Character of D’Aubusson—Religious union in Rhodes—Destruction
of the suburbs—Arrival of the Turkish fleet—Attack on St.
Nicholas—Conduct of D’Aubusson during the siege—First repulse
of the infidels—Fresh attack on the Jewish quarter—Storm of the
city—Defeat and failure of the Turks—D’Aubusson’s danger and
recovery—Fall of Kaffa and Otranto—Death of Mahomet the Great.
The course of our narrative has now brought us to the first of those
remarkable sieges which constitute the chief interest in the history
of the Knights of St. John. The circumstances briefly detailed in
the foregoing chapter will have enabled the reader in some measure
to appreciate the devotion and gallantry of their resistance, and
the peril of their position when the vast armament of the Ottomans
bore down on Rhodes,—that little island which lay alone amid the
wreck of Christianity in the East, like the single rock which
lifts its head above the raging waters of a mighty deluge. But the
event itself stands out with so much prominence in the annals of
Christian chivalry—it is so honourable to the illustrious society
whose exploits we have undertaken to narrate, and especially to
the commander whose election to the grand-mastership we have just
recorded, that our story must take something of a less desultory
character; and though we cannot pretend to offer a finished portrait
of every great man who appeared in an order of heroes, _his_ name at
least deserves a different kind of notice.
Peter D’Aubusson was descended from one of the most illustrious
houses of France; Norman in its origin, and allied to the royal
Norman blood. He was a soldier from his youth, but a man of letters
also; and, to use the expression of the French historian, “the
extent and facility of his mind sufficed for every thing.” The
popularity of his name, great as it was in his order, was even more
enthusiastically felt among the populace of Rhodes. The extraordinary
joy manifested by them at his election had something in it far
different from the ordinary popular rejoicings at a coronation—it
was from the heart; and men no longer feared Mahomet now that
D’Aubusson was at the head of the Knights of St. John. His first act
was a careful inspection of the entire island in person; and on his
return, he summoned all the knights once more to assemble in Rhodes,
and in the chapter general of the following spring was invested
with absolute power during the ensuing siege, which all now felt
to be close at hand. Indeed, it was a remarkable testimony to the
extraordinary capacity of this great man, that an order so jealous
for the preservation of its constitutional privileges voluntarily
created him its dictator, not only in military, but also in financial
and political affairs. He held an irresponsible power, yet from no
act of usurpation on his own part; nor do we ever find him taking
advantage of the boundless confidence of his subjects to prolong or
extend his authority; but, on the contrary, he himself restrained
it, and after holding the administration of the treasury for three
years and regulating its disorders, he refused to retain it longer,
but gave it back into the hands of the ordinary officers of the
finance. His genius was as universal as it was commanding. He was at
the head of every department: he made his own gunpowder, and directed
the building of his own ships; he surpassed the first engineers of
his age in a practical knowledge of the science of defence, was an
excellent chemist, and assiduous in his personal services in the
hospital, where he showed that he thoroughly understood the treatment
of the sick.
Hitherto the various summonses addressed by previous grand masters to
the knights of distant provinces had produced but little result; but
the name of D’Aubusson gave a magical effect to his commands. From
every quarter the knights flocked in with singular promptitude, and
many of the European sovereigns contributed large sums to facilitate
their journey. Mahomet saw that there was at least little chance
of taking Rhodes and its defenders by surprise; for which reason
he tried every means of throwing the grand master off his guard.
Among these were pretended treaties for truce, and the despatch of
a multitude of spies and feigned embassies; and lastly, an attempt
to introduce dissensions among the people of Rhodes, and win them
over from the cause of the order. The sultan doubtless thought it a
surpassing stroke of policy to suggest to the Rhodian Greeks, as a
lure, the unlimited exercise of their religion free from all Latin
domination. But the result showed that he knew little of the state
with which he had to deal. There was no jealousy of sect or party
known in the religion of Rhodes; and every effort to sow dissension
among the natives was met by the indignant cry, “We are all of one
belief! here there is neither Greek nor Latin; for we are Christians,
the servants of Jesus Christ and of His blessed Mother!” This unity
of religious belief had ever been one of the chief blessings and
privileges enjoyed under the rule of the order; but it was especially
and vigorously protected by D’Aubusson, who, with the utmost zeal,
guarded against any thing that could introduce the fatal seeds of
schism or dissension; and was accustomed to say that he reigned over
Christians, not Latins or Greeks, and that even the schismatics, if
there were any such, should be treated with strict impartiality. The
fact was, however, that, with individual exceptions, the adherents
to the Greek rite in Rhodes were in communion with their Latin
brethren; for the large and wise policy of the grand masters had
still succeeded in preserving alive that union which, settled by the
Florentine Council, had never existed elsewhere but in theory and in
name.
