on his solitary watch-tower, received due intimation of the approach of
the Crusaders. The night was dark and stormy; not a star was visible
above, and the wind howled so furiously as to overpower all other sounds:
the rain fell in torrents, and the watchers on the towers adjoining to
that of Phirouz could not hear the tramp of the armed knights for the
wind, nor see them for the obscurity of the night and the dismalness of
the weather. When within shot of the walls, Bohemund sent forward an
interpreter to confer with the Armenian. The latter urged them to make
haste, and seize the favourable interval, as armed men, with lighted
torches, patrolled the battlements every half hour, and at that instant
they had just passed. The chiefs were instantly at the foot of the wall:
Phirouz let down a rope; Bohemund attached it to the end of a ladder of
hides, which was then raised by the Armenian, and held while the knights
mounted. A momentary fear came over the spirits of the adventurers, and
every one hesitated. At last Bohemund,[8] encouraged by Phirouz from
above, ascended a few steps on the ladder, and was followed by Godfrey,
Count Robert of Flanders, and a number of other knights. As they advanced,
others pressed forward, until their weight became too great for the
ladder, which, breaking, precipitated about a dozen of them to the ground,
where they fell one upon the other, making a great clatter with their
heavy coats of mail. For a moment they thought that all was lost; but the
wind made so loud a howling as it swept in fierce gusts through the
mountain gorges--and the Orontes, swollen by the rain, rushed so noisily
along--that the guards heard nothing. The ladder was easily repaired, and
the knights ascended two at a time, and reached the platform in safety.
When sixty of them had thus ascended, the torch of the coming patrol was
seen to gleam at the angle of the wall. Hiding themselves behind a
buttress, they awaited his coming in breathless silence. As soon as he
arrived at arm's length, he was suddenly seized, and, before he could open
his lips to raise an alarm, the silence of death closed them up for ever.
They next descended rapidly the spiral staircase of the tower, and opening
the portal, admitted the whole of their companions. Raymond of Toulouse,
who, cognisant of the whole plan, had been left behind with the main body
of the army, heard at this instant the signal horn, which announced that
an entry had been effected, and, leading on his legions, the town was
attacked from within and without.
[8] Vide William of Tyre.
Imagination cannot conceive a scene more dreadful than that presented by
the devoted city of Antioch on that night of horror. The Crusaders fought
with a blind fury, which fanaticism and suffering alike incited. Men,
women, and children were indiscriminately slaughtered, till the streets
ran with blood. Darkness increased the destruction, for when morning
dawned the Crusaders found themselves with their swords at the breasts of
their fellow-soldiers, whom they had mistaken for foes. The Turkish
commander fled, first to the citadel, and that becoming insecure, to the
mountains, whither he was pursued and slain, and his grey head brought
back to Antioch as a trophy. At daylight the massacre ceased, and the
Crusaders gave themselves up to plunder. They found gold, and jewels, and
silks, and velvets in abundance, but of provisions, which were of more
importance to them, they found but little of any kind. Corn was
excessively scarce, and they discovered to their sorrow that in this
respect the besieged had been but little better off than the besiegers.
[Illustration: SIEGE OF ANTIOCH.]
Before they had time to instal themselves in their new position, and take
the necessary measures for procuring a supply, the city was invested by
the Turks. The sultan of Persia had raised an immense army, which he
entrusted to the command of Kerbogha, the emir of Mosul, with instructions
to sweep the Christian locusts from the face of the land. The emir
effected a junction with Kilij Aslaun, and the two armies surrounded the
city. Discouragement took complete possession of the Christian host, and
numbers of them contrived to elude the vigilance of the besiegers, and
escape to Count Stephen of Blois at Alexandretta, to whom they related the
most exaggerated tales of the misery they had endured, and the utter
hopelessness of continuing the war. Stephen forthwith broke up his camp
and retreated towards Constantinople. On his way he was met by the Emperor
Alexius, at the head of a considerable force, hastening to take possession
of the conquests made by the Christians in Asia. As soon as he heard of
their woful plight, he turned back, and proceeded with the Count of Blois
to Constantinople, leaving the remnant of the Crusaders to shift for
themselves.
