Dandolo realized that there was no security for his schemes with such a host, except by their quick accomplishment. May 23d the harbor of Corfu witnessed a repetition of the gala-scene when the fleet left Venice. Far as the eye could reach the sea was colored with the sails of the invaders of a Christian empire in the name of Christ. The inhabitants of the islands touched by the voyagers, impressed with the martial might thus displayed, threw off their allegiance to the reigning Alexius and waved their banners for Alexius the Young. The natural beauties of the Ægean, the riches of the islands, the acquiescence of the people, and the abundant gifts from fields and vineyards that loaded the vessels filled all hearts with enthusiasm. By the shores of ancient Troy, up through the Dardanelles, where they lingered a week to ravage the harvest, and then over the wide Marmora they sped onward as if the very breezes articulated benedictions from Heaven. If conscience intruded, its mutterings were silenced with the thought, “After this, after Constantinople, when we shall have been sated with the spoil of the heretic, then for Jerusalem!” This mingled greed and piety burst into huzzas as they sailed by the beautiful villas which lined the western shores of the Marmora or watched the steadily enlarging roofs and gardens of Chalcedon and Scutari on the Asiatic side, until the domes and palaces of Constantinople, in multitude and massiveness beyond anything seen elsewhere in Europe, seemed to rise and welcome them.
But the mighty walls, which appeared to have been erected by Titans and rivalled the hills upon which the city sat, awakened a corresponding fear lest the glory they witnessed should prove beyond their possession. “Be sure,” says Villehardouin, “there was not a man who did not tremble, because never was so great an enterprise undertaken by so small a number of men.”
June 23d the fleet came to anchor off the Abbey of San Stefano, twelve miles below the city. Dandolo determined upon a reconnaissance in force which should also strike terror into the Greeks by its magnificent display. All the standards were spread to the breeze. The sides of the ships were sheathed in glowing shields. The warriors of the West stood on the deck, each one, says Nicetas, the Greek eye-witness, “as tall as his spear.” Thus they glided close under the walls of the city, upon which the inhabitants crowded to witness this picturesque prediction of their doom.
Having made a sufficiently valiant show, the fleet crossed the Bosporus and anchored in the harbor of Chalcedon. Here the army captured the harvests just gathered from the neighboring country, and pillaged Chalcedon, while the leaders occupied the palaces and gardens, upon which the emperor had just expended great wealth in making them the abode of his pleasure. The reigning Alexius deigned to send to his unwelcome guests a body of troopers, who were driven off with severe chastisement for their temerity. He then addressed them through Nicholas Roux, a Lombard retainer: “The emperor knows that you are the most puissant and noble of all those who do not wear the crown; but he is astonished at your invasion of a Christian state. It is said that you have come to deliver the Holy Land from the Infidel. The emperor applauds your zeal and begs to assist you. If you are needy he will provision your army if you will be gone. Do not think this generous offer prompted by any fear; with one word the emperor could gather about him innumerable hosts, disperse your fleet and armies, and forever close against you the routes to the East.”
Conan de Bethune made response for the Latins: “Go tell your master that the earth we tread upon does not belong to him, but is the heritage of the prince you see seated among us,” pointing to young Alexius. “A usurper is the enemy of all princes; a tyrant is the foe of mankind. Your master can escape the justice of God and men only by restoring his brother and nephew to the throne.”
Dandolo then tried the spirit of the people of Constantinople. A splendid galley bearing young Alexius moved close along the walls of the city. Boniface and the doge supported the prince on their arms, while a herald proclaimed, “Behold the heir of your throne!” This met with no response save the derisive shout, “Who is this Alexius?” But the defiance hurled by the Greeks from the safety of their walls was not the voice of universal courage. Nicetas tells us that “the Greek commanders were more timid than deer, and did not dare to resist men whom they called ‘exterminating angels, statues of bronze, which spread around terror and death.’”
The next day at Scutari the leaders, according to their custom, held council of war in the saddle in the presence of their waiting troops. An instant assault was determined upon. After due religious solemnities they embarked. The war-horses, heavily caparisoned for battle, with their knights in armor at their sides, were put upon huissiers, or flat-bottomed boats constructed with wide gangways across which a number could quickly dash from ship to shore. The rank and file were packed into larger vessels. The fighting galleys were trimmed for action, and each took in tow a huissier. Much depended upon the celerity of the crossing and the surprise of the Greeks, since the swift current of the Bosporus might quickly ingulf them in the terrible Greek fire if the combustible material should be spread upon the water. At sound of trumpet the Venetian rowers sprang to the oars; the narrow Bosporus suddenly foamed with the impact of hundreds of prows. No order was observed, except that the crossbowmen and archers led the van to drive the enemy from the landing-places. The ships struck the shore probably near the modern Tophana, north of the Golden Horn. The Greek soldiers could not withstand the showers of arrows that swept the open places, and precipitately fled. The knights leaped their horses into the water and prevented the enemy’s return to attack. Within an hour the open camp of the Greeks was in possession of the Latins. The harbor of the Golden Horn had been closed with a chain, behind which the Greek fleet lay in apparent immunity from attack by the Venetian galleys. The northern end of this chain was fastened within the strong tower of Galata. That fortress was quickly carried and the chain released, but not until the Venetian ship, the Eagle, with its tremendous ram armed with enormous shears of steel, had already severed it midway. The Latin galleys swept in, sinking or capturing the entire Greek fleet.
The marine defence of Constantinople, which might with ordinary foresight have been made resistless, was inconsiderable. The demoralization of the Greek service was pitiable. Admirals had sold the very sails for their own private gain. Useless masts had not been replaced, though the near forests abounded in timber; for the trees, as Nicetas tells us, were guarded by the eunuchs like groves of worship, but really as hunting-preserves for the pleasure of the court.
The victory of the Latin fleet left Galata their easy prey, and gave them a near basis from which to conduct operations against the city across the Golden Horn.