THE PREVESA CAMPAIGN; THE GATHERING OF THE FLEETS
Some thirty-five miles to the south-eastward of Cape Bianco (the
southernmost point of the island of Corfu) lies Prevesa, at the
entrance of the Gulf of Arta, or, as it was known in classic times,
the Ambracian Gulf. In these seas, in the year 31 B.C., was fought
one of the most memorable battles of antiquity, for it was here that
Octavius, afterward Augustus Cæsar, defeated the forces of Antony and
Cleopatra. There have been many controversies of late years as to
whom the original idea of breaking the line in naval combats is due:
anyhow, it can claim a respectable antiquity, as it was practised at
the battle of Actium by Octavius, who by a skilful manoeuvre caused
Antony to lengthen his line, which he then cut through and attacked the
ships of Cleopatra, which were in support: this was too much for the
lady, who fled with her sixty ships, followed by Antony, to his eternal
disgrace. The remainder of his fleet fought bravely for a time, but
was eventually defeated, the land army also surrendering to Octavius.
The date of the actual battle of Actium was September 2nd, 31 B.C.:
it was in September 1538 that the battle of Prevesa between Andrea
Doria and Kheyr-ed-Din Barbarossa took place, and the conditions of the
battle were almost exactly similar.
To this very place came, 1569 years later, the Christian and the
Moslem, the Crescent and the Cross, each under its most renowned
leader, each side burning with an inextinguishable hate. It was one of
the peculiarities of this warfare that into it entered so much actual
personal feeling, each side hating the other for the love of God in
the most poisonous fashion. Save and except the battle of Lepanto in
1571 (with which we shall deal later in the story of Ali Basha, or
Occhiali as he was called by his Christian opponents) the contest
at Prevesa was far the most important ever fought by those strange
oar-propelled vessels known as galleys. It was memorable in many ways,
but particularly so for the ages of the men in chief command. Andrea
Doria was at this time seventy years of age; in fact, Guglielmotti
gives the date of his birth as 1466, thus making him two years older.
That amazing veteran Kheyr-ed-Din Barbarossa, who died in his bed at
Constantinople on July 4th, 1546, at the age of ninety, must have been
eighty-two. Vicenzo Capello was sixty-eight, as the epitaph on his
tomb at Venice in the church of Santa Maria Formosa says that he was
seventy-two in the year of his death, 1542.
Once again Christendom was nerving itself for a supreme effort against
the corsairs, and, during the time that Barbarossa was raiding and
ravaging among the islands of the Archipelago, the Christian fleet
was gradually assembling. At first it numbered some 150 galleys,
81 Venetian, 36 Pontifical, and 30 Spanish; Charles V. sent, at the
last moment, 50 ships on which were embarked 10,000 troops. The force
totalled altogether 59,000 to 60,000 men, 195 ships, and 2,594 cannons.
This was no doubt a most formidable armada, but the policy of those
by whom it was composed was not all directed to the same end. While
Charles desired, above all things, to exterminate the corsairs for
good and all, which was, in the circumstances, the only sound view
of the matter, the Venetians were for fighting defensive actions to
maintain their supremacy in the Ionian Islands, and were disposed to
let the future take care of itself. There was not, in consequence, that
absolute unanimity among the various commanders of the expedition as
was necessary for its complete success.
The concentration of the Christian fleet took place at Corfu. The
Venetians arrived first, with Vincenzo Capello in command; Marco
Grimani brought thither the Papal contingent; they anchored and waited,
but Andrea Doria did not appear. Days lengthened into weeks, and
Grimani and Capelli chafed and fumed; provisions were running low and
the dignity of Venice and of the Pope were flouted by this strange
remissness on the part of the Admiral of the Emperor. At last, furious
with impatience, Grimani made a raid into the Gulf of Arta, which was
defended at the entrance by the fortress of Prevesa. The only result
of this ill-timed attack was that two Papal captains and a number of
soldiers were killed. Grimani then returned to Corfu, to find Capello
irritated to the last extent by the non-appearance of Doria.
At last, on September 5th, the Imperial fleet hove in sight. It was
composed of forty-nine galleys, but these were supplemented by a great
number of sailing ships; the sailing craft, however, did not arrive
till September 22nd. These vessels were gradually making way among the
Spaniards since the discovery of the new world.
