Was there no other way, by which I could give warning to my countrymen?
O God! the hoof-trampling seemed gradually growing less distinct! No
sound of bit, or spur, stirrup, or steel scabbard. They had passed the
end of the Callecito. Ten seconds more, and they would be beyond
hearing!
Ha! a happy thought! That night--I now remembered it--my own corps--the
Rifle Rangers--constituted the street patrol. My first Serjeant would
be at its head. Between him and me had long been established a code of
signals--independent of those set for the bugler. By the favour of
fortune, I had upon my person the means of making them--a common
dog-call, that more than once, during the campaign, had stood me in good
stead.
In another instant its shrill echoes resounded through the street, and
were heard half-way across the City of the Angels.
If the devil himself had directed the signal, it could not have more
effectually paralysed our opponents. They stood speechless--astounded!
Only for a short while did they thus remain. Then, as if some wild
panic had suddenly seized upon them, both footpads and citizens ran
scattering away!
In the place they had occupied I could see two score of horses, with the
same number of men upon their backs--whose dark green uniforms were
joyfully recognised.
With a shout I rushed forth to receive them!
After an interlude of confused congratulations I turned to give thanks--
far more than thanks--to Francisco Moreno.
My gratitude was doomed to disappointment. He who so well deserved it
was no longer to be seen.
The door, through which I had so fortunately fallen, was closed upon my
generous protector!