[33] See the _Story of Turkey_, 195.

[34] Von Hammer, _Gesch. d. Osm. Reiches_, ii. 142.

[35] H[=a]jji Khal[=i]fa, 58.

[36] Jurien de la Graviere, _Doria et Barberousse_, Pt. II., ch.

xlii.-xlv.; H[=a]jji Khal[=i]fa, 62; Von Hammer, ii. 155; Morgan, 290.

X.

BARBAROSSA IN FRANCE.

1539-1546.

Barbarossa's life was drawing to a close, but in the eight years that

remained he enhanced his already unrivalled renown. His first exploit

after Prevesa was the recapture of Castelnuovo, which the allied

fleets had seized in October, as some compensation on land for their

humiliation at sea. The Turkish armies had failed to recover the

fortress in January, 1539; but in July Barbarossa went to the front as

usual, with a fleet of two hundred galleys, large and small, and all

his best captains; and, after some very pretty fighting in the Gulf of

Cattaro, landed eighty-four of his heaviest guns and bombarded

Castelnuovo, from three well-placed batteries. On August 7th, a

sanguinary assault secured the first line of the defences; three days

later the governor, Don Francisco Sarmiento, and his handful of

Spaniards, surrendered to a final assault, and were surprised to find

themselves chivalrously respected as honourable foes. Three thousand

Spaniards had fallen, and eight thousand Turks, in the course of the

siege.

One more campaign and Barbarossa's feats are over. Great events were

happening on the Algerine coasts, where we must return after too long

an absence in the Levant and Adriatic: but first the order of years

must be neglected that we may see the last of the most famous of all

the Corsairs. To make amends for the coldness of Henry VIII., Francis

I. was allied with the other great maritime power, Turkey, against the

Emperor, in 1543; and the old sea rover actually brought his fleet of

one hundred and fifty ships to Marseilles. The French captains saluted

the Corsair's _capitana_, and the banner of Our Lady was lowered to be

replaced by the Crescent. Well may a French admiral call this "the

impious alliance." On his way Barbarossa enjoyed a raid in quite his

old style; burnt Reggio and carried off the governor's daughter;

appeared off the Tiber, and terrified the people of Civita Vecchia;

and in July entered the Gulf of Lyons in triumph. Here he found the

young Duke of Enghien, Francois de Bourbon, commander of the French

galleys, who received him with all honour and ceremony.

[Illustration: GALLEY AT ANCHOR.

(_Jurien de la Graviere._)]

Barbarossa had hardly arrived when he discovered that his great

expedition was but a fool's errand. The King of France was afraid of

attempting a serious campaign against the Emperor, and he was already

ashamed of his alliance with the Musulmans: his own subjects--nay, all

Europe--were crying shame. Barbarossa grew crimson with fury, and tore

his white beard: he had not come with a vast fleet all the way from

Stambol to be made a laughing-stock. Something must evidentially be

done to satisfy his honour, and Francis I. unwillingly gave orders for

the bombardment of Nice. Accompanied by a feeble and ill-prepared

French contingent, which soon ran short of ammunition--"Fine

soldiers," cried the Corsair, "to fill their ships with wine casks,

and leave the powder barrels behind!"--Barbarossa descended upon the

Gate of Italy. The city soon surrendered, but the fort held out,

defended by one of those invincible foes of the Turk, a Knight of

Malta, Paolo Simeoni, who had himself experienced captivity at the

hands of Barbarossa; and as the French protested against sacking the

town after capitulation on terms, and as Charles's relieving army was

advancing, the camps were broken up in confusion, and the fleets

retired from Nice.

The people of Toulon beheld a strange spectacle that winter. The

beautiful harbour of Provence was allotted to the Turkish admiral for

his winter quarters. There, at anchor, lay the immense fleet of the

Grand Signior; and who knew how long it might dominate the fairest

province of France? There, turbaned Musulmans paced the decks and

bridge, below and beside which hundreds of Christian slaves sat

chained to the bench and victims to the lash of the boatswain.

Frenchmen were forced to look on, helplessly, while Frenchmen groaned

in the infidels' galleys, within the security of a French port. The

captives died by hundreds of fever during that winter, but no

Christian burial was allowed them--even the bells that summon the

pious to the Mass were silenced, for are they not "the devil's

musical instrument"?[37]--and the gaps in the benches were filled by

nightly raids among the neighbouring villages. It was ill sleeping

around Toulon when the Corsair press-gangs were abroad. And to feed

and pay these rapacious allies was a task that went near to ruining

the finances of France.

The French were not satisfied of the Corsair's fidelity, and it must

be added that the Emperor might have had some reason to doubt the

honesty of Doria. The two greatest admirals of the age were both in

the Western Mediterranean, but nothing could tempt them to come to

blows. The truth was that each had a great reputation to lose, and

each preferred to go to his grave with all his fame undimmed. Francis

I. had a suspicion that Barbarossa was meditating the surrender of

Toulon to the Emperor, and, improbable as it was, some colour was

given to the King's anxiety by the amicable relations which seemed to

subsist between the Genoese Corsair and his Barbary rival. Doria gave

up the captive Dragut to his old captain for a ransom of three

thousand gold crowns--a transaction on which he afterwards looked back

with unqualified regret. The situation was growing daily more

unpleasant for France. From his easy position in Toulon, Barbarossa

sent forth squadrons under S[=a]lih Reis and other commanders to lay

waste the coasts of Spain, while he remained "lazily engaged in

emptying the coffers of the French king."

At last they got rid of him. Francis was compelled to furnish the pay

and rations of the whole crews and troops of the Ottoman fleet up to

their re-entry into the Bosphorus; he had to free four hundred

Mohammedan galley slaves and deliver them to Barbarossa; he loaded him

with jewellery, silks, and other presents; the Corsair departed in a

Corsair's style, weighed down with spoil. His homeward voyage was one

long harrying of the Italian coasts; his galley sailed low with human

freight; and his arrival at Constantinople was the signal for the

filling of all the harems of the great pashas with beautiful captives.

Barbarossa, laden with such gifts, was sure of his welcome.

Two years later he died, in July, 1546, an old man of perhaps near

ninety, yet without surviving his great fame. "Valorous yet prudent,

furious in attack, foreseeing in preparation," he ranks as the first

sea captain of his time. "The chief of the sea is dead," expressed in

three Arabic words, gives the numerical value 953, the year of the

Hijra in which Kheyr-ed-d[=i]n Barbarossa died.

Long afterwards no Turkish fleet left the Golden Horn without her crew

repeating a prayer and firing a salute over the tomb at Beshiktash,

where lie the bones of the first great Turkish admiral.

FOOTNOTE:

[37] See S. Lane-Poole, _The Speeches and Tabletalk of the Prophet

Mohammad_, 168.

XI.

CHARLES AT ALGIERS.

1541.

When Barbarossa left Algiers for ever in 1535 to become the High

Admiral of the Ottoman Empire, the Corsairs lost indeed their chief;

but so many of his captains remained behind that the game of sea

roving went on as merrily as ever. Indeed so fierce and ruthless were

their depredations that the people of Italy and Spain and the islands

began to regret the attentions of so gentlemanly a robber as

Barbarossa. His successor or viceroy at Algiers was a Sardinian

renegade, Hasan the Eunuch; but the chief commanders at sea were

Dragut, S[=a]lih Reis, Sin[=a]n, and the rest, who, when not called to

join the Captain Pasha's fleet, pursued the art of piracy from the

Barbary coast. Dragut (properly Torgh[=u]d) worked measureless

mischief in the Archipelago and Adriatic, seized Venetian galleys and

laid waste the shores of Italy, till he was caught by Giannettino

Doria, nephew of the great admiral, while unsuspectingly engaged in

dividing his spoils on the Sardinian coast (1540). Incensed to find

his vast empire perpetually harassed by foes so lawless and in

numbers so puny, Charles the Emperor resolved to put down the

Corsairs' trade once and for ever. He had subdued Tunis in 1535, but

piracy still went on. Now he would grapple the head and front of the

offence, and conquer Algiers.

He had no fears of the result; the Corsair city would fall at the mere

sight of his immense flotilla; and in this vainglorious assurance he

set out in October, 1541. He even took Spanish ladies on board to view

his triumph. The season for a descent on the African coast was over,

and every one knew that the chance of effecting anything before the

winter storms should guard the coast from any floating enemy was more

than doubtful; but "the Spaniards commonly move with gravity"; and

besides, Charles had been delayed during a busy summer by his troubles

in Germany and Flanders, and could not get away before.

Now at last he was free; and, in spite of the earnest remonstrances of

Doria and the entreaties of the Pope, to Algiers he would go.

Everything had long been prepared--a month, he believed, at the

outside would finish the matter--in short, go he would. At Spezzia he

embarked on Doria's flagship; the Duke of Alva, of sanguinary memory,

commanded the troops, many of whom had been brought by the Emperor

himself from the German highlands. Ill-luck attended them from the

outset: a storm, no unusual phenomenon with November coming on, drove

the ships back into shelter at Corsica. At length the seas subsided,

and the fleet, picking up allies as it went along, cautiously hugged

the land as far as Minorca, where the mistral, the terror of seamen,

rushed down upon the huge armada--masts strained, yards cracked, sails

were torn to rags, and there was nothing for it but to row--row for

their lives and for Charles. They were but seven miles from Port

Mahon, yet it took half the night to win there--an endless night which

the panting crews never forgot.

