rned with his cavalry to
the camp.

When the day dawned on the Christian camp nothing remained of that
beautiful assemblage of stately pavilions but heaps of smouldering
rubbish, with helms and corselets and other furniture of war, and masses
of melted gold and silver glittering among the ashes. The wardrobe
of the queen was entirely destroyed, and there was an immense loss
in plate, jewels, costly stuffs, and sumptuous armor of the luxurious
nobles. The fire at first had been attributed to treachery, but on
investigation it proved to be entirely accidental. The queen on retiring
to her prayers had ordered her lady in attendance to remove a light
burning near her couch, lest it should prevent her sleeping. Through
heedlessness, the taper was placed in another part of the tent near the
hangings, which, being blown against it by a gust of wind, immediately
took fire.

The wary Ferdinand knew the sanguine temperament of the Moors, and
hastened to prevent their deriving confidence from the night's disaster.
At break of day the drums and trumpets sounded to arms, and the
Christian army issued forth from among the smoking ruins of their camp
in shining squadrons, with flaunting banners and bursts of martial
melody, as though the preceding night had been a time of high festivity
instead of terror.

The Moors had beheld the conflagration with wonder and perplexity.
When the day broke and they looked toward the Christian camp, they saw
nothing but a dark smoking mass. Their scouts came in with the joyful
intelligence that the whole camp was a scene of ruin. In the exultation
of the moment they flattered themselves with hopes that the catastrophe
would discourage the besiegers--that, as in former years, their invasion
would end with the summer and they would withdraw before the autumnal
rains.

The measures of Ferdinand and Isabella soon crushed these hopes. They
gave orders to build a regular city upon the site of their camp, to
convince the Moors that the siege was to endure until the surrender of
Granada. Nine of the principal cities of Spain were charged with the
stupendous undertaking, and they emulated each other with a zeal worthy
of the cause. "It verily seems," says Fray Antonio Agapida, "as though
some miracle operated to aid this pious work, so rapidly did arise
a formidable city, with solid edifices and powerful walls and mighty
towers, where lately had been seen nothing but tents and light
pavilions. The city w