“No.”

“Know you anybody who does?”

“Yes; I believe that several men with whom I served in Spain have accepted commissions.  But you will surely not hold me responsible for the doings of others?”

“Not at all.  You have quite enough sins of your own to answer for.  You may not actually hold a commission in this force of filibusters, but you are acquainted with people who do; and from your own admission and facts that have come to our knowledge, we believe that you are acting as an intermediary between the rebels in this country and their agents in England.  It is an insult to our understanding to tell us that you have come here out of idle curiosity.  You have come to spy out the nakedness of the land, and being a soldier you know how spies are dealt with.”

Here the president held a whispered consultation with his colleagues.  Then he turned to me, and continued: 

“We are of opinion that the charges against you have been fully made out, and the sentence of the court is that you be strangled on the Plaza Major to-morrow morning at seven by the clock.”

“Strangled!  Surely, senores, you will not commit so great an infamy?  This is a mere mockery of a trial.  I have neither seen an indictment nor been confronted by witnesses.  Call this a sentence!  I call it murder.”

“If you do not moderate your language, prisoner, you will be strangled to-night instead of to-morrow.  Remove him, capitan”—­to the officer of police.  “Let this be your warrant”—­writing.

“Grant me at least one favor,” I asked, smothering my indignation, and trying to speak calmly.  “I have fought and bled for Spain.  Let me at least die a soldier’s death, and allow me before I die to see a priest.”

“So you are a Christian!” returned the president, almost graciously.  “I thought all Englishmen were heretics.  I think senores, we may grant Senor Fortescue’s request.  Instead of being strangled, you shall be shot by a firing party of the regiment of Cordova, and you may see a priest.  We would not have you die unshriven, and I will myself see that your body is laid in consecrated ground.  When would you like the priest to visit you?”

“This evening, senor president.  There will not be much time to-morrow morning.”

“That is true.  See to it, capitan.  Tell them at the carcel that Senor Fortescue may see a priest in his own room this evening. Adios senor!”

And with that my three judges rose from their seats and bowed as politely as if they were parting with an honored guest.  Though this proceeding struck me as being both ghastly and grotesque, I returned the greeting in due form, and made my best bow.  I learned afterward that I had really been treated with exceptional consideration, and might esteem myself fortunate in not being condemned without trial and strangled without notice.

CHAPTER X.