In the bay of Palma, at Majorca, the fleet was assembled. There were

the Emperor's hundred sailing vessels carrying the German and Italian

troops, commanded by such historic names as Colonna and Spinosa; there

were Fernando Gonzago's Sicilian galleys, and a hundred and fifty

transports from Naples and Palermo; there were the fifty galleys of

Bernadino de Mendoza, conveying two hundred transports with the arms

and artillery, and carrying the corps of gentlemen adventurers,

mustered from the chivalry of Spain, and including one only who had

climbed up from the ranks--but that one was Cortes, the conqueror of

Mexico. Over five hundred sail, manned by twelve thousand men, and

carrying a land force of twenty-four thousand soldiers, entered the

roads of Algiers on October 19, 1541.

[Illustration: SIEGE OF ALGIERS, 1541.

(_From a map in the British Museum._)]

At last the great Emperor set eyes upon the metropolis of piracy. On

the rocky promontory which forms the western crest of the crescent

bay, high up the amphitheatre of hills, tier upon tier, in their

narrow overshadowed lanes, the houses of the Corsairs basked in the

autumn sun, crowned by the fortress which had known the imperious

rule of two Barbarossas. On the right was the mole which Spanish

slaves had built out of the ruins of the Spanish fort. Two gates

fronted the south and north, the Bab Az[=u]n and Bab-el-W[=e]d.

Avoiding the promontory of Cashina, the galleys, with furled sails,

drew up before the low strand, backed by stretches of luxuriant

verdure, south of the city, and out of range, at the spot which is

still called the "Jardin d'essai." A heavy swell prevented their

landing for three days, but on the 23rd, in beautiful weather, the

troops disembarked. The Berbers and Arabs, who had lined the shore and

defied the invaders, hastily retired before the guns of the galleys,

and the Spaniards landed unopposed. The next day they began the march

to the city some few miles off. The Spaniards formed the left wing on

the hill side; the Emperor and the Duke of Alva with the German troops

composed the centre; the Italians and one hundred and fifty knights of

Malta marched on the right by the seashore. Driving back the

straggling bands of mounted Arabs, who ambushed among the rocks and

ravines, and picked off many of the Christians, the invaders pushed

steadily on, till Algiers was invested on all sides save the north.

Its fate appeared sealed. A brief bombardment from Charles's heavy

cannon, and the Spaniards would rush the breach and storm the citadel.

Hasan Aga, within, with only eight hundred Turks, and perhaps five

thousand Arabs and Moors, must almost have regretted the proud reply

he had just made to the Emperor's summons to surrender.

Then, when the end seemed close at hand, the forces of Nature came to

the rescue. The stars in their courses fought for Algiers: the rains

descended and the winds blew and beat upon that army, till the

wretched soldiers, with neither tents nor cloaks, with barely

food--for the landing of the stores had hardly begun--standing all

night knee-deep in slush in that pinguid soil, soaked to the skin,

frozen by the driving rain and bitter wind, were ready to drop with

exhaustion and misery. When morning dawned they could scarcely bear up

against the blustering gale; their powder was wet; and a sudden sally

of the Turks spread a panic in the sodden ranks which needed all the

courage and coolness of the Knights of Malta to compose. At last the

enemy was driven out of the trenches and pursued, skirmishing all the

way, to the Bab Az[=u]n. It looked as though pursuers and pursued

would enter together; but the gate was instantly shut, and a daring

Knight of Malta had barely struck his dagger in the gate to defy the

garrison, when the Christians found themselves under so heavy a fire

from the battlements, that they were forced to beat a retreat: the

Knights of Malta, last of all, their scarlet doublets shining like a

fresh wound, and their faces to the foe, covered the retreat.

Hasan then led out his best horsemen from the gate, and driving their

heels into their horses' flanks, the cloud of Moslems poured down the

hill. The Knights of Malta bore the shock with their iron firmness,

though they lost heavily. The Italians ran for their lives. The

Germans whom Charles hurriedly despatched to the rescue came back at

the double without drawing a sword. The Emperor himself put on his

armour, spurred his charger into the midst of the fugitives, sword in

hand, and with vehement reproaches succeeded in shaming them into

fight. "Come, gentlemen," then said he to the nobles around,

"forwards!" And thus he led his dispirited troops once more to the

field; this time the panic alarm of the rank and file was controlled

and banished by the cool courage of the cavaliers, and the Turks were

driven back into the town. The skirmish had cost him three hundred men

and a dozen Knights of Malta. All that day the Emperor and his

officers, great signiors all, stood at arms in the pouring rain, with

the water oozing from their boots, vigilantly alert.

Had Charles now run his ships ashore at all hazard, and dragged up his

heavy siege train and stores and tents and ammunition, all might yet

have been won. But several precious days were wasted, and on the

morning of the 25th such a storm sprang up as mortal mariner rarely

encountered even off such a coast--a violent north-easterly

hurricane--still known in Algiers as "Charles's gale"--such as few

vessels cared to ride off a lee shore. The immense flotilla in the bay

was within an ace of total destruction. Anchors and cables were

powerless to hold the crowded, jostling ships. One after the other

they broke loose, and keeled over to the tempest till their decks were

drowned in the seas. Planks gaped; broadside to broadside the helpless

hulks crashed together. Many of the crews threw themselves madly on

shore. In six hours one hundred and fifty ships sank. The rowers of

the galleys, worn out with toiling at the oar, at last succumbed, and

fifteen of the vessels ran on shore, only to be received by the

Berbers of the hills, who ran their spears through the miserable

shipwrecked sailors as soon as they gained the land.

The worst day must come to an end: on the morrow the storm was over,

and Doria, who had succeeded in taking the greater part of the fleet

out to sea, came back to see what new folly was in hand. He was

indignant with the Emperor for having rejected his advice and so led

the fleet and army into such peril; he was disgusted with his

captains, who had completely lost their coolness in the hurricane, and

wanted to run their vessels ashore, with the certainty of wreck,

sooner than ride out the storm--and yet called themselves sailors!

He found Charles fully aware of the necessity for a temporary retreat,

till the army should be revictualled and reclothed. The camp was

struck: the Emperor himself watched the operation, standing at the

door of his tent in a long white cassock, murmuring quietly the

Christian's consolation: "Thy will be done"--_Fiat voluntas Tua!_

Baggage and ordnance were abandoned; the horses of the field artillery

were devoured by the hungry troops; and then the march began.

To retreat at all is humiliation, but to retreat as this luckless army

did was agony. Deep mud clogged their weary feet; when a halt was

called they could but rest on their halberts, to lie down was to be

suffocated in filth; mountain torrents swollen breast-high had to be

crossed, the wading men were washed away till they built a rude

bridge--O crowning humiliation!--out of the wreckage of their own

ships. Hasan and a multitude of Turks and Arabs hung forever on their

flanks. The dejected Italians, who had no stomach for this sort of

work, fell often into the hands of the pursuers; the Germans, who

could do nothing without their customary internal stuffing, were mere

_impedimenta_; and only the lean Spaniard covered the retreat with

something of his natural courage.

At last the dejected army reached the Bay of Temendefust (Matifoux),

where the remains of the fleet were lying at anchor. It was resolved,

in view of the approach of winter and the impossibility of sending

supplies to an army in stormy weather, to reembark. Cortes in vain

protested: the council of war agreed that it was too late in the year

to attempt retaliation. Then a new difficulty arose: how was room to

be found in a flotilla, which had lost nearly a third of its ships,

for an army which was but a couple of thousand less than when it

landed? Regretfully Charles gave orders for the horses to be cast into

the sea, and, despite their masters' entreaties, favourite chargers of

priceless value were slaughtered and thrown overboard. The famous

breed of Spanish horses was well-nigh ruined. It was but one tragedy

more. On the 2nd of November most of the troops were on board. Charles

resolved to be the last to leave the strand; but the wind was getting

up, the sea rising, and at last he gave the order to weigh anchor.

Often is the story told in Algiers how the great Emperor, who would

fain hold Europe in the palm of his hand, sadly took the crown from

off his head and casting it into the sea said, "Go, bauble: let some

more fortunate prince redeem and wear thee."

He did not sail a moment too soon. A new and terrific storm burst

forth. The ships were driven hither and thither. Where the tempest

drove them, there they helplessly wandered, and many men died from

famine and exposure. Some of the Spanish vessels were wrecked at

Algiers, and their crews and troops were sent to the bagnios. Charles

himself and Doria arrived safely at Buj[=e]ya--then a Spanish

outpost--with part of the flotilla. Here the unexpected visitors soon

caused a famine--and still the tempest raged. The half-starved rovers

in vain tried to make head against the waves, and carry the Emperor

back to Spain: eighty miles out they gave in, and the ships returned

disconsolately to the harbour. Twelve days and nights the storm

bellowed along the treacherous coast, and not till November 23rd could

the Imperial fleet set sail for the coast of Spain.

There was mourning in Castile that Yuletide. Besides eight thousand

rank and file, three hundred officers of birth had fallen victims to

the storm or the Moorish lance. Algiers teemed with Christian

captives, and it became a common saying that a Christian slave was

scarce a fair barter for an onion.

