REBELLION OF THE MORISCOES.
Situation of Haben-Humeya--Fate of the Moorish Prisoners--Storming of
Guajaras--Escape of Haben-Humeya--Operations of Los Velez--Cabal against
Mondejar--Licence of the Soldiers--Massacre in Granada--The Insurrection
rekindled.
1569.
Before the marquis of Mondejar quitted Jubiles, he received a visit from
seventeen of the principal Moriscoes in that part of the country, who
came to tender their submission, exculpating themselves, at the same
time, from any share in the insurrection, and humbly suing for the
captain-general's protection. This, agreeably to his policy, he promptly
accorded, granting them a safe-conduct, with instructions to tell their
countrymen what he had done, and persuade them, if possible, to return
to their allegiance, as the only way of averting the ruin that else
would speedily overtake them. This act of clemency, so repugnant to the
feelings of the Spaniards, was a new cause of disgust to his soldiers,
who felt that the fair terms thus secured by the rebels were little less
than a victory over themselves.[84] Yet the good effects of this policy
were soon made visible, when the marquis resumed his march; for, as his
favourable dispositions became more generally known, numbers of the
Moriscoes, and several places on the route, eagerly tendered their
submission, imploring his mercy, and protection against his followers.
Aben-Humeya, meanwhile, who lay at Paterna, with his wives and his
warriors gathered around, saw with dismay that his mountain throne was
fast sliding away from beneath him. The spirit of distrust and
disaffection had crept into his camp. It was divided into two parties;
one of these, despairing of further resistance, would have come
instantly to terms with the enemy; the other still adhered to a bolder
policy; but its leaders, if we may trust the Castilian writers, were
less influenced by patriotic than by personal motives, being for the
most part men who had borne so conspicuous a part in the insurrection,
that they could scarcely hope to be included in any amnesty granted by
the Spaniards. Such, in particular, were the African adventurers, who
had distinguished themselves above all others by their ferocious
persecution of the Christians. They directed, at this time, the counsels
of the Moorish prince, filling his mind with suspicions of the loyalty
of some of his followers, especially of the father of one of his
wives,--a person of much authority among the Moriscoes. To suspect and
to slay were words of much the same import with Aben-Humeya. He sent for
his relative, and, on his entering the apartment, caused him to be
despatched before his eyes.[85] He would have followed this up by the
murder of some others of the family, if they had not eluded his grasp;
thus establishing his title to a descent from those despots of the East
with whom the lives of their kindred were of as little account as the
vermin in their path.[86]
He was still at the head of a numerous army; its number, indeed,
amounting to six thousand men, constituted its greatest strength; for,
without discipline, almost without arms, it was made up of such rude,
incongruous materials, that, as he already had experience, it could
never abide the shock of battle from the militia of Castile. The Moorish
prince had other causes for discouragement in the tidings he was hourly
receiving of the defection of his subjects. The clemency shown by the
conqueror was doing more for him than his arms,--as the snow which the
blasts of winter have only bound more closely to the hill-side loosens
its hold and falls away under the soft touch of spring. Notwithstanding
his late display of audacity, the unhappy young man now lost all
confidence in his own fortunes and in his followers. Sorely perplexed,
he knew not where to turn. He had little of the constancy or courage of
the patriot who has perilled his life in a great cause; and he now had
recourse to the same expedient which he had so lately punished with
death in his father-in-law.
He sent a message to the marquis of Mondejar, offering to surrender,
and, if time were given, to persuade his people to follow his example.
Meanwhile he requested the Spanish commander to stay his march, and thus
prevent a collision with his troops. Mondejar, though he would not
consent to this, advanced more leisurely, while he opened a negotiation
with his enemy. He had already come in sight of the rebel forces, when
he consented, at the request of Aben-Humeya, to halt for a night in the
neighbouring village of Iniza, in order to give time for a personal
interview. This required the troops, some of whom had now advanced
within musket-range of the enemy, to fall back, and take up ground in
the rear of their present position. In executing this manoeuvre, they
came almost in contact with a detachment of the Moorish army, who, in
their ignorance of its real object, regarding the movement as a hostile
demonstration, sent a shower of arrows and other missiles among the
Spaniards, which they returned, with hearty goodwill, by a volley of
musketry. The engagement soon became general. Aben-Humeya at the time
was reading a letter, which he had just received from one of Mondejar's
staff, arranging the place for the interview, when he was startled by
the firing, and saw with consternation his own men warmly engaged with
the enemy. Supposing he had been deceived by the Spaniards, he flung the
letter on the ground, and throwing himself into the saddle, without so
much as attempting to rally his forces, which were now flying over the
field in all directions, he took the road to the Sierra Nevada, followed
by only five or six of his attendants.[87] His horse was fleet, and he
soon gained the defiles of the mountains. But he was hotly pursued; and,
thinking it safer to trust to himself than to his horse, he dismounted,
cut the hamstrings of the animal, to prevent his being of service to his
pursuers, and disappeared in the obscure depths of the sierra, where it
would have been fruitless to follow him.
