THE MASSACRE OF MINIEH.
IT was already dark when the pilgrim army commenced a perilous retreat
to Damietta, and when the King of France, surrounded by a band of brave
knights, undertook the duty of bringing up the rear--on that occasion
the post of honour.
But Louis was in no condition to occupy such a position with advantage.
He was not fully recovered from his sickness, and so weak, that he could
hardly bear the weight of his armour, or support himself on his white
charger. Neither helmet nor cuirass wore he; nor had he any weapon save
his sword; nor had he sufficient strength to wield his sword to any
purpose in the event of a close encounter.
And, as it happened, the post of honour speedily became the post of
danger. As Bisset had predicted, the Saracens lost not a minute in
availing themselves of the bridge that had been left standing. In an
incredibly brief space of time, they contrived to cross the canal in
such numbers, that the plain on the Damietta side was covered with
turbaned warriors, bent on the destruction of their foes; and, in the
darkness of the night, their cavalry charged constantly, and with
deadly effect, on the retiring and dispirited rear of the Crusaders.
Of course, the plight of Louis and his comrades every hour became more
deplorable. They fell into disorder; they ran against and impeded each
other; and cries of anger and despair were mingled with the neighing of
horses, and the clash of arms. Earnestly they prayed for day, that they
might, at least, ascertain their real position; but, when day came, it
brought no comfort. In fact, when the rising sun revealed their
diminished and diminishing numbers, and the formidable force of enemies
who surrounded them--here a handful of men--there a host--the very
boldest of the Crusaders gave themselves up for lost, and a simultaneous
cry of terror and dismay broke from their scanty ranks.
'Gentlemen,' said Louis, calm in the midst of peril, 'droop not. At the
great battle of Antioch, Godfrey of Bouillon, and his companions, had
worse odds than we.'
'And they conquered,' said Walter de Chatillon, striving to banish
apprehension, 'and we may conquer.'
'Yes,' replied Louis, 'they had faith in God's protection, and
confidence in the holiness of their cause; and it seemed to them that
while the struggle was well-nigh hopeless, the blessed martyrs--George,
Demetrius, and Theodore, came to aid them, and assure them of victory.'
'Ha,' said Bisset, the English knight, as if speaking to himself, 'I
have heard that some saw St. George in the air, with an army of white
horses; but these did no doubt look through the spectacles of fancy.'
Louis turned, bent his brow, and darted upon the speaker a glance of
keen reproach, which might have found fuller expression in words. But
there was no time for argument or admonition; for at that moment the
Saracens made one of their fiery charges, and though the French warriors
defended themselves and their king with heroism, they could not hope
that valour would ultimately save them. While Chatillon and Bisset, now
charging singly, now side by side, did wonders in keeping a space clear
around the king and the royal standard, Geoffrey de Segrines, adhering
to the side of Louis, wielded his sword with such effect that he drove
off, one by one, the horsemen who darted forth from the Saracen ranks.
'In truth,' said the brave Frenchman, when complimented by Bisset on his
exploits, 'I know not how it is; but to me, it seems that the danger of
this day has doubled my strength.'
'On my faith,' replied Bisset, 'I am at a loss whether more to admire
your valour or your vigilance. Your care of your good king reminds me of
the watchful servant who carefully drives away the flies from his
master's cup.'
But brief were the intervals allowed even for such an exchange of
sentiments. Now secure of victory, and stimulated by enthusiasm and
fanaticism, the Saracens grew bolder and more audacious in their
attacks. Urged on by their dervishes and imaums, who had flocked to the
host of Saracens to remind them that they were fighting in the cause of
the prophet, they became more and more eager for carnage and blood, and
the Crusaders less and less capable of a stubborn resistance. At length,
on reaching the little town of Minieh, the Crusaders acknowledged that
they could no longer continue the retreat; and, halting, they drew up in
a body outside the town, with the simple resolution of fighting till
they fell.
But by this time Louis was utterly exhausted; and Segrines, conducting
him into the court, lifted him from his steed, and carried him, 'weak as
a child in its mother's lap,' into a house, expecting every moment to be
his last. Nor did the prospects of the Crusaders outside improve in the
king's absence. Alarming rumours, vaguely flying about the town, reached
their ears and depressed their hearts; and, while they were still in
panic and incertitude, the Saracens made an onset with more than their
former ferocity. Soon all was confusion and carnage. It seemed, indeed,
that nothing but the hearts' blood of the Crusaders would satisfy the
vindictive cravings of their foes; and so utterly dispirited by
adversity and defeat, and pestilence, were knights formerly renowned as
brave among the bravest that they allowed themselves, almost without
resisting, to be slaughtered in heaps.
Naturally, however, there were striking exceptions; and none were more
remarkable than Chatillon and Bisset; who, when Louis was conducted into
Minieh, took up their post hard by an orange grove, and close to a wall
at the entrance of the narrow street leading to the house into which
Segrines had carried the king.
