LEPANTO
Cross or Crescent! We of the present time can form no adequate idea
of the import couched in those words in mediæval time. Strange
that rivers of blood should flow in the interests of the cause of
the Prince of Peace! Would the Christ,--who, dying upon the Cross
prayed for his murderers,--have it so? Perhaps over his friends
even more pitifully than over his erring inimical world the sublime
impetration unceasingly ascends _Father, forgive them for they know
not what they do_.
And Allah “the mild, the merciful, the compassionate”--where was
he that tragic Sunday morning October 7, 1571, when one hundred
thousand of his followers, singularly lacking in his characteristic
qualities, stood red-hand in slaughter! Alas for the ideal when
fitted to the real: it is shattered; its shimmering iridescence
dies down gray and dead.
TO FIGHT OR NOT TO FIGHT.
The Ottoman empire, flushed by a long series of successes under
Solyman the Magnificent, had grown insolently aggressive. The
memory of Tours and of Belgrade no longer acted as a deterrent to
the fierce victors of Constantinople; their eyes were ever turned
longingly toward western Europe, and their dreams were of bloodshed
and victory.
The island Cyprus belonged to Venice, but its situation made
it highly desirable as an Ottoman possession; and upon the old
principle that might makes right--a principle unfortunately ever
retaliatively new--the Turkish forces besieged Cyprus. The town
Nicosia, capital of Cyprus, fell an easy prey, and the atrocities
committed on the defenceless inhabitants horror-thrilled the
Christian world. Later the town Famagosta after a prolonged and
obstinate resistance was captured but under circumstances of
peculiar malignity. In the words of Prescott: “While lying off
Cephalonia Don John received word that Famagosta, the second city
of Cyprus, had fallen into the hands of the enemy, and this under
circumstances of unparalleled perfidy and cruelty. The place, after
a defence that had cost hecatombs of lives to the besiegers, was
allowed to capitulate on honorable terms. Mustapha, the Moslem
commander, the same fierce chief who had conducted the siege of
Malta, requested an interview at his quarters with four of the
principal Venetian captains. After a short and angry conference,
he ordered them all to execution. Three were beheaded. The other,
a noble named Bragadina, he caused to be flayed alive in the
market place of the city. The skin of the wretched victim was then
stuffed: and with this ghastly trophy dangling from the yard-arm of
his galley, the brutal monster sailed back to Constantinople, to
receive the reward of his services from Selim (son and successor of
Solyman).”
Submit to that? Wait apathetically for the Turks to come to Venice,
Rome, Madrid and do in like manner? Well, no; not in the real,
whatever may be the ideal. What then? Why, _Fight_.
Non-resistance: and if thine enemy smite thee upon the cheek, turn
to him the other also; and if he take thy coat give to him also
thy cloak; love your enemies; do good to them that hate you and
despitefully use you: and as result, what? Crucifixion. A nation
of Christs would be put to death as unjustly as was the Christ of
Calvary.
Fortunately or unfortunately--we know not which it may prove to
be--only the Tolstoyan few will carry to their logical conclusions
the principles of non-resistance; and few, if any, even of the
Tolstoyan few, will abide by these conclusions and stand calm,
kind, compassionate, even under the fatal final Injustice. The
great body of men, of today as of every other day of the long ages
of time, defend their rights; and if that defence means that blood
must flow,--then let it flow. And all the more freely will blood
flow and all the more sternly indomitable will be the strife when
men feel themselves justified as they strike the blow; when they
feel themselves called upon to conquer or to die for a cause that
they hold just; when they fight elated and fortified with the
assurance that they stand as bulwarks warding off the concrete
embodiment of all that they hold evil from all that they hold dear
and good.
“The bravest are the tenderest,
The loving are the daring.”
Some of the bravest and the tenderest of men have trodden knee
deep in human blood. There have been wars just and inevitable; and
what has been may again be. We hope not; we dream not; the Peace
Palace of the Hague looms spectrally on the future horizon; we are
looking that way: and at times this Peace Palace seems assertively
real--ready to cope with armaments and with red-hot wrongs; but
again it rises fancifully and floats evanescently away and fades on
a gray sky. Is it Mirage?
