University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
How Hamet el Zegri sallied forth with the sacred banner,
to attack the Christian camp.

“The Moorish nigromancer,” observes the worthy
Fray Antonio Agapida, “remained shut up in a tower
of the Gibralfaro, devising devilish means to work
mischief and discomfiture upon the christians. He
was daily consulted by Hamet el Zegri, who had
great faith in those black and magic arts, which he
had brought with him from the bosom of heathen
Africa.”

From the account given of this dervise and his
incantations by the worthy father, it would appear
that he was an astrologer, and was studying the stars,
and endeavoring to calculate the day and hour when
a successful attack might be made upon the christian
camp.

Famine had now increased to such a degree as to
distress even the garrison of Gibralfaro, although the
Gomeres had seized upon all the provisions they
could find in the city. Their passions were sharpened
by hunger, and they became restless and turbulent,
and impatient for action.

Hamet el Zegri was one day in council with his
captains, perplexed by the pressure of events, when
the dervise entered among them. “The hour of victory,”
exclaimed he, “is at hand. Allah has commanded

that to-morrow morning ye shall sally forth
to the fight. I will bear before you the sacred banner,
and deliver your enemies into your hands. Remember,
however, that ye are but instruments in
the hands of Allah, to take vengeance on the enemies
of the faith. Go into battle, therefore, with
pure hearts, forgiving each other all past offences;
for those who are charitable towards each other,
will be victorious over the foe.” The words of the
dervise were received with rapture: all Gibralfaro
and the Alcazaba resounded immediately with the
din of arms; and Hamet sent throughout the towers
and fortifications of the city, and selected the choicest
troops and most distinguished captains for this
eventful combat.

In the morning early, the rumor went throughout
the city that the sacred banner had disappeared from
the tower of Gibralfaro, and all Malaga was roused
to witness the sally that was to destroy the unbelievers.
Hamet descended from his strong-hold, accompanied
by his principal captain, Abrahen Zenete,
and followed by his Gomeres. The dervise led the
way, displaying the white banner, the sacred pledge
of victory. The multitude shouted “Allah Acbar!”
and prostrated themselves before the banner as it
passed. Even the dreaded Hamet was hailed with
praises; for in their hopes of speedy relief through
the prowess of his arm, the populace forgot every
thing but his bravery. Every bosom in Malaga was
agitated by hope and fear—the old men, the women
and children, and all who went not forth to battle,

mounted on tower and battlement and roof, to watch
a combat that was to decide their fate.

Before sallying forth from the city, the dervise addressed
the troops, reminding them of the holy nature
of this enterprise, and warning them not to forfeit
the protection of the sacred banner by any
unworthy act. They were not to pause to make
spoil nor to take prisoners: they were to press forward,
fighting valiantly, and granting no quarter.
The gate was then thrown open, and the dervise
issued forth, followed by the army. They directed
their assaults upon the encampments of the Master
of Santiago and the Master of Alcantara, and came
upon them so suddenly that they killed and wounded
several of the guards. Abrahen Zenete made his
way into one of the tents, where he beheld several
chrisfian striplings just starting from their slumber.
The heart of the Moor was suddenly touched with
pity for their youth, or perhaps he scorned the weakness
of the foe. He smote them with the flat, instead
of the edge of his sword. “Away, imps,” cried he,
“away to your mothers.” The fanatic dervise reproached
him with his clemency—“I did not kill
them,” replied Zenete, “because I saw no beards!”[1]

The alarm was given in the camp, and the christians
rushed from all quarters to defend the gates of
the bulwarks. Don Pedro Puerto Carrero, Senior
of Moguer, and his brother Don Alonzo Pacheco,
planted themselves, with their followers, in the gateway

of the encampment of the Master of Santiago,
and bore the whole brunt of battle until they were
reinforced. The gate of the encampment of the
Master of Calatrava was in like manner defended
by Lorenzo Saurez de Mendoza. Hamet el Zegri
was furious at being thus checked, where he had
expected a miraculous victory. He led his troops
repeatedly to the attack, hoping to force the gates
before succor should arrive: they fought with vehement
ardor, but were as often repulsed; and every
time they returned to the assault, they found their
enemies doubled in number. The christians opened
a cross-fire of all kinds of missiles, from their bulwarks;
the Moors could effect but little damage upon
a foe thus protected behind their works, while they
themselves were exposed from head to foot. The
christians singled out the most conspicuous cavaliers,
the greater part of whom were either slain or wounded.
Still the Moors, infatuated by the predictions of
the prophet, fought desperately and devotedly, and
they were furious to revenge the slaughter of their
leaders. They rushed upon certain death, endeavoring
madly to scale the bulwarks or force the gates,
and fell amidst showers of darts and lances, filling
the ditches with their mangled bodies.

Hamet el Zegri raged along the front of the bulwarks,
seeking an opening for attack. He gnashed
his teeth with fury, as he saw so many of his chosen
warriors slain around him. He seemed to have a
charmed life; for, though constantly in the hottest
of the fight, amidst showers of missiles, he still es

caped uninjured. Blindly confiding in the prophecy
of victory, he continued to urge on his devoted
troops. The dervise, too, ran like a maniac through
the ranks, waving his white banner, and inciting the
Moors by howlings rather than by shouts. In the
midst of his frenzy, a stone from a catapult struck
him on the head, and dashed out his bewildered
brains.[2]

When the Moors beheld their prophet slain, and
his banner in the dust, they were seized with despair,
and fled in confusion to the city. Hamet el Zegri
made some effort to rally them, but was himself
confounded by the fall of the dervise. He covered
the flight of his broken forces, turning repeatedly
upon their pursuers, and slowly making his retreat
into the city.

The inhabitants of Malaga witnessed from their
walls, with trembling anxiety, the whole of this disastrous
conflict. At the first onset, when they beheld
the guards of the camp put to flight, they exclaimed,
“Allah has given us the victory!” and they
sent up shouts of triumph. Their exultation, however,
was soon turned into doubt, when they beheld
their troops repulsed in repeated attacks. They
could see, from time to time, some distinguished warrior
laid low, and others brought back bleeding to
the city. When at length the sacred banner fell, and
the routed troops came flying to the gates, pursued

and cut down by the foe, horror and despair seized
upon the populace.

As Hamet el Zegri entered the gates, he heard
nothing but loud lamentations: mothers, whose sons
had been slain, shrieked curses after him as he passed;
some, in the anguish of their hearts, threw down
their famishing babes before him, exclaiming, “Trample
on them with thy horse's feet; for we have no
food to give them, and we cannot endure their cries.”
All heaped execrations on his head, as the cause of
the woes of Malaga.

The warlike part of the citizens also, and many
warriors, who, with their wives and children, had
taken refuge in Malaga from the mountain fortresses,
now joined in the popular clamor, for their hearts
were overcome by the sufferings of their families.

Hamet el Zegri found it impossible to withstand
this torrent of lamentations, curses, and reproaches.
His military ascendancy was at an end; for most of
his officers, and the prime warriors of his African
band, had fallen in this disastrous sally. Turning his
back, therefore, upon the city, and abandoning it to
its own councils, he retired with the remnant of his
Gomeres to his strong-hold in the Gibralfaro.