seemed to have united at this juncture to wrench from his grasp little by little what they had so lavishly bestowed; prestige, honors, wealth, and royal favor, all seemed vanishing. Was there nothing to be left him for all his toils, all his successes, but a hollow title? Was implacable Nemesis always to pursue him? The loss of the baubles, however much they represented in money, could not cause such heart-ache as did ingratitude, slight, and insult.
A council of war was called, and the greatest soldier of the day was not summoned to it; his very presence was ignored. In regard to the situation, he had expressed an opinion in favor of an immediate attack; but the courtiers were anxious to raise the siege: the formidable ramparts of the Moslem made the peaceful walls of Madrid seem far away, and it was decided to abandon the enterprise. Stung by the manifest insult, and indignant at the effeminate resolution, Cortés exclaimed: "Had I but a handful of my veterans from New Spain, not long would they remain outside of yonder fortresses!" "Indeed, señor," was the reply; "no doubt you would do wonderful things; but you would find the Moors quite a different foe from your naked savages."
After his return home Cortés again began to press his suit. He presented a memorial to the emperor, recounting the services which he had rendered to the crown; the losses, grievances, and persecutions he had suffered; the wrongs inflicted by the audiencia and viceroy, and praying that justice might be done; that his honors and titles might be made available, and in a manner commensurate to his services and sacrifices, so that he might with dignity maintain the rank and position to which he had been raised. What kind of play was this? He had achieved, and had been rewarded; then he was robbed and humiliated, and without cause. Cortés handed in the petition and never afterward heard of it.
Bowed down by disappointment, wounded in his
