The man bowed calmly.
"Ere the morrow's sunset, Captain, I shall have your thanks and praises for my promptness."
And Morla was right. He had gained his dark news from one of the conspirators themselves, who had turned faint-hearted at the last moment, and from this informer all further particulars were quickly drawn. The conspiracy was quashed, Morla reinstated in a post of trust, and the ringleaders punished with death, maiming, or degradation.
The executions had been accomplished, a miserable pilot lay moaning in agony and despair over his footless limbs, others were endeavouring to find some posture of ease for bodies torn and lacerated by fiercely-wielded whips, and the commander of the expedition stood upon the shore, moodily gazing out to sea. He felt those hours to be the crisis in his fate.
A gloom was over the sky, the camp, and Cortes; and a spirit of doubtfulness and disappointment seemed to be brooding in the atmosphere.
Alvarado, Gonzalo de Sandoval, Escalante, Juan de Cabrera, and Montoro, gathered into a group not far from their leader, watched him, and discussed the present position of affairs.
"The conspiracy is put down for the moment," said Alvarado gravely, "but at any hour it may be rekindled so long as we stay inactive in this unhealthy place. And some morning we may rise to find two thirds of the small handful of our comrades gone, and no ships left with which to effect our own escape."
"What would you say, Alvarado," said a voice suddenly,—"what would you all say, in truth, if you did find yourselves thus with the means of escape cut off—with no safety for us but in victory?"
Cortes had suddenly stepped up to them as his comrade and follower had been speaking, and there was so strange a tone in his voice as he put this question, so deep and burning a light glowing in the depths of his eyes, that the little group of men stood as though breathless, gazing at him, and waiting to hear more. The tension on their minds was strained to the utmost.
Having asked his searching question, Hernan Cortes appeared for the moment indifferent as to the answer. Folding his arms across his broad and powerful chest, he once more turned, and gazed out across the waters to where the ten vessels that composed his fleet rode quietly at anchor. They looked well enough to the eye at any rate. And besides, they signified to those few hundreds of men, encamped on that foreign coast, home and life and liberty. While they had those ships to flee to, they felt brave to dare and attempt much. But without those ships, in an unknown world and surrounded by myriads of foes, their case would indeed be desperate. And even so Cortes, in his far-seeing wisdom, wished it should be. He turned back to his companions, and began abruptly as before.