Calavar; or, The Knight of The Conquest, A Romance of MexicoBird, Robert Montgomery
History
Calavar; or, The Knight of The Conquest, A Romance of Mexico
Bird, Robert Montgomery
Mexico -- History -- Conquest, 1519-1540 -- Fiction
Amador surveyed the prisoner, though somewhat indifferently. He was, in
figure and age, very much such a man as Baltasar, but in other respects
very dissimilar. His face was wan, and even cadaverous; but this might
have been the effect of the blows he had received from the dying
soldier, as was made probable by the presence of several spots of blood
encrusted over his visage. His cheeks were broad, and the bones
prominent; his eyes very hollow, and expressive of a wild solemnity,
mingled with cunning; his beard long and bushy, and only slightly
grizzled, and a rugged mustache hung over his lips so as almost to
conceal them. His apparel was of black cloth, none of the freshest, the
principal garment of which was a long loose doublet, under which was
buckled an iron breast-plate,--his only armour; for, instead of a
morion, he wore a cloth hat of capacious brim, stuck round with the
feathers of divers birds, as well as several medals of the saints,
rudely executed in silver. Besides these fantastic decorations, he had
suspended to his neck several instruments of the Cabala,--a pentacle of
silver, and charms and talismans written over with mystical characters,
as well as a little leathern pouch filled with various dried herbs and
roots. This mystagogue, an agent of no little importance among many of
the scenes of the Conquest, was led into the presence of the general,
and approached him without betraying any signs of fear or embarrassment;
nor, on the other hand, did he manifest any thing like audacity or
presumption; but lifting his eyes to the visage of the Biscayan, he
gazed upon him with a silent and grave earnestness, that seemed somewhat
to disconcert the leader.
"Sirrah sorcerer," said he, "since the devil has deserted you at last,
call up what spirits you can muster, and find me why I shall not hang
you for a spy, early in the morning."
"_Tetragrammaton Adonai!_" muttered the warrior-magician in the holy
gibberish of his art, with a voice of sepulchral hollowness, and with a
countenance gleaming with indignation or enthusiasm. "In the name of
God, Amen! I defy the devil, and am the servant of his enemy; and in the
land of devils, of Apollyon in the air, Beelzebub on the earth, and
Satan in men's hearts, I forswear and defy, contemn and denounce them;
and I pray for, and foresee, the day when they shall tumble from the
high places!"
"All this thou mayst do, and all this thou mayst foresee," said the
general; "but nevertheless thy wisdom will be more apparent to employ
itself a little in the investigation of thine own fate; which, I promise
thee, is approaching to a crisis."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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