Two hours later Caretto and Gervaise were roused by the arrival of a
hundred knights in place of the previous garrison; these bore the news
that the pasha had sent in a flag of truce to ask for an armistice until
sundown, to enable him to carry off for burial the bodies of those who
had fallen in the attack. The request had been willingly granted; but
D'Aubusson had at the same time thought it well to send down a strong
reinforcement to the garrison to prevent any attempt at treachery on the
part of the Turks.
“I have seldom heard pleasanter news,” Caretto said; “for just as I fell
asleep I was wondering how we were to rid ourselves of the corpses of
the infidels. By tomorrow the place would have become unbearable; and
though, living, the Turks could not turn us out of the tower, they would
when dead speedily have rid the place of us.”
In half an hour a number of Moslem vessels were seen approaching.
Caretto did not wish the Turks to imagine that he doubted their good
faith, and while directing the main body of knights to remain in
concealment near the breach, he placed two on sentry duty on the crest
of the ruins, and, with four other knights and Gervaise, went down in
complete armour to salute the officer in command of the burying party,
as he landed from the boats. The ships anchored a short distance out,
and a number of boats rowed from them to the shore. As the Turkish
officer landed, Caretto saluted him, and said in Arabic,
“I give you courteous greeting, Sir. When the cannon cease to sound and
swords are sheathed, there is no longer animosity between brave men; and
no braver than those whose bodies lie stretched there, breathed the air
of heaven. If, sir, I and the knights with me do not uncover our heads,
it is from no want of respect for the dead, but solely because we dare
not stand bareheaded under the fierce rays of the sun.”
The Turk answered with equal courtesy, complimenting the knights on
their defence.
“Had I not seen it with my own eyes,” he said, “I should have deemed it
altogether impossible that so small a number of men could thus for hours
have withstood the attacks of some of the best of the sultan's troops.
Tales have come down to us from our fathers of the marvellous prowess
of the knights of your Order, and how at Smyrna, at Acre, and elsewhere,
they performed such feats of valour that their name is still used by
Turkish mothers as a bugbear to frighten their children. But the stories
have always seemed to me incredible; now I perceive they were true, and
that the present members of the Order in no way fall short of the valour
of their predecessors.”
The knights remained with the Turkish commander and some of his officers
while the work of collecting and carrying away the dead was performed,
the conversation on their side being supported by Caretto and Gervaise.
No less than seven hundred bodies were carried down to the boats,
besides a great many wounded by the artillery fire. None were, however,
found breathing among the great pile of dead at the upper part of the
breach, for the axes and double handed swords of the knights had, in
most of the cases, cleft through turban and skull.
“This represents but part of our loss,” the Turkish commander said
sadly, as the last party came down with their burdens to the boats.
“At least as many more must have perished in the sea, either in their
endeavours to escape when all was lost, in the destruction of their
vessels by fire, by the shot from your batteries, or by being run down
by your galleys. Ah, Sir Knight, if it had not been for the appearance
of your fire ships, methinks the matter might have ended differently.”
“In that I altogether agree with you,” Caretto said. “We were indeed,
well nigh spent, and must have soon succumbed had it not been that the
fire ships arrived to our rescue. You have a fair right to claim that
the victory would have remained in your hands, had not those craft gone
out and snatched it from you.”
Then, with salutes on both sides, the Turks took their places in the
boats, and the knights returned to the fort. As soon as darkness came
on, a large body of slaves were marched down from the town, and, under
the direction of the knights, laboured all night at the mound, removing
great quantities of the fallen stones and rubbish in a line halfway up
it, and piling them above so as to form a scarp across the mound that
would need ladders to ascend. Another party worked at the top of the
mound, and there built up a wall eight feet high. The work was completed
by daylight, and the knights felt that they were now in a position to
resist another attack, should Paleologus again send his troops to the
assault.
The night had passed quietly. There was a sound of stir and movement in
the Turkish battery, but nothing that would excite the suspicion of a
large body of troops being in motion. When it became light it was seen
that the Turkish ships had sailed away to their previous anchorage on
the other side of the Island, and although at considerable intervals
the great cannon hurled their missiles against the fort, it was evident
that, for the time at least, the attack was not to be pressed at that
point. A fresh body of slaves, however, came down from the town to
relieve those who had been all night at work, and the repair of the
defences was continued, and with greater neatness and method than had
been possible in the darkness.
At eight o'clock the bells of St. John's Church gave notice that a
solemn service of thanksgiving for the repulse of the enemy was about
to be held. Notice had been sent down early to the tower; and all the
knights who could be spared, without too greatly weakening the garrison,
went up to attend it; the service was conducted with all the pomp and
ceremony possible, and after it was over a great procession was formed
to proceed to the shrine, where a picture of the Virgin held in special
reverence by the Order was placed.