[Sidenote: THE FALL OF JUBILES.]
The rout of his army was complete; and the victors might have inflicted
an incalculable loss on the fugitives, had not the marquis of Mondejar
called off his troops, and put a stop to the work of death. He wished to
keep open as widely as possible the door of reconciliation. His conduct,
which was not understood, and could not have been appreciated by his
men, was stigmatized by them as treachery. They found some amends for
their disappointment in the pillage of Paterna, the residence of
Aben-Humeya, which well provided with the costly finery so much loved by
the Moriscoes, furnished a welcome booty to the conquerors.[88]
Among the Moorish captives were Aben-Humeya's mother, two of his
sisters, and one of his wives, to whom, as usual, Mondejar extended his
protection.
Yet the disposal of his prisoners was a subject of perplexity to the
Spanish commander. His soldiers, as we have seen, would have settled it
at once, had their captain consented, by appropriating them all as the
spoils of victory. There were many persons, higher in authority than
these soldiers, who were of the same way of thinking on the subject with
them. The question was one of sufficient importance to come before the
government. Philip referred it to the council of state; and, regarding
it as a case of conscience, in which the interests of religion were
concerned, he asked the opinion of the Royal Audience of Granada, over
which Deza presided. The final decision was what might have been
expected from tribunals with inquisitors at their head. The Moriscoes,
men and women, were declared to have incurred by their rebellion the
doom of slavery. What is more remarkable is the precedent cited for this
judgment, it being no other than a decision of the Council of Toledo, as
far back as the time of the Visigoths, when certain rebellious Jews were
held to have forfeited their liberty by an act of rebellion.[89] The
Morisco, it was said, should fare no better than the Jew, since he was
not only, like him, a rebel and an infidel, but an apostate to boot. The
decision, it was understood, was very satisfactory to Philip, who,
however, "with the pious moderation that distinguished so just and
considerate a prince,"[90] so far mitigated the severity of the
sentence, in the pragmatic which he published, as to exempt from its
operation boys under ten years of age and girls under eleven. These were
to be placed in the care of responsible persons, who would give them the
benefits of a Christian education. Unhappily, there is reason to think
that the good intentions of the government were not very conscientiously
carried out in respect to this provision by those intrusted with the
execution of it.[91]
While the question was pending, Jubiles fell into the hands of the
victors; and Mondejar, not feeling himself at liberty to release his
female captives, of whom more than a thousand, by this event, had come
into his possession, delivered them in charge to three of the principal
Moriscoes, to whom, it may be remembered, he had given letters of
safe-conduct. They were allowed to restore the women to their families,
on condition that they should all be surrendered on the demand of the
government. Such an act, it must be admitted, implies great confidence
in the good faith of the Moslems,--a confidence fully justified by the
result. When, in obedience to the pragmatic, they were claimed by the
government, they were delivered up by their families,--with the
exception of some who had died in the meantime,--and the greater part of
them were sold by public auction in Granada.[92]
The only place of any importance which now held out against Mondejar was
Las Guajaras, situated in the plains of Salobrena, in the direction of
Velez Malaga. This was a rocky, precipitous hill, on the summit of
which, nature, with little assistance from art, had constructed a sort
of rude fortress. It was held by a fierce band of Moriscoes, who,
descending from the heights, swept over the plains, carrying on
devastating forays, that made them the terror of the surrounding
country. Mondejar, moved by the complaints of the inhabitants, left
Ugijar on the fifth of February, at the head of his whole array, now
much augmented by the arrival of recent levies, and marched rapidly on
Guajaras. He met with a more formidable resistance than he had expected.
His first attempt to carry the place was repulsed with a heavy loss on
the part of the assailants. The Moorish garrison, from its elevated
position, poured a storm of missiles on their heads, and, what was
worse, rolled down huge masses of rock, which, ploughing through the
Castilian ranks, overthrew men and horses, and did as great execution as
would have been done by artillery. Eight hundred Spaniards were left
dead on the field: and many a noble house in Andalusia had to go into
mourning for that day's disaster.
