Grace Stebbing

“ Imagination travels as the lightning, flashing from one end of the earth to the other. As Montoro stood there, in one of the flower-decked squares of the Indian town of Cempoalla, his spirit was hovering above the wide piazza of the Spanish city of Saragossa. It was the day, so imagination told him, of an Auto da Fé.
Slowly entering the square came the long procession—priests of the true holy Catholic faith who had learnt 'God is love,' incense-bearers, candle-bearers, and all the troop of satellites. ”

“ At last Cortes turned aside, and came to where his friend sat with clasped hands and bowed head, pondering over the inscrutable ways of Providence. He stood before him, looking down upon him with an expression of impatient sorrow.
"Toro, thou and I have been friends for many a stirring year now. We have never yet had cause to doubt each other's truth. Whatever I do in these coming days, believe, or strive to believe, that I act—I declare it by the holy faith itself—according to what I feel to be the loudest calls of duty."
Montoro grasped the other's hand for a moment. ”

“ The privileged old pilot put his queries sturdily, and backed them with one of those clear, searching glances that had the faculty of reading men as cleverly as shores, shoals, and quicksands. But the heart of Montoro de Diego had little to hide; the flush that burnt in the bronzed cheeks was the flush of humility, not shame, as he replied in tones so lowered as scarcely to be audible against the wind—
"The man is, I fear, no wiser, no nobler, than the boy could claim to be, but he does hold fast to his boyhood's one little bit of wisdom, in clinging to the fount of all wisdom and salvation." ”

“ It was Montoro de Diego who had killed it, and yet it was to Montoro's face that the pleading brown eyes were lifted with their last gaze of affection, and it was Montoro's hand that the dying tongue licked with the last breath.
"My poor old Don," muttered Montoro huskily, as he tenderly pressed the side quivering with the death struggle; "poor old Don."
"It's fine for thee to pity the poor brute when it owes its sufferings to thy malice," exclaimed Don Alonzo furiously, and with fingers on the hilt of his dagger, as though they itched to lay his companion beside the animal. ”

“ After all, as far as Juan de Cabrera was concerned, any excitement, even to the excitement of deadly peril, was better than peace and quietness. He rather liked the sensation of feeling as though a dozen or two pairs of those lean, small, redskin hands were stretching out from every doorway to clutch at him, and that he had a sword by his side which should win him freedom. Montoro for the time thought of nothing at all, but his purpose to rescue his native servant from the bloody altar of the horrible war-god Huitzilopotchli. ”

“ Montoro de Diego stood yet for some moments gazing with deep, solemn eyes at the Governor. Years before, his father had pleaded for a life with the Inquisitor, Arbues de Epila, and vainly, and had left a true prophecy behind him when he left. So now the son. Turning his eyes slowly from one to another of the group, and then of the wide circle, Montoro raised his hand and cried aloud—
"As that man stands there doomed most basely to a barbarous and cruel death, so may many standing here now, at no long distant date, know what it is to await a horrible death at the pitiless hand of savages." ”

“ The next moment Montoro sprang to his feet with a second cry of impulsive admiration. The stinging slash of that bamboo cane had come down upon the arm of a young Spaniard, who had stretched it out as a cover for the helpless Indian; and then, when the arm had performed its allotted task, it was quietly withdrawn, terribly cut as it must have been, and folded over its owner's chest, who as quietly turned and confronted Don Alfonzo.
"It is the command of our Sovereign, Queen Isabella," he said firmly, "that the Indians be treated with humanity, and according to law." ”

“ But Montoro de Diego had found no one at his elbow but an innocent, wide-eyed child; and Don Miguel only found a crowd of terrified, cringing priests, who with pallid faces and trembling limbs bore off the dying superior to his own apartments, where he lingered two days, blindly giving thanks to God that he had been accepted as a martyr in His cause!
"The enemy of our liberty, our honour, our security is dead," muttered Don Alonso in fierce triumph to Montoro de Diego, as he sought temporary shelter from the dangers of pursuit in his friend's palace. ”

“ Men hardened in callousness fell on their knees in silent prayer. Antonio de Alaminos stood gazing with fixed eyes at the invincible enemy. His skill and knowledge were powerless in the presence of that foe. As he stood there waiting for the end he was startled by a voice beside him so clear, so calm, that it was distinct even in the midst of that wild tumult.
"Alaminos, thinkest thou that we shall live through the storm?"
Starting, the pilot turned his gaze for a moment from the advancing column, and exclaimed:
"Montoro! boy, hast thou no fears?" ”

“ Close to the fighting, dying, struggling multitudes stood one of these wooden buildings somewhat larger than the rest. In it a number of the hospitable Indian women had been gathered, a few minutes since, cooking and preparing food for their cruel invaders. Now a panic-stricken, shrieking rabble of both sexes and all ages was dashing into it, Indians pursued by Spaniards—Indians, as Las Casas perceived at the first horror-stricken glance, with nothing but crushed fruits and flowers in their hands, or wounded infants moaning in their arms, Spaniards with blood-dropping, crimsoned swords. ”

“ Montoro and Cortes joined in a shout of laughter.
"Well, my friend," said Cortes, "thou hast well earned thy answer and received it."
For once the temper of the easy-going cavalier seemed somewhat ruffled as he growled out—
"The beggar brats in the streets of Madrid can be ready enough in their onslaughts on defenceless foes. They are as swift another way when an officer of justice shows his face."
Montoro de Diego restored his sword to its sheath, and stepped up to the angry knight with outstretched hand.
"Forgive my jest, Don Juan," he said with a smile. ”

