However galling the patriot captain's observations were to the young nobleman, the latter could not help being struck by their justice.
"Do you think we are dogs, señor?" continued Jago. "You are a _blanco_, a white, not one of our rulers certainly, but of as pure blood as any of then. _You_ have never felt the _infamia de derecho_[36] weighing upon you, following you like your shadow, and worse, for _that_ at least leaves one during the rains; and yet _my_ father was as good a father as any Spaniard's could be, and my mother as good a mother. But what was the use of that? Jago is a Metis. He is infamous, and his children's children after him."
The man had touched briefly, but acutely, upon the wrongs of the two classes composing the great majority of the Mexican population, and his words seemed not to have been without their effect upon the young Creole, who replied in a less harsh tone than he had hitherto employed--
"If Mexico is to be delivered by you, and such as you, then is she lost indeed."
"Delivered!" he repeated sarcastically. "In spite, then, of your aristocratic blood, you feel that a deliverance is wanted? Yet the world says, that for six months past you have become a worse Gachupin than the Spaniards themselves."
Don Manuel cast a furious glance at the Metis.
"Aha! that stings!" continued the latter. "What! have they played you a trick too? But _misericordià_ with your nobility, who quailed before the rising sun of freedom, and deserted your own country to aid the tyrants who oppress it. When such was the case, the time was come for the people to assert their rights; and assert them they did, as you know."
"And a fine reward they got for so doing," retorted the youth.
"Our day will come yet," returned the captain. "You are _caballeros_, very gentle and noble men, and we are only _gavilla_, knaves and serfs--therefore have ye hung and shot us, struck us down like oxen, and trampled us under foot, used us worse than snared wolves. Poor Hidalgo!" continued he in a more gentle tone, "you little thought, twelve months before, how you would be peppered by the damnable Gachupins. They rubbed his hands and his poor bald head with brick-dust, slipped a _san benito_ over him, and sent him straight into paradise, where, doubtless, he is now giving concerts, with his musicians and the blessed St Cecilia. Allende ought to be there, too; but he is a soldier, and perhaps they would not let him in amongst the eleven thousand virgins. But enough of this. May we venture humbly to enquire of Don Manuel, what brought him upon this lonely _marques-camino_? Has your young excellency, perchance, a fancy to take up arms for Mexico and freedom's sake?"
