It might not be, after all. But they would be better able to decide should they hear the rattle of small arms, and for this listened they all ears.
More than one of them would have been delighted to hear it. Not that they disliked the régime of the Dictator, nor the man himself. Like all despots he was the soldiers friend; professed and giving proofs of it, by indulging them in soldierly licence—permission to lord it over the citizen. But much as they liked “El Cojo” (Game leg), as they called him, a grito would be still more agreeable to them—promising unlimited loot.
The sergeant had views of his own, and reflections he kept to himself. He felt good as sure there was something up, and could not help connecting it with the carriage which had just passed. He now no longer doubted having seen his old captain in it. But how came he to be there, and what doing? He had been in the city, that’s certain—was now out of it, and going at a speed that must mean something more than common. He could get to San Augustin by that route. There were troops quartered there; had they declared for the Liberals?
It might be so, and Rivas was on his way to meet and lead them on to the city. At any moment they might appear on the calzada, at the corner round which the carriage had just turned.
The sergeant was now in a state of nervous perplexity. Although his eyes were on the road his thoughts were not there, but all turned inward, communing with himself. Which side ought he to take? That of the Liberales or the Parti Pretre? He had been upon both through two or three alternate changes, and still he was but a sargento. And as he had been serving Santa Anna for a longer spell than usual, without a single step of promotion, he could not make much of a mistake by giving the Republican party one more trial. It might get him the long-coveted epaulette of alferez.
While still occupied with his ambitious dreams, endeavouring to decide into which scale he should throw the weight of his sword, musket, and bayonet, the citadel gun once more boomed out, answered by the canon of Chapultepec.
Still, there was no cracking of rifles, nor continuous rattle of musketry, such as should be heard coincident with that cry which in the Mexican metropolis usually announces a change of government.
It seemed strange not only to him, but all others on guard at El Nino. But it might be a parley—the calm before the storm, which they could not help thinking would yet burst forth, in full fusillade—such as they had been accustomed to.
Listening on, however, they heard not that; only the bells, bells, bells, jingling all over the city, as though it were on fire, those of the cathedral leading the orchestra of campanule music. And yet another gun from the citadel, with the answering one from the “Summer Palace of the Monctezunas.”
They were fast losing patience, beginning to fear there would be no pronunciamento after all, and no chance of plundering, when the notes of a cavalry bugle broke upon their ears.