the second day after our arrival at acapulco, we knew by the hurry and scurry on board our vessel that preparations were being made for sailing. our deck was now full, and every oar was fully manned with its complement of slaves or captives. of these the majority were blacks, whose misfortunes had transformed them into nothing better than wild animals; but there were still a large number of whites, and amongst them thirty to forty of our own countrymen. every man was chained to his bench, and it was evident that there was no intention of releasing us until our voyage came to an end. thus amongst our miserable company were many who hung their heads in deep dejection, and envied [pg 179]the three men who had met death by the flames in the great square of mexico.

towards the evening of that day, as i was sitting lost in sad thoughts, i looked up and saw standing at my side two figures, which i had given anything rather than set eyes upon. one was that of captain manuel nunez, the other the black-robed form of frey bartolomeo. they stood regarding me steadfastly: the monk calm and quiet, the sailor with his usual cold smile faintly curling about the eyes and mouth.

“so, master salkeld,” said nunez, “we meet again. you are doubtless on your way home to england to take vengeance on your cousin, master stapleton.”

i looked at him steadfastly. i was not going to be cowed by him, defenseless as i was.

“that may be, senor,” said i. “it is a long way to england by the road we are taking, but i shall reach it if god wills that it should be so.”

[pg 180]

“you do well to make that proviso,” said he. “for god gives his power to men, and at this moment i, as master of this vessel, and frey bartolomeo, as its chaplain, are his viceregents. wherefore, master salkeld, i think your chances are not good.”

“we are in god’s hands,” said i; though indeed my heart turned faint and sick to think that these wretches had us in their power.

“at present, good master salkeld, you are in mine,” he answered, smiling mockingly upon me. “but then you know what a kind and considerate host i am. you did admit that, when i carried you across the atlantic. still, master salkeld, things are somewhat altered between us. i am not now paid to carry you to mexico and get rid of you. also, since then you have spat in my face. ah, you remember that, do you? dog, you shall remember it every day of your life! i will not kill you now, as [pg 181]i might, but i will kill you by inches, and you shall die at last at your bench and lie there to rot. that is the fate of the dog who spits in the face of a spanish gentleman.”

so he turned away, but the man sitting next me put out his hand and plucked the monk’s cloak, bidding him remember that he had promised to find him a ship for england, and begging him to keep his plighted word. but frey bartolomeo shook him off.

“thou art a heretic,” he said. “with heretics we keep no faith. to thy oar, lutheran!”