broken into two divisions; some historians say accidentally, [Fulcher
of Chartres.--Guibert de Nogent.--Vital.] while others affirm by mutual
consent, and for the convenience of obtaining provisions on the way.
[William of Tyre.--Mills.--Wilken, &c.] The one division was composed
of the forces under Bohemund, Tancred, and the Duke of Normandy; while
the other, which took a route at some distance on the right, was
commanded by Godfrey of Bouillon and the other chiefs. The Sultan of
Roum, who, after his losses at Nice, had been silently making great
efforts to crush the crusaders at one blow, collected in a very short
time all the multitudinous tribes that owed him allegiance, and with an
army which, according to a moderate calculation, amounted to two
hundred thousand men, chiefly cavalry, he fell upon the first division
of the Christian host in the valley of Dorylaeum. It was early in the
morning of the 1st of July 1097, when the crusaders saw the first
companies of the Turkish horsemen pouring down upon them from the
hills. Bohemund had hardly time to set himself in order, and transport
his sick and helpless to the rear, when the overwhelming force of the
Orientals was upon him. The Christian army, composed principally of men
on foot, gave way on all sides, and the hoofs of the Turkish steeds,
and the poisoned arrows of their bowmen, mowed them down by hundreds.
After having lost the flower of their chivalry, the Christians
retreated upon their baggage, when a dreadful slaughter took place.
Neither women nor children, nor the sick, were spared. Just as they
were reduced to the last extremity, Godfrey of Bouillon and the Count
of Toulouse made their appearance on the field, and turned the tide of
battle. After an obstinate engagement the Turks fled, and their rich
camp fell into the bands of the enemy. The loss of the crusaders
amounted to about four thousand men, with several chiefs of renown,
among whom were Count Robert of Paris and William the brother of
Tancred. The loss of the Turks, which did not exceed this number,
taught them to pursue a different mode of warfare. The Sultan was far
from being defeated. With his still gigantic army, he laid waste all
the country on either side of the crusaders. The latter, who were
unaware of the tactics of the enemy, found plenty of provisions in the
Turkish camp; but so far from economizing these resources, they gave
themselves up for several days to the most unbounded extravagance. They
soon paid dearly for their heedlessness. In the ravaged country of
Phrygia, through which they advanced towards Antiochetta, they suffered
dreadfully for want of food for themselves and pasture for their
cattle. Above them was a scorching sun, almost sufficient of itself to
dry up the freshness of the land, a task which the firebrands of the
Sultan had but too surely effected, and water was not to be had after
the first day of their march. The pilgrims died at the rate of five
hundred a-day. The horses of the knights perished on the road, and the
baggage which they had aided to transport, was either placed upon dogs,
sheep, and swine, or abandoned altogether. In some of the calamities
that afterwards befell them, the Christians gave themselves up to the
most reckless profligacy; but upon this occasion, the dissensions which
prosperity had engendered, were all forgotten. Religion, often
disregarded, arose in the stern presence of misfortune, and cheered
them as they died by the promises of eternal felicity.
At length they reached Antiochetta, where they found water in
abundance, and pastures for their expiring cattle. Plenty once more
surrounded them, and here they pitched their tents. Untaught by the
bitter experience of famine, they again gave themselves up to luxury
and waste.
On the 18th of October they sat down before the strong city of Antioch,
the siege of which, and the events to which it gave rise, are among the
most extraordinary incidents of the Crusade. The city, which is
situated on an eminence, and washed by the river Orontes, is naturally
a very strong position, and the Turkish garrison were well supplied
with provisions to endure a long siege. In this respect the Christians
were also fortunate, but, unluckily for themselves, unwise. Their
force amounted to three hundred thousand fighting men; and we are
informed by Raymond d'Argilles, that they had so much provision, that
they threw away the greater part of every animal they killed, being so
dainty, that they would only eat particular parts of the beast. So
insane was their extravagance, that in less than ten days famine began
to stare them in the face. After making a fruitless attempt to gain
possession of the city by a coup de main, they, starving themselves,
sat down to starve out the enemy. But with want came a cooling of
enthusiasm. The chiefs began to grow weary of the expedition. Baldwin
had previously detached himself from the main body of the army, and,
proceeding to Edessa, had intrigued himself into the supreme power in
that little principality. The other leaders were animated with less
zeal than heretofore. Stephen of Chartres and Hugh of Vermandois began
to waver, unable to endure the privations which their own folly and
profusion had brought upon them. Even Peter the Hermit became sick at
heart ere all was over. When the famine had become so urgent that they
were reduced to eat human flesh in the extremity of their hunger,
Bohemund and Robert of Flanders set forth on an expedition to procure a
supply. They were in a slight degree successful; but the relief they
brought was not economized, and in two days they were as destitute as
before. Faticius, the Greek commander and representative of Alexius,
deserted with his division under pretence of seeking for food, and his
example was followed by various bodies of crusaders.
