THE CONQUEROR ON THE CAUSEWAY AGAIN.
As predicted by the 'tzin, the Spaniards set out early next morning--the
morning of the 24th of June--by the causeway from Iztapalapan, already
notable in this story.
At their head rode the Señor Hernan, silent, thoughtful, and not well
pleased; pondering, doubtless, the misconduct of the _adelantado_ in the
old palace to which he was marching, and the rueful condition it might
impose upon the expedition.
The cavaliers next in the order of march, which was that of battle, rode
and talked as men are wont when drawing nigh the end of a long and
toilsome task. This the leader at length interrupted,--
"_Señores_, come near. Yonder ye may see the gate of Xoloc," he
continued, when they were up. "If the heathen captains think to obstruct
our entry, they would do well, now that our ships lie sunken in the
lake, to give us battle there. Ride we forward to explore what
preparations, if any, they have made."
So they rode, at quickened pace, arms rattling, spurs jingling, and
found the gate deserted.
"_Viva compañeros!_" cried Cortes, riding through the shadow of the
battlements. "Give the scabbards their swords again. There will be no
battle; the way to the palace is open." And, waiting till the column was
at their heels, he turned to the trumpeters, and shouted, cheerily,
"_Ola_, ye lazy knaves! Since the march began, ye have not been heard
from. Out now, and blow! Blow as if ye were each a Roland, with Roland's
horn. Blow merrily a triumphal march, that our brethren in the leaguer
ahead may know deliverance at hand."
The feeling of the chief spread rapidly; first, to the cavaliers; then
to the ranks, where soon there were shouting and singing; and
simultaneous with the trumpetry, over the still waters sped the
minstrelsy of the Tlascalans. Ere long they had the answer of the
garrison; every gun in the palace thundered welcome.
Cortes settled in his saddle smiling: he was easy in mind; the junction
with Alvarado was assured; the city and the king were his, and he could
now hold them; nevertheless, back of his smile there was much thought.
True, his enemies in Spain would halloo spitefully over the doughty deed
he had just done down in Cempoalla. No matter. The Court and the
Council had pockets, and he could fill them with gold,--gold by the
caravel, if necessary; and for the pacification of his most Catholic
master, the Emperor, had he not the New World? And over the schedule of
guerdons sure to follow such a gift to such a master he lingered
complacently, as well he might. Patronage, and titles, and high
employments, and lordly estates danced before his eyes, as danced the
sun's glozing upon the crinkling water.
One thought, however,--only one,--brought him trouble. The soldiers of
Narvaez were new men, ill-disciplined, footsore, grumbling,
discontented, disappointed. He remembered the roseate pictures by which
they had been won from their leader before the battle was joined. 'The
Empire was already in possession; there would be no fighting; the march
would be a promenade through grand landscapes, and by towns and cities,
whose inhabitants would meet them in processions, loaded with fruits and
flowers, tributes of love and fear,'--so he had told them through his
spokesmen, Olmedo, the priest, and Duