Le desordre partout redoublant les alarmes,
* * * *
Les cris que les rochers renvoyaient plus affreux,
Enfin toute l'horreur d'un combat tenebreux;
Que pouvait la valeur en ce trouble funeste?
Les uns sont morts, la fuite a sauve tout le reste.
_Racine._
Morir famosos o vencer valientes
Pompa triunfal o decorosa pira
Solo os aguarda.
_Ercilla._
Great was the confusion into which the Moors were thrown by this sudden
alarm: the appearance of El Feri, however, partially succeeded in
restoring order amongst the panic-stricken inhabitants, and revived the
fainting courage of the soldiers. In a short time, all the Moors capable
of bearing arms were ready for defence, whilst the old and infirm, the
women and children, busied themselves in collecting their scanty goods,
and placing them securely on their beasts of burthen, as they
anticipated the probability of a speedy retreat from their habitations.
They evinced no signs of sorrow or reluctance at the prospect of
abandoning their homes, for they had been too well enured to the
uncertainties of a wandering and predatory life, to betray marks of
impatience or anger at an event which necessity had taught them to look
upon with indifference.
El Feri, having placed himself at the head of a brave and chosen party,
boldly sallied from the town to meet the Christians, hoping that by a
courageous effort, he might check their course, and afford time to his
associate in command, the better to organise his means of resistance.
The Christians advanced gallantly to the attack, shouting their war cry
of _Santiago y cierra Espana_, which was answered by the Moors with the
sound of Allah! illah! allah!
Twice the Christians rushed onwards with impetuosity, and twice they
were repulsed with equal fierceness and courage. Again they closed in
the conflict, collecting new energies, and exerting their utmost
strength. Don Alonso de Aguilar now appeared conspicuous amongst his
companions, directing every movement with cool intrepidity, and
animating his followers with the example of valorous achievement; his
ponderous sword, reeking with blood, gleamed on high, a beacon of
victory; and death marked his progress as he waded through the field of
strife. The numbers and better discipline of the Spaniards, at length
began to prevail: the rebels wavered, and terror soon spread through
their ranks. In vain did El Feri exert his utmost powers to rally the
discomfited Moors; in vain did his flashing eye kindle; in vain did he
labour to animate their sinking hearts; fruitless was the strength of
his arm in stemming the torrent that overwhelmed them: his animating
voice, as he called to them the remembrance of their country, was lost
in the wild confusion which prevailed, and the few that adhered faithful
to him, sealed their devotion with their blood. The rest fled for
safety, and El Feri was at length compelled to retreat precipitately
into the town.
The Christians paused for a moment in their victorious career. They were
about to enter the lion's den; as, from the covert to which the rebels
had betaken themselves, they could spread destruction through the ranks
of their advancing enemies in comparative security. The Christians were
likewise aware that the Moors, although defeated, were not subdued; and
they had more to fear from their treacherous ambuscade, than from their
courage in open fight.
In the mean time, El Feri succeeded in rallying his scattered forces,
and in conjunction with those of Caneri, prepared for a second
encounter: he had, however, taken care to distribute the most expert of
his adherents in concealed situations, whence they could more
effectually annoy the Christians with their missiles. These hidden foes
proved extremely fatal to the Spaniards; blows dealt with security, and
from invisible hands, laying prostrate many of their gallant soldiers.
Don Antonio de Leyva had penetrated into the town, with the unrestrained
impetuosity of youth, reckless of all danger; but El Feri and Caneri
disputed their ground inch by inch, whilst the renegade, in another
quarter, was making dreadful havoc amongst his former fellow-countrymen.
Night had now began to lour, but the fury of the combatants, instead of
abating, seemed to acquire additional power, in proportion as death
reduced their numbers. The Moor and the Christian fell, but immediately
their places were supplied by others, equally ready to lay down their
lives at the shrine of victory or revenge. The town of Alhacen was now
become the scene of indiscriminate carnage, and on every side death
appeared busy in counting its victims. The Christians, however, advanced
slowly, in consequence of the destruction dealt amongst them by the
shafts of their concealed adversaries, who had converted every house
into a fortress, whence they could with difficulty be dislodged. In
order, therefore, to foil this deadly warfare, they had recourse to a
still more terrible expedient: they applied the blazing torch to the
inflammable habitations of their enemies; a rising gale seconded their
intentions, and the greedy flames spreading widely round, the town was
soon enveloped in one promiscuous conflagration. Large volumes of red
foggy flame pierced at intervals through the dense columns of smoke that
rose in undulating sweep, flinging around a pestilential suffocation;
whilst the shrill screams of the women, the cries of the wounded, the
despairing shouts of the defenders, the howling of the blast, and the
crackling of the raging blaze, united in one wild reverberation, that
seemed to strike dismay into the heart of the bravest.