THE CHRISTIAN KNIGHT.
Next in moral excellence to the Christian martyr is undoubtedly the
Christian knight.
Chivalry--fair flower of Feudalism, night blooming cereus wide
opening in white splendor exuding fragrance in somber mediæval
midnight! King Arthur and his Table Round; knights errant done to
death by Don Quixote and yet victors even over the smile; Chevalier
Bayard, the knight without fear and without reproach; Richard Cœur
de Lion, the Black Prince, Lohengren, Parsifal, Siegfried, Don John
of Austria--are flowerets of that Flower caught wax-white in amber
and fixed fadelessly.
In all the sweep of history from Egypt to the hour, there is
nothing nobler than the ideal Christian knight. To stand in awe of
the omnipotent God; to go about the world redressing human wrongs;
to love with young-world love bashfully reverent, constrained to
win the world and lay it humbly at _her_ feet; to reverence truth
and to scorn with scorn unutterable all the thousand and one
manifestations of the lie; to be loyal to king and country and God;
to be gentle, courteous, kind to all life from highest to lowest;
to stand face-front to the oncoming forces of evil and in that
fight grimly to conquer or die: there is nothing nobler.
And yet not for all the glory of Don John, ideal Christian knight
and hero of Lepanto, would I have one little stain of human blood
on my white hands.
“New occasions teach new duties;
Time makes ancient good uncouth.”--_Lowell._
Nevertheless he who would sympathetically and justly depict the
past should be capable of entering into and all round estimating
that ancient good now grown uncouth. And whatever the best men of
any given age or time or clime unanimously hold as best must, in
the deep heart of things, be best for that age or time or clime.
The knight, the hero, the Crusader, the victor over the Saracens
seemed best to the best men of the Middle Age.
Pope Pius V. earnestly advocated the cause of Venice. He appealed
to the Christian monarchs of Europe to join with the Holy See in
a League having for its object the total overthrow of the Ottoman
empire. He urged the aggressive policy of the Turks under Solyman
the Magnificent and his unworthy son and successor Selim II.; he
vividly portrayed the atrocities of Turkish conquest and the blight
upon civilization that ever unerringly followed in the wake of the
Crescent; and he endeavored by all means in his power to arouse in
the hearts of the children of the Church the spirit that had made
possible the First Crusade.
All Europe at this time mourned its Christian captives who were
languishing in Turkish dungeons or wasting away as galley slaves.
Twelve thousand of these Christian captives were chained to the
oars as galley slaves on the Moslem ships while the fight Lepanto
was raging; their liberation and restoration to freedom formed the
purest joy-pearl in the gem casket of that joyous victory.
Cyprus had just fallen into the hands of the Turks amid scenes of
unparalleled barbarity: and against the Turk as the destroyer of
civilization and the menace of Christendom all eyes were directed,
all hearts beat with desire to avenge, slay, destroy: and all these
feelings found outlet, and culmination and gratification in the
battle of Lepanto, under Don John of Austria, the Christian knight.
OCEAN ENCOUNTERS.
Ocean instability, ocean vastness, ocean majestic indifference to
the pigmy life and death struggles of men throw a magnetic glow
over sea fights.
When the bay of Salamis changed gradually from greenish gray to
red; when the Ionian sea slowly purpled off Actium, crimsoning the
frightened barge of Cleopatra and of love maddened Anthony; when
the waters at the entrance of the gulf Lepanto grew blood-red fed
by trickling streams from five hundred galleys: did ocean care? The
Titanic sinks and the billows dash high in foam play, they descend
sportively with her into her grave hole, they arise and roll on:
the Volturno blazes on a background of black sky, a foreground of
flame-lit angry rolling waves: and does ocean care?
