HE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA.

Part VI.

A la lid, nacionales valientes!
Al combate a la gloria volad!
Guerra y muerte a tiranos y esclavos,
Guerra y despues habra paz!

_Himno de Valladolid._

It still wanted an hour of daybreak, on the 16th day of July 1835, when
the stillness, that during the previous four or five hours had reigned
undisturbed in the quiet streets of Artajona, was broken by the clang of
the _diana_. But a few notes of the call had issued from the brazen
throats of bugle and trumpet, when a notable change took place in the
appearance of the town. Lights, of which previously only a solitary one
had here and there proceeded from the window of a guard-room, or of some
early-rising orderly-sergeant, now glimmered in every casement; the
streets were still empty, save of the trumpeters, who stood at the
corners, puffing manfully at their instruments; but on all sides was
audible a hum like that of a gigantic bee-hive, mingled with a slight
clashing of arms, and with the neighing of numerous horses, who, as well
as their masters, had heard and recognized the well-known sounds. Two or
three minutes elapsed, and then doors were thrown open, and the deserted
streets began to assume a more lively appearance. Non-commissioned
officers, their squad-rolls in their hands, took their station in front
of the houses where their men were billeted; in the stables, dragoons
lighted greasy iron lamps, and, suspending them against the wall,
commenced cleaning and saddling their horses; the shutters of the
various wine-houses were taken down, and drowsy, nightcapped
_taberneros_ busied themselves in distributing to innumerable applicants
the tiny glassful of _anisado_, which, during the whole twenty-four
hours, is generally the sole spirituous indulgence permitted himself by
the sober Spanish soldier. A few more minutes passed; the _reveille_ had
ceased to sound, and on the principal square of the town a strong
military band played, with exquisite skill and unison, the beautiful and
warlike air of the hymn of Valladolid.

"A la lid, nacionales valientes!
Al combate, a la gloria volad!"

"To the strife, brave nationals; to the strife, and to glory!" sang many
a soldier, the martial words of the song recalled to his memory by the
soul-stirring melody, as, buckling on sabre or shouldering musket, he
hurried to the appointed parade. The houses and stables were now fast
emptying, and the streets full. The mono