roofs of houses began to appear above the bulwarks. In a little while
there were above a thousand edifices of wood and plaster erected,
covered with tiles taken from the demolished towers of the orchards
and bearing the pennons of various commanders and cavaliers, while the
common soldiery constructed huts of clay and branches of trees thatched
with straw. Thus, to the dismay of the Moors, within four days the light
tents and gay pavilions which had whitened their hills and plains passed
away like summer clouds, and the unsubstantial camp assumed the solid
appearance of a city laid out into streets and squares. In the centre
rose a large edifice which overlooked the whole, and the royal standard
of Aragon and Castile, proudly floating above it, showed it to be the
palace of the king.*
* Cura de los Palacios, Pulgar, etc.
Ferdinand had taken the sudden resolution thus to turn his camp into a
city, partly to provide against the approaching season, and partly to
convince the Moors of his fixed determination to continue the siege. In
their haste to erect their dwellings, however, the Spanish cavaliers had
not properly considered the nature of the climate. For the greater part
of the year there scarcely falls a drop of rain on the thirsty soil of
Andalusia. The ramblas, or dry channels of the torrents, remain deep
and arid gashes and clefts in the sides of the mountains; the perennial
streams shrink up to mere threads of water, which, trickling down the
bottoms of the deep barrancas, or ravines, scarce feed and keep alive
the rivers of the valleys. The rivers, almost lost in their wide and
naked beds, seem like thirsty rills winding in serpentine mazes through
deserts of sand and stones, and so shallow and tranquil in their course
as to be forded in safety in almost every part. One autumnal tempest,
however, changes the whole face of nature: the clouds break in deluges
among the vast congregation of mountains; the ramblas are suddenly
filled with raging floods; the tinkling rivulets swell to thundering
torrents that come roaring down from the mountains, tumbling great
masses of rocks in their career. The late meandering river spreads over
its once-naked bed, lashes its surges against the banks, and rushes like
a wide and foaming inundation through the valley.
Scarcely had the Christians finished their slightly built edifices when
an autumnal tempest of the kind came scouring from the mountains. The
camp was i
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