But the frenzied courage of the Moors, instead of yielding, acquired new
impetus when they beheld their dwellings a prey to the ravenous flames.
Furiously they fought by the light of the conflagration, and as the
fitful wind flung high the clouds of smoke, and the unresisting fire
assumed the mastery, you might see by their dark reflection the grim
visages of the infuriate foes distended with rage, and each arm with
fearful grasp raising the deadly weapon, flashing upon his adversary:
then they were all again concealed in the wreathing folds of the
impervious fog which closed upon them.
The principal street of the town now presented a ruinous and desolate
aspect; both parties were concentrating their efforts in this spot, and
here the combat raged with the greatest violence. Again the blast swept
along, bearing before it the masses of black suffocating vapour, but in
a clearer interval the eagle glance of Alonso de Aguilar had descried
the terrible form of El Feri, now animating his followers, and now
darting amongst the foremost of the assailants. He eagerly rushed
forward to encounter hand to hand the formidable enemy of the
Christians, crying aloud,----
"Turn, rebel Moor; turn, traitor, and receive thy reward from the sword
of Alonso de Aguilar." El Feri readily obeyed the summons, and
springing upon his enemy, with his uplifted weapon he dealt a tremendous
blow on the shield of Aguilar and almost clove it asunder. A furious
combat ensued, the results of which were soon lost in a huge mass of
smoke. But now a wild cry rent the air; it was the death knell of the
Moors, that rung prophetic on the blast--hope affrighted fled from their
hearts, for El Feri had fallen. The mighty chief drew his stern features
into a condensed expression of resolute despair; his face assumed an
ashy hue, and his frozen lip curled with an expression of scornful
defiance. Dimly but ferociously his eyes were bent on his conqueror,
whilst his sinewy hand grasped firmly the weapon it could no longer
wield. The gigantic frame of the Moor was convulsed, and his soul
struggled fiercely to recover the lost energies of its frame. El Feri
had fallen, but even prostrate and defenceless, he seemed still
formidable; for even in its ruins, manly strength and noble courage must
ever strike the mind with a sensation of awe.
Don Alonso de Aguilar gazed intently on the foe now lying at his feet. A
single blow, and his country would be for ever freed from her most
redoubted enemy. But Don Alonso beheld that enemy defenceless, and his
arm refused to strike, for his heart was too generous to admit at that
moment of political considerations: he turned, therefore, and pursued
his victorious course against those who were still able to offer
resistance.
Meantime Don Antonio de Leyva had succeeded in driving Caneri out of the
town. Before this chief the houseless Moors fled in confusion and
dismay. By the gloomy reflection that reddened the sky, a caravan was
now seen moving in irregular groups towards the thickest recesses of the
mountains. As the fugitives who composed it looked behind, they saw
their late dwellings fast reducing to ashes; but alas! they deplored not
the sight of their flaming homes, for they who had adopted the
wilderness for their country, cared but little on what spot their
habitations were fixed. They left behind pledges far more endearing, in
whom their loss was irremediable, for amongst the flying throng, there
was not one who had not to lament a father, a husband or a son, whose
remains were soon to mingle their ashes with those of their dwellings.
Don Alonso de Aguilar soon put to flight the few that still remained,
and he pursued his march through streets obstructed at every step with
broken armour, masses of the falling houses, or the more distressing
impediments of mangled and bleeding bodies. The fire lighted his steps
through that scene of horror, and often his unguided tread was answered
by a smothered groan from a dying man, who was still sensible of the
rude pressure. He saw many a Moor, grim in the last writhings of death,
still betraying symptoms of unconquered hatred; and then he stumbled on
the bodies of his valiant comrades, some of whom he recognized,--the
bravest of his band! For many were the victims about to perish in the
flames, and mingle their ashes in that vast ruin, where Moors and
Christians, separated by mutual hate in life, would be finally united
in the embrace of death.
Some of the unfortunate wounded mournfully supplicated their comrades
that passed over them to terminate their sufferings; and others, who
were already deprived of the powers of speech, sent an imploring look of
sorrowful import. Aguilar saw the helpless victims he could not assist,
and his compassion was strongly excited, as he pressed forward in the
pursuit of the flying enemy. Thus he traversed the deserted and
perishing town, when he was suddenly arrested by the piercing shrieks of
a female in distress.
