DRAGUT-REIS
How the corsairs captured the town of “Africa”; of
its recapture by Andrea Doria and its eventual total
destruction by Charles V.
Dragut had made it a practice never to appear in the harbour of
“Africa” in any great force, as he had no desire to frighten the birds
whom he desired to snare; on the occasion of which we are now speaking
he had but two galleys, and their departure from the outer harbour
passed almost unnoticed, as the ruck of the population were accustomed
to visits from the corsairs, who came to fill up with provisions
and fresh water. Swiftly as hawks his vessels swept along the coast
collecting the garrisons of Susa, Sfax, and Monastir to aid him in
his latest design; they were all picked men and singularly apt for
the stern business which their leader destined them to undertake. In
this manner he soon collected five hundred of the stoutest and most
reckless fighters who sailed out of the ports of Northern Africa, and,
when it became noised abroad among them what the service was for which
they were required, there was universal joy and eagerness. True the
adventure was a formidable one: to capture “Africa” was no light task,
even for such men as these under so renowned a leader; there was
further the difficulty that the persons against whom they went up to
fight were no Christians but Moslems like themselves. But against this
was the declaration of Dragut, who represented to his following that
there was really no choice in the matter; that to these stiffnecked
and singularly ungrateful people he had offered the protection of the
corsairs, that they had refused in the most contumelious manner, and in
consequence there was nothing for it but the strong hand. They—that is
to say the corsairs—knew right well that some strong place of arms in
which to shelter themselves and their vessels was an absolute necessity
for their continued existence, as at any moment Doria or the Knights
of Malta might be on their track in superior force, and then what was
their fate likely to be if they had no harbour under their lee in which
to shelter? Further it was hinted that “Africa” would provide very
nice pickings in the way of loot, and when this came to be generally
understood the promptings of the Mahommedan conscience yielded easily
to the sophistries with which it was lulled.
The council of the town of “Africa” troubled themselves but little more
concerning Dragut, his ships, and his corsairs; he had departed, and
as the days wore on and no further tidings of him came to hand, these
simple folk thanked God that they were rid of a knave and went about
their usual avocations as unconcernedly as if no sea-wolves lurked
under the shadowed headlands of that continent in which their homes
were situated. They were a people essentially of the land; although
they dwelt on the confines of the ocean the ways and habits of those
who earned a precarious living on the waters were a sealed book to
them, and with the “Africans” it was a case of “out of sight out of
mind” so far as the corsairs were concerned. But that black-hearted
traitor Ibrahim Amburac and the few others who had been gained over by
the gold of Dragut watched and waited for the attack which they knew to
be impending.
The inhabitants of the doomed city never saw their assailants until
they were actually upon them, so well had the surprise attack been
planned by the leader of the corsairs. He had collected five hundred
men, and this was but a small number with which to assail so strong a
place; but Dragut knew exactly what he was doing and the effect likely
to be produced by the introduction of this number of highly trained
men-at-arms among a population which, although brave and warlike,
lacked the elements of organisation for the defence of their city.
So it was that, all preparations being completed, he stood along the
coast anchoring out of sight of his objective, but close enough to
reach it by midnight after darkness had fallen. He had every confidence
in himself, an absolute trust in the hardbitten fighters whom he was
about to lead; success or failure now rested in the hands of traitors
within the city.
“Faith unfaithful kept them falsely true,” for when Dragut and his
followers arrived at a certain rendezvous outside the walls which had
been agreed upon previously, there they found Ibrahim Amburac and
his men ready to assist them in scaling this obstacle. It will be
remembered that Ibrahim Amburac was personally in charge of one
of the towers with which the walls were guarded, and thus his task
of aiding those who came from without was a singularly easy one. But
even at midnight the passage of five hundred men could not remain long
undiscovered as they clambered in over the walls. Soon an alarm was
raised and the “Africans” rushed to arms and hurried to the quarter
from which danger threatened. The townsmen were well armed and brave,
also they were numerous; but it was the old story of the break-up of
undisciplined valour by highly organised attack.
