"Show me the proof!" he cried—"but the proof, and then I shall know how to act."
"Oliver," I said, turning to the boy, "go up into my room; move that heavy chest which stands next the wall, and bring down to me the bundle of papers that thou findest behind it."
He arose, and ran lightly from the room. I sat quietly in my seat, and gazed at the Spaniard.
"What effect will this have upon my detention?" I asked. "Wilt thou free me?"
"I shall know better how to answer when I see the papers," he replied hoarsely.
The noise at the tables had redoubled. One of the seamen had brought out a couple of flutes and was urging a short, squat sailor to give them the sword dance. After much pressing by his friends, and after drinking off a couple of glasses of wine, "only to steady his nerves a bit," as he informed them, he announced that he was ready to begin.
A space was cleared in the middle of the room, and in it a dozen swords were fastened, blades upward. The man had taken off his shoes, and stood in his stocking feet, his eyes covered with a cloth.
The flute struck up a wild, barbarous air, and springing into the midst of the swords he began to dance, while the men crowded eagerly around him. Up he went, turning, twisting, whirling, all the while chanting a low savage tune, now leaping to the right, now to the left, but always alighting in the space, perhaps four inches in width, that lay between each sword. Now advancing, now retreating, always evading the perilous blades with a skill that was marvelous to me, when I thought of the cloth over his eyes.
A loud burst of music; he had finished, and was untying the bandage from about his face, midst the cries, "Well done!" of his companions.