“‘Advance,’ shouted the prince.  ’Now to rescue the tomb of the holy Jesus from the impious Saracen!’

“That splendid array moved quickly on, in all the pomp and magnificence of chivalry.  Amid the fanfares of trumpets and clarions, the clashing of cymbals, and the shouts of thousands of spectators, they charged.  Peal upon peal came the ringing of steel, as sabres crashed down through morion and gorget, or sword crossed with scimitar, in unending clang.  Wherever rode the knight of the sable armor, the success of the Christians was signal and complete.  His dark plume was seen floating wherever the turbans were thickest, and the conflict hottest.  Right into the midst of the Moslem host did his impetuosity bear him, and the heathen throng swaying uncertainly for a moment, finally broke, and dispersed in universal flight, over the field.  I saw him fighting single-handed, with a band of Saracens, who had checked their headlong flight to attack him,—­and then the clouds of dust took him from my view.

“Just then, from amid the rabble-rout of infidels, there burst a small troop of Moorish horse.  Swiftly they flew across the plain, hoping by dint of hoof to reach the city unscathed.  Their silken mantles floated in the wind, as they spurred their horses to the top of their speed, and they preserved the finest order in their tumultuous flight.  Before they had proceeded above a quarter of a league in their headlong course, a knight in armor left the Christian ranks, and started in pursuit.  He was mounted upon a steed of blood and bone, and though the sand of the plain was hot and arid, and unfavorable in every respect for speed, yet his mettled horse bore him gallantly forward, and brought him nearer every instant to the foe.  On he flies-at every stride he gains-spurs and harness jingle like the iron upon the smith’s forge.  The sand rolls up in huge folds behind his horse’s heels-the polished steel flashes back the sunlight, as it penetrates the clouds of dust.  Nearer and nearer he approaches,—­madly plunged the horses of the Moslems as they strove vainly to reach the haven of safety-the walls of the holy city.  It is useless.  The knight has divined the object of their precipitate flight, as a stifled female shriek is borne to his ears, and nothing can exceed the impetuosity of his pursuit.

“‘Turn, cowards!  Deliver up to me the maiden!’

“On he thundered;-with a clang his sword leaped from the scabbard, and in an instant came crashing through a Moslem turban, and a Moslem skull-splitting them both in twain.  Then the Moors turned.  Sword strokes fell thick and fast, and nothing was heard but the clinking of iron, and nothing seen but the flashing of scimitars.  Straight into the middle of the troop penetrated the knight, where supported fainting upon a rearing steed, was a beautiful Moslem lady.

“‘Zelica, have courage!  I come to save you!’