In the choking heat of the African night townsmen and corsairs wrestled
in deadly conflict hand to hand and foot to foot; but these untrained
landsmen stood but a poor chance against the picked fighting men of the
Moslem galleys who had been inured to bloodshed from their earliest
youth and trained by such a master in the art of war as Dragut. That
warrior, his great curved scimitar red to the hilt, the blood dripping
from a gash in his cheek, his clothing torn and in disarray, followed
by a gigantic negro bearing a flaming torch, was ever in the thickest
of the fray. Behind him his lieutenants Othman and Selim strove to
emulate his prowess, while all around surged his devoted band of
fanatics.
“Allah! Allah!” and “Dragut! Dragut!” pealed the war-cry of the
corsairs; foot by foot and yard by yard that spearhead of dauntless
dare-devils pressed onwards into the packed masses of the “Africans,”
who, fighting stubbornly, nevertheless were borne back by the fury of
the terrible onslaught.
Torch-bearers among the pirates leaped into houses and set them ablaze,
the flames volleyed and crackled, the dense smoke rolled upwards to the
stainless sky, the night was a hell of blood and fire.
There was a sharp order repeated and passed on, the corsairs drew
back, and the “Africans” shouted that the triumph was theirs; but they
little knew Dragut, the sea-hawk who poised to strike anew. A blazing
beam dropped across the street, the townsfolk shouted in insult and
derision; but the joy which they had experienced at seeing their
adversaries recoil was but a short and fleeting emotion. Giving himself
and those who had hitherto been engaged time to breathe and recover
themselves, Dragut waited while the noise of the strife died down,
and nought was heard but the roar of the flames and the crash of the
burning buildings.
The leader turned to his followers, among whom dwelt an ominous
silence. “Dost remember Prevesa,” he cried, “when Andrea Doria and the
best of the Christian warriors fled before you like sheep before a dog:
are these miserable townsmen to stay your onward march?”
There remained for an appreciable period after he had spoken a tense
silence; the red light from the burning houses shone on the lean faces
alight with the fierce fire of fanaticism, with an inextinguishable
lust of slaughter. There came an answering frenetic roar, “Lead!
Lead! Dragut! Dragut! Dragut!” It was enough: the corsair had tried
the temper of the steel, he had now but to use the edge. There was an
ordered movement on the part of the pirates: a fresh hundred men,
who had hitherto taken no part in the combat, now pressed to the front
and formed the advance, those who had been before engaged now forming
the supports; that which had been the shaft of the spear now forming
its head. With Dragut leading, these fresh unwounded men swept forward
over the burning beam; irresistible as some mighty river in spate,
these disciplined ruffians, headed by this master spirit, burst through
the ill-organised resistance opposed to them, and slew and slew and
slew.
Behind them, alert and wary, came the supports, asking no quarter and
giving none, cutting up the wounded, trampling under foot friend and
foe alike who fell in the weltering shambles which marked the onward
path of their leader and the advanced party. Very soon the broken hosts
of the “Africans” cried piteously for mercy; the fight was over, and
Dragut-Reis, wounded, breathless, but victorious, stood master of the
strongest place of arms in all the continent of Africa. It is true that
treachery had given him his opportunity, but once that was obtained
the rest he had done for himself: the stealthy advance by sea, the
midnight march to the exact spot on the walls where he was awaited by
Ibrahim Amburac, the marshalling of his five hundred for the conflict,
and the actual conduct of the fight itself, were all to the credit of
this apt pupil of the great Kheyr-ed-Din Barbarossa, As warriors his
followers were worthy of their leader: defeated the corsairs frequently
were, but, in the combats in which they engaged, they were frequently,
as we have seen in the course of this story, largely dependent
upon auxiliaries in whom no trust could be placed; and at Prevesa, at
the siege of Malta, and later on at the battle of Lepanto, the spot
on which they fought, were it on the land or on the sea, was ever
the one which formed the nucleus of resistance. It was not only that
fighting was their particular trade; that, of course, might be said
also of any man who trailed a pike or carried an arquebus and marched
in the ranks of Spain, France, Genoa, or Venice. In the case of the
sea-wolves it was the perpetual practice in the art of war, as it was
then understood, that caused them to be the men that they were. Much of
their fighting could hardly be dignified by such a name, as in their
everlasting raids on villages and undefended places they seldom lost
many of their number: when, however, it came to the real thing, as it
did on the occasion we have just recounted, the long years of training
told, and opposition had to be strong indeed if it were not to be
beaten down by such a leader as Dragut, by such men as his picked five
hundred.
