Part 6
The Portuguese fleet crossed the mouth of the streights, and passing within sight of Cape Spartel, coasted along as far as Tangier, where Sebastian, with his English friend Stukeley, were landed, and the remaining troops under Diego de Souza, and Antonio of Crato, proceeded to the fortress of Arzile.
The Moorish princes Muley Hamet and his brother-in-law, Cid Albequerin, were at Tangier, with a few armed followers, to receive the king of Portugal: they delivered into his hands hostages for their fidelity, conjuring their Christian ally not to listen to the deceptive representations of the Xeriff Muley Moloch, whose ambassador was now arrived at the fortress. Sebastian re-assured them, though he could not refuse the Moorish envoy, an audience.
On being admitted to the royal presence, the African delivered a letter from his master, wherein moderation and spirit were admirably blended. This letter declared the Xeriff prepared in all points for war, and ready to meet it; but while he made such a declaration, he besought Don Sebastian to weigh well the value of men’s lives ere he rashly threw away his own and those of his subjects: he described with terrible simplicity the immensity of his resources, and the number of his armies, proving the improbability of success, though the Portuguese King were at the head of 20,000 heroes. Having exhorted him to spare to his people those virtues of his, that were yet only in the bud of blooming youth, he entered into a full discussion of his own pretensions and those of Hamet; by this discussion he laboured to shew that his right to the crowns of Fez and Morocco, was superior to that of his nephew; and that even were it otherwise, the latter had forfeited his claim by acts of cruelty and oppression. To secure peace, and the friendship of the christians, he offered Don Sebastian undisturbed possession of every fortress in Africa that ever had belonged or did now belong to Portugal, and he promised to add to each of them, a moderate tract of arable land.
After pressing this proposal upon the young monarch, he once more conjured him to weigh well the real interest of his subjects; concluding with a sentiment memorable in a despotic prince.
“You know, great prince, (or ought to know) that the regal power allotted us, makes us common servants of our creator; then of those people whom we govern; so that observing the duties we owe to God, we deliver blessings to mankind: in providing for the public good of our states we magnify the honour of God; like the celestial bodies, which, though they have much veneration, yet serve only to the benefit of the world. It is the excellency of our office to be the instruments whereby happiness is delivered to nations.”
Negociation upon a proposal of this kind, so inadequate to the grand object of Sebastian, was not likely to meet with his concurrence: he bade the embassador bear his refusal to Muley Moloch, with an expression of regret that such noble sentiments were not the production of a lawful and a christian ruler. He then dismissed the ambassador, and went with Sir Thomas Stukeley to examine the state of the fortress.
Stukeley was now become as dear, as he had ever appeared admirable, to this warm-hearted sovereign: in the close intimacy and domestic habits of a sea-voyage, the amiable parts of the Englishman’s character gradually disclosed themselves; and their tastes and principles proving consonant, the partiality of Sebastian increased so much, as to lead him into a disclosure, which had more of friendship than of justice in it. This respected the disposal of Barbary.
Every one presumed that in the event of a conquest, Sebastian would yield the empire of Morocco to Muley Hamet, and be himself crowned king of Fez: but he had long resolved to prove the disinterestedness of his motives, by awarding the throne of Fez to him who should most distinguish himself in the expedition. To rescue the Moors from ignorance and infidelity, by giving them a christian monarch and christian teachers, was the chief aim of his enterprise: unsullied honour was the only wreath he sought to preserve for his own brow.
By entrusting the secret to Stukeley, Sebastian unconsciously meant to give additional energy to his friend’s arms, and to secure for him the new monarchy: our gallant countryman received this information with grateful enthusiasm; but unwilling to take an unfair advantage of his competitors, besought the king to communicate it to all his nobles, when they should join the grand army.
Such generous conduct increased Sebastian’s esteem; he freely granted the request, adding--“They will all have my good wishes for their success, but you, Stukeley, will have my prayers.”
Orders were now issued for the Moorish forces under Muley Hamet, and the Portuguese who had disembarked at Tangier with their king, to be ready for marching to Arzile: there, the whole strength of their little army was concentrated.
