The shadows of the marching men were beginning to lengthen as they moved along, as though the shades had learnt the art of deception with each hour of the growing day, and wished to startle the whole race of earth's crawlers, beetles, snakes, worms, and their fellows, with the semblance of an oncoming race of giants. The air was full of humming insects, quivering heat, and the rich scent of leaves and flowers. The Spaniards stepped onwards slowly. They were near the end of their journey now, and their eyes were tired with gazing at that "Landscape winking through the heat." A hot shimmer over all things, such as Tennyson had never seen when he wrote a line which almost makes one feel warm even on a cold winter's day. Montoro was feeling depressed and weary, and sentiments of gladness and regret were pretty equally mingled in his breast as he saw the various roofs close before him of the newly-founded town of St. Jago. But personal sorrow cannot be indulged by leaders. "Put your best feet forward, my friends," cried Bartholomew Las Casas at this moment. However bitterly he might grieve over recent occurrences, there was still sufficient of the spirit of the commander in him to rebel against the notion of reappearing before Velasquez, Cortes, and the rest of their fellow-adventurers, like a company of whipped dogs; but he need not have troubled himself, for an event was taking place at that hour in St. Jago that absorbed all interests. Hatuey, the Cacique of Hispaniola--Hatuey, the noble, untutored patriot--had been taken prisoner whilst fighting his last battles for freedom and his country, and Hatuey was adjudged to suffer as a rebel! He was to be made an example of, so the Governor declared--to be the scarecrow to frighten all others of his race and the surrounding nations from daring to perform one of the most sacred duties of mankind. The Spaniards acknowledged it to be so for themselves; but then--Hatuey was a heathen, and had refused to be forced into Christianity at the point of the sword. Las Casas, Montoro, and their followers were close to the town when Montoro de Diego was suddenly almost thrown to the ground by an Indian woman, who flung herself before him with a wild, heart-rending cry, and clasped his knees convulsively. Already Diego had become known on the island as a friend of the friendless, an eager helper of the helpless, and this poor, despairing creature had been on the look-out for him, during the past hours of that day, with a gnawing agony of longing that had made the hours seem like weeks. He was her last hope, and now, catching sight of him, she flew forward with a wildness of look and manner that made those around believe her to be mad. And in truth the favourite wife of Hatuey was well-nigh frantic with dread and horror at the threatened fate of the one she loved.