"Señor," replied the prisoner, who was violently agitated, "I have seen my own sister forcibly compelled to wed the sub-lieutenant Garcia, my estate wrested from me, my sister's health and happiness ruined by the ill-treatment and excesses of her husband."
"Lieutenant Garcia is a Spaniard, a viejo Cristiano; and if your sister—but enough, you are a Creole and a malecontent."
The young man ground his teeth, but said nothing.
"You are a malecontent," repeated the alcalde. "A malecontent has a discontented disposition, and a discontented disposition is a rebellious one, and he who has a rebellious disposition is a rebel. Write it down, Don Ferro."
After coming to this just and logical conclusion, the alcalde took a draught of sangaree, and then again turned to the escribano.
"In the Cordelada—under ground—chains of the second class."
"You have thirty pounds more to carry," whispered a jailer to this new victim. "Eighty pounds at the least. You may say your prayers, for an inferniello will be your portion."
The prisoner gnashed his teeth, and shook his fetters with impotent rage. He was instantly led away.
"Cursed rebel!" growled the alcalde after him.
"The rest are all gente irracionale," observed the escribano.