17. CHAPTER XVII.
How the people of Malaga expostulated with Hamet
el Zegri.
While the dervise was deluding the garrison of
Malaga with vain hopes, the famine increased to a
terrible degree. The Gomeres ranged about the
city as though it had been a conquered place, taking
by force whatever they found eatable in the houses
of the peaceful citizens; and breaking open vaults
and cellars, and demolishing walls, wherever they
thought provisions might be concealed.
The wretched inhabitants had no longer bread to
eat; the horse-flesh also now failed them, and they
were fain to devour skins and hides toasted at the
fire, and to assuage the hunger of their children with
vine-leaves cut up and fried in oil. Many perished
of famine, or of the unwholesome food with which
they endeavored to relieve it; and many took refuge
in the christian camp, preferring captivity to the
horrors which surrounded them.
At length the sufferings of the inhabitants became
so great, as to conquer even their fears of Hamet and
his Gomeres. They assembled before the house of
Ali Dordux, the wealthy merchant, whose stately
mansion was at the foot of the hill of the Alcazaba,
and they urged him to stand forth as their leader,
and to intercede with Hamet el Zegri for a surrender.
Ali Dordux was a man of courage, as well as policy;
he perceived also that hunger was giving boldness to
the citizens, while he trusted it was subduing the
fierceness of the soldiery. He armed himself, therefore,
cap-a-pie, and undertook this dangerous parley
with the alcayde. He associated with him an alfaqui
named Abrahen Alharis, and an important inhabitant
named Amar ben Amar; and they ascended to the
fortress of Gibralfaro, followed by several of the
trembling merchants.
They found Hamet el Zegri, not, as before, surrounded
by ferocious guards and all the implements
of war; but in a chamber of one of the lofty towers,
at a table of stone, covered with scrolls traced with
strange characters and mystic diagrams; while instruments
of singular and unknown form lay about the
room. Beside Hamet el Zegri stood the prophetic
dervise, who appeared to have been explaining to
him the mysterious inscriptions of the scrolls. His
presence filled the citizens with awe, for even Ali
Dordux considered him a man inspired.
The alfaqui Abrahen Alharis, whose sacred character
gave him boldness to speak, now lifted up his
voice, and addressed Hamet el Zegri. “We implore
you,” said he, solemnly, “in the name of the most
powerful God, no longer to persist in a vain resistance,
which must end in our destruction, but deliver
up the city while clemency is yet to be obtained.
Think how many of our warriors have fallen by the
sword; do not suffer those who survive to perish by
famine. Our wives and children cry to us for bread,
and we have none to give them. We see them expire
in lingering agony before our eyes, while the
enemy mocks our misery by displaying the abundance
of his camp. Of what avail is our defence? Are our
walls peradventure more strong than the walls of
Ronda? Are our warriors more brave than the defenders
of Loxa? The walls of Ronda were thrown
down, and the warriors of Loxa had to surrender.
Do we hope for succor?—from whence are we to
receive it? The time for hope is gone by. Granada
has lost its power; it no longer possesses chivalry,
commanders, or a king. Boabdil sits a vassal in the
degraded halls of the Alhambra; El Zagal is a fugitive,
shut up within the walls of Guadix. The kingdom
is divided against itself,—its strength is gone, its
pride fallen, its very existence at an end. In the
name of Allah, we conjure thee, who art our captain,
be not our direst enemy; but surrender these ruins
of our once happy Malaga, and deliver us from these
overwhelming horrors.”
Such was the supplication forced from the inhabitants
by the extremity of their sufferings. Hamet
el Zegri listened to the alfaqui without anger, for he
respected the sanctity of his office. His heart, too,
was at that moment lifted up with a vain confidence.
“Yet a few days of patience,” said he, “and all these
evils will suddenly have an end. I have been conferring
with this holy man, and find that the time of
our deliverance is at hand. The decrees of fate are
inevitable; it is written in the book of destiny, that
we shall sally forth and destroy the camp of the unbelievers,
and banquet upon those mountains of grain
which are piled up in the midst of it. So Allah hath
promised, by the mouth of this his prophet. Allah
Acbar! God is great. Let no man oppose the decrees
of Heaven!”
The citizens bowed with profound reverence, for
no true Moslem pretends to struggle against whatever
is written in the book of fate. Ali Dordux, who had
come prepared to champion the city and to brave
the ire of Hamet, humbled himself before this holy
man, and gave faith to his prophecies as the revelations
of Allah. So the deputies returned to the citizens,
and exhorted them to be of good cheer: “A few
days longer,” said they, “and our sufferings are to
terminate. When the white banner is removed from
the tower, then look out for deliverance; for the hour
of sallying forth will have arrived.” The people retired
to their homes, with sorrowful hearts; they
tried in vain to quiet the cries of their famishing
children; and day by day, and hour by hour, their
anxious eyes were turned to the sacred banner, which
still continued to wave on the tower of Gibralfaro.
