JOINVILLE IN PERIL.
WHILE King Louis and the brave companions of his ill-starred retreat
were seized as captives, or mercilessly massacred by the Saracens at
Minieh, the sick and wounded Crusaders who embarked on the Nile were not
more fortunate. In order to understand the extent of their dangers and
sufferings, it is necessary to refer to the chronicle of the good Lord
of Joinville--who, still suffering from disease, embarked with his
knights and followers, including Guy Muschamp, not yet recovered from
the sickness by which he had been prostrated.
Nor is it possible to peruse the seneschal's simple narrative without
profound interest. In reading his account of this disastrous expedition,
we are transported, in imagination, to the thirteenth century, and
witness, with the mind's eye, the scenes in which he was an actor, and
gradually come to feel as if we were not reading a chronicle penned
centuries ago, but listening to a Crusader who, just returned from the
East, and seated on the dais of the castle hall, tells his story over
the wine-cup to his kinsmen and neighbours assembled at the festive
board.
It was evening; and Joinville, who was suffering fearfully from the
prevailing malady, perceiving that everyone was preparing to depart
towards Damietta, withdrew to his galley, with his chaplain, and such of
his company, including Guy Muschamp, as had escaped the pestilence, and
the swords of the Saracens; and no sooner did darkness descend over the
hill, than he commanded his captain to raise the anchor, and float down
the stream.
'My lord,' replied the man, 'I dare not; for between us and Damietta are
the large galleys of the Saracens, who would infallibly capture us.'
And at this moment a terrible spectacle arrested Joinville's attention.
It happened that the king's seamen were waiting to take the sick and
wounded on board; but many of the sick and wounded were still in the
camp on the banks of the river. Suddenly, by the light of fires which
the sailors had lighted for the comfort of the sick, Joinville saw the
Saracens enter the camp, and gratify their thirst for blood by a general
massacre. In great alarm, the king's seamen cut their cables; and while
Joinville's men were raising their anchor, the huge galleys came down
upon them with such force, that he expected every moment to be sunk.
However he escaped this danger, and made some way down the Nile. But it
speedily appeared that the Crusaders who had embarked on the river were
not to be more fortunate in their attempt to reach Damietta than were
those who remained on shore.
Joinville very soon discovered that he had scarcely a chance of escape.
During the night, a tempest arose; and the wind blowing with great
force towards Damietta drove the vessels of the Crusaders straight in
the way of the sultan's fleet, and about break of day they found
themselves close to the galleys of the Saracens. Immediately on
observing the Crusaders approaching, the Saracens raised loud shouts,
and shot large bolts, and threw Greek fire in such quantities, that it
seemed as if the stars were falling from the heavens.
Great, of course, was the alarm of the Crusaders. Joinville and his
company, however, gained the current, and endeavoured to push forward;
but the wind becoming more and more violent drove them against the
banks, and close to the Saracens, who, having already taken several
vessels, were murdering the crews, and throwing the dead bodies into the
river.
On seeing what was taking place, and finding that the Saracens began to
shoot bolts at his galley, Joinville, to protect himself, put on his
armour. He had hardly done so, when some of his people began to shout in
great consternation.
'My lord, my lord,' cried they, 'because the Saracens menace us, our
steersman is going to run us ashore, where we shall all be murdered.'
At that moment Joinville was so faint that he had seated himself, but
instantly rising he drew his sword and advanced.
'Beware what you do,' said he; 'for I vow to slay the first person who
attempts to run us ashore.'
'My lord,' said the captain in a resolute tone, 'it is impossible to
proceed; so you must make up your mind whether you will be landed on
shore, or stranded in the mud of the banks.'
'Well,' replied Joinville, 'I choose rather to be run on a mud bank than
to be carried ashore, where even now I see our people being
slaughtered.'
But escape proved impossible. Almost as he spoke, Joinville perceived
four of the sultan's galleys making towards his barge; and, giving
himself up for lost, he took a little casket containing his jewels, and
threw it into the Nile. However, it turned out that, though he could not
save his liberty, there was still a chance of saving his life.
'My lord,' said the mariner, 'you must permit me to say you are the
king's cousin; if not, we are as good as murdered.'
'Say what you please,' replied Joinville.
And now Joinville met with a protector, whose coming he attributed to
the direct interposition of heaven. 'It was God,' says he, 'who then, as
I verily believe, sent to my aid a Saracen, who was a subject of the
Emperor of Germany. He wore a pair of coarse trowsers, and, swimming
straight to me, he came into my vessel and embraced my knees. "My lord,"
he said, "if you do not what I shall advise, you are lost. In order to
save yourself, you must leap into the river, without being observed." He
had a cord thrown to me, and I leaped into the river, followed by the
Saracen, who saved me, and conducted me to a galley, wherein were
fourteen score of men, besides those who had boarded my vessel. But this
good Saracen held me fast in his arms.'
