The Democrats had got to within half a mile of the town, and the first rays of the rising sun had begun to warm the eastern heavens, when suddenly all the bells of the city were heard ringing a quick and joyful peal. Some of the Americans thought the bells were a signal of alarm, and that their tone showed confidence on the part of the enemy, as if welcoming an attack. But the ringing was really to celebrate a triumph Martinez had over the Democrats at Pueblo Nuevo, two days previously. The bells were yet pealing, when the advanced guard of the Falange reached the first huts on the outskirts of the town. Then the Americans seeing, from the startled air of the people in the suburbs, that the Legitimists were completely taken by surprise, threw off their coats and dropped their blankets, rushing forward with a shout to gain the first barricades. The gaunt form of Hornsby in the van served as a sort of guide for those behind. On they pressed, and the first shots of the enemy were from the old convent of San Francisco; but these were few and straggling, and scarcely checked for a moment the impetuous march of the Falange. A shout from the advance announces that the Plaza is won, and the last few shots were fired from the gallery of the government house as Walker entered the square. Then the streets leading from the Plaza were searched in vain for the flying enemy. In fact, the Legitimist force in the town had been trifling, and the encounter between it and the Democrats could scarcely be dignified with the name of an action. Two or three of the Legitimists were killed, and a drummer-boy under Valle was the whole loss of the Democrats. As Norris, the drummer of the Falange afterward said, when asking to be excused from serving as drum-major, “In every battle scene you see a drummer-boy lying dead by the side of his drum.”