THE

YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE.

VOL. XIV.

NOVEMBER, 1848.

No. 1.

THE TAKING OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE.

Or the foes with whom the zealous Crusaders had to contend, the chief, and those alone worthy of mention, were the devoted followers of that preposterous but powerful religion, Mohammedanism. They had long held supreme control in the East, and the Holy City, Jerusalem itself, was in their power; and trusting in their strength, they challenged all Christendom, by persecuting, abusing, and insulting the pious pilgrims and palmers who came from distant lands to visit the Holy Sepulchre and other sacred places where once had been the meek and lowly Jesus. But this was not long to be. The haughty Moslems were bringing a dire punishment upon themselves; for those pilgrims who survived to reach their native lands, spread such sad reports of the cruelty and oppression of the insolent Turks, that there arose a feeling of deep-seated hatred and burning indignation against them throughout all Christian Europe.

Thus was the public mind prepared for the Crusades. And now was only needed the hand to fire the train already arranged. At length came Peter the Hermit, whom Gibbon calls "the accomplished fanatic," a man of forbidding aspect, but possessed of a gigantic genius, and of wondrous mental power; who had himself suffered insult and injury from the Turks, and was filled with the deepest hatred of them, and the most fervent zeal for the Christian faith. He first supplicated the pious Pope Urban Second to arouse the Western Kings to the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre from its impious possessors. Unsuccessful in this, he himself went throughout Europe, and by his burning eloquence and impassioned addresses roused the people of all Christian nations to buckle on their armor in defence of their holy religion. The standard of the cross was raised, and forthwith thousands and tens of thousands rallied around it, pledging themselves to protect it or die.

An army was soon organized and equipped, which contained the flower of European chivalry, while it startled the world by its immensity. Seven hundred thousand men, from every rank in life, marched forth to do battle in a glorious and holy cause, most of whom

were about to whiten with their bones the sandy and barren plains of Palestine and Arabia. This vast army was commanded by Godfrey de Bouillon, as noble, high-souled, and pious a Knight, as ever wore with honor his golden spurs. Under him were other illustrious and noble-born leaders, second only to him in valor and renown. Forth marched the mighty host, and the earth shook beneath the measured tread of the infantry and cavalry, all glittering with gold and gorgeous with the panoply of war.

The great wave of Christian warriors rolled on, bearing all before it. Victory attended their powerful arms, and, one after the other, Nice, Tarsus, Antioch, Edessa, and other cities, surrendered to them, though dearly were their conquests bought, for the pure life blood of thousands freely flowed, and the ground was strewn with the bones of illustrious dead.

At length the Holy City was reached; but of the seven hundred thousand warriors who had set out joyously from the broad fields of Europe, there remained but twenty-two thousand men fit for service. Contrary to their expectations, the country about Jerusalem was found barren and devoid of water, and to add to their dangers, there were sixty thousand armed men within the walls of the city. Still those high-minded and devoted warriors, each one a host in himself, weil assured of the justice and righteousness of the sacred cause, were not at all daunted by these fearful and unexpected difficulties; their ardor was undiminished, their courage was increased, and when they first saw the spires, the mosques and minarets of the Holy City, glittering in the rays of the sun, such a shout rose from the whole line of march, as startled the heavens themselves, and sent terror into the hearts of their enemies.

On the 9th of June, 1099, the Christian army encamped before the walls of the city, and the siege was regularly commenced. The Moslems having burned all the timber about the city, there were no materials for building battering rams and moveable towers, and for five days the siege progressed but slowly; at last, on the fifth day, the Christians, led on by the valiant Godfrey, made a furious assault. Amid showers of opposing weapons, the courageous Knights and Squires rushed to the attack; the famous war-cry, " Deus vult !"—" God wills it!" rose above the clangor of battle, and the noble soldiers of the cross burst through the first barriers and attempted to scale the walls. But here most grievously was felt the want of proper engines of war. Unable to proceed farther without these aids, the valiant warriors, despite their supernatural efforts to press on to victory, despite their inspiriting war-cry, which rose on every lip, were compelled to retreat to their camps, and mourn over the shame which had dimmed for a time the glorious banner of the cross, and over the companions who had fallen, fighting bravely for the holy cause.

