BEFORE marching from Nice, the pilgrim princes, the more easily to procure provisions and forage' by the way, arrayed their men in two divisions. One of these, and by far the most numerous, was conducted by Godfrey of Bouillon, Raymond of Thoulouse, the Count of Vermandois, and the Count of Flanders. The other, composed principally of fighting men, brought by Norman princes to the holy war, was headed by Curthose, Tancred, and Boemund of Tarentum.
While Godfrey, at the head of the main army, took his way across the plain of Doryleum, Boemund and the Norman warriors, pursuing a somewhat different course, marched along the margin of a river, and entered the valley of Dogorgan. They were utterly unacquainted with the country. But, confident in their valor, they followed the stream, and trusted to sharp swords and strong arms extricating them from any dangers into which they might fall.
On the evening of the 30th of June, the Norman crusaders reached a spot where they were tempted to encamp. At one side was the river, on the other a sedgy marsh; while around grew plenty of grass; and, hard by, abundance of timber. Everything appearing secure, Boemund called a halt; heralds, according to custom, cried three times, "Save the Holy Sepulchre!" and the crusaders having pitched their tents, and tethered their horses, indulged in what cheer they had, and stretched their limbs to rest.
The sun set; darkness overshadowed the valley: and the night passed over in peace. At break of day, however, Greeks came to the camp with intelligence that the Sultan of Nice was on the opposite side of the river with a numerous army; and, scarcely had the crusaders sprung in a somewhat incredulous mood from their lairs, when clouds of dust, on the ridge of the mountains, announced the presence of a foe. All doubt was now removed. The Sultan, with two hundred thousand Moslems at his back, had come to enjoy his revenge.
It was well for the crusaders, in that hour of peril, they had at their head such a warrior as Boemund. With skill and coolness worthy of his reputation, the Norman chief rapidly prepared for resistance. Having hastily fortified the camp with wagons and palisades, and placed the women and sick in the centre, he posted the infantry around, and moved forward the cavalry, under Tancred and Curthose, to dispute the passage of the river, lance in hand. Boemund, after thus arraying his men, stationed himself, with his riders, on some rising ground, there to watch the battle, and issue such orders as events rendered expedient.
The Prince of Tarentum had scarcely formed the crusaders into battle order, when white turbans, and green vests, and long spears, on the edge of the mountain, began to move: and the Saracens descended into the valley. Blowing their horns, beating their drums, and mingling their voices in a fearful yell, the turbaned warriors approached the river's margin, and thence discharged volleys of arrows and darts, which rattled among the Norman knights. This led to serious consequences; for though the linked mail of the riders saved them from injury, many horses, writhing under wounds and utterly unused to the Saracens9 drums and yells, grew restive at such sounds, capered, pranced, and flung furiously. The position of the horsemen, who were exposed to a sun of intolerable brightness, gradually became worse; and, galled by the incessant flight of arrows, they gave way to impatience, which, at first, manifested itself in muttered imprecations and at length broke through all restraint.
"We must take order with the infidel rabble," cried one warrior.
"Yes," said a dozen voices, "let us charge:" and With a cry of "Dieu aide," the Norman knights dashed into the river, and spurred through the stream.
But the Saracens had no intention of indulging their foes with a close conflict. Trusting to their horses, which seemed swifter than eagles, they opened their ranks whenever the Normans presented themselves, dispersed to a distance, and then rallying, discharged fresh missiles. Unaccustomed to such a style of warfare, the crusaders soon fell into disorder; and the Saracens availed themselves so speedily of the circumstance, that saddle after saddle emptied, and knight after knight reeled to the dust. The carnage increased every minute; and horses without riders, running hither and thither, added to the confusion.
The armed pilgrims now began to lose energy. It was in vain that such leaders as Tancred and Count Robert of Paris threw themselves into the melee. Count Robert, after having seen forty of his comrades killed, fell mortally wounded. Tancred, whose lance had been broken, was on the point of being struck down; but Boemund, hastily crossing the stream, shouted his war-cry, in a voice of thunder, spurred into the rescue, and bore off his nephew in safety.
While this struggle was taking place, and troop after troop of Saracens descended the hill to continue the fight, the Sultan, with a body of choice horsemen, dashed over to the Christian camp, and scattered Boemund's infantry right and left. Fearful was the scene. Priests gave themselves up for lost; and dames and damsels began to anticipate a fate worse than death.
But the priests and ladies soon found that there was hope. At this point Curthose, who had prudently refrained from crossing the river, advanced to the rescue, and with a shout of "God wills it!" spurred into the midst of the foe. Nothing could resist his onset. Followed by a host of knights, with his banner flying and his sword flashing, the Norman duke overcame all obstacles, and, cutting down three of the principal Saracens with his own hand, inspired every crusader with new courage.
While Curthose was performing prodigies of valor, and carving a path through the Saracens, Bocmund, hearing of the danger to which the camp was exposed, drew his rein, and hastened with his riders to the rescue. Meeting a body of crusaders who were flying, he pulled up liis steed, and pointed out the absurdity of their conduct.
