He afterwards confessed that for a moment he was in danger of
weakening, that for a moment his mind rebelled against the pitiless
thing it had planned. But to correct the sentiment he evoked a
memory of what these Spaniards had performed in Bridgetown. Again
he saw the white face of that child Mary Traill as she fled in
horror before the jeering ruffian whom he had slain, and other
things even more unspeakable seen on that dreadful evening rose
now before the eyes of his memory to stiffen his faltering purpose.
The Spaniards had shown themselves without mercy or sentiment or
decency of any kind; stuffed with religion, they were without a
spark of that Christianity, the Symbol of which was mounted on
the mainmast of the approaching ship. A moment ago this cruel,
vicious Don Diego had insulted the Almighty by his assumption that
He kept a specially benevolent watch over the destinies of Catholic
Spain. Don Diego should be taught his error.
Recovering the cynicism in which he had approached his task, the
cynicism essential to its proper performance, he commanded Ogle
to kindle a match and remove the leaden apron from the touch-hole
of the gun that bore Don Diego.
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