‘A pretty thing—a pretty thing I that I am thus crossed and insulted in my own court; that my warnings and reproofs are set at naught, and I am threatened on the very judgment-seat! Caramba! Let those who do so look to it. Who dare come between me and—’
‘And your prey, kite!’ said Don José, with the old bitter sneer gleaming on his face.
The alcaide foamed at the mouth, and bellowed rather than spoke.
‘The pirate—the pirate shall die the death! I say it! Here prevail no traitors’ counsels!’
‘Whoso says I am a traitor,’ cried Don José, ‘lies in his foul throat, and I will push the words back into his lungs with my sword!’ So saying, he advanced upon the judge.
‘Guards—guards!’ screamed out the clerk. ‘Turn out the guards! Where are the soldiers? Treason! The life of the alcaide is in danger!’
At the same time, the mob in the court, who had hitherto remained passive, burst into loud execrations, and clenched fists and gleaming knives were shaken at Don José. The latter drew himself up with that majestic motion and gesture, which your high-bred Spaniard knows how to assume, and curling his thin lip, and flashing his black eyes upon the roaring crowd, stood, unmoved as a stone statue in the aisle of a minster.
Meantime, the alcaide entirely threw off all appearance of a judge’s impartiality.
‘Townsmen!’ he shouted, ‘are we to be insulted, spit on, and because, forsooth, our contemner is a noble of Castile?—are we to cower as meek as flogged hounds before his highness? I say the fellow before us is a pirate. He is, at all events, an Englishman, which means the same thing. He is a heretic and a buccaneer-spy, and he shall strap for it. Holy Mother! shall we turn loose the rogue to prey upon our vitals? I hate him—I hate his race! they have spoiled great ventures of precious merchandise; they have captured ships I equipped; they have harried treasures I amassed; they pillage and harass our lawful trade; they intrude themselves on our coasts, and in our seas; they have burnt Panama; they have taken Nicaragua; they have taken Santa Maria; they have taken Gibraltar in Venezuela; they have raged and thirsted for our blood; they are the enemies of our faith, and of our nation; and so may my right hand wither, may my right arm wither from socket to wrist, but those of the murthering pirates who come within my grasp, shall go thieving no more! Said I well, townsmen—said I well?’
This furious tirade was answered by a great shout from the people, who crowded round me, cursing and flashing their broad-bladed knives in my face. One fellow raised his arm to strike; I saw the swell of the moving muscles, and the glitter of the poised knife, when Don José, with one bound leaped from the dais, and scattering the crowd, as a charge of horse scatters broken infantry, he dashed up the arm raised to stab, and drawing his rapier, the mob fell back from him, while he shouted in tones which rung like trumpet-notes——