It seemed to the affrighted inhabitants [says Washington Irving in his vivid _Conquest of Granada_] as if the fiends of the air had come upon the wings of the wind, and possessed themselves of tower and turret. The war-cry resounded on every side, shout answering shout, above, below, on the battlements of the castle, in the streets of the town; the foe was in all parts, wrapped in obscurity but acting in concert by the aid of preconcerted signals. Starting from sleep, the soldiers were intercepted, and cut down, as they rushed from their quarters, or, if they escaped, they knew not where to assemble or where to strike. Wherever lights appeared, the flashing scimitar was at its deadly work, and all who attempted resistance fell beneath its edge. In a little while the struggle was at an end.... When the day dawned it was piteous to behold this once prosperous community, which had lain down to rest in peaceful security, now crowded together without distinction of age, or rank, or sex, and almost without raiment during the severity of a winter storm. The next day the unhappy prisoners, first fruits of the Moorish triumphs, were led back in chains to the capital; but the sight of their misery aroused not so much rejoicing amongst the people as pity and dismay. Courtiers might crowd to the palace of the Alhambra to congratulate their warrior sovereign, but the general feeling of foreboding found vent in the cries of an old dervish, as he wandered through the streets wringing his hands: Woe to Granada! Its fall is at hand. Desolation shall dwell in its palaces, its strong men shall fall beneath the sword, its children and its maidens shall be led into captivity. Zahara is but a type of Granada. In Medina del Campo, where the news of the disaster reached Ferdinand and Isabel, there was burning indignation, and demands on all sides for instant revenge. The gallant Don Rodrigo Ponce de Leon, Marquis of Cadiz, took upon himself the task of retaliation. Having learned from the “Asistente” of Seville, Don Diego de Merlo, that the town of Alhama, only eight leagues from the Moorish capital and a regular granary and storehouse for the neighbourhood, was ill-defended and quite unprepared for any attack, he collected a considerable force both of horse and foot, and set off at their head to effect its capture. Pushing forward by night, and hiding at daybreak in whatever cover was afforded by ravines and woods, on March 1, 1482, he arrived at his destination, unperceived. He then selected some picked men; and these under the command of Diego de Merlo, placed their ladders against the steepest part of the citadel, from which attack would be least expected, and scaling the walls slew the sentries whom they found on guard. Soon they had opened the gates to admit the Marquis and their companions, and all within Alhama was in confusion.