51. CHAPTER LI.
Building of the city of Santa Fé—Despair of the Moors.
The Moors now shut themselves up gloomily within
their walls; there were no longer any daring sallies
from their gates; and even the martial clangor of the
drum and trumpet, which had continually resounded
within that warrior city, was now seldom heard from
its battlements. For a time, they flattered themselves
with hopes that the late conflagration of the camp
would discourage the besiegers; that, as in former
years, their invasion would end with the summer, and
that they would again withdraw before the autumnal
rains.
The measures of Ferdinand and Isabella soon
crushed these hopes. They gave orders to build a
regular city upon the site of their camp, to convince
the Moors that the siege was to endure until the surrender
of Granada. Nine of the principal cities of
Spain were charged with this stupendous undertaking;
and they emulated each other, with a zeal worthy
of the cause. “It verily seems,” says Fray Antonio
Agapida, “as though some miracle operated to
aid this pious work, so rapidly did arise a formidable
city, with solid edifices, and powerful walls, and
mighty towers, where lately had been seen nothing
but tents and light pavilions. The city was traversed
by two principal streets in form of a cross, terminating
in four gates facing the four winds; and in the
centre was a vast square, where the whole army
might be assembled. To this city it was proposed
to give the name of Isabella, so dear to the army and
the nation; “but that pious princess,” adds Antonio
Agapida, “calling to mind the holy cause in which it
was erected, gave it the name of Santa Fé, (or the
City of the Holy Faith;) and it remains to this day,
a monument of the piety and glory of the Catholic
sovereigns.”
Hither the merchants soon resorted, from all points.
Long trains of mules were seen every day entering
and departing from its gates; the streets were
crowded with magazines, filled with all kinds of
costly and luxurious merchandise; a scene of bustling
commerce and prosperity took place, while unhappy
Granada remained shut up and desolate.
In the mean time, the besieged city began to suffer
the distress of famine. Its supplies were all cut off;
a cavalgada of flocks and herds, and mules laden with
money, coming to the relief of the city from the
mountains of the Alpuxarras, was taken by the marques
of Cadiz, and led in triumph to the camp, in
sight of the suffering Moors. Autumn arrived; but
the harvests had been swept from the face of the
country; a rigorous winter was approaching, and the
city was almost destitute of provisions. The people
sank into deep despondency. They called to mind
all that had been predicted by astrologers at the birth
of their ill-starred sovereign, and all that had been
foretold of the fate of Granada at the time of the
capture of Zahara.
Boabdil was alarmed by the gathering dangers from
without, and by the clamors of his starving people.
He summoned a council, composed of the principal
officers of the army, the alcaydes of the fortresses, the
xequis or sages of the city, and the alfaquis or doctors
of the faith. They assembled in the great hall of
audience of the Alhambra, and despair was painted
in their countenances. Boabdil demanded of them,
what was to be done in their present extremity; and
their answer was, “Surrender.” The venerable
Abul Cazim Abdel Melic, governor of the city, represented
its unhappy state: “Our granaries are nearly
exhausted, and no further supplies are to be expected.
The provender for the war-horses is required as sustenance
for the soldiery; the very horses themselves
are killed for food; of seven thousand steeds which
once could be sent into the field, three hundred only
remain. Our city contains two hundred thousand
inhabitants, old and young, with each a mouth that
calls piteously for bread.”
The xequis and principal citizens declared that the
people could no longer sustain the labors and sufferings
of a defence: “And of what avail is our defence,”
said they, “when the enemy is determined to
persist in the siege?—what alternative remains, but
to surrender or to die?”
The heart of Boabdil was touched by this appeal,
and he maintained a gloomy silence. He had cherished
some faint hope of relief from the soldan of
Egypt or the Barbary powers: but it was now at an
end; even if such assistance were to be sent, he had
no longer a sea-port where it might debark. The
counsellors saw that the resolution of the king was
shaken, and they united their voices in urging him to
capitulate.
The valiant Muza alone arose in opposition: “It
is yet too early,” said he, “to talk of a surrender.
Our means are not exhausted; we have yet one
source of strength remaining, terrible in its effects,
and which often has achieved the most signal victories—it
is our despair. Let us rouse the mass of
the people—let us put weapons in their hands—let
us fight the enemy to the very utmost, until we rush
upon the points of their lances. I am ready to lead
the way into the thickest of their squadrons; and much
rather would I be numbered among those who fell in
the defence of Granada, than of those who survived
to capitulate for her surrender!”
The words of Muza were without effect, for they
were addressed to broken-spirited and heartless men,
or men, perhaps, to whom sad experience had taught
discretion. They were arrived at that state of
public depression, when heroes and heroism are no
longer regarded, and when old men and their counsels
rise into importance. Boabdil el Chico yielded
to the general voice; it was determined to capitulate
with the christian sovereigns; and the venerable
Abul Cazim Abdel Melic was sent forth to the camp,
empowered to treat for terms.
