And so, for many squares, across canals, past palaces and temples, they marched, and nothing to indicate an enemy; the city seemed deserted.
“Hist, Señor!” said Duero, speaking with bated breath. “Hast thou not heard of the army of unbelievers that, in the night, while resting in their camp, were by a breath put to final sleep? Verily, the same good angel of the Lord hath been here also.”
“Nay, compadre mio,” replied Cortes, bending in his saddle, “I cannot so persuade myself. If the infidels meant to let us go, the going would not be so peaceful. From some house-top we should have had their barbarous farewell,—a stone, a lance, an arrow, at least a curse. By many signs,—for that matter, by the rain which, driven through the visor bars, is finding its way down the doublet under my breastplate,—by many signs, I know we are in the midst of a storm. Good Mother forfend, lest, bad as it is, it presage something worse!”
At that moment a watcher on the azoteas of a temple near by chanted the hour of midnight.
“Didst hear?” asked Cortes. “They are not asleep! Olmedo! father! Where art thou?”
“What wouldst thou, my son?”
“That thou shouldst not get lost in this Tophet; more especially, that thou shouldst keep to thy prayers.”
And about that time Sandoval, at the head of his advanced guard, rode from the street out on the open causeway. Farther on, but at no great distance, he came to the first canal. While there, waiting for the bridge to be brought forward, he heard from the lake to his right the peal long and loud of a conch-shell. His heart, in battle steadfast as a rock, throbbed faster; and with raised shield and close-griped sword, he listened, as did all with him, while other shells took up and carried the blast back to the city, and far out over the lake.
In the long array none failed to interpret the sound aright; all recognized a signal of attack, and halted, the slave by his prolong, the knight on his horse, each one as the moment found him. They said not a word, but listened; and as they heard the peal multiply countlessly in every direction,—now close by, now far off,—surprise, the first emotion, turned to dismay. Flight,—darkness,—storm,—and now the infidels! “May God have mercy on us!” murmured the brave, making ready to fight. “May God have mercy on us!” echoed the timid, ready to fly.
The play of the wind upon the lake seemed somewhat neutralized by the density of the rain; still the waves splashed lustily against the grass-grown sides of the causeway; and while Sandoval was wondering if there were many, who, in frail canoes, would venture upon the waste at such a time, another sound, heard, as it were, under that of the conchs, yet too strong to be confounded with wind or surging water, challenged his attention; then he was assured.