town.

It was considerably past noon; the sky was overcast, and tempest
clouds, fraught with lightning and thunder, were hanging black and
horrid over the town of Logrono. The little troop, resting on
their arms, stood awaiting the arrival of their unnatural enemies;
rage fired their minds as they thought of the deaths of their
fathers, their sons, and their dearest relatives, who had perished,
not by the hand of God, but, like infected cattle, by the hellish
arts of Egyptian sorcerers. They longed for their appearance,
determined to wreak upon them a bloody revenge; not a word was
uttered, and profound silence reigned around, only interrupted by
the occasional muttering of the thunder-clouds. Suddenly, Alvarez,
who had been intently listening, raised his hand with a significant
gesture; presently, a sound was heard - a rustling like the waving
of trees, or the rushing of distant water; it gradually increased,
and seemed to proceed from the narrow street which led from the
principal gate into the square. All eyes were turned in that
direction. . . .

That night there was repique or ringing of bells in the towers of
Logrono, and the few priests who had escaped from the pestilence
sang litanies to God and the Virgin for the salvation of the town
from the hands of the heathen. The attempt of the Gitanos had been
most signally defeated, and the great square and the street were
strewn with their corpses. Oh! what frightful objects: there lay
grim men more black than mulattos, with fury and rage in their
stiffened features; wild women in extraordinary dresses, their
hair, black and long as the tail of the horse, spread all
dishevelled upon the ground; and gaunt and naked children grasping