Don John arranged his battle line in a semi-circular stretch of
about one mile embracing the entrance to the gulf of Lepanto
(now Gulf Corinth). The Turkish fleet lay concealed somewhere
on the water of the gulf and must come out at the entrance and
fight openly or remain bottled up in the gulf until forced out by
starvation. Don John knew his adversary, Ali Pasha, too well to
dream that the latter alternative would be accepted by the sturdy
Moslem.
Early Sunday morning (Oct. 7, 1571) Don John sighted a line of
ships far in the gulf but making steadily for the opening. Battle
was at hand. Don John, in his flagship, the Real, passed from
vessel to vessel encouraging and animating his soldiers. “You have
come,” he said, “to fight the battle of the Cross; to conquer or
to die. But whether you are to die or conquer, do your duty this
day and you will secure a glorious immortality.” He then returned
to his position in the center of the semi-circle, and in that
conspicuous position seen by all, he knelt in prayer under the far
floating banner of the League. His example was followed by all,
and the priests of whom there was at least one if not more on each
galley, went around giving the last absolution to the men as they
knelt in prayer.
The Ottoman shouts now filled the air as the long line of three
hundred galleys arranged as a crescent, paused for a moment at the
opening of the gulf. The center of the Christian fleet following
Don John advanced to the Ottoman center commanded by Ali Pasha;
the left wing under Barbarigo, the Venetian admiral, sought as
adversary the opposing wing under Mahomet Sirocco; the right wing
under Andrew Doria grappled with the opposing Mohammedan left under
Ulrich Ali, dey of Algiers. For four hours the battle raged.
So dense was the canopy of smoke enveloping the combatants that
neither side knew for a certainty which was winning until the
drawing down of the Ottoman banner and the hasty hauling up of the
Banner of the League on board the flagship of Ali Pasha made known
the result decisively. Shouts then rent the air and groans.
The Moslem left wing under the brave sea captain Ulrich Ali was
engaged in a fierce grappling fight with Doria, and the advantage
seemed to be with the Moslems. Don John seeing this, hastened
to Doria’s aid. Ulrich Ali, seeing that all was lost, ordered
his men at the oars to make all possible speed for escape round
the promontory. The Christian vessels gave chase, but the Moslem
galleys sped with the speed of the wind and were soon lost to
sight. About forty vessels were thus saved out of the three hundred
that had taken part in the engagement. Of these one hundred and
thirty were seized as prizes by the Christian forces, the rest
having been sunk or burned in the fight.
The Ottoman loss is estimated between twenty-five thousand and
thirty thousand; that of the Christians at eight thousand. The
superior marksmanship of the allies and their use exclusively
of firearms, while the Turks used in part bows and arrows; the
better make and equipment of the Christian galleys--are among
the causes to which human reason may attribute the incredible
disparity between the Turkish loss and that of the Christians in
this engagement. But there are many circumstances peculiar to this
battle for which human reason can assign no cause.
It is related on good authority that as the Christian soldiers
arose from prayer the wind which had hitherto been blowing steadily
from the gulf, suddenly veered around and blew right into the
faces of the enemy. In the course of the engagement the sun, too,
reached the point where its rays shot into the eyes of the Turkish
marksmen and caused them to err in their aim. Pope Pius V. who,
while the battle was in progress, was closeted in consultation with
a number of cardinals, in the Vatican, suddenly arose from his seat
and approaching the window and casting up his eyes to the heavens
exclaimed as tears of joy rolled down his cheeks, “A truce to
business; our great task at present is to thank God for the victory
He has just given the Christians.”
DEATH OF ALI PASHA.
The struggle between The Real, Don John’s flagship, and the galley
bearing Ali Pasha was of course pivotal. Each commander felt that
upon him and his ship depended the issue of the combat. Both were
brave men, both must conquer or die: Don John conquered, Ali Pasha
died.
The ships had grappled and a hand to hand conflict was raging upon
the decks. Blood slowly trickled down the sides of the galleys and
the waters were incarnadined.
