is shown by the tears and silence of the watching
throngs, while among all the crowd none is more profoundly stirred than
a slender shepherd lad from the neighbouring town of Cloyes, who is
seeing the ceremony for the first time.
Agile as such a lad should be, and sturdy in consequence of his
out-of-door life, Stephen, for that was his name, found it an easy
matter to breast the surging tide of spectators following the
procession, to slip in where he could to best advantage watch the
solemn ceremonies, to stand without fatigue while he drank in all the
emotional thrill of the day.
The shrouded crosses, the appeals for rescue of an entombed Christ in
the hands of an infidel enemy, the tears and cries of the crowds,
worked on the impressionable shepherd lad, unaccustomed to aught but
life with his flocks, worked on him so powerfully that he was hot with
a desire to rush to Jerusalem and expel the hated Mohammedans from that
land and city, once blessed by the living presence of Jesus, and
hallowed by the possession of his tomb.
So filled with enthusiasm was Stephen that his burning cheeks and
glowing eyes told the tale to an observant priest, who to accomplish
his own end, kept close watch of the boy, spoke to him, making
inquiries as to his name and occupation, and then decided to make him a
tool of destiny.
But of this Stephen knew nothing. Filled with thoughts of what he had
seen and heard, at evening he walked slowly towards his home in the
little village of Cloyes, walking less on solid earth than on a cloud
of dreams and desires, and from that moment he was never again the
contented shepherd lad, son of the peasant of Cloyes. He was alive with
new emotions now, and as he wandered on the hillside with his flock he
was in imagination the hero of daring deeds, taking part in such
pictured scenes as his excited fancy could conjure up, until at last,
he was in a state of mind suited to any enterprise, prepared to believe
any story, however improbable, to accept any life except that of his
own monotonous peasant existence.
While in this mood there came to him on his hillside, several days
later, a stranger in the dress of a pilgrim, returned, as he at first
said, from Palestine. He was on his way to a distant home and in need
of food.
Only too eagerly did Stephen share with him such food as he had, asking
in return to be told of the wonders of the Holy Land and of the daring
deeds of the heroes who had fallen there in battle. The stranger
readily complied with this request and poured into the boy's credulous
ears tales well calculated to thrill and excite his already inflamed
fancy. Then, watching Stephen closely as he spoke, the stranger said
with solemn earnestness:
"But this is not all I have to tell, my lad. There is work for you to
do,--for you, the Lord's anointed, his chosen apostle, and in the name
of Christ and his Holy Cross, I bid you arise and do his will."
"Work?--for me? From whom comes this message?"
Stephen's eyes were lit with the fire of excited desire and his voice
trembled with emotion.
Very slowly the answering words fell from his companion's lips:
"The message is brought by him who sends it. Behold, lad, the Christ of
history and of truth! _I_ bid you arise--rouse up the youth of our
land! Lead them to that Holy Sepulchre! As prophet and as leader, go
thou where they shall follow, and bring to pass that which nobles and
soldiers have failed to accomplish. Go lad--go!"
Stephen's breath came in quick gasps--his eyes were like coals of fire
as he sank on his knees, crying:
"Oh bless me--bless me--I will go--Lord, I will go!"
A hand was laid gently on his head as the deep voice said, "In the name
of Jesus, lad--in the name of the Crucified, lead thou thy troops to
victory. Across the land, across the sea, lead them to victory!" Then
in a less impassioned tone, the stranger added, "I leave with you a
letter to the king of France. Haste thou to him with this proof of thy
divine mission and he will aid thee in thy enterprise. In the name of
Jesus, lad, arise and go!"
A letter was pressed into Stephen's hand. He heard retreating
footsteps, and before he had gained his composure and risen to his
feet, his divine guest was gone. He was alone with his straying flock,
not sure except for the letter, whether he had had a vision or a
visitor.
And how was he to know, innocent peasant lad, of an ignorant and
superstitious ancestry, brought up on miraculous tales of saints and
seers, that the Christ of his visit was no other than that priest whose
attention Stephen had attracted by his emotion at Chartres, who with
crafty keenness had chosen the peasant boy to carry out his purpose of
arousing the youth of the land to undertake a new Crusade? How was
Stephen, all aflame as he was, to be supposed to penetrate the priest's
disguise, to realise his purpose, and throw off the thrill? He could
not and he did not.