Mondejar, stung by this repulse,--the first reverse his arms had
experienced,--determined to lead the attack in person on the following
day. His approaches were made with greater caution than before; and,
without much injury, he succeeded in bringing his arquebusiers on a
higher level, where their fire swept the enemy's intrenchments and
inflicted on him a terrible loss. Still the sun went down, and the place
had not surrendered. But El Zamar, its brave defender, without
ammunition, almost without arms, felt that there was no longer hope for
his little garrison. Silently evacuating the place, therefore, at dead
of night, the Moriscoes, among whom were both women and children,
scrambled down the precipice with the fearlessness of the mountain goat,
and made their escape without attracting the notice of the Spaniards.
They left behind only such as, from age or infirmity, were unable to
follow them in their perilous descent.
On the next day, when the Spanish general prepared to renew the assault,
great was his astonishment to find that the enemy had vanished, except
only a few wretched beings incapable of making any resistance. All the
evil passions of Mondejar's nature had been roused by the obstinate
defence of the place, and the lives it had cost him. In the heat of his
wrath, he ordered the helpless garrison to be put to the sword. No
prayer for mercy was heeded. No regard was had to age or to sex. All
were cut down in the presence of the general, who is even said to have
stimulated the faltering soldiers to go through with their bloody
work.[93] An act so hard to be reconciled with his previous conduct has
been referred by some to the annoyance which he felt at being so
frequently taxed with excessive lenity to the Moriscoes, an accusation
which was carried, indeed, before the crown, and which the present
occasion afforded him the means of effectually disproving. However this
may be, the historian must lament the tarnished honour of a brave and
generous chief, whose character up to this time had been sullied by
none of those acts of cruelty which distinguished this sanguinary
war.[94]
[Sidenote: CAPTURE AND DEATH OF EL ZAMAR.]
But even this cruelty was surpassed by that of his son, the count of
Tendilla. El Zamar, the gallant defender of the fortress, wandered about
among the crags with his little daughter, whom he carried in his arms.
Famished and fainting from fatigue, he was at length overtaken by his
enemies, and sent off as a prisoner to Granada, where the fierce
Tendilla caused the flesh to be torn from his bones with red-hot
pincers, and his mangled carcase, yet palpitating with life, to be
afterwards quartered. The crime of El Zamar was that he had fought too
bravely for the independence of his nation.
Having razed the walls of Guajaras to the ground, Mondejar returned with
his blood-stained laurels to his head-quarters at Orgiba. Tower and town
had gone down before him. On every side his arms had proved victorious.
But one thing was wanting--the capture of Aben-Humeya, the "little king"
of the Alpujarras. So long as he lived, the insurrection, now smothered,
might be rekindled at any time. He had taken refuge, it was known, in
the wilds of the Sierra Nevada, where, as the captain-general wrote, he
was wandering from rock to rock with only a handful of followers.[95]
Mondejar sent two detachments of soldiers into the sierra, to discover
his haunts, if possible, and seize upon his person.
The commander of one of these parties, named Maldonado, ascertained that
Aben-Humeya, secreting himself among the fastnesses of the mountains by
day, would steal forth at night, and repair, with a few of his
followers, to a place called Mecina, on the skirts of the sierra. Here
he found shelter in the house of his kinsman, Aben-Aboo, one of those
Moriscoes who, after the affair of Jubiles, had obtained a safe-conduct
from Mondejar. Having gained this intelligence, and learned the
situation of the house, the Spanish captain marched, with his little
band of two hundred soldiers, in that direction. He made his approach
with the greatest secrecy. Travelling by night, he reached undiscovered
the neighbourhood of Aben-Aboo's residence. Advancing under cover of the
darkness, he had arrived within gunshot of the dwelling, when, at this
critical moment, all his precautions were defeated by the carelessness
of one of his company, whose arquebuse was accidentally discharged. The
report, reverberating from the hills in the silence of night, roused the
inmates of the house, who slept as the wearied mariner sleeps when his
ship is in danger of foundering. One of them, El Zaguer, the uncle of
Aben-Humeya, and the person who had been mainly instrumental in securing
him his crown--a crown of thorns--was the first roused, and, springing
to the window, he threw himself down, though the height was
considerable, and made his way to the mountains.
His nephew, who lay in another part of the building, was not so
fortunate. When he reached the window, he saw with dismay the ground in
front occupied by a body of Castilian troops. Hastening to another
window, he found it still the same; his enemies were everywhere around
the house. Bewildered and sorely distressed, he knew not where to turn.
Thus entrapped, and without the means of making any terms with his
enemies, he knew he had as little to hope from their mercy as the wolf
has from the hunters who have caught him in his lair. The Spaniards,
meanwhile, were thundering at the door of the building for admittance.
