The Mexicans Rise against the Spaniards and Fight with Desperate
Courage—Montezuma is Killed—Cortes Struggles Bravely and is in Danger of
his Life
Cortes flattered himself it would be an easy task to hold the mutinous
Mexicans in check by force. Thinking thus, he sent one of his bravest
officers, Ordaz by name, with a corps of four hundred men, partly
Spaniards, partly Tlaxcalans, to ascertain whether the people had really
quieted down or were making preparations for new attacks. In pursuance
of his duty, Ordaz marched through the city streets but had not gone far
before he encountered a body of armed Mexicans. In order to intercept
some of them he incautiously advanced upon them, but they at once
retreated. This was done, as soon appeared, not from cowardice, but
because of their orders to draw the Spanish leader and his men into a
trap. Their plan succeeded. Ordaz pursued the fugitives to a quarter of
the city where he suddenly found himself surrounded and attacked by a
countless swarm of the enemy. Even the flat roofs of the houses were
covered with men who darkened the air with stones, arrows, and other
missiles, hurled at the Spaniards from every direction. Fortunately
Ordaz, serious and unexpected as the danger was, lost neither his
courage nor presence of mind but placed his men in a formation best
calculated to make the attack. Then he charged upon the enemy where they
were densest. It was not long before the Mexicans began to weaken. Ordaz
cut his way through them and at last, after much bloodshed, succeeded in
reaching the Spanish quarters. One Spaniard and eight Tlaxcalans were
killed, and Ordaz himself and most of his people were wounded.
After this disaster Cortes expected the Mexicans would desist from
further hostilities, but he was mistaken. Hardly had the Spaniards
reached their quarters before they observed the enemy assembling in
formidable bodies for a general attack. Cortes instantly made the
necessary preparations for defence, and now began a battle which for
courage and obstinacy has hardly been equalled. The Mexicans charged
with such a din of drums and horns and such fearful battle cries that
the roar of the cannon could hardly be distinguished. They seemed
unanimously determined to conquer or die. Some kept up a continuous
shower of arrows and stones. Others, despising death, sought to scale
the walls and others to get possession of the gates. Some mounted upon
the shoulders of others to reach the top of the walls, and when they
were hurled down dead or wounded, others would take their places
instantly. Such was their courage that they trod upon the dead and
wounded to fill up the breaches, and, terrible as was the effect of
cannon and musketry among them, they still kept up their furious attack
until at last, after horrible slaughter, superstition forced them to end
the battle and withdraw, for they never fought after sundown, and it was
now evening.
The night that followed was not much quieter, for, although the Mexicans
did not dare to fight, they found ways to set fire to the Spanish
buildings and it was only by extraordinary exertions that a general
conflagration was prevented. Although exhausted with the struggle and
their last night’s labor in extinguishing fires, the Spaniards at
daybreak again were at their posts to resist another attack. One bloody
assault followed another. It seemed as if the fury of this embittered
nation could never be extinguished, although each fresh attempt to storm
the Spanish stronghold failed, and Cortes by various methods slaughtered
the natives by thousands and devastated a part of their city by fire.
Cortes shared the fate of most of his soldiers and was wounded. He was
struck by an arrow in the left hand. Thereupon he withdrew to his
apartments where undisturbed he might form some plan to extricate
himself from his dangerous situation. He had hardly begun gathering his
thoughts together when the storm broke out anew at every corner of the
quarters, for the Mexicans had now formed in bands for a general
assault. He rushed back and found that his presence was never more
necessary, for the enemy now was fighting with even greater courage than
on the day before, and all his alertness and skill were required to make
the necessary defence at every place.
When the battle was at its height, the unfortunate Montezuma
decided—some say voluntarily, others say at the request of the
Spaniards—to make an attempt to stop this bloodshed by showing himself
in person to his raging subjects and reminding them of their reverential
duty to him. He put on his imperial mantle, placed the regent crown on
his head, and adorned himself with the wealth of jewels which he had
been accustomed to wear on state occasions. Thus arrayed, he went, in
company with some leading Mexicans, to the Spanish stronghold. One of
these mounted the wall and announced to the furious multitude that their
sovereign had arrived and that he was ready to listen to their
grievances and end hostilities with the strangers, his guests.
At the mention of his name the battle ceased and respectful silence
followed. Thereupon the unfortunate monarch himself mounted the wall.
All bowed in reverence, some fell upon their knees and kissed the
ground. Glancing over the multitude, Montezuma sought out the leaders
and, after thanking them for their expressions of devotion, assured them
they were wrong in supposing he was a prisoner. He had only remained so
long among his guests that he might acquaint himself with their customs,
and show his respect for the mighty ruler whose representatives they
were. As he was now about to leave them he implored his people to lay
down their arms and return to their homes.
When Montezuma had concluded his address, there was a general silence
for several minutes, but gradually a low murmur began and soon grew into
an uproar of protest. The boldest and most insolent of the crowd hurled
invectives at their ruler and shouted that he was no longer Emperor of
Mexico but a miscreant, a wretch, and a miserable slave of the enemy of
their fatherland. Montezuma tried to speak and motioned with his hand
for silence but in vain. There was a great bustle and in an instant
arrows and stones were hurled at him. The two soldiers at his side whom
Cortes had sent with him tried to cover him with their shields, but it
was too late. His cup of sorrow was filled. He was pierced by many
arrows, and a blow upon the head by a stone felled him senseless.