Leaving his flocks to ramble at will over the plains and neighbouring
hills, with the divine letter clasped in his hand, Stephen ran homeward
through the little village where he lived, past its dilapidated church,
its quaint shops and rows of houses, over the old stone bridge by which
the main street crosses the little river Loir, running in a southerly
direction to join the beautiful Loire. The bridge is a pleasant place
to linger on a summer day, and recalls many a historic memory of Joan
of Arc, who once passed that way, on her way to Orleans--of Philip
Augustus--of Richard Coeur-de-Lion--but on naught save his divine
mission was the lad Stephen intent as he crossed the bridge on that
April day.
Having reached home, he hastily called his parents from their labour,
and gathering together such neighbours as could be summoned, he told of
his talk with the Saviour, who had come to call him, Stephen, the
shepherd boy, from tending his flocks, to rescue the Holy City and tomb
from wicked hands, and in proof of the truth of his story he showed the
letter from Jesus Christ to the King of France asking the king's aid
for Stephen in his holy mission.
As I have said, this was an age of dense ignorance and superstition
among the peasant classes. Those who had heard Stephen's tale were dumb
with awe and wonder and doubted not its truth. Only his father spoke
against the plan, mentioning his son's youth--commanding him to go back
to his flocks. But to these commands Stephen turned a deaf ear, for was
not he the Lord's anointed? Who could dictate to him, now that the
Divine voice had spoken in accents clear and strong?
On the next day and the next, even until darkness fell over the little
town, Stephen narrated his story in the market-place to ever-increasing
audiences, telling that now when the defenders of the Holy Sepulchre
were so few, and older and stronger Crusaders had failed to carry out
their divine purpose by reason of the ravages of war and disease, God
had revealed his plan to give the possession of Palestine to those
children who should enlist in his holy cause.
"For the last time have we heard of defeat," cried Stephen. "Hereafter
shall children show mailed warriors and proud barons how invulnerable
are youths when God leads them!"
This cry stirred the youths of Cloyes profoundly, and they all rushed
to enlist under the banner of Stephen and the Holy Cross, but the
number was not large enough to satisfy Stephen's ambition. He was
determined now to rouse all France and in consequence of that desire,
he decided to leave his home and go to a town five miles north of
Paris--St. Denys, the great shrine of the land, where lie the bones of
the martyr Dionysius, the object of countless pilgrimages, where to
ever-changing crowds, he could preach his Crusade, and gain recruits
for his army.
And so to St. Denys, Stephen of Cloyes went, in May of 1212. Dressed in
his shepherd's clothes, for he had no others, with his crook in his
hand and a little wallet by his side, he left quiet Cloyes for ever.
With a heart throbbing with hope and excitement, he journeyed on,
feeling neither fatigue nor fear, and as he went he preached his
mission in towns and cities by the way, and ever the interest deepened
in this lad who spoke with such burning eloquence, proclaiming himself
God's chosen instrument to rescue the Holy Sepulchre, and everywhere he
gained recruits. But even in Paris and Chartres, he did not linger
long, being eager to reach St. Denys. At last he arrived there, and
standing at the door of the historic church which contained the
martyr's tomb, proclaimed his new Crusade to astonished crowds whom he
fascinated by his unusual eloquence as he told the old story of the
sufferings of the Christians in the Holy Land, telling it so simply and
so vividly that his audiences were profoundly stirred, especially by
Stephen's last and best appeal. He pointed to the Sepulchre of St.
Denys, to which worshippers were thronging, and contrasted its
condition with that of the Sepulchre of the Saviour, asking if his
hearers would not help him make the Saviour's tomb as honoured and as
free from disturbing influences as was that of the saint. He then read
his letter to the king and asked if God's commands were to be
disregarded, telling of his interview with Christ, and adding that
after his day in Chartres, he had gone in search of his flocks and
found them missing, but had later discovered them in a field of grain,
from which he was about to drive them angrily, when they fell on their
knees and begged his forgiveness. This, he said, with other signs, had
led him to believe that he was truly God's anointed, even before he had
been visited by Christ.
It may well be asked here how a lad scarcely over twelve years of age
and born of the peasant class, could have suddenly become so
eloquent--so capable of appealing to audiences, and the answer is not
easy to give unless one thoroughly understands the spirit of that age
in which Stephen lived--an age in which there was much high-coloured
and stirring language used by the priests, language which appealed so
strongly to an impressionable lad like Stephen, that he unconsciously
took it for his own and made use of it; being often carried on the tide
of his emotion, far beyond his own understanding of the words and
thoughts he was uttering.