Fortunately it was well secured. A sudden thought occurred to
Aben-Humeya, which he instantly put in execution. Hastening down stairs,
he took his station behind the door, and gently drew the bolts. The
noise was not heard amidst the din made by the assailants, who, finding
the door give way, supposed they had forced the fastenings, and pouring
in, soon spread themselves in every direction over the house in search
of the fugitive. Aben-Humeya, ensconced behind the door, escaped
observation; and, when his enemies had disappeared, stole out into the
darkness, and, under its friendly mantle, succeeded in finding his way
to the mountains.
It was in vain that the Spaniards, enraged at the loss of the quarry,
questioned Aben-Aboo as to the haunts of his kinsman, and of El Zaguer,
his uncle, in the sierra. Nor could the most excruciating tortures shake
his constancy. "I may die," said the brave Morisco, "but my friends will
live." Leaving him for dead, the soldiers returned to the camp, taking
with them a number of prisoners, his companions. There was no one of
them, however, that was not provided with a safe-conduct from the
marquis, who accordingly set them at liberty; showing a respect for his
engagements, in which unhappily, as we shall see hereafter, he was not
too well imitated by his soldiers. The heroic Aben-Aboo, though left for
dead, did not die, but lived to head another insurrection, and to take
ample vengeance on his enemies.[96]
While the arms of the marquis of Mondejar were thus crowned with
success, the war raged yet more fiercely on the eastern slopes of the
Alpujarras, where a martial race of mountaineers threatened a descent on
Almeria and the neighbouring places, keeping the inhabitants in
perpetual alarm. They accordingly implored the government at Granada to
take some effectual measures for their relief. The president, Deza, in
consequence, desired the marquis of Los Velez, who held the office of
_adelantado_ of the adjoining province of Murcia, to muster a force and
provide for the defence of the frontier. This proceeding was regarded by
Mondejar's friends as an insult to that nobleman, whose military
authority extended over the country menaced by the Moriscoes. The act
was the more annoying, that the person invited to assume the command was
a rival, between whose house and that of the Mendozas there existed an
ancient feud. Yet the king sanctioned the proceeding, thinking perhaps
that Mondejar was not in sufficient force to protect the whole region of
the Alpujarras. However this may be, Philip, by this act, brought two
commanders of equal authority on the theatre of action; men who, in
their characters and habitual policy, were so opposed to each other,
that little concert could 'be expected between them.
Don Luis Fajardo, marquis of Los Velez, was a nobleman somewhat advanced
in years, most of which had been passed in the active duties of military
life. He had studied the art of war under the great emperor, and had
acquired the reputation of a prompt and resolute soldier, bold in
action, haughty, indeed overbearing, in his deportment, and with an
inflexible will, not to be shaken by friend or foe. The severity of his
nature had not been softened under the stern training of the camp; and,
as his conduct in the present expedition showed, he was troubled with
none of those scruples on the score of humanity which so often turned
the edge of Mondejar's sword from the defenceless and the weak. The
Moriscoes, who understood his character well, held him in terror, as
they proved by the familiar _sobriquet_ which they gave him of the
"iron-headed devil."[97]
[Sidenote: OPERATIONS OF LOS VELEZ.]
The marquis, on receiving the invitation of Deza, lost no time in
gathering his kindred and numerous vassals around him; and they came
with an alacrity which showed how willingly they obeyed the summons to a
foray over the border. His own family was a warlike race, reared from
the cradle amidst the din of arms. In the present expedition he was
attended by three of his sons, the youngest of whom a boy of thirteen,
had the proud distinction of carrying his father's banner.[98] With the
levies promptly furnished from the neighbouring places, Los Velez soon
found himself supported by a force of greater strength than that which
followed the standard of Mondejar. At the head of this valiant but
ill-disciplined array, he struck into the gloomy gorges of the
mountains, resolved on bringing the enemy at once to battle.
Our limits will not allow room for the details of a campaign which in
its general features bears so close a resemblance to that already
described. Indeed the contest was too unequal to afford a subject of
much interest to the general reader, while the details are of still less
importance in a military view, from the total ignorance shown by the
Moriscoes of the art of war.
The fate of the campaign was decided by three battles, fought
successively at Huecija, Filix, and Ohanez, places all lying in the
eastern ranges of the Alpujarras. That of Filix was the most sanguinary.
