The attack took place at upward of a hundred points until noon, or, according to Nicetas,[41] until evening. Both parties fought well. The invaders were repulsed. Those who had landed were driven back, and amid the shower of stones were unable to remain on shore. The invaders lost more than the defenders. Before night a portion of the vessels had retired out of range of the mangonels,[42] while another portion remained at anchor and continued to keep up a continual fire against those on the walls. The first day's attack had failed.
The leaders of both crusaders and Venetians withdrew their forces to the Galata side. The assault had failed, and it became necessary at once to determine upon their next step. The same evening a parliament was hastily called together. Some advised that the next attack should be made on the walls on the Marmora side, which were not so strong as those facing the Golden Horn. The Venetians, however, immediately took an exception, which everyone who knew Constantinople would at once recognize as unanswerable. On that side the current is always much too strong to allow vessels to be anchored with any amount of steadiness or even safety. There were some present who would have been very well content that the current or a wind—no matter what—should have dispersed the vessels, provided that they themselves could have left the country and have gone on their way.
It was at length decided that the two following days, the 10th and 11th, should be devoted to repairing their damages, and that a second assault should be delivered on the 12th. The previous day was a Sunday, and Boniface and Dandolo made use of it to appease the discontent in the rank and file of the army. The bishops and abbots were set to work to preach against the Greeks. They urged that the war was just; that the Greeks had been disobedient to Rome, and had perversely been guilty of schism in refusing to recognize the supremacy of the Pope, and that Innocent himself desired the union of the two churches. They saw in the defeat the vengeance of God on account of the sins of the crusaders. The loose women were ordered out of the camp, and, for better security, were shipped and sent far away. Confession and communion were enjoined, and, in short, all that the clergy could do was done to prove that the cause was just, to quiet the discontented, and to occupy them until the attack next day.
The warriors had in the mean time been industriously repairing their ships and their machines of war. A slight, but not unimportant, change of tactics had been suggested by the assault on the 9th. Each transport had been assigned to a separate tower. The number of men who could fight from the gangways or platforms thrown out from the tops had been found insufficient to hold their own against the defenders. The modified plan was, therefore, to lash together, opposite each tower to be attacked, two ships, containing gangways to be thrown out from their tops, and thus concentrate a greater force against each tower. Probably, also, the line of attack was considerably shorter than at the first assault.
On Monday morning, the 12th, the assault was renewed. The tent of the Emperor[43] had been pitched near the monastery of Pantepoptis,[44] one of many which were in the district of the Petrion, extending along the Golden Horn from the palace of Blachern, about one-fourth of its length. From this position he could see all the movements of the fleet. The walls were covered with men who were ready again to fight under the eye of their Emperor. The assault commenced at dawn, and continued with the utmost fierceness. Every available crusader and Venetian took part in it. Each little group of ships had its own special portion of the walls, with its towers, to attack. The besiegers during the first portion of the day made little progress, but a strong north wind sprang up, which enabled the vessels to get nearer the land than they had previously been. Two of the transports, the Pilgrim and the Parvis, lashed together, succeeded in throwing one of their gangways across to a tower in the Petrion, and opposite the position occupied by the Emperor.
A Venetian, and a French knight, André d'Urboise, immediately rushed across and obtained a foothold. They were at once followed by others, who fought so well that the defenders of the tower were either killed or fled. The example gave new courage to the invaders. The knights who were in the huissiers, as soon as they saw what had been done, leaped on shore, placed their ladders against the wall, and shortly captured four towers. Those on board the fleet concentrated their efforts on the gates, broke in three of them, and entered the city, while others landed their horses from the huissiers. As soon as a company of knights was formed, they entered the city through one of these gates, and charged for the Emperor's camp. Mourtzouphlos[45] had drawn up his troops before his tents, but they were unused to contend with men in heavy armor, and after a fairly obstinate resistance the imperial troops fled. The Emperor, says Nicetas—who is certainly not inclined to unduly praise the Emperor, who had deprived him of his post of grand logothete—did his best to rally his troops, but all in vain, and he had to retreat toward the palace of the Lion's Mouth. The number of the wounded and dead was sans fin et sans mesure.
An indiscriminate slaughter commenced. The invaders spared neither age nor sex. In order to render themselves safe they set fire to the city lying to the east of them, and burned everything between the monastery of Everyetis and the quarter known as Droungarios.[46] So extensive was the fire, which burned all night and until the next evening, that, according to the marshal, more houses were destroyed than there were in the three largest cities in France. The tents of the Emperor and the imperial palace of Blachern were pillaged, the conquerors making their head-quarters on the same site at Pantepoptis. It was evening, and already late, when the crusaders had entered the city, and it was impossible for them to continue their work of destruction through the night. They therefore encamped near the walls and towers which they had captured. Baldwin of Flanders spent the night in the vermilion tent of the Emperor, his brother Henry in front of the palace of Blachern, Boniface, the Marquis of Montferrat, on the other side of the imperial tents in the heart of the city.
The city was already taken. The inhabitants were at length awakened out of the dream of security into which seventeen unsuccessful attempts to capture the New Rome[47] had lulled them. Every charm, pagan and Christian, had been without avail. The easy sloth into which the possession of innumerable relics, and the consciousness of being under the protection of an army of saints and martyrs, had plunged a large part of the inhabitants, had been rudely dispelled. The Panhagia of the Blachern, with its relic of the Virgin's robe, the host of heads, arms, bodies, and vestments of saints and of portions of the holy Cross, had been of no more use than the palladium which lay buried then, as now, under the great column which Constantine had built. The rough energy of the Westerns had disregarded the talismans of the Greek Church as completely as those of paganism. In vain had the believers in these charms destroyed during the siege the statues which were believed to be of ill omen or unlucky. The invaders had a superstition as deep as their own, but with the difference that they could not believe that a people in schism could have the protection of the hierarchy of heaven, or be regarded as the rightful possessors of so many relics.
During the night following its capture the Golden Gate, which was at the Marmora side of the landward walls, had been opened, and already an affrighted crowd was pressing forward to make its escape from the captured city. Others were doing their best to bury their treasures. The Emperor himself, either seized with panic or finding that all was lost—as, indeed, everything was lost so soon as the army had succeeded in obtaining a foothold within the walls—fled from the city, He, too, escaped by the Golden Gate, taking with him Euphrosyne, the widow of Alexis. The brave Theodore Lascaris determined, however, to make one more attempt. His appeal to the people was useless. Those who were not panic-stricken appear to have been indifferent. Some, at least, were apparently still dreaming of a mere change of rulers, like those of which the majority of them had seen several. But before any attempt at reorganization could be made the enemy was in sight, and Theodore himself had to fly.
The crusaders had expected another day's fighting, and knew nothing of the flight of Mourtzouphlos. To their surprise they encountered no resistance. The day was occupied in taking possession of their conquest. The Byzantine troops laid down their arms on receiving assurances of personal safety. The Italians who had been expelled took advantage of the entry of their friends and appear to have retaliated upon the population for their expulsion. Two thousand of the inhabitants, says Gunther, were killed, and mostly by these returned Italians. As the victorious crusaders passed through the streets, women, old men, and children, who had been unable to flee, met them, and, placing one finger over another so as to make the sign of the cross, hailed the Marquis of Montferrat as king, while a hastily gathered procession, with the cross and the sacred emblems of Christ, greeted him in triumph.