Fourteen vessels were sufficient to convey his forces. Each was fitted with an altar for hourly service during the voyage. They raised anchor in the port of Sidon, April 24, 1254. Off Cyprus the king’s ships were nearly wrecked, but the courage of the sailors was revived by his words, if the sea did not subside at his prayer, as some say it did. A frightful tempest seems to have felt the spell of Queen Marguerite’s vow of a silver ship to St. Nicholas of Lorraine. After two months and a half (July 8th) the fleet reached Hyères. The king at first refused to land, as this place was not yet a French possession; but he was persuaded to yield his patriotic prejudice on account of his disgust for the water. His piety also triumphed over his worldly chagrin, for, “See,” said he, “if God has not proved to us how vast is His power, when by means of a single one of the four winds the King of France, the queen, their children, and so many other persons have escaped drowning.” After a journey of two months more, not a long one for the best mounted in that age, the royal party reached Paris, September 7, 1254. The king at once repaired to St. Denis to recognize the protection of his patron saint. Then, with universal welcome, he entered his capital. The popular enthusiasm was not altogether of joy as the people contrasted the little band of lords and knights returning to their wasted estates with the splendid retinue that six years before had gone forth to conquer a new empire for France and Christ. But one thing comforted them as they contemplated the disaster—the piety of their monarch. This was the more marked as the age had lost much of its religious zest. This crusade was very unlike the first in that it was sustained by the new spirit of Chivalry rather than of mere sanctity. Cross-wearing was no longer thought to be necessarily the emblazoning of Heaven. The haughtiness, the worldliness, not to say the wickedness, of the popes, who should have been its spiritual leaders, but who were engrossed in the gratification of their own jealousies, almost lost the church the respect of the nations. The beauty of Louis’s devotion, its unselfishness and spirituality, somewhat redeemed the character of the movement upon which Christ Himself seemed to frown through His adverse providence. THE EIGHTH CRUSADE. CHAPTER XLIV. DEATH OF ST. LOUIS—FALL OF ACRE. For sixteen years the crusading impulse seemed dead, under the general belief in the hopelessness of further efforts. The songs of the Troubadours even were turned to lamentations, and were burdened with the refrain that Christ had fallen asleep and no longer regarded His people. In the meanwhile there was rising in the East the new power of the Mamelukes, which was destined to accomplish the fears of Christendom.