What passed between Dragut and the council of “Africa,” who in so
unqualified a manner had refused that warrior as a citizen, is not on
record; all that we know is that the Moslem leader dispensed with their
services, and did not invite his new fellow-townsmen to share with him
the burden of government. There was hurry in the administration of the
corsair states, as the form of rule which they adopted was apt to irk
the rulers in Christendom. In this particular instance Dragut, having
expelled the Spaniards from the coast towns, knew that a reckoning with
the Emperor and his militant admiral, Andrea Doria, was but a matter
of time, and, in all probability, of a very short time.
Promptly, hurriedly, but efficiently, the corsair organised his
new possession: such laws as he decreed did not err on the side of
tenderness towards a people so ungrateful as to have refused his
protection in the first instance, and who had only accepted the gift
at the point of the sword. His nephew Aisa, a man young in years but a
past-graduate in the school of his terrible uncle, was left in charge,
while Dragut himself sailed once more with his fleet, for, as it is put
by the Spanish historian Marmol, “truly the sea was his element.”
Once again had a Moslem corsair bid defiance to that ruler whom
Sandoval and Marmol in their histories greet by the name of the “Modern
Cæsar.” It was told to Charles that Susa, Sfax, and Monastir had
fallen, that “Africa” was in the hands of the corsairs; “was he never
to be free from these pestilent knaves,” he demanded of his trembling
courtiers? Hot-foot came the couriers from Charles to Andrea Doria,
with orders to take Dragut dead or alive, but alive for choice; and up
and down the tideless sea in the summer of 1549 did the great Genoese
seaman range in search of the bold corsair. Doria was getting a very
old man now, but his eye was undimmed, his strength yet tireless, his
vigilance and zeal in the service of his master unabated.
Dead or alive, great was the reward offered for the capture of Dragut,
but the veteran admiral required no stimulus of this sort to urge
him to put forth his utmost endeavours, to strain every nerve and
sinew in the chase. All his life he had been fighting the corsairs,
mostly with conspicuous success; but what Andrea could never forget—and
what his enemies never allowed him to forget even had he been so
inclined—was the fact that, at the supreme crisis of his valiant life,
when he met with Kheyr-ed-Din Barbarossa at the battle of Prevesa, he
had come off so badly that his under officers of the Papal and Venetian
fleets had made representations, on their return to their respective
headquarters, which had detracted from his fame, and lowered him in the
estimation of Europe. Further than this, he knew that Barbarossa had
laughed at and made game of him among his wild followers: this to the
aristocrat, the Prince of Oneglia, the admiral who treated on almost
equal terms with such men as the Pope, Charles of Spain, and Francis of
France, was an insult hard to be borne; the next corsair with whom he
should meet should not escape so easily as had Kheyr-ed-Din, that the
admiral had sworn.