The news of this defection increased the discouragement at Antioch. All
the useless horses of the army had been slain and eaten, and dogs, cats,
and rats were sold at enormous prices. Even vermin were becoming scarce.
With increasing famine came a pestilence, so that in a short time but
sixty thousand remained of the three hundred thousand that had originally
invested Antioch. But this bitter extremity, while it annihilated the
energy of the host, only served to knit the leaders more firmly together;
and Bohemund, Godfrey, and Tancred swore never to desert the cause as long
as life lasted. The former strove in vain to reanimate the courage of his
followers. They were weary and sick at heart, and his menaces and promises
were alike thrown away. Some of them had shut themselves up in the houses,
and refused to come forth. Bohemund, to drive them to their duty, set fire
to the whole quarter, and many of them perished in the flames, while the
rest of the army looked on with the utmost indifference. Bohemund,
animated himself by a worldly spirit, did not know the true character of
the Crusaders, nor understand the religious madness which had brought them
in such shoals from Europe. A priest, more clear-sighted, devised a scheme
which restored all their confidence, and inspired them with a courage so
wonderful as to make the poor sixty thousand emaciated, sick, and starving
zealots put to flight the well-fed and six times as numerous legions of
the Sultan of Persia.
This priest, a native of Provence, was named Peter Barthelemy, and whether
he were a knave or an enthusiast, or both; a principal, or a tool in the
hands of others, will ever remain a matter of doubt. Certain it is,
however, that he was the means of raising the siege of Antioch, and
causing the eventual triumph of the armies of the cross. When the strength
of the Crusaders was completely broken by their sufferings, and hope had
fled from every bosom, Peter came to Count Raymond of Toulouse, and
demanded an interview on matters of serious moment. He was immediately
admitted. He said that, some weeks previously, at the time the Christians
were besieging Antioch, he was reposing alone in his tent, when he was
startled by the shock of the earthquake, which had so alarmed the whole
host. Through violent terror of the shock he could only ejaculate, God
help me! when turning round he saw two men standing before him, whom he at
once recognised by the halo of glory around them as beings of another
world. One of them appeared to be an aged man, with reddish hair sprinkled
with grey, black eyes, and a long flowing grey beard. The other was
younger, larger, and handsomer, and had something more divine in his
aspect. The elderly man alone spoke, and informed him that he was the holy
apostle St. Andrew, and desired him to seek out the Count Raymond, the
Bishop of Puy, and Raymond of Altopulto, and ask them why the bishop did
not exhort the people, and sign them with the cross which he bore. The
apostle then took him, naked in his shirt as he was, and transported him
through the air into the heart of the city of Antioch, where he led him
into the church of St. Peter, at that time a Saracen mosque. The apostle
made him stop by the pillar close to the steps by which they ascend on the
south side to the altar, where hung two lamps, which gave out a light
brighter than that of the noonday sun; the younger man, whom he did not at
that time know, standing afar off, near the steps of the altar. The
apostle then descended into the ground and brought up a lance, which he
gave into his hand, telling him that it was the very lance that had opened
the side whence had flowed the salvation of the world. With tears of joy
he held the holy lance, and implored the apostle to allow him to take it
away and deliver it into the hands of Count Raymond. The apostle refused,
and buried the lance again in the ground, commanding him, when the city
was won from the infidels, to go with twelve chosen men, and dig it up
again in the same place. The apostle then transported him back to his
tent, and the two vanished from his sight. He had neglected, he said, to
deliver this message, afraid that his wonderful tale would not obtain
credence from men of such high rank. After some days he again saw the holy
vision, as he was gone out of the camp to look for food. This time the
divine eyes of the younger looked reproachfully upon him. He implored the
apostle to choose some one else more fitted for the mission, but the
apostle refused, and smote him with a disorder of the eyes, as a
punishment for his disobedience. With an obstinacy unaccountable even to
himself, he had still delayed. A third time the apostle and his companion
had appeared to him, as he was in a tent with his master William at St.
