Today in History: Peasant Crusaders Defeat Islamic Terrorists and Forge the Noon Bell Tradition
Today in history, the West achieved one of its most resounding victories over the forces of jihad — a triumph so monumental that it inaugurated the tradition of ringing church bells at noon. This practice still endures, even if its meaning has faded from memory.
Three years after his brutal conquest of Constantinople in 1453, the Ottoman sultan Muhammad II — the infamous “Conqueror” — marched westward with more than 100,000 Turks. His target was the strategic fortress town of Belgrade, gateway to Hungary and sentinel of Europe. If it fell, the heartlands of the West would lie exposed to the tide of Islamic conquest.
The memory of Constantinople’s horrific sack was still raw, its churches defiled, its faithful slaughtered or enslaved. As the Muslim horde advanced, a wave of panic swept across the Danube. Even King Ladislaus V of Hungary, gripped by fear, fled to Vienna on the sorry pretext that he was going “hunting.”
But one man refused to flee, standing tall while kings quailed: John Hunyadi, the indomitable voivode of Transylvania and scourge of the Turks, turned east, racing to Belgrade’s defense.
The Grassroots Rise Up
At his own expense, Hunyadi garrisoned the city with 6,000 hardened veterans. He pleaded with Hungary’s nobles for aid; most, as usual, failed to deliver and either followed their king’s lead by fleeing or holing themselves up in their fortresses.
But providence raised another champion. From the south came John of Capistrano, a 70-year-old Franciscan friar ablaze with holy fervour. With “burning zeal, soul-piercing eloquence, and heroic austerities,” he roamed Hungary, calling upon the people to rise for Christendom. And rise they did: blacksmiths, farmers, tailors — tens of thousands of simple folk who took the Cross and rallied to his banner, forming a ragtag crusader army of 40,000.
The world was inverted. “Where is the French king,” asked one contemporary, “who calls himself the Christian king? Where are the kings of England, Denmark, Norway, Sweden…? Unarmed peasants, blacksmiths, and tradesmen are marching to war while crowned heads cower.”
At his own expense, Hunyadi garrisoned the city with 6,000 hardened veterans. He pleaded with Hungary’s nobles for aid; most, as usual, failed to deliver and either followed their king’s lead by fleeing or holing themselves up in their fortresses.
But providence raised another champion. From the south came John of Capistrano, a 70-year-old Franciscan friar ablaze with holy fervour. With “burning zeal, soul-piercing eloquence, and heroic austerities,” he roamed Hungary, calling upon the people to rise for Christendom. And rise they did: blacksmiths, farmers, tailors — tens of thousands of simple folk who took the Cross and rallied to his banner, forming a ragtag crusader army of 40,000.
The world was inverted. “Where is the French king,” asked one contemporary, “who calls himself the Christian king? Where are the kings of England, Denmark, Norway, Sweden…? Unarmed peasants, blacksmiths, and tradesmen are marching to war while crowned heads cower.”
Surrounded
By late June, the vast Ottoman host had reached and surrounded Belgrade. If it fell, the floodgates of Asia would swing wide open.
On July 4, the siege began in earnest. Ottoman cannons roared with apocalyptic fury; their thunder echoed for a hundred miles. For 12 days, fire and iron battered the fortress until its walls were cratered and breached.
But then, like a sudden squall from Heaven, Hunyadi’s army arrived. Floating down the Danube on makeshift warships, he was joined on land by Capistrano’s throng of peasant crusaders. When the Muslim galleons, chained together in arrogant defiance, saw the Christian flotilla approaching, they scoffed.
Then the Christians gave the battle-cry — “Jesus! Jesus!” — and hurled themselves at the enemy line.
The river boiled with blood as Christians and Muslims clashed in a five-hour battle. The Ottoman chains, meant to block the Danube, burst under pressure. Hunyadi’s fleet smashed through and reached the city, reinforcing Belgrade just as it was on the brink of collapse.
But this was only the beginning.
By late June, the vast Ottoman host had reached and surrounded Belgrade. If it fell, the floodgates of Asia would swing wide open.
On July 4, the siege began in earnest. Ottoman cannons roared with apocalyptic fury; their thunder echoed for a hundred miles. For 12 days, fire and iron battered the fortress until its walls were cratered and breached.