Personal pique and vanity, racial detestation, and religious fanaticism
were in his case all allied together to spur him on in the chase of
this the last of the Emperor’s foes; but, search as he might, during
that summer Doria could never get on to the track of Dragut. The
corsairs, as we have just remarked, were fine fighters on occasion when
it was necessary for the purposes of loot, or of escape from those
who, like Doria, interfered with their particular method of gaining a
livelihood; but, on the other hand, they were no fools, they did not
covet hard knocks and the possibility of defeat from such a one as
the admiral of the Emperor, when by the exercise of a little ingenuity
they could keep out of his way. Dragut was not going to fight a general
action at sea merely to please Doria; in this summer his luck stood to
him, and he never came across this man, who, with a sombre hatred in
his heart, was seeking him high and low. If the corsair were bold as a
lion when occasion offered, he was no less as slippery as an eel when
he desired to escape; to face twenty-two royal galleys with Doria in
command was no part of his programme. An occasion might arise when he
would be forced to action; should this happen Dragut had not forgotten
his four years in the galley of Jannetin Doria, the nephew of the
admiral, and next time he intended to fight to win. Just at present the
Christian admiral was in too great strength for him to do aught but
keep out of his way, and much to Andrea’s annoyance this was what he
succeeded in doing.
Doria got information that Dragut was at Monastir, information that was
perfectly correct; but by this time the corsair knew that not only had
he raised all Christendom, but that the admiral was on his track. In
consequence, he slipped out of Monastir, “for,” as it is pithily put by
Marmol, “our corsair cared not to be shut up in so defenceless a port;
he had good heels and loved sea-room.”
Dragut did not fear for his new possession, “Africa,” as he knew
that Doria had not sufficient force to attack so formidable a place;
therefore, leaving it to its destiny and the valour and conduct
of his nephew Aisa, on whom he knew that he could rely, “he went,”
according to the chronicler, “on his old trade making Horrid
Devastations on the coast of Spain and its islands.”
While Dragut was pursuing his “Horrid Devastations,” Doria was not
idle, but was ranging the northern coast of Africa in his fruitless
search; in the course of this he landed at Cape Bona, on which was the
castle of Calibia, held by the corsairs; these men, who were a portion
of Dragut’s following, made a most valiant defence; they were, however,
few in number, and when their captain was killed by the ball from an
arquebus they surrendered. Encouraged by this success, the Christian
fleet then stood along the coast to inspect “Africa.” Sailing quite
close to the shore they came within range of the guns of the garrison,
who, under the direction of Aisa, were very much on the alert. As the
admiral’s galley at the head of the line passed the walls of the town,
she was received with a hot fire, and one large cannonball struck
the stern of Doria’s ship, doing considerable structural damage, and
killing five of his men. This occurrence took place in broad daylight
in full view of all the garrison, who signalled their delight at the
discomfiture of their foes by the noise of cymbals and atambours, and
by wild and ferocious yells. Doria, who was in no position to land and
make reprisals, fell into the greatest paroxysm of fury, and we are
told that “he swore the destruction of that detested city.”
The season being now advanced, Doria returned home, where he found
orders awaiting him from Charles that preparation was to be made for
the capture of “Africa”. While the admiral was in harbour, Dragut,
finding the seas open to him once more, returned from his “Horrid
Devastations,” and employed his time profitably in throwing provisions
and men into the city, which he knew would be beleagured in the
following year.
During the ensuing winter Doria, in conjunction with the viceroys of
Naples and Sicily, prepared the expedition which was to accomplish not
only the capture of “Africa,” but what was, in his opinion, equally
important, the destruction of Dragut-Reis, Early in the spring of 1550,
all was in readiness, and the armada of Charles sailed from Palermo
to Trapani, where it met with the forces of Don Juan de Vega, Viceroy
of Sicily, those of Don Garcia de Toledo, the son of the Viceroy of
Naples, and likewise the Maltese squadron. The galleys, accompanied by
a fleet of transports, set sail early in June, and on the 20th of that
month landed an army a little to the east of Mehedia or “Africa”.
It must be remembered that the inhabitants of Mehedia were by no means
enamoured of Dragut-Reis and his piratical followers: King Stork had
succeeded to King Log, the part of the former monarch being taken by
that singularly capable and ferocious person, Aisa, whose rule was far
from being to the liking of the richer and more respectable portion of
the townsfolk.
When, therefore, Andrea Doria and his captains laid siege to the city,
they murmured against its defence, desiring ardently to enter into some
sort of treaty with the besiegers; they had had enough of war, they
said, and wished to end their days in peace if possible.