In the heat of the engagement a musket ball struck the head of the
Moslem commander. He fell prone and lay for some time unconscious
upon a heap of the dying and the dead. But suddenly regaining
consciousness he attempted to rise and was at once recognized by
the surrounding Spanish soldiers. They were about to despatch him
with their swords when the wily Moslem appealing to their natural
cupidity made known to them the secret hiding place of his ship’s
treasure. The lure of gold led the soldiers to hasten below leaving
their victim to chance life or death on the deck. But just as
dear life seemed secured from the ruthless thrust of death, the
wounded commander was confronted by a strangely savage figure with
uplifted sword. It was one of the Christian galley slaves long
chained on Ali’s vessel and but that hour given freedom from the
hated oar. In vain did Ali Pasha appeal to this soldier’s cupidity;
nothing seemed quite so desirable to him as the death of the man
who had so long chained him a galley slave. The threatening sword
fell unerringly upon the wounded Moslem chief and buried itself in
his heart. With this retributive blow the tide of victory turned
decisively in favor of the Christians.
DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA.
There are few characters upon the historic page more full in
promise and yet futile in attainment than Don John of Austria. The
idol of all Europe, the knight _sans peur et sans reproche_, the
hero of Lepanto--at the age of twenty-four; he died seven years
later in comparative obscurity; a rude hut hastily erected to
receive the dying commander served as his last resting place upon
earth.
As Don John lay in the agony of death, a terrific storm suddenly
broke over the camp; and as in the case of Napoleon under somewhat
similar circumstances, Don John partly arose, muttered incoherently
of battle and victory, then sank back and died. Did the rattle
of the storm suggest the din of battle? Or did vague visions of
another storm arise associatively in memory? History relates that
tho’ that battle Sunday, Oct. 7, 1571, was a day of ideal autumn
brightness, yet when the strife was fairly over and the battered
galleys with their dead and wounded and sorely wearied men were
heavily entering port, a storm suddenly arose: the skies darkened
ominously, lightning flashed from the lowering clouds, thunder
reverberated, and torrential rains poured down. For twenty-four
hours the storm continued. Was nature indignantly weeping over
the errors and sufferings of her children? Was she striving to
wash out from old ocean--the rugged, primal, favorite work of her
hands--those awful stains of blood?
As Don John had hastened to port under the gathering storm he gave
orders that the Moslem galleys rendered worthless by the battle
should be stripped of everything of value and then set on fire. And
so it was that when safe in port the Christian conquerors looking
out thro’ the storm saw the burning ships. They luridly lit up
the darkness and blazed wildly down to the waves--mutely eloquent
witnesses of the horror and desolation of war.
Did the dulling senses of the hero of Lepanto see that scene,
hear that storm--as the winds raged round his temporary shelter
and death in blasting splendor closed over all? Or did the fair
“castles in Spain” rise again spectrally with light upon them from
beyond the grave as the dreamer of royal dreams sank down to the
real? That wonderful African empire so near, so far: that beauteous
bride, Mary Queen of Scots, liberated, released, restored by his
own good sword; wooed and won and with her the throne of that
imperious usurper Elizabeth Tudor: that smile of pontiffs, that
commendation of Catholic Europe, that proud praise from the lips of
his father’s son, Philip II. of Spain--as he, the hero of Lepanto,
the champion of Christendom, returned fresh-laureled from new
combats and victories, a king, a crowned lover, an Emperor--Dreams!
“Take, fortune, whatever you choose
You gave and may take again;
I’ve nothing ’twould pain me to lose,
For I own no more castles in Spain.”
Don John is buried in the Escorial. His name and fame are
inseparably associated with the decisive victory of the Cross over
the Crescent off the entrance to the gulf Lepanto.
An admirable painting of this battle _The Victory of the League_ by
Titian still adorns the walls of the Museo, Madrid.
The petition _Mary, Help of Christians_ inserted on this
occasion in the litany of Loretto bears evidence even today of
the gratitude felt by Pius V. and with him all Christendom for
deliverance from the unspeakable Turk.
The historian Ranke speaking of the effects of this battle says:
“The Turks lost all their old confidence after the battle of
Lepanto. They had no equal to oppose to Don John of Austria. The
day of Lepanto broke down the Ottoman supremacy.”