As it wound through the streets in splendid array, the grand master and
officials in all their robes of state, the knights in full armour and
the mantles of the Order, while the inhabitants in gala costume lined
the streets, windows, and housetops, the ladies waving scarves and
scattering flowers down on the knights, the roar of great cannon on the
south side of the city showed that the Turks had commenced the attack in
another quarter. Without pausing, the procession continued its way, and
it was not until the service in the chapel had been concluded that any
steps were taken to ascertain the direction of the attack. As soon as it
was over, the knights hastened to the walls. During the night the
Turks had transported their great basilisks, with other large pieces of
artillery, from the camp to the rising ground on the south side of the
city, and had opened fire against the wall covering the Jews' quarter,
and at the same time against the tower of St. Mary on the one hand and
the Italian tower on the other.
From other commanding spots huge mortars were hurling great fragments of
rock and other missiles broadcast into the town. The portion of the wall
selected for the attack showed that the Turks had been well informed by
their spies of the weak points of the defence. The wall behind which the
Jews' quarter lay, was, to all appearance, of thick and solid masonry;
but this was really of great age, having formed part of the original
defences of the town, before the Order had established itself there.
The masonry, therefore, was ill fitted to resist the huge balls hurled
against it by the basilisks. The langue of Provence was in charge of
this part of the wall, and, leaving them for the present to bear the
brunt of the storm, the grand master sent the knights who could be
spared, to assist the inhabitants to erect shelters against the storm of
missiles falling in the town.
Sheds with sharply sloping roofs, constructed of solid timber, were
built against the inner side of the walls, and beneath these numbers of
the inhabitants found refuge. The work was performed with great celerity
by the inhabitants, aided by the gangs of slaves, and in two or three
days the townspeople were all in shelter, either in these sheds, in the
vaults of the churches, or in other strongly constructed buildings.
Among the missiles hurled into the town were balls filled with Greek
fire, but the houses being entirely built of stone, no conflagrations
of importance were caused by them, as a band of knights was organised
specially to watch for these bombs, and whenever one of them was seen to
fall, they hurried from their lookout to the spot, with a gang of slaves
carrying baskets of earth and buckets of water, and quenched the flames
before they had made any great headway.
The roar of the bombardment was almost continuous, and was heard at
islands distant from Rhodes, telling the inhabitants how the battle
between the Christians and the Moslems was raging.
It was not long before the wall in the front of the Jews' quarter began
to crumble, and it was soon evident that it must, ere many days, succumb
to the storm of missiles hurled against it. D'Aubusson lost no time in
making preparations to avert the danger. He ordered all the houses in
rear of the wall to be levelled; a deep semicircular ditch was then dug,
and behind this a new wall, constructed of the stones and bricks from
the houses destroyed, was built, and backed with an earthen rampart of
great thickness and solidity.
The work was carried on with extraordinary rapidity. The grand master
himself set the example, and, throwing aside his robes and armour,
laboured with pick and shovel like the commonest labourer. This excited
the people to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, and all classes threw
themselves into the task. Knights and slaves, men, women, and children,
and even the inmates of the convents and nunneries, aided in the work,
and when at last the outer wall fell, and the Turks thought that success
was at hand, the pasha saw with astonishment and dismay that entry to
the city was still barred by a work as formidable as that which he had
destroyed at an enormous expenditure of ammunition. There was now a
short breathing time for the besieged; but the depression which the
failure of their efforts excited among the Turks, was shortly dispelled
by the arrival of a ship, with a despatch from Constantinople, in which
the pasha was informed that the sultan himself was about to proceed to
Rhodes with a reinforcement of a hundred thousand men, and a fresh park
of artillery.
Paleologus had some doubts as to whether the report was true or was
merely intended to stimulate him to new efforts for the speedy capture
of the place. Knowing well that the grand master was the heart and soul
of the defence, and that the failure of the assault was mainly due
to his energy and ability, he determined to resort to the weapon so
frequently in use in Eastern warfare--that of assassination. To this
end he employed two men, one a Dalmatian, the other an Albanian; these
presented themselves before the walls as deserters, and as there was no
reason for suspecting their tale, they were admitted within the gates,
and welcomed as having escaped from enforced service. They soon spread
the tale of the speedy coming of the sultan with vast reinforcements,
and as the pasha had on the previous day caused salutes to be fired,
and other demonstrations to be made, the news was readily credited, and
caused the greatest dismay among the defenders.