Simeon. On that occasion St. Andrew told him to bear his command to the
Count of Toulouse not to bathe in the waters of the Jordan when he came to
it, but to cross over in a boat, clad in a shirt and breeches of linen,
which he should sprinkle with the sacred waters of the river. These
clothes he was afterwards to preserve along with the holy lance. His
master William, although he could not see the saint, distinctly heard the
voice giving orders to that effect. Again he neglected to execute the
commission, and again the saints appeared to him, when he was at the port
of Mamistra, about to sail for Cyprus, and St. Andrew threatened him with
eternal perdition if he refused longer. Upon this he made up his mind to
divulge all that had been revealed to him.
The Count of Toulouse, who, in all probability, concocted this tale with
the priest, appeared struck with the recital, and sent immediately for the
Bishop of Puy and Raymond of Altapulto. The bishop at once expressed his
disbelief of the whole story, and refused to have any thing to do in the
matter. The Count of Toulouse, on the contrary, saw abundant motives, if
not for believing, for pretending to believe; and, in the end, he so
impressed upon the mind of the bishop the advantage that might be derived
from it, in working up the popular mind to its former excitement, that the
latter reluctantly agreed to make search in due form for the holy weapon.
The day after the morrow was fixed upon for the ceremony; and, in the mean
time, Peter was consigned to the care of Raymond, the count's chaplain, in
order that no profane curiosity might have an opportunity of
cross-examining him, and putting him to a nonplus.
Twelve devout men were forthwith chosen for the undertaking, among whom
were the Count of Toulouse and his chaplain. They began digging at
sunrise, and continued unwearied till near sunset, without finding the
lance; they might have dug till this day with no better success, had not
Peter himself sprung into the pit, praying to God to bring the lance to
light, for the strengthening and victory of his people. Those who hide
know where to find; and so it was with Peter, for both he and the lance
found their way into the hole at the same time. On a sudden, he and
Raymond the chaplain beheld its point in the earth, and Raymond, drawing
it forth, kissed it with tears of joy, in sight of the multitude which had
assembled in the church. It was immediately enveloped in a rich purple
cloth, already prepared to receive it, and exhibited in this state to the
faithful, who made the building resound with their shouts of gladness.
[Illustration: THE HOLY LANCE.]
Peter had another vision the same night, and became from that day forth
"dreamer of dreams" in general to the army. He stated on the following
day, that the Apostle Andrew and "the youth with the divine aspect"
appeared to him again, and directed that the Count of Toulouse, as a
reward for his persevering piety, should carry the Holy Lance at the head
of the army, and that the day on which it was found should be observed as
a solemn festival throughout Christendom. St. Andrew shewed him at the
same time the holes in the feet and hands of his benign companion; and he
became convinced that he stood in the awful presence of THE REDEEMER.
Peter gained so much credit by his visions that dreaming became
contagious. Other monks beside himself were visited by the saints, who
promised victory to the host if it would valiantly hold out to the last,
and crowns of eternal glory to those who fell in the fight. Two deserters,
wearied of the fatigues and privations of the war, who had stealthily left
the camp, suddenly returned, and seeking Bohemund, told him that they had
been met by two apparitions, who, with great anger, had commanded them to
return. The one of them said, that he recognised his brother, who had been
killed in battle some months before, and that he had a halo of glory
around his head. The other, still more hardy, asserted that the apparition
which had spoken to him was the Saviour himself, who had promised eternal
happiness as his reward if he returned to his duty, but the pains of
eternal fire if he rejected the cross. No one thought of disbelieving
these men. The courage of the army immediately revived; despondency gave
way to hope; every arm grew strong again, and the pangs of hunger were for
a time disregarded. The enthusiasm which had led them from Europe, burned
forth once more as brightly as ever, and they demanded, with loud cries,
to be led against the enemy. The leaders were not unwilling. In a battle
lay their only chance of salvation; and although Godfrey, Bohemund, and
Tancred received the story of the lance with much suspicion, they were too
wise to throw discredit upon an imposture which bade fair to open the
gates of victory.
Peter the Hermit was previously sent to the camp of Kerbogha to propose
that the quarrel between the two religions should be decided by a chosen
number of the bravest soldiers of each army. Kerbogha turned from him with
a look of contempt, and said he could agree to no proposals from a set of
such miserable beggars and robbers. With this uncourteous answer Peter
returned to Antioch. Preparations were immediately commenced for an attack
upon the enemy: the latter continued to be perfectly well informed of all
the proceedings of the Christian camp. The citadel of Antioch, which
remained in their possession, overlooked the town, and the commander of
the fortress could distinctly see all that was passing within. On the
morning of the 28th of June, 1098, a black flag, hoisted from its highest
tower, announced to the besieging army that the Christians were about to
sally forth.