But then, like a sudden squall from Heaven, Hunyadi’s army arrived. Floating down the Danube on makeshift warships, he was joined on land by Capistrano’s throng of peasant crusaders. When the Muslim galleons, chained together in arrogant defiance, saw the Christian flotilla approaching, they scoffed.
Then the Christians gave the battle-cry — “Jesus! Jesus!” — and hurled themselves at the enemy line.
The river boiled with blood as Christians and Muslims clashed in a five-hour battle. The Ottoman chains, meant to block the Danube, burst under pressure. Hunyadi’s fleet smashed through and reached the city, reinforcing Belgrade just as it was on the brink of collapse.
But this was only the beginning.
A Trap
That same day, Ottoman cannons resumed their barrage, vomiting fire and stone, shaking the city to its very foundations. For another week, the relentless pounding continued, until Belgrade’s defences were reduced to rubble.
Then, before dawn on July 21, the final assault began. For miles around, the drumbeat of jihad pounded through the morning mist. Thousands of Muslim warriors surged forward with cries of “Allahu akbar!”
They poured into the breaches, confident of victory. But Hunyadi was waiting.
As the enemy swarmed between the outer wall and the citadel, the Christians struck. Horns blared; gates burst open. Hunyadi and his warriors charged into the invaders like thunderbolts, while Capistrano’s crusaders — hidden on the walls — fell upon the Turks like eagles from above.
Trapped between hammer and anvil, the invaders fought like wolves — but the Christians fought like men possessed. One eyewitness wrote:
A terrible struggle ensued. The Turks, though taken at an advantage, were as ten to one and armed to the teeth, whilst most of their antagonists were scarcely armed at all. A hand-to-hand melee went on in every street, but the fight was fiercest on the narrow bridge leading from the citadel to the town, where Hunyadi commanded in person.
The battle raged through the day and into the night. The Christians, vastly outnumbered, held firm. Hunyadi fought among his men like a common soldier, cutting down foes with his own blade.
As dawn neared on July 22, the situation grew desperate. Exhausted, bloodied, and nearly spent, the defenders fell back toward the citadel. Above them, the 70-year-old Capistrano stood on a watchtower, brandishing the Cross and crying to Heaven.
Then came the fire.
Burning Flesh
From the ramparts, the defenders hurled every burning substance they could find — wood, pitch, sulphur — onto the Muslims clustered in the ditches and scaling the walls. Flames engulfed man and machine alike. The screams of the dying filled the air … and then, silence.
As the smoke lifted and the sun climbed over the horizon, the full horror was revealed. The field was a sea of blackened corpses, charred beyond recognition.
[T]he ditches and the whole space between the outer walls and the citadel were filled with their scorched and bleeding corpses. Thousands of them had perished there. The janissaries in particular had suffered so terribly that the survivors of them were thoroughly cowed, while the sultan’s bodyguard, which had led the attack, was well-nigh annihilated. So, after a twenty-hour combat, the Christian host was able to breathe freely once more.
And yet, in terms of actual casualties, this was but a scratch to the gargantuan Ottoman army that still surrounded Belgrade. Another assault was expected; and Hunyadi ordered everyone to remain at his post on pain of death — “lest,” he warned, “the glory of the day be turned into confusion.”
But Providence intervened.
The Final Stroke
On the afternoon of July 22, a minor skirmish broke out between the Crusaders and Turkish troops. Suddenly, the crusaders surged out of the gates, dragging the battle to the enemy camp. Hunyadi, realising the moment had come, joined them with his full force.
The entire Christian army was now fighting outside the walls.
Even Sultan Muhammad entered the fray. But by then, his men — once so sure of an easy conquest — were stunned, demoralised, and broken. When the Christians captured several Ottoman cannons and turned them on the Turks, panic erupted.
Thousands of Turks — beaten, burned, and bloodied—broke ranks and fled. Muhammad himself had to be carried from the field, “foaming at the mouth with impotent rage,” as some 50,000 of his men lay dead before the ruined gates of Belgrade.
In celebration of this miraculous deliverance, Pope Calixtus III decreed that church bells should ring at noon throughout Christendom to commemorate the moment when a battered Christian army, outnumbered and outgunned, drove back the forces of Islam.
That tradition continues today — even in many Protestant churches — though few, including Catholics, know its origin.
