On the following morning, La Valette caused Te Deum to be sung in the church of St. Lawrence, and thanks to be offered at the throne of grace for their deliverance. And if the ceremonies were not conducted with the accustomed pomp of the order of St. John, they were at least accompanied, says the chronicler, who bore his part in them, by the sacrifice of contrite hearts,—as was shown by the tears of many a man, as well as woman, in the procession.[1361]
There was indeed almost as much cause for sorrow as for joy. However successful the Christians had been in maintaining their defence, and however severe the loss they had inflicted on the enemy, they had to mourn the loss of some of their most illustrious knights, while others lay disabled in their beds. Among the latter was De Monti, admiral of the order, now lying seriously ill of wounds received in the defence of St. Michael, of which he was commander. Among the deaths was one which came home to the bosom of La Valette. A young cavalier, his nephew, had engaged in a perilous enterprise with a comrade of his own age. The handsome person and gilded armor of the younger La Valette made him a fatal mark for the enemy;[1362] and he fell, together with his friend, in the ditch before the bastion, under a shower of Turkish bullets. An obstinate struggle succeeded between Christians and Turks for the bodies of the slain. The Christians were victorious; and La Valette had the melancholy satisfaction of rendering the last offices to the remains of his gallant kinsman. The brethren would have condoled with him on his loss. But his generous nature shrank from the indulgence of a selfish sorrow. "All are alike dear to me," he said; "all of you I look on as my children. I mourn for Polastra" (the friend of the young La Valette) "as I do for my own nephew. And after all, it matters little. They have gone before us but for a short time."[1363]
It was indeed no season for the indulgence of private sorrows, when those of a public nature pressed so heavily on the heart. Each day the condition of the besieged was becoming more critical. The tottering defences both of Il Borgo and La Sangle were wasting away under the remorseless batteries of the besiegers. Great numbers, not merely of the knights and the soldiers, but of the inhabitants, had been slain. The women of the place had shown, throughout the whole siege, the same heroic spirit as the men. They not only discharged the usual feminine duties of tending and relieving the sick, but they were often present in the battle, supplying the garrison with refreshments, or carrying the ammunition, or removing the wounded to the hospital. Thus sharing in the danger of their husbands and fathers, they shared too in their fate. Many perished by the enemy's fire; and the dead[{444}] bodies of women lay mingled among those of the men, on the ramparts and in the streets.[1364] The hospitals were filled with the sick and wounded, though fortunately no epidemic had as yet broken out to swell the bills of mortality. Those of the garrison who were still in a condition to do their duty were worn by long vigils and excessive toil. To fight by day, to raise intrenchments or to repair the crumbling works by night, was the hard duty of the soldier. Brief was the respite allowed him for repose,—a repose to be broken at any moment by the sound of the alarm-bell, and to be obtained only amidst so wild an uproar, that it seemed, in the homely language of the veteran so often quoted, "as if the world were coming to an end."[1365]
Happily, through the provident care of the grand-master, there was still a store of provisions in the magazines. But the ammunition was already getting low. Yet the resolution of the besieged did not fail them. Their resolution had doubtless been strengthened by the cruel conduct of the Turks at St. Elmo, which had shown that from such a foe there was no mercy to be expected. The conviction of this had armed the Christians with the courage of despair. On foreign succor they no longer relied. Their only reliance was where their chief had taught them to place it,—on the protection of Heaven; and La Valette, we are assured, went every day during the siege to the church of St. Lawrence, and there solemnly invoked that protection for the brave men who, alone and unaided, were thus fighting the battles of the Faith.[1366]
The forlorn condition of the defences led, at length, the Council of Grand Crosses, after much deliberation, to recommend to La Valette to abandon Il Borgo, and to withdraw with the troops and the inhabitants into the castle of St. Angelo. The grand-master saw at once the disastrous consequences of such a step, and he rejected it without a moment's hesitation. To withdraw into the castle, he said, would be to give up all communication with St. Michael, and to abandon its brave garrison to their fate. The inhabitants of the town would fare no better. The cistern which supplied St. Angelo with water would be wholly inadequate to the demands of such a multitude; and they would soon be reduced to extremity. "No, my brethren," he concluded; "here we must make our stand; and here we must die, if we cannot maintain ourselves against the infidel."[1367]
He would not even consent to have the sacred relics, or the archives of the order, removed thither, as to a place of greater security. It would serve to discourage the soldiers, by leading them to suppose that he distrusted their power of maintaining the town against the enemy. On the contrary, he caused a bridge communicating with the castle to be broken down, after calling off the greater part of the garrison to assist in the defence of Il Borgo. By these measures, he proclaimed his unalterable determination to maintain the town to the last, and if need were, to die in its defence.[1368][{445}]
THE TURKS DISPIRITED.
CHAPTER V.
SIEGE OF MALTA.