March to the Sacred City of Cholula—The Natives Plot the Destruction of
the Spaniards—Cortes Discovers their Treachery and Slaughters Several
Thousand Indians—March to Mexico—Montezuma Meets the Strangers and
Escorts them to the Capital
The Spaniards rested a little in Tlaxcala after their exertions and
their life among the natives was very peaceable. Several daughters of
caciques married prominent Spanish officers, and from these unions
distinguished Spanish noblemen have sprung. The caciques did not offer
their daughters in marriage to Cortes, for they thought he was married
to Marina, or Malinace, he appeared so often in her company.
But days of rest must have an end. Cortes began preparations for the
advance to Mexico with his army and an auxiliary force of six thousand
brave Tlaxcalans. While thus engaged, another delegation from Montezuma
appeared. They brought costly gifts upon golden platters of beautiful
workmanship, and richly embroidered fabrics of linen and feather work.
The messengers spoke timidly and hesitatingly. They begged Cortes not to
enter into an alliance with the low and barbarous Tlaxcalans, but to go
alone with his army to Cholula,[7] as the Emperor had given orders he
should be fitly received there and his soldiers properly cared for. The
Tlaxcalans regarded this invitation with suspicion. They were sure that
Montezuma meditated treachery and begged Cortes not to expose himself to
the danger awaiting him at Cholula. Cortes thanked his Indian friends
for their solicitude, but assured them that European soldiers were not
in the habit of avoiding any danger, however great it might be. He broke
camp at once and marched to Cholula.
The reception he met was unusually friendly and respectful. The
Tlaxcalan auxiliaries, being sworn enemies of the Cholulans, were not
allowed to enter the city and were obliged to occupy a convenient spot
outside the walls. They had already learned from their European friends
how to intrench themselves, and they at once put their knowledge into
practice. After a few days of rest, events gradually occurred which
confirmed the suspicions of the Tlaxcalans. Provisions were supplied
sparingly, the authorities displayed more coolness, and Montezuma’s
representatives had frequent interviews with them. Two Tlaxcalans
shortly appeared, who had stolen into the city in disguise and informed
Cortes they had seen a multitude of women and children fleeing by night
to adjacent places and that they learned from them that six young
children had been sacrificed in a principal temple,—a custom always
observed when any hostile movement was to be undertaken. They advised
him, therefore, to be on his guard against attack. While Cortes was now
using the utmost watchfulness to discover the secret purposes of the
Cholulans, chance suddenly revealed the whole matter. A prominent
Cholulan woman had conceived an unusual attachment for Marina, the
interpreter. She was anxious to save her new friend from the universal
massacre, which had been planned, and told her confidentially of the
bloody designs of her people so that she might escape before it was too
late. Marina, who was both shrewd and heartily devoted to the Spaniards,
pretended she would follow the warnings of the Indian woman and induced
her to disclose the whole plot without reserve. She learned that upon
the day fixed for the massacre a force of Mexican soldiers would be
concealed in the neighborhood of Cholula, for the purpose of rushing in
at the appointed time, obstructing the streets by filling them with
holes, lightly covered, into which horses would stumble and fall, and
conveying great quantities of stones and other missiles to the roofs of
houses and temples to be showered down upon the Spaniards, thus making
their destruction inevitable.
Marina hastened to bring the news to her friend Cortes and the latter
lost no time in devising means to prevent the disaster which threatened
him. His first step was to persuade the Indian woman and two high
priests by threats and bribes to make a full confession of the plot.
Then he decided to set such an example of revenge that Montezuma and his
followers would never again engage in such an undertaking. To effect
this, he drew up his people and the Zempoalans in battle order in the
courtyard of the large building which had been assigned him as quarters.
The Tlaxcalans were instructed to enter the city when they heard the
first shot and under various pretences decoy the principal Cholulan
leaders to the Spanish quarters where they would be arrested. Everything
being arranged, Cortes gave the signal for attack and the massacre
began.
The Spaniards and Zempoalans advanced, and the Tlaxcalans at the same
time entered the city. Furiously they swept through the streets from all
sides and countless corpses marked the course of the destroyers. The
native leaders stood as if thunderstruck and hardly dared to raise their
trembling hands in defence. The Mexican force advanced to protect them,
but it was easily overcome. To escape the sword, they and many of the
natives sought shelter in a temple. Cortes led his men there in close
ranks and loudly shouted that all who would come out and surrender in
good faith should be spared. Only one person availed himself of the
offer, the rest preferring apparently to die rather than submit. Cortes
then proceeded to the commission of a deed from which we turn our eyes
with pity and horror and at which humanity will always shudder. He fired
the temple, and the multitude of unfortunates in it were victims of the
flames. This horrible massacre went on two whole days—two days of
rapine, fire, and slaughter, but women and children were spared by
Cortes’ order. At last revenge seemed complete, the lust of plunder was
satiated, and the bloody deed ended. The leaders, who had been made
prisoners, were released. Cortes upbraided them for their treachery
which had made the massacre necessary, and ordered them to recall the
fugitive natives and restore the former order. Universal pardon was
proclaimed and an idolatrous respect for the Spaniards and fear of their
terrible power soon took possession of the Cholulans who had survived.
In a few days the devastated city was once more crowded with natives,
humbly submissive to the murderers of their kindred and destroyers of
their temple.
Fourteen days had hardly passed since the entrance of the Spaniards into
Cholula before Cortes decided to resume his march to the capital,
without further loss of time. The army set out. Cortes was active at
every spot where his presence was necessary, now in the advance, now in
the rear, encouraging the weak, urging on the laggards, and striving to
inspire each one with the enthusiasm he himself felt. He never failed to
make the rounds at night to see if every one was at his post. Upon one
occasion his watchfulness came near proving fatal. He came too near a
sentinel who did not recognize him in the darkness and aimed his
cross-bow at him. His quick outcry of the watchword for the night alone
saved him.
