What a change there was! The sound of the horn had roused the Mexicans to a frenzy, for it was a well-known signal, and signified some special danger threatening their king, and the people of this city, one and all, would gladly have died on his behalf. But on this particular day it meant more. It meant that a well-thought-out plan was to be accomplished. That this retreat, so carefully managed, was, after all, but a part of the plan, and that now that its purpose was accomplished, and the enemy lured into the city, the time had come to turn upon them. Never before had the Spaniards heard such demoniacal shouts, such whistling, and such terrible calls. The air was filled with them, while from every side swarmed Mexicans, who rushed in upon the swords, eager to die, eager to give their lives if only they could strike one blow for king and city. But their rush was organized. A leader sprang before each party. Every street had its force and its commander, while in the very centre the gigantic figure of the white cacique of Roger the Bold led the lines of fighters, hurled himself with resistless valour into the ranks of the enemy, and bore them back alone. No wonder that the Mexicans went mad, that the Spaniards quailed, and rushed back towards their camp, and that the fatal gap, which had not been filled by one of the parties, proved a death-trap to the men. Even Cortes was well-nigh taken, while huge numbers of allies and Spaniards were killed. Indeed, quite sixty of the invaders fell captive or died--a serious loss to Cortes.