The rejoicings had hardly ceased when it was found that another enemy had to be encountered. Battle was to be expected: famine had already twice been experienced: this time it was pestilence, caused, no doubt, by the crowding together of so large an army and the absence of sanitary measures. The first to fall was the wise and good Adhémar, most sensible of all the chiefs. His was a dire loss to the Crusaders. Better could they have spared even the fiery Tancred, or the crafty Bohemond. The Crusaders, terrified and awe-stricken, clamoured to be led to Jerusalem, but needs must that they remained till the heats of summer passed, and health came again with the early winter breezes, in their camp at Antioch.

It was not till November that they set out on their march to Jerusalem. The time had been consumed in small expeditions, the capture of unimportant places, and the quarrels of the princes over the destination of Antioch, which Bohemond claimed for himself. Their rival claims were still unsettled, when the voice of the people made itself heard, and very shame made them, for a time at least, act in concert, and the advance corps, led by Bohemond, Robert of Normandy, and Raymond of Toulouse, began their southward march with the siege of Marra, an important place, which they took, after three or four weeks, by assault. Fresh disputes arose about the newly-acquired town, but the common soldiers, furious at these never-ending delays, ended them by the simple expedient of pulling down the walls. It was the middle of January, however, before they resumed their march. From Marah to Capharda, thence along the Orontes, when the small towns were placed in their hands, to Hums, when they turned westward to the sea, and sat down before the castle of Arca till they should be joined by the main body, which was still at Antioch. It came up in April, and the army of the Crusaders, united again, were ready to resume their march when they were interrupted by more disputes. In an ill-timed hour, Bohemond, the incredulous Norman, accused Raymond of conniving with Peter to deceive the army by palming off upon them an old rusty lance-head as the sacred spear which had pierced the side of the Lord. Arnold, chaplain to Duke Robert of Normandy, was brought forward to support the charge. He rested his argument chiefly on the fact that Adhémar had disbelieved the miracle: but he contended as well that the spear-head could not possibly be in Antioch. He was confuted in the manner customary to the time. One bold monk swore that Adhémar, after death, for his contumacy in refusing to believe in the miracle, had been punished by having one side of his beard burned in the flames of hell, and was not permitted a full enjoyment of heaven till the beard should grow again. Another quoted a prophecy of Saint Peter, alleged to be in a Syrian gospel, that the invention of the lance was to be a sign of the deliverance of the Christians; a third had spoken personally with Saint Mark himself; while the Virgin Mary had appeared by night to a fourth to corroborate the story. Arnold pretended to give way before testimony so overwhelming, and was ready to retract his opinion publicly, when Peter, crazed with enthusiasm, offered to submit his case to the ordeal of fire. This method was too congenial to the fierce and eager spirits of the Crusaders to be refused. Raymond d’Agiles, who was a witness, thus tells the story.

“Peter’s proposition appeared to us reasonable, and after enjoining a fast on Peter, we agreed to kindle the fire on Good Friday itself.

“On the day appointed, the pile was prepared after noon; the princes and the people assembled to the number of forty thousand; the priests coming barefooted and dressed in their sacerdotal robes. The pile was made with dry branches of olive-trees, fourteen feet long, and four feet high, divided into two heaps, with a narrow path, a foot wide, between each. As soon as the wood began to burn, I myself, Raymond,^[51] pronounced these words, ‘If the Lord himself has spoken to this man face to face, and if Saint Andrew has shown him the lance of the Lord, let him pass through the fire without receiving any hurt: or, if not, let him be burnt with the lance which he carries in his hand.’ And all bending the knee, replied, ‘Amen.’

“Then Peter, dressed in a single robe, kneeling before the bishop of Albaric, called God to witness that he had seen Jesus on the cross face to face, and that he had heard from the mouth of the Saviour, and that of the apostles, Peter and Andrew, the words reported to the princes: he added that nothing of what he had said in the name of the saints and in the name of the Lord had been invented by himself, and declared that if there was found any falsehood in his story, he consented to suffer from the flames. And for the other sins that he had committed against God and his neighbours, he prayed that God would pardon him, and that the bishop, all the other priests, and the people would implore the mercy of God for him. This said, the bishop gave him the lance.