A tedious march along a hot and arid coast, produced sickness among the soldiery; when they reached the main body, under Don Diego de Souza, they found it somewhat enfeebled through the same cause: but a spirit of enterprize still animated every breast; and as the immediate siege of Larache was determined upon, a military council was called for the purpose of ascertaining whether it were most advisable to proceed directly by land, through an enemy’s country, to the destined siege, or to re-embark and proceed thither by sea.
At this suggestion of prudence, the rash monarch took fire: he had not yet learned to separate true valour from that vain contempt of danger which makes a man put his life to the hazard for an inadequate object, or for the attainment of a good, attainable by less perilous means: he vehemently protested against the latter measure, and his experienced commanders were silenced without being convinced.
During the king’s stay at Tangier, his officers at Arzile had had time to learn the exact strength of the enemy, and what dependence was to be placed on the succours so largely promised by Hamet. Don Emanuel de Castro now ventured in council to address his sovereign, informing him that their Moorish ally had grossly exaggerated his ability and the inclinations of the Africans, as they appeared mostly unanimous in defence of the present Xeriff’s authority. That intrepid old man, he said, was now sick of a fever, but was yet rapidly approaching at the head of a hundred thousand men; fresh armies were forming in the rear and flank of the christians; and should these succeed in turning their other wing, (which they might easily do, if the Portuguese were marched inland towards Larache,) so surrounded and cut off from their fleet, destruction must follow. He therefore suggested the propriety of extreme caution. At this remark the king frowned, and issued decisive orders for proceeding to the river Lucos, (upon which stood the fortress) and fording it, though in the mouth of the enemy’s cannon.
“If we begin to think of defeat, or of providing for our own security,” he said sternly, to De Castro, “we are lost!--we have nothing to oppose to this ocean of Moors that you talk of, but the belief that we are invincible.--Give us only the _enthusiasm_ of our ancestors, and the glorious field of Ourique will no longer stand unrivalled in the imperishable page of history.”
De Castro granted the justice of this reliance upon the omnipotence of opinion; yet a lurking suspicion of the Moorish Prince Hamet, made him foresee ultimate disappointment: he pointed out several traits in the infidel’s conduct, which indicated jealousy of the Christians, and Sebastian admitting their force, promised to observe him narrowly.
The army now began its march towards Larache, and halted between Arzile and Alcazar-quiver.--To proceed without a decisive engagement, was become impossible; for the Xeriff’s force, consisting of sixty thousand horse and forty thousand foot, had advanced by forced marches from Morocco into Fez, secured the passage of the Lucos, and suddenly shewn themselves, encamped in the plains of Alcazar.--Don Sebastian was for immediately advancing to give them battle; but against this step Muley Hamet opposed many plausible arguments: he proposed that the Portuguese should draw nearer to the coast, where, in case of extremity, they might be received into their ships; by throwing up entrenchments, they could there bid defiance to any assault, and would be secured from every species of want, by supplies of ammunition and provisions from the fleet.
“And for what is this delay proposed, now?”--cried the astonished Sebastian, “are we to abandon our enterprize even on the threshold? are we to shrink from the very difficulties we have courted, and fly before an enemy with whom we have not exchanged a single blow? do you think we came only to _look_ at your countrymen?--In the name of God, prince, what coward’s counsel is this?”
Dissembling his rage at the indiscreet anger of the young King, Hamet coolly replied, that Muley Moloch was now master of all the fords and passages of the Lucos, from the ocean to the mountains of Benzeroel, that consequently an attempt to force these would be the attempt of madmen, since their troops were already fainting with a long sultry march, and nearly destitute of provisions: by avoiding an engagement for at least some days, they would give time for the arrival of King Philip’s promised succours, and might be further re-inforced by deserters from the usurper Moloch.
