Now
we were upon the edge of the crater, and looking over I saw an awful
sight. For there, some thirty feet beneath us, the red-hot lava glowing
sullenly beneath a shifting pall of smoke, rolled and spouted like a
thing alive. Jets of steam flew upwards from it with a screaming sound,
lines of noxious vapours, many-coloured, crept and twisted on its
surface, and a hot and horrid stench poisoned the heated air. Here
indeed was such a gate as I could wish for de Garcia to pass through to
his own abode.
I looked, pointed with my sword, and laughed; he looked and shrieked
aloud, for now all his manhood had left him, so great was his terror of
what lay beyond the end. Yes, this proud and haughty Spaniard screamed
and wept and prayed for mercy; he who had done so many villanies beyond
forgiveness, prayed for mercy that he might find time to repent. I stood
and watched him, and so dreadful was his aspect that horror struck me
even through the calm of my frozen heart.
'Come, it is time to finish,' I said, and again I lifted my sword, only
to let it fall, for suddenly his brain gave way and de Garcia went mad
before my eyes!
Of all that followed I will not write. With his madness courage came
back to him, and he began to fight, but not with ME.
He seemed to perceive me no more, but nevertheless he fought, and
desperately, thrusting at the empty air.
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