_ESCALANTE'S FATE DECIDES IT._
"I cannot help it, Diego. It is the force of circumstances. Either we
must be the aggressors or the victims. And how, thinkest thou, I could
then answer it to myself, were I to see these men, who have with so
full a trust followed me, butchered before mine eyes?"
Hernando Cortes was striding up and down the enormous apartment of the
palace appointed him for a residence by Montezuma. His whole bearing,
his face, his voice, betokened excessive agitation. He had only one
companion with him at that hour, Montoro de Diego, and Montoro also
looked very sorely troubled.
"We have received nought at the hands of this heathen monarch,"
he murmured, in tones of heartfelt grief; "nought but the noblest
generosity, the most chivalrous respect."
"That is true," was the stern reply. "And we are going to return it
with--with--"
"The basest treachery and black ingratitude."
There was silence in the apartment, but for those tramping feet, and
the somewhat heavy breathing of the men. At last Cortes turned aside,
and came to where his friend sat with clasped hands and bowed head,
pondering over the inscrutable ways of Providence. He stood before him,
looking down upon him with an expression of impatient sorrow.
"Toro, thou and I have been friends for many a stirring year now. We
have never yet had cause to doubt each other's truth. Whatever I do in
these coming days, believe, or strive to believe, that I act--I declare
it by the holy faith itself--according to what I feel to be the loudest
calls of duty."
Montoro grasped the other's hand for a moment. He did believe the
assurance, although, to his more tender conscience and more enlightened
mind, it seemed extraordinary that a glaring wrong could assume the
garb of duty.
As the friends thus stood together the gold-embroidered,
brilliantly-dyed cotton hangings before the entrance of the room were
hastily thrust aside, and a young Spanish knight entered, and advanced
impetuously towards the Captain-General. He paused in some confusion
when he had approached near enough to see the two grave faces.
"Well, Velasquez," said his superior, with an accent of friendly
encouragement, "methinks thy countenance betokens a whole budget of
news. What is its nature? Good or evil? Fear not to speak out. I hold
myself ever prepared in spirit to accept either."
Thus encouraged, the young soldier of fortune came a step or two
nearer, as he replied with suppressed eagerness--
"It is not news, to be so called, that I bring you, Captain. I come
rather as a messenger, I would say."
"Ah!" ejaculated Cortes, with some surprise. "A messenger! And from
whom?"
"Well," said Velasquez, more slowly, "I believe that I might almost say
with truth that I bear a message to you from the whole of our force
now gathered in this island city. We would know, Captain, with your
good pleasure, what is the next step that you propose to take for the
furtherance of the objects of this present expedition--the spread of
the most holy Catholic faith, and the glory of the Spanish kingdom."
"Methinks," said Cortes, with some tone of coldness and
hauteur,--"methinks, friend, that we have already not only taken
many steps in pursuit of those two worthy objects, but that we have
likewise, in some large measure, gained them. What wouldst thou
more--thou and those for whom thou claimest to be the messenger?"
The young Velasquez de Leon changed colour somewhat at this address.
The buoyant hope of success had made Hernando Cortes even more than
usually frank and friendly, the past few days, with his officers. But
none knew better than he how to suddenly surround himself with a chill,
impassable barrier when he chose.
There was an uncomfortable pause. Cortes broke it.
"Well, Leon," he said, with a short laugh, "say on, man. Methinks thou
art but a sorry ambassador. Wilt thou find a readier tongue when I
send thee to Montezuma to invite him hither?"
The young knight sprang forward, his colour still further heightened,
truly, but with delight now instead of uneasiness.
"Order me on that service, my Captain, this very hour, and if my tongue
prove not ready enough, my sword shall make amends."
Cortes turned with a meaning look to Montoro ere he answered, more
cordially--
"I do not doubt you; that is to say, if I did not add my hand to thine
on its hilt. It is just that over-readiness of my followers to use
their swords that ofttimes ties me to inaction. If I took thee with me
to yon red-skinned monarch's palace, couldst thou possibly abide by the
policy of patience?"
"Put him in my charge, Captain," came a laughing shout from the end of
the apartment, and the next moment Don Juan de Cabrera had joined the
trio.
"Your charge indeed!" said Cortes, with a shrug of the shoulders. "A
monkey tied to a cockatoo!"
"Ah," was the calm retort, "my hair is rather rough, for I broke my
comb awhile since on the dog Ciudad's back. But yet, worthy Captain,
thy natural history is somewhat astray, as I have remarked before, or I
am ignorant if cockatoos are ornamented with black crests."
"I wonder whether thou wouldst still laugh if thou wast beaten black,"
muttered Velasquez, irritably.
"Perhaps," said the careless-hearted cavalier, "if thou wast standing
by, looking solemn enough to tempt me. Dost ever laugh thyself, my Don
Velasquez?"