Perceiving his aim at last, and transported out of all patience, the unreflecting Sebastian forgot every thing but indignation: he started from his seat with a look of fierce defiance, crying out, “away with such dissembling! Moor, I can read your heart:--you would do without the aid of the Christians. In a few days, perhaps hours, you expect death to rid you of your uncle, and give you these kingdoms by some political trick--then would our treaty, aye and our safety, be left to your honour!--but thank heaven, my brave Portuguese are not to be thus trifled with!--we shall march forward; if without you, for ourselves,--for the release of christian captives--for the sake of the blessed cross; if with you, for your advantage as well as for our own,--and with a conscientious resolution to preserve _our_ share in the compact inviolate.
“Prince! we are in sight of the enemy--behold me draw this sword, which I swear by the virgin mother of Jesus, never to sheathe till it has cut my way through yonder host!”
A sublime sterness sat on the brow of the young warrior while he spoke: in one moment the clashing of swords and the murmur of vows were heard throughout the assembly; as if electrified with the same fire, all the knights followed his chivalric example.
Hamet was silent: at length he bowed before the royal seat, saying in a subdued voice, “light of thy people, thou hast not interpreted my zealous caution with the usual charity of a Christian: let my actions speak for me!--I will follow thee unto death.”
“Prove that I have wronged thee, Hamet!” returned Sebastian, with a relenting smile, “and thou shalt find me more prompt to repair, than I have been to commit, this injury.”
Muley Hamet bowed submissively again; the clouds of passion and suspicion then fled from the face of the King, and demanding his officer’s attention, he proceeded to hear their separate opinions upon the subject under discussion.
Experienced and inexperienced, now decided on Sebastian’s side; even De Castro voted for giving battle to the Xeriff. Conduct that would have been prudent at Arzile, became cowardice at Alcazar: to begin retreating towards the coast, seemed at this period more hazardous than to risk an engagement; for in the former case, an enormous army hanging upon their rear, might harrass their retreat, and at last make an easy prey of the famished and fatigued soldiers: by the former plan the Portuguese would preserve a chance of victory, or at least secure to themselves honourable graves.
Gratified with his council, and pleasingly surprised to find Don Emanuel urgent for action, Sebastian graciously acknowledged that pleasure, and paying a just tribute to his rival’s warlike talents, resolved thenceforth only to remember his services.--He now gave him his hand with a look so effulgently expressive, that De Castro’s tranquil countenance became agitated with unexpected pleasure; he bent his knee to the ground, and ventured to put his lips respectfully to the hand that had been given him;--Sebastian suffered it to remain awhile in his grasp--then calling his knights to their posts, hastened out to reconnoitre and to marshal his troops.
All was now animation in the Portuguese camp; dauntless hearts, hot with religious zeal, made them eager for engagement: the King went at night from tent to tent, encouraging his men, and rousing their emulation by proclaiming his intention of instituting a new order upon that day, should Heaven bless his arms: to the highest distinction in this novel institution, even the humblest soldier might aspire, and be enrolled in the same proud list with his commander. From the private’s quarters he returned to his own tent, where assembling his officers, he imparted the magnificent prize destined for _their_ reward:--the crown of Fez!
How does the outward lustre of a crown dazzle all eyes, and blind them to its thorny lining! ambition, more potent even than love, sees no defect in its object, but grasps at it with the avidity of a soul certain of seizing beautitude!--The nobles round King Sebastian looked at each other for awhile without speaking; then actuated by the same spirit, cast themselves at his feet in a transport of gratitude; their tumultuous and lavish protestations infused confidence into their sovereign, whose breast beat with the certainty of success: dismissing them soon after, he threw himself upon his palliass, for a few hours repose.
To sleep was impossible: Sebastian counted the night watches with impatience, and just as morning broke, had the mortification to hear rain falling heavily upon the roof of his tent: he leaped up, and hurried into the air.--The dawn was now beginning to glimmer over the extensive camp of the enemy, but the sky was moist and dark: to commence an attack under such circumstances would be fruitless; the showers blew directly in the face of his army, and would render their cannon and harquebusses, almost useless;--he was therefore forced to command a suspension of his orders.
