nning and at the same time so severe, that it completely subjugated
the spirit of the student with a sort of invincible charm, and hindered
him from making any attempt to contradict the engagement which was thus
made in his name. On the contrary, he rather confirmed it with an
involuntary gesture, which he could not restrain himself from making.

The man who had thus intervened was he whom historians delight to call
_the grand, the terrible, the invincible Hermenegildo Galeana_--the
Murat of the Mexican revolution; he who afterwards, in more than a
hundred actions, was seen to place his lance in rest, and dash into the
thickest of the enemy's lines, like a god of battles, vociferating his
favourite war-cry, _Aqui esta Galeana_! (Here comes Galeana!) A
redoubtable enemy--a friend tender and devoted--such was Don
Hermenegildo Galeana.

More fortunate than Murat, Galeana met his death on the battle-field, in
the midst of hosts slain by his own hand. Still more fortunate than the
French warrior, he died faithful to the principles as well as to the inn
to whom he had consecrated his life.

"Well--however the thing may be," said Valdovinos, pursuing the subject
of Don Cornelio's dubious patriotism, "I know this, that General Calleja
has set a price upon this young man's head as well as on our own."

"Come, _Alferez_ Don Cornelio!" added Galeana, "get ready to start in
the morning; and show yourself worthy of the commission that has been
bestowed upon you. You will soon find opportunity, I promise you."

At that moment the report of a cannon reverberated under the window, to
the astonishment of Morelos himself: who had not yet been made aware
that he had a piece of artillery under his orders.

"Senor General," said Galeana, explaining the presence of the gun, "that
cannon is part of the patrimonial inheritance of our family. When a
Galeana is born or one dies, it serves to signalise our joy or our
sorrow. To-day we consecrate it to the service of the whole Mexican
family. It is yours, as our swords and lives are yours."

As Galeana finished speaking, he advanced towards the window; and in
that formidable voice which often struck terror into the hearts of the
Spaniards, he cried out--"_Viva el General Morelos_!"

Responsive _vivas_ rose up from the court below, mingled with the
clanking of sabres, as they leaped forth from their scabbards, and the
crashing jar of fusils dashed heavily against the pavement; while