Some of the knights of the Italian and Spanish langues believed the
prospect of a successful defence against so enormous a force was
absolutely hopeless, and determined to put pressure upon D'Aubusson to
treat for surrender before it became too late. They opened negotiations
with an Italian named Filelfo, one of D'Aubusson's secretaries, who
undertook to lay their opinion before the grand master. D'Aubusson at
once summoned the knights concerned in the matter before him. They found
him with several members of the council.
“Sir Knights,” he said, “I have heard from my secretary your opinions
in the matter of a surrender, and since you are in such terror of the
Moslem sultan, you have my full permission to leave the town; and, more
than that, I will myself secure your safe departure, which might be
imperilled if your comrades or even the inhabitants of the town came to
learn that you had advocated surrender; but,” he went on, changing his
tone from that of sarcasm to sternness, “if you remain with us, see that
the word surrender never again passes your lips, and be assured that,
should you continue your intrigues, in that direction, you shall meet
with the fate you so justly deserve.”
Overwhelmed by the grand master's accusation and sternness, the Italian
and Spanish knights threw themselves on their knees and implored him to
grant them an early opportunity of retrieving their fault by battle with
the infidel. Feeling that the lesson had been sufficiently severe, and
that henceforth there would be no renewal of intrigues for a surrender,
D'Aubusson forgave them, and promised them a place in the van when next
the Moslems attacked. The incident was not without its advantage, for
the two pretended deserters, believing that Filelfo, who had also fallen
under the displeasure of the grand master, would be ready to join in the
conspiracy against his life, approached him. Filelfo, who was greatly
attached to D'Aubusson, saw by their manner that they wished to engage
him in some intrigue, and, feigning great resentment and anger at
his disgrace, led them on until they divulged the entire plot for
D'Aubusson's assassination, and made brilliant offers to him if he would
afford them facilities for carrying it out, producing, in proof of their
power to do so, a letter of the pasha, authorising them to make such
promises in his name.
Filelfo at once divulged the whole plot to D'Aubusson. The two men were
immediately arrested, tried by the council, and sentenced to death. They
were not, however, formally executed, for the populace, obtaining news
of their treachery, broke in upon their guards, and tore them to
pieces. Foiled in his attempt on the life of the grand master, the pasha
prepared for a renewal of the attack, and it was not long before the
knights on the lookout at the church of St. John perceived that the fort
of St. Nicholas was again to be the scene of the attack. It was ere long
discovered that a large number of men were busy some distance along the
shore in building a long structure, that could only be intended for a
floating bridge. Among the sailors who had aided in the attack with the
fire ships were several men belonging to an English trader in the port.
All who had done so had been handsomely rewarded for their conduct, and
five of the Englishmen had afterwards gone to the English auberge and
had asked to be enrolled for service against the Turks, as they were
weary of remaining on board in idleness when there was work to be done.
Their offer had been accepted, and they had, in common with all the
sailors in the port, laboured at the construction of the inner wall.
When that was completed, Sir John Boswell, under whose special charge
they had been placed, said to Gervaise, “I think that I cannot do better
than send these men down to St. Nicholas. It is probable that now the
Turks see that they can do nothing at the new breach, they may try again
there. Sailors are accustomed to night watches, and there are many of
our knights who are not used to such work, and can be better trusted to
defend a breach than to keep a vigilant watch at night. Will you take
these men down to Caretto, and tell him that he can sleep soundly if
he has a couple of them on watch? One of them, Roger Jervis, who is the
mate of their ship, can speak some Italian, and as he is in command of
them, Caretto will find no trouble in making them understand him.”
St. Nicholas had now been put into a fair state of defence, as a party
had been kept steadily at work there. Gervaise had not been to the tower
since the morning after the assault, and saw with satisfaction how
much had been done to render it secure. He found that Caretto was fast
recovering from his wounds.
“As it seems probable, Sir Fabricius,” he said, after the first
greetings to the knight, “that the Turks will favour you with another
visit, I have brought you five watchdogs. They are countrymen of mine,
and were among those who navigated the fire ships the other day. Sir
John Boswell has sent them down; they are, of course, accustomed to
keep watch at night. One of them is mate of their vessel, and will be in
command of them; he speaks a little Italian, and so will understand any
orders you may give him. I have been speaking to him as we came down; he
will divide his men into two watches, and will himself be on guard all
night. Will you assign them some quiet place where they can sleep in the
daytime? They can erect a shelter with a piece of sail cloth and a few
bits of board, and they will, of course, be furnished with food.”