So ended this famous expedition. It was begun in glory, and ended in

shame. The whole of Christendom, one might say--for there were English

knights there, like Sir Thomas Challoner, as well as Germans,

Frenchmen, Spaniards, and Italians in the army--had gone forth to

destroy a nest of pirates, and behold, by the fury of the elements and

the foolishness of their own counsels, they were almost destroyed

themselves. They had left behind them ships and men and stores and

cannon: worse, they had left Algiers stronger and more defiant than

ever.

The Algerines, for their part, never forgot the valour of the Knights

of Malta, and the spot where they made their stand is still called

"The Grave of the Knights." High up on the hillside may be seen "the

Emperor's Castle," which marks the traditional place where Charles'

great pavilion was pitched on the morning of the fatal 23rd of

October.

"The climate of Africa"--it is the caustic comment of Admiral Jurien

de la Graviere--"was evidently unsuited to deeds of chivalry."

XII.

DRAGUT REIS.

1543-1560.

The name of Dragut has already occurred more than once in this

history: it was destined to become as notorious as Barbarossa's as the

century advanced. Dragut--or Torgh[=u]d--was born on the Caramanian

coast opposite the island of Rhodes. Unlike many of his colleagues he

seems to have been the son of Mohammedan parents, tillers of the

earth. Being adventurous by nature, he took service as a boy in the

Turkish fleet and became "a good pilot and a most excellent gunner."

At last he contrived to purchase and man a galleot, with which he

cruised the waters of the Levant, where his intimate acquaintance with

all the coasts and islands enabled him to seize and dispose of many

prizes. Kheyr-ed-d[=i]n Barbarossa soon came to hear of his exploits,

and welcomed him heartily when he came to pay his respects at Algiers,

in so far that he gave him the conduct of various expeditions and

eventually appointed him his lieutenant with the command of twelve

galleys. "From thenceforward this redoubtable Corsair passed not one

summer without ravaging the coasts of Naples and Sicily: nor durst

any Christian vessels attempt to pass between Spain and Italy; for if

they offered it, he infallibly snapped them up: and when he missed any

of his prey at sea, he made himself amends by making descents along

the coasts, plundering villages and towns, and dragging away

multitudes of inhabitants into captivity."[38]

[Illustration: CASTLE OF JERBA.

(_Elisee Reclus._)]

In 1540, as we have seen, Dragut was caught by Giannettino Doria, who

made him a present to his great kinsman Andrea, on whose galleys he

was forced to toil in chains. La Valette, afterwards Grand Master of

Malta, who had once pulled the captive's oar on Barbarossa's ships and

knew Dragut well, one day saw the ex-Corsair straining on the galley

bank: "Senor Dragut," said he, "_usanza de guerra!_--'tis the custom

of war!" And the prisoner, remembering his visitor's former

apprenticeship, replied cheerfully, "_Y mudanza de fortuna_--a change

of luck!" He did not lose heart, and in 1543 Barbarossa ransomed him

for 3000 crowns,[39] and made him chief of the galleys of the western

Corsairs. Imprisonment had sharpened his appetite for Christians, and

he harried the Italian coasts with more than his ancient zeal.

Surrounded by bold spirits and commanding a fleet of his own, Dragut

had the Mediterranean in his grasp, and even ventured to seize the

most dreaded of all foes, a Maltese galley, wherein he found 70,000

ducats intended for the repair of the fortifications of Tripoli, which

then belonged to "the Religion." As the Turkish annalist says,

"Torgh[=u]d had become the drawn sword of Islam."

Dragut's lair was at the island of Jerba, which tradition links with

the lotus-eaters, perhaps because of the luxuriant fertility of the

soil. The people of Jerba, despite their simple agricultural pursuits,

were impatient of control, and, as often as not, were independent of

the neighbouring kingdom of Tunis or any other state. Here, with or

without their leave, Dragut took up his position, probably in the very

castle which Roger Doria, when lord of the island, began to build in

1289; and from out the wide lake at the back the Corsair's galleots

issued to ravage the lands which were under the protection of Roger

Doria's descendants. Not content with the rich spoils of Europe,

Dragut took the Spanish outposts in Africa, one by one--Susa, Sfax,

Monastir; and finally set forth to conquer "Africa."

[Illustration: SIEGE OF "AFRICA," 1390.

(_From a MS._)]

It is not uncommon in Arabic to call a country and its capital by the

same name. Thus Misr meant and still means both Egypt and Cairo;

El-Andalus, both Spain and Cordova. Similarly "Africa" meant to the

Arabs the province of Carthage or Tunis and its capital, which was not

at first Tunis but successively Kayraw[=a]n and Mahd[=i]ya. Throughout

the later middle ages the name "Africa" is applied by Christian

writers to the latter city. Here it was that in 1390 a "grand and

noble enterprize" came to an untimely end. "The Genoese," says

Froissart, "bore great enmity to this town; for its Corsairs

frequently watched them at sea, and when strongest fell on and

plundered their ships, carrying their spoils to this town of

Africa, which was and is now their place of deposit and may be called

their warren." It was "beyond measure strong, surrounded by high

walls, gates, and deep ditches." The chivalry of Christendom hearkened

to the prayer of the Genoese and the people of Majorca and Sardinia

and Ischia, and the many islands that groaned beneath the Corsairs'

devastations; the Duke of Bourbon took command of an expedition (at

the cost of the Genoese) which included names as famous as the Count

d'Auvergne, the Lord de Courcy, Sir John de Vienne, the Count of Eu,

and our own Henry of Beaufort; and on St. John Baptist's Day, with

much pomp, with flying banners and the blowing of trumpets, they

sailed on three hundred galleys for Barbary. Arrived before Africa,

not without the hindrance of a storm, they beheld the city in the form

of a bow, reaching out its arms to the sea; high were its ramparts;

and a colossal tower, armed with stone-projectiles, guarded the

harbour. Nevertheless the Knights landed in good heart, after a cup of

Grecian or Malmsey wine, on the Vigil of Magdalen Day (July 22nd),

unopposed, and each great lord set up his pennon before his tent over

against the fortress, with the Genoese crossbows on the right. Here

they remained nine weeks. The Saracens never offered battle, but

harassed the enemy with their skirmishers, who fired their arrows,

then dropped down behind their targets of Cappadocian leather to avoid

the enemy's return volley; then, rising again, cast their javelins

with deadly aim. What was to be done? The Duke of Bourbon spent his

time in sitting crosslegged before his tent; the nobles and knights

had plenty of excellent wine and food; but it was very hot and

uncomfortable--the assault had failed--many had died--the Genoese

wanted to get their galleys back safe in port before the autumn gales

came on; so they packed up their baggage, and re-embarked, blowing

their horns and beating their drums for very joy.[40]

[Illustration: GREEK FIRE.

(_From a MS._)]

[Illustration: MEDIEVAL FIREARMS.

(_From a MS._)]

[Illustration: MEDIEVAL PROJECTILES.

(_From a MS._)]

This was the city which Dragut took without a blow in the spring of

1550. Mahd[=i]ya was then in an anarchic state, ruled by a council of

chiefs, each ready to betray the other, and none owing the smallest

allegiance to any king, least of all the despised king of Tunis,

Ham[=i]d, who had deposed and blinded his father Hasan, Charles V.'s

_protege_. One of these chiefs let Dragut and his merry men into the

city by night, and the inhabitants woke up to find "Africa" in the

possession of the bold Corsair whose red and white ensign, displaying

a blue crescent, floated from the battlements.

So easy a triumph roused the emulation of Christendom. Where the Duke

of Bourbon had failed, Dragut had conspicuously succeeded. Don Garcia

de Toledo dreamed of outshining the Corsair's glory. His father, the

Viceroy of Naples, the Pope, and others, promised their aid, and old

Andrea Doria took the command. After much delay and consultation a

large body of troops was conveyed to Mahd[=i]ya, and disembarked on

June 28, 1550. Dragut, though aware of the project, was at sea,

devastating the Gulf of Genoa, and paying himself in advance for any

loss the Christians might inflict in Africa: his nephew, His[=a]r Reis

commanded in the city. When Dragut returned, the siege had gone on for

a month, without result; a tremendous assault had been repulsed with

heavy loss to the besiegers, who were growing disheartened. The

Corsair assembled a body of Moors and Turks and attempted to relieve

the fortress; but his ambuscade failed, His[=a]r's simultaneous sally

was driven back, and Dragut, seeing that he could do nothing, fled to

Jerba. His retreat gave fresh energy to the siege, and a change of

attack discovered the weak places of the defence. A vigorous assault

on the 8th of September carried the walls, a brisk street fight

ensued, and the strong city of "Africa" was in the hands of the

Christians.

The Sultan, Suleym[=a]n the Great, was little pleased to see a Moslem

fortress summarily stormed by the troops of his ally, the Emperor.

Charles replied that he had fought against pirates, not against the

Sultan's vassals; but Suleym[=a]n could not perceive the distinction,

and emphasized his disapproval by giving Dragut twenty galleys, which

soon found their way to Christian shores. The lamentations of his

victims roused Doria, who had the good fortune to surprise the Corsair

as he was greasing his keels in the strait behind Jerba. This strait

was virtually a _cul-de-sac_. Between the island and the great lake

that lay behind it, the sea had worn a narrow channel on the northern

side, through which light vessels could pass, with care; but to go out

of the lake by the southern side involved a voyage over what was

little better than a bog, and no one ever thought of the attempt.

Doria saw he had his enemy in a trap, and was in no hurry to venture

in among the shoals and narrows of the strait. He sent joyous messages

to Europe, announcing his triumph, and cautiously, as was his habit,

awaited events.

