On the right the Alamo slumbered in darkness. Presently, before, loomed through the gloom the low walls of San Antonio. “Sentinela alerte!” sang the sentinels.
“They’ll sing a different tune in a minute,” whispered Jim to Ernest.
“Shut up, there!” ordered a corporal. Jim chuckled.
The columns diverged, one from the other. The first column wended a little to the right, the second column kept on to the left, and Sion was gone with it.
A number of little Mexican huts were passed; the occupants did not awake, and neither did their dogs. How quiet everything was! But the east was graying, the gloom was thinning, and the day of December 5 was about to dawn. Ernest shivered with the suspense. Then——
“Boom!” rolled a cannon shot, far on the left. And—“Boom!” again. The heavy air jarred with the shock. Colonel Neill was attacking the Alamo! Distant bugles pealed, calling the Alamo to arms; muskets, of the sentries, began to speak; the uproar rapidly increased. Lights began to appear in San Antonio.
“Hurry up, boys!” passed the word; and the column quickened its pace.
Now they were in a street, a straight, wide street bordered by the low stone-and-plaster houses. Acequia Street, it was, according to report. Sam Maverick and the other guides knew it well; it conducted through to the main plaza. The General Johnson column had taken the next street on the left—Soledad Street.
Ernest’s heart beat high. Were the Mexicans going to let them all march right through? No! The town was thoroughly awake. Lights flickered before; dogs barked furiously; voices of women and children called shrilly; and “Whang!” spoke the musket of a sentry, in the direction of the other column. “Crack!” answered at once a rifle. Deaf Smith, they heard later, had shot the sentry dead. But bugles were sounding. The town was alarmed at last.
Up came the cannon, hauled by the panting cannoneers; and back ran an aide—Major Morris.