“With all my heart and mind and soul and strength. I only grieve now for my past distrust of Him. I know not what He will do; but I know _Him_. I give my people up to Him, as freely and joyfully as I give Him up this life of mine. He is the King. He is coming, and that soon. He shall right every wrong. ‘He shall deliver the poor when he crieth, the needy also, and him that hath no helper. And His dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the river even unto the ends of the earth.’ Ranti, ranti! Capac Inca, Huacchacuyac!” Fray Fernando could only say, from the depths of his heart, “Thank God!” And so Peace came down to that gloomy dungeon, and spread her white wings over the desolate captives there. Nay, the Son of Peace Himself was with them. And whenever His voice should summon them, they would come forth out of the darkness “into the sudden glory” with instant readiness and glad confidence. Surely soon now—any day, any hour, any moment—might that thrice welcome voice be heard, calling them home, to dwell with Him for ever. XLI. José is Avenged of His Enemies. “The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave, For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave.” CAMPBELL. “Hark, José! What is that?” “Only the wind, patre,” José answered, in a languid, dream-like voice. “No! Surely not the wind. Hark, again!” “Thunder, patre? The God of glory thundereth.” “It may be—yes. Yet, no, no! Too continuous for that. Listen, José.” “They are putting the ship about. Take care, patre, you will be hurt. Turn your head the other way.” With some help from José Fray Fernando changed his position. “José!” he said again, “that sound we hear is the boom of great guns. We are attacked by an enemy; God have mercy upon us!” “Christ have mercy upon us!” José echoed. Then both were silent, in the solemn hush of inward prayer. José was the first to break that silence. “Now, indeed, patre,” he said, “the great Inca sends His messenger Death to bid us drink with Him.” “Well, we are ready.” “_Ready?_—Is it not His own cup, from which, first, He drank Himself?”[54] For days, weeks, months perhaps, they two had lived in continual expectation of death, “dying daily.” And when now at last they saw death face to face, they felt no terror—no, not even fear—but a still and reverent awe, befitting those who stood in the presence of the minister and messenger of the great King. Meanwhile the boom of the guns went on, and “the voice of them that shout for mastery, and the noise of them that cry, being overcome,” reached the hold where the captives lay. Until at last all manner of fearful, discordant sounds seemed rolled and mingled together in a continuous uproar. Now and then a crash, like the fall of a mast, was heard; or the heavy thud of a cannon-shot perilously near their dungeon.