Hatuey, the Cacique of Hispaniola—Hatuey, the noble, untutored patriot—had been taken prisoner whilst fighting his last battles for freedom and his country, and Hatuey was adjudged to suffer as a rebel! He was to be made an example of, so the Governor declared—to be the scarecrow to frighten all others of his race and the surrounding nations from daring to perform one of the most sacred duties of mankind. The Spaniards acknowledged it to be so for themselves; but then—Hatuey was a heathen, and had refused to be forced into Christianity at the point of the sword.
Las Casas, Montoro, and their followers were close to the town when Montoro de Diego was suddenly almost thrown to the ground by an Indian woman, who flung herself before him with a wild, heart-rending cry, and clasped his knees convulsively.
Already Diego had become known on the island as a friend of the friendless, an eager helper of the helpless, and this poor, despairing creature had been on the look-out for him, during the past hours of that day, with a gnawing agony of longing that had made the hours seem like weeks. He was her last hope, and now, catching sight of him, she flew forward with a wildness of look and manner that made those around believe her to be mad.
And in truth the favourite wife of Hatuey was well-nigh frantic with dread and horror at the threatened fate of the one she loved.
Las Casas and the whole of the small band of warriors drew around as she poured forth her lamentable tale, with groans and sighs and streaming tears, and the countenances of the two leaders glowed with deepening indignation as they listened. At length Montoro lifted himself up with flashing eyes, and turning to his friend exclaimed passionately—
"It seems that we Spaniards are bent on accumulating sins upon our heads, until the measure of Heaven's wrath shall be attained. Give me your permission that I leave you now on the instant, and hasten to avert at any rate this threatened iniquity."
"If it be possible, with the grace of God," murmured Las Casas; but Montoro had hastened away with the Indian woman before the words were uttered, and was already on his road to the Governor's house. The others followed.
"What! returned, my very esteemed friend Diego?" exclaimed the laughing voice of Juan de Cabrera from the verandah of the Governor's residence as the other approached.
Montoro sprang forward more quickly.
"Well met, Cabrera," he cried, in tones so stern that their ordinary melody was lost; "well met, for thou canst tell me where I may most wisely seek the Governor."