Dragut, for his part, dared not push out against a vastly superior

force; his only chance was a ruse. Accordingly, putting a bold face on

the matter, he manned a small earthwork with cannon, and played upon

the enemy, with little or no actual injury, beyond the all-important

effect of making Doria hesitate still more. Meanwhile, in the night,

while his little battery is perplexing the foe, all is prepared at the

southern extremity of the strait. Summoning a couple of thousand field

labourers, he sets them to work; here a small canal is dug--there

rollers come into play; and in a few hours his small fleet is safely

transported to the open water on the south side of the island. Calling

off his men from the illusive battery, the Corsair is off for the

Archipelago: by good luck he picks up a fine galley on the way, which

was conveying news of the reinforcements coming to Doria. The old

Genoese admiral never gets the message: he is rubbing his eyes in sore

amazement, wondering what had happened to the imprisoned fleet. Never

was admiral more cruelly cheated: never did Doria curse the nimble

Corsair with greater vehemence or better cause.

Next year, 1551, Dragut's place was with the Ottoman navy, then

commanded by Sin[=a]n Pasha. He had had enough of solitary roving,

and found it almost too exciting: he now preferred to hunt in couples.

With nearly a hundred and fifty galleys or galleots, ten thousand

soldiers, and numerous siege guns, Sin[=a]n and Dragut sailed out of

the Dardanelles--whither bound no Christian could tell. They ravaged,

as usual, the Straits of Messina, and then revealed the point of

attack by making direct for Malta. The Knights of St. John were a

perpetual thorn in the side of the Turks, and even more vexatious to

the Corsairs, whose vessels they, and they alone, dared to tackle

single-handed, and too often with success. Sultan and Corsair were

alike eager to dislodge the Knights from the rock which they had been

fortifying for twenty years, just as Suleym[=a]n had dislodged them

from Rhodes, which they had been fortifying for two hundred. In July

the Turkish fleet appeared before the Marsa, wholly unexpected by the

Knights. The Turks landed on the tongue of promontory which separates

the two great harbours, and where there was as yet no Fort St. Elmo to

molest them. Sin[=a]n was taken aback by the strong aspect of the

fortress of St. Angelo on the further side of the harbour, and almost

repented of his venture. To complete his dejection, he seems to have

courted failure. Instead of boldly throwing his whole force upon the

small garrison and overwhelming them by sheer weight, he tried a

reconnaissance, and fell into an ambuscade; upon which he

incontinently abandoned all thought of a siege, and contented himself

with laying waste the interior of Malta, and taking the adjacent

island of Goza.

The quantity of booty he would bring back to Constantinople might

perhaps avail, he thought, to keep his head on his shoulders, after so

conspicuous a failure; but Sin[=a]n preferred not to trust to the

chance. To wipe out his defeat, he sailed straight for Tripoli, some

sixty-four leagues away. Tripoli was the natural antidote to Malta:

for Tripoli, too, belonged to the Knights of St. John--much against

their will--inasmuch as the Emperor had made their defence of this

easternmost Barbary state a condition of their tenure of Malta. So far

they had been unable to put it into a proper state of defence, and

with crumbling battlements and a weak garrison, they had yearly

expected invasion. The hour had now come. Summoned to surrender, the

Commandant, Gaspard de Villiers, of the Auvergne Tongue, replied that

the city had been entrusted to his charge, and he would defend it to

the death. He had but four hundred men to hold the fort withal.

Six thousand Turks disembarked, forty cannons were landed, Sin[=a]n

himself directed every movement, and arranged his batteries and

earthworks. A heavy cannonade produced no effect on the walls, and the

Turkish admiral thought of the recent repulse at Malta, and of the

stern face of his master; and his head sat uneasily upon his neck. The

siege appeared to make no progress. Perhaps this venture, too, would

have failed, but for the treachery of a French renegade, who escaped

into the trenches and pointed out the weak places in the walls. His

counsel was taken; the walls fell down; the garrison, in weariness and

despair, had lain down to sleep off their troubles, and no reproaches

and blows could rouse them. On August 15th Gaspard de Villiers was

forced to surrender, on terms, as he believed, identical with those

which Suleym[=a]n granted to the Knights of Rhodes.[41] But Sin[=a]n

was no Suleym[=a]n; moreover, he was in a furious rage with the whole

Order. He put the garrison--all save a few--in chains, and carried

them off to grace his triumph at Stambol.

Thus did Tripoli fall once more into the hands of the Moslems,

forty-one years after its conquest by the Count Don Pedro Navarro.[42]

The misfortunes of the Christians did not end here. Year after year

the Ottoman fleet appeared in Italian waters, marshalled now by

Sin[=a]n, and when he died by Pi[=a]li Pasha the Croat, but always

with Dragut in the van; year by year the coasts of Apulia and Calabria

yielded up more and more of their treasure, their youth, and their

beauty, to the Moslem ravishers; yet worse was in store. Unable as

they felt themselves to cope with the Turks at sea, the Powers of

Southern Europe resolved to strike one more blow on land, and recover

Tripoli. A fleet of nearly a hundred galleys and ships, gathered from

Spain, Genoa, "the Religion," the Pope, from all quarters, with the

Duke de Medina-Celi at the head, assembled at Messina. Doria was too

old to command, but his kinsman, Giovanni Andrea, son of his loved and

lost Giannettino, led the Genoese galleys. The Fates seemed adverse

from the outset. Five times the expedition put to sea; five times was

it driven back by contrary winds.[43] At last, on February 10, 1560,

it was fairly away for the African coast. Here fresh troubles awaited

it. Long delays in crowded vessels had produced their disastrous

effects: fevers and scurvy and dysentery were working their terrible

ravages among the crews, and two thousand corpses were flung into the

sea. It was impossible to lay siege to Tripoli with a diseased army,

and when actually in sight of their object the admirals gave orders to

return to Jerba.

A sudden descent quickly gave them the command of the beautiful

island. The Arab sheykh whose people cultivated it was as ready to pay

tribute to the Spaniard as to the Corsair. Medina-Celi and his troops

accordingly set to work undisturbed at the erection of a fortress

strong enough to baffle the besieging genius even of the Turks. In two

months a strong castle was built, with all scientific earthworks, and

the admiral prepared to carry home such troops as were not needed for

its defence.

Unhappily for him, he had lingered too long. He had wished to see the

defences complete, and had trusted to the usual practice of the Turks,

not to put to sea before May was advanced. He was about to prepare for

departure when news came that the Turkish fleet had been seen at Goza.

Instantly all was panic. Valiant gentlemen forgot their valour, forgot

their coolness, forgot how strong a force by sea or land they

mustered: one thought alone was uppermost--the Turks were upon them!

Giovanni Doria hurried on board and embarked his Genoese; Medina-Celi

more methodically and with something like _sang froid_ personally

supervised the embarcation of his men; but before they could make out

of the strait, where Dragut had so narrowly escaped capture, the dread

Corsair himself, and Ochiali, and Pi[=a]li Pasha were upon them. Then

ensued a scene of confusion that baffles description. Despairing of

weathering the north side of Jerba the panic-stricken Christians ran

their ships ashore, and deserted them, never stopping even to set them

on fire. The deep-draught galleons stuck fast in the shallow water. On

rowed the Turks; galleys and galleons to the number of fifty-six fell

into their hands; eighteen thousand Christians bowed down before their

scimitars; the beach, on that memorable 11th of May, 1560, was a

confused medley of stranded ships, helpless prisoners, Turks busy in

looting men and galleys--and a hideous heap of mangled bodies. The

fleet and the army which had sailed from Messina but three months ago

in such gallant array were absolutely lost. It was a _dies nefas_ for

Christendom.

Medina-Celi and young Doria made good their escape by night. But when

the old Genoese admiral learnt the terrible news, the loss of the

fleet he loved, the defeat of the nephew he loved yet more, his dim

eyes were wet. "Take me to the church," he said; and he soon received

the last consolations of religion. Long as he had lived, and many as

had been the vicissitudes of his great career, he had willingly been

spared this last most miserable experience. On November 25, 1560, he

gave up the ghost: he was a great seaman, but still more a passionate

lover of his country;--despotic in his love, but not the less a noble

Genoese patriot.

FOOTNOTES:

[38] Morgan, _Hist. of Algiers_, 439.

[39] Brantome, _Hommes illustres etrangers_. [OE]uvres, i. 279.

[40] Froissart's _Chron._, transl. T. Johnes (1844) ii. 446, 465, ff.

[41] See the _Story of Turkey_, 170.

[42] See Jurien de la Graviere, _Les Corsaires Barbaresques_, 193-215.

[43] _Les Corsaires Barbaresques_, 266.

XIII.

THE KNIGHTS OF MALTA.

1565.

When Sultan Suleym[=a]n reflected on the magnanimity which he had

displayed towards the Knights of Rhodes in allowing them to depart in

peace in 1522, his feelings must have resembled those of Doria when he

thought of that inconsiderate release of Dragut in 1543. Assuredly the

royal clemency had been ill-rewarded; the Knights had displayed a

singular form of gratitude to the sparer of their lives; they had

devoted themselves to him, indeed, but devoted themselves to his

destruction. The cavaliers whom Charles V. suffered to perch on the

glaring white rock of Malta, in 1530, proved in no long time to be a

pest as virulent and all-pervading as even Rhodes had harboured. Seven

galleys they owned, and never more, but the seven were royal vessels,

splendidly armed and equipped, and each a match for two or three

Turkish ships.[44] Every year they cruised from Sicily to the Levant,

and many a prize laden with precious store they carried off to Malta.

