University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
Expedition of Muley Aben Hassan against the fortress
of Zahara.

It was in the year of our Lord one thousand four
hundred and eighty-one, and but a night or two after
the festival of the most blessed Nativity, that Muley
Aben Hassan made his famous attack upon Zahara.
The inhabitants of the place were sunk in profound
sleep; the very sentinel had deserted his post, and
sought shelter from a tempest which had raged for
three nights in succession; for it appeared but little
probable that an enemy would be abroad during such
an uproar of the elements. But evil spirits work
best during a storm, (observes the worthy Antonio
Agapida,) and Muley Aben Hassan found such a
season most suitable for his diabolical purposes. In
the midst of the night, an uproar arose within the
walls of 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 Aben 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 howled 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 scimitar 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 day-break. When the day dawned,
it was piteous to behold this once prosperous community,
who had laid down to rest in peaceful security,
now crowded together without distinction of

age, or rank, or sex, and almost without raiment,
during the severity of a wintry storm. The fierce
Muley Aben Hassan turned a deaf ear to all their
prayers and remonstrances, and ordered them to be
conducted captives to Granada. Leaving a strong
garrison in both town and castle, with orders to put
them in a complete state of defence, he returned,
flushed with victory, to his capital, entering it at the
head of his troops, laden with spoil, and bearing in
triumph the banners and pennons taken at Zahara.

While preparations were making for jousts and
other festivities, in honor of this victory over the
christians, the captives of Zahara arrived—a wretched
train of men, women, and children, worn out with
fatigue and haggard with despair, and driven like
cattle into the city gates, by a detachment of Moorish
soldiery.

Deep was the grief and indignation of the people
of Granada, at this cruel scene. Old men, who had
experienced the calamities of warfare, anticipated
coming troubles. Mothers clasped their infants to
their breasts, as they beheld the hapless females of
Zahara, with their children expiring in their arms.
On every side, the accents of pity for the sufferers
were mingled with execrations of the barbarity of
the king. The preparations for festivity were neglected;
and the viands, which were to have feasted
the conquerors, were distributed among the captives.

The nobles and alfaquis, however, repaired to the
Alhambra, to congratulate the king; for, whatever
storms may rage in the lower regions of society,

rarely do any clouds, but clouds of incense, rise to
the awful eminence of the throne. In this instance,
however, a voice rose from the midst of the obsequious
crowd, that burst like thunder upon the ears
of Aben Hassan. “Wo! wo! wo! to Granada!”
exclaimed the voice; “its hour of desolation approaches.
The ruins of Zahara will fall upon our
heads; my spirit tells me that the end of our empire
is at hand!” All shrunk back aghast, and left the
denouncer of wo standing alone in the centre of the
hall. He was an ancient and hoary man, in the rude
attire of a dervise. Age had withered his form
without quenching the fire of his spirit, which glared
in baleful lustre from his eyes. He was, (say the
Arabian historians,) one of those holy men termed
santons, who pass their lives in hermitages, in fasting,
meditation, and prayer, until they attain to the purity
of saints and the foresight of prophets. “He was,”
says the indignant Fray Antonio Agapida, “a son of
Belial, one of those fanatic infidels possessed by the
devil, who are sometimes permitted to predict the
truth to their followers; but with the proviso, that
their predictions shall be of no avail.”

The voice of the santon resounded through the
lofty hall of the Alhambra, and struck silence and
awe into the crowd of courtly sycophants. Muley
Aben Hassan alone was unmoved; he eyed the hoary
anchorite with scorn as he stood dauntless before
him, and treated his predictions as the ravings of a
maniac. The santon rushed from the royal presence,
and, descending into the city, hurried through its

streets and squares with frantic gesticulations. His
voice was heard, in every part, in awful denunciation.
“The peace is broken! the exterminating war is
commenced. Wo! wo! wo to Granada! its fall is
at hand! desolation shall dwell in its palaces; its
strong men shall fall beneath the sword, its children
and maidens shall be led into captivity. Zahara is
but a type of Granada!”

Terror seized upon the populace, for they considered
these ravings as the inspirations of prophecy.
They hid themselves in their dwellings, as in a time
of general mourning; or, if they went abroad, it was
to gather together in knots in the streets and squares,
to alarm each other with dismal forebodings, and to
curse the rashness and cruelty of the fierce Aben
Hassan.

The Moorish monarch heeded not their murmurs.
Knowing that his exploit must draw upon him the
vengeance of the christians, he now threw off all
reserve, and made attempts to surprise Castellan and
Elvira, though without success. He sent alfaquis,
also, to the Barbary powers, informing them that the
sword was drawn, and inviting them to aid in maintaining
the kingdom of Granada, and the religion of
Mahomet, against the violence of unbelievers.