Amazed at this unfortunate event, Cortes had the almost lifeless monarch
taken to his own house, to save him if possible, and then, flaming with
anger, rushed back to take a bloody revenge, but he was too late. Hardly
had they seen their Emperor fall when the Mexicans scattered, as if
expecting fire from heaven to descend upon them for this cruel deed. In
the meantime Montezuma regained consciousness but his condition was
pitiable. The thought of his subjects’ conduct made him almost insane.
They had to hold his hands to prevent him from doing injury to himself.
Cortes vainly tried to quiet him. He rejected all offers of consolation,
tore the bandages from his wounds, and tried to put an end to his life.
These passionate outbreaks and his obstinate refusal to take nourishment
hastened his death. He died uttering imprecations against his subjects
and disappointed the anticipations of the Spaniards by rejecting with
great contempt at the last moment the proffer of the Christian faith.
When Father Olmedo, kneeling at his side, raised the cross and earnestly
entreated him to embrace it, he coldly repulsed the priest and said: “I
have only a few hours to live and I will not be untrue to the faith of
my fathers.” The fate of his children, especially of his three
daughters, rested heavily upon his mind. He called Cortes to his bedside
and committed these children to his care as the most precious jewels he
should leave behind him. He implored him to see that they were not left
helpless and that they had their rightful share of his inheritance.
“Your ruler, the King of Spain, should do this,” said Montezuma, “were
it only for the friendly service I have rendered the Spaniards, and the
affection I have shown them, which has brought me to this wretched
plight. But even that has not turned me against them.” These, according
to Cortes’ statement, were the last words of the dying Emperor. Not long
after this, on the thirtieth of June, 1520, he died in the arms of one
of his nobles, who had always been faithful to him. As long as Montezuma
lay suffering from his wounds his subjects remained quiet, but hardly
had he died when they prepared for the choice of a new ruler and the
immediate resumption of hostilities. Montezuma’s successor was his
brother, Cuitlahua, a brave and warlike prince, who died suddenly from
small-pox four months after he became Emperor.
The new Emperor commenced hostilities with a movement that sorely
pressed the Spaniards. He had his bravest men occupy the flat roof and
tower of the principal temple, which stood close to the Spanish
quarters, from which points they could hurl stones and beams into the
inner court. Cortes, who was seriously contemplating a retreat, was
thereby prevented from making the necessary preparations and found it
imperative to drive the enemy from this dangerous position. He entrusted
this duty to Escobar, one of his bravest officers, whom he placed at the
head of a picked troop. Meanwhile he himself planned to drive the enemy
from the streets with the rest of his force in order to keep them open
for those who were attacking the temple. Escobar advanced and met with
no resistance up to the foot of the temple steps, a hundred in number.
But when they were half way up the ascent, a multitude of the enemy
appeared at the rails and hurled down upon them such a shower of arrows,
stone, and beams that he and his men could not resist their force. Three
times he sought to achieve the impossible and three times he was driven
back. When Cortes, who in the meantime had not been idle, heard of their
plight, he sprang from his horse, without stopping long to consider,
bound his shield to his arm as he could not hold it with his wounded
hand, and rushed with drawn sword to the temple steps. He called upon
his men to follow him and advanced apparently to his certain death. He
dashed down everything that opposed him and at last gained the flat
temple roof where the flower of the Mexicans had gathered, determined to
conquer or die. A fierce hand to hand struggle ensued with clubs and
swords, every one resolved to sell his life as dearly as possible. There
was not one who would not rather have been cut to pieces than surrender.
Some leaped down from the pinnacle of the temple rather than outlive
their freedom, and all fought with a lion-like courage never before
exhibited in the New World.
While Cortes was making this desperate fight, his troop in the streets
was meeting with little success. As soon as the temple was captured, he
hastened to the assistance of the rest of his men. He swung himself upon
his horse, hung the bridle upon his left arm, and with levelled lance
dashed into the enemy, hurling every one who opposed him to the earth.
Unfortunately his zeal carried him so far that as he turned his horse he
found himself cut off from his men by so great a swarm of the enemy that
it seemed impossible to make his way through them. His situation was
serious but he quickly found a way out of it. He noticed a side street
in which the enemy was not so densely massed. He plunged into this and
soon regained his men. As he did so he suddenly noticed that his friend,
Andreas Duero, had been taken prisoner and was being dragged to the
temple, by a great crowd, to be offered up as a fresh victim to the
gods. Cortes lost not a minute and, without the least consideration for
the number of the enemy, dashed into their midst to rescue his friend.
He scattered those who were taking him, and Duero, as soon as he was
liberated, with his dagger disposed of one who was trying to hold him
and of another who held his horse, mounted the animal unhurt, and the
two friends safely rejoined their people. Cortes always considered this
achievement as the happiest in all his life. The enemy now gave way on
every side. Cortes, therefore, to save more bloodshed, and to give his
exhausted men an opportunity for rest, gave the signal for withdrawal.
They returned to their quarters and cared for their wounds.