University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

When Don Amador fled from the side of Calavar,
the instinct of his vengeance carried him to the spot
where it seemed most likely to be gratified. The
chief tower, as well as the two others, was invested;
but in the crowd of musketeers and crossbowmen
who stood valiantly at its door, repelling the assailants,
he not only heard the voice, but very plainly
perceived the tall figure, of his enemy, Don Panfilo.
Infuriated at the sight, he rushed forwards, and calling
out with an indiscreet vigour that drew both the

attention of that general and the thickest shots of his
companions, he quickly found himself in a situation
of great jeopardy. Though bullet and cross-bow shaft
fell harmless from his mail of proof, the thrust of some
half a score partisans aimed at his shining and exposed
breast, beat down the insufficient defence of
his buckler, and hurled him instantly to the ground.
But the voice with which he had challenged the Biscayan
had been heard by friends as well as enemies;
and as his faithful Lazaro dashed aside the most
threatening weapon, the shield of another friend was
extended over his body, and he found himself raised
by the hand of Cortes.

“I knew my valiant friend would not desert me,
this night!” cried the commander. “But risk thyself
no further. We will sack these towers, without the
loss of so invaluable a life.—What ho! yield thee,
Narvaez!” he exclaimed, with a voice heard above the
din; “yield thee up a prisoner, or thine own cannon
shall bury thee under the temple!”

“El Espíritu Santo, and on!” cried fifty eager
men, as they rushed by their leader, and drove the
followers of Narvaez into the sanctuary. They vanished;
but the pikes and muskets bristling through
the curtain, checked the audacity of the besiegers at
the door; and the voice of Sandoval was heard exclaiming
from behind, “Clear for the cannon, and
stand aside!” when suddenly a fire-brand dashed by
some unseen hand to the roof, lodged among the
palm-leaves, and in a moment the whole superstructure
was in flames.

“Spare your powder, and stand by for the rats!”
cried Lazaro, for it was he who had achieved this
cunning and well-timed exploit; “Basta! So we catch
rabbits in La Mancha!”

“An hundred crowns to the knave of the fire-brand!”
cried Cortes, exultingly;—“and three thousand
paid in gold, to him who lays the first hand on
Narvaez!—Burn, fire! smother, smoke! the night is
ours!”

“Ay! Don Panfilo! I await thee exclaimed Amador,
as the rushing descent of beams and ember
drove the besieged from the temple, and again discovered
the person of his wronger. He sprang to
wards the commander, who, however hot and foolise
of temper, now bore himself like a courageous soldier,
and struck fast and fiercely at his foes, while
shouting good cheer to his friends. But before Don
Amador could well reach him, he saw the unfortunate
man struck down, and in the act of being trans
fixed by many spears. Magnanimity—for the fury
of a brave man cannot live without opposition—too
the place of wrath; and no sooner did he hear Don
Panfilo exclaim, with a piteous voice, “Dios mio!
am slain, and mine eye is struck out forever!” than
he rushed to his assistance, and seemed resolved to
perform in his service the same act of valour with
which he had befriended Abdalla. Again, too, as he
caught an outstretched arm, did he find himself confronted
with Botello: but this time the magician's
arm was extended in the office of mercy; and as he
raised the vanquished general, and displayed his
countenance, covered with blood oozing from his
right eye, he exclaimed with a triumphal solemnity
“I saw him blindfold; and lo, his eye is blinded with
blood!—Victory! victory! A Dios, á Cristo, y al Espíritu
Santo, gracias! gloria y gracias! Amen!—Victory!”

Loud was the shout with which the besiegers responded
to the cry of the magician; and the disordered
and unavailing shots from the other towers
were lost in the uproar of voices exclaiming, “Viva
Cortes, el soldado verdadero! Viva Don Carlos, el
rey! Viva el Espíritu Santo! el Espíritu Santo santísimo!”

“Away with him!” cried Cortes. “Guard thy
prisoner, magico mio,—thou hast won the prize.—
Leave shouting, ye rebel hounds, and bring up the
cannon!—What ho, ye rogues of the towers! will ye
have quarter and friendship, or flames and cannonballs?

Point the ordnance against the flank towers!
Bury me the knaves that resist us longer.—In the
name of God and the emperor, fire!”

