As the spirits of the besieged fell day by day, and their ranks were thinned by casualty, famine, and disease, the efforts of the Moslems became more determined than ever. The massive walls of the citadel gradually crumbled under the incessant discharges from ballistas and catapults directed against such a limited extent of their circumference. The great tower which defended the larger harbor, undermined, and battered for months by the military engines, was finally precipitated into the water, carrying with it a part of the contiguous defences. This event, long expected by the besiegers, was the signal for a furious assault. Urged on by every consideration of ambition, zeal, avarice, and revenge, the Saracens entered the breach with an impetuosity that threatened to bear down all opposition. But they were met with a determination equal to their own. The garrison, though weakened by privation and fatigue, sustained the struggle with the energy of despair. The inhabitants, all told, scarcely reached the number of twenty thousand. Each one, however, contributed his or her part towards the defence of home and religion; the priests, attired in their sacred vestments, animated the soldiery by their prayers and benedictions, the women cared tenderly for the wounded and the dying. For twenty days and nights the valor of the Syracusans held their assailants at bay. A rampart of corpses, rising for many feet upon the ruins of the demolished wall, afforded a ghastly bulwark for the protection of the besieged, while it poisoned the air far and wide with its horrible effluvium. The combat was hand to hand. No missile weapons were used. The issue could not be doubtful, and yet the Christians never for an instant entertained a thought of surrender. At length the Moslems withdrew, the din of battle ceased, and the governor, without distrusting the intentions of his wily enemy, leaving a small detachment to keep watch, retired with the main body of his forces for a moment’s rest. All at once every engine in the Saracen camp sent forth its deadly projectiles, and from ruined houses, fallen rampart, and shattered wall, the besiegers, at the stirring sound of atabal and trumpet, again rushed forward into the breach. The success of the stratagem was complete. The slender guard to which the careless confidence of the governor had committed the destinies of the devoted city was cut to pieces in an instant. The garrison, massing its forces in the streets, endeavored in vain to stem the furious torrent. The frightened inhabitants sought the sanctuary of the churches only to be butchered at the altar. Exasperated beyond measure by the resistance of a people who, even in the face of death, disdained to yield, the fierce assailants greedily satiated their thirst for blood. The archbishop and three of his ecclesiastical subordinates, seized in the cathedral, were spared on condition of revealing the place where were deposited