A great number of stragglers hung on the skirts of the Morisco army; and
besides six thousand--many of them women[99]--left dead upon the field,
there were two thousand children, we are told, butchered by the
Spaniards.[100] Some fled for refuge to the caves and thickets; but they
were speedily dragged from their hiding-places, and massacred by the
soldiers in cold blood. Others, to escape death from the hands of their
enemies, threw themselves headlong down the precipices,--some of them
with their infants in their arms,--and thus miserably perished. "The
cruelties committed by the troops," says one of the army, who chronicled
its achievements, "were such as the pen refuses to record.[101] I
myself," he adds, "saw the corpse of a Morisco woman, covered with
wounds, stretched upon the ground, with six of her children lying dead
around her. She had succeeded in protecting a seventh, still an infant,
with her body, and though the lances which pierced her had passed
through its clothes, it had marvellously escaped any injury. It was
clinging," he continues, "to its dead mother's bosom, from which it drew
milk that was mingled with blood. I carried it away and saved it."[102]
For the credit of human nature he records some other instances of the
like kind, showing that a spark of humanity might occasionally be struck
out from the flinty breasts of these marauders.
The field of battle afforded a rich harvest for the victors, who
stripped the dead, and rifled the bodies of the women of collars,
bracelets, ornaments of gold and silver, and costly jewels, with which
the Moorish female loved to decorate her person. Sated with plunder, the
soldiers took the first occasion to leave their colours and return to
their homes. Their places were soon supplied, as the display of their
riches sharpened the appetites of their countrymen, who eagerly floaked
to the banner of a chief that was sure to lead them on to victory and
plunder. But that chief, with all his stern authority, was no match for
the spirit of insubordination that reigned among his troops; and, when
he attempted to punish one of their number for a gross act of
disobedience, he was made to understand that there were three thousand
in the camp ready to stand by their comrade and protect him from
injury.[103]
The wild excesses of the soldiery were strangely mingled with a respect
for the forms of religion, that intimated the nature of the war in which
they were engaged. Before entering into action the whole army knelt down
in prayer, solemnly invoking the protection of Heaven on its champions.
After the battle of Ohanez, where the mountain streams were so polluted
with the gore that the Spaniards found it difficult to slake their
thirst, they proceeded to celebrate the _fete_ of the Purification of
the Virgin.[104] A procession was formed to the church, which was headed
by the marquis of Los Velez and his chivalry, clad in complete mail, and
bearing white tapers in their hands. Then came the Christian women, who
had been rescued from captivity, dressed, by the general's command, in
robes of blue and white, as the appropriate colours of the Virgin.[105]
The rear was brought up by a body of friars and other ecclesiastics, who
had taken part in the crusade. The procession passed slowly between the
files of the soldiery, who saluted it with volleys of musketry as it
entered the church, where _Te Deum_ was chanted, and the whole company
prostrated themselves in adoration of the Lord of Hosts, who had given
his enemies into their hands.
[Sidenote: CABAL AGAINST MONDEJAR.]
From this solemn act of devotion the troops proceeded to the work of
pillage, in which the commander, unlike his rival, the marquis of
Mondejar, joined as heartily as the meanest of his followers. The
Moorish captives, to the number of sixteen hundred, among whom, we are
told, were many young and beautiful maidens, instead of meeting with the
protection they had received from the more generous Mondejar, were
delivered up to the licentious soldiery; and for a fortnight there
reigned throughout the camp a carnival of the wildest riot and
debauchery.[106] In this strange confusion of the religious sentiment
and of crimes most revolting to humanity, we see the characteristic
features of the crusade. Nowhere do we find such a free range given to
the worst passions of our nature as in the wars of religion,--where each
party considers itself as arrayed against the enemies of God, and where
the sanctity of the cause throws a veil over the foulest transgressions
that hides their enormity from the eye of the transgressor.
While the Moriscoes were stunned by the fierce blows thus dealt in rapid
succession by the iron-hearted marquis, the mild and liberal policy of
his rival was still more effectually reducing his enemies to obedience.