“I shall be very glad to have them, for I am always restless at night,
lest those on watch should close their eyes. You see, they have quite
made up their minds that this fort will not be attacked again, and so
are less inclined to be vigilant than they would be, did they think that
an attack was impending.”
Now that there was reason to believe that St. Nicholas might again be
attacked, Gervaise was frequently there with orders or inquiries from
the grand master. A number of vessels in the harbour were fitted up as
fire ships, so as to be in readiness when the attack came. He was about
to start early one morning when he saw Roger Jervis coming up with a
heavy anchor on his shoulder.
“Why, what are you bringing that up here for?” he asked. “Have you been
diving; for I see your clothes are dripping with water?”
“Ay, ay, sir, I have been in the water, and that Italian commander
told me to come straight up here to tell the grand master all about the
story; and right glad am I to have met you, for I should have made but
a poor fist of it alone; I don't know more of their lingo than just to
talk a few words of it.”
“Then you had better tell me the story before I take you in.”
“Well, it was like this, Sir Knight: I had Hudson and Jeffreys posted
upon the wall, and I thought I would take a turn down on the rocks, for
it was a dark night, and you can see much farther when you are by the
edge of the water than you can when you are at the masthead. I sat there
for an hour, and was thinking that it was about time to go up and turn
out the other watch, when I saw something dark upon the water. It wasn't
a ship, that was certain, and if it was a boat there wasn't any one in
it; but it was too dark to make quite sure what it was. I watched it for
a time, though I did not think much of the thing, taking it for a boat
that had got adrift, or maybe a barrel from one of the Turkish ships.
Presently I made out that it was a good bit nearer than when I first saw
it.
“That puzzled me. There is no tide to speak of in these seas, and there
was no wind moving about. I could make out now that it was a boat,
though a very small one, but certainly there was no one rowing it. It
looked a very strange craft, and as I saw by the way it was bearing that
it would come ashore about five or six fathoms from where I was sitting,
I slid quietly off the rock, put my sword down by me handy for action,
and waited. Presently the boat came up alongside the rock, and a fellow
stood up from behind the stern. I was glad to see him, for I had begun
to think that there was witchcraft in the thing moving along by itself,
but I can tell you I was savage with myself for not having guessed there
was a man swimming behind and pushing it on.
“He stooped over the boat, and took something heavy out; then he felt
about among the rocks under the water, and then laid the thing down
there, and seemed to me to be settling it firm. I had half a mind to
jump up and let fly at him, but then I thought it would be better to let
him finish what he was doing, and go off with the idea that no one had
seen him. So I kept hid until he started again. He waded a short way
before he had to swim, and I could see that as he went he was paying out
a rope over the stern. It was clear enough now what he had been up to:
he had been fixing an anchor. What he did it for, or what use it could
be to him, I could not say, but it was certain that he would not take
all that trouble, with the chance of being knocked on the head, for
nothing; so I waited for a bit till he had got out of sight, and over to
the other side of the port.
“Then I got up and felt about, and, chancing to get my foot under the
rope, went right over into the water. After that you may guess I was not
long in finding the anchor. I unknotted the rope from it and carried it
ashore; then it struck me that the Turks might take it into their heads
to give a pull on it in the morning, and if they did; they would find
out that their game, whatever it was, had been found out; so I got hold
of a stone of about twenty pound weight, and fastened the rope's end
round it. That was enough to prevent the rope getting slack and make
them think that it was still fast to the anchor; but, of course, if they
pulled hard on it it would come home directly. I went and reported the
matter the first thing this morning to the governor. He seemed to think
that it was important, and told me to bring the anchor up to the grand
master, who would get one of the English knights to find out all about
it; for he could not make out much of what I said.”
“It is very important,” Gervaise said, “and you behaved very wisely in
the matter, and have rendered a great service by your discovery. I will
take you in at once to the grand master.”
Still bearing the anchor, the sailor followed Gervaise into an apartment
where D'Aubusson was taking council with some of the senior knights.
“Pardon my interrupting your Highness,” Gervaise said; “but the matter
is so important that I knew you would listen to it, however occupied you
were.” And he then repeated the narrative of the sailor's discovery.
“This is indeed of the highest importance,” D'Aubusson said, “and the
knowledge that it gives us may enable us to defeat an attempt, that
might otherwise have proved our ruin. You see, knights, it solves the
question that we were just discussing. We agreed that this long floating
bridge that they have been constructing, was intended to enable them to
cross the outer port and again attack St. Nicholas; and yet it seemed to
us that even by night our batteries would be able to keep up such a fire
on the boats, towing the head of the bridge across, as to render it well
nigh impossible for them to get it over. Now you see what their plan is.