At this time the Venetians possessed fourteen nefs. Doria had augmented
these by twenty-two of his own, and the total number of thirty-six
was commanded by Franco Doria, a nephew of the admiral. The Venetian
nefs were commanded by Alessandro Condalmiero, captain of the _Galleon
of Venice_. This was the most formidable fighting vessel in the
Mediterranean; she was reckoned an excellent sailor, she was by far the
most heavily armed sailing ship then afloat; in fact, in the opinion of
contemporary seamen, she was “an invincible fortress.”
Doria, Grimani, and Capello had now nearly 200 ships carrying nearly
60,000 men. Such a force, in all ages, has been considered great.
William the Conqueror conquered Britain with a less number; it is
almost half the total of the personnel of the British fleet in the
present day which has to defend a country with 40,000,000 inhabitants,
and all this force had been raised, armed, and equipped to combat with
a Moslem corsair.
Barbarossa had succeeded in assembling 122 ships. He was accompanied
by all the most famous corsairs of the day, among whom was Dragut,
who fell at the siege of Malta, and of whom we shall have more to say
in due time. Far and wide ranged the swift galleys of the Ottoman
fleet, for the plan of the commander of the Moslems was to locate and
destroy his enemies in detail if possible. At last news came to him
that Grimani’s ships had been sighted in the Gulf of Arta. Not one
moment did he lose; he would fall upon the Papal contingent with his
whole force and destroy it utterly. Such, at least, was his plan when
he sailed for Prevesa; but, notwithstanding his haste, he was too late.
Happily for himself, Grimani had returned to Corfu before the arrival
of his enemy.
At this juncture Barbarossa hesitated; had he not done so, and had
he followed Grimani to Corfu, he might have destroyed both him
and Vincenzo Capello in detail before the arrival of Doria. The
Prevesa campaign is a curious study of hesitation on both sides, and
the idea naturally occurs were not the corsair and the Christian
commanders-in-chief too old for the work on which they were engaged?
Men of over seventy are not impetuous, but grave and deliberate as
a rule; but there is no rule without its exceptions, and Doria and
Barbarossa were not as other leaders. Up to the present their dash and
initiative had been unimpaired. There was no question that Barbarossa
not only made a mistake in hesitating, but that by it he lost the
game. Instead of striking at once he did what he had never done before
in the whole of his career, which was to send to Constantinople for
instructions. Some of his galleys had captured a fishing-boat off
Corfu, the crew of which had seen Doria’s fleet. The Moslem leader
sent the fishermen themselves to report to Soliman exactly what they
had seen, and to ask for and bring back instructions from that
potentate. What Barbarossa had discovered was that the odds were very
much against him; so much, in fact, that he would have to act on the
defensive. In consequence, he steered for Prevesa and entered the Gulf
of Arta, which is approached by a long narrow strait, dominated by
the castle of Prevesa. Once inside he anchored his galleys in such a
position that they could fire direct out to sea, thus overwhelming with
their fire any vessel attempting to enter.
Barbarossa now occupied the same position as did Octavius in his
combat with Antony. The rôle of the latter general was now taken by
Doria. Antony, like Doria, had heavy ships which could not advance
to the attack owing to their too great draught. Octavius, with his
light-draught ships, could both attack and retreat into safety if
overmatched.
On September 22nd Doria, having collected all his ships, gave orders
to fill up with wood, water, and fresh provisions. On the 25th, to
the sound of the trumpet, the Commander-in-Chief, with his fleet of
two hundred sail, weighed anchor and sped before the wind rapidly
southwards. Grimani commanded the advance-guard, Doria was in the
centre, Vincenzo Capello, with his Venetians, brought up the rear.
Formed in two columns, the nefs followed the galleys; the _Galleon of
Venice_, commanded by Condalmiero, a squadron in herself, preceded them.
[Illustration: GALEASSE UNDER SAIL.]
From the anchorage at Corfu to the entrance of the Gulf of Arta is
about fifty-eight miles, and, traversing this distance during the hours
of daylight, the fleet anchored, as night fell, under Cape Prevesa.
The Galleon which acted as what we should now call the guide of the
fleet, anchored in sixteen feet of water, which was barely sufficient
to keep her afloat.