Disheartened by their reverses, exhausted by fatigue and hunger, as they
roved among the mountains, without raiment to clothe or a home to
shelter them, the wretched wanderers came in one after another to sue
for pardon. Nearly all the towns and villages in the district assigned
to Mondejar, oppressed with like feelings of despondency, sent
deputations to the Spanish quarters, to tender their submission and to
sue for his protection. While these were graciously received, the
general provided for the future security of his conquests, by
establishing garrisons in the principal places, and by sending small
detachments to different parts, to act as a sort of armed police for the
maintenance of order. In this way, says a contemporary, the tranquillity
of the country was so well established, that small parties of ten or a
dozen soldiers wandered unmolested from one end of it to the other.[107]
Mondejar, at the same time, wrote to the king, to acquaint him with the
actual state of things. He besought his master to deal mercifully with
the conquered people, and thus afford him the means of redeeming the
pledges he had given for the favourable dispositions of the
government.[108] He made another communication to the marquis of Los
Velez, urging that nobleman to co-operate with him in the same humane
policy, as the one best suited to the interests of the country. But his
rival took a very different view of the matter; and he plainly told the
marquis of Mondejar, that it would require more than one pitched battle
yet to break the spirit of the Moriscoes; and that, since they thought
so differently on the subject, the only way left was for each commander
to take the course he judged best.[109]
Unfortunately, there were others--men, too, of influence at the
court--who were of the same stern way of thinking as the marquis of Los
Velez; men acting under the impulse of religious bigotry, of implacable
hatred of the Moslems, and of a keen remembrance of the outrages they
had committed. There were others who, more basely, thought only of
themselves and of the profit they should derive from the continuance of
the war.
Among those of the former class was the president Deza, with the members
of the Audience and the civil authorities in Granada. Always viewing
the proceedings of the captain-general with an unfriendly eye, they
loudly denounced his policy to the king, condemning his ill-timed lenity
to a crafty race, who would profit by it to rally from their late
disasters and to form new plans of rebellion. It was not right, they
said, that outrages like those perpetrated against both _divine and
human majesty_ should go unpunished.[110] Mondejar's enemies did not
stop here, but accused him of defrauding the exchequer of its dues, the
fifth of the spoils of war gained in battle from the infidel. Finally,
they charged him with having shown want of respect for the civil
authorities of Granada, in omitting to communicate to them his plan of
operations.
The marquis, advised by his friends at court of these malicious attempts
to ruin his credit with the government, despatched a confidential envoy
to Madrid, to present his case before his sovereign and to refute the
accusations of his enemies. The charge of peculation seems to have made
no impression on the mind of a prince who would not have been slow to
suspect, had there been any ground for suspicion. There may have been
stronger grounds for the complaint of want of deference to the civil
authorities of Granada. The best vindication of his conduct in this
particular must be found in the character and conduct of his
adversaries. From the first, Deza and the municipality had regarded him
with jealousy, and done all in their power to thwart his plans and
circumscribe his authority. It is only confidence that begets
confidence. Mondejar, early accustomed to command, was probably too
impatient of opposition.[111] He chafed under the obstacles and
annoyances thrown in his way by his narrow-minded rivals. We have not
the means before us of coming to a conclusive judgment on the merits of
the controversy, but from what we know of the marquis's accusers, with
the wily inquisitor at their head, we shall hardly err by casting our
sympathies into the scale of the frank and generous-hearted soldier,
who, while those that thus censured him were living at ease in the
capital, had been fighting and following up the enemy, amidst the
winter's tempests and across mountains covered with snow; and who, in
little more than a month, without other aid than the disorderly levies
of the cities, had quelled a dangerous revolt, and restored tranquillity
to the land.
Philip was greatly perplexed by the different accounts sent to him of
the posture of affairs in Granada. Mondejar's agent suggested to the
council of state that it would be well if his majesty would do as his
father, Charles the Fifth, would have done in the like case--repair
himself to the scene of action, and observe the actual state of things
with his own eyes. But the suggestion found no favour with the minister,
Espinosa, who affected to hold the Moriscoes in such contempt, that a
measure of this kind, he declared, would be derogatory to the royal
dignity. A better course would be for his majesty to send some one as
his representative, clothed with full powers to take charge of the war,
and of a rank so manifestly pre-eminent, that neither of the two
commanders now in the field could take umbrage at his appointment over
their heads.
This suggestion, as the politic minister doubtless had foreseen, was
much more to Philip's taste than that of his going in person to the
scene of strife; for, however little he might shrink from any amount of
labour in the closet, he had, as we have seen, a sluggish temperament,
that indisposed him to much bodily exertion. The plan of sending some
one to represent the monarch at the seat of war was accordingly
approved; and the person selected for this responsible office was
Philip's bastard brother, Don John of Austria.[112]
[Sidenote: LICENCE OF THE SOLDIERS.]
Rumours of what was going on in the cabinet at Madrid, reaching Granada
from time to time, were followed by the most mischievous consequences.