If Rhodes was beautiful to the eye and captivating to the
imagination, when first Villaret and his companions set foot upon its
shores, much more so was it now, when the lapse of a hundred and
seventy years had made it the centre of southern civilisation, and
the riches of a long commercial prosperity had been lavished on its
adornment and the cultivation of the domestic arts. All around the
grand and battlemented walls of the capital there spread in sweet
contrast gardens, villas, and vineyards; most verdant hills darkened
with woods of pomegranates and oranges; a rich suburban district,—the
glory of a city in times of peace, and its worst enemy in the perils
of a siege. All about this garden-world there sparkled streams and
fountains of bright and delicious water; there was no water like that
of Rhodes, nor any country to compare to its rich and beautiful soil,
at least in the mind of its inhabitants. “It was,” says one of its
own citizens,[12] “the favourite, sweetest island of the sun, where
the air was ever pure, and the country ever smiling.”
The first act of D’Aubusson, on his investiture by the chapter with
the supreme and absolute command, was one of stern but most necessary
sacrifice. The suburbs were to be destroyed; the trees and gardens
cut down and wasted; and even the churches razed to the ground, so as
to prevent the enemy from finding shelter under the city-walls. The
Rhodians watched the process of destruction with tears of regret, so
very dear to their hearts was the beauty of their capital; but all
knew that the calamity was inevitable, and so, silencing their grief,
they lent their aid to make a desert of their paradise, and spared
nothing; only, says Vertot, “before destroying the church of our Lady
of Philermos, they carried the image of the Blessed Virgin thence to
the principal church within the city-walls; for it had been preserved
from time immemorial, and was greatly revered.” All the fields were
now laid waste, and the forage carried into the city; many of those
beautiful crystal springs were choked up and rendered useless; in
short, there was nothing left in the island which could furnish
support to the enemy’s troops, or which the barbarians could destroy.
Over all these details, and a thousand more besides, D’Aubusson’s
watchful superintendence presided; and combining the quick eye of
a military commander with the tenderness of a paternal sovereign,
he insisted on personally seeing that every individual among the
citizens, as well as the knights, was properly provided and cared
for; and though he demanded great sacrifices from all, there was
nothing of sternness or indifference in his manner of exacting them.
Rather he found the means of inspiring all around him with his own
heroic and chivalric spirit. The Rhodians were not a warlike people,
yet they caught fire from their sovereign’s animating words and noble
example. And as to the knights, how could they resist those grand
and lofty appeals? “I summon you,” he writes to the absent brethren,
“in virtue of those solemn vows you have made to the God of heaven,
and at the foot of His altar. It is your mother calls you,—a mother
who has nursed you in her bosom, and is now in danger. Shall a
single knight be found to abandon her to the rage of the barbarian?
I will not think it; it would be unworthy of the nobility of your
origin, and still less of the piety and valour of your profession.”
He addressed the chapter in the same exalted strain: “Soldiers of
Christ,” he said, “in a war so holy as this, it is Christ Himself
who is at our head; fear not, for He will never abandon those who
fight but for His interests. In vain does the impious Mahomet, who
recognises no God but power, threaten to exterminate us: his troops
may be more numerous, but ours at least are no vile slaves like
his; I look round me, and I see only men of noble and illustrious
blood, brought up in virtue, and sworn to conquer or die, and
whose piety and courage might alone be the pledges of a certain
victory.” In fact, besides the members of the order, there were
a considerable number of volunteers collected at Rhodes from all
nations, particularly from France: all of them gentlemen of high
birth and renown, filled with a generous enthusiasm, and a devotion
to the cause of the order and to its heroic chief. Amongst them was
D’Aubusson’s elder brother, the Viscount de Monteuil, who received a
high command; and throughout the siege no jealousy ever arose between
these volunteers and the knights, but rather a generous and friendly
rivalry, and a heartiness of obedience and co-operation, that could
only have proceeded from the noblest spirit, inspired and kept alive
by the admirable policy of the grand master. There was something very
remarkable in this affectionate unity of the defenders of Rhodes,
presenting so lovely a contrast to the treachery and dissensions
of other sieges. “It was to be found,” to use the words of the
French author, “in the citizens equally with the knights; Greek and
Latin, all were alike; and it passed even to the women and children,
who vied with one another in working at the fortifications which
D’Aubusson had ordered to be commenced.”