With the aid of this rope, the end of which they think is firmly fixed
on our side, they mean to haul the bridge across, and that so silently
that they hope to be upon us almost before we have time to don our
armour. We shall now be fully prepared, and need have no fear of the
result.”
There could now be little doubt that the attack would be made without
loss of time, especially as the Turks believed that they could get
their bridge across unseen. The fire ships--which were altogether more
formidable than those Gervaise had improvised--were ordered to be made
ready for action. This being arranged, the admiral left the council
at once, that no time should be lost in getting them in readiness.
D'Aubusson then turned to the English sailor.
“You have rendered us a great service indeed by your vigilance, and
showed great prudence by allowing the Turk to believe that he had
accomplished his mission unsuspected. Had he thought he had been
observed, some other plan would have been adopted. For so great a
service it is meet that a great reward should be given.”
He then took a bag from the hands of one of his secretaries, whom he
had sent to fetch it, while they were discussing the matter of the fire
ships.
“Here are two hundred golden crowns,” he added, handing the bag to the
seaman. “With these you can either settle on shore, or can build a
stout ship and pursue your calling. Should you do so, call her the St.
Nicholas, in remembrance of the gratitude of the Order of St. John for
your having saved that fort from the Turks.”
Astonished and delighted at the reward, which represented a very large
sum in those days, the sailor stammered his thanks, and added, “I hope
tonight that if I again have charge of a fire ship, I may be able to do
more to prove to your Highness how grateful I am for the gift.”
Throughout the day preparations for the defence of St. Nicholas went on
unceasingly. Gangs of men, as usual, worked in the breach; but, as it
was deemed advisable that there should be no outward show of activity
that would lead the Turks to suspect that their design had been
discovered, neither reinforcements of men nor munitions were sent along
the mole; everything being taken out by boats, which, rowing closely
along under the wall, were hidden from the view of the Turks. Barrels
of Greek fire and pitch, cauldrons for heating the latter, a store of
firewood, great balls of cotton steeped in oil and turpentine, sheaves
of darts, spikes on short staves, that were, after darkness fell, to be
thrust in among the fallen masonry to form a chevaux-de-frise--these,
and all other matters that the ingenuity of the defenders could suggest,
were landed at the water gate of the fort, while the garrison was
strengthened by the addition of a large number of knights. Stores
of ammunition were collected in readiness at all the batteries that
commanded the mouth of the outer port, and by sunset D'Aubusson felt
that everything that was possible had been done to meet the impending
storm.
At midnight the Turkish preparations were complete. The attack by the
bridge was to be assisted by a large number of boats and other craft,
and many armed galleys were also brought up to destroy or tow away
the defenders' fire ships. Paleologus himself was down by the shore
directing the preparations. Some of his best troops were placed upon the
floating bridge, and, when all was ready, the order was given to pull
upon the rope. No sooner, however, did the strain come upon it than
there was a jerk, the rope slackened, and it was at once evident that
the anchor had been discovered and the well laid plan disconcerted.
Paleologus was furious, but, believing that the attack he had arranged
would still be irresistible, he ordered a number of boats to take the
bridge in tow, while a still larger force was to make a direct attack
upon the breach. The movement was to be conducted as silently as
possible until it was discovered, and then a dash forward was to be
made.
It was two o'clock before the fresh arrangements were completed and
the boats put out. They had gone but a short distance when the anxious
watchers in St. Nicholas learnt by the dull, confused sound that came
across the water, that the attack was, in spite of the failure of the
plan to take the bridge silently across, to be persevered in. A cannon
was at once fired to give notice to the other batteries to be in
readiness, and as soon as the dark mass of boats was made out the guns
of the fort opened a destructive fire upon them, and a moment later were
seconded by those from the fortress; these, however, were at present
being fired almost at random, as the Turkish boats could not be made out
at that distance. Now that all need for concealment was at an end, the
Turkish war cry rose shrilly in the air, and the boatmen bent to their
oars. The great cannon at St. Anthony's Church hurled their tremendous
missiles at the tower, seconded by the fire of a number of other pieces
that had in the darkness been brought down almost to the water's edge.
As before, the boats swept up to the foot of the breach, the Turks
leaped out, and, undismayed by the storm of shot, climbed up to the
assault. The short ladders that they had brought with them enabled them
to surmount the escarpments so laboriously made, and with loud shouts
of “Allah!” they flung themselves upon the defenders on the crest of
the breach. Here they were met by a line even more difficult to break
through than before. The knights were ranged three deep; those in the
front were armed with swords and battleaxes, while those in the other
two lines thrust their spears out between the swordsmen, covering them
with a hedge of steel points. Others in the rear brought up buckets of
blazing pitch and Greek fire, and, advancing through gaps left for the
purpose, hurled the buckets down into the struggling mass on the slope.