“Peter knelt again, and making the sign of the cross he reached the flames without appearing afraid. He remained one moment in the midst of the fire, and then came out by the grace of God.... After Peter had gone through the fire, and although the flames were still raging, the people gathered up the brands, the ashes, and the charcoal, with such ardour that in a few moments nothing was left. The Lord in the end performed great miracles by means of these sacred relics. Peter came out of the flames without even his gown being burned, and the light veil which covered the lance-head escaped uninjured. He made immediately the sign of the cross, and cried with a loud voice, ‘God help!’ to the crowd, who pressed upon him to be certain that it was really he. Then, in their eagerness, and because everybody wanted to touch him, and to have even some little piece of his dress, they trampled him under their feet, cut off pieces of his flesh, broke his back-bone, and broke his ribs. He was only saved from being killed there and then by Raymond Pelot, a knight, who hastily called a number of soldiers and rescued him.

“When he was brought into our tent, we dressed his wounds, and asked him why he had stopped so long in the fire. ‘Because,’ he said, ‘the Lord appeared to me in the midst of the flames, and taking me by the hand, said, ‘Since thou hast doubted of the holy lance, which the blessed Andrew showed to thee, thou shalt not go out from this sound and safe. Nevertheless, thou shalt not see hell.’ After these words He sent me on. ‘See now the marks of fire on my body.’ And, in fact, there were certain burnings in the legs, small in number, though the wounds were great.”

Peter Bartholomew died the day after—of the fire, said Bohemond, the doubter, who continued in his disbelief, in spite of the ordeal; of the injuries he had received in the crowd, said Raymond of Toulouse. But the authority of the lance was established, and it was to do good service in the battles to come. The faith of the Crusaders was kept up by many other visions and miracles. One that had the greatest effect was a vision seen by Anselm. To him appeared by night Angelram, the young son of the Count of Saint Paul, who had been killed at Marra. “Know,” said the phantom, “that those who fight for Christ die not.” “And whence this glory that surrounds you?” Then Angelram showed in the heavens a palace of crystal and diamonds. “It is there,” he said, “that I have borrowed my splendour. There is my dwelling-place. One finer still is preparing for you, into which you will soon enter.” The next day Anselm, after telling of this apparition, confessed and received the sacraments, though full of health, and going into battle, was struck by a stone in the forehead, and died immediately.

On their way to Tripoli,^[52] where they first saw the sugar-cane, the impatience of the soldiers manifested itself so strongly that the chiefs could not venture to sit down before the place, but pushed on, after making a sort of treaty with its governor. Here messengers arrived from Alexis, entreating them to wait for him, and promising to bring an army in July. But the time was gone by forfor negotiation and delay, and taking the sea-shore route, by which they ensured the protection of the fleet, they marched southwards to Beirout. Sidon, and Tyre, and Acre, were passed without much opposition, and the Crusaders arrived at Cæsarea, which is within sixty miles of Jerusalem. By marches quick rather than forced, for the enthusiasm of the army was once more at its height, they reached Lydda, where the church of Saint George lay in ruins, having recently been destroyed by the Turks, and thence to Ramleh. Here an embassy from Bethlehem waited for them with prayers to protect their town. Tancred, with a hundred knights only, rode off with them. The people received them with psalms of joy, and took them to see the Church of the Nativity. But they would not stay. Bethlehem is but four miles from Jerusalem, and Tancred rode on in advance, eager to be the first to see the city. He ascended the mount of Olives unmolested, and there found a hermit who pointed out to him the sacred sites. The little troop rode back in triumph to tell the Crusaders that the city was almost within their grasp. The soldiers, rough and rude as they were, and stained with every vice, were yet open to the influences of this, the very goal of their hopes. From a rising ground they beheld at last the walls of the Holy City. “And when they heard the name of Jerusalem, the Christians could not prevent themselves, in the fervour of their devotion, from shedding tears; they fell on their faces to the ground, glorifying and adoring God, who, in His goodness, had heard the prayers of His people and had granted them, according to their desires, to arrive at this most sacred place, the object of all their hopes.”