He paused, and surveying the place, he perceived that they proceeded
from a large house to which the devouring flames had already
communicated. Don Alonso boldly rushed forward; his pity required no
stimulus, but yet it was considerably heightened, when as he approached
the building, the cries of affliction were clearly distinguishable in
the Spanish tongue. He darted with velocity to the spot, and rushed
through the fiery clouds that enveloped the house. He passed the
entrance--traversed the court--reached the stairs--mounted them with the
eager alacrity of youth, and guided by the distressing sounds, he at
length attained the door of an apartment which was strongly fastened. In
an instant it gave way to his powerful strength, when amidst the obscure
fog that was fast filling the room, Don Alonso perceived a female form
kneeling on the ground, in the attitude of one who had abandoned all
hope from mortal assistance.
The noise of the bursting door had called the attention of the
unfortunate towards that direction, and when she beheld her deliverer,
she uttered a cry of joy, and sprung eagerly into his arms. But the
sudden transition from a state of anguish and despair, to that of hope
and life, was too much for her to bear. Scarcely had the lovely sufferer
contemplated the prospect of a rescue, than overpowered by tumultuous
feelings, her energies faltered; the blood forsook its channels to
return to its fountain source, and Don Alonso de Aguilar received a
lifeless burthen into his arms. The danger was appalling, for the
flames had already enveloped the house, and the undaunted warrior, more
apprehensive for the safety of his charge than for his own, hastened to
snatch her from the dreadful spot.
Aguilar supported the unconscious female with one arm, whilst with the
other he gathered together the light and flowing drapery with which she
was attired, lest the inflammable nature of the material might attract
the fire. Thus he reached the summit of the stairs. There for a moment
he stood aghast, for the wooden steps had already become the prey of the
fiery element, and a descent appeared totally impracticable. In this
emergency, Don Alonso firmly grasped his lovely burden, and with a
promptness of decision and rapidity of execution congenial to his
character, he threw himself fearlessly from the place, and clearing the
flaming obstruction, alighted on the floor, without sustaining any
injury. Dauntless he pierced through the rolling mist; he gained the
entrance, crossed it, and arrived safely in the street.
But now he felt anxious for the beautiful being he had snatched from a
fiery tomb; he tore away part of her garments which had attracted the
consuming flames, and in a short time he recalled her to a consciousness
of life and feeling. It was a lovely girl whom Don Alonso had saved, for
the excessive emotion under which she laboured was not sufficient to
obscure the charms with which nature had so liberally gifted her.
"Where am I?" she demanded, languidly opening her eyes.
"Fear nothing, gentle maiden," answered Aguilar, "you are with a
friend."
"Oh save me! Save me from the Moors," she cried vehemently; not yet
entirely aware into whose power she had fallen.
"Those rebels cannot harm you," exclaimed her preserver, "they fly like
timorous deer before our triumphant banners, and you are now by the side
of Alonso de Aguilar."
The welcome sound of this glorious name acted powerfully on the feelings
of Theodora and, perfectly tranquillised, she cried with ardour--
"Thanks! thanks! to that God, who will not forsake his creatures in the
hour of peril!" then turning to Don Alonso, she continued,--"The head of
the Aguilars will not forsake an unfortunate child of the house of
Monteblanco?"
Don Alonso was struck with a well known name; but as Theodora appeared
too much exhausted for an explanation, without inquiring into the cause
of the strange situation in which he found her, he contented himself
with repeating his assurances of protection.
"Duty," he added, "summons me hence, but you shall find nothing wanting
on my part to insure your safety. In my house at Granada, and from my
daughter Leonor, you will experience all the kindness that may tend to
mitigate your sorrows, until you are restored to the embrace of your
venerable parent."
He then turned to one of his attendants, and proceeded:--
"Ramirez, you will conduct this lady to Granada: to your protection I
commend her, and see that she be treated with all the consideration due
to the charge of Alonso de Aguilar."
Ramirez bowed, and singling out an escort of a dozen men, prepared to
obey his leader's orders; whilst Don Alonso, taking leave of Theodora,
proceeded with his conquering band to join Don Antonio de Leyva. Each
took a different way, and in a short time left the ill-fated town to the
melancholy possession of the dying and the dead; occupied alone by the
few wretches, to whom a spark of lingering life still adhered, and whose
sufferings were shortly to be terminated in the general conflagration
now fast approaching to its crisis.