Immediately, he became the Saint of the day, and the martyr's bones
were deserted by those who preferred to listen to the lad's stirring
appeals. It is even reported that he worked miracles to support his own
divine claim, and the enthusiasm to join his army grew daily more
intense. As pilgrims went back to their homes they carried news of
Stephen's Crusade to their children, who, filled with excitement, in
turn passed the news on to their friends. And so the interest spread
like a contagion throughout all parts of France, through Brittany,
where the English ruled, through Normandy, recently added to Philip's
domain, to Aquitaine and Provence, to Toulouse and peaceful Gascony.
Whatever feuds their parents were engaged in, the children did not
care, and were not interested in the wars for power. So while their
elders were prevented from unity of action by the strife and political
divisions of the land, the young were one in feeling and in desire, and
joined gleefully in Stephen's stirring cry:
"Long enough have you knights and warriors, so boastful and so
honoured, been making your fruitless attempts to rescue the tomb of
Christ! God can wait no longer! He is tired of your vain puny efforts.
Stand back and let us, whom you despise, carry out his commission! He
who calls can insure the victory, and we will show you what the
children can do!"
Among the children who listened to Stephen's appeals, the more
enterprising returned home determined to play a part in the Crusade
only second to that of the Prophet, as Stephen was now called.
Everywhere in France, they went through their home districts, begging
their companions to join the Crusade, and it is probable that these
children had much help from priests who sought in every way to inflame
the youthful host, and to lead them on to concerted action.
As the army grew larger, the children formed into bands, and marched
through towns and villages with all the pomp and display possible,
despite much opposition from their parents, who saw with alarm that the
excitement was growing daily more intense. The bands of recruits
carried lighted candles, waving perfumed censers, and at the head of
every band there marched a proud youth carrying the Oriflamme--a copy
of the flag of the church, which was kept at St. Denys. The design of
this banner was a red triple-tongued flame, symbolic of the tongues of
fire that came down at Pentecost. This banner, like the colours of a
regiment, was a symbol of honour, and an object of the young Crusader's
devotion.
As the bands marched, they either sang hymns, such as had kept up the
courage of previous Crusaders, or others composed on the spur of the
moment by their revered children's minds, and in all of the hymns came
the refrain--"Lord, restore Christendom! Lord, restore to us the true
and holy Cross!"
And too they adopted the watchword which for two centuries had rung
through Asia. Crying, "God wills it!" children of all classes and
conditions and ages, cast aside authority, and joined the army, and
soon the movement became like the surge of a great wave, carrying the
youth of France out on its dangerous tide--girls as well as boys--weak
as well as strong--joining the forces.
Of course, the matter attracted the attention of the king, Philip
Augustus, who at first, for political reasons, was inclined to favour
the young Crusaders, but then seeing how serious the matter really was,
and that if it were not suppressed it would bear away the youth of the
land, to almost certain disaster, finally issued an edict or command
that the children return to their homes.
Kings are too wise to pay any attention even to messages written by a
divine hand, and there is no evidence to show that Philip was in any
way influenced by the letter given to Stephen by his celestial visitor,
and Philip's edict went forth, that there be an end to the uprising of
the children.
But in vain was the edict, which the King did not attempt to enforce,
in vain were all the commands and threats and pleas of parents and
guardians. Stephen's Crusade had become an epidemic. If a lad were
locked up that he might not join its ranks, he straightway sickened;
some even died of pining; where commands were the only bar to freedom,
the youths utterly disregarded them and ran away. So, after a few weeks
of Stephen's inflamed preaching there was rebellion in many a before
happy household in France, agony in many a mother's heart, who saw her
children leaving her, never, as her mother instinct told her, to
return.
In the ranks of recruits were many noble youths, sons of counts and
barons, who had from birth been brought up with knights and warriors
who had won fame and honour in former Crusades, and who told glowing
tales of the beauty and charm of the Holy Land to their children, and
these were naturally thrilled at the thought of seeing such scenes and
doing such deeds of valour, in gorgeous armour and on prancing steeds,
for so did they picture themselves, as their fathers had done before
them.
And there were others whose fathers had died in the Wars of the Cross,
whose feverish dream was to make use of their father's honoured sword
and shield and thus complete the work that Death had cut short. When
these youths from the hills on which their homes stood, watched the
processions passing with uplifted crosses and banners waving high, when
they heard the songs and shouts of triumph, they could not be held back
from joining the throng, and from their thousand homes they came to
join the army, while higher and higher swelled the excitement, despite
the opposition of king and clergy.
