The war now substantially ended, it was announced by royal proclamation that every Morisco, without a single exception, should be forever expelled from the kingdom of Granada. The order was carried out to the letter, under the supervision of Don John of Austria. The number of the exiles was from fifty to a hundred thousand. Superior discipline and the personal attention of the prince prevented the horrors that had attended the banishment of the residents of the Albaycin. Some were sent to Seville and Murcia, others to Estremadura, La Mancha, and Navarre. The Castilian peasantry resented their appearance among good Christians and resisted the soldiers, whose presence alone prevented a massacre. As usual, the lands which the Moriscoes possessed were seized for the benefit of the crown; their personal property was sacrificed for much less than its value, and many hitherto accustomed to luxury, plundered of the little they had saved from Spanish rapacity, reached their new homes in a state of absolute destitution. The remote fastnesses of the Alpujarras still concealed a number of fugitives, who cherished the fallacious hope that amidst the rejoicings incident to victory they might remain unnoticed and forgotten. Among them was Ibn-Abu, whose followers, the infamous monfis, alike inaccessible to honor or pity, were ready for every act of treachery, and some of whom had already discussed the expediency of obtaining pardon by the sacrifice of the King. These homeless wanderers soon realized that they were still the objects of Spanish animosity. The establishment of regular garrisons and the disbanding of the rest of the army were coincident with the formation of bands of scouts, whose duty it was to scour the country and capture every Morisco that could be found. In order to stimulate their activity, a reward of twenty ducats was offered for each insurgent. The chase of Moriscoes now became a more lucrative diversion than ever. The wildest portion of the sierra was examined foot by foot. Large numbers of fugitives were taken, and the prisons soon became too small to contain the multitudes that crowded them to suffocation. The utmost diligence of the authorities was unequal to the task of providing quarters for the new-comers, even by the wholesale execution of the old. The most distinguished prisoners were hung. Others were tortured. Many were handed over to the Inquisition, which, while never unsupplied with victims, was glad of the opportunity to make a signal example of such troublesome heretics. The majority were condemned to the galleys, which, all things being taken into account, was perhaps the most severe punishment that a prisoner could undergo. To be considered a mere machine, almost without identity and destitute of feeling, chained for days to the oar, exposed alike to the burning sun and the tempest, subject to hourly laceration by the scourge of a brutal overseer; ill-fed and unprotected from the