There the fire not only carried death among the assailants, but the
lurid flames enabled the batteries to direct their shot with terrible
effect upon the breach, the crowded boats at its foot, and the bridge
which was, with immense labour, presently got into position.
It was not long before fresh light was thrown upon the scene, as the
fire ships, issuing out from the inner harbour, burst into columns of
flame, and, towed by boats, came into action. They were convoyed by
the two galleys, each with a full complement of knights, and these soon
became engaged in a fierce fight with the Turkish vessels that bore down
to arrest the course of the fire ships. The scene was indeed a terrible
one, the roar of cannon, the shouts of the combatants, the screams of
the poor wretches upon whom the terrible Greek fire fell, the clash of
arms and the shouts and cries of the Turks as they pressed across the
bridge, united in a din that thrilled with horror the spectators, both
in the city and on St. Stephen's Hill.
Several of the Turkish galleys, in their efforts to arrest the approach
of the fire ships towards the bridge, became themselves involved in the
flames; but they were so far successful that when daylight broke the
bridge was still intact and the combat at the breach continued to rage
with determination and fury on both sides. The Turks there were led by
a brave young prince named Ibrahim, a near relative of the sultan, with
whom he was a great favourite, and he was ever in the front line of
the assailants, his splendid bravery animating the soldiers to continue
their efforts. As the daylight broadened out, however, the light enabled
the Christian gunners to aim with far greater accuracy than had before
been possible, and, concentrating their fire upon the bridge,
across which reinforcements continued to press to the support of the
assailants, they succeeded in sinking so many of the boats that it was
no longer passable.
Next they turned their fire upon the Turkish galleys, four of which they
sank. Shortly afterwards, a ball struck the gallant young leader of the
Turks, who, although previously several times wounded, had continued to
fight in the front line. He fell dead, and his followers, disheartened
by his fall and by the destruction of the bridge, at once abandoned
their efforts, and rushed down to the foot of the breach. The terrible
scene enacted at the repulse of the previous attack was now repeated.
The concentrated fire of the guns of the defenders carried destruction
into the crowded mass. Some gained the boats that still remained
uninjured, and rowed for the opposite shore; the greater number rushed
into the water and strove to recross it either by swimming or by the aid
of the debris of the shattered boats. Their total loss was greater even
than that suffered by them in the first attack, between two and three
thousand being either killed or drowned, among them a number of their
best officers. The amount of spoil, in the form of rich jewels and
costly gold ornaments, found on the bodies of the dead piled on the
breach, was very great.
For three days after this terrible repulse the Turks were inactive,
the pasha remaining shut up in his tent, refusing to see any one, or to
issue orders. At the end of that time he roused himself from his stupor
of grief and disappointment, and, abandoning the idea of any further
attack upon the point that had cost him so dearly, he ordered the troops
to move round and renew the attack upon the wall in front of the Jews'
quarter, and commence the construction of a battery on the edge of the
great ditch facing the retrenchment behind the breach before effected.
The knights of Italy and Spain determined to seize the opportunity
of retrieving the disgrace that had fallen upon them. At night they
descended into the deep cutting, carrying across their ladders, and,
silently mounting the opposite side, rushed with loud shouts into the
unfinished battery. The Turks there, taken utterly by surprise, made but
a slight resistance; a few were immediately cut down, and the rest fled
panic stricken.
The knights at once set the woodwork of the battery on fire, hurled the
guns down into the ditch, and then returned triumphantly into the town,
the dashing feat completely reinstating them in the good opinion of the
grand master and their comrades.
The incident showed the pasha that he must neglect no precautions, and,
accordingly, he commenced his works at a distance from the walls, and
pushed his approaches regularly forward until he again established
a battery on the site of that from which his troops had been so
unceremoniously ejected. While forming the approaches, the workmen
had been constantly harassed by the fire from the guns on the walls,
suffering considerable loss of life; but their numerical superiority was
so vast that the loss in no way affected the plans of the pasha.
As soon as the battery was completed, gangs of men, accustomed to mining
operations, set to work in its rear to drive sloping passages downwards,
opening into the face of the great cutting, and through these vast
quantities of earth and stones were poured, so as to afford a passage
across it, the depth being largely diminished by the great pile of
rubbish that had already fallen from the breached wall. This novel mode
of attack was altogether unexpected. The knights had regarded the fosse
that had been cut at such an enormous expenditure of labour as forming
an altogether impassable obstruction, and were dismayed at seeing the
progress made in filling it up. D'Aubusson himself, full of resources as
he was, saw that the defence was seriously threatened, unless some plan
of meeting this unexpected danger could be devised.
He consulted Maitre Georges; but the latter could make no suggestion;
his only advice being the erection of a battery at a spot where it
was almost self evident that it could be of no utility whatever.
Other circumstances combined to render the suspicions D'Aubusson had
entertained of the good faith of the renegade almost a certainty.
Georges was seized, tried, and put to torture, and under this owned that
he had been sent into the town for the purpose of betraying it; and he
was, the same day, hung in the great square. His guilt must always be
considered as uncertain. There was no proof against him, save his
own confession; and a confession extorted by torture is of no value
whatever. There are certainly many good grounds for suspicion, but it
is possible that Georges really repented his apostacy, and acted in good
faith in deserting the standard of Paleologus. He was undoubtedly a man
of altogether exceptional ability and acquirements, and even the knights
who have written accounts of the siege do justice to the fascination of
his manner and the charm of his conversation.
D'Aubusson now set to work in another direction to counteract the
efforts of the Turks. He erected an immense wooden catapult, which threw
huge pieces of rock into the midst of the Turkish works, crushing down
the wooden screens erected to hide their approaches, breaking in the
covered ways, and causing great loss of life among the besiegers. At
the same time galleries were driven below the breach, opening into the
ditch, where their exits were concealed by masses of rubbish. Through
these strong working parties issued out at night, and carried away up
the passages the rocks and other materials that the Turks had, during
the day, brought, with immense labour, from a distance to the shoot. The
materials so carried away were piled up behind the retrenchment, greatly
adding to its thickness and strength.
For some days the Turks observed, to their astonishment, that the road
they were constructing across the ditch was diminishing instead of
increasing in bulk, and at length it became so evident that the garrison
were in some way removing the materials, that the pasha determined to
deliver the assault before the heap was so far diminished as to become
impassable. His former defeats had, however, taught him that success
could not be always calculated upon, however good its prospect might
appear; and although he had no real hope that the defenders would
yield, he sent a formal summons for them to do so. This was refused with
disdain, and preparations were at once made for the assault.
The pasha promised to his soldiers the sack of the town and all the
booty captured, and so assured were they of success that sacks were
made to carry off the plunder. Stakes, on which the knights, when taken
prisoners, were to be impaled, were prepared and sharpened, and each
soldier carried a coil of rope with which to secure his captive.
Before ordering the assault, the way was prepared for it by a terrible
fire from every siege gun of the Turks. This was kept up for twenty-four
hours, and so tremendous was the effect that the knights were unable
to remain on the ramparts. The Turkish troops moved into position for
attack, their movements being covered by the roar of the guns, and soon
after sunrise on the 22nd of July the signal was given, and at a number
of different points the Turks rushed to the assault. All these attacks,
save that on the breach, were merely feints, to distract the attention
of the garrison, and to add to the confusion caused by this sudden and
unexpected onslaught. The pasha's plans were well designed and carried
out; the knights, unable to keep their places on the ramparts under the
storm of missiles, had retired to shelter behind the walls. There was no
thought of an instant assault, as they considered that this would not be
delivered until the new wall behind the breach had been demolished.
Consequently, the rush of the Turks found the defenders altogether
unprepared. Swarming across the mass of debris in the ditch, they
ascended the breach without opposition, and their scaling ladders were
placed against the new wall before the knights could hurry up to its
defence. Even before the alarm was given in the town, the Turkish
standard was waving on the parapet, and the Moslems were crowding on
to the wall in vast numbers. The suddenness of the attack, the complete
surprise, the sound of battle at various points around the walls, caused
for a time confusion and dismay among the knights charged with the
defence of the wall facing the breach. Roused by the uproar, the
inhabitants of the town rushed up to their roofs to ascertain what
was happening, and their cries of wild terror and alarm at seeing the
Turkish banner on the walls added to the confusion. D'Aubusson sprang
up from the couch, on which he had thrown himself in full armour, at the
first sound of the alarm, and, sending off messages to all the auberges
to summon every man to the defence, ran down into the town, followed by
a small party of knights.
Rushing through the streets, now filled with half dressed people wild
with terror, he reached the foot of the wall, whose summit was crowded
with the enemy, and saw in an instant that all was lost unless they
could be driven thence without delay. The effect of his presence was
instantaneous. The knights, hitherto confused and dismayed, rallied at
once, and prepared for the desperate undertaking. The bank on the inside
was almost perpendicular, and those charged with its defence had used
two or three ladders for ascending to the rampart. These were at once
seized and planted against the wall.