While Stephen was preaching at St. Denys, trying to gather his army
together with all speed, tidings of the new Crusade were brought to a
boy in a village near Cologne, a boy who had always been keenly
interested in reading and hearing of the Crusades, and who was at once
filled with a desire to follow the leadership of Stephen.
Nicholas, for that was this German lad's name, had a father who was
both clever and ambitious. He knew the precocity of his son, and
desiring to have the boy's talents bring him fame, and perhaps worldly
benefits, worked on the boy's young mind in every possible way, until
Nicholas believed himself to be called of God to imitate the example of
Stephen, and to go to Cologne and preach as Stephen was doing at St.
Denys.
Old Cologne was a great and influential city, and at that time the
religious centre of Germany, and there Nicholas went and preached,
telling, and doubtless with much suggestion and help from his father,
many marvellous tales of the cross of blazing light which had been his
pledge of success in the Holy War. Now we hear him speaking in
impassioned words by the door of the old Cathedral, now on a platform
surrounded by his credulous audience, and again simply standing on the
street corner telling his story, while like the widening ripples from a
stone thrown into the still waters of a lake, widened the ripples of
interest in the new Crusade among the German children.
For reasons politic, the Emperor suppressed the matter where he could,
but in the vicinity of the Rhine and the neighbouring land of Burgundy,
the mania spread like wildfire, and as in France, overcame all
opposition, until in little over a month after the first preaching of
Nicholas, his bands were ready to depart for the Holy Land, while
Stephen, Prophet and leader in France, was still waiting for the
completion of his army, recruits for which were ever pouring into St.
Denys, and although Stephen had never seen Nicholas, it must have been
anything but an easy matter for him to control his feelings and act as
such a divinely appointed leader should, when he heard that Nicholas
was ready to lead his forces on to victory, while he, Stephen, first
called of God, was left behind.
But there was no help for it, and on a morning of early July, in 1212,
the German bands were ready to march to glory. Most of them wore the
long grey coat of the Crusader, with its Cross upon the right shoulder,
which, with the addition of the palmer's staff they carried, and the
broad-brimmed hat they wore, made a quaint and pleasing effect upon the
childish figures--while it showed to great advantages the broad
shoulders and fine figure of sturdy Nicholas, who was as different as
possible in physique and temperament from high-strung sensitive
Stephen.
Now the hour of their departure has come. The army of Nicholas is ready
to start from Cologne--a great crowd of spectators surrounds them,
watching their movements in breathless silence. Nicholas stands with
up-raised hands, gives a signal--the army forms into a solid
body--starts--moves--and in a moment, despite opposition,
protestations, pleas and sobs, twenty thousand children have commenced
their march to Palestine. On they move, banners flying, songs and
cheers floating on the clear air, and while there is many a dimmed eye
and choked voice among those gathered to see them start, in the ranks
of the Crusaders there is only enthusiasm and joy. On to victory! is
their cry as they disappear behind the hills, a winding ribbon of
humanity, and soon the sound of their cheers and shouts sinks into
silence.
And now let us follow them, as along the Rhine they journey. Across the
fields--beyond the river--southward through wilderness and vineyard,
they go--marching by an occasional castle rising from some lofty crag,
connected in many a childish mind with oft-heard legend and with song.
As they march on, they while away the tedious hours with hymns and
tales, the children from the castles telling of knightly deeds done by
men of famous name, the peasants, telling of miraculous visions of the
Saints; and in the hearing and the telling of the tales, the children
became as one family, bound up in one holy purpose--to outdo all deeds
of heroic valour which had ever been the theme of song or story.
A motley army they--strangest of all the armies ever seen before--with
face and form and voice of youth, but filled with older purpose and
courage, as on and on they march with Nicholas in command, the lines
stretching behind for several miles; and still are their banners
proudly borne aloft, and still as they march, this famous old
Crusader's hymn rises on the still air:
Fairest Lord Jesus,
Ruler of all Nature,
O thou of God and man the Son!
Thee will I cherish,
Thee will I honour,
Thou, my soul's glory, joy and crown.
Fair are the meadows,
Fairer still the woodlands,
Robed in the blooming garb of spring;
Jesus is fairer,
Jesus is purer,
Who makes the woeful heart to sing.
