Zahara more awful than the raging of the storm. A fearful alarm-cry,
"The Moor! the Moor!" resounded through the streets, mingled with
the clash of arms, the shriek of anguish, and the shout of victory.
Muley Abul Hassan, at the head of a powerful force, had hurried from
Granada, and passed unobserved through the mountains in the
obscurity of the tempest. While the storm pelted the sentinel from
his post and bowled round tower and battlement, the Moors had
planted their scaling-ladders and mounted securely into both town
and castle. The garrison was unsuspicious of danger until battle
and massacre burst forth within its very walls. It seemed to the
affrighted inhabitants as if the fiends of the air had come upon the
wings of the wind and possessed themselves of tower and turret.
The war-cry resounded on every side, shout answering shout, above,
below, on the battlements of the castle, in the streets of the town;
the foe was in all parts, wrapped in obscurity, but acting in concert
by the aid of preconcerted signals. Starting from sleep, the soldiers
were intercepted and cut down as they rushed from their quarters,
or if they escaped they knew not where to assemble or where to
strike. Wherever lights appeared the flashing scimetar was at its
deadly work, and all who attempted resistance fell beneath its edge.

In a little while the struggle was at an end. Those who were not
slain took refuge in the secret places of their houses or gave
themselves up as captives. The clash of arms ceased, and the
storm continued its howling, mingled with the occasional shout of
the Moorish soldiery roaming in search of plunder. While the
inhabitants were trembling for their fate, a trumpet resounded
through the streets summoning them all to assemble, unarmed, in the
public square. Here they were surrounded by soldiery and strictly
guarded until daybreak. When the day dawned it was piteous to