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 informants to Velasquez. At the last moment one of the traitors betrayed the plot, and stern punishment befell his companions. The priest, by virtue of his office, was spared, but the two ringleaders were hung, and the pilot was condemned to lose his feet. "Would that I had never learned to write!" exclaimed Cortés, as he signed the death-warrants of his men.

For the first time Cortés was depressed. He realised that he must make the soldiers feel that their only course was to go forward. Never would he conquer Mexico while his turbulent men might at any time frustrate him by retreat. Daring and drastic was his solution of the difficulty. The ships should be destroyed! The army stranded on the shores of Mexico!

The work of destruction must be done secretly, for the men would never consent to such a desperate expedient. Bidding Alvarado lead the troops to Cempoalla, Cortés, aided by a few of his most faithful and trusted followers, dismantled all the ships save one of sails, cordage, and iron, and then remorselessly sank them to the bottom of the bay.

When the news reached the army it seemed for a moment that they would turn and rend this man who had so betrayed their confidence. "Our general," they clamoured in fury and despair, "has led us like cattle to be butchered in the shambles!"

"Fellow-soldiers!" cried Cortés, in the tone of mingled authority and comradeship so dear to his men, "the ships were mine, the only property I possess in the world, so their destruction is my 98