And still they journey southward, with Palestine their goal, and in
their young minds there is no fear of a way to cross the Mediterranean
sea, for had not Christ assured Stephen, and a vision revealed to
Nicholas, that the drought at that time parching the land was God's
evidence that they were to pass through the sea as on dry land, its
waters having been parted for their benefit?
So fearlessly and happily they travelled on through the lands of the
lords and nobles who owed allegiance to France, and everywhere their
fame had preceded them, and in every village they won fresh recruits,
until at length their number was so great that no city on the way could
contain their army.
Some slept in houses, invited by the kind-hearted, others lay in the
streets or market-place, while others lay down outside the walls of the
cities, or if they were in open country when night fell, slept in barns
or hovels, or by brooks, or under protecting trees, and so weary were
they from their tiresome march that wherever they were, it mattered
not, they slept as soundly as on beds of down. Then when morning came
they ate whatever they had left, or begged or bought what food they
could, for some among them still had money in their pockets. The line
of march was again formed, the banners unfurled, the crosses uplifted,
and with songs and shouts another day was begun. At noon they rested by
some stream or in a shaded nook to eat their scanty meal, and then
again marched on, feeling more keenly each day the distance lying
between them and the land of their dreams, for the great trials of the
young Crusaders had begun. Every day the march grew harder and more
tiresome to the weary travellers, each meal the supply of food was more
scanty, and even those children who had any money were robbed or
cheated of it by hangers-on and thieves. Disorder and lawlessness
increased rapidly in the ranks of the army, until at last they moved on
without any rank or discipline, and under various leaders, who now
openly defied the authority of Nicholas. At last they reached the
territory now called Switzerland, which was then a number of small
districts, mostly belonging to the Emperor; and the army winding
through its beautiful valleys and passing along the banks of its
turbulent rivers, came at last to the shores of Lake Leman and camped
by the walls of Geneva. From thence their task was to cross the
trackless heights of the Alps.
Weary and worn, but singing as they went, they journeyed bravely on
over Mt. Cenis, which in the Middle Ages was the most frequented of all
the mountain passes to Italy, and on that journey many children gave
way to exhaustion. The rocks cut their unprotected feet, the air of
dark chasms chilled them, they saw no prospect of rest or food until
the pass was traversed, and go any farther in such misery they could
not. Many turned back, and sadder and wiser, sought again the
protection and comfort of their homes.
But the majority of the army still feverishly excited and inflamed with
hope, pressed on and on, then suddenly in a moment of unexpected
vision, before them in the distance they saw winding rivers, tapestried
hills, and vine-yards and valleys of such luxuriant beauty as they had
never seen in their Northern lands.
With new courage and strength they hurried on now, and soon they were
in Italy, where, alas, poor children, they met with all sorts of
oppression and cruelty as they journeyed, for the Italians were
embittered against the Germans because of the constant wars carried on
by their emperors, and visited the sins of their fathers upon these
innocent children who were in their power, refusing them entrance to
many towns, and subjecting them to all sorts of cruelties. But still
such of the army as remained pressed on and on, and then one day, oh,
joyous sight, not far beyond they saw the sea, blue and boundless, and
on its shore, bathed in sunlight, lay "Genoa, the proud," a vision of
fairyland to their dazzled eyes.
Discords were forgotten, songs not sung before for many a tearful day,
rose again on the clear air. Crosses and banners were again uplifted as
of old, and Nicholas was once more prophet and leader, as, forgetful of
the past and its miseries, the army of children stood on the 25th day
of August, at the gates of the city of Genoa, waiting to be admitted.
Bright were the floating banners, proud were the waiting youths, as
Nicholas made his plea:--
"In the name of Christ and his Holy Cross, admit us, his soldiers to
your city! Grant us rest on our journey, to rescue the Holy Sepulchre
from the hands of the enemy! Men of Genoa, we ask not for
transportation across the sea rolling between us and our goal. On the
morrow God will part that sea that we may go over as on dry land, to
achieve a victory denied to the wise and powerful of the land. Yea, he
has said, 'Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained
strength, because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy
and the avenger.' Men of Genoa, open thy gates to us, in the name of
Christ!"
A large number of dignified Senators, or rulers of the city, heard the
petition of Nicholas, heard it with pity mingled with amusement, and
offered the protection of the city for a week to the deluded youths,
for by that time--so thought the Senators--the youths would discover
their deception and return homeward.