The army which sat down before Jerusalem numbered about twenty thousand fighting men, and an equal number of camp followers, old men, women, and children. This was the miserable remnant of that magnificent army of six hundred thousand, with which Godfrey had taken Nicæa and punished the massacre of Walter and his rabble. Where were all the rest? The road was strewn with their bones. Across the thirsty deserts of Asia Minor, on the plain of Dorylæum, and on the slopes and passes of Taurus, the Crusaders’ bodies lay unburied, while before and within Antioch, the city of disasters, thousands upon thousands were thrown into the river or lay in unhallowed soil. But they were not all killed. Many had returned home, among whom were Hugh le Grand and Stephen of Blois; many had left the main body and gone off in free-handed expeditions of their own, to join Baldwin and others. Thus we have heard of Wolf, the Burgundian conqueror of Adana. Presently we find that Guymer the pirate of Boulogne, who joined Baldwin at Tarsus, must have left him again, and returned to his piratical ways, for we find him in prison at Tripoli; he was delivered up by the governor of Tripoli to the Christians, after which he appears no more. Then some had been taken prisoners, and purchased their lives by apostacy, like Rinaldo the Italian. And those of the captive women who were yet young were dragging out their lives in the Turkish harems. Probably the boys, too, were spared, and those who were young enough to forget their Christian blood brought up to be soldiers of the Crescent.

The neighbourhood of Jerusalem was covered with light brushwood, but there were no trees; there had been grass in plenty, but it was dried up by the summer sun; there were wells and cisterns, but they had all been closed,—“the fountains were sealed.” Only the pool of Siloam was accessible to the Crusaders; this was intermittent and irregular, and its supply, when it did flow, was miserably inadequate for a host of forty thousand. Moreover, its waters were brackish and disagreeable. And the camp was full of sick, wounded, and helpless.

On the west, east, and south sides of the city no attack was possible, on account of the valleys by which it was naturally protected. The Crusaders pitched their camp in the north. First in the post of danger, as usual, was the camp of Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine. His position extended westwards from the valley of Jehoshaphat, along the north wall. Next to him came the Count of Flanders; next, Robert of Normandy, near whom was Edgar Atheling with his English; at the north-west angle was Tancred; and lastly, the camp of the Count of Toulouse extended along the west as far as the Jaffa Gate. Later on, however, Raymond moved a portion of his camp to that part of Mount Sion stretching south of the modern wall. But the only place where an attacking party could hope for success was on the north. Bohemond was not with the army. He cared less about taking the city than wreaking his vengeance upon the Greek emperor. Meantime, within the city was an army of forty thousand men. Provisions for a long siege had been conveyed into the town; the zeal of the defenders had been raised by the exhortations of the Imams; the walls were strengthened and the moats deepened. Communication and relief were possible from the east, where only scattered bands of the Christians barred the way.

Immediately before the arrival of the Crusaders, the Mohammedans deliberated whether they should slaughter all the Christians in cold blood, or only fine them and expel them from the city. It was decided to adopt the latter plan; and the Crusaders were greeted on their arrival not only by the flying squadrons of the enemy’s cavalry, but also by exiled Christians telling their piteous tales. Their houses had been pillaged, their wives kept as hostages; immense sums were required for their ransom; the churches were desecrated; and, even worse still, the Infidels were contemplating the entire destruction of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This last charge, at least, was not true. But it added fuel to a fire which was already beyond any control, and the chiefs gave a ready permission to their men to carry the town, if they could, by assault. They had neither ladders nor machines, but, covering themselves with their bucklers, rushed against the walls and tried to tear them down with pikes and hammers. Boiling oil and pitch, the best weapons for the besieged, were poured upon their heads, with huge stones and enormous beams. In spite of heavy losses, they managed to tear down and carry a portion of the outer wall, and the besieged retired to their inner works, which were impregnable, at least to hammers and pikes. One ladder, and only one, was found. Tancred, with his usual hardihood, was the first to place his foot on the ladder, but he was forcibly held back by his knights, who would not allow him to rush upon certain death. Two or three gained the wall, and were thrown from it dead. Night put an end to the fight, and the Christians, dejected and beaten back, retired to their camp. Heaven would work no miracles for them, and it was clear that the city must be taken according to the ordinary methods of warfare. Machines were necessary, but there was no wood. Chance threw into their possession a cavern, forgotten by the Saracens, filled with a store of timber, which went some way. There were still some beams in the houses and churches round Jerusalem not yet burned. All these were brought into the camp, but still there was not enough. Then a Syrian Christian bethought him of a wood six miles off, on the road to Samaria, whither he led the Crusaders. The trees were small, and not of the best kind, but such as they were they had to suffice, and all hands were employed in the construction of towers and engines of assault. They worked with the energy of men who have but one hope. For, in the midst of a Syrian summer, with a burning sun over their heads, they had no water. The nearest wells, except the intermittent spring of Siloam, were six or seven miles away. To bring the water into the camp, strong detachments were daily sent out; the country was scoured for miles in every direction for water; hundreds perished in casual encounters with the enemy, while wandering in search of wells; and the water, when it was procured, was often so muddy and impure that the very horses refused to drink it. As for those who worked in the camp, they dug up the ground and sucked the moist earth; they cut pieces of turf and laid them at their hearts to appease the devouring heat; in the morning they licked the dew from the grass; they abstained from eating till they were compelled by faintness; they drank the blood of their beasts. Never, not even in Antioch, not even in Phrygia, had their sufferings been so terrible, or so protracted. And, as the days went on, as the sun grew fiercer, the dews more scanty—as the miracle, still expected, delayed to come—some lay despairing in their tents, some worked on in a despairing energy, and some threw themselves down at the foot of the walls to die, or to be killed by the besieged, crying, “Fall, oh walls of Jerusalem, upon us! Sacred dust of the city, at least cover our bones!”

