and the Blues from San Juan. A moment after the monk himself came into the camp, and seeing a dead body lying upon a cannon wrapped in a cloak, a vague presentiment induced him to command the face to be uncovered; even then the fumes of the wine prevented him from recognizing it, and his attendants tried to make him withdraw, before he should perceive that it was his brother; but he again demanded sternly, "Who is it?" At the same instant he recognized Francisco, and struck his head violently with his fist, as if awakening out of a dream. Woe to the conquered! The carnage commenced, and he cried with a hoarse voice to his men, "Slay! slay them!" while he killed the defenseless prisoners about him. The officers were all cut down or left wounded and mutilated, without arms, without hands. Day closed before the butchery ceased, and the troops returned to the city, but every shot which broke the silence of the night, announced an assassination or the breaking open of some door. When the following day dawned, the pillage was still going on, and the sunlight revealed the outrages of the night.
The actors in this frightful tragedy were themselves stunned with the horror of their own work, and the monk became aware of all that he had done, and the death of his brother whom he had sacrificed. But he was not a man to show his remorse, and if he felt any he sought to stifle it by delivering himself up to intoxication and still further outrages. Thus the evil propensities which had been for a time under restraint, broke forth again; and revenge for his brother's death was an excuse for every excess. He had caused all