The troops, in particular, had no sooner learned that the marquis of
Mondejar was about to be superseded in the command, than they threw off
the little restraint he had been hitherto able to impose on them, and
abandoned themselves to the violence and rapine to which they were so
well disposed, and which seemed now to be countenanced by the president
and the authorities in Granada. The very patrols whom Mondejar had
commissioned to keep the peace were the first to set the example of
violating it. They invaded the hamlets and houses they were sent to
protect, plundered them of their contents, and committed the foulest
outrages on their inmates. The garrisons in the principal towns imitated
their example, carrying on their depredations, indeed, on a still larger
scale. Even the capital, under the very eyes of the count of Tendilla,
sent out detachments of soldiers, who with ruthless violence trampled
down the green plantations in the valleys, sacked the villages, and
dragged away the inhabitants from the midst of their blazing dwellings
into captivity.[113]
It was with the deepest indignation that the marquis of Mondejar saw the
fine web of policy he had been so busily contriving thus wantonly rent
asunder by the very hands that should have protected it. He now longed
as ardently as any in the province for the coming of some one entrusted
with authority to enforce obedience from the turbulent soldiery; a task
of still greater difficulty than the conquest of the enemy. While such
was the state of things, an event occurred in Granada which, in its
general character, may remind one of some of the most atrocious scenes
of the French Revolution.
In the beginning of the troubles, the president had caused a number of
Moriscoes, amounting to not less than a hundred and fifty, it is said,
to be arrested and thrown into the prison of the Chancery. Certain
treasonable designs, of which they had been suspected for a long time,
furnished the feeble pretext for this violent proceeding. Some few,
indeed, were imprisoned for debt. But the greater number were wealthy
men, who enjoyed the highest consideration among their countrymen. They
had been suffered to remain in confinement during the whole of the
campaign; thus serving, in some sort, as hostages for the good behaviour
of the people of the Albaicin.
Early in March, a rumour was circulated that the mountaineers, headed by
Aben-Humeya, whose father and brother were among the prisoners, were
prepared to make a descent on the city by night, and, with the
assistance of the inhabitants of the Albaicin, to begin the work of
destruction by assaulting the prison of the Chancery and liberating
their countrymen. This report, readily believed, caused the greatest
alarm among the citizens, boding no good to the unhappy prisoners. On
the evening of the seventeenth, Deza received intelligence that lights
had been seen on some of the neighbouring mountains, which seemed to be
of the nature of signals, as they were answered by corresponding lights
in some of the houses in the Albaicin. The assault, it was said, would
doubtless be made that very night. The president appears to have taken
no measures for the protection of the city, but, on receiving the
information, he at once communicated it to the alcayde of the prison,
and directed him to provide for the security of his prisoners. The
alcayde lost no time in gathering his friends about him, and caused arms
to be distributed among a body of Spaniards, of whom there appears to
have been a considerable number confined in the place at this time. Thus
prepared, they all remained, as in silent expectation of some great
event.
At length, some time before midnight, the guard posted in the Campana,
one of the towers of the Alhambra, struck the bell with a succession of
rapid strokes, such as were used to give an alarm. In a moment every
Spaniard in the prison was on his feet; and, the alcayde throwing open
the doors and leading the way, they fell at once on their defenceless
victims, confined in another quarter of the building. As many of these
were old and infirm, and most of them inoffensive citizens, whose quiet
way of life had little fitted them for brawl or battle, and who were now
destitute of arms of any kind, they seemed to be as easy victims as the
sheep into whose fold the famishing wolves have broken in the absence of
the shepherd. Yet they did not give up their lives without an effort to
save them. Despair lent them strength, and snatching up chairs, benches,
or any other article of furniture in their cells, they endeavoured to
make good their defence against the assailants. Some, exerting a vigour
which despair only could have given, succeeded in wrenching stones from
the walls or iron bars from the windows, and thus supplied themselves
with the means, not merely of defence, but of doing some mischief to the
assailants in their turn. They fought, in short, like men who are
fighting for their lives. Some, however, losing all hope of escape,
piled together a heap of mats, bedding, and other combustibles, and,
kindling them with their torches, threw themselves into the flames,
intending in this way to set fire to the building, and to perish in one
general conflagration with their murderers.[114] But the flames they had
kindled were soon extinguished in their own blood, and their mangled
remains were left to blacken among the cinders of their funeral pile.