The Moslem leaders knew the sad inroads that famine and disease had made
upon the numbers of the foe; they knew that not above two hundred of the
knights had horses to ride upon, and that the foot soldiers were sick and
emaciated; but they did not know the almost incredible valour which
superstition had infused into their hearts. The story of the lance they
treated with the most supreme contempt, and, secure of an easy victory,
they gave themselves no trouble in preparing for the onslaught. It is
related that Kerbogha was playing a game at chess, when the black flag on
the citadel gave warning of the enemy's approach, and that, with true
oriental coolness, he insisted upon finishing the game ere he bestowed any
of his attention upon a foe so unworthy. The defeat of his advanced post
of two thousand men aroused him from his apathy.
The Crusaders, after this first victory, advanced joyfully towards the
mountains, hoping to draw the Turks to a place where their cavalry would
be unable to manoeuvre. Their spirits were light and their courage high,
as, led on by the Duke of Normandy, Count Robert of Flanders, and Hugh of
Vermandois, they came within sight of the splendid camp of the enemy.
Godfrey of Bouillon and Adhemar Bishop of Puy, followed immediately after
these leaders, the latter clad in complete armour, and bearing the Holy
Lance within sight of the whole army: Bohemund and Tancred brought up the
rear.
Kerbogha, aware at last that his enemy was not so despicable, took
vigorous measures to remedy his mistake, and, preparing himself to meet
the Christians in front, he despatched the Sultan Soliman of Roum to
attack them in the rear. To conceal this movement, he set fire to the
dried weeds and grass with which the ground was covered, and Soliman,
taking a wide circuit with his cavalry, succeeded, under cover of the
smoke, in making good his position in the rear. The battle raged furiously
in front; the arrows of the Turks fell thick as hail, and their
well-trained squadrons trod the Crusaders under their hoofs like stubble.
Still the affray was doubtful; for the Christians had the advantage of the
ground, and were rapidly gaining upon the enemy, when the overwhelming
forces of Soliman arrived in the rear. Godfrey and Tancred flew to the
rescue of Bohemund, spreading dismay in the Turkish ranks by their fierce
impetuosity. The Bishop of Puy was left almost alone with the Provençals
to oppose the legions commanded by Kerbogha in person; but the presence of
the Holy Lance made a hero of the meanest soldier in his train. Still,
however, the numbers of the enemy seemed interminable. The Christians,
attacked on every side, began at last to give way, and the Turks made sure
of victory.
At this moment a cry was raised in the Christian host that the saints were
fighting on their side. The battle-field was clear of the smoke from the
burning weeds, which had curled away, and hung in white clouds of
fantastic shape on the brow of the distant mountains. Some imaginative
zealot, seeing this dimly through the dust of the battle, called out to
his fellows, to look at the army of saints, clothed in white, and riding
upon white horses, that were pouring over the hills to the rescue. All
eyes were immediately turned to the distant smoke; faith was in every
heart; and the old battle-cry, _God wills it! God wills it!_ resounded
through the field, as every soldier, believing that God was visibly
sending his armies to his aid, fought with an energy unfelt before. A
panic seized the Persian and Turkish hosts, and they gave way in all
directions. In vain Kerbogha tried to rally them. Fear is more contagious
than enthusiasm, and they fled over the mountains like deer pursued by the
hounds. The two leaders, seeing the uselessness of further efforts, fled
with the rest; and that immense army was scattered over Palestine, leaving
nearly seventy thousand of its dead upon the field of battle.
Their magnificent camp fell into the hands of the enemy, with its rich
stores of corn, and its droves of sheep and oxen. Jewels, gold, and rich
velvets in abundance were distributed among the army. Tancred followed the
fugitives over the hills, and reaped as much plunder as those who had
remained in the camp. The way, as they fled, was covered with valuables,
and horses of the finest breed of Arabia became so plentiful that every
knight of the Christians was provided with a steed. The Crusaders, in this
battle, acknowledge to have lost nearly ten thousand men.