The commerce of Egypt and Syria was in danger of annihilation; the

Barbary Corsairs, even Dragut himself, shunned a meeting with the red

galleys of "the Religion," or their black _capitana_; and the Turkish

fleet, while holding undisputed sway over the Mediterranean, was not

nimble enough to surprise the Maltese squadron in its rapid and

incalculable expeditions. Jean de la Valette Parisot, General of the

Galleys and afterwards Grand Master, Francis of Lorraine, Grand Prior

of France, Romegas, prince of knights-errant, scoured the seas in

search of prey:--they were as true pirates as ever weathered the

"white squall." The Knights lived by plunder as much as any Corsair;

but they tempered their freebooting with chivalry and devotions; they

were the protectors of the helpless and afflicted, and they preyed

chiefly upon the enemies of the Faith.

Meanwhile they built and built; Fort St. Elmo rose on the central

promontory, Forts St. Michael and St. Angelo were strengthened;

bastions were skilfully planned, flanking angles devised, ravelins and

cavaliers erected, ditches deepened, parapets raised, embrasures

opened, and every device of sixteenth-century fortification as

practised by Master Evangelista, chief engineer of the Order, was

brought into use. For the Knights knew that Suleym[=a]n lived and was

mightier than ever. Their cruisers had wrought sad havoc among his

subjects, and the Sultan would not long suffer the hornets of Rhodes

to swarm at Malta. They lived in constant expectation of attack, and

they spent all their strength and all their money in preparing for

the day of the Sultan's revenge. At last the time came: Suleym[=a]n

swore in his wrath that the miscreants should no longer defy him; he

had suffered them to leave Rhodes as gentlemen of honour--he would

consume them in Malta as one burns a nest of wasps.

At the time of the siege of 1565 the city or fortress of Malta was

situated, not as Valetta now stands on the west, but on the east side

of the Marsa or great harbour. To understand even the briefest

narrative of one of the most heroic deeds of war that the world has

seen, the position of the forts must be understood. (See the Plan.) On

the northern coast of the rocky island a bold promontory or rugged

tongue of land, Mount Sceberras, separates two deep bights or inlets.

The eastern of these was called Marsa Muset, or "Middle Port," but was

unoccupied and without defences at the time of the siege, except that

the guns of St. Elmo, the fortress at the point of the Sceberras

promontory, commanded its mouth. The Marsa Kebir, or simply La Marsa,

the "Great Port," was the chief stronghold of the Knights. Here four

projecting spits of rock formed smaller harbours on the western side.

The outermost promontory, the Pointe des Fourches, separated the Port

de la Renelle or La Arenela, from the open sea; Cape Salvador divided

the Arenela from the English Harbour; the Burg, the main fortress and

capital of the place, with Fort St. Angelo at its point, shot out

between the English Harbour and the Harbour of the Galleys; and the

Isle of La Sangle, joined by a sandy isthmus to the mainland, and

crowned by Fort St. Michael, severed the Galley Harbour from that of

La Sangle. All round these inlets high hills dominated the ports.

Behind Fort St. Elmo, the Sceberras climbed steeply to a considerable

height. Behind the Arenela and English Harbour rose Mount Salvador,

Calcara, and further back the Heights of St. Catherine. The Burg and

Fort St. Michael were overtopped by the Heights of St. Margaret,

whilst the Conradin plateau looked down upon the head of the Marsa and

the Harbour of La Sangle. To modern artillery and engineering the

siege would have been easy, despite the rocky hardness of the ground,

since the Knights had not had time to construct those field-works upon

the surrounding heights which were essential to the safety of the

forts. Even to the skilled but undeveloped artillery of the Turks, the

destruction of Malta ought not to have been either a difficult or

lengthy operation, had they begun at the right place.

To those who were acquainted with the ground, who had heard of the

siege of Rhodes, and knew that the Turks were not less but more

formidable in 1565 than in 1522, the issue of the struggle must have

appeared inevitable, when the huge Ottoman fleet hove in view on the

18th of May, 1565. One hundred and eighty vessels, of which two-thirds

were galleys-royal, carried more than thirty thousand fighting

men--the pick of the Ottoman army, tried Janissaries and Sip[=a]his,

horsemen from Thrace, rough warriors from the mountains of Anatolia,

eager volunteers from all parts of the Sultan's dominions. Mustafa

Pasha who had grown old in the wars of his master, commanded on land,

and Pi[=a]li was admiral of the fleet. Dragut was to join them

immediately, and the Sultan's order was that nothing should be done

till he arrived.

The Knights had not remained ignorant of the preparations that were

making against them. They sent to all Europe for help, and the Pope

gave money, and Spain promises: the Viceroy of Sicily would send

Spanish reinforcements by the 15th of June. They worked unceasingly at

their defences and did all that men could do to meet the advancing

storm. All told, they mustered but seven hundred Knights, and between

eight and nine thousand mercenaries of various nations, but chiefly

Maltese, who could only be trusted behind walls.

The Order was fortunate in its Grand Master. Jean de la Valette, born

in 1494, a Knight of St. John before he was of age, and a defender of

Rhodes forty-three years ago, though now an old man retained to the

full the courage and generalship which had made his career as

commander of the galleys memorable in the annals of Mediterranean

wars. He had been a captive among the Turks, and knew their languages

and their modes of warfare; and his sufferings had increased his

hatred of the Infidel. A tall, handsome man, with an air of calm

resolution, he communicated his iron nerve to all his followers. Cold

and even cruel in his severity, he was yet devoutly religious, and

passionately devoted to his Order and his Faith. A true hero, but of

the reasoning, merciless, bigoted sort: not the generous, reckless

enthusiast who inspires by sympathy and glowing example.

When he knew that the day of trial was at hand, Jean de la Valette

assembled the Order together, and bade them first be reconciled with

God and one another, and then prepare to lay down their lives for the

Faith they had sworn to defend. Before the altar each Knight foreswore

all enmities, renounced all pleasures, buried all ambitions; and

joining together in the sacred fellowship of the Supper of the Lord,

once more dedicated their blood to the service of the Cross.

At the very outset a grave mischance befell the Turks; Dragut was a

fortnight late at the rendezvous. His voice would have enforced

Pi[=a]li's advice, to land the entire force and attack the Burg and

St. Michael from the heights behind. Mustafa, the Seraskier, was

determined to reduce the outlying Fort of St. Elmo on the promontory

of Sceberras before attacking the main position, and accordingly

landed his men at his convenience from the Marsa Muset, and laid out

his earthworks on the land side of St. Elmo. He had not long begun

when Ochiali arrived with six galleys from Alexandria, and on June 2nd

came Dragut himself with a score or more galleys of Tripoli and Bona.

Dragut saw at once the mistake that had been made, but saw also that

to abandon the siege of St. Elmo would too greatly elate the Knights:

the work must go on; and on it went with unexampled zeal.

The little fort could hold but a small garrison, but the force was a

_corps d'elite_: De Broglio of Piedmont commanded it with sixty

soldiers, and was supported by Juan de Guaras, bailiff of the

Negropont, a splendid old Knight, followed by sixty more of the

Order, and some Spaniards under Juan de la Cerda:--a few hundred of

men to meet thirty thousand Turks, but men of no common mettle. They

had not long to wait. The fire opened from twenty-one guns on the last

day of May and continued with little intermission till June 23rd. The

besiegers were confident of battering down the little fort in a week

at most, but they did not know their foes. As soon as one wall

crumbled before the cannonade, a new work appeared behind it. The

first assault lasted three hours, and the Turks gained possession of

the ravelin in front of the gate; so furious was the onset that the

defenders sent to the Grand Master to tell him the position was

untenable; they could not stand a second storming party. La Valette

replied that, if so, he would come and withstand it himself: St. Elmo

must be held to keep the Turks back till reinforcements arrived. So of

course they went on. Dragut brought up some of his largest yards and

laid them like a bridge across the fosse, and a tremendous struggle

raged for five terrible hours on Dragut's bridge. Again and again

Mustafa marshalled his Janissaries for the attack, and every time they

were hurled back with deadly slaughter. As many as four thousand Turks

fell in a single assault. St. Elmo was little more than a heap of

ruins, but the garrison still stood undaunted among the heaps of

stones, each man ready to sell his life dearly for the honour of Our

Lady and St. John.

The Turks at last remedied the mistake they had made at the beginning.

They had left the communication between St. Elmo and the harbour

unimpeded, and reinforcements had frequently been introduced into the

besieged fortress from the Burg. On June 17th the line of

circumvallation was pushed to the harbour's edge, and St. Elmo was

completely isolated. Yet this prudent precaution was more than

outweighed by the heavy loss that accompanied its execution: for

Dragut was struck down while directing the engineers, and the surgeons

pronounced the wound mortal. With the cool courage of his nation,

Mustafa cast a cloak over the prostrate form, and stood in Dragut's

place.