But this measure was unnecessary. The shout of
triumph, with which the assailants proclaimed the
capture of the Biscayan, was carried to every ear in
the adoratories; and it was at this instant that the
besieged, as much bewildered by the surprise as discomfited
by the fury of the attack, disheartened, too,
by the misadventure of their general, looked from the
loops of their strong-holds, and made that famous
blunder of converting the host of cucujos, or fire-flies,
into a multitude of match-locks; whereby their hearts
were turned to water, and their assurance of victory
humbled to the hope of capitulation.

At the very moment that Don Amador, foiled in
the gratification of his passions in one quarter, turned
to indulge them in another, and rushed with increasing
animation to that tower, around which he heard
many voices echoing the name of Salvatierra, he
beheld that worthy captain issue from the door, fling
his weapon to the earth, and stretch out his arms, as
if beseeching for quarter.

“Oh thou thing of a white liver!” cried the young
cavalier, with extreme disgust, “hast thou not the
spirit to strike me one blow? I would I had brought
thee the boy Jacinto, to inflame thy valour a little.
Thou wilt fight me a boy!”

As the neophyte thus gave vent to his indignation,
he felt his arm touched, and, turning round, he beheld
the secretary, holding a sword ornamented with
drops of blood, and otherwise looking as though he
had commenced his pupilage in a manner that would
not shame his instructor.

“Well done, Fabueno!” he exclaimed, encouragingly:
“thou lookest like a soldier already. I am
glad thine arm is so strong.”

“I struck but one blow, señor, and I believe I have
killed a man! God forgive me!” he cried, in more affright
than elation,—“I am not sure I did right; for

the very moment I struck the blow, my arm twinged
with a most horrible pang; which was perhaps a
judgment on me, for striking a man who had done
me no wrong.”

“These things must not be thought of too much,”
said Don Amador, hastily; “in battle, we must look
upon all opponents as our sworn enemies, at least so
long as they keep to their feet. But the battle is over
—I will have thy wound looked to by some better
surgeon than this crazy conjurer.”

“Señor,” said Fabueno, “I sought you out, not to
trouble you with my pains, but to recall you to the
knight, your kinsman, who is in some difficulty with
certain men, about the Moor, that may end in blows,
and never a henchman but old Marco by the good
Don Gabriel.”

Amador followed the secretary instantly, and found
his kinsman—not unprotected, however, for both
Marco and Baltasar were at his side—surrounded
by several men speaking with loud and fierce voices,
among which he quickly detected the tones of the
master of the Incarnation.

“I say, and I aver,” cried this man, as the neophyte
approached, “the two knaves, both father and
son, are my slaves, as can be proved by these runagate
men, my sailors; and no man shall have them
from me, without payment of my price.”

“Ay! we can bear witness to that,” said his companions.
“These are true pagan slaves, captured in
a fight at sea, out of a Barbary pirate;—very honest,
lawful slaves: and though we have deserted our captain,
to fight these other pagans, we will not see him
robbed of his property.”

To the great joy of Don Amador, he observed that
his kinsman was calm and collected, and though he
spoke with his usual voice of affliction, his answer
was still full of dignity and gravity.

“The Moor that is a Christian cannot be enslaved;
neither can he be bought and sold—and these claim
to be both Gazies, Christian Moriscos. I guard them

at the desire of their protector, who can assuredly
support their claims; in which event thou must cease
thy importunity, and think of them no more.”

“They are my slaves, and I will have them!” said
the master, ferociously. “I meet nothing but robbers
in these lands; but robber peasant, or robber
knight, neither shall wrong me for naught.”

“Thou base and covetous cur!” said Amador, advancing
before the sailor, “if thou usest no better
language, I will strike thy head from thy shoulders!
Dost thou remember me, sirrah? Did not the admiral
satisfy thee in this matter? and dost thou follow me
still, like a blood-hound, after the prey that is not
thine?”

“Calm thy rage, son Amador,” said the knight.
“Thou hast done a good act to-night, in saving the
lives of this poor child and his father, and thou shalt
not want my aid to preserve their freedom. But let
us not quarrel: enough Christian blood has already
been shed, and a woful sight will the sun see, when
he presently rises. Let us go before Cortes: he shall
judge between this man, and these creatures whom
thou hast rescued from destruction.”

“I ask nothing but justice and my right,” grumbled
the master, somewhat pacified by the angry
bearing of the neophyte—for this was a more commanding
argument than the mildness of Calavar.

He fell back, and without further contention,
though with a lowering look, followed the two cavaliers
and the Moriscos in search of Don Hernan.