The old Alcalde stood in the
middle of the room, surrounded by a crowd of women and children, his
own two handsome daughters, aged about twenty and twenty-two
respectively, among them, fainting with terror and crying for him to
save them, while the young officer on his knees implored him for the
sake of his mother's memory, and of the Mother of God and of all he
held sacred, to refuse to give him up to be slaughtered.
The old man was not equal to the situation: he trembled and sobbed
with anguish, and at last faltered out that he could not protect him -
that he must save his own daughters and the wives and children of his
neighbours who had sought refuge in his house. The men outside,
hearing how the argument was going, came to the door, and finally
seizing the young man by the arm led him out and made him mount his
horse again and ride with them. They rode back the way they had gone
for half a mile towards our house, then pulled him off his horse and
cut his throat.
On the following day a mulatto boy who looked after the flock and went
on errands for the Alcalde, came to me and said that if I would mount
my pony and go with him he would show me something.
