himself from the precipices of the mountains and the darts of the
enemy. When the pious master of Santiago beheld the scattered
fragments of his late gallant force, he could not restrain his grief.
"O God!" exclaimed he, "great is thine anger this day against
thy servants. Thou hast converted the cowardice of these infidels
into desperate valor, and hast made peasants and boors victorious
over armed men of battle."

He would fain have kept with his foot-soldiers, and, gathering them
together, have made head against the enemy, but those around
him entreated him to think only of his personal safety. To remain
was to perish without striking a blow; to escape was to preserve a
life that might be devoted to vengeance on the Moors. The master
reluctantly yielded to the advice. "O Lord of hosts!" exclaimed he
again, "from thy wrath do I fly, not from these infidels: they are
but instruments in thy hands to chastise us for our sins." So saying,
he sent the guides in the advance, and, putting spurs to his horse,
dashed through a defile of the mountains before the Moors could
intercept him. The moment the master put his horse to speed,
his troops scattered in all directions. Some endeavored to follow
his traces, but were confounded among the intricacies of the
mountain. They fled hither and thither, many perishing among
the precipices, others being slain by the Moors, and others taken
prisoners.

The gallant marques of Cadiz, guided by his trusty adalid, Luis Amar,
had ascended a different part of the mountain. He was followed
by his friend, Don Alonso de Aguilar, the adelantado, and the count
of Cifuentes, but in the darkness and confusion the bands of these
commanders became separated from each other. When the marques