It would have overtaken me soon
enough, for I was weak with fear and fasting, and my limbs were cramped
with bonds, but at that moment a cavalier whom by his dress and port
I guessed to be none other than Cortes himself, struck up de Garcia's
sword, saying:
'How now, Sarceda? Are you mad with the lust of blood that you would
take to sacrificing victims like an Indian priest? Let the poor devil
go.'
'He is no Indian, he is an English spy,' cried de Garcia, and once more
struggled to get at me.
'Decidedly our friend is mad,' said Cortes, scanning me; 'he says that
this wretched creature is an Englishman. Come, be off both of you, or
somebody else may make the same mistake,' and he waved his sword in
token to us to go, deeming that I could not understand his words; then
added angrily, as de Garcia, speechless with rage, made a new attempt to
get at me:
'No, by heaven! I will not suffer it. We are Christians and come to
save victims, not to slay them. Here, comrades, hold this fool who would
stain his soul with murder.'
Now the Spaniards clutched de Garcia by the arms, and he cursed and
raved at them, for as I have said, his rage was that of a beast rather
than of a man. But I stood bewildered, not knowing whither to fly.
Fortunate it was for me indeed that one was by who though she understood
no Spanish, yet had a quicker wit.
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