After two hours of incessant rain, the clouds dispersed, and the sun shone out with intense heat:--the King then hastily roused his page (Diego of Braganza,) whose childish hands trembled while they clasped the rivets of his master’s vantbrace.
“What! you tremble my little cousin?”--said he, stroaking his fair hair, and smiling more tenderly than sportively.
“With impatience, Sire, not fear.”--replied the blushing boy.--Sebastian gave him a hasty embrace; “thou hast the soul of a soldier!” he cried, “if I fall to-day, may thy race sit on the throne of Portugal.”
“I would rather see a son of your majesty’s seated there:” answered the intrepid child--“it is not my ambition to be a King; but I wish to make myself greater than an ordinary King:---- I would willingly _live worthily, and die nobly_!”
“Thou wilt do both, then, my brave cousin!” exclaimed Sebastian, “brief or lengthened, thy career will be glorious, for that sentiment contains a life of magnanimity.”
They were now issuing from the tent: Don Diego ventured to remark his King’s imprudence in wearing armour of a colour, which being held almost sacred by the Mahometans, would sharpen their resentment, and enable them to take a surer note of his person. “I chose it for that very purpose;” replied the monarch, “not to insult them, indeed, but to be easier distinguished by friend and foe.--besides, Diego, green is the colour of hope.”
Sebastian now left his tent, and put his troops in motion. If the genius of Portugal could be supposed to have beheld them from the heights of Benzeroel, tears such as immortals shed, might have flowed from her eyes: the flower of her nobles and of her peasantry, were now gaily marching to certain death.
For the first time since the foundation of their monarchy, the private soldiers were stimulated by the prospect of chivalric honour, and their leaders by the chance of a crown:--following their royal general both as their King and their benefactor, the glow of virtuous emulation was on every cheek, and in every heart.
The army, drawn up in three lines, now halted on the plain of Alcazar: De Castro and Stukeley had the glory of leading the vanguard, which consisted wholly of volunteers; the Portuguese infantry were in the center, and the rear under Don Diego De Souza; on the right wing were the Moorish horse of Muley Hamet, and the squadrons of count Vimiosa; on the left were the royal standard, the banner of the cross, and the flower of the Portuguese cavalry; round these, were seen the young dukes of Barcelos, Contiuho, and D’Aveyro, the counts Villa-real, Ridondo, and Norogno, the bishops of Coimbra and Porto, and lastly, the prior of Crato.
Attended by his favorite page, the King was seen with his beaver up, mounted on a white Arabian, riding along the lines, and animating his men to the charge. His emerald-green armour, (on which the sun now sparkled) and the white plume of his helmet, (now lifted by rising winds) rendered him fatally conspicuous.
Meanwhile the Moors were steadily advancing, with all the pomp of gaudy banners and magnificent attire: in the midst of a chosen band was seen the litter of their sick, but intrepid Xeriff.
A hundred thousand armed men, approaching in the form of a crescent, gradually extending their wings to outstretch and inclose a handful of Christians, made a formidable appearance: momentarily checking his horse, Sebastian looked at them with some portion of that awe which a vast and powerful object excites, but without one throb of apprehension, he believed himself under the immediate protection of an approving Providence!
Suddenly the Moorish music began to play, and their troops advanced with a quicker step: the king of Portugal rode to the left of his little band, and placing himself before the royal-standard, bade his lords remember that they fought for a crown. “I, for a heavenly one, and for Gonsalva!” he whispered to himself, hastily darting his eye athwart the mingled banners of the cross, and of Portugal.
The two armies were now so near each other, that the Portuguese could distinctly see the Xeriff assisted from his litter to a horse; age and sickness had enfeebled his body, but his energetic soul was yet unimpaired. In the act of haranguing his men, he appeared slowly riding through the lines, with flowing robes, and a long white beard, which gave him a majestic air: Sebastian pitied his infirmities, and beheld his grey locks with reverence; he commanded his followers to spare, and to respect Muley Moloch, should he fall into their hands, and then he gave the signal for battle.