Their return to Antioch was one of joy indeed: the citadel was surrendered
at once, and many of the Turkish garrison embraced the Christian faith,
and the rest were suffered to depart. A solemn thanksgiving was offered up
by the Bishop of Puy, in which the whole army joined, and the Holy Lance
was visited by every soldier.
The enthusiasm lasted for some days, and the army loudly demanded to be
led forward to Jerusalem, the grand goal of all their wishes: but none of
their leaders was anxious to move;--the more prudent among them, such as
Godfrey and Tancred, for reasons of expediency; and the more ambitious,
such as the Count of Toulouse and Bohemund, for reasons of self-interest.
Violent dissensions sprang up again between all the chiefs. Raymond of
Toulouse, who was left at Antioch to guard the town, had summoned the
citadel to surrender, as soon as he saw that there was no fear of any
attack upon the part of the Persians; and the other chiefs found, upon
their return, his banner waving on its walls. This had given great offence
to Bohemund, who had stipulated the principality of Antioch as his reward
for winning the town in the first instance. Godfrey and Tancred supported
his claim, and, after a great deal of bickering, the flag of Raymond was
lowered from the tower, and that of Bohemund hoisted in its stead, who
assumed from that time the title of Prince of Antioch. Raymond, however,
persisted in retaining possession of one of the city gates and its
adjacent towers, which he held for several months, to the great annoyance
of Bohemund and the scandal of the army. The count became in consequence
extremely unpopular, although his ambition was not a whit more
unreasonable than that of Bohemund himself, nor of Baldwin, who had taken
up his quarters at Edessa, where he exercised the functions of a petty
sovereign.
The fate of Peter Barthelemy deserves to be recorded. Honours and
consideration had come thick upon him after the affair of the lance, and
he consequently felt bound in conscience to continue the dreams which had
made him a personage of so much importance. The mischief of it was, that,
like many other liars, he had a very bad memory, and he contrived to make
his dreams contradict each other in the most palpable manner. St. John one
night appeared to him, and told one tale; while, a week after, St. Paul
told a totally different story, and held out hopes quite incompatible with
those of his apostolic brother. The credulity of that age had a wide maw,
and Peter's visions must have been absurd and outrageous indeed, when the
very men who had believed in the lance refused to swallow any more of his
wonders. Bohemund at last, for the purpose of annoying the Count of
Toulouse, challenged poor Peter to prove the truth of his story of the
lance by the fiery ordeal. Peter could not refuse a trial so common in
that age, and being besides encouraged by the count and his chaplain
Raymond, an early day was appointed for the ceremony. The previous night
was spent in prayer and fasting, according to custom, and Peter came forth
in the morning bearing the lance in his hand, and walked boldly up to the
fire. The whole army gathered round, impatient for the result, many
thousands still believing that the lance was genuine, and Peter a holy
man. Prayers having been said by Raymond d'Agilles, Peter walked into the
flames, and had got nearly through, when pain caused him to lose his
presence of mind: the heat too affected his eyes, and, in his anguish, he
turned round unwittingly, and passed through the fire again, instead of
stepping out of it, as he should have done. The result was, that he was
burned so severely that he never recovered, and, after lingering for some
days, he expired in great agony.
Most of the soldiers were suffering either from wounds, disease, or
weariness; and it was resolved by Godfrey,--the tacitly acknowledged chief
of the enterprise,--that the army should have time to refresh itself ere
they advanced upon Jerusalem. It was now July, and he proposed that they
should pass the hot months of August and September within the walls of
Antioch, and march forward in October with renewed vigour, and numbers
increased by fresh arrivals from Europe. This advice was finally adopted,
although the enthusiasts of the army continued to murmur at the delay. In
the mean time the Count of Vermandois was sent upon an embassy to the
Emperor Alexius at Constantinople, to reproach him for his base desertion
of the cause, and urge him to send the reinforcements he had promised. The
count faithfully executed his mission (of which, by the way, Alexius took
no notice whatever), and remained for some time at Constantinople, till
his zeal, never very violent, totally evaporated. He then returned to
France, sick of the Crusade, and determined to intermeddle with it no
more.