As soon as these signals, for such they were, had been exchanged between the leaders, the trumpet of Cortes sounded again, with a succession of short, sharp, and fierce notes, such as blast fury into men's hearts, through their ears. Instantly, and as if by enchantment, the four falconets in the brigantines were discharged, and swept hundreds of the barbarians from the causeway. Then followed the rattle of musketry, mingled with the clang of cross-bows; which din was continued, until the gunners, loading again, discharged their pieces a second time upon the enemy. And now the Tlascalan pioneers, springing up, rushed, with wild yells to the ditch, which they began to fill with frantic speed. Notwithstanding the boldness of their defiance, the Mexicans made a much less manly resistance than was expected. But they stood as long as any human beings could do, exposed between two deadly batteries, both plied with unexampled activity, and both strengthened by the addition of the native archers in the piraguas. They handled their bows and slings as they could, and they cheered one another with shouts; but it was evident that they must soon give way, and take post behind some ditch unapproachable by the brigantines. As soon as this became known, the Spanish foot-soldiers began to encourage one another, in anticipation of the charge which they were soon to be called on to make; and Bernal Diaz, losing his grave equanimity, in the prospect of adding another leaf to his chaplet of immortality, ran briskly to and fro, in virtue of his official rank, which could scarce be defined in any one title of modern military nomenclature, and cheered every soldier with whom he happened to be well acquainted. In the course of his rounds, he fell upon Gaspar, from whom he had been before separated, and whom he now seized by the hand, crying, "Now, Gaspar, my dear brother of Medina del Campo, we shall have such a rouse among the red infidels as will make posterity stare." He was then about to extend his exhortations to others, when Gaspar arrested him, turning upon him, to his great surprise, a countenance extremely pale and agitated. "Art thou sick, man?" cried the historian, "or art thou worn out with watching? A few knocks, Gaspar, will soon warm thy blood." "Bernal," said his friend, with an unnatural laugh, "wert thou ever in fear?" "In fear?" echoed Bernal Diaz. "Never, before an infidel;--never, at least, but _once_, when they had me in their hands, and I thought they were carrying me to the temple." "What were thy feelings then?" demanded Gaspar, with singular eagerness: "Was there ice in thy bosom, and lead in thy brain? Were thy lips cold and thy tongue hot? Did thy hand shake, thy teeth chatter, thy leg fail?--Faugh! what should make _me_ fear to go into battle?" "Fear! _thou_ fear?" said Bernal, anxiously. "Thou art beside thyself, never believe me else,--frenzied with over-watching."