Five days later came the final assault. On the eve of June 23rd, after

the cannonade had raged all the forenoon, and a hand-to-hand fight had

lasted till the evening, when two thousand of the enemy and five

hundred of the scanty garrison had fallen, the Knights and their

soldiers prepared for the end. They knew the Grand Master could not

save them, that nothing could avert the inevitable dawn. They took the

Sacrament from each other's hands, and "committing their souls to God

made ready to devote their bodies in the cause of His Blessed Son." It

was a forlorn and sickly remnant of the proudest chivalry the world

has ever known, that met the conquering Turks that June morning: worn

and haggard faces, pale with long vigils and open wounds; tottering

frames that scarce could stand; some even for very weakness seated in

chairs, with drawn swords, within the breach. But weary and sick,

upright or seated, all bore themselves with unflinching courage; in

every set face was read the resolve to die hard.

The ghastly struggle was soon over: the weight of the Turkish column

bore down everything in its furious rush. Knights and soldiers alike

rolled upon the ground, every inch of which they had disputed to the

last drop of their blood. Not a man escaped.

Dragut heard of the fall of St. Elmo as he lay in his tent dying, and

said his Moslem _Nunc Dimittis_ with a thankful heart. He had been

struck at the soldier's post of duty; he died with the shout of

victory ringing in his ears, as every general would wish to die. His

figure stands apart from all the men of his age:--an admiral, the

equal of Barbarossa, the superior of Doria; a general fit to marshal

troops against any of the great leaders of the armies of Charles V.;

he was content with the eager rush of his life, and asked not for

sovereignty or honours. Humane to his prisoners, a gay comrade, an

inspiriting commander, a seaman every inch, Dragut is the most vivid

and original personage among the Corsairs.

St. Elmo had fallen: but St. Angelo and St. Michael stood untouched.

Three hundred Knights of St. John and thirteen hundred soldiers had

indeed fallen in the first, but its capture had closed the lives of

eight thousand Turks. "If the child has cost us so dear," said

Mustafa, "what will the parent cost?" The Turkish general sent a flag

of truce to La Valette, to propose terms of capitulation, but in vain.

Mutual animosity had been worked to a height of indignant passion by a

barbarous massacre of prisoners on both sides, each in view of the

other. The Grand Master's first impulse was to hang the messenger of

such foes: he thought better of it, and showed him the depth of the

ditch that encircled the twin forts: "Let your Janissaries come and

take that," he said, and contemptuously dismissed him.

A new siege now began. The forts on the east of La Marsa had been

sorely drained to fill up the gaps in the garrison at St. Elmo, and it

was fortunate that Don Juan de Cardona had been able to send a

reinforcement, though only of six hundred men, under Melchior de

Robles, to the Old Town, whence they contrived to reach Fort St.

Michael in safety.[45] Even six hundred men added materially to the

difficulties of the siege: for, be it remembered, six hundred men

behind skilfully constructed fortifications may be worth six thousand

in the open. It was very hard for the besiegers to find cover. The

ground was hard rock, and cutting trenches was extremely arduous work,

and the noise of the picks directed the fire of the forts by night

upon the sappers. Nevertheless by July 5th four batteries were playing

upon St. Michael from the heights of St. Margaret and Conradin, while

the guns of Fort St. Elmo opened from the other side; and soon a line

of cannon on Mount Salvador dominated the English Port. An attempt to

bring a flotilla of gun-boats into the Harbour of the Galleys failed,

after a vigorous conflict between a party of Turkish swimmers, who

strove with axes to cut the chain that barred the port, and some

Maltese who swam to oppose them, sword in teeth. The battle in the

water ended in the flight of the Turks.

[Illustration: SKETCH OF THE PORT OF MALTA IN 1565.]

Ten distinct general assaults were delivered with all the fury of

Janissaries against the stronghold. First, a grand assault by sea was

ordered on July 15th. Three columns simultaneously advanced by night

on Fort St. Michael: one landed in the Arenela and marched to attack

the eastern suburb La Bormula; the second came down from the heights

of St. Margaret and made straight for the bastion defended by De

Robles; the third advanced from Conradin on the south-west, and

assaulted the salient angle at the extreme point of the spit of land

on which the fort was built. In vain the Turks swarmed up the

scaling-ladders; company after company was hurled down, a huddled mass

of mangled flesh, and the ladders were cast off. Again the escalade

began:--the Knights rolled huge blocks of masonry on the crowded

throng below; when they got within arms' reach the scimitar was no

match for the long two-handed swords of the Christians. At all three

points after a splendid attack, which called forth all the finest

qualities of the magnificent soldiery of Suleym[=a]n the Great, the

Turks were repulsed with terrible loss. The Knights lost some of their

bravest swords, and each one of them fought like a lion: but their

dead were few compared with the unfortunate troops of Barbary, who had

cut off their retreat by dismissing their ships, and were slaughtered

or drowned in the harbour by hundreds. The water was red with their

blood, and mottled with standards and drums and floating robes. Of

prisoners, the Christians spared but two, and these they delivered

over to the mob to be torn in pieces.

After the assault by water came the attack by mines; but the result

was no better, for the Knights were no novices in the art of

countermining, and the attempt to push on after the explosion ended in

rushing into a trap. Mustafa, however, continued to work underground

and ply his heavy artillery, with hardly a pause, upon the two

extremities of the line of landward defences--the Bastion of De

Robles, and the Bastion of Castile: both were in ruins by the 27th of

July, as S[=a]lih Reis, son of Barbarossa's old comrade, satisfied

himself by a reconnaissance pushed into the very breach. An assault

was ordered for midday of August 2nd, when the Christians were resting

after the toils of the sultry morning. Six thousand Turks advanced in

absolute silence to Melchior de Robles' bastion; they had almost

reached their goal when the shout of the sentry brought that gallant

Knight, readily awakened, to the breach, followed by Munatones and

three Spanish arquebusiers. These five warriors held twenty-six

Janissaries and Sip[=a]his in check till reinforcements came; and they

killed fifteen of them. Their valour saved the fort. Four hours longer

the struggle lasted, till neither party could deal another blow in the

raging August sun; and the Turks at last retired with a loss of six

hundred dead.

Nothing daunted, the 7th of August saw them once more scaling the

walls and rushing the breaches of the two bastions, this time with

nearly twenty thousand men. They poured over the ravelin, swarmed up

the breach, and were on the point of carrying the fort. All was nearly

lost, and at that supreme moment even the aged Grand Master, whose

place was to direct, not to imperil his life, came down to the front

of battle, and used his sword and pike like a common soldier. Eight

long hours they fought, six times came fresh reserves to the support

of the Turks; the Christians were exhausted, and had no reserves. One

rush more and the place would be carried.

Just then a body of cavalry was seen riding down from the direction of

the Old Town. The Turks took them to be the long-expected

reinforcements from Sicily. They are seen to fall upon stray parties

of Turks; they must be the advance guard of Philip's army. Pi[=a]li in

alarm runs to his galleys; the Turks who had all but carried the

long-contested bastion pause in affright lest they be taken in rear.

In vain Mustafa, in vain the King of Algiers shows them that the

horsemen are but two hundred of the Old Town garrison, with no army at

all behind them. Panic, unreasoning and fatal as ever, seizes upon the

troops: the foothold won after eight hours of furious fighting is

surrendered to a scare; not a Turk stays to finish the victory. The

lives of their two thousand dead need not have been sacrificed.

Still Mustafa did not despair. He knew that the main defences of the

bastions had been destroyed--a few days more, a heavy cannonade, the

explosion of a series of mines which thousands of his sappers were

preparing would, he was certain, ensure the success of a final

assault. The day came, August 20th, and Mustafa himself, in his coat

of inlaid mail and robe of cramoisy, led his army forward; but a

well-directed fire drove him into a trench, whence he emerged not

till night covered his path. When at last he got back, he found his

army in camp; another assault had been repulsed. The next day they

went up again to the fatal embrasures, and this time the failure was

even more signal; repeated repulses were telling on the spirits of the

men, and the veteran Janissaries went to their work with unaccustomed

reluctance. Nevertheless, the trenches, cut in the hard rock,

continued to advance slowly, and the cavalier behind the ravelin was

taken after a severe struggle:--just taken, when La Valette's mines

blew the victorious assailants into the air. On the 30th another

well-planned assault was repelled. One more effort--a last and

desperate attempt--was to be made on the 7th of September; but on the

5th the news arrived that the Spanish army of relief had at length,

after inconceivable delays and hesitations, actually landed on the

island. The worn-out Turks did not wait to reconnoitre, they had borne

enough: a retreat was ordered, the siege was abandoned, the works that

had cost so much labour and blood were deserted, and there was a

general stampede to the galleys. It is true they landed again when

they learnt that the relieving army numbered but six thousand men; but

their strength was departed from them. They tried to fight the

relieving army, and then again they ran for the ships. The Spaniards

cut them down like sheep, and of all that gallant armament scarce five

thousand lived to tell the tale of those terrible three months in

Malta.

No more moving sight can be imagined than the meeting of the new-come

Brethren of the Order and their comrades of St. Michael's Fort. The

worn remnant of the garrison, all told, was scarcely six hundred

strong, and hardly a man was without a wound. The Grand Master and his

few surviving Knights looked like phantoms from another world, so pale

and grisly were they, faint from their wounds, their hair and beard

unkempt, their armour stained, and neglected, as men must look who had

hardly slept without their weapons for more than three memorable

months. As they saw these gaunt heroes the rescuers burst into tears;

strangers clasped hands and wept together with the same overpowering

emotion that mastered relievers and relieved when Havelock and Colin

Campbell led the Highlanders into Lucknow. Never surely had men

deserved more nobly the homage of mankind. In all history there is no

record of such a siege, of such a disproportion in the forces, of such

a glorious outcome. The Knights of Malta live for ever among the

heroes of all time.