These trials were to have an end. In the midst of their greatest distress, the news came that a Genoese fleet had arrived off Joppa, loaded with munitions and provisions. A detachment of three hundred men was sent off at once to receive them. They fought their way to Joppa. Here they found that the Christian ships had been abandoned to a superior Egyptian fleet, but not till after all the stores and provisions had been landed. With the fleet was a large number of Genoese artificers and carpenters, whose arrival in the camp was almost as timely as that of the wine and food.

The hopes of the Crusaders, always as sanguine as they were easily dejected, revived again. This unexpected reinforcement—was it not a miracle? and might there not be others yet to follow? Gaston of Béarn superintended the construction of the machines. In the carriage of their timber, as they had no carts or wheels, they employed their Saracen prisoners. Putting fifty or sixty of them in line, they made them carry beams “which four oxen could not drag.” Raymond of Toulouse, who alone had not spent all he had brought with him, found the money to pay those few who were exempted from gratuitous service. A regular service for the carriage of water was organised, and some alleviation thus afforded to the sufferings caused by thirst.

Three great towers were made, higher than the walls. Each of these was divided into three stages; the lowest for the workmen, and the two higher for the soldiers. The front and sides exposed to the enemy were cased with plates of iron, or defended by wet hides; the back part was of wood. On the top was a sort of drawbridge, which could be lowered so as to afford a passage to the wall.

All being ready, it was determined to preface the attack by a processional march round the city. After a fast of three days and solemn services, the Crusaders solemnly went in procession, barefooted and bareheaded, round the city. They were preceded by their priests in white surplices, carrying the images of saints, and chanting psalms; their banners were displayed, the clarions blew. As the Israelites marched round Jericho, the Crusaders marched round Jerusalem, and doubtless many longing eyes, though more in doubt than in hope, were turned upon the walls to see if they, too, would fall. They did not. The besieged crowded upon them, holding crosses, which they insulted, and discharging their arrows at the procession. But the hearts of the rough soldiers were moved to the utmost, not by the taunts of their enemies, but by the sight of the sacred spots, and the memory of the things which had taken place there: there was Calvary; here Gethsemane, where Christ prayed and wept; here the place where He ascended; here the spot on which He stood while He wept over the city. They, too, could see it lying at their feet, with the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and the Great Mosque in the midst of the place where had been the Temple of the Lord. These places cried aloud to them for deliverance. Or, if they looked behind them, to the east, they saw the banks of the river across which Joshua had passed, and the Dead Sea which lay above the Cities of the Plain.

Arnold, chaplain to Duke Robert of Normandy—an eloquent man, but of dissolute morals—harangued them. His discourse had been preserved after the manner of historians; that is, we are told what he ought to have said; very likely, in substance, what he did say. God, he told them, would pardon them all sins in recompense for their recovery of the holy places. And he made the chiefs themselves, who had sinned by quarrelling and dissension, embrace in presence of the whole army, and thereby set the example of perfect union. Then they renewed, for the last time, their oaths of fidelity to the Cross. Peter the Hermit, who was with them, harangued them also. And in the evening the soldiers returned to the camp to confess their sins, to receive the Eucharist, and to spend the night in prayer.

Godfrey alone was active. He perceived that the Saracens had constructed on the wall opposite to the position of his great tower, works which would perhaps render it useless. He therefore took it down, and transported it, with very great labour, and in a single night, to a spot which he considered the weakest in the north wall. Here it was re-erected to the dismay of the besieged.