Misery was rife among those who remained, and they strove to alleviate
it by a diligent attention to signs and omens. These, with
extraordinary visions seen by the enthusiastic, alternately cheered and
depressed them according as they foretold the triumph or pictured the
reverses of the Cross. At one time a violent hurricane arose, levelling
great trees with the ground, and blowing down the tents of the
Christian leaders. At another time an earthquake shook the camp, and
was thought to prognosticate some great impending evil to the cause of
Christendom. But a comet which appeared shortly afterwards, raised them
from the despondency into which they had fallen; their lively
imaginations making it assume the form of a flaming cross leading them
on to victory. Famine was not the least of the evils they endured.
Unwholesome food, and the impure air from the neighbouring marshes,
engendered pestilential diseases, which carried them off more rapidly
than the arrows of the enemy. A thousand of them died in a day, and it
became at last a matter of extreme difficulty to afford them burial. To
add to their misery, each man grew suspicious of his neighbour; for the
camp was infested by Turkish spies, who conveyed daily to the besieged
intelligence of the movements and distresses of the enemy. With a
ferocity, engendered by despair, Bohemund caused two spies, whom he had
detected, to be roasted alive in presence of the army, and within sight
of the battlements of Antioch. But even this example failed to reduce
their numbers, and the Turks continued to be as well informed as the
Christians themselves of all that was passing in the camp.
The news of the arrival of a reinforcement of soldiers from Europe,
with an abundant stock of provisions, came to cheer them when reduced
to the last extremity. The welcome succour landed at St. Simeon, the
port of Antioch, and about six miles from that city. Thitherwards the
famishing crusaders proceeded in tumultuous bands, followed by Bohemund
and the Count of Toulouse, with strong detachments of their retainers
and vassals, to escort the supplies in safety to the camp. The garrison
of Antioch, forewarned of this arrival, was on the alert, and a corps
of Turkish archers was despatched to lie in ambuscade among the
mountains and intercept their return. Bohemund, laden with provisions,
was encountered in the rocky passes by the Turkish host. Great numbers
of his followers were slain, and he himself had just time to escape to
the camp with the news of his defeat. Godfrey of Bouillon, the Duke of
Normandy, and the other leaders had heard the rumour of this battle,
and were at that instant preparing for the rescue. The army was
immediately in motion, animated both by zeal and by hunger, and marched
so rapidly as to intercept the victorious Turks before they had time to
reach Antioch with their spoil. A fierce battle ensued, which lasted
from noon till the going down of the sun. The Christians gained and
maintained the advantage, each man fighting as if upon himself alone
had depended the fortune of the day. Hundreds of Turks perished in the
Orontes, and more than two thousand were left dead upon the field of
battle. All the provision was recaptured and brought in safety to the
camp, whither the crusaders returned singing Allelulia! or shouting
Deus adjuva! Deus adjuva!
This relief lasted for some days, and, had it been duly economized,
would have lasted much longer; but the chiefs had no authority, and
were unable to exercise any control over its distribution. Famine again
approached with rapid strides, and Stephen Count of Blois, not liking
the prospect, withdrew from the camp, with four thousand of his
retainers, and established himself at Alexandretta. The moral influence
of this desertion was highly prejudicial upon those who remained; and
Bohemund, the most impatient and ambitious of the chiefs, foresaw that,
unless speedily checked, it would lead to the utter failure of the
expedition. It was necessary to act decisively; the army murmured at
the length of the siege, and the Sultan was collecting his forces to
crush them. Against the efforts of the crusaders Antioch might have
held out for months; but treason within effected that, which courage
without might have striven for in vain.
Baghasihan, the Turkish Prince or Emir of Antioch, had under his
command an Armenian of the name of Phirouz, whom he had intrusted with
the defence of a tower on that part of the city wall which overlooked
the passes of the mountains. Bohemund, by means of a spy who had
embraced the Christian religion, and to whom he had given his own name
at baptism, kept up a daily communication with this captain, and made
him the most magnificent promises of reward, if he would deliver up his
post to the Christian knights. Whether the proposal was first made by
Bohemund or by the Armenian is uncertain, but that a good understanding
soon existed between them, is undoubted; and a night was fixed for the
execution of the project. Bohemund communicated the scheme to Godfrey
and the Count of Toulouse, with the stipulation that, if the city were
won, he, as the soul of the enterprise, should enjoy the dignity of
Prince of Antioch. The other leaders hesitated: ambition and jealousy
prompted them to refuse their aid in furthering the views of the
intriguer. More mature consideration decided them to acquiesce, and
seven hundred of the bravest knights were chosen for the expedition,
the real object of which, for fear of spies, was kept a profound secret
from the rest of the army. When all was ready, a report was
promulgated, that the seven hundred were intended to form an ambuscade
for a division of the Sultan's army, which was stated to be approaching.
Every thing favoured the treacherous project of the Armenian captain,
who, on his solitary watchtower, 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,
[Vide William of Tyre.] 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, cognizant 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.
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 in gore. 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, 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.
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 intrusted 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 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 Blots 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 woeful plight,
he turned back, and proceeded with the Count of Blots 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 recognized 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 precious
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
anything 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.
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
showed 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 recognized
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.