"Whither are you riding, Christian soldiers?" he asked. "Don't you see that the horses of the Saracens, have more speed than yours?"
"It is true," muttered the fugitives in accents of despondency.
"Come, then, follow me," said Boemund; "I will show you a safer road than flight;" and charging the Saracens, sword in hand, he succeeded in expelling Sultan and soldiers from the camp.
Nevertheless the battle wore an aspect most alarming to the crusaders. Notwithstanding the prowess displayed by Boemund and Curthose, and the valor with which they inspired their followers, every one felt that the struggle could not longer be maintained. The sun was high in the heavens, the heat was scorching; men were choked with dust, parched with thirst, and fatigued with bearing up the fight against such odds; and horses, tired, wounded, and bleeding, hardly retained sufficient strength to carry their riders. While in this plight they retreated to the camp. Before them were hosts of Saracens eager for carnage; and at the head of the Saracens was a Sultan panting for revenge.
"We need cherish no hope of seeing Jerusalem,*' said the crusaders, mournfully. "Our doom is clearly to die to-day."
"We need not yet despair," Boemund would argue, "it is hours since I despatched messengers to the Duke of Lorraine. Ere this he knows our peril. Any moment may bring thousands of spears to our rescue. If not, wc can at least sell our lives dearly."
Boemund's courage, however, was shared by few. Heroism itself could not sustain the spirit of a handful of men, who saw before them a host bent on their destruction, and thousands of sabres thirsting for their blood. Everywhere in the Christian camp appeared consternation and despair. Women were bewailing their fate; priests were imploring God's aid; and soldiers, on their knees, were entreating priests to grant them absolution.
But suddenly, from the midst of dismay and dread, arose a shout of exultation, which was echoed and reechoed by hill and rock. The imperilled Christians might well shout with joy; for clarion and trumpet announced the approach of friends; and soon, under the sacred standard, borne by the Count of Vermandois, fifty thousand horsemen, headed by Godfrey Bouillon, came cantering over the hill.
The Sultan of Nice now seemed to think his plight the reverse of enviable. After pausing to survey the coming foe, and attempting to appear disdainful of the danger, he deemed it prudent to sound a retreat and return to the mountain. Perhaps he thought the crusaders would not follow. If so, he was mistaken. No sooner did Godfrey arrive, than he set his men in order and prepared for the assault.
All were soon ready: but, ere Godfrey gave the signal, priests passed along the lines, and after bestowing the church's blessing, reminded the Christian warriors of the Holy Sepulchre, and exhorted them to fight manfully. An order to rush upon the foe was then passed from rank to rank; and, with a cry of "God wills it!" every man sprang forward.
The Sultan witnessed the preparations of the crusaders from the mountain, to which he had retreated, and appeared to consider that hills, and crags, and rocks guaranteed his safety. But the Moslem chief soon found that he was in error. Indeed the crusaders, to whom the sight of their slaughtered comrades was as scarlet to the wounded bull, felt a craving for carnage, and the soldiers of Raymond of Thoulouse ascended the acclivity with such impetuosity, that the first ranks of the Saracens were instantly broken.
While Raymond and his men were carrying everything before them, the Saracens found themselves attacked on one flank by Boemund and Curthose, and on the other by Grodfrey of Bouillon and the Count of Flanders. All was now disorder; and to make their situation desperate, the Bishop of Puy, who had conducted the reserve round a hill, fell upon their rear and completed the rout. Vain then proved the sound of Saracenic horn and drum; vain the sweep of sword and crooked sabre. Surrounded as the Saracens were on all sides, the idea of flight scarcely suggested a hope of safety. Animated, however, by despair, they endeavored to escape through woods and over rocks. But the crusaders proved vigilant and active; multitudes of the turboned warriors fell on the mountain side; and the Sultan, seeing his army scattered in dismay, lost heart, spurred from the scene of action, and, to prop up his credit, gave out that he had gotten the day, pleasing himself to be a conqueror in report.
The pilgrims, finding themselves victors, proceeded to the camp of the enemy, where a rich booty rewarded their valor. Provisions, treasures, camels -- which they had never before seen -- and tents, the magnificence of which excited their admiration, fell into their possession.
As evening was closing over the plains of Doryleum, the crusaders, loaded with booty, returned to their camp. Before them marched priests singing hymns of gratitude; behind them came the camels and horses which had become their prey. Many, however, had to deplore the loss of brothers and kinsmen. No fewer than four thousand European warriors had perished in the melee of the morning. But the mourners were not without consolation. Indeed, it was believed that the souls of those who felt with arms in their hands and the cross on their shoulders, were purified from all sin; and priests while committing the dead to their graves in the valley of Dogorgan, reminded survivors that the names of men who died for the Holy Sepulchre were at once enrolled in the army of martyrs.
Previous article Next article
From John G. Edgar
The Crusades and the Crusaders, 1860