The Gulf of Arta, in which, as we have said, the fleet of the Moslems
were now anchored, presents very curious physical peculiarities: it
is twenty-two miles in length from east to west, and fifteen miles in
breadth from north to south. This sheet of water is formed into an
immense bay by the configuration of the land, and its depth, in places,
is from one hundred and thirty to two hundred feet. Inside it all the
navies in the world might ride at anchor, were it not for the fact that
the entrance is closed by a bar upon which the depth varies from six
and a half to thirteen feet. With his light-draught ships Barbarossa
occupied the interior position, while the heavy ships of Doria must in
any event remain outside. A strong sea-breeze was blowing on shore;
all night the nefs and the galleys were nearly rolling their gunwales
under. In these packed and crowded vessels the misery and discomfort of
their crews may be imagined. On the morning of the 26th, however, the
west wind dropped, and a light wind sprang up from the northward.
The position at this time was one of surpassing interest. Here at long
last the two most renowned sea-captains of the time were face to face.
Each was aware that his antagonist was worthy of his steel, also that
great issues, political and national, hung upon this conflict; which
was no mere affair of outposts, but a struggle to the death as to
whether the Crescent or the Cross was in time to come to be supreme
in the tideless sea. And yet—such is the irony of fate—this battle
proved indecisive, and it was not until thirty years later, at the
battle of Lepanto, that this momentous question was set at rest for a
time.
Would Doria, greatly daring, go in and risk all in attacking a
fortified position; or would Barbarossa make a sally and fight it out
to the death on the element on which he was so supremely at home?
But Doria had no mind to attack a fleet anchored under the guns of
a fortress; Barbarossa would not risk all in an encounter with a
foe possessed of great numerical superiority without orders from
Constantinople. On Doria’s side nothing but a disembarkation and a
land-attack would offer a fair security for success, Kheyr-ed-Din,
who held, as we have said, the interior position, was well aware of
this fact, and in this supreme moment of his career was not disposed
to give away any advantage. The situation occupied by Kheyr-ed-Din
at the battle of Prevesa was, in a sense, different from any which
he had held before, as he was in this case hampered by his sense of
responsibility as Admiralissimo to the Grand Turk. What happened on the
distant shores of Africa mattered but little to that monarch, and he
had been content to allow his admiral an entirely free hand; here in
Europe, on the shores of Greece, so close relatively to his own capital
city, it was a very different matter, and Soliman was kept in touch
with the happenings of his fleet as far as was possible in those days.
But if the great corsair did not add to his reputation in this eventful
campaign he still displayed an aptitude in realising the situation
which, it is safe to say, was shown by none of those under his
command.
Prevesa illustrates for us more than any other action the difficulties
with which the path of the partisan leader in these days must always
have been filled; and how it was that personal ascendancy was the only
force to which such a leader had to trust Sheer dominance of the minds,
the wills, and the bodies of others had placed Kheyr-ed-Din where he
was; all his life he had commanded undisciplined pirates, and yet now,
when he was the properly accredited officer of a mighty monarch, when
he might have expected far more discipline and subordination than had
ever been his lot in the past, he was met with a contumaciousness which
he was unable to quell, and was forced into taking steps which, in his
own unequalled knowledge of war, he knew to be doomed to disaster.
Around him the Reis, or captains of the Moslem galleys, clamorously
demanded that he should take precautions against a land-attack. It
was true that the raid which had been made by Grimani had been easily
repulsed, but in present circumstances there was no question of a mere
raid, as, should the Christian admiral so decide, he could land twenty
thousand men. Sinan Reis, an old Osmanli warrior, furious with jealousy
that the chief command should be in the hands of a corsair, sustained
his opinion in a manner which augured ill for the hearty co-operation
of all the Turkish forces. Sinan was just one of those blindly valiant
fighters from whom the politic Ibrahim had desired to deliver his
master when he had urged the appointment of Kheyr-ed-Din: brave as
a lion, keen as the edge of his own good scimitar, fanatical, as
became a Hodja who had visited the Holy Places, Sinan was a type of
the Turkish sea-officer: devoid of strategical instinct and tactical
training, his one idea was a headlong attack, then victory or the
houris of Paradise. It will be seen that Barbarossa had not only Doria
and the Christian fleet and army against which to contend on this
occasion.