The city of Rhodes stood on the declivity of a wooded hill on the
border of the sea; it was surrounded by a double wall flanked by
large towers, and beyond the wall was a deep and broad ditch. There
were two ports; the first of which, defended by a tower called
Fort St. Elmo, served for the smaller galleys, while the second,
constructed for larger vessels, had two defences, known as Fort St.
John and Fort St. Michael.[13] By the side of this latter port were
two small gulfs, the fortifications of which were so contrived as to
guard the entrance of the ports. Two miles from the city rose the
hill of St. Stephen, and, on the other side, Mount Philermos,[14]
celebrated for that shrine of our Lady to which allusion has been
made, and which was a place of pilgrimage not only to the islanders
but to all the neighbouring states.
It was on the 23d of May 1480, that the great fleet of the infidels
at length appeared in sight of Rhodes. The signal of its approach
was given from the watch-tower on Mount St. Stephen, and thither the
grand master repaired to survey the force destined for the conquest
of the island and the destruction of the order. It was a grand and
terrific sight; a hundred and sixty large vessels of war, and a
very cloud of galleys, feluccas, and transports, having on board a
vast body of troops as well as artillery of most formidable size.
The sea was darkened for miles by this immense armament; and the
landing was soon commenced, under favour of a heavy fire from the
enemy’s artillery, with pomp and music, as though they had been
victors coming to a conquered city. Despite the efforts of the
knights, the hostile troops succeeded in intrenching themselves
in the neighbourhood of Mount St. Stephen, and in landing their
heavy artillery, consisting of 4000 pieces of cannon, some being of
prodigious size and calibre, throwing balls of flint and marble nine
palms in diameter, as D’Aubusson himself declares in his despatch
to the German emperor, written after the siege. So soon as the
artillery was landed and planted,—an operation which the knights
were powerless to resist,—the storm of the cannonade began. For days
together the walls and towers were battered by cannon and mortars
with terrible effect; nine towers were overthrown, and whole streets
demolished; but the chief attack was directed against the tower of
St. Nicholas, situated on the extremity of the mole which defended
the larger port. After resisting the furious bombardment for several
days, during which it received the shock of no less than three
hundred of these marble cannon-balls, the tower fell, and the sight
was welcomed by the enemy with a kind of insane joy. But whilst they
abandoned themselves to their exultation, the besieged set to work
to construct a new defence on the mole itself, and labouring night
and day, contrived a fortification of singular skill in the midst of
the ruins, which they garrisoned with their bravest troops. This
defence, devised by the engineering skill of D’Aubusson, resisted
the utmost efforts of the Turks, who were driven off, after several
furious assaults, with immense loss.
It is sad to find one of the most illustrious names of Christendom
at the head of the infidel army; yet it was a Palæologus[15] who,
under the name of Mesih Pasha, led the Turkish force. A prince of the
imperial family of Greece, and born a Christian, he had renounced his
faith to purchase life at the capture of Constantinople. His talents
had raised him to the rank of admiral grand vizier in the sultan’s
service; and the cause of the Cross had no deadlier enemy than this
miserable renegade, who sought to secure the favour of his new master
by an excess of fury against the Christian name. Other renegades
were in the camp, one of whom, a German engineer, with a treachery
worthy of an apostate, entered the town as a spy, and representing
himself as a deserter from the Turkish camp, endeavoured to possess
himself of the plan of the defences; but D’Aubusson’s quick vigilance
detected the stratagem; and “Master George,” as he was called, found
himself too closely watched to be able to escape.
The assaults on the mole of St. Nicholas continued for several
days; and always on the most dangerous post might be seen the
form of D’Aubusson. At once, captain and soldier, he refused all
solicitations to retire. “The post of honour is here,” he replied
to Carretto, who afterwards succeeded him, “and belongs of right
to your grand master;” adding with a pleasant smile, “and, after
all, if I am killed, there is more to hope for you than to fear for
me:” words which were afterwards taken as a prophecy of Carretto’s
future elevation. A ball having struck his helmet from his head, he
quietly replaced it with the steel-cap of a fallen soldier, without
seeming to heed the danger. Bosio has left us a striking picture of
him during the progress of the defences at St. Nicholas. To complete
them, it was necessary for the workmen to labour continuously for
seventy hours, during which time a constant watch was kept to guard
them from surprise. D’Aubusson never left the spot. “His armour,”
says the historian above named, “was gilt or golden, and always
kept highly polished and shining; and at the head of his chosen and
valiant squadron he sat on his horse the whole night long without
moving, or taking a moment’s repose; and the splendour of the moon
reflected from that gilt cuirass rendered his figure a clear and
striking object.” This long night-watch, and the spectacle of the
grand master in his golden armour, has been noticed by almost every
historian of the order; and doubtless there must have been something
unusually solemn and beautiful in his appearance, which distinguished
him from the numbers around him, whose conduct was nevertheless
scarcely less devoted than his own.