Eagerly did Nicholas and his army accept permission to enter the city
whose streets and palaces were in such sharp contrast to those of their
own homelands, Genoa being at that time at the height of her prosperity
and greatness, but their joyful wonder found its match in that of the
inhabitants, whose astonished eyes saw so many fair-haired children
marching through their city, with banners and crosses carried high,
singing their splendid songs, and full of such grim determination to
rescue the Holy Land, a feat which experienced warriors had failed to
accomplish.
As the children marched through Genoa, changed indeed was the
appearance of their army; of the twenty thousand who had left the banks
of the Rhine under the leadership of Nicholas, there were only seven
thousand remaining now. Of the rest some were on their homeward
journey, some in new homes which they had found by the way, others were
lying in undiscovered graves in forest or on hillsides. Only the
strongest and most resolute of that great army remained, and in
consequence it was the flower of the youth of the Rhinelands, who
entered Genoa, rugged and healthy, though their clothes were worn and
faded, their feet bruised and bleeding, their faces burned by sun and
wind, and their expressions aged and saddened by experience.
The merchants left their desks, the children stopped their play, and
stared in wonderment, the grave nobles were moved to surprise, and the
mothers wiped their eyes as the army of blue-eyed youths marched by.
No sooner had the Senators extended the hospitality of the city to the
youths than they decided to retract it, for three reasons: They were
afraid of the effect on the morals of the city, which might be produced
by the entrance of seven thousand unrestrained boys--also they feared
that such a sudden addition to the population might produce a famine,
for situated as Genoa was, there was never any too great a quantity of
food. Also, most weighty reason of all, the German Emperor was at war
with the Pope and in the contest, Genoa was on the Guelph, or papal
side. To shelter German children then, even though on a Crusade, would
be to harbour foes and to care for a hated race which the Pope had
declared outlawed.
In consequence of these reasons the children were told that they could
stay only one night in the city, after all, except those who desired to
make it their permanent home, and abandoning their wild scheme, promise
to become good citizens.
But the youths laughed scornfully in answer--saying:
"We only _ask_ to rest one night. To-morrow you shall see how God
cares for his army! Who would remain here, when there lies a path in
the sea, between emerald walls, to the land where glory waits us?"
So saying they slept that night, in proud and peaceful hope of the
morning's glory, and in the morning rushed early to the shore, that
they might see the path across which they were to journey to the
promised land. Alas for hopes and promises and visions! The blue waves
rippled--the sea rolled on. Hours wore away and yet no path was cleared
through the depths, night all too soon came on, and there was no
alternative for the army but to leave the city, and then decide upon
their next step. Some of the children awoke to the deception of that
undivided sea and resolved to stay in Genoa under the conditions
imposed by the Senators, for the comforts of the city appealed strongly
to them after such hardships as they had experienced.
But on that day, Sunday, August 26th, the remainder of the army which
had so proudly and happily entered the city on the day before, went
from its gates with hanging heads and sad hearts--a crestfallen band.
Outside the city walls they gathered in a field near by, to discuss
their plans for the future. Was it wiser to stay and perhaps die in
sunny Italy, than to lose their lives on the weary journey separating
them from their homes?
One cheery lad made answer, "Are there no other cities which will give
us shelter? Why think that Genoa was meant to be the place at which the
way through the sea was to be made? Let us push on to the southward
until we find the passage which God has promised!"
His courage was contagious, as courage always is, and the diminished
band decided to press on still further, until God should show his sign.
This resolve made, all turned to Nicholas for his approval of their
decision, and so intense had been their excitement during the
discussion of their plans that no one had noticed that their leader was
no longer one of the group. Alas, for his consecration to a sacred
calling, Nicholas was not to be found, either then or later! Their
leader, who had led them on to glory, where was he? No one ever knew.
Never again was Nicholas seen by any one of those comrades who had
followed him so far and so faithfully, trusted him so fully, and barest
surmise fills in the mystery of his disappearance.
Nicholas was no high-strung, emotional boy, carried away, as was
Stephen, by the glory of his holy calling, he was a calm quiet lad,
who, once impressed with the fact that there was work for him to do,
always did it to the best of his ability, but always with a keen
businesslike instinct of serving his own interests to the best
advantage. His father had impressed upon him the glory and rewards
which would come to him as leader of a victorious Crusade, and Nicholas
had responded to the call.