For two hours the deadly conflict between parties so unequally matched
had continued; the one shouting its old war-cry of "Saint Iago," as if
fighting on an open field; the other, if we may take the Castilian
account, calling on their prophet to come to their assistance. But no
power, divine or human, interposed in their behalf; and, notwithstanding
the wild uproar caused by men engaged in a mortal struggle, by the sound
of heavy blows and falling missiles, by the yells of the victors and the
dying moans and agonies of the vanquished, no noise to give token of
what was going on--if we are to credit the chroniclers--found its way
beyond the walls of the prison. Even the guard stationed in the
court-yard, we are assured, were not roused from their slumbers.[115]
At length some rumour of what was passing reached the city, where the
story ran that the Moriscoes were in arms against their keepers, and
would soon probably get possession of the gaol. This report was enough
for the people, who, roused by the alarm-bell, were now in a state of
excitement that disposed them to any deed of violence. Snatching up
their weapons, they rushed, or rather flew, like vultures snuffing the
carrion from afar, to the scene of slaughter. Strengthened by this
reinforcement, the assailants in the prison soon completed the work of
death; and, when the morning light broke through the grated windows, it
disclosed the full extent of the tragedy. Of all the Moriscoes only two
had escaped,--the father and brother of Aben-Humeya, over whom a guard
had been especially set. Five Spaniards were slain, and seventeen
wounded; showing the fierce resistance made by the Moslems, though
destitute of arms.[116]
[Sidenote: THE INSURRECTION REKINDLED.]
Such was the massacre in the prison of the Chancery of Granada, which,
as already intimated, nowhere finds a more fitting parallel than in the
murders perpetrated on a still larger scale during the French
Revolution, in the famous massacres of September. But the miscreants who
perpetrated these enormities were the tools of a sanguinary faction,
that was regarded with horror by every friend of humanity in the
country. In Granada, on the other hand, it was the government itself, or
at least those of highest authority in it, who were responsible for the
deed. For who can doubt that a proceeding, the success of which depended
on the concurrence of so many circumstances as to preclude the idea of
accident, must have been countenanced, if not contrived, by those who
had the direction of affairs?
Another feature, not the least striking in the case, is the apathy shown
by contemporary writers,--men who on more than one occasion have been
willing to testify their sympathy for the sufferings of the Moriscoes.
One of these chroniclers, after telling the piteous tale, coolly remarks
that it was a good thing for the alcayde of the prison, who pocketed a
large sum of money which had been found on the persons of the wealthy
Moors. Another, after noticing the imputation of an intended rising on
the part of the prisoners as in the highest degree absurd, dismisses the
subject by telling us that "the Moriscoes were a weak, scatter-brained
race, with just wit enough to bring on themselves such a _mishap_,"--as
he pleasantly terms the massacre.[117] The government of Madrid received
the largest share of the price of blood. For when the wives and families
of the deceased claimed the inheritance of their estates, in some cases
very large, their claims were rejected--on what grounds we are not
told--by the alcaldes of the Court of Audience in Granada, and the
estates were confiscated to the use of the crown. Such a decision,
remarks a chronicler, may lead one to infer that the prisoners had been
guilty of even more heinous offences than those commonly imputed to
them.[118] The impartial reader will probably come to a very different
conclusion; and since it was the opulent burghers who were thus marked
out for destruction, he may naturally infer that the baser passion of
avarice mingled with the feelings of fear and hatred in bringing about
the massacre.
However this may be, so foul a deed placed an impassable gulf between
the Spaniards and the Moriscoes. It taught the latter that they could no
longer rely on their perfidious enemy, who, while he was holding out to
them one hand in token of reconciliation, was raising the other to smite
them to the ground. A cry of vengeance ran through all the borders of
the Alpujarras. Again the mountaineers rose in arms. They cut off
stragglers, waylaid the patrols whom Mondejar had distributed throughout
the country, and even menaced the military posts of the Spaniards. On
some occasions, they encountered the latter with success in the open
field, and in one instance defeated and slew a large body of Christians,
as they were returning from a foray laden with plunder. Finally they
invited Aben-Humeya to return and resume the command, promising to stand
by him to the last. The chief obeyed the call and, leaving his retreat
in the Sierra Nevada, again took possession of his domains, and,
planting his blood-red flag on his native hills,[119] soon gathered
around him a more formidable host than before. He even affected a
greater pomp than he had before displayed. He surrounded himself with a
body-guard of four hundred arquebusiers.[120] He divided his army into
battalions and companies, and endeavoured to introduce into it something
of the organization and tactics of the Spaniards.[121] He sent his
brother Abdallah to Constantinople, to represent his condition to the
Sultan, and to implore him to make common cause with his Moslem brethren
in the Peninsula. In short, rebellion assumed a more audacious front
than at any time during the previous campaign; and the Christians of
Andalusia and Granada looked with the greatest anxiety for the coming of
a commander possessed of sufficient authority to infuse harmony into the
counsels of the rival chiefs, to enforce obedience from the turbulent
soldiery, and to bring the war to a speedy conclusion.