A minute ago he was on his back on the causeway.
The fellow pulled me down and rolled behind me. Let me be I say. I am
not Sarceda, and if I were, is this a time to settle private quarrels?
I am your comrade, Bernal Diaz. Holy Mother! who are you? An Aztec who
speaks Castilian?'
'I am no Aztec,' I answered. 'I am an Englishman and I fight with the
Aztecs that I may slay him whom you name Sarceda. But with you I have no
quarrel, Bernal Diaz. Begone and escape if you can. No, I will keep the
sword with your leave.'
'Englishman, Spaniard, Aztec, or devil,' grunted the man as he drew
himself from his bed of ooze, 'you are a good fellow, and I promise you
that if I live through this, and it should ever come about that I get
YOU by the throat, I will remember the turn you did me. Farewell;' and
without more ado he rushed up the bank and plunged into a knot of his
flying countrymen, leaving his good sword in my hand. I strove to follow
him that I might find my enemy, who once more had escaped me by craft,
but my strength failed me, for de Garcia's sword had bitten deep and I
bled much. So I must sit where I was till a canoe came and bore me back
to Otomie to be nursed, and ten days went by before I could walk again.
This was my share in the victory of the noche triste. Alas! it was a
barren triumph, though more than five hundred of the Spaniards were
slain and thousands of their allies.
Pages:
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344