Now defeat had come instead, and he, the leader of the army, must bear
the brunt of the disgrace which would weigh heavily upon his shoulders
as long as his life lasted,--of that he felt sure. His comrades were as
competent to press on, or to journey homeward without him as under his
leadership. So he argued with himself and even as he argued, yielded to
a great temptation, and like Esau, sold his honour for a mess of
pottage.
A nobleman of Genoa, who was rich and powerful, and who saw in the lad
a resemblance to his long lost son sought Nicholas secretly, and
offered tempting prospects of a home and such advantages as the lad had
never dreamed of having in all his simple life, if he would abandon his
leadership and forsake his army, and Nicholas yielded to temptation.
With careful strategy he slid away from that little group of
disheartened followers, feverishly discussing what was best to do, and
all that flock who had trusted him so fully, mourned for him, and
mourning, trusted still, accounting him as one whom the Lord God of
Hosts had for some wise reason taken from them.
And even while they were mourning for him as for one dead, Nicholas in
new garments, more rich and showy than any he had ever worn before, was
being shown the wonders of his new home, where servants stood ready to
do his bidding, where every article of furnishing was a miracle of
fairy fashioning, where cultured voices spoke in gentle tones, and
where, oh, rapture far beyond all else, in the near-by stable there
stood a prancing steed that was to be his own. Truly a worthy Crusade
leader, he--Nicholas, the German lad!
Without a leader now, and without discipline or regulations, the
discouraged, disorganised band whom he had deserted, bravely started on
again, and reached Pisa, where they had far kinder treatment than in
Genoa, and from which place two shiploads of them sailed for the Holy
Land, but which we have no record that they ever reached. Those who did
not embark, broke up into various small bands and straggling groups,
travelling still southward, and at last reached Rome where they told
their piteous tale to the authorities, who granted them an audience
with the Pope.
Kneeling before him, they told in graphic words the story of their
wanderings and sufferings and discouragements, to which unmoved the
Pope listened, then, praising their zeal, he commanded them to make no
further attempt to reach Palestine, telling them of the hopelessness of
the undertaking. But he added, that the cross of a Crusader once
assumed, bound one for ever to the Holy Cause, and that when they were
older they must fight again for the rescue of the Holy Sepulchre,
whenever he should call them to do so.
This bound the children to a repetition of their hardships and
adventures, which, considering the courage and suffering of that little
band of youths who knelt before him, was little less than cruelty.
Despairing now, and worn out with what they had endured, they were
forced to obey the Pope's decree, and so with shattered hopes and
dreams of glory for ever abandoned, they retraced their steps, and
found their pathway homeward far more trying than the rest of their
journey had been.
Many of them died on the way, and of those who lived, it was said in
towns and cities through which they passed, that where in departing
they passed in parties and troops, happy and never without the song of
cheer, they now returned in silence, barefoot and hungry, and with no
band of followers.
Day by day they straggled into Cologne--victims of a sad delusion.
Alas, how bitterly they had paid for their wilful disobedience!
When asked where they had been, they said they did not know, and had
only wild confused tales to tell of strange lands and countries,
costumes and customs, and many a mother's heart was broken with sorrow
that her boy had not survived the journeying.
Winter had passed and Spring had come and gone before all the wanderers
had returned, all the lost been given up, and for many a year to come,
peasants and nobles, with tear-dimmed eyes told the story of the German
children's march to the sea, and of the supposed martyrdom of their
lost leader, Nicholas--whose father, the afflicted parents whose homes
had been desolated by the Crusade, turned on in such a frenzy of
bitterness and anger, feeling that he had strongly influenced his son
to leadership that they laid violent hands on him and hanged him in
revenge.
Meanwhile, during all the weeks while Nicholas and his army were
marching southward on their way to Italy, Stephen was still preaching
at St. Denys, and his young lieutenants were still gathering recruits
for his army from all parts of France--but at length in late June, all
was ready except the last preparations for departure, and Stephen then
sent out a command to his forces to gather at Vendome, a city near
Cloyes, which was not only one of considerable importance, but from
which roads lay in many directions from which bands could arrive.
From that moment every day some new band came into Vendome with a young
leader in command, and was loudly welcomed by the other waiting bands;
while coming across the plains, other groups could be seen marching
towards the city, with their flags and oriflammes waving high, and
their crosses held higher yet. As they drew near the city their songs
could be heard louder and louder until when they reached the city
gates, the words were so distinct that their dialect disclosed the
province from which they had come.