He had all the true courtesy and modesty of chivalry; listening to
the counsel of all, before declaring his own sentiments, which never
failed of being received as law; he had a smile and a patient word
for all; and yet withal his prompt resolution never suffered itself,
when once formed, to be changed or re-considered. And all the while,
great general and brave soldier as he was, he found time and strength
to be carpenter, engineer, or labourer, as occasion called. He drew
the plan of his walls and ramparts, and worked at them with his own
hands; nor was there a sally to be made, or an attack to be repelled,
but D’Aubusson was to be found at the head of the combatants. Nor was
he less the Christian, because he was so entirely a man of genius
and of war; his devotion harmonised with the rest of his character
in its admirable simplicity. The defence of the city was not begun
till after the offering of solemn prayers in all the churches; and
then the image of our Lady of Philermos was exposed, and the cause
of Rhodes committed to her patronage with something of a childlike
trustful confidence; and with our Lady and D’Aubusson to protect
them, the Rhodians felt secure of victory.
Foiled in his first attempts, the Pasha now resolved on a night
attack, which was to be conducted with such secrecy and despatch,
and with such ingenious contrivances to boot, as should secure both
a surprise and a successful issue. A bridge was constructed to reach
from the mainland which the infidels had occupied to the mole of St.
Nicholas; and in the night an anchor was let fall close under the
foot of the tower, and the floating pont made fast to it by a strong
cable. It happened, however, that a Christian sailor, one Rogers,
an Englishman by birth, lying concealed near the spot, had observed
the whole transaction; and no sooner had the Turks withdrawn, than
plunging intrepidly into the sea, he cut the cable, and drew up
the coil upon the strand. Thus was the design entirely frustrated;
for the bridge being cast loose from its fastenings, was speedily
broken to pieces by the waves. But the pasha had caused a second
to be constructed, which, being carried across in the stillness of
the night, was made last to the mole two hours before daybreak on
the morning of the 9th of June; and while all was yet dark, the
Turks began their noiseless passage over it; at the same time, a
flotilla of light boats was sent to co-operate on the seaward side.
So quietly was the manœuvre effected, and such a perfect silence
reigned throughout the Christian defences, that the Turkish commander
flattered himself that his design was undetected. But D’Aubusson was
ready for him; and while the Turks were preparing to make good their
landing on the mole, behind the guns upon the wall stood his resolute
cannoneers with matches burning; a steady line of muskets waited but
the word to discharge their murderous hail in the faces of the foe;
and from every more distant quarter whence the stormers could be
reached, the guns on the ramparts had been brought to bear upon the
point assailed. Suddenly, from the depth of the darkness there issued
a very storm of fire, which canned death and dismay into the midst
of the advancing columns. At the same moment the Rhodian fire-ships
bore down upon the Turkish galleys; horrible was the confusion;—the
roaring of the flames; the incessant cannonading; the fire-balls
blazing and flaming; the yells of the combatants; the shrieks and
groans of the maimed and the dying. On the mole, on the beaches, on
the waters, the battle raged with most terrific fury.
In spite of the tremendous fire poured on them from all sides, the
infidels plant their ladders at the foot, and, brandishing their
cimeters, scale the bastions. The assault is all along the front;
the grand master stands at the breach, and around him his gallant
knights, making a rampart with their bodies. The ladders are thrown
down, only to be raised again by the determined foe; massive stones
and boiling oil and streams of flaming fire are launched upon
them,—still they press on; and those who are below in the boats
and triremes discharge volley after volley of musketry and showers
of arrows from their cross-bows at the knights, or endeavour with
grappling-irons, which they throw upon the ramparts, to drag them
down and stab them as they fall. The advantage, however, was with the
Christians; and dawn disclosed to the Turkish commander the desperate
condition of his troops,—the sea and the strand strewn with corpses,
and the attacking columns every where giving way before the steady
valour of the Christians. It revealed, too, to the defenders, the
floating bridge thronged with Turkish succours hurrying to the
assault, and enabled them to point their guns immediately upon it,
and shatter it to pieces. From near midnight to ten in the morning
the attack and the defence endured with unabated fury; but at length
the triumph of the knights was secured; every man who had mounted the
mole was killed. In vain with menaces and wild entreaties the leaders
urged their troops to sustain the contest; the rout was general and
complete; the victorious knights precipitated their flying enemies
from the mole, and pursued them even into the waters of the harbour.