The peril conjured up by Sinan Reis on this occasion was not altogether
an imaginary one: the idea of a disembarkation had, in point of fact,
been seriously discussed that very morning by Andrea Doria and his
council of war, at which Hernando de Gonzaga, Generalissimo of the
troops embarked, had advised a landing. His argument, embodied in a
long and technical harangue, may be reduced to the following:
“If we cannot go straight at the enemy and force our way
through the entrance under his cannon why should we not
reduce the fortress of Prevesa by a siege? Once masters
of this height, we could close the strait by sinking
in it vessels laden with stones, and we then have the
Ottoman fleet at our mercy.”
But Doria the sailor was not to be led by Gonzaga the soldier. He said:
“The advice seems sound, but in reality it would prove
most dangerous if followed. Barbarossa must have
landed some of his men, the cavalry which defeated
Grimani’s raid will no doubt come again from the
interior, if necessary. If we deprive our ships of their
soldiers we expose ourselves to a sea-fight under most
disadvantageous conditions. But most, important of
all is the fact that time presses; the season is far
advanced; at any time the fleet may be driven off these
shores by a storm, in which case what would become of
the troops left on shore? Again, if it comes on to blow
a tempest from the westward we may lose not only our
troops, but our ships, in fact the whole expedition.”
At the battle of Actium, Octavius occupied the shore upon which
Hernando Gonzaga wished to land and assault; but notwithstanding this
fact Octavius did not attempt the passage of the gulf but waited for
his enemy outside. Doria was therefore all the more justified in not
sacrificing ships and men in attempting to force an entrance now
that this same shore was in the hands of the enemy. He was asked, he
said, to thrust his head into the mouth of the wolf, and this he was
determined not to do.
In the meanwhile Barbarossa was using much the same language to his
captains as was Doria.
“My brothers,” said he, “you wish to transport cannon and raise
redoubts on this uncovered shore because you think that the Christians
will disembark and seize it: if you attempt this I tell you that the
guns of the enemy will annoy you terribly., Not only this, supposing
that Doria, profiting by the moment that our vessels are empty of
troops, should attack in force, we cannot with five thousand men
repulse twenty thousand. The fort of Prevesa will defend itself quite
sufficiently well with its own garrison; our business is to think
of the fleet and not to weaken in any way our means of attack and
defence, If the infidels force, or attempt to force, an entry into
the port, they will be most likely merely losing time and ammunition
in cannonading us. You know that it is principally in this that these
accursed dogs do trust, whereas we, O men of Islam, will place our
confidence in God, in Mahomet his Prophet, in the strength of our right
arms, in the keenness of our scimitars; we will carry them by boarding,
therefore we must keep our crews on board,”
But Barbarossa had not that absolute domination of the forces under
his command which should be the prescriptive right of any leader.
Sinan-Reis, the implacable be-turbaned old Osmanli, held him in bitter
scorn. “Your advice may be good,” he retorted, “but we think our plan
the better.”
The admiral suggested a reconnaissance of the site, which was merely
a ruse to gain time. This was carried out under his own supervision,
and confirmed him in the idea that disembarkation was folly; but
Sinan-Reis and the Janissaries held obstinately to their opinion, while
the “Joldaks,” or Turkish soldiers in the galleys, grumbled among
themselves that Kheyr-ed-Din must indeed be full of vanity to reject
the counsels of one like Sinan-Reis.
Both commanders-in-chief, Christian and Moslem, seem on this occasion
to have taken an absolutely correct view of the problem as it was
presented; but whereas Andrea Doria was a real commander-in-chief,
Barbarossa was forced to consider and to defer to the opinions of men
whom he knew to be in the wrong.
It was against his better judgment that Kheyr-ed-Din at last
yielded; the men were backing up their officers, a spirit of
disaffection was abroad in the armada: such a thing as this a wise
chief must gauge at its true value, and stop before it goes too far.
The Osmanli were murmuring against “the corsair”; it was time to let
them see whether they or their war-worn leader possessed the greater
wisdom.
According to Moslem chroniclers the valour of Kheyr-ed-Din was only
equalled by his piety; consequently he murmured a prayer into that
famous beard of his, which was now so much nearer to white than red,
and gave orders that the cannon shall be immediately disembarked. “Let
the will of God and of His Prophet be accomplished; that which is
written is that which will take place,” exclaimed this pious man as he
watched the preparations being carried out under the supervision of
Mourad-Reis.
