University of Virginia Library

30. CHAPTER XXX.

Thousands of infuriated and exulting savages had,
in the meanwhile, landed from their canoes at the
second ditch, raised their cries of triumph over the
abandoned artillery, and struck, with a rage not to be
appeased by death, the Christian corses which lay
so thick among them. But, while living invaders

remained, either in the front or rear, they tarried not
long, to waste their malice on the dead.

The cavalier Don Amador, when he made the marvellous
discovery, detailed in a preceding chapter,
and perceived that the fair and lamented being of his
dreams, heaven had permitted so long to walk by his
side, in this new and strange world,—revealing her
to his eyes only at the moment when destined to be
snatched from them for ever,—felt, at that instant of
discovery as if all the ties which bound him to existence,
were at once dissevered. Rage at his blindness,
furious compunctions of remorse for his negligence,
and an agony of grief at the supposed dreadful fate of
the maiden, were mingled with a sort of wild indignation
against the providence which, by veiling his eyes,
and shutting his ears to the suggestions of his heart,
(for, surely, from the moment he looked upon the page,
his affections were given him,) had robbed him of his
mistress. It was not, therefore, wonderful, that such
a conflict of mind, acting upon a body weakened by
previous wounds and sickness, and exhausted by
present exertions, should have thrown him across the
body of Lazaro, himself, to all appearance, full as
lifeless. And thus he lay, for half an hour, insensible
to the battle, which was now drawing nigh to the
ditch, and now leaving it to its charnel solitude.

He was recalled to life, by feeling some one tug forcibly
at the sacred jewel, which he retained throughout
his lethargy, with the same instinct which had
preserved it in the death-grasp of the henchman.
More lucky than Lazaro, yet scarce more happy,
this violence woke up the sleeping energies of life;
and he raised his head, though only to stare about
him with a bewildered look of unconsciousness.

“God be thanked!” exclaimed a Christian voice
in his ear, as a friendly hand seized him by the
shoulder; “lead or gold, glass or precious stone,
never was cross of Christ picked up on the wayside,
but good fortune followed after it! What ho, señor!
up and away! The things that I spoke of, have come

to pass. Kalidon-Sadabath dances in the Crystal;
he loves the smell of blood!—Up! arise and away,
for thine hour is not come.”

The cavalier arose, and stared at the friendly magician;
which Botello seeing, and supposing he was
now fully restored to his wits, this lunatic of another
sort seized him by the arm, and, dragging him towards
the water, said,—

“Fear not; if thou hast not the skill of a crocodile,
know that I can bear thee across the channel; and
that the more easily that it is already choked with
corses, and no Mexicans nigh to oppose us.”

The neophyte broke from his companion, and with
wild cries of Leila! Leila! ran towards the cannon.

“God save thee! art thou mad? Dost thou call
upon woman or devil? This is no place for girls;
and never heard I of imp called Leila.”

“Thou knowest not my wretchedness, Botello,”
said Don Amador. “Let me look again, if her body
be not here.—Hah!” he cried, struck with a sudden
thought, and turning quickly to the conjurer. “Thou
art a magician, and knowest of the dead as well as
the living. I have decried thine art, but now I acknowledge
thy wisdom. Behold this rubied cross—
oh heaven! that I should hold it in my hand, and
know, that, but a moment since, it was on the neck
of Leila! Look, enchanter; this jewel came from
the neck of a woman, whom but now I left standing
on this brink. Call her from the dead, if she have
perished; or show me what path she hath trodden, if
she be living; and I will reward thee, though I give
thee the half of my patrimony.—A woman, I tell
thee! Wilt thou not believe me? Half my estate, but
to look upon her!”

It was manifest, even to the unhappy novice himself,
that Botello regarded him as a madman. But
nevertheless he replied earnestly, “Here is no place
for conjurations: there be devils enough about us
already. Tarry not here; for this will neither benefit
thee, nor her of whom thou speakest. Spring into

the ditch,—rush with me to the main; and, then,
what thou seekest, thou shalt know. Courage, courage!
Dost thou not see yonder star, that creeps up
by the dim moon, under the rack, dimmer even than
the dim moon? Under that star, came I into earth;
and while it shineth in that conjunction, the dart of a
savage cannot wound me,—no, not though it strike
me upon the naked brow!—Hark! dost thou not
hear? The fragments of the rear-guard are approaching.
Let us swim this abyss before they reach
us, lest we be entangled among them. Hesitate not:
we will go together, for I see thou art worn and
feeble; and I remember that thou gavest me succour
in the streets of Mexico.”

The neophyte had yielded, with a sort of captive-like
and despairing submission, to the will of Botello;
and was descending with him moodily to the water,
when suddenly the latter paused, listening to a Christian
shout in the distance, as of one approaching them
from the shore.

“Hark! it is repeated!—Viva! They come from
the main; they have beaten the cubs of darkness—
Viva! viva! Santiago, and quick, valiant friends!”

The joyous shouts of Botello were re-echoed,
though only by a single voice. Yet this was evidently
approaching, and with great rapidity.

During the whole time of the resuscitation of Don
Amador, and of his dialogue with the enchanter, the
causeway in the neighbourhood of the ditch had been
free from foes, but only because it was free from
Christians; and the lake in the vicinity was equally
solitary. But now as they stood listening to the
shouts, the two companions could perceive the lake,
some distance in front, on both sides of the dike, boiling
up in foam under canoes impelled towards them
with extraordinary violence, seemingly upon the
flank of the party from which proceeded the cry.
But whatever was the speed of the canoes, it seemed
to be unequal to that of the Christian; whose shouts,

wild and loud, and now almost incessantly repeated,
grew shriller and nearer every moment.

“On, valiant friends! on!—heed not the pagans;
on!” shouted Botello, as the canoes cut the water
within an hundred paces of the ditch. “Thanks be
to God! I see them! Hah! good! and here—Hark to
his voice! how cheery!—here comes the valorous
De Morla!”

As he spoke, the figure of De Morla, outstripping
the wind, was seen running towards the ditch, while
some of the arrows shot after him by the pursuers,
and passing him, fell even at the feet of the expectant
pair.

The sight of his friend kindled the ardour of Don
Amador. He shouted aloud,

“On, valiant brother!—It is I! thy sworn friend of
Cuenza!”

To this speech, De Morla answered with a yell,
that chilled the heart of his townsman; and running
without a moment's hesitation, and without slackening
his speed, to the end of the broken beam, where it
overhung the middle of the sluice, he sprang from it,
as if assisted by its elasticity, to so great a height
into the air, that, it was plain, he would clear the
chasm in the bound. As he leaped, he waved his
sword, and uttered a scream; a cloud of arrows at
the same time whistled through the atmosphere; and
when he reached the ground, twenty of these deadly
missiles were sticking in his body.

The neophyte raised up his head; one arrow was
in his brain:—it snapped off, as the head rolled on
Amador's arm. A thrill and a gasp were the last
and only manifestations of suffering. The next instant,
the body of De Morla rolled down the shelving
plane of the ditch, and sunk, with a few bubbles,
among a hundred of his countrymen, already
sepulchred therein.