The wretched Moriscoes received the tidings of their expatriation with almost the despair with which they would have listened to a sentence of death. Astonishment, arising from the suddenness of the notice and the inadequate time allotted them for preparation, was mingled with their dismay. The traditions of centuries, the souvenirs of national glory, the memory of their ancestors, contributed to endear them to their native land. There were centred the most cherished associations of a numerous and cultivated race. All around were the visible signs of thrift and opulence and their results, won by laborious exertion from the soil. The disfigured but still magnificent monuments of fallen dynasties recalled the departed glory of Arab genius and Moslem power. The loss of their wealth, the sacrifice of their possessions, portended the endurance of calamities for which they were ill-prepared, and of whose dreadful character their most gloomy apprehensions could convey no adequate conception. In every Moorish community appeared the signs of unutterable misery and woe. The shrieks of frenzied women pierced the air. Old men sobbed upon the hearthstones where had been passed the happy days of infancy and youth. Overcome with grief, life-long friends met in the streets without notice or salutation. Even little children, unable to comprehend, yet awed by the prevailing sorrow, ceased their play to mingle their tears with those of their parents. As the disconsolate and sobbing multitude, urged on by the ferocious soldiery taught by their religion to regard these victims of national prejudice as the enemies of Christ, left their homes behind forever, their trials and sufferings increased with their progress. The government provided them with neither food, shelter, nor transportation. The difficulties of the march were aggravated by clouds of dust and by the pitiless heat of summer. Many were born on the highway. Great numbers fell from exhaustion. Some, in desperation, committed suicide. Every straggler was butchered by the armed rabble which, equally ravenous for plunder or blood, constantly hung on the flanks of the slowly moving column. Many were assassinated by Old Christians, men of Moorish ancestry, the conversion of whose forefathers dated before the Conquest, and who told their beads and muttered prayers after each murder, as if they had committed an action acceptable to God. The armed brigands who composed the escort vied with the mob in their atrocities. The men were openly killed, the women violated. Their property was appropriated by force. Some died of hunger. Parents, in their extremity, became so oblivious of the instincts of nature as to barter their children for a morsel of bread. When they embarked for Africa they fared even worse than they had done on land. On the sea the opportunities for outrage were multiplied, the means of escape and detection diminished. No pen can portray the