Conspicuous among the Christian combatants was Anthony Fradin, a
Franciscan friar, as bold in fight as he was eloquent of speech, who,
plunging shoulder-deep into the sea, with his own right hand struck
off many a turbaned head. In this night-assault fell 2500 infidels,
and among them their renowned commander, Ibrahim Bey, the sultan’s
son-in-law. The loss on the Rhodian side was also great; and twelve
of the brave knights of St. John were among the slain.
But this repulse served only to rouse the fury of the vizier to a
greater height. Since St. Nicholas had proved impregnable in its
ruin, he directed his next attack against the city itself. It was so
torn and shaken by the previous cannonade, that, to use the words of
D’Aubusson, “it retained not the least resemblance to what it was.”
The principal attack, however, was made on a portion of the walls
which had remained as yet uninjured, in the Jewish quarter of the
town. “Eight tremendous cannon, of the largest size ever seen, ceased
not night and day from scourging those groaning flanks;” never for
a moment was the hideous roaring of this artillery silenced; but
whilst the walls gradually crumbled to pieces, the besieged, under
the direction of the grand master, busily employed themselves in
erecting new ramparts behind them, “planting stakes of thick green
timber, and covering them with earth and branches of stout tough
underwood and thorns,”—a work which it seemed incredible should have
been accomplished in so short a time. But every one worked with
equal ardour night and day. D’Aubusson superintended all himself,
and set the example to the rest by incessant labour; men and women,
Christians and Jews,—all lent their aid; the very nuns coming out of
their convents, and bearing provision to the workmen; and when the
Turks thought they had effected an easy entrance into the place by
the destruction of the wall, they were confounded to find a new and
stronger rampart, risen as if by magic behind the ruins, and beyond
it a wide deep ditch, which had to be filled before any approach
could be made. Immense loads of stone were now brought and thrown
into the ditch; and meanwhile the cannonade continued its ceaseless
roar, accompanied by many other frightful kinds of artillery then in
use: globes of fire and flaming arrows, and the serpent-guns that
sent fire-balls whining and hissing through the air like deadly
flying reptiles. The sound of the artillery was heard from Kos, a
hundred miles to the west of Rhodes, as far as Castelrosso, the same
distance to the east; the bombardment never ceased for a minute, and
the utmost exertions of the citizens were continually called for to
extinguish the flames of the burning houses. All the sick and infirm
were hidden away in underground cellars and caves to escape those
crushing marble balls, which were the most destructive of all the
engines of attack. But the war was underground also; and by many a
subterranean ditch, most cunningly concealed, did the enemy endeavour
to steal into the city, or to ruin its defences. To resist the effect
of the ponderous marble balls, D’Aubusson contrived to roof in one
quarter of the city so securely, that the women and children were
completely sheltered; whilst under his orders, the city carpenters
constructed a machine for throwing back these unwelcome visitors into
the midst of the assailants; and so enormous was their weight, that,
we are told, they not only crushed all on whom they fell, but often
dashed into and destroyed the mines with all whom they contained.
This machine the knights jestingly termed the “tribute,” in allusion
to that demanded by Mahomet, and which they devised this novel mode
of paying.