At break of day on Thursday, July 14th, 1099, the attack began. The towers were moved against the walls, the mangonels hurled their stones into the city, and the battering-rams were brought into play. All day long the attack was carried on, but to little effect, and at nightfall, when the Crusaders returned to their camp, the tower of Raymond was in ruins; those of Tancred and Godfrey were so damaged that they could not be moved; and the princes were seen beating their hands in despair, and crying that God had abandoned them. “Miserable men that we are!” cried Robert of Normandy; “God judges us unworthy to enter into the Holy City, and worship at the tomb of His Son.”

The next day was Friday, the day of the Crucifixion. At daybreak the battle began again. It went well for the Crusaders; the wall was broken in many places, and the besieged with all their endeavours could not set fire to the towers. In the middle of the day they brought out two magicians—witches, it is said, though one hardly believes it. They made their incantations on the walls, attended by their maidens.^[53] These were all destroyed at once by stones from the mangonels. But the day went on, and the final assault could not be delivered for the courage and ferocity of the Saracens. And then, the usual miracle happened. Godfrey and Raymond, shouting that heaven had come to their rescue, pointed to the Mount of Olives, where stood a man, “miles splendidus et refulgens,” one clothed in bright and glittering armour, waving his shield as a signal for the advance. Who could it be but Saint George himself? In the midst of a shower of arrows, Greek fire, and stones, the tower of Godfrey was pushed against the wall; the drawbridge fell; Godfrey himself was among the first to leap upon the wall. And then the rumour ran, that not only Saint George, but Bishop Adhémar—dead Bishop Adhémar himself—was in the ranks, and fighting against the Infidel. The supreme moment was arrived! A whisper went through the troops that it was now three o’clock; the time, as well as the day, when our Lord died, on the very spot where they were fighting. Even the women and children joined in the attack, and mingled their cries with the shouts of the soldiers. The Saracens gave way, and Jerusalem was taken.

The city was taken, and the massacre of its defenders began. The Christians ran through the streets, slaughtering as they went. At first they spared none, neither man, woman, nor child, putting all alike to the sword; but when resistance had ceased, and rage was partly appeased, they began to bethink them of pillage, and tortured those who remained alive to make them discover their gold. As for the Jews within the city, they had fled to their synagogue, which the Christians set on fire, and so burned them all. The chroniclers relate with savage joy, how the streets were encumbered with heads and mangled bodies, and how in the Haram Area, the sacred enclosure of the Temple, the knights rode in blood up to the knees of their horses. Here upwards of ten thousand were slaughtered, while the whole number of killed amounted, according to various estimates, to forty, seventy, and even a hundred thousand. An Arabic historian, not to be outdone in miracles by the Christians, reports that at the moment when the city fell, a sudden eclipse took place, and the stars appeared in the day. Fugitives brought the news to Damascus and Baghdad. It was then the month of Ramadan, but the general trouble was such that the very fast was neglected. No greater misfortune, except, perhaps, the loss of Mecca, could have happened to Islamism. The people went in masses to the mosques; the poets made their verses of lamentation: “We have mingled our blood with our tears. No refuge remains against the woes that overpower us.... How can ye close your eyes, children of Islam, in the midst of troubles which would rouse the deepest sleeper? Will the chiefs of the Arabs resign themselves to such evils? and will the warriors of Persia submit to such disgrace? Would to God, since they will not fight for their religion, that they would fight for the safety of their neighbours! And if they give up the rewards of heaven, will they not be induced to fight by the hope of booty?”^[54]

Evening fell, and the clamour ceased, for there were no more enemies to kill, save a few whose lives had been promised by Tancred. Then from their hiding-places in the city came out the Christians who still remained in it. They had but one thought, to seek out and welcome Peter the Hermit, whom they proclaimed as their liberator. At the sight of these Christians, a sudden revulsion of feeling seized the soldiers. They remembered that the city they had taken was the city of the Lord, and this impulsive soldiery, sheathing swords reeking with blood, followed Godfrey to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where they passed the night in tears, and prayers, and services.

In the morning the carnage began again. Those who had escaped the first fury were the women and children. It was now resolved to spare none. Even the three hundred to whom Tancred had promised life were slaughtered in spite of him. Raymond alone managed to save the lives of those who capitulated to him from the tower of David. It took a week to kill the Saracens, and to take away their dead bodies. Every Crusader had a right to the first house he took possession of, and the city found itself absolutely cleared of its old inhabitants, and in the hands of a new population. The true Cross, which had been hidden by the Christians during the siege, was brought forth again, and carried in joyful procession round the city, and for ten days the soldiers gave themselves up to murder, plunder—and prayers!

And the First Crusade was finished.