"All the same," muttered a sullen-browed soldier to Juan Diaz the priest, who stood beside him—"all the same, father, you did say that we should be traitors to ourselves if any longer we continued to follow yon upstart."
"Hold thy peace, fool," returned the discontented ecclesiastic. "Knowest thou not that for all things, even for revolt, a fitting time is needful?"
And with that sententious remark the politic priest edged himself away to safer neighbourhood, and resumed the cry as lustily as the truest among Cortes' followers—
"To Mexico! Lead on to Mexico!"
Well satisfied with the change effected thus rapidly in his soldiers' sentiments, the Commander suddenly resolved to give the new-born enthusiasm a safe outlet, and at the same time to further one of his own most solemnly-cherished purposes. He raised his hands to claim silence once more, then his voice. But his efforts were vain. He had roused a new uproar, which, though a joyous one, was universal, and more difficult to allay. Threats to fly might be toned down by some tinge of shame, but offers and entreaties to be allowed to fight needed no restraint. The cry rang on and on unceasingly:
"To Mexico! Lead on to Mexico!"
"To Mexico indeed! To the depths of the sea with you rather, squalling rabble that ye are," said Cortes at last impatiently. Turning to the group of officers about him he added in comic despair: "Can no one befriend me thus far?"
"How far?" asked Alvarado and Escalante together, and with some wonder.
"How far!" repeated the Captain in a tone of increasing irritation. "Why, to the extent of ramming something down those screaming throats, to stop this Babel, to be sure."
Juan de Cabrera gave a delighted leap.