And now there was a short season of anguish and suffering, and of agony unutterable. Starvation, with all its horrors, began to stare the little army in the face; and with it came the direful pangs of a thirst which could not be quenched. In vain they searched throughout all

the deep and rocky ravines which traversed the country, for those gushing springs of water that could appease their intolerable thirst; at length, in despair, they dug deep pits, and pressed to their parched lips and swollen, cracked tongues, the cold, damp clods of earth. Yet all these terrible sufferings they bore nobly, feeling confident that ultimate success awaited them.

Day after day rolled by; dangers and difficulties gathered about the Christian army, until it seemed fated to meet with destruction; but in the meanwhile, through the great efforts of Count Godfrey, and of Raymond of Toulouse, his brave companion in arms, timbers had been procured, with infinite labor, from a distance, and by the aid of some Genoese mariners, two huge moveable towers were constructed, with draw-bridges to stretch from their tops to the battlements. These they rolled nigh unto the walls of the besieged city; and on the morning of July 15th, when the rising sun scattered his golden rays over the wide-spread earth, the astonished Moslems beheld these mighty engines, filled with chosen warriors, fierce for the conflict, and eager to take vengeance upon their cruel foes. The noble Godfrey, taking his post as an archer, commanded one tower, and the brave Raymond the other, both determined to do desperate deeds of valor, to conquer or die for their religion and their honor.

Soon the battle commenced, and long was the result doubtful. Darts and arrows, and missiles of every sort, darkened the air, while ever and anon a burning brand marked its course by a line of fire; and above all the clash of arms, were heard the terrible battle cries. At length fortune appeared to favor the sacrilegious Moslems, for Raymond's tower took fire and was burned to ashes. The Turks sent up an exulting shout, and for a time the Christian cause seemed lost. Still Godfrey's tower remained firm and unharmed, and still the battle raged more fiercely than before. "But at the hour," says an ancient chronicler, "when the Saviour of the world gave up the ghost, a warrior named Letolde, who fought in Godfrey's tower, leaped the first upon the ramparts. He was followed by Guicher-the Guicher who had vanquished a lion; Godfrey was the third, and all the other Knights rushed after their chief. Throwing aside their bows and arrows, they now drew their swords, at sight of which the enemy abandoned the walls and ran down into the city, whither the soldiers of Christ, with loud shouts, pursued them."

And now the warriors, flushed with victory and maddened by the thought of the cruel sufferings they had endured, made indiscriminate slaughter. To none was quarter given; no respect was paid to age, condition, or sex, but all alike were slain; shrieks, groans, and heartrending cries, formed the horrible music that greeted the conquerors; the streets flowed with blood, and dead bodies blocked up the way. The scene was terrible; at last, the victors having taken sufficient vengeance, and being struck with horror at the devastation they themselves had caused, sheathed their blood-stained swords, and desisted from farther slaughter. Thus alone was sullied the victory so bravely

won.

The city conquered, the religious feelings of the warriors again resumed their sway, soothing and repressing their fierce passions; and in solemn procession they marched, with pious looks and altered demeanor, to the Holy Sepulchre. Kneeling on the hallowed ground, all bowed their heads in awe and reverence; a deep silence fell upon the multitude; no sound, not even a whispered prayer, disturbed the solemn stillness; when suddenly a strain of sweet, soft music broke in upon the profound quiet; and then the sublime Te Deum, rendered doubly impressive by the time and place, was chaunted by a thousand voices; and while the swelling tones ascended to heaven, there arose with them, as grateful incense, the heartfelt praises and repentant cries of the pious Crusaders.

Thus was conquered the Holy City; thus, in one day, were the valiant Knights and bold warriors rewarded for their long continued sufferings and marvelous labors; for the same sun whose morning rays gilded the crescents of the Moslems most gorgeously, cast his last smiling glances upon the sacred banner of the cross, as it waved proudly over the battlements of the redeemed city.

