“Adelante! adelante!” cried Sandoval, and forward dashed the cavaliers.
“O my men, land us at the canal before the strangers come up, and in my palace at ease you shall eat and drink all your lives! Faster, faster!”
So Hualpa urged his rowers, and in their sinewy hands the oaken blades bent like bows.
Behind dropped the footmen,—even the Tlascalans; and weak from hunger and wounds, behind dropped some of the horses. Shook the causeway, foamed the water. A hundred yards,—and the coursers of the lake were swift as the coursers of the land; half a mile,—and the appeal of the infidel and the cheering cry of the Christian went down the wind on the same gale. At last, as Hualpa leaped from his boat, Sandoval checked his horse,—both at the canal.
Up the dike the infidels clambered to the attack. And there was clang of swords and axes, and rearing and plunging of steeds; then the voice of the good captain,—
“God’s curse upon them! They have our shields!”
A horse, pierced to the heart, leaped blindly down the bank, and from the water rose the rider’s imploration: “Help, help, comrades! For the love of Christ, help! I am drowning!”
Again Sandoval,—
“Cuidado,—beware! They have our swords on their lances!” Then, observing his horsemen giving ground, “Stand fast! Unless we hold the canal for Magarino, all is lost! Upon them! Santiago, Santiago!”
A rally and a charge! The sword-blades did their work well; horses, wounded to death or dead, began to cumber the causeway, and the groans and prayers of their masters caught under them were horrible to hear. Once, with laughter and taunting jests, the infidels retreated down the slope; and once, some of them, close pressed, leaped into the canal. The lake received them kindly; with all their harness on they swam ashore. Never was Sandoval so distressed.