The position of the contending parties was now reversed; the Christians
were the assailants, the Turks the defenders. D'Aubusson himself was
the first to ascend. Covering his head with his shield, he mounted the
rampart; but ere he could gain a footing on the top he was severely
wounded and hurled backwards. Again he made the attempt, but was again
wounded and thrown down. Once more he mounted, and this time made good
his footing. A moment later, Gervaise, who had accompanied him from the
palace, stood beside him. Animated with the same spirit as his leader,
he threw himself recklessly against the Turks, using a short, heavy
mace, which in a melee was far more useful than the long sword.
Scimitars clashed upon his helmet and armour; but at every blow he
struck a Turk fell, and for each foot he gained a knight sprang on to
the wall and joined him. Each moment their number increased, and the war
cry of the Order rose louder and fiercer above the din. The very number
of the Turks told against them. Crowded together as they were they could
not use their weapons effectually, and, pressing fiercely upon them, the
knights drove them back along the wall on either hand, hurling them down
into the street or over the rampart. On so narrow a field of battle the
advantage was all on the side of the knights, whose superior height and
strength, and the protection afforded by their armour, rendered them
almost invincible, nerved as they were with fury at the surprise that
had overtaken them, and the knowledge that the fate of the city depended
upon their efforts. After a quarter of an hour's desperate conflict the
Turks were driven down the partial breach effected in the wall by the
last bombardment, and the Christians were again the masters of their
ramparts. Paleologus, however, hurried up reinforcements, headed by
a band of janissaries, whose valour had decided many an obstinate
conflict. Before ordering them to advance, he gave instructions to
a company of men of approved valour to devote all their efforts to
attacking D'Aubusson himself, whose mantle and rich armour rendered him
a conspicuous object among the defenders of the breach. Advancing to the
attack, the janissaries burst through the mass of Turks still continuing
the conflict, and rushed up the breach. Then the chosen band, separating
from the rest, flung themselves upon the grand master, the suddenness
and fury of their attack isolating him and Gervaise from the knights
around.
Surrounded as he was by foes, already suffering from two severe wounds
and shaken by his falls from the ladder, the grand master yet made a
valiant defence in front, while Gervaise, hurling his mace into the face
of one of his assailants, and drawing his two handed sword, covered him
from the attack from behind. D'Aubusson received two more severe wounds,
but still fought on. Gervaise, while in the act of cutting down an
assailant, heard a shout of triumph from behind, and, looking round, he
saw the grand master sinking to the ground from another wound. With a
cry of grief and fury Gervaise sprang to him, receiving as he did so
several blows on his armour and shield intended for the fallen knight,
and, standing across him, showered his blows with such strength and
swiftness that the janissaries shrank back before the sweep of the
flashing steel. More than one who tried to spring into close quarters
fell cleft to the chin, and, ere his assailants could combine for
a general rush, a body of knights, who had just beaten off their
assailants, fell upon the ranks of the janissaries with a force and fury
there was no withstanding, and the chosen troops of the sultan for the
first time broke and fled.
Excited almost to madness by the sight of their beloved master stretched
bleeding on the ground, the knights dashed down the breach in eager
pursuit. This action was decisive of the fate of the struggle. The panic
among the janissaries at once spread, and the main body of troops, who
had hitherto valiantly striven to regain the advantage snatched from
them, now lost heart and fled in confusion. But their escape was barred
by the great body of reinforcements pressing forward across the heap of
rubbish that formed the breach over the deep ditch. Maddened by fear,
the fugitives strove to cut a way through their friends. The whole of
the defenders of the breach now fell upon the rear of the struggling
mass, hewing them down almost without resistance, while the cannon from
the walls and towers kept up an unceasing fire until the last survivors
of what had become a massacre, succeeded in gaining their works beyond
the ditch, and fled to their camp. From every gateway and postern the
knights now poured out, and, gathering together, advanced to the attack
of St. Stephen's Hill. They met with but a faint resistance. The greater
portion of the disorganised troops had made no pause at their camp, but
had continued their headlong flight to the harbour, where their ships
were moored, Paleologus himself, heartbroken and despairing at his
failure, sharing their flight. The camp, with all its rich booty and
the great banner of the pasha, fell into the hands of the victors, who,
satisfied with their success, and exhausted by their efforts, made no
attempt to follow the flying foe, or to hinder their embarkation; for
even now the Turks, enormously outnumbering them as they did, might be
driven by despair to a resistance so desperate as once again to turn the
tide of victory.