ATTACK OF THE MARQUES OF CADIZ UPON GIBRALFARO.
The marques of Cadiz was not a cavalier that readily forgave an injury
or an insult. On the morning after the royal banquet his batteries
opened a tremendous fire upon Gibralfaro. All day the encampment was
wrapped in wreaths of smoke, nor did the assault cease with the day, but
throughout the night there was an incessant flashing and thundering of
the lombards, and the following morning the assault rather increased
than slackened in fury. The Moorish bulwarks were no proof against those
formidable engines. In a few days the lofty tower on which the taunting
banner had been displayed was shattered, a smaller tower in its vicinity
reduced to ruins, and a great breach made in the intervening walls.
Several of the hot-spirited cavaliers were eager for storming the breach
sword in hand; others, more cool and wary, pointed out the rashness of
such an attempt, for the Moors had worked indefatigably in the night;
they had digged a deep ditch within the breach, and had fortified it
with palisadoes and a high breastwork. All, however, agreed that the
camp might safely be advanced near to the ruined walls, and that it
ought to be done in return for the insolent defiance of the enemy.
The marques of Cadiz felt the temerity of the measure, but was unwilling
to dampen the zeal of these high-spirited cavaliers, and, having chosen
the post of danger in the camp, it did not become him to decline
any service merely because it might appear perilous. He ordered his
outposts, therefore, to be advanced within a stone’s-throw of the
breach, but exhorted the soldiers to maintain the utmost vigilance.
The thunder of the batteries had ceased; the troops, exhausted by two
nights’ fatigue and watchfulness, and apprehending no danger from the
dismantled walls, were half of them asleep; the rest were scattered
about in negligent security. On a sudden upward of two thousand Moors
sallied forth from the castle, led on by Ibrahim Zenete, the principal
captain under Hamet. They fell with fearful havoc upon the advanced
guard, slaying many of them in their sleep and putting the rest to
headlong flight.
The marques was in his tent, about a bow-shot distant, when he heard
the tumult of the onset and beheld his men dying in confusion. He
rushed forth, followed by his standard-bearer. “Turn again, cavaliers!”
exclaimed he; “I am here, Ponce de Leon! To the foe! to the foe!” The
flying troops stopped at hearing his well-known voice, rallied under
his banner, and turned upon the enemy. The encampment by this time was
roused; several cavaliers from the adjoining stations had hastened to
the scene of action, with a number of Galicians and soldiers of the Holy
Brotherhood. An obstinate and bloody contest ensued; the ruggedness of
the place, the rocks, chasms, and declivities broke it into numerous
combats: Christian and Moor fought hand to hand with swords and
daggers, and often, grappling and struggling, rolled together down the
precipices.
The banner of the marques was in danger of being taken: he hastened
to its rescue, followed by some of his bravest cavaliers. They were
surrounded by the enemy, and several of them cut down. Don Diego Ponce
de Leon, brother to the marques, was wounded by an arrow, and his
son-in-law, Luis Ponce, was likewise wounded: they succeeded, however,
in rescuing the banner and bearing it off in safety. The battle lasted
for an hour; the height was covered with killed and wounded and the
blood flowed in streams down the rocks; at length, Ibrahim Zenete being
disabled by the thrust of a lance, the Moors gave way and retreated to
the castle.
They now opened a galling fire from their battlements and towers,
approaching the breaches so as to discharge their crossbows and
arquebuses into the advanced guard of the encampment. The marques was
singled out: the shot fell thick about him, and one passed through his
buckler and struck upon his cuirass, but without doing him any injury.
Every one now saw the danger and inutility of approaching the camp thus
near to the castle, and those who had counselled it were now urgent that
it should be withdrawn. It was accordingly removed back to its original
ground, from which the marques had most reluctantly advanced it. Nothing
but his valor and timely aid had prevented this attack on his outpost
from ending in a total rout of all that part of the army.
Many cavaliers of distinction fell in this contest, but the loss of
none was felt more deeply than that of Ortega del Prado, captain of
escaladors. He was one of the bravest men in the service, the same
who had devised the first successful blow of the war, the storming of
Alhama, where he was the first to plant and mount the scaling-ladders.
He had always been high in the favor and confidence of the noble Ponce
de Leon, who knew how to appreciate and avail himself of the merits of
all able and valiant men.*
* Zurita, Mariana, Abarca.