“ The burly Sancho laughed.
"Ay, ay, neighbour, I know thee of old. A well-lined pocket thou ever holdest good recompense for a few thwacks. Would that the grand old Admiral Columbus could find comfort for ingratitude and sorrows with such ease!"
"But so he might do if he would but try," was the shrewd answer. "You see our brave Genoese hath ever been more needful for empty-handed honour and glory, than for gathering together good store of worldly spoil, to fall back upon when men should begrudge him the shadow-prizes he desired. ”

“ Thou'st said that same every time, the past weeks, that thou hast caught sight of bright blossoms, bright eyes, or a palm tree. What hast seen now of novelty?"
"Why, his new home on a moving island," said Montoro, laughing. "Have I not guessed right, Cabrera?"
"That hast thou," was the satisfied answer. "Trust thine eyes, my Toro, to see farther through a deal board than the very wood-worm itself. Thine eyes and thy voice make some amends to thy friends for thy long face and scruples." ”

“ The sounds of grief within the cabin had ceased during this short discussion, and at this instant the door opened, and a hand was laid on Montoro's shoulder, while the well-known slow, distinct voice said with grave earnestness:
"That is true, my son. The great Father fights on the side of right and justice. But He still better loves to espouse the cause of the merciful. Instead of seeking to destroy life let us rather try to save it, that with the measure we mete it may be measured to us again." ”

“ Those rays that were glowing on the walls of the dungeons, within which slept, for the last time on earth, those innocent ones who were that day to be burnt in one of the awful Autos da Fé; those rays that were glowing on the walls and windows of the palace where Arbues the Inquisitor still slumbered.
"For so He maketh His sun to shine on the evil and the good."
The morning was still young when Don Diego received two visitors. The first, Jerome Tivoli, was quickly dismissed with the curt but satisfying speech:
"A noble of Aragon ever keeps his word. The miserable treasure you crave is yours." ”

“ As for Don Juan de Cabrera, he had no inclination to give the information. To turn the subject, he said after a short pause—
"Well then, friend Diego, if thou comest not with us, what is it thou hast a mind to? Something nobler, I trust, than wood-cutting, as though thou wert born a boor in a German forest rather than a Spanish nobleman."
"I feel little inclined to boast just now of my Spanish birthright, I can tell thee," said Montoro heavily. "But to answer thy question—Ay; I have other plans on hand than my present employment. ”

“ But Montoro de Diego paid no more heed to the one interruption than to the other, as he continued with scarcely a pause—
"They are allowed by the Almighty, I know, for against His will there can be nought on earth. But perchance they are also with His will, by His law, and for the spread of the knowledge of His Gospel. What mortal shall dare to judge of this? I, at least, veil my face before the mysterious workings of the Creator; and although I feel my own call henceforth to be to quieter scenes, I judge not those who, with regard to honour and humanity, shall prosecute these wars." ”

“ De Escobar bowed, while one beside Montoro muttered with a low laugh:
"Most assuredly friend Rodrigo would believe everything favourable of a land that flowed with that best of all sweet golden honey, the real gold itself, even though all else were desert."
"And small blame to him," retorted Tristan, captain of one of the other caravels, who had just come on board to hear the news. "Señor de Escobar is much of my own way of thinking—that life united with poverty is but a poor sort of an affair, not worth the trouble of the guardianship." ”

“ To follow in your steps, Señor, I began to remind myself that the Indians' flesh had feelings like our own, but my past month in the mines has been a black lesson in horror that I would not repeat to escape the pains of purgatory. These Indians are tenfold weaker than we are, and their sufferings are tenfold more, for they have learnt nothing of manhood to sustain them. You have seen them die here in the plantations, Señor, and that has roused your pity; but in those mines it is not that some die, but that none survive. ”

“ Juan de Cabrera laughed.
"Thanks for the compliment, my friend. I would a hundred-fold rather be found guilty of too much impetuosity, than of a calm, cold-blooded calculation."
The smile died out of Montoro's face as he now exclaimed hotly—
"It is easy at all times for men to sneer at right and justice, and to clothe evil with grand words. In Spain our impetuosity has been a sword in the hand of honour; why is it here a weapon that would be disdained even by the paid tool of an assassin? ”

“ Then a far-off shout fell upon the two friends' ears, and they saw an upraised arm against the glowing background, a hand that held something—
"Is it a head?" muttered Cabrera.
But the woman once more hurried them on.
"But if he is already slain," questioned Montoro sadly, "what can we do more?"
"Perhaps he is not already sacrificed," came the anguished answer in broken Spanish. "There are many to die to-night to please the god; perhaps he still lives, and may be saved." ”

“ If Montoro for Don, and Don for himself, would engage that Don Alonzo should never feel the sharpness of that animal's teeth, his owner was only too willing that it should live. For it was quite the fashion now to use these powerful dogs out in the new world, not only as terrible aids in battle against the poor, half-defenceless Indians, but also to hunt down the miserable, wholly-defenceless slaves who sometimes dared to run away to die in peace in their native forests, instead of beneath the short-sighted, as well as brutal, taskmaster's lash. ”

“ Ye are few, and we are many; but we are slain, and our sepulchres already overflow, while ye all are still alive. We cannot fight against the gods, if such ye be, or against the gods who fight for you."
"You say well," responded Cortes, solemnly. "It is our God and St. Jago who fight for us, and through them we are as rocks to withstand the assaults of all enemies. But if you come to ask for peace, you will find us to be friends as staunch as we are resistless foes." ”