Meanwhile the Turks had succeeded in forming a causeway of stones
across one portion of the ditch, which it took them eight-and-thirty
days to accomplish. Thus they completely filled up the fosse, and
raised a mound level with the ramparts, by which they could have
readily mounted on the walls; but when they thought their work was
finished, they were not a little exasperated to see it sinking and
diminishing; for the Rhodians were every night working unperceived
at its foundations, and carrying away the stones noiselessly into
the city. Perceiving, therefore, that they were losing time,
they prepared to storm without delay, and to this end proceeded
to cannonade that portion of the walls which was close to the
fortifications so rapidly repaired; and such was the tempest that
beat upon these new defences, that no living thing could appear on
them for a moment without being swept away. In the course of one day
and night three hundred of those monstrous globes of rock were hurled
at the torn and shattered walls. It was then that the true character
of Master George was finally detected. He was known to be an engineer
of singular skill; and the knights, under whose charge he had been,
and who had not altogether shared in the grand master’s suspicions,
led him to the spot to ask his opinion and advice. It may easily be
believed what kind of counsel they received; yet, to disguise his
treachery, Master George affected the utmost ardour, and insisted
on working a cannon with his own hands. In doing so, however, he
betrayed himself; the quick eye of his guards remarked that he fired
without aim, and, as if by some preconcerted signal, seemed to
draw the enemy’s fire on the weakest point. He was at once seized
and interrogated, and, confessing the whole design, received the
richly-merited reward of his treachery and his crimes. The assault
was now evidently close at hand; nothing remained to keep the Turks
from the attempt; and it is said a few Spanish and Italian knights
ventured to hint at the prudence of coming to honourable terms with
the vizier, who, well knowing the character of his opponents’ valour,
had shown a disposition to treat for a surrender. D’Aubusson, calling
the knights around him, addressed them coldly, as though no longer
members of the order. “_Gentlemen_,” he said,—a term never applied to
the knights, who were always addressed as brothers,—“if any of you
do not feel secure here, the port is not yet so entirely blockaded
but I shall be able to find means for you to retire. If, however,
you choose to remain, let me hear no more of surrender, otherwise
I shall certainly cause you to be put to death.” These words, and
that he called them “gentlemen,” stung them to the quick; they threw
themselves at his feet, and declared they were, and would ever be,
his knights and subjects.
Nevertheless it could not be denied but that the crisis was one
of great peril. So incessant was the cannonading that no time was
given to repair the breaches; the fosses were in many parts filled
up; the walls were every where in ruins; and no obstacle remained
to oppose the entrance of the Turks into the town save the heroic
valour of the defenders. Scarcely had the sun appeared above the
horizon on the morning of the 27th of July, when, at the firing of a
mortar as a signal, the advanced troops of the enemy rushed forward
with a tremendous shout, and with the utmost rapidity scaled the
walls, bore down all before them, and planted their colours before
the besieged could offer any effectual resistance. And now, without
prompt relief, it was all over with Rhodes; but that relief came
in the person of the grand master. “Perceiving,” such is his own
account, “a great conflict at hand, we raised and planted firmly the
banner representing our dear Lord Jesus Christ, and beside it that
of our order directly facing the enemy; and then ensued a battle of
two hours.” Crying, “Come, my brothers, let us fight for the faith
and for Rhodes, or be buried under the ruins,” he hastened to the
spot, surrounded by a chosen band of comrades. Already 2000 Turks had
occupied the ramparts, and behind them 4000 more were advancing and
preparing to mount to the assault. But, nothing daunted, D’Aubusson,
seizing a ladder, planted it with his own hands against the wall in
spite of a shower of stones, and was the first[16] to mount, pike in
hand, followed by the rest of his party. Owing to the character of
the ground, and the fact that the Turks had already formed a position
on the top of the ramparts, they were now themselves the besieged,
and the assault was from the garrison. The valour displayed on
both sides was of the most signal description. The Turks, says the
historian, “were as lions rushing upon their prey;” the Christians,
“like the Machabees, fighting for their religion and their
liberties.” The fury of the infidels was well-nigh irresistible; many
of the knights were crushed under the weight of the heavy stones
which were dashed down upon their heads as they strove to mount the
platform which the enemy had occupied. Twice was D’Aubusson himself
struck down, and thrown from the ramparts; but, covered with wounds,
he returned to the charge without heeding his danger, and at length,
by sheer force, the infidels were driven from their position; and
the mass of the Christians throwing themselves on their ranks, a
desperate struggle commenced. The grand master slew many of the
boldest with his own hands; and some 300 or more were tumbled from
the walls into the city, where they were instantly slain.
But their losses were quickly supplied by reinforcements from the
vast multitude that covered the field below, so thickly that the
eye could not discern the ground on which they stood. And now a
body of Janizaries, urged on by the hope of a large reward, charged
furiously on the knights, and fought their way to where the grand
master stood, his armour flashing in the blaze of the musketry, and
the short spear he carried red with Turkish blood. One while he
seemed completely surrounded and overpowered by these desperate men;
but though wounded in several places, and bleeding profusely, still
he held his ground, and laid many of his assailants dead at his feet.
