33. CHAPTER XXXIII.
Of the disasters which befell the camp.
While the christian camp, thus gay and gorgeous,
spread itself out like a holyday pageant before the
walls of Baza—while a long line of beasts of burthen
laden with provisions and luxuries, were seen descending
the valley from morning till night, and pouring
into the camp a continued stream of abundance,—
the unfortunate garrison found their resources rapidly
wasting away, and famine already began to pinch the
peaceful part of the community.
Cidi Yahye had acted with great spirit and valor,
as long as there was any prospect of success; but he
began to lose his usual fire and animation, and was
observed to pace the walls of Baza with a pensive
air, casting many a wistful look towards the christian
camp, and sinking into profound reveries and cogitations.
The veteran alcayde, Mohammed ben Hassan,
noticed these desponding moods, and endeavored to
rally the spirits of the prince. “The rainy season is
at hand,” would he cry; “the floods will soon pour
down from the mountains; the rivers will overflow
their banks, and inundate the valleys. The christian
king already begins to waver; he dare not linger,
and encounter such a season, in a plain cut up by
canals and rivulets. A single wintry storm from our
mountains would wash away his canvas city, and
sweep off those gay pavilions like wreaths of snow
before the blast.”
The prince Cidi Yahye took heart at these words,
and counted the days as they passed until the stormy
season should commence. As he watched the christian
camp, he beheld it one morning in universal
commotion: there was an unusual sound of hammers
in every part, as if some new engines of war were
constructing. At length, to his astonishment, the
walls and roofs of houses began to appear above the
bulwarks. In a little while, there were above a
thousand edifices of wood and plaister erected, covered
with tiles taken from the demolished towers of
the orchards, and bearing the pennons of various
commanders and cavaliers; while the common soldiery
constructed huts, of clay and branches of trees,
thatched with straw. Thus, to the dismay of the
Moors, within four days, the light tents and gay pavilions
which had whitened their hills and plains,
passed away like summer clouds; and the unsubstantial
camp assumed the solid appearance of a city laid
out into streets and squares. In the centre rose a
large edifice, which overlooked the whole; and the
royal standard of Arragon and Castile, proudly floating
above it, showed it to be the palace of the king.[1]
Ferdinand had taken the sudden resolution thus to
turn his camp into a city, partly to provide against
the approaching season, and partly to convince the
Moors of his fixed determination to continue the
siege. In their haste to erect their dwellings, however,
the Spanish cavaliers had not properly considered
the nature of the climate. For the greater part
of the year, there scarcely falls a drop of rain on the
thirsty soil of Andalusia. The ramblas, or dry channels
of the torrents, remain deep and arid gashes and
clefts in the sides of the mountains; the perennial
streams shrink up to mere threads of water, which,
tinkling down the bottoms of the deep barrancas or
ravines, scarce feed and keep alive the rivers of the
valleys. The rivers, almost lost in their wide and
naked beds, seem like thirsty rills, winding in serpentine
mazes through deserts of sand and stones; and
so shallow and tranquil in their course, as to be forded
in safety in almost every part. One autumnal
tempest of rain, however, changes the whole face of
nature:—the clouds break in deluges among the vast
congregation of mountains; the ramblas are suddenly
filled with raging floods; the tinkling rivulets swell
to thundering torrents, that come roaring down from
the mountains, tumbling great masses of rocks in their
career. The late meandering river spreads over its
once naked bed, lashes its surges against the banks,
and rushes like a wide and foaming inundation through
the valley.
Scarcely had the christians finished their slightly
built edifices, when an autumnal tempest of the kind
came scouring from the mountains. The camp was
immediately overflowed. Many of the houses, undermined
by the floods or beaten by the rain, crumbled
away and fell to the earth, burying man and
beast beneath their ruins. Several valuable lives
were lost, and great numbers of horses and other
animals perished. To add to the distress and confusion
of the camp, the daily supply of provisions
suddenly ceased; for the rain had broken up the
roads, and rendered the rivers impassable. A panic
seized upon the army, for the cessation of a single
day's supply produced a scarcity of bread and provender.
Fortunately, the rain was but transient: the
torrents rushed by, and ceased; the rivers shrunk
back again to their narrow channels, and the convoys
that had been detained upon their banks arrived
safely in the camp.
No sooner did queen Isabella hear of this interruption
of her supplies, than, with her usual vigilance
and activity, she provided against its recurrence.
She dispatched six thousand foot-soldiers, under the
command of experienced officers, to repair the roads,
and to make causeways and bridges, for the distance
of seven Spanish leagues. The troops, also, who
had been stationed in the mountains by the king to
guard the defiles, made two paths,—one for the convoys
going to the camp, and the other for those returning,
that they might not meet and impede each
other. The edifices which had been demolished by
the late floods were rebuilt in a firmer manner, and
precautions were taken to protect the camp from
future inundations.
