The pompous man turned purple. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded. "I don't give a damn who you are," replied Bovee, still quietly. "I am Major-General Volney E. Howard!" "You cannot enter here," repeated Bovee, and this time he said it in a tone of voice that sent the major-general scurrying away. After a short interval another man dashed up very much in a hurry. Mistaking Bovee and Barry for sentinels, he cried as he ran up: "I am a lieutenant in Calhoun Bennett's company, and I have been sent here to--" "I am a member of the Committee of Vigilance," interrupted Barry, "and you cannot enter." "What!" cried the officer, in astonishment. "Have the Vigilance Committee possession of this building?" "They have," was the reply of the dauntless two. The lieutenant rolled up his eyes and darted away faster than he had come. A few moments later, doubtless to the vast relief of the "outside garrison" of the armoury within which five or six hundred men were held close by this magnificent bluff, the great Vigilante bell boomed out: _one, two, three_, rest; then _one, two, three_, rest; and repeat. Immediately the streets were alive with men. Merchants left their customers, clerks their books, mechanics their tools. Dray-men stripped their horses of harness, abandoned their wagons where they stood, and rode away to their cavalry. Clancey Dempster's office was only four blocks from headquarters. At the first stroke of the bell he leaped from his desk, ran down the stairs, and jumped into his buggy. Yet he could drive only three of the four blocks, so dense already was the crowd. He abandoned his rig in the middle of the street and forced his way through afoot. Two days later he recovered his rig. In the building he found the companies, silently, without confusion, falling into line. "All right!" he called encouragingly. "Keep cool! Take your time about it!" "Ah, Mr. Dempster," they replied, "we've waited long! This is the clean sweep!" James Olney was lying in bed with a badly sprained ankle when the alarm bell began to toll. He commandeered one boot from a fellow-boarder with extremely large feet, and hobbled to the street. There he seized by force of arms the passing delivery wagon of a kerosene dealer, climbed to the seat, and lashed the astonished horse to a run. San Francisco streets ran to chuck holes and ruts in those days, and the vehicle lurched and banged with a grand rattle and scatteration of tins and measures. The terrified driver at last mustered courage to protest. "You are spilling my kerosene!" he wailed. "Damn your kerosene, sir!" bellowed the general; then relenting: "I will pay you for your kerosene!" Up to headquarters he sailed full tilt, and how he got through the crowd without committing manslaughter no one tells. There he was greeted by wild cheering, and was at once lifted bodily to the back of a white horse, the conspicuous colour of which made it an excellent rallying point.