Then the two massive doors of the gateway swung to with a crash, the
bolts were shot, and the courtyard was impenetrable.
* * * * *
A few moments later, the three friends had passed the outermost angle of
the fortifications, and were descending towards the beach. By the time
they had reached the sands they had fallen into a vague silence.
A noise like the cracking and fall of some slight scaffolding behind
them arrested their attention. Hurlstone turned quickly. A light smoke,
drifting from the courtyard, was mingling with the fog. A faint cry of
"Dios y Libertad!" rose with it.
With a hurried excuse to his companions, Hurlstone ran rapidly back, and
reached the gate as it slowly rolled upon its hinges to a file of men
that issued from the courtyard. The first object that met his eyes
was the hat of Senor Perkins lying on the ground near the wall, with a
terrible suggestion in its helpless and pathetic vacuity. A few paces
further lay its late owner, with twenty Mexican bullets in his breast,
his benevolent forehead bared meekly to the sky, as if even then mutely
appealing to the higher judgment. He was dead! The soul of the Liberator
of Quinquinambo, and of various other peoples more or less distressed
and more or less ungrateful, was itself liberated!
* * * * *
With the death of Senor Perkins ended the Crusade of the Excelsior.
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