By little and little the eastern horizon exhibited a brighter dawn; and
the clouds that floated over the heads of those people so piously bent,
becoming tinged with purple, announced the rising of the sun.
It will be remembered that, at the council of war, the Spanish general
had decided not to make his attack till after the hour of noon. No
preparations, therefore, had as yet been made in the Royalist camp.
As Bonavia was still ignorant both of the proximity of Morelos and
Trujano's intention to make a sortie, the double attack was likely to
fall upon the Spanish camp with the suddenness of a thunderbolt.
The Spanish army was divided into three brigades, that might almost be
said to occupy three separate encampments. The first, commanded by
Regules, held position nearest to the walls of the town. The second,
under the immediate orders of Bonavia himself, occupied the centre;
while the third, in command of Caldelas, formed the rearguard.
According to this disposition, Trujano, in sallying from the town, would
come immediately into collision with the brigade of Regules; while
Morelos, approaching from the mountains, would direct his attack against
that of Caldelas. In this case, Bonavia, from the centre, could march
to the assistance of whichever of his two brigadiers should stand most
in need of it.
The Colonel Tres-Villas was second in command in the brigade of
Caldelas, and his tent was of course in the rear.
During the night he had slept but little.
Sometimes during a storm the thick mantle of clouds which covers the sky
breaks suddenly apart, disclosing an almost imperceptible portion of the
azure canopy. Only for a moment the blue spot is visible, after which
the dull vapoury mass closes over it, and again hides it from view.
Such was the ray of hope that had lately shone into the heart of Don
Rafael. His habitual melancholy had assumed the ascendant, and the
cloud had returned.
The man who passionately loves, and he who scarce loves at all, are
equally unable to tell when their love is reciprocated. His violent
passion blinds the judgment of the one; while indifference renders the
other inattentive. Neither is capable of perceiving the tokens of love
which he may have inspired, and which pass unnoticed before his eyes.
In the former situation was Don Rafael. Despite the proofs which
Gertrudis had given him, his thought was, _not that he was no longer
loved, but that he had never been loved at all_! He, who had almost
sacrificed his love to his pride, could not perceive that the pride of a
woman may also have its days of revolt against her heart. Hence arose
the profound discouragement which had taken possession of him, and
extinguished the ray of hope that had gleamed for a moment in his
breast.
Wearied with tossing upon a sleepless couch, he rose at the first call
of the _reveille_ bugle; and ordering his horse to be saddled, he rode
forth from the camp, in hopes that a ride would afford some distraction
to his thoughts.
The aspect of the desolated fields--from which every vestige of a crop
had disappeared--reminded him of his own ruined hopes: like the bud of a
flower plucked from its stem, before it had time to blossom.
Occupied with such reflections, he had ridden nearly a league beyond the
lines of the camp, without taking note of the distance. In the midst of
the deep silence which reigned around him, he all at once heard a
noise--at first low, but gradually becoming louder. This instantly
roused him from his reverie--causing him to draw bridle and listen.
During the different campaigns he had made, Don Rafael had learnt to
distinguish all the sounds which indicate the march of a _corps
d'armee_. The cadenced hoof-stroke, the distant rumbling of
gun-carriages and _caissons_, the neighing of horses, and the clanking
of steel sabres were all familiar to his ear--and proclaimed to him the
movement of troops, as plainly as if they were passing before his eyes.
He had no doubt that what he now heard was the approach of a body of the
insurgents, advancing to the relief of the town. The alarm given by the
sentinels upon the preceding night--the death of one of the number--the
vivas and other strange exclamations of the besieged, within the town--
left him no room to question the correctness of his conjecture.
Sure of the fact--and not wishing to lose a moment by listening longer--
he wheeled around; and, putting spurs to his horse, galloped back to the
camp where, on his arrival, he at once gave the alarm.