Aisa Reis, however, would hear no word of surrender, telling those who
murmured against the defence that “if he heard a word more of these
plots he would infallibly sacrifice every mother’s son amongst them,
and then lay the town in ashes.” Having already had a taste of the
quality of this redoubtable corsair, and feeling perfectly certain
that should the occasion arise he would be as good as his word, there
was no more disaffection among the inhabitants, who had to put up with
their native place being made a cockpit for Doria and Dragut to fight
out their quarrel. It is permissible to sympathise very sincerely with
these unfortunates, who, having been betrayed in the first instance,
were compelled to stand a siege in the second.
Aisa had a picked force of his uncle’s men, some seventeen hundred
foot and six hundred horse, all seasoned and formidable veterans,
inured to warfare by land and sea. On these of course he could rely to
the death. The common folk of the town were inclined to make common
cause with the corsairs in resistance to their hereditary enemy the
Christians; but the magistrates and members of the council, the grave
and reverend signiors, held so conspicuously aloof that Aisa was
constrained into forcing them to aid in the defence when he had time
to attend to the matter. As Dragut was not actually present at the
siege it falls outside the scope of this chronicle; he was without
the walls when the besiegers arrived, but all that he could do, that
he did. With a body of his own men reinforced by a rabble rout of
Berber tribesmen, he harassed the Christian army; they were, however,
in far too great numbers for him to make any impression, and after
several desperate skirmishes he recognised that the day was lost, and
re-embarking in his galleys sailed away. The town after a desperate and
prolonged resistance was at last taken by storm; and Doria captured
Aisa, a Turkish alcaid, and ten thousand prisoners of the baser sort.
Of these, however, there was scarce one who owed allegiance to Dragut;
the warriors of this chief neither gave nor accepted quarter, as they
feared the wrath of the terrible corsair even more than death itself.
Don Juan de Vega put his son Don Alvaro in command of the city and set
out in search of Dragut with twenty galleys, but the sea leaves no
traces by which a fugitive can be tracked, and his search proved as
fruitless as had been that of Doria in the previous year. The rage and
the disappointment of the admiral were beyond all bounds; what to him
was the value of the capture of Aisa, of the Turkish alcaid, of the ten
thousand of the baser sort; nay, what to him was the value of “Africa”
itself when once again like a mocking spirit Dragut had glided beyond
the sea horizon to devastate, to plunder, and to slay once more, the
scourge and the menace of Christendom.
It will be interesting to record briefly the fate of this city which we
have seen taken and retaken. Don Alvaro de Vega remained as governor
till the end of July, 1551, when his place was taken by Don Sancho de
Leyva; at which time there took place one of those curious military
mutinies so characteristic of the sixteenth century. The soldiers,
unpaid for months, possibly for years, mutinied, expelled the
governor and other officers, even the sergeants, from the city, and
placed themselves under the direction of a stout soldier called Antonio
de Aponte, to whom they gave the title of “Electo Mayor.”
Don Sancho repaired to Brussels to report matters to the Emperor,
and during his absence a circumstance which is also singularly
characteristic of this faithless epoch took place, for the Prior of
Capua, then general of the French galleys, entered into negotiations
with the mutineers for the surrender of the city to the French King.
Bluff Antonio de Aponte would have none of this treachery; he held
the city for the Emperor Charles and only wanted his pay. Eventually
a mutiny within a mutiny was fomented from without, and with the
mutineers divided the Emperor regained possession of the city; some of
the mutineers were hanged, and Aponte, who had been captured by the
Turks, died at Constantinople.
The Emperor offered “Africa” to the Knights of Malta with a yearly
allowance of twenty-four thousand ducats; the Knights refused, much to
the chagrin of Charles, who gave orders for its complete destruction.
This was accomplished by blowing up with gunpowder the walls, towers,
and fortifications which Al-Mehedi, after whom the city had been
named, “had erected with such art and strength, and had his mind so
fixed upon that work that he used to say, ‘If I thought building these
fortifications with iron and brass would render them more durable, I
would certainly do it.’”