A general discharge of artillery began the action: the Portuguese horse charged with impetuosity, their young King, like a destroying angel, leading them on: his terrible looks, and still more terrible arm, scattered the infidels on every side. Stukeley and De Castro’s track resembled the path of lightning; for by the blue gloom of their steely armour they were distinguished afar off, flaming through the dark ranks of the enemy.
The Moors assaulted with all the fury of religious hate, and all the fire of chivalry, gave way in every direction; their nobles fell in heaps under the arrows, the swords, and the artillery, of the christians: frantic with despair, Muley Moloch exerted the remaining spark of life in an attempt to rally them; he spurred his horse, and brandishing a massy scymitar, aimed a blow at Don Antonio of Crato: that effort was his last; he fell dead upon the field.
His body-guard with difficulty rescued their master’s corpse from the Portuguese, and conveyed it to the litter, where his death was concealed from the army; but the hoisting of a particular pendent over the litter, by one of his ministers, who had secretly corresponded with the Xeriff Hamet, gave the signal so long waited for by that perfidious wretch. He had hitherto hung back in the action; now, he ordered his troops to turn their arms upon their allies.
At this command, the left wing of the Moorish horse wheeled round, and took the Christians in flank; a dreadful carnage ensued: the brave Portuguese amazed, bewildered, not knowing who were or were not their enemies, fought in darkness; even their German and Castillian auxiliaries shared the fate of the treacherous infidels, for they now dealt the strokes of death without discrimination: the presence of their king all hacked and bleeding, only increased their consternation.
At this critical juncture, Stukeley appeared; waving his fiery sword as a call for them to rally, and aim at conquest still, he broke through the squadrons of Muley Hamet, like some tremendous comet that traverses the wilds of æther, scattering terror and dismay over nations. He rushed towards the traitor: Hamet read destruction in the deadly eyes of the Englishman, and took to flight; Stukeley followed; his indignant threats sounded through the field: gaining upon the Xeriff, he was aiming a mortal blow at him, when the affrighted wretch threw himself into a rivulet which crossed their path, and borne down by the weight of his robes and armour, perished ingloriously. Stukeley looked at him for a moment with scornful disappointment, then turned towards the fight.
But he was now surrounded by a host of assailants: their merciless weapons fell on his head, his shoulders, his limbs; he turned from side to side, alternately parrying and receiving wounds. Fighting his way to a ruined watch tower, he placed his back against it, and defended himself with determined intrepidity; till at length, bleeding at every pore, and exhausted with exertion, his resistance became fainter and fainter. He staggered and sunk down. The dying hero cast his eyes around as if in search of his friend, the next moment they closed for ever. Thus fell the gallant Sir Thomas Stukeley, in the bloom of manhood, in a foreign land!
Meanwhile, Don Sebastian was attempting to regain the advantage of the day: a short contest convinced him that it was no longer for victory, but for safety, they must fight; of all his troops, there remained only a remnant, but he bravely resolved rather to die than to desert them.
Antonio, and the dukes of Barcelos and Aveyro, were taken prisoners; De Castro was sinking under many wounds: the King himself was disabled in one shoulder by a musquet shot, and was besides smarting with sword-cuts: two horses had already been killed under him, and after fighting some time on foot, one of his officers had now mounted him upon a third.
Again, he charged the enemy with a few gallant troops; again his powerful arm scattered the Moors like dust before a mighty wind. Streaming with blood, De Castro followed his glorious path. That faithful Noble (who had appeared throughout the whole of the battle, to think only of his sovereign’s honour, his sovereign’s safety) now interposed his body between him and destruction: the battle-axe of an infidel was raised to fall on the unarmed head of Sebastian, when Don Emanuel rushed forward, and sprung on the Moor; dashing down his lifted weapon, he grasped his body and grappled with him till they both fell: Sebastian threw himself off his horse, and valiantly defended him; but the Moors pouring in at every side, like so many torrents, forcibly swept the brave friends asunder, and De Castro was taken.