His gallant comrades, fearing for his safety, and reckless of their
own lives so that they could save that of their beloved commander,
threw themselves with renewed energy upon the dense mass of their
assailants; and such was the fury of their assault, that “at length,”
to resume D’Aubusson’s own description, “the Turks, hard pressed,
broken, wearied out, terrified, and covered with wounds, turned and
fled, and so hastily that they hindered one another, and did but
increase their own destruction. There fell in that conflict 3500 of
them, as we learned by the corpses which we afterwards burnt for
fear of infection. The panic was contagious, spreading from one rank
to another, till at length the whole Moslem army was in flight.” It
was indeed a complete and unexpected victory. In vain did the vizier
attempt to rally his vast masses, now thrown into all the confusion
of a hasty rout. The Christian troops, precipitating themselves from
the walls, pursued the fugitives far over the plain; and Mesih Pasha
himself was compelled to fly with the rest. “In these battles,”
continues D’Aubusson, “we have lost many of our knights, fighting
bravely in the thickest of the enemy’s squares. We ourselves, and our
companions-in-arms, have had many wounds; but after placing a strong
garrison on the ramparts, we returned home to give thanks to God: for
surely it was not without Divine assistance that we were saved from
butchery; and doubtless the Almighty God sent us that succour from
heaven, lest His poor Christian people should be infected with the
filth of Mahometanism.”
The infidels plainly had reckoned on nothing short of certain
victory; their women had already prepared ropes for the prisoners,
and wooden stakes for their torture; for it had been ordered that
every living being above ten years of age should be slain or impaled
alive, and the children sold as slaves. Their cruelty, however, was
doomed for once to disappointment: the vizier saw plainly enough,
that, after so complete a defeat, there was nothing further to
be done but to embark and make the best of his way back to safe
quarters, which they did with incredible speed; so that within a few
days there was nothing left of their vast armament but the corpses
that strewed the battle-field as thick as the forest-leaves in
autumn. During the three months of siege the Turks had 9000 killed
and 15,000 wounded.
It is a pious tradition, that at the moment of the last terrible
assault, as the defenders, reduced to extremity, unfurled the banners
of Christ, our Lady, and St. John, and cried aloud to heaven for
help, the Moslems were stupefied by the sudden apparition on the
battlements of a lady of dazzling and extraordinary beauty, who
extended a shield over the devoted city. By her side stood one whom
the Rhodians recognised as St. John Baptist, their patron saint;
and the heavenly vision struck such terror into the hearts of the
assailants that they instantly turned and fled. This account was at
the time universally believed by the Rhodians; and the relief of the
island has always been reckoned as one among the many victories of
Mary. The Turkish historian, Afendy, however, has a different tale,
which has been adopted by certain modern writers, that but for the
cupidity of Mesih Pasha the forts and the island must have fallen;
that at the moment when the Ottoman standard was planted on the
walls, he ordered proclamation to be made that pillage was forbidden,
and that the rich plunder of Rhodes belonged to the sultan; that so
great in consequence was the disgust and indignation of the soldiery,
that the storming columns halted in mid-career; the battalions
outside the town refused to mount the breach; the Christians seized
the moment when the ranks were wavering to precipitate themselves
upon the besiegers, and the retreat commenced. One would wish to
have something more than the bare word of this writer in support of
an account so strongly at variance with Turkish custom, and with the
character and real interests of the pasha; but even if it be true,
it derogates nothing from the ability or the heroism of the defence;
neither, be it added, did the fact, if fact it were, diminish at the
time the importance of the event or the magnitude of the result. The
outpost of Christendom was saved; Rhodes was rescued for nearly half
a century; and when it fell, it was into the hands of a conqueror who
knew how to appreciate the courage of a vanquished foe, and, infidel
as he was, to keep faith with Christians.
D’Aubusson was carried to his palace covered with wounds, and for
three days his life was despaired of. It was in his bed that he
received from the hands of his knights the Moslem standard, and
gave orders for a public thanksgiving to be rendered to the God of
armies. During those three days the palace-doors were crowded by
anxious citizens of all ranks; and it is said their joy was less
when they watched the last sail of the Turkish fleet disappear below
the horizon, than when the surgeon announced to the populace that
the danger was past, and, as it was thought, not without tokens of
a miraculous cure. So soon as he could walk, D’Aubusson proceeded
to the great church of St. John to offer his own thanksgivings;
and, as a perpetual monument of the deliverance of the city by the
intervention of the Blessed Virgin, he ordered the erection of
three churches in her honour and that of the patrons of the city.
