During the whole of the night the crusaders continued the massacre of their enemies; and Albert of Aix[362] declares, that the following morning they found they had slain many of their own countrymen by mistake. Such a fact is not difficult to conceive of a body of men wandering without guide through a hostile town, with the paths of which they were unacquainted. As ever follows the violent capture of a large city, the soldiery first satisfied themselves with bloodshed, and perhaps added some extra cruelties to gratify their fanaticism, and then betook themselves to plunder and debauchery; nevertheless, they committed not greater excesses than we have seen perpetrated in days not very distant from our own, by the troops of civilized nations, without the fiery stimulus of religious zeal for a palliation. I mean not to defend the cruelties of the crusaders, but I mean to say, that they were not extraordinary in that age, or in any age that has yet passed: God only knows what may be to come. The crusaders treated the infidels as the infidels had often treated the Christians; and as Christians, unhappily, have too often treated Christians like themselves. Their plunder was not at all of a more atrocious kind than that which attends every storm; and as to the hypocrisy[363] with which Mills charges them, that writer quite loses sight of the spirit of the age on which he writes, and metes men's actions by a standard that they never knew. The crusaders were _not_ hypocrites, they were merely fanatics; and in the relentless fury with which they pillaged, injured, and massacred the Turks, they thought they did God as good and pleasing service as in singing praises to him for the victory they had obtained. They were fearfully wrong in their principle, it is true, but still they acted upon principle, and therefore in this they were not hypocrites. Baghasian, the Turkish prince of Antioch,[364] fled with a part of his troops to the citadel, but finding that security could not long be found within the walls of the town, he escaped alone to the mountains, where he was waylaid by some Syrian Christians and slain. His head, with all the venerable marks of extreme age, was struck off by his slayers, and carried, with his rich sword-belt, into Antioch, where it proved an acceptable present to the rude victors. Though much spoil[365] of various kinds was found in Antioch, little that could satisfy the cravings of hunger had been left by the Turks. They, themselves closely blockaded, had been driven nearly to want; and the Christians soon began to suffer from the very precautions they had formerly taken against their enemies. In the first joy of their conquest, too, the little discipline that ever existed in a chivalrous host was completely relaxed, and before it could be sufficiently restored for necessary measures to be taken in order to procure supplies, famine was in the city, and the hosts of the Persian sultaun[366] encamped beneath the walls.