FOOTNOTES:

[44] See an excellent account of the galleys and discipline of the

Knights of St. John in Jurien de la Graviere, _les Derniers Jours de la

Marine a Rames_, ch. ix.; and _Les Chevaliers de Malte_, tome i.

[45] Jurien de la Graviere, _Les Chevaliers de Malte et la Marine de

Philippe II._, ii. 71.

XIV.

LEPANTO.

1571.

The failure of the siege of Malta was a sensible rebuff, yet it cannot

be said that it seriously injured the renown of the Turks in the

Mediterranean. They had been resisted on land; they had not yet been

beaten at sea. Nor could they look back on the terrible months of the

siege without some compensating feeling of consolation. They had taken

St. Elmo, and its fall had aroused general jubilation in every Moslem

breast; the Moors of Granada went near to rising against the Spaniards

on the mere report of this triumph of the Turkish arms. Though they

had failed to reduce St. Michael, the cause was to be found, at least

in part, in a false alarm and an unreasoning panic. To be defeated by

such warriors as the Knights of St. John was not a disgrace; like the

Highlanders in the Crimean War, these men were not so much soldiers,

in their opponents' eyes, as veritable devils; and who shall contend

against the legions of the Jinn? Moreover, forced as they were to

abandon the siege, had they not left the island a desert, its people

reduced by half, its fortifications heaps of rubbish, its brave

defenders a handful of invalids?

So reasoned the Turks, and prepared for another campaign. They had

lost many men, but more were ready to take their place; their immense

fleet was uninjured; and though Dragut was no more, Ochiali--as the

Christians called 'Ali _El-Ul[=u]ji_ "the Renegade"--the Turks dubbed

him _Fart[=a]s_, "Scurvied," from his complaint--was following

successfully in his old master's steps. Born at Castelli (Licastoli)

in Calabria about 1508,[46] Ochiali was to have been a priest, but his

capture by the Turks turned him to the more exciting career of a

Corsair. Soon after the siege of Malta he succeeded Barbarossa's son

Hasan as pasha or Beglerbeg of Algiers (1568), and one of his first

acts was to retake Tunis (all but the Goletta) in the name of Sultan

Sel[=i]m II., who, to the unspeakable loss of the Mohammedan world,

had in 1566 succeeded his great father Suleym[=a]n. In July, 1570, off

Alicata, on the southern coast of Sicily, Ochiali surrounded four

galleys of "the Religion"--they then possessed but five--and took

three of them, including the flagship, which Saint-Clement, the

general of the galleys, abandoned in order to throw himself and his

treasure on shore at Montichiaro. One galley alone, the _St. Ann_,

made a desperate resistance; the others surrendered. Sixty Knights or

Serving Brothers of the Order were killed or made prisoners on this

disastrous day, and so intense was the indignation in Malta, that the

Grand Master had much ado to save Saint-Clement from being lynched by

the mob, and was obliged to deliver him up to the secular court, which

at once condemned him to death. He was strangled in his cell, and his

body thrown in a sack into the sea. Such a success went far to atone

for Mustafa Pasha's unfortunate siege.

A far more important triumph awaited the Turks in 1570-1:--a siege,

and a conquest. The new Sultan, like his father, saw in the island of

Cyprus a standing affront to his authority in the Levant. Then, as

now, Cyprus was a vital centre in all maritime wars in the Eastern

Mediterranean; a convenient depot for troops and stores; a watch-tower

whence the movements of the Turkish fleet could be observed; a refuge

for the numberless Christian Corsairs that infested the coast of

Syria. Cyprus belonged to Venice, and on the score of her protection

of piracy the Sultan found no difficulty in picking a quarrel with the

Senate. War was declared, and Pi[=a]li Pasha transported a large army

under Lala Mustafa (not the Seraskier who commanded at Malta) to lay

siege to Nicosia, the capital of the island. After forty-eight days,

the city fell, September 9th, and became a shambles. The catastrophe

might have been averted, had the Christian fleet owned a single

competent chief; but unhappily the relief of Cyprus was entrusted to

the least trustworthy of all instruments--a coalition.

Pope Pius V., a man of austere piety, full of the zeal of his high

office, and in energy and intellect a born leader, spared no effort to

support the Venetians as soon as war became inevitable. Few of the

states of Europe found it convenient to respond to his appeal, but

Philip of Spain sent a numerous fleet under Giovanni Andrea Doria, and

the Pope himself, aided in some degree by the Italian princes, added

an important contingent, which he confided to the care of the Grand

Constable of Naples, Mark Antony Colonna. Giovanni Zanne commanded the

Venetian fleet. The whole force, when united, amounted to no less than

two hundred and six vessels, of which eleven were galleasses, and

nearly all the rest galleys; while the soldiers and crews numbered

forty-eight thousand men. So dire was the dread then inspired by the

Turks that this vast armament dared not move till it was known that

Ochiali had left the neighbourhood of Italy, and even then the

rivalries of the different admirals tended rather to war between the

contingents than an attack upon the enemy's fleet. While the

Christians were wrangling, and Doria was displaying the same Fabian

caution that had led his grand-uncle to lose the battle of Prevesa,

Pi[=a]li Pasha, wholly regardless of danger, had bared his galleys

almost entirely of soldiers, in order to aid Lala Mustafa in the final

assault on Nicosia. Had the allied fleets attacked him on the 8th or

9th of September it is doubtful whether a single Turkish galley could

have shown fight. But Colonna and Doria wasted their time in wrangling

and discussing, while the foe lay powerless at their feet. Finally

they sailed back to Sicily, for fear of bad weather. Such were the

admirals who furnished the gibes of Ochiali and his brother Corsairs.

Famagusta surrendered August 4, 1571, and despite the promise of life

and liberty, the garrison was massacred and the Venetian commander,

Bragadino, cruelly burnt to death. Cyprus became a Turkish possession

thenceforward to this day.

Meanwhile, the Turkish and Barbary fleets, commanded by 'Ali Pasha,

the successor of Pi[=a]li, and Ochiali, ravaged Crete and other

islands, and coasting up the Adriatic, worked their will upon every

town or village it suited their pleasure to attack. Thousands of

prisoners, and stores and booty of every description rewarded their

industry. At length, in September, they anchored in the Gulf of

Lepanto. They had heard that the united Christian fleets were on the

move, and nothing would suit the victors of Cyprus better than a round

encounter with the enemy. Flushed with success, they had no fear for

the issue.

Many a Christian fleet had gathered its members together before then

in the waters of the Adriatic. The great battle off Prevesa was in the

memory of many an old sailor as the galleys came to the rendezvous in

the autumn of 1571. But there was an essential difference between then

and now. Prevesa was lost by divided counsels; at Lepanto there was

but one commander-in-chief. Pope Pius V. had laboured unceasingly at

the task of uniting the Allies and smoothing away jealousies, and he

had succeeded in drawing the navies of Southern Europe on to another

year's campaign; then, warned by what he had learned of the wranglings

off Cyprus, he exerted his prerogative as Vicar of God, and named as

the sole commander-in-chief of the whole fleet, Don John of Austria.

[Illustration: ENGAGEMENT BETWEEN A SPANISH GALLEON AND A DUTCH SHIP.

(_Jurien de la Graviere._)]

Son of the most illustrious monarch of the age, Don John was born to

greatness. His mother was the beautiful singer, Barba Blomberg; his

father was Charles V. The one gave him grace and beauty; the other,

the genius of command. He was but twenty-two when his half-brother,

Philip, confided to him the difficult task of suppressing the

rebellion of the Moors in the Alpuxarras.[47] Where the experienced

veterans of Spain had failed, the beardless general of twenty-two

succeeded to admiration. And now, two years later, he was called to

the command of the whole navy of Southern Europe. He accepted the post

with joy. He had all the hopeful confidence of youth, and he longed to

fight one of the world's great battles. His enthusiasm glowed in his

face: one sees it in his portraits and on the medals struck to

commemorate his victory. "Beau comme un Apollon, il avait tout le

prestige d'un archange envoye par le Seigneur pour exterminer les

ennemis de la Foi."

Squadron after squadron begins to crowd the Straits of Messina.

Veniero, the Venetian admiral, is already there with forty-eight

galleys, and sixty more expected, when Colonna enters, in July, with

eighteen vessels and moors alongside. Don John has not yet arrived. He

has had much ado to get his squadron ready, for no nation understands

better than the Spanish the virtue of the adage _festina lente_. At

last he puts off from Barcelona, and laboriously crosses the Gulf of

Lyons. One may smile now at the transit, but in those days, what with

the mistral and the risk of Corsairs, to cross the Gulf of Lyons was

a thing to be thought about. At Genoa Don John is entertained by G.

