I came to Otomie, and to her also I told the news.
“I had hoped to die here where I am,” she answered. “But so be it; death is always to be found.”
Only my son rejoiced, because he knew that God had saved us all from death by sword or hunger.
“Father,” he said, “the Spaniards have given us life, but they take our country and drive us out of it. Where then shall we go?”
“I do not know, my son,” I answered.
“Father,” the lad said again, “let us leave this land of Anahuac where there is nothing but Spaniards and sorrow. Let us find a ship and sail across the seas to England, our own country.”
The boy spoke my very thought and my heart leapt at his words, though I had no plan to bring the matter about. I pondered a moment, looking at Otomie.
“The thought is good, Teule,” she said, answering my unspoken question; “for you and for our son there is no better, but for myself I will answer in the proverb of my people, ‘The earth that bears us lies lightest on our bones.’”
Then she turned, making ready to quit the storehouse of the temple where we had been lodged during the siege, and no more was said about the matter.
Before the sun set a weary throng of men, with some few women and children, were marching across the courtyard that surrounded the pyramid, for a bridge of timbers taken from the temple had been made over the breach in the roadway that wound about its side.