At this sight, the cavaliers uttered loud cries of joy, not doubting that St. James had indeed come to rescue them from the claws of the accursed Mexitli, as they began to consider the black phantom.
"Our saint fights for us!" cried Cortes; "On! leave the black fiend to him!—On, and let him behold our valour. The standard, ho!—Santiago is nigh! The standard, the standard!"
The sight of the second apparition seemed to have smitten the pagans with as much terror as the view of their own champion had infused into the Spaniards. The young nobles who surrounded the banner, looked to the vision with awe; and ere they had yet recovered from their confusion, the Christian cavaliers, elated and invigorated, fell upon them with such violence as left the long copper lances useless in their hands.
"On, and quick!" shouted Don Hernan, "or the knavish colour-man will spring from his perch, and so rob ye of the gold. On, ho! on!—Hah, infidel! art thou not mine own?"
As he uttered these last words, he rose on his stirrups, stretched over his horse's neck, and handling his heavy spear as one would an ordinary javelin, launched it with all his force at the chief. There was never a better mark; for the barbarian, instead of showing, as Cortes had hinted, any desire to desert his litter, advanced to its very verge; and while he balanced the staff and its weighty crest with his left hand, whirled manfully a short dart round his head, looking all the while at the great Teuctli. There never was a better mark,—for his breast, covered with a flimsy hauberk of skins, on which were sewed thin plates of gilded copper, was fully exposed;—there never was a better aim. Before the dart had left his grasp, the spear of Don Hernan smote him on the chest, and piercing copper and bone alike, hurled him backwards, with the standard, out of the litter.
The cavaliers shouted victory, and trampling down the litter-bearers, and the young nobles, as these began to fly, looked eagerly for the prize.
"Have the knaves robbed us?—Hah! mad John of Salamanca, thou pickest my pocket of these crowns, dost thou?"
These words of Don Hernan were addressed to a young hidalgo, who, the moment he had perceived the spear of Cortes take effect, had flung himself from his pied steed, rushed upon the downfallen infidel, and striking his sword into his throat, tore from him the badges of authority.
"He who strikes the quarry," said the elated youth, flinging both plume and golden net over the neck of his general's horse, "has the true claim to the trophy."
"Keep them thyself, for thou hast won them; and if Don Carlos be of mind, brave Juan, thou shalt mount them for thy coat of arms. Soho, De Leste! where art thou?—I thought this prize should have been thine!"