Andrea Doria, and attends a fancy ball in a gay humour that becomes

his youth and buoyancy with all his perils still ahead. As he

proceeds, he hears how the Turks are laying waste Dalmatia, and how

the Allies are quarrelling at Messina, but he hastens not: he knows

that a galley on a long voyage has as much a fixed pace as a horse,

and that flogging is of no use except for a short course. At Naples he

reverently receives the standard blessed by his Holiness himself, and

on August 23rd he joins the fleet at Messina. Time is still needed for

the other ships to come up, and for the commander-in-chief to mature

his plans; before they start, each captain of a galley will have a

separate written order, showing him his place during the voyage and

his post in any engagement, whereby the risk of confusion and hasty

marshalling is almost done away. On the 16th of September the signal

is given to weigh anchor. Don John is off first, in his _Reale_, a

splendid _capitana_ galley of sixty oars, with a poop carved with

allegorical designs by Vasquez of Seville. After him come two hundred

and eighty-five vessels, comprising six galleasses and two hundred and

nine galleys, carrying twenty-nine thousand men, and commanded by the

most famous names of the great families of Spain, Genoa, Venice,

Naples, Rome, Vicenza, Padua, Savoy, and Sicily.[48] Don Juan de

Cardona leads the van with seven galleys; Don John himself,

between Marcantonio Colonna and Veniero, commands the centre of

sixty-two large galleys; G. A. Doria has fifty in the right wing;

Barbarigo of Venice fifty-three in the left; Don Alvaro de Bazan

commands the reserve of thirty galleys: the galleasses are ranged

before the lines, each with five hundred arquebusiers on board. After

ten days rowing and sailing they reach Corfu, and the castle greets

them with thunders of joy-guns, for the fear of the Turk is removed.

[Illustration: ARABIC ASTROLABE.]

[Illustration: ARABIC ASTROLABE.]

'Ali Pasha, hard by in the Gulf of Lepanto, sent out scouts to

ascertain the enemy's strength. A bold Barbary Corsair pushed his bark

unseen by night among the Christian galleys, but his report was

imperfect, and till the day of conflict neither side knew the exact

strength of his opponent. The Turkish fleet numbered about two hundred

and eight galleys and sixty-six galleots, and carried twenty-five

thousand men. Constantinople furnished ninety-five galleys; twenty-one

came from Alexandria, twenty-five from Anatolia, ten from Rhodes, ten

from Mitylene, nine from Syria, twelve from Napoli di Romania,

thirteen from the Negropont, and eleven from Algiers and Tripoli. The

galleots were chiefly Barbary vessels, more useful for piracy than a

set battle.

The two fleets unexpectedly came in sight of each other at seven

o'clock on the morning of October 7th, at a point just south of the

Echinades, and between Ithaca and the Gulf of Patras or Lepanto. A

white sail or two on the horizon was descried by Don John's look-out

on the maintop; then sail after sail rose above the sea-line, and the

enemy came into full view. Don John quickly ran up a white flag, the

signal of battle, and immediately the whole fleet was busily engaged

in clewing up the sails to the yards, and making all snug for the

conflict. The central banks were removed to make room for the

soldiers, and the slaves were served with meat and wine. Old seamen,

who had met the Turks again and again from their youth up, prepared

grimly for revenge; sanguine boys, who held arms in set fight for the

first time that day, looked forward eagerly to the moment of action.

Even to the last the incurable vacillation of the allied admirals was

felt: they suggested a council of war. Don John's reply was worthy of

him: "The time for councils is past," he said; "do not trouble

yourselves about aught but fighting." Then he entered his gig, and

went from galley to galley, passing under each stern, crucifix in

hand, encouraging the men. His calm and confident mien, and the charm

of his address, excited universal enthusiasm, and he was met on all

hands with the response: "Ready, Sir; and the sooner the better!" Then

Don John unfurled the Blessed Standard with the figure of the Saviour,

and falling on his knees commended his cause to God.

About eleven o'clock a dead calm set in. The Turks shortened sail and

took to their oars: in perfect order and with matchless speed and

precision they formed in line of battle, while drums and fifes

announced their high spirits. The Christian fleet was slower in

falling into line; some of the galleys and most of the galleasses were

behindhand. Don John let drop some pious oaths, and sent swift

vessels to hurry them up. At last they began to get into order.

Barbarigo, the "left guide," hugged the coast with the left wing; Don

John with the centre _corps de bataille_ kept touch with him; but

where was the "right guide"? Giovanni Doria, infected with the

tactical vanity of his family, resolved to show these landsmen how a

sailor can manoeuvre. Conceiving that Ochiali, on the Ottoman left,

was trying to outflank the Christian fleet, he bore out to sea in

order to turn him. In vain Don John sent to recall him; he had gone

out of reach, and the battle had to be fought without the right wing.

Doria's precious manoeuvring went near to losing the day.

The Ottoman fleet was marshalled in the same order as the Christian,

except that there were no galleasses. The line of battle, nearly a

mile long, was divided into centre, and right and left wing, and

behind the centre was the reserve. Mohammed Shaluk (called by

Europeans Scirocco) commanded the right wing, opposed to Barbarigo's

left; 'Ali Pasha opposed Don John in the centre; Ochiali was over

against the post where Doria should have been. Between the two lines

stood forth the heavy galleasses, like great breakwaters, turning

aside and dividing the flowing rush of the Ottoman galleys. The fire

of these huge floating castles nearly caused a panic among the Turks,

but they soon pulled past them, and a general melley ensued. In the

Christian left, after a deadly struggle, in which both Barbarigo and

Scirocco lost their lives, the Turks were repulsed, and, deprived of

their chief, took to the shore, but not before the Christians had lost

many galleys and a host of brave men. Soon after the left had been

engaged, the centre came into action. 'Ali Pasha made straight for Don

John's _Reale_, and his beak rammed it as far in as the fourth bank of

oars. Close by were Pertev Pasha and the _capitanas_ of Colonna and

Veniero. The ships became entangled, and formed one large platform of

war. Twice the Spaniards of the _Reale_ boarded the _Fanal_ of 'Ali

Pasha as far as the mainmast, and twice they were driven back with

terrible loss. 'Ali himself was preparing to leap upon Don John's

galley when Colonna rammed him on the poop, penetrating as far as the

third oar, and delivered a withering fire from his arquebuses. The

Christians had all the advantage of armour and firearms, and fired

behind bulwarks; the Turks were unprotected by cuirass or helmet or

bulwark, and most of them had bows instead of guns. Colonna's volleys

decided the fate of the _Fanal_, and 'Ali Pasha departed this life. An

hour and a half had sufficed to disperse the Ottoman right and to

overpower the flagship in chief. When the fleet saw the Christian

ensign at the peak of the Turkish _capitana_ they redoubled their

efforts: Veniero, severely wounded, still fought with the Seraskier

Pertev Pasha; the Turks fled, and Pertev took to the land. In half an

hour more Don John's centre was completely victorious. Then a new

danger arose: Ochiali, seeing that Doria was well away to sea, sharply

doubled back with all the right wing, and bore down upon the exhausted

centre. He rushed upon the _capitana_ of Malta, and massacred every

soul on board. Dragut is avenged! Juan de Cardona hastened to the

rescue, and of his five hundred soldiers but fifty escaped; on the

_Fiorenza_ seventeen men alone remained alive; and other terrible

losses were incurred in the furious encounter. Upon this the ingenious

Doria perceived that he had outwitted only his own cause, and at last

turned back. The Marquis de Santa Cruz was already upon the enemy; Don

John was after him with twenty galleys; Ochiali was outnumbered, and

after a brilliant effort, made off in all haste for Santa Maura,

bearing with him the Standard of "the Religion" to be hung up in St.

Sophia. The battle of Lepanto is fought and won: the Turks have been

utterly vanquished.[49] Well might the good Pope cry, as the preacher

cried in St. Stephen's a century later when Sobieski saved Vienna,[50]

"_There was a man sent from GOD, whose name was JOHN_."

The Turkish fleet was almost annihilate: one hundred and ninety

galleys were captured, besides galleots, and fifteen more burnt or

sunk; probably twenty thousand men had perished, including an

appalling list of high dignitaries from all parts of the empire. The

Christians lost seven thousand five hundred men, including many of the

most illustrious houses of Italy and Spain. Cervantes, who commanded a

company of soldiers on board the _Marquesa_, fortunately escaped with

a wound in his left arm; and to many the Battle of Lepanto is familiar

only from the magical pages of _Don Quixote_. Seventeen Venetian

commanders were dead, and among them Vicenzo Quirini and the valiant,

chivalrous, and venerable Proveditore Barbarigo. Sixty Knights of the

diminished Order of St. John had given up the ghost. Twelve thousand

Christian slaves were freed from the Ottoman galleys.

The brilliant young conqueror did not wear his well-earned laurels

long. His statue was erected at Messina; his victory was the subject

of Tintoret and Titian; he was received with ovations wherever he

went. Two years later he recaptured Tunis. Then he was employed in the

melancholy task of carrying on Alva's detestable work in Flanders. He

inflicted a sanguinary defeat upon the Dutch at Gembloux, and then,

struck down by fever, the young hero died on October 1, 1578, in his

thirty-first year, the last of the great figures of medieval

chivalry--a knight worthy to have been commemorated in the Charlemagne

_gestes_ and to have sat at Arthur's Round Table with Sir Galahad

himself.

FOOTNOTES:

[46] H. de Grammont, _La course, l'esclavage, et la redemption_; _Un

pacha d'Alger_; _Hist. d'Algerie_.

[47] See _The Story of the Moors in Spain_, p. 278.

[48] See the complete list in Girolamo Catena, _Vita del gloriosissimo

Papa Pio Quinto_, 1587.

[49] Read the admirable and graphic description of the battle in Jurien

de la Graviere, _La Guerre de Chypre et la Bataille de Lepante_, ii.,

149-205.

[50] See the _Story of Turkey_, 237.