University of Virginia Library

26. CHAPTER XXVI.
The battle of the gardens before Baza.

When the reply of the Moorish commanders was
brought to king Ferdinand, he prepared to press the
siege with the utmost rigor. Finding the camp too
far from the city, and that the intervening orchards
afforded shelter for the sallies of the Moors, he determined
to advance it beyond the gardens, in the space
between them and the suburbs, where his batteries
would have full play upon the city walls. A detachment
was sent in advance, to take possession of the
gardens, and to keep a check upon the suburbs, opposing
any sally, while the encampment should be
formed and fortified. The various commanders entered
the orchards at different points. The young
cavaliers marched fearlessly forward, but the experienced
veterans foresaw infinite peril in the mazes
of this verdant labyrinth. The Master of St. Jago,
as he led his troops into the centre of the gardens,
exhorted them to keep by one another, and to press
forward in defiance of all difficulty or danger; assuring
them that God would give them the victory, if
they attacked hardily and persisted resolutely.

Scarce had they entered the verge of the orchards,
when a din of drums and trumpets, mingled with
war-cries, was heard from the suburbs, and a legion
of Moorish warriors on foot poured forth. They

were led on by the prince Cidi Yahye. He saw the
imminent danger of the city, should the christians
gain possession of the orchards. “Soldiers,” he cried,
“we fight for life and liberty, for our families, our
country, our religion;[1] nothing is left for us to depend
upon, but the strength of our hands, the courage of
our hearts, and the almighty protection of Allah.”
The Moors answered him with shouts of war, and
rushed to the encounter. The two hosts met in the
midst of the gardens. A chance-medley combat ensued,
with lances, arquebusses, cross-bows, and scimitars;
the perplexed nature of the ground, cut up and
intersected by canals and streams, the closeness of
the trees, the multiplicity of towers and petty edifices,
gave greater advantages to the Moors, who were on
foot, than to the christians, who were on horseback.
The Moors, too, knew the ground, with all its alleys
and passes; and were thus enabled to lurk, to sally
forth, to attack, and to retreat, almost without injury.

The christian commanders, seeing this, ordered
many of the horsemen to dismount and fight on foot.
The battle then became fierce and deadly, each disregarding
his own life, provided he could slay his
enemy. It was not so much a general battle, as a
multitude of petty actions; for every orchard and
garden had its distinct contest. No one could see
further than the little scene of fury and bloodshed
around him, nor know how the general battle fared.

In vain the captains exerted their voices, in vain the
trumpets brayed forth signals and commands—all
was confounded and unheard, in the universal din
and uproar. No one kept to his standard, but fought
as his own fury or fear dictated. In some places the
christians had the advantage, in others the Moors;
often, a victorious party, pursuing the vanquished,
came upon a superior and triumphant force of the
enemy, and the fugitives turned back upon them in
an overwhelming wave. Some broken remnants, in
their terror and confusion, fled from their own countrymen
and sought refuge among their enemies, not
knowing friend from foe, in the obscurity of the
groves. The Moors were more adroit in these wild
skirmishings, from their flexibility, lightness, and agility,
and the rapidity with which they would disperse,
rally, and return again to the charge.[2]

The hardest fighting was about the small garden
towers and pavilions, which served as so many petty
fortresses. Each party by turns gained them, defended
them fiercely, and were driven out; many of the
towers were set on fire, and increased the horrors of
the fight by the wreaths of smoke and flame in which
they wrapped the groves, and by the shrieks of those
who were burning.

Several of the christian cavaliers, bewildered by
the uproar and confusion, and shocked at the carnage
which prevailed, would have led their men out of
the action; but they were entangled in a labyrinth,

and knew not which way to retreat. While in this
perplexity, the standard-bearer of one of the squadrons
of the grand cardinal had his arm carried off by
a cannon-ball; the standard was well nigh falling into
the hands of the enemy, when Roderigo de Mendoza,
an intrepid youth, natural son of the grand cardinal,
rushed to its rescue, through a shower of balls,
lances, and arrows, and, bearing it aloft, dashed forward
with it into the hottest of the combat, followed
by his shouting soldiery.

King Ferdinand, who remained in the skirts of the
orchard, was in extreme anxiety. It was impossible
to see much of the action, for the multiplicity of trees
and towers, and the wreaths of smoke; and those
who were driven out defeated, or came out wounded
and exhausted, gave different accounts, according to
the fate of the partial conflicts in which they had
been engaged. Ferdinand exerted himself to the
utmost, to animate and encourage his troops to this
blind encounter, sending reinforcements of horse and
foot to those points where the battle was most sanguinary
and doubtful.

Among those who were brought forth mortally
wounded, was Don Juan de Luna, a youth of uncommon
merit, greatly prized by the king, beloved
by the army, and recently married to Donna Catalina
de Urrea, a young lady of distinguished beauty.[3]
They laid him at the foot of a tree, and endeavored
to stanch and bind up his wounds with a scarf which

his bride had wrought for him; but his life-blood
flowed too profusely; and while a holy friar was yet
administering to him the last sacred offices of the
church, he expired, almost at the feet of his sovereign.

On the other hand, the veteran alcayde Mohammed
ben Hassan, surrounded by a little band of
chieftains, kept an anxious eye upon the scene of
combat, from the walls of the city. For nearly
twelve hours, the battle had raged without intermission.
The thickness of the foliage hid all the particulars
from their sight; but they could see the flash
of swords and glance of helmets among the trees.
Columns of smoke rose in every direction, while the
clash of arms, the thundering of ribadoquines and
arquebusses, the shouts and cries of the combatants,
and the groans and supplications of the wounded,
bespoke the deadly conflict that was waging in the
bosom of the groves. They were harassed too by
the shrieks and lamentations of the Moorish women
and children, as their wounded relations were
brought bleeding from the scene of action; and were
stunned by a general outcry of wo on the part of the
inhabitants, as the body of Redoan Zalfarga, a renegado
christian, and one of the bravest of their generals,
was borne breathless into the city.

At length, the din of battle approached nearer to
the skirts of the orchards. They beheld their warriors
driven out from among the groves by fresh
squadrons of the enemy, and, after disputing the
ground inch by inch, obliged to retire to a place be

tween the orchards and the suburbs, which was fortified
with palisadoes.

The christians immediately planted opposing palisadoes,
and established strong outposts near to this
retreat of the Moors; while, at the same time, king
Ferdinand ordered that his encampment should be
pitched within the hard-won orchards.

Mohammed ben Hassan sallied forth to the aid of
the prince Cidi Yahye, and made a desperate attempt
to dislodge the enemy from this formidable position:
but the night had closed, and the darkness rendered
it impossible to make any impression. The Moors,
however, kept up constant assaults and alarms,
throughout the night; and the weary christians, exhausted
by the toils and sufferings of the day, were
not allowed a moment of repose.[4]