_MONTORO DE DIEGO TURNS HANGMAN._
A good deal within the hour Pedro de Alvarado stepped into Montoro's
tent, and with somewhat scant ceremony; for, Spaniard though he was, he
felt ceremony and strict punctuality also somewhat out of the reckoning
where a man's life was concerned.
Besides, he had just seen Morla sitting bound upon the ground between
two guardians, and with the rope beside him, with which he was to be
hung so soon as the priest should have been fetched back to the camp to
confess him. And the poor wretch had appealed to his superior with a
mixture of pitifulness and indignation.
"Ah, Captain! save me from this dismal fate. You should, in very
justice you should, for you contented not yourself with stealing skin
and bone done up in feathers. And yet you came off with no punishment
at all."
"Thou impudent fellow!" exclaimed Alvarado. "Callest thou a furious
rebuke before the whole force, and accompanied with threats too,
nothing? Thinkest thou that thy beggarly life is worth a Spanish
noble's honour?"
Morla was in no great haste to answer this peremptory question; but at
last he grumbled out--
"If one has not the honour, I suppose, then, one may at least value the
life; and I call it hard lines to lose all one's got."
A grim laugh was the reply to this undeniable statement.
"Well, well, fellow, maybe there I can agree with thee. And yet more;
know that I have already given thee more of my thoughts than thou
shouldst venture to expect."
The man's eyes brightened.
"Ah! and I am not to be hung after all, thou wouldst say, my Captain?"
"After all, I would say that thou art to be hung," was the curt retort,
and with it Pedro de Alvarado turned short round, and went his way. But
before he did so he had managed to cast a warning, significant glance
at the condemned culprit, which gave the poor fellow comfort in spite
of the sinister words, and the brutal laugh of his guardians.
The Captain betook himself, as has been said, at once to Montoro's
tent, and was greeted instantly with a ready alacrity that proved time
and reflection had not cooled his promise.
"Now, Captain, what wouldst thou?"
Don Pedro had marched in quickly enough, but his tongue seemed
unwilling to second the agility of his feet. He paused so long ere
speaking, that Montoro said at last, between jest and earnest--
"Perhaps, Captain, your suggestion is that I should substitute my own
neck for that of the poor culprit, Morla?"
"And if it were," was the reply, "I verily believe that you would
accept it. At any rate, you would accept it as easily as that which I
am about to make; that--that--"
"Well!" rather impatiently.
Alvarado made a dash at it.
"I want you to beg the post of hangman."
Montoro started back with a cry of horror. It was bad enough to him to
kill men in fair fight, but to destroy a fellow-creature in cold blood
was a thing too horrible to be thought of. He felt stunned, and it was
not until his companion had broken into a short, smothered laugh that
he could recall his scattered senses.
"Why, Diego," muttered Don Pedro, "you could not look more
horror-struck if I had asked you to murder the man, instead of only--"
"Don't, don't," gasped Montoro. "To me, hanging the man would be like
murdering him."
"Doubtless. But I intend not that you should do either, if you please."
Montoro began to breathe more freely, but also to look somewhat angry.
"Don Pedro, this is no time for speaking in riddles, to my thinking."
"Nor to mine either," replied the Captain, with a half-smile. "But to
tell you the truth, I am a trifle afraid of you, friend Diego, and I
well know that my present proposition must be somewhat unpalatable. But
mark you, I only wish that you should request the post of hangman on
the present occasion, and not that you should fulfil the duties of the
office, when you have it, to its usual end."
"Oh--h--h!" ejaculated Montoro now, with a new light of comprehension
beginning to dawn on his face. "But yet," he added, after a moment's
pause, "although I am willing enough to plead for mercy in this
instance, I fear greatly that I shall sue in vain. Cortes is so
resolved on making an example of some one."
"I know that. That is why I only ask you to be appointed executioner,
and not to plead for pardon. The wretches to whom the office is now
given have a personal spite against their comrade, and will take good
care that the fatal decree be carried out to the very letter--that he
be hanged by the neck until he be dead. Now I propose that you hang
him."
"Hold, hold," exclaimed Montoro once more, with a half-smile upon his
face, it is true, but a return of horrified disgust also. "You said I
was not to have any hanging to do."
"Well, well," was the answer, "not hanging till any one hung be dead,
or even choked. But surely, to save a fellow-creature's life, you will
not refuse to put a rope round his neck, will you?"
"Umph!" muttered Montoro, dismally. He did not at all like the
alternative. "I would really rather that some one should put the rope
round mine. But, by the bye, why do not you ask Cortes to let you have
this new kind of honour yourself, pray? Why am I, of all people, to
seek it?"
Alvarado lifted his dark eyebrows significantly enough.
