e command "Forward!"
was hailed with tumultuous joy, and the besiegers pressed forward in
irregular yet serried masses.

Scarcely had the attack begun when a terrific storm arose. It was in the
winter season, and a sudden hurricane of cold winds came shrieking
through the gaps of the mountains to the north.

Amzi, having, as an influential Meccan, been appointed to the command of
a division, charged boldly forward in the teeth of the tempest, waving
his sword above his head and cheering his men on with his hopeful voice.
Yusuf, Asru and Manasseh pressed forward close behind him. A cloud of
arrows met them, yet they poured impetuously on. And now the bank was
climbed and the conflict became almost hand-to-hand. The priest's tall
form rendered him conspicuous in the fray. Some one came hacking and
hewing his way towards him. It was the agile Uzza. The priest was beset
on all sides and was defending himself against fearful odds, when the
face of Uzza, fiend-like in its hate, burst upon him as a new opponent.
He raised his weapon for a blow, but the vision of a Guebre altar upon
which a little, bleeding child lay, rose before him, and his arm fell.

Uzza perceived his advantage. With a howl of triumph he cried, "False
priest, you shall not escape me this time!" and made a fierce stroke
with his scimitar. But the blow was parried.

"Simpleton! Would you let him kill you?" cried a harsh voice close by
the priest. And the next moment Uzza fell with a death-groan at the feet
of Asru.

And now the storm struck with full fury, howling among the houses of
Medina, whistling shrilly on the upper air, and bending the palm trees
low along its furious path. Thatches were torn from the roofs and
carried whirling through the air; clouds of dust were blown high along
the streets, and black, ragged clouds scurried across the sky as if
urged on by demon-force. Horses neighed loudly. Many of them became
unmanageable, and dashed, with terrified eyes and distended nostrils,
through the midst of the flying soldiery. The tents of Abu Sofian were
torn from their pegs and hurled away. Then the rain descended in sheets,
or, whirled round by the wind, swirled along in columns with almost the
force of a water-spout.

Suddenly a cry was raised: "It is Mohammed! The prophet has raised the
storm by enchantment!"

The cry echoed from mouth to mouth above the roar of the tempest. The
superstitious Arabs were seized with terror and fled precipitate