These churches were endowed for prayers and masses to be offered in
perpetuity for the souls of those who had fallen in battle; and one
was for the Greek rite: but the expression, “devout Catholics,” which
is used by Bosio, shows us that the Greeks to whom he here alluded
were in communion with the see of Rome, and not schismatics, as some
later writers have supposed.
Nor was his care of the living less large and generous than for the
dead. “All, down to the meanest soldier, had a share of his notice,”
says Vertot; “and to comfort the poor peasants and the inhabitants of
the country which had been devastated by the enemy, he distributed
among them corn and provisions for their support till next harvest,
and took off for several years the taxes they had hitherto paid.”
The same day that Mesih Pasha was driven from the walls of Rhodes,
the Turks, under Ahmed Keduk, first set foot on the tempting shores
of Italy, making a successful descent on the Apulian coast, and
marched at once to invest Otranto. When grand vizier, he had, in
1475, conquered the Crimea, and signalised his victories by the
perpetration of all those outrages which have given to Turkish
warfare an infamous celebrity even in the annals of blood and crime.
The taking of Kaffa, which belonged to the Genoese, and was a place
of great wealth and importance, was marked by a deed of the blackest
perfidy. The town held out but three days; on the fourth, through
the machinations of one Squerciafico, it surrendered at discretion.
The booty was immense; 40,000 of the inhabitants were sent to
Constantinople, and 1500 young Genoese nobles were compelled to
enter the corps of Janizaries. Eight days after the capture, Ahmed
Keduk gave a grand banquet to the principal Armenian citizens, who,
in concert with the Genoese traitor, had delivered up the town into
his hands. At the end of the entertainment their host bade them
adieu with all the politeness possible; but a different leave-taking
awaited them outside. The door of the banqueting chamber opened on a
narrow flight of steps, at the bottom of which was stationed a Turk,
scimitar in hand, who, as each guest emerged, severed his head from
his body. Treachery never fails to inspire contempt even in those in
whose service it is practised; and the Ottoman seldom forgave such
acts of baseness, although coupled, as was not unfrequently the case,
with the crime of apostasy. Squerciafico himself was spared only to
be reserved for a like fate at Constantinople.
Otranto speedily fell. The inhabitants defended themselves with great
courage, but the town was unprepared, and it was carried by assault
after only a fortnight’s resistance. Of the 22,000 who formed the
population, 12,000 were slaughtered without mercy; such as it was
supposed might furnish a heavy ransom were reduced to slavery; the
rest were subjected to treatment, compared with which slavery and
death in any form would have been a welcome boon: wives and daughters
brutally outraged before their husbands’ and parents’ faces; infants
torn from their mothers’ bosoms and dashed against the walls. The
commandant, the archbishop, and his clergy, were singled out for the
most horrible of all deaths, and sawn asunder. Need it be added, that
they who revelled in cruelties so truly diabolical, spared not the
altars of God, or the images of the saints, or aught that was holy
and venerable? All the awful woes predicted by the Jewish prophets
seemed to have come upon the world, and with such particularity
and completeness, that it was difficult to see how any fuller
accomplishment were possible. It was as if the mystery of iniquity
were revealed, and the days of Antichrist had begun.
Despite this triumphant success on the shores of Italy, and the
prospects of long-meditated conquest thus opened before him, the
failure before Rhodes rankled like a poisoned arrow in the heart of
Mahomet. When the news of the defeat of his armament reached the
sultan, his fury was unbounded, nay, it may be said to have amounted
to madness. None dared present themselves before him, and the vizier
was thought to have had a fortunate escape, when he received no
greater chastisement at the tyrant’s hands than disgrace and exile.
After the first outburst of rage was over, Mahomet prepared for
vengeance. Declaring that his troops were only invincible under his
own command, he assembled a force of 300,000 men, whom he led into
Asia Minor, designing from thence to fall upon Rhodes, and crush the
audacious islanders to the dust. But his hours were numbered; he
died at Nicomedia after a brief and sudden sickness, which is said
to have been his first; in the frenzy of his rage pouring forth wild
and passionate expressions to the last, and shrieking in the very
agonies of his death-struggle the words, “Rhodes, Rhodes, Rhodes!”
They carried his body to Constantinople, and buried it in the mosque
he had founded, and the inscription he had himself dictated on his
death-bed was placed over his tomb:
I INTENDED TO CONQUER RHODES AND TO
SUBDUE ITALY.