From every province in France they came, bringing with them their
different languages, costumes and peculiarities, and consequently,
there was great confusion and variety in the ranks of Stephen's army,
but though their dialects and costumes varied greatly, the youths were
bound together by a single hope, led by a common aim, as they marched
into Vendome ready to start on their perilous journey.
Like the German youths, they were assured that no vessels would be
needed to take them across the Mediterranean, for had not Stephen said:
"Between waters which are to be to us as a wall on the right hand and
the left, are we to cross the untrodden bed of the sea and with dry
feet will we stand on the distant beach by the walls of Acre or of
Tripoli. We bear no weapons and we wear no armour! The pathway of other
Crusaders may be marked by the stain of blood and the glitter of steel,
but our pilgrims' robes are our armour, our crosses are our swords and
our hymns shall time our march!"
Not all wore the Crusader's grey coat, but all wore the Cross which was
made of muslin cloth and sewed on the right shoulder of the coat. To
place the cross there was the duty of the prophets--as the young
leaders of each band were called. Receiving the cross was the formal
act of enlistment, and proud indeed were the lads who wore them.
At last the latest band had come to Vendome, and fully thirty thousand
children were gathered together there, eagerly awaiting the command to
start on their journey. What a sight that was, the army of children as
they stood waiting for the command to march!
Pleading parents and weeping friends begged the youths to repent and
stay at home where their duty lay, but pleas and cries were all
counteracted by applause and encouragement from thoughtless
enthusiasts, and after religious exercises in which God's blessing was
asked, and the oriflammes and crosses raised triumphantly, the army
formed in line of march, and then with a volume of cheers which drowned
the sound of sobs and protests, moved on, out of Vendome under the
protection and leadership of Stephen.
It was only a few weeks since the young prophet had been the humble
shepherd lad of Cloyes, but that was forgotten now, and as he led his
army from Vendome he had assumed a pomp and dignity quite out of
harmony with the appearance of his army. A leader of such a mighty host
must not walk, so Stephen rode. The Lord's own general and prophet must
assume the style which became his rank. He therefore rode in a chariot
as splendid as could be procured, covered with rare carpets of
brilliant colours. Over his head to protect him from the heat of the
sun was a canopy from which there hung draperies of every hue. Around
this chariot to guard him and carry out his commands, as well as to add
to the impressiveness of his station, rode a band of chosen youths of
noble birth, on chargers, dressed in splendid uniforms and armed with
lances and spears. This pomp and splendour increased the confidence of
his followers, who, too young to see the inconsistency of his conduct,
listened to his words as to those of God, and regarded his wishes as
law.
Out of Vendome, amid songs and shouts and tears and applause of the
crowd gathered to see the departure, moved the ranks of youths, their
eyes dazzled with the wonder and the glory of the leader--their hearts
on fire to do his bidding. And in Stephen there burned the zeal of the
real leader. In order to keep up the spirit of the host, which fatigue
would tend to lessen, he spoke to them often in stirring words. At
morning or noon or evening when they halted or encamped and also while
they marched, he leaned often from his chariot and spoke encouraging
words. Sometimes they thronged around him so closely when he spoke that
it was hard work for his guards to protect him from the consequences of
their weak homage and as they pushed forward to be near him, many of
the weak and small were crushed to death. The veneration for the Boy
Prophet was carried to such an extent that all vied with each other to
procure a thread of his clothing, a piece of the trappings of his car,
while they who had a single hair of his head felt they had a priceless
treasure. It is small wonder that this shepherd boy, sensitive as he
was to impressions, and duped as he was in the belief that he was
anointed by God to a holy calling, and then worshipped by an
ever-increasing tide of followers, should have been affected by the
rapid change in his circumstances and surroundings. He was evidently
possessed of no slight ability to carry out plans, and had much power
over people, and his whole nature was aflame with the emotional
credulous piety of the Middle Ages. Such was the lad Stephen, shepherd
of Cloyes, prophet of the Children's Crusade, when with pomp and
ceremony he led his army out of Vendome.
The pathway of his army was marked by far fewer hardships than those
the German children were encountering, for the country through which
they travelled was more peopled and the distance they had to go much
shorter. They did not have to sleep on rocky heights or on freezing
moors, and in the lands through which they passed they encountered only
sympathy and interest. So their ranks were scarcely thinned by
desertion or death, and yet even so, the trip was none too easy,
especially on account of the great heat and drought of the summer, to
which Stephen constantly referred as a sure sign from God that the sea
was to be dried up for their benefit as he had predicted.