But dissent had broken out among the Kureisch generals.  Obi, one of their best warriors, perhaps feeling the confident carelessness of the Kureisch was misplaced, wanted to go back without attacking.  He was overruled after much discussion and some bad feeling by Abu Jahl, who declared that if they refrained from attack now all the land would ring with their cowardice.  So a general advance was ordered, and the Kureisch champions led the way.

The battle began, as most battles of primitive times, by a series of single combats, one champion challenging another to fight.  The glory of being the first Muslim to kill a Meccan in this encounter fell to Hamza.  Aswad of the Kureisch swore to drink of the water of those wells guarded by the Muslim.  Hamza opposed, and his first sword stroke severed the leg of Aswad; but he, undaunted, crawled on until at the fountain he was slain by Hamza before its waters passed his lips.  Now three champions of the Kureisch came forward to challenge three Muslim of equal birth.  Hamza, Ali, and Obeida answered the charge, and in front of the opposing ranks three Homeric conflicts raged.

Hamza, the lion of God, and Ali, the sword of the faith, quickly overcame their opponents, but Obeida was wounded before he could spear his man.  The sight gave courage to the Kureisch, and now the main body of them pressed on, seeking to overwhelm the Muslim by sheer weight.  The heavy ground impeded their movements, and they came on slowly with what anxious expectation on the part of Mahomet’s soldiers, whom their Prophet had commanded to await his signal.

When the Kureisch were near enough Mahomet lifted his hand: 

“Ya Mansur amit!” (Ye conquerors, strike!) he cried, pointing with outstretched finger at the close ranks bearing down upon them; “Paradise awaits him who lays down his life for Islam.”

The Muslim with a wild cry dashed forward against their foe.  But the Kureisch were brave and they were numerous, and the Muslim were few and almost untutored.  The battle raged, surging like foam within the narrow valley; its waves now roaring almost up to the Prophet’s vantage ground, now retreating in eddies towards the rear of the Kureisch, under a lowering sky, whose wind-swept clouds seemed to reflect the strife in the Heavens.

“Behold Gabriel with a thousand angels charging down upon the Infidels!” cried Mahomet, as a blast of wind tore shrieking down the valley.  “See Muhail and Seraphil with their troops rush to the help of God’s chosen.”

Then as the Muslim seemed to waver, pressed back by the mass of their enemies, he appeared in their midst, and, taking a handful of dust, cast it in the face of the foe: 

“Let their faces be confounded!”

The Muslim, caught by the magnetism of Mahomet’s presence, seized by the immortal energy which radiated from him, rallied their strength.  With a shout they bore down upon the Kureisch, who wavered and broke beneath this inspired onrush, within whose vigour dwelt all Mahomet’s surcharged ambition and indomitable aims.  He commanded the attack to be followed up at once, and the Kureisch, hampered in their retreat by the marshy ground, fell in confusion, their ranks shattered, their champions crushed in the welter of spears and horsemen, swords, armour, sand, blood, and the bodies of men.