"You know the answer, I dare swear, to your own question, Diego. To
whom but yourself would our worthy commander be likely to grant such
a favour, think you? He knows your feeling for the Indians, and may
credit your willingness to avenge them; but for the rest of us--Ah!
thou knowest."
Pedro de Alvarado was right enough. Hernan Cortes gave the desired
order to Montoro to replace the executioners already appointed, and at
the same time he declared very positively that he would have given it
to no one else. Secretly, he was intensely astonished and disgusted
with his friend for having asked the favour.
"Every man with a hobby is sure to ride it to death," he muttered
angrily to Montejo. "Morla must hang, to win us the trust and good-will
of the Indians for the present, that our progress towards Mexico be not
further hindered or harassed. But to think of a Spaniard longing to
kill a Spaniard, for the sake of a parcel of redskins! Faugh! Our Don
Diego hath fallen a hundred-fold in our estimation."
That same poor Don Diego felt, foolishly enough, as if he had fallen a
hundred-fold in his own estimation when he actually stood beside the
condemned culprit, Morla, with the hangman's rope in his hand.
The order obtained, Alvarado had lost no time in hurrying his friend
with him to the proposed scene of execution. They were joined on their
way by Juan de Cabrera, carrying an empty tub, at sight of which
Montoro actually shuddered, to the evident amusement of his companions,
who burst into shouts of laughter. He remonstrated impatiently.
"How can you find amusement in what perchance may turn out a tragedy?"
"Tragedy, indeed," exclaimed Cabrera, laughing as heartily as ever.
"That element is passed, my well-beloved but too long-faced friend. The
comedy is to be played now."
"And thy tub yonder represents stage properties," laughed Alvarado.
"The carrying of it becomes thee as would the carrying of a Damascus
blade."
"Beware that I break not thy head with it, by way of proving it hath
use as well as ornament to boast," was the retort of the light-hearted
knight, who ever seemed ready to dance, whether to fun or fighting.
The surly fellows who were guarding the soldier, Morla, were very
loth to give up their trust, and it was not until they had received a
particularly sharp hint from Don Pedro that their own past, present,
and future delinquencies should be visited with the heaviest possible
punishments if they did not preserve themselves from his displeasure,
that they at length obeyed his commands to betake themselves out of
sight and hearing.
"And now, sirrah," said Cabrera, jauntily, "may it please thee to stand
up and be hung; for, as doubtless thou canst perceive, the noble Don
Montoro de Diego is in haste to be quit of that rough rope, and of his
task."
The man thus adjured began to rise from the ground, but still somewhat
slowly, and with a dubious countenance. His reluctance grew greater
when he saw it reflected on the amateur hangman's face.
"But, my good Señors," he began anxiously, "I thought that surely now
you signified I should be released?"
"Yes," said Montoro, with equal anxiety; "verily I think that this play
hath continued long enough; too long for yon fellow's apprehensions and
my distress. What is to be the end?"
"Why, his hanging," replied Cabrera, quickly. "To that thou art pledged
to the commander; therefore proceed to thy task, and for the sake of
that very tender conscience of thine ask no further questions. Ten
minutes hence thou wilt have light enough to see our plot by. It is
very simple."
So saying, he placed his tub on the ground beneath the gallows, and
with a solemn shake of the head at the prisoner, desired him to kneel
upon it, and to pray that all things might go well with him. To this
piece of advice poor Morla paid the greatest heed, as he felt Montoro's
trembling fingers adjusting that horrible rope about his neck.
"Ah, Señor, not too tight," he muttered, even yet thinking it more
than probable that his noble countrymen might really hang him, in
inadvertence, if not in sport.
But they had no such intention. The next minute he felt the tub very
slowly and gently drawn from beneath him; his feet naturally went
downwards to the ground, which they managed just to touch by the toes,
and there he stood, not comfortably certainly, but still not dead--most
decidedly not.
"And there thou art to stay, upon the gallows--"
"Or under it," interrupted Cabrera.
"'Upon' was the commander's word," was the sedate answer. "It best
becomes us to keep to that. There thou art to stay upon the gallows
for the space of half-an-hour, and then be cut down, and thy body cast
outside the camp. But hearken, thou Morla; if I find thy body not
again within the camp, ten minutes later, I will find thee a further
punishment as a deserter. Don Juan de Cabrera hath consented to hide
thee in his tent awhile."
At the expiration of a rather short half-hour, a very tired, toe-aching
Morla was accordingly cut down, and Montoro returned to his tent,
thankful enough that his good repute had enabled him to save a
fellow-Spaniard's life, but also not a little relieved that the
unpleasant farce was over, and his new office of hangman come to an end
with sunset.