"Not when life and honour lie trembling in the balance," said the young
knight, indignantly. And, forgetful for the instant of the leader's
presence, he continued--"For you, Don Juan, you seem not to remember
that we are here pent up like a stack of wood, ready for the burning
when our enemies choose to desire light for their temple's sacrifices."
Cortes bent his face forward swiftly towards the speaker.
"Say then, Leon, do you counsel retreat over yonder bridges while yet
there is time? Is that what thou camest to--"
But the commander could not finish his sentence. The Spaniard's
deference and decorum were neither of them sufficient to restrain him
at such an imputation.
"Retreat!" he exclaimed. "I have never yet been of the number of those
who have counselled that. Ere I would join in retreat I would of myself
yield me into these heathen butchers' hands, to have my heart plucked
out as an offering to their gods."
"But yet, if we stay," was the quiet answer,--"bethink you, Velasquez,
if we stay, that may still possibly be thy fate, and that of many of
us."
"Not if we make a bold fight for it at once," said Cabrera, grown
almost as serious as if Leon's rebuke were weighing on his mind.
But, as a fact, he did feel grave enough at their present insecure
situation, and, brave as he was, he had a shuddering horror at the
thought of becoming one of those dreadful sacrifices.
"Any spark may kindle the fury against us of these savages," muttered
Velasquez, "and already our easy sloth is nourishing their contempt."
A return of the former haughty look was quickly visible on the face
of Cortes at these words; but ere he could reply to them a noise and
tumult without startled all four occupants of the room, and they
hastily issued forth to learn the cause.
Montoro was the first to reach the threshold of the palace, and with a
low, terrible cry he fell back upon his comrades.
"What is it?" gasped Cortes; and, pushing to the front, he received a
ghastly answer to his query.
Spiked upon Indian lances, and held aloft by Indian hands, was an
immense human head, crowned with heavy dark locks matted and stiffened
with gore. A crowd of Indians, warriors and women, trooped along behind
it, rending the air with their yells of triumph.
For the space of ten seconds it might be that the bronzed cheek of
Cortes blanched; then he made a dash forward, caught one of the yelling
youths, and dragging him back with him to the doorway, questioned him
rapidly.
"Whose was that head yonder? Was it the head of an enemy of the
Mexicans? a Tlascalan, or whose?"
The Indian boy cringed and trembled in that tightening grip.
"It is not the head of one of the white men here with the great white
chief."
"It is the head of poor Morla, whom we left behind at Vera Cruz as
one of Escalante's garrison," said Montoro sadly. "I should know it
anywhere, and under any circumstances."
"Ay, truly," added Alvarado, in confirmation; "it is doubtless his. I
did but save the poor fellow from hanging to leave him to a fate still
worse. But what of the rest of the garrison? How comes he to have
suffered? What is the meaning of this dismal matter? Was he sent out by
Escalante as a messenger?"
All these questions, asked as they were by the lips of Alvarado, were
indeed asked by the entire party in their thoughts. Montoro, resolved
to know the worst at once, hurriedly obtained permission from Cortes,
and, regardless of personal risk, he made his way, with his faithful
interpreter, to the strangers, who were still bearing on high their
ghastly trophy.
It was with no good news that he returned soon after to his companions
in arms. Their saddest fears were realized. The noble-hearted, upright
young officer, the beloved of all ranks of his companions, had met an
early death with seven or eight of the garrison of Vera Cruz, in a
pitched battle with a Mexican general.
"Is that the boasted discipline of this great empire," exclaimed Cortes
indignantly, "that we should be cherished visitors of its Emperor, and
meanwhile our comrades should be attacked and slain by his officers?
What say you now, Montoro? Do you still place implicit trust in these
base Indians?"
There was a moment's pause ere Montoro answered gravely--
"Base, I cannot call them, in that they fight for their lands and
liberty; but I confess that I do feel now, strongly almost as yourself,
that either we must re--"
"Retreat! never!" exclaimed Velasquez de Leon fiercely, interrupting
the speaker. "What is thy other alternative, Don Diego, for the first
is nought?"
"Ay, the other?" asked Cortes, with some extra touch of anxiety, to
which Montoro's eyes replied with a grave, sad smile, as his lips
answered--
"The other alternative then, I would say, that is forced upon us for
the common safety, is, that some step be taken without delay to make
our present position more secure."
Cortes grasped his friend's fingers tight as he muttered in a voice
hoarse with emotion--
"Toro, I thank thee for those words. Thou hast strengthened my hands.
Thy stern disapprobation of my intent lay too hardly on me. Now I can
go forward."
"But meantime," muttered young Juan de Cabrera, with something of a
gulp,--"meantime, poor old Escalante hath gone forward to that land
whence none return."
Montoro laid his hand for one moment on the younger man's arm, as he
murmured earnestly--
"Only free from care and toil a little sooner, Juan. We shall join him.
Methinks rest must be very grateful after labour."