Nothing could have exceeded Chatillon's fiery valour. At one moment he
rushed like lightning among the Saracens, scattered them, and cut them
down. Then after reining back to the wall to draw out the arrows and
darts that adhered to his cuirass, he returned to the charge, rising in
his stirrups, and shouting--'Chatillon, knights--Chatillon to the
rescue.'
Meanwhile Bisset exerted himself with no less courage and prowess.
Scorning his danger, and scorning his foes, he charged among the
Saracens, with shouts of--'Holy Cross, Holy Cross! Down with the pagan
dogs! Down with the slaves of Mahound and Termagaunt!' Nothing could
resist the vehemence of his attack. In vain were all attempts to drag
him from his steed. Before his mighty battle-axe the Saracens seemed to
shake and fall as corn before the reaper.
At length Chatillon, mortally wounded, dropt from his horse, and the
Saracen who had wounded him springing forward seized the French knight's
steed, which was one sheet of blood and foam. Bisset cleft the Saracen's
skull to the teeth, and laughed defiantly as he avenged the fall of his
comrade-in-arms.
But Bisset was now alone; and his situation was so utterly desperate,
that any ordinary man, even in that feudal and fighting age, would have
relinquished all hope and yielded to fate. The English knight had no
inclination to do anything of the kind. Rapidly his eye measured the
ground; as rapidly his brain calculated the chances of reaching the
orange grove; and as rapidly he arrived at the conclusion that he could
cut his way through the crowd. No sooner had he settled this than he
wasted not a moment in hesitation. Drawing back towards the wall, and
halting for a moment, with his face to his foes, to breathe his panting
steed, he once more, with battle-axe in hand, charged forward upon his
now recoiling foes, but this time not to return. Nothing daunted by the
darts and arrows that flew around him, he deliberately pursued the
course which his eye had marked out, literally felling to the earth all
who attempted to stop his progress, but skillfully avoiding foes whom it
was not necessary to encounter. Only a man of the highest courage would
have made such an attempt: only a man of the strongest will would have
persevered.
Now Bisset had both courage and strength of will, and in spite of all
the chances against him, he did reach the orange grove, and making his
way through it as well as he could, found himself in the verge of a wood
of palms and sycamores. But he himself was wounded; his horse was
bleeding in a dozen places; and close behind him were three Saracens,
well mounted, and thirsting for his blood. It may seem to the reader,
that such being the circumstances, Bisset might as well have fallen at
Mansourah or with Walter de Chatillon at the entrance to the narrow
street leading to the house to which the king had been carried. But,
certainly, that was by no means his view of the case; for he was one of
those warriors who never despair; and he turned on his pursuers like a
lion at bay.
'Surely,' said he, speaking to himself, 'wounded and weary as I am, I
should be but a poor Christian knight if I could not deal with three
pagan dogs.'
And terrible, even to brave foes, was the ferocity and fury with which
Bisset turned upon the Saracens. Mighty was the force with which he
swung a battle-axe, ponderous enough to have served as a weapon to Coeur
de Lion. Crushed by one swoop of the axe fell the first of the
pursuers--down, as it again swung on high, fell the second, who a moment
earlier was uttering threats of vengeance. But the English knight had no
inclination to encounter the third antagonist. His horse, as he felt,
was sinking; he himself was weakened by loss of blood; and, quick as
thought, he turned towards the wood of palms and sycamores.
But a new difficulty presented itself. Between Bisset and the wood was a
very deep ditch which at another time would have made him pause. Now,
however, he did not hesitate, even for an instant. He touched his steed
with the spur; he spoke as if imploring the noble animal to make a last
effort; and the result was a gallant bound. But the effort was too much.
In exerting itself to scramble up the opposite bank, the good steed
broke its back; and the knight, freeing his limbs from its corse,
quickly drew his dagger and relieved it from suffering.
The delay, however, had proved dangerous. Even as he gained one bank of
the ditch the Saracen was at the other, and preparing to launch a
javelin. One moment only intervened between the Crusader and death; but
that moment was not neglected. With his remaining strength Bisset raised
his battle-axe, whirled it with irresistible force, and, as the weapon
whizzed through the air, the Saracen dropped from his horse and rolled
into the ditch, the water of which immediately became red with his
blood.
Not a moment did Bisset now waste in getting under cover of the wood.
For full five minutes he neither halted nor looked behind. At length he
stopped under a palm tree; and taking out one of those little crosses
which the Crusaders carried with them for purposes of prayer, and which
are now symbolised by figures on the shield of many a Crusader's
descendant, he knelt before it, and invoked the protection and aid of
God and the saints to shield him from danger and restore him to the land
of his fathers.
But almost ere the prayer was uttered, Bisset started at the sound of
footsteps; and as he turned his head his brain reeled; and, after
grasping at the tree for support, he sank motionless on the ground.