The army advanced vigorously, and the farther it penetrated the country,
the more reason Cortes had to expect a successful issue to his
undertaking. Everywhere he heard complaints of Montezuma’s tyranny and
cruelty. Everywhere he found governors ready to shake off his yoke. The
Spaniards soon left the pleasant, level country, their way leading
through the mountainous region, which divides the great tablelands of
Mexico and Puebla.[8] The higher they ascended, the sharper and more
piercing grew the air, and the wind which swept down the frozen mountain
sides made the soldiers shiver, even in their thick woollen uniforms,
and benumbed the limbs of men and horses. Their road led them between
two of the highest mountains of the North American continent,
Popocatepetl,[9] or “Smoking Mountain,” and Iztaccihuatl,[10] or the
“White Lady.” The natives held the former mountain sacred to their
divinities and for this reason had never made an attempt to ascend it,
but the mysterious dread with which the place was invested and the
unconquerable love of adventure made some of the Spanish knights eager
to accomplish a feat which the natives considered impossible and
involving the lives of those who attempted it. Cortes encouraged them
for he was anxious to convince the Indians that his followers never
flinched from any danger. A captain, Ordaz by name, nine Spaniards, and
some of the Tlaxcalans, who had plucked up courage by this time,
undertook the ascent. After overcoming many obstacles and dangers, they
reached the height of thirteen thousand feet. At this point the Indians,
alarmed by a strange subterranean rumbling of the volcano, would go no
farther. The Europeans, however, advanced to the vicinity of the crater,
but the smoke, sparks, and ashes from the burning interior forced them
to return.
The army continued its march among hills and through ravines. After
great exertions a sight met their eyes which compensated them for their
trials and filled them all with delight. A vast and beautiful country
lay before them, and in the midst of it a lake, which looked like the
sea. Along this lake were many stately cities and towns, and in their
midst the queen of them all, the far-away glistening capital, splendid
with its many temples and towers.[11] They had reached the valley of
Mexico, or Tenochtitlan,[12] as the natives call it. At first view of
this magnificent region the astonished Europeans stood as if uncertain
whether they were awake or dreaming. All their past dangers disappeared
like mists vanishing before the sun, and they were ready now for
anything that might happen. Cortes observed their enthusiasm with
delight and cautiously advanced along the shore of the lake toward the
stately capital.
Suddenly a great crowd of people appeared coming from the capital toward
them. There were over a thousand, evidently persons of distinction as
they wore elegant cloaks and tufts of feathers. They approached the
Spanish army in respectful stillness, and each of them displayed his
deepest reverence for the general, as they informed him that Montezuma
himself was drawing near. The vanguard of the capital next appeared, two
hundred in number, uniformly costumed and decorated with feathers. These
came barefooted in pairs, and, as soon as they reached the head of the
Spanish army, stationed themselves so as to afford a view of the
glistening ranks of court attendants in whose midst Montezuma[13]
himself was conspicuous in a golden sedan chair. Four of the leading
personages of the Empire bore it upon their shoulders. Others held a
beautifully constructed canopy over him, which seemed to be made of some
fine material embroidered with silver and adorned with green feathers.
In advance of this brilliant procession went three magisterial persons
with golden staves which they raised ceremoniously from time to time. At
this signal all prostrated themselves and covered their faces as if they
were unworthy to look upon the person of their exalted monarch.
As soon as the procession was sufficiently near, Cortes dismounted from
his horse and hastened to pay his respects to the monarch. The latter at
the same time stepped from his chair and rested, leaning upon the
shoulders of two princes, then advanced with slow and stately stride to
meet the dreaded stranger, walking upon carpets which his followers laid
down so that his feet should not touch the ground. Cortes met him
cordially and greeted him with a low bow after the European manner.
Montezuma replied to the greeting with an obeisance which in his country
was significant of the highest respect. He kissed his own hand and then
touched the ground with it. This condescension from the proudest of
monarchs, who was accustomed to greet even the images of his divinities
with a careless nod of the head, greatly astonished the Mexicans and
induced the conviction that these strangers were divine and not human
beings. The word “Teules” (gods) was constantly on their lips. Cortes
wore over his armor a necklace set with paste stones which he intended
to give the Emperor. As soon as the ceremony of greeting was over, he
took this false ornament and hung it about the neck of Montezuma. The
Emperor appeared pleased at this attention and ordered one of his own
costly ornaments to be brought—a necklace of very rare shells, from each
of which on both sides depended four golden crabs. He handed this
decoration to his guest, which still further increased the astonishment
of his people.
Montezuma appeared to be about forty years of age. He was of medium size
and rather thin. He had a very majestic appearance, a pleasing
countenance, and in color was not so brownish yellow as the rest of the
Mexicans. He wore a long cloak of fine woollen stuff which was literally
covered with ornaments, pearls, and gems. A golden crown, much
resembling a bishop’s mitre, comprised his headdress. His shoes were
made of solid gold plates fastened with straps and gold buckles.
[Illustration: _MEETING OF CORTES AND MONTEZUMA_]
The entry was now made with his guest. The city was large and populous.
According to the Spanish historians it had twenty thousand flat houses
or adobes and a multitude of temples and palaces which in size and
splendor exceeded anything ever seen before in the New World. One of the
largest of these so-called palaces was assigned to Cortes as his
headquarters, and Montezuma accompanied him there. As soon as they
arrived he left, in order to have time for rest, as he said, and, as he
was going away, begged Cortes to make himself as much at home as if he
were among his own brethren.
Cortes stationed sentinels as usual and placed cannon at all the
approaches to the palace and ordered his officers and soldiers not to
relax their vigilance.