SKETCHES OF VACATION.

"La jeunesse est une ivresse continuelle: c'est la fièvre de la raison."-Reflexions Morales. ROCHEFOUCALD.

"THERE'S a famous fabled country," so runs the song, far away to

wards the rising sun, greatly renowned as the abode of the fast disappearing spirit of original yankeeism. Partaking somewhat of the nature of fairy-land, it is best contemplated at a distance. Any attempt at approach only causes it to recede, and like the spectre-creation of Frankenstein, it mocks its pursuer with the tantalizing hope of reaching it, until it draws him into a strange country, strangely inhabited. Reader, have you ever, when animated by a roving spirit, attempted to explore the terra incognita that lies away down east? If not, rest assured you have lost much that would have arrested your attention, excited your curiosity, and delighted your imagination. You would have found perhaps upon the borders of that shadowy land--a healthful climate, a curious, yet kind people, wild and beautiful rivers, lakes broad and deep, sleeping amid lofty and picturesque mountains; and you might easily have fancied that at times you stood beneath the shade of the primitive forest, where the wildness of nature was its beauty and glory.

Well, then, reader, taking it for granted that you are as yet a stranger to this wonderful land, and hoping also that you are one of that class of honest dreamers who are willing to abstract themselves at times from the realities of the Present, for a quiet ramble into that happy land lighted by the "moonlight of memory," let me ask of you to follow me a little while, as I endeavor to place before you a few

sketches of life, drawn from among the woods and lakes, far, far away towards the borders of that undiscovered country I have already mentioned.

By a reference to any common school map of the Eastern States, it will be seen that around the source of the Androscoggin river, forming it indeed, cluster quite a number of small lakes-small when compared with those inland western seas, but still of sufficient magnitude to claim designation upon every ordinary map. Three of these, the infliction of whose hard Indian names shall be spared you, reader, at present, form the scene of my narrative, or whatever you may choose to call it. Situated near the State line between Maine and New Hampshire, they are surrounded by the dense forests of the one and the granite hills of the other. The heart of the American, as he wanders among them, will throb with deep emotion, viewing here, as he may, a varied magnificence of scenery that no country in the world can surpass. Hardly a single point can be taken in any of them, but that the wildest and most glowing forms of natural beauty meet the eye. Every variety of landscape, tinted with a thousand hues, surrounds the beholder; while light and color, shadow and sunlight, seemed poured upon those deep solitudes in richness and glory.

It is a mistaken, although commonly received idea, that the scenery of the northeastern part of New England is of a desolate, solitary character; its northern climate and the intense cold of its winters combine to give this impression. We readily associate whatever in the natural world is full of loveliness, with the warm and genial character of a southern climate; all the while forgetful that Nature, when she discloses herself amid the beauties of the North, is wont to free herself from all glaring and fantastic coloring, that she may gain homage to her chaste and severer beauties.

The traveler, in the country I am attempting to describe, will, during the summer months, be exceedingly delighted with the many unthoughtof beauties that are constantly meeting his gaze. The scenery is in itself exceedingly diversified; while at one time it would seem as if he was wandering among mountains that appear to usurp the whole face of the country; but a short lapse of time may present to him the sight of some dashing river, whose banks for miles exhibit portions of rich and fertile country, level as the western prairie, and blooming with every description of flower and fruit. These 'intervals,' as they are termed by the settlers, present striking contrasts to the bold rough hills by which they are skirted; and hardly a more beautiful picture could be described, than that which meets the eye, when from some elevated position it traces their various windings through the hills, catching here and there glimpses of them, sufficient to tell their direction, by the flashing of the waters borne in their midst.

The landscape is also relieved by the almost constant succession of lakes, varying in size and the character of scenery, which seem thrown in to fill out the parts of a perfect whole. And then, too, the forest, upon which the constant activity of the lumber-men seems to have made no impression, richly colored with every variety of foliage, now