Chapter Ten.
How the plate ships sought to escape from San Juan.
“We die?” reiterated the Grand Inquisitor, now at last fully awakened to the tremendous gravity of the situation. “And pray, señor, at whose behest do we die?”
“At mine, most reverend señor,” answered George, simply. “Have I not yet succeeded in making that clear to you?”
“That means, then, that you intend to murder us?” demanded the Grand Inquisitor, with pale, tremulous lips.
“Señores,” replied George, in a tone of finality, “it matters not to me how you choose to designate your impending execution. Call it murder, if the expression affords you any satisfaction. I call it an act of stern justice, the richly merited punishment due to a long series of atrociously inhuman crimes committed by you, if not actually with your own hands, at least by your orders. Such crimes as you and your associates have most callously and cold-bloodedly committed under the cloak of religion deserve a far more severe punishment than the mere deprivation of life, and if I were constituted like yourselves I should make that deprivation of life a long, lingering agony, a slow death of exquisite torment, such as you have inflicted upon countless victims; but torture is indescribably repugnant to the mind of an Englishman, therefore I intend to carry out the death-sentence which I have passed upon you, as mercifully as possible, by causing you to be shot—with one exception, that exception being in the case of the Grand Inquisitor, whom I purpose to hang, as an example to others. And I have taken upon myself the terrible task and responsibility of execution, for the simple reason that there is no other who will do so; and justice must be satisfied. And now, having said all that there is to be said, I leave you all to prepare for death as best you may.” Whereupon, the young man, with stern, set face, turned away and walked over to Basset, who was still doing what he could to alleviate the sufferings of the latest victim to the Inquisition’s merciless methods of conversion.
“Well, Basset,” he said, indicating the unfortunate individual in the chair, “whom have we here? He looks to me something like an Englishman.”
“So he be,” answered Basset. “He says his name be Job Winter, and that he was one of the crew of Admiral Hawkins’ ship, the Minion. He’ve been in this hell upon earth since last August, and all that time they fiends in human form up there,” indicating the occupants of the dais, “have been trying their hardest to make a good Catholic of him. And this is how they’ve been doing it. Look to mun.” And very gently and tenderly the soldier disclosed certain horrible and blood-curdling injuries very recently inflicted, together with a number of healed and half-healed scars which bore eloquent testimony to a long period of dreadful torment. So frightful was the sight that both the beholders fairly reeled under the horrible qualm of sickness and repulsion induced by it, and if anything further was needed to confirm the young Captain in his full determination to make an example of the Inquisitors, he found it in the revolting spectacle before him.