its staff, and fell to the earth. At that sight the Moors round broke
forth in a wild and despairing cry: that cry spread from rank to rank,
from horse to foot; the Moorish infantry, sorely pressed on all sides,
no sooner learned the disaster than they turned to fly: the rout was as
fatal as it was sudden. The Christian reserve, just brought into the
field, poured down upon them with a simultaneous charge. Boabdil, too
much engaged to be the first to learn the downfall of the sacred
insignia, suddenly saw himself almost alone, with his diminished
Ethiopians and a handful of his cavaliers.

"Yield thee, Boabdil el Chico!" cried Tendilla, from his rear, "or thou
canst not be saved."

"By the Prophet, never!" exclaimed the king: and he dashed his barb
against the wall of spears behind him; and with but a score or so of his
guard, cut his way through the ranks that were not unwilling, perhaps, to
spare so brave a foe. As he cleared the Spanish battalions, the
unfortunate monarch checked his horse for a moment and gazed along the
plain: he beheld his army flying in all directions, save in that single
spot where yet glittered the turban of Muza Ben Abil Gazan. As he gazed,
he heard the panting nostrils of the chargers behind, and saw the
levelled spears of a company despatched to take him, alive or dead, by
the command of Ferdinand. He laid the reins upon his horse's neck and
galloped into the city--three lances quivered against the portals as he
disappeared through the shadows of the arch. But while Muza remained,
all was not yet lost: he perceived the flight of the infantry and the
king, and with his followers galloped across the plain: he came in time
to encounter and slay, to a man, the pursuers of Boabdil; he then threw
himself before the flying Moors: