n this remnant did not escape, for they were followed by the
Christians; and only one, wounded and bleeding, escaped to tell King
Marsilius the story of his woful loss.

Nearly an hundred thousand Moslems lay dead in the pass of Roncesvalles.
But they had sold their lives full dearly. Beneath, above, and beside
them were piled the flower of the Frankish army--Christian and Paynim,
asleep on one mother's breast, unheedful alike of triumph and defeat.

In spite of the fact that theirs had been the places of greatest danger
all through the battle, Roland and Oliver and the good archbishop had
escaped unhurt; and they and their comrades betook them to the sad duty
of searching the bloody field for their best-beloved dead. Long they had
wandered thus among the dead and dying, when a mighty blast of trumpets
smote on their ears.

"O God, our Father, what straits are ours!" they cried, as looking up
they beheld in the distance another Saracen host, greater by far than
the one they had crushed, bearing down upon them.

Now happened a thing most wondrous to tell. In far-away France an awful
darkness came down upon the land; a great whirlwind swept the face of
the country; the rain fell, the earth rocked, and the thunder rolled
along the sky. For a long time the darkness was unbroken, save when the
lightning cleft the storm-clouds and gave to the scene a yet wilder
fear. On all there came a mighty dread, and they deemed the end of the
world at hand. They knew not that it was an augury of the fateful
tragedy at the gates of Spain.

The lone heights about Roncesvalles had looked upon the Christian in his
pride and triumph; now were they destined to behold another sight.

Like that awful storm-cloud, the heathen came down upon the Christian
few, the thunder of hoof-beats waked the echoes of Roncesvalles, and the
hard earth reeled with the shock of arms.

The rear-guard made their last brave stand that day. Lance to lance and
sword to sword, they held their own while there was yet life in them,
and they achieved all but the impossible. Twice did the heathen swarms
break and fly before the fierce onslaughts of the Christians, but twice,
reinforced, they rushed to the attack again. Knight after knight went
down before them,--Engelier, Duke Sampson, Anseis, Gerien, and Gerier!
Where might the emperor find their like again?

At length only sixty of the Franks were left, pressed together by the
Moslem thousands. Every man in that