Fewer still remember what it once meant: that when all seemed lost, when kings fled and towers crumbled, the unwavering faith of humble peasants — and the power of the Cross they bore — held fast and triumphed against the storm.
This article was excerpted from Ibrahim’s book, Defenders of the West: The Christian Heroes Who Stood against Islam, which includes a full chapter on John Hunyadi.
That same day, Ottoman cannons resumed their barrage, vomiting fire and stone, shaking the city to its very foundations. For another week, the relentless pounding continued, until Belgrade’s defences were reduced to rubble.
Then, before dawn on July 21, the final assault began. For miles around, the drumbeat of jihad pounded through the morning mist. Thousands of Muslim warriors surged forward with cries of “Allahu akbar!”
They poured into the breaches, confident of victory. But Hunyadi was waiting.
As the enemy swarmed between the outer wall and the citadel, the Christians struck. Horns blared; gates burst open. Hunyadi and his warriors charged into the invaders like thunderbolts, while Capistrano’s crusaders — hidden on the walls — fell upon the Turks like eagles from above.
Trapped between hammer and anvil, the invaders fought like wolves — but the Christians fought like men possessed. One eyewitness wrote:
A terrible struggle ensued. The Turks, though taken at an advantage, were as ten to one and armed to the teeth, whilst most of their antagonists were scarcely armed at all. A hand-to-hand melee went on in every street, but the fight was fiercest on the narrow bridge leading from the citadel to the town, where Hunyadi commanded in person.
The battle raged through the day and into the night. The Christians, vastly outnumbered, held firm. Hunyadi fought among his men like a common soldier, cutting down foes with his own blade.
As dawn neared on July 22, the situation grew desperate. Exhausted, bloodied, and nearly spent, the defenders fell back toward the citadel. Above them, the 70-year-old Capistrano stood on a watchtower, brandishing the Cross and crying to Heaven.
Then came the fire.
Burning Flesh
From the ramparts, the defenders hurled every burning substance they could find — wood, pitch, sulphur — onto the Muslims clustered in the ditches and scaling the walls. Flames engulfed man and machine alike. The screams of the dying filled the air … and then, silence.
As the smoke lifted and the sun climbed over the horizon, the full horror was revealed. The field was a sea of blackened corpses, charred beyond recognition.
[T]he ditches and the whole space between the outer walls and the citadel were filled with their scorched and bleeding corpses. Thousands of them had perished there. The janissaries in particular had suffered so terribly that the survivors of them were thoroughly cowed, while the sultan’s bodyguard, which had led the attack, was well-nigh annihilated. So, after a twenty-hour combat, the Christian host was able to breathe freely once more.
And yet, in terms of actual casualties, this was but a scratch to the gargantuan Ottoman army that still surrounded Belgrade. Another assault was expected; and Hunyadi ordered everyone to remain at his post on pain of death — “lest,” he warned, “the glory of the day be turned into confusion.”
But Providence intervened.
The Final Stroke
On the afternoon of July 22, a minor skirmish broke out between the Crusaders and Turkish troops. Suddenly, the crusaders surged out of the gates, dragging the battle to the enemy camp. Hunyadi, realising the moment had come, joined them with his full force.
The entire Christian army was now fighting outside the walls.
Even Sultan Muhammad entered the fray. But by then, his men — once so sure of an easy conquest — were stunned, demoralised, and broken. When the Christians captured several Ottoman cannons and turned them on the Turks, panic erupted.
Thousands of Turks — beaten, burned, and bloodied—broke ranks and fled. Muhammad himself had to be carried from the field, “foaming at the mouth with impotent rage,” as some 50,000 of his men lay dead before the ruined gates of Belgrade.
In celebration of this miraculous deliverance, Pope Calixtus III decreed that church bells should ring at noon throughout Christendom to commemorate the moment when a battered Christian army, outnumbered and outgunned, drove back the forces of Islam.
That tradition continues today — even in many Protestant churches — though few, including Catholics, know its origin.
Fewer still remember what it once meant: that when all seemed lost, when kings fled and towers crumbled, the unwavering faith of humble peasants — and the power of the Cross they bore — held fast and triumphed against the storm.
This article was excerpted from Ibrahim’s book, Defenders of the West: The Christian Heroes Who Stood against Islam, which includes a full chapter on John Hunyadi.
