"Yes, comrades, it is true," exclaimed Cortes, in tones as loud and resolute as before. "Our ships are burnt, but not before the foul creatures of these seas had so eaten through them, that they had been water coffins for any who had trusted their lives to them for the voyage back to Spain; ay, or even to our new Santiago yonder. Those who had gone on board them had gone to their death."
"And those who stay here stay to their death," called a harsh voice from the midst of the crowd. "You might at least have given us our choice."
"And so he has, coward," shouted Alvarado. "Stand forth and show thyself, and any others of thy chattering-teethed brethren, and I will gather the bundle of you in my arms as one gathers a bundle of cotton, and fling the worthless bale on shipboard! Faugh! the Captain wants not such as thou to help him on the road to glory and renown."
The tone of this tirade was more scathing in its contempt than even the words, and a momentary hush followed it. None stood forth to accept the untempting offer of its maker.
At length Cortes once again broke the silence. Distinctly, but slowly, and more calmly than before he addressed his assembled army—
"What the Captain, Don Pedro de Alvarado, saith is true. For those who chose flight there is still the means. I desire no unwilling comrades. For me, I have chosen my part. I remain here so long as there is one to bear me company. But for those who shrink from the dangers of our glorious enterprise, let them go home, in God's name. There is still one vessel left. Let them take that and return to Cuba. They can tell there how they deserted their commander and their comrades, and then patiently await us until our return with the Aztecs' spoils."[4]
Cortes ceased, and for some moments there was a silence throughout the small army, broken only by the humming of the insects and the occasional clink of a sword. But Juan de Cabrera never felt much reverence for silence.
"How now," he shouted mockingly, "how now, ye bold cravens! Where are all your voices? Ye were brave enough a few minutes since. Come along with you to the front. Or are ye, in very truth, turned too cowardly even to confess your cowardice, ye miserable crew!"
It seemed so, for there was still no answer from even a single voice, and Cortes wisely changed the question, and in a few moments the whole air was resounding with the enthusiastic acclaim from every throat:
"To Mexico!—to Mexico! Lead on, Captain! Lead us on to Mexico!"