Shortly after, Joinville with the good Saracen's aid was landed, and
the other Saracens rushed on him to cut his throat, and he expected no
better fate. But the Saracen who had saved him would not quit his hold.
'He is the king's cousin,' shouted he; 'the king's cousin.'
'I had already,' says Joinville, 'felt the knife at my throat, and cast
myself on my knees; but, by the hands of this good Saracen, God
delivered me from this peril; and I was led to the castle where the
Saracen chiefs had assembled.'
When Joinville was conducted with some of his company, along with the
spoils of his barge, into the presence of the emirs, they took off his
coat of mail; and perceiving that he was very ill, they, from pity,
threw one of his scarlet coverlids lined with minever over him, and gave
him a white leathern girdle, with which he girded the coverlid round
him, and placed a small cap on his head. Nevertheless, what with his
fright and his malady, he soon began to shake so that his teeth
chattered, and he complained of thirst.
On this the Saracens gave him some water in a cup; but he no sooner put
it to his lips, than the water began to run back through his nostrils.
'Having an imposthume in my throat,' says he, 'imagine what a wretched
state I was in; and I looked more to death than life.'
When Joinville's attendants saw the water running through his nostrils,
they began to weep; and the good Saracen who had saved him asked them
why they were so sorrowful.
'Because,' they replied, 'our lord is nearly dead.'
And thereupon the good Saracen, taking pity on their distress, ran to
tell the emirs; and one of them coming, told Joinville to be of good
cheer, for he would bring a drink that should cure him in two days.
Under the influence of this beverage, the seneschal ere long recovered;
and when he was well, he was sent for by the admiral, who commanded the
sultan's galleys.
'Are you,' asked the admiral, 'the king's cousin, as was reported?'
'No,' answered Joinville, 'I am not;' and he informed the admiral why it
had been stated.
'You were well advised,' said the admiral; 'for otherwise you would have
been all murdered, and cast into the river. Have you any acquaintance
with the Emperor Frederic, or are you of his lineage?'
'Truly,' replied Joinville, 'I have heard my mother say that I am the
emperor's second cousin.'
'Ah,' said the admiral, 'I rejoice to hear it; and I love you all the
better on that account.'
It appears that Joinville became quite friendly with the admiral, and
was treated by him with kindness; and, on Sunday, when it was ordered
that all the Crusaders who had been taken prisoners on the Nile should
be brought to a castle on the banks, Joinville was invited to go thither
in the admiral's company. On that occasion, the seneschal had to endure
the horror of seeing his chaplain dragged from the hold of his galley
and instantly killed and flung into the water; and scarcely was this
over when the chaplain's clerk was dragged out of the hold, so weak that
he could hardly stand, felled on the head with a mortar, and cast after
his master. In this manner the Saracens dealt with all the captives who
were suffering from sickness.
Horrorstruck at such a destruction of human life, Joinville, by means of
the good Saracen who had saved his life, informed them that they were
doing very wrong; but they treated the matter lightly.
'We are only destroying men who are of no use,' said they; 'for they are
much too ill with their disorders to be of any service.'
Soon after witnessing this harrowing spectacle, Joinville was requested
by the Saracen admiral to mount a palfrey; and they rode together, over
a bridge, to the place where the Crusaders were imprisoned. At the
entrance of a large pavilion the good Saracen, who had been Joinville's
preserver, and had always followed him about, stopped, and requested his
attention.
'Sir,' said he, 'you must excuse me, but I cannot come further. I
entreat you not to quit the hand of this boy, otherwise the Saracens
will kill him.'
'Who is he?' asked Joinville.
'The boy's name,' replied the good Saracen, 'is Bartholomew de Bar, and
he is son of the Lord Montfaucon de Bar.'
And now conducted by the admiral, and leading the little boy by the
hand, Joinville entered the pavilion, where the nobles and knights of
France, with more than ten thousand persons of inferior rank, were
confined in a court, large in extent, and surrounded by walls of mud.
From this court the captive Christians were led forth, one at a time,
and asked if they would become renegades, yes or no. He who answered
'Yes,' was put aside; but he who answered 'No,' was instantly beheaded.
Such was the plight of the Christian warriors who so recently had
boasted of being about to conquer Egypt. Already thirty thousand of the
Crusaders had perished; and the survivors were so wretched, that they
almost envied their comrades who had gone where the weary are at rest.
Now in the midst of all this suffering and anxiety, what had become of
Guy Muschamp? Had the gay young squire, who boasted that if killed by
the Saracens he would die laughing, been drowned in the Nile, or was he
a captive in that large court surrounded by walls of mud? Neither. But
as our narrative proceeds, the reader will see that Guy Muschamp's fate
was hardly less sad than the fate of those who had found a watery grave,
or of those who were offered the simple choice of denying their God or
losing their lives.