Once more he was summoned to visit Soliman the Magnificent; once more the arch-corsair sped to Constantinople to receive instructions to deal with the conquering Christians. Andrea Doria was at sea, burning Turkish ships, and only this Sultan of Algiers could deal with him. So away Barbarossa went in his customary fashion, raiding the Adriatic towns, sweeping the islands of the Archipelago, and soon he returned to Constantinople with 18,000 slaves, to say nothing of material prizes. Money was obtained as easily as human lives, and the world marvelled that this corsair admiral, this scourge of the sea, this enemy of the Christian race, should, after a crushing defeat, be able to go about his dastardly work, terrifying towns and ships as though the expedition of Charles V. had never been sent forth.
But matters were again working up to a crisis. If the corsair admiral was still afloat, so was Andrea Doria, the great Christian admiral. At the extreme south-west corner of the Epirus, on the Balkan side of the Adriatic, and almost opposite the heel of Italy, lies Prevesa. Hither in 1569 came the fleets of the Cross and the Crescent respectively. The Christian ships had been gathered together at the Island of Corfu, which is thirty or forty miles to the north-west of Prevesa. Barbarossa came, assisted by all the great pirate captains of the day, and among them must be mentioned Dragut, about whom we shall have more to say later.
But Prevesa, from a spectacular standpoint, was disappointing. It was too scientific, too clearly marked by strategy and too little distinguished by fighting. If the reader has ever been present at any athletic contest where there has been more skill than sport, he will know just what I mean. It is the spirit of the crowd at a cricket match when the batsman is all on the defensive and no runs are being scored. It is manifested in the spectators’ indignation at a boxing match when neither party gets in a good blow, when there is an excess of science, when both contestants, fairly matched and perhaps overtrained and nervous of the other’s prowess, hesitate to go in for hard-hitting, so that in the end the match ends in a draw.
It was exactly on this wise at Prevesa. Andrea Doria and Barbarossa were the two great champions of the ring. Neither was young; both had been trained by years of long fighting. They were as fairly matched as it was possible to find a couple of great admirals. Each realised the other’s value; both knew that for spectators they had the whole of Europe—both Christian and Moslem. Victory to the one would mean downfall to the other, and unless a lucky escape intervened, one of the two great admirals would spend the rest of his life rowing his heart out as a galley-slave. Certainly it was enough to make the boxers nervous and hesitating. They were a long time getting to blows, and there was but little actually accomplished. There was an unlucky calm on the sea, and the Galleon of Venice was the centre of the fighting which took place. It was the splendid discipline on board this big craft, it was the excellence of her commander and the unique character of her great guns which made such an impression on Barbarossa’s fleet that although the Galleon was severely damaged, yet at the critical time when the corsairs might have rushed on board and stormed her as night was approaching, for once in his life the great nerve of the corsair king deserted him. No one was more surprised than the Venetians when they found the pirate not pressing home his attack. True, the latter had captured a few of the Christian ships, but these were a mere handful and out of all proportion to the importance of the battle. He had been sent forth to crush Andrea Doria and the Christian fleet; he had failed so to do.
Next day, with a fair wind, Andrea Doria made away. The honour of the battle belonged to the Galleon of Venice, but for Barbarossa it was a triumph because, with an inferior force, he had put the Christian admiral to flight. Doria’s ship had not been so much as touched, and yet Barbarossa had not been taken prisoner. That was the last great event in the career of Kheyr-ed-din, and he died in 1548 at Constantinople as one of the wickedest and cruellest murderers of history, the greatest pirate that has ever lived, and one of the cleverest tacticians and strategists the Mediterranean ever bore on its waters. There has rarely lived a human being so bereft of the quality of mercy, and his death was received by Christian Europe with a sigh of the greatest relief.
In the whole history of piracy there figure some remarkably clever and consummate seamen. Like many another criminal they had such tremendous natural endowments that one cannot but regret that they began badly and continued. The bitterest critic of this Moslem monster cannot but admire his abnormal courage, resource; his powers of organisation and his untameable determination. The pity of it all is that all this should have been wasted in bringing misery to tens of thousands, in dealing death and robbery and pillage.
CHAPTER VI
GALLEYS AND GALLANTRY
But there was a third great Barbarian corsair to complete this terrible trio. Uruj and Kheyr-ed-din we have known. There is yet to be mentioned Dragut, who succeeded to the latter. He too was a Moslem who had been born in a coast village of Asia Minor, opposite the island of Rhodes. His early life is that of most pirates. He went to sea when quite young, was devoted to his profession, was filled with ambition, became an expert pilot and later became a skipper of his own craft. Then, feeling the call of the wild, he devoted himself to piracy and rose to notoriety.
But the turning-point in his career came when he joined himself to the service of Kheyr-ed-din, who appointed Dragut to the entire command of a dozen of the corsair king’s galleys. Henceforward his life was that of his master, ravaging the Italian coasts, pillaging Mediterranean ships and dragging thousands of lives away into slavery. Two years after the battle of Prevesa, Dragut was in fame second only to Kheyr-ed-din, and another Doria—the nephew of Andrea—was sent forth to capture this new wasp of the sea. Doria succeeded in throwing his net so well that off the Corsican coast he was able to bring back Dragut as prisoner, and for the next four years the ex-corsair was condemned to row as a slave in a Christian galley, until on a day his late master Kheyr-ed-din came sailing into Genoa. During his active, pillaging life he had obtained plenty of riches, so it was nothing for him to pay 3000 ducats and thus redeem from slavery a man who had been particularly useful to his own schemes.