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"Caramba! Adios, Seflores!" cried Captain Miguel Peralta, sitting on his roan charger on the Monterey bluffs. A white-sailed bark is heading southward for Acapulco. His vaqueros tossed up their sombreros, shouting, "Vive Alvarado! Muerte los estrangeros!"
Over the contents of this cart a black cloth was thrown, beneath which were outlined shapes that suggested but, no, it could not be. Only why did Antonio cross himself and mutter Muerte! or some such word? Now we were in the plaza.
Nothing could be juster, I think! I wish no scandal resulting from a lawsuit or the notoriety of one or more duels. I should become ridiculous in the eyes of others. But in my own and your eyes, I do not propose to be! I did not desire to be your lover, I have hardly been your husband. Now I am your companion forever. Hasta la muerte! For me, the cold of an Escurial has no terror.
A few weeks more, and there will not be a rebel left alive between the Andes and the Atlantic. The Captain-General of New Granada reports that he has either shot or hanged every known patriot in the province. We are doing the same here in Venezuela. We give no quarter; it is the only way with rebels. Guerra a la muerte!"
"Patrona la mas amada De nuestro suelo Espanol Nuestro mas luciente sol En la noche desgraciada Pues para ser proclamada Con el voto mas cordial Sois Maria concebida Sin pecado original." "Concede en fin Madre amada A tus hijos este dia La mas cristiana alegria Y la muerte deseada Para que seas cantada En la patria celestial Sois Maria concebida Sin pecado original."
As the exultant victors stood drinking the toast of the day, "Muerte los estrangeros," neither crafty statesman, sly priest, fiery general, wise old Don, nor reckless caballero, could predict that the foreigners would return in two years. That they would come under protection of the conquering British flag. Alvarado was excited by his feuds with Micheltorrena.
'Van muerte tan escondida, Que no te sienta venir, Porque el plazer del morir, No mestorne a dar la vida. "That's Spanish from Miguel de Cervantes.
They passed on downwards, flickering out of view. Then, after a time, a voice below, to the left of the cave, ascended with a hooting and mournful effect from the depths. "Manuel! Manuel! We have found him!... Es muerte!" And from above Manuel's shout rolled, augmented, between the rocks. "Bueno! Turn his face up for the birds!" They continued calling to each other for a good while.
The anxiety of Señora Blanco was evidently excessive. She rejected such commonplace reasons as that her husband might have lost his way, or that some unlooked-for business matters had claimed his attention. "No, no!" she repeated, almost hysterically; "no beezness. Ah, Dios! El está muerte."
The horsemen filed off into the fields, headed by the lieutenant, beside whom rode Don Cosme, on his white mule. "You will soon return, Enrique?" "I shall lose no opportunity of seeing you. I shall long for the hour more than you, I fear." "Oh! no, no!" "Believe me yes, Lupita! Say again you will never cease to love me." "Never, never! Tuya tuya hasta la muerte!"
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