That which “took place” was precisely and exactly what the
Commander-in-Chief had predicted from the first: no sooner had
Mourad-Reis landed upon the exposed beach, and attempted to open a
trench, than he was met by a furious and concentrated fire from the
galleys and nefs of the Christian fleet. To entrench themselves was
impossible in the circumstances, as they had been told by the Admiral
before they started on this harebrained adventure. There could be
only one result, which was that, after a cruel and perfectly useless
slaughter, the soldiers of Mourad-Reis had to retreat before the hail
of shot poured upon them, and to return ignominiously to their vessels.
It is not on record what Kheyr-ed-Din said to Sinan, Mourad, and
those other tacticians who had recommended the landing; which perhaps
is a pity.
Doria then made a tentative movement against the strait by a detachment
of galleys; Barbarossa told off an equal number to oppose them, and
they mutually cannonaded and skirmished during the day. There was much
noise and excitement, but practically no advantage was gained by either
side, as Doria’s men could not risk passing the guns of the fort, nor
could those of Barbarossa the chance of being cannonaded by the heavy
vessels lying in wait-for them outside. And so the day closed down with
no success on either side, but with a decisive demonstration to the
Moslems that, if they desired victory, to their admiral had better be
left the organisation by which it was to be obtained.
Whether Doria really desired a pitched battle can never be known; that
which is certain is that, during the whole time the fleets were in
touch, all his dispositions make it appear there was nothing of which
he was so much afraid. And yet it was the opportunity of his life; he
had superiority in numbers, he had valiant and experienced leaders,
and sixty thousand men thirsting for battle, under his command. Also
he had his opportunity, which, had he seized upon, must have ended
in victory, did those who were under his orders only fight as he had
every reason to believe that they would. As it was, he threw away
the gift of fortune, and left to the Osmanli the practical dominance
of the Mediterranean Sea until that great day in 1571 when Don John
of Austria, the natural son of Charles V., proved to the world at
Lepanto that the Turk was not invincible upon the waters.
It is true that Doria was awkwardly situated; Kheyr-ed-Din held the
interior position, and that leader was a great believer in the adage
that “if Brag is a good dog, Holdfast is a better.” He was well aware
of his numerical inferiority, and in consequence refused to listen
to the frenzied appeals of the excited Moslems to be led against the
Christian dogs. It may seem a contradiction in terms to speak of the
moral courage of a pirate; but if ever that quality were displayed
to its fullest extent it was exhibited by Barbarossa in the Prevesa
campaign. In his intellectual outlook on all that was passing, both
inside and outside of the Gulf of Arta, in this September of 1538, we
see Kheyr-ed-Din at his best. Ever a fighter, he knew when to give
battle and when to refrain, when to sweep headlong upon the foe, but
also when to hold back and to baffle by waiting till the psychological
moment should arrive. Around him Sinan-Reis, Mourad-Reis, and half a
hundred others of their kidney were clamouring; they hurled insults at
his head, they heaped opprobrium on “the corsair,” they practically
incited their troops to mutiny in their mad appeals to be led against
the foe.
But “the corsair” kept his head, and kept his temper, and saved the
Ottoman fleet for his master from his great rival, Doria. That noble
Genoese seaman was for once in his life “letting I dare not wait upon I
would”; he would not order the attack for which his men were waiting,
and no provocation, apparently, could tempt Barbarossa to play
Antony to the Octavius of Doria; the Christian admiral was tempting
Providence at that advanced season of the year in keeping the sea on an
hostile coast on which at any time he might be driven by a tempest. His
old and experienced antagonist was well aware that the winds and the
waves might save him the trouble of destroying the fleet of the enemy;
an equinoctial gale would do that far more effectually than could he.
If Doria had an uneasy consciousness that he might at any time see the
shore littered with oarless galleys and dismasted nefs, while the sea
was filled with drowning men, the same vision had been vouchsafed to
his imperturbable adversary. Had it been left to the entire initiative
of Barbarossa, his Fabian tactics would assuredly have prevailed in
the end; but as it was he was surrounded by a clamouring host of men,
soldiers by trade, who, understanding nothing of the happenings of the
sea, merely derided as cowardice any postponement of what they regarded
as the inevitable battle. The admiral of the Sultan held out as long as
it was possible, but at last, owing to a new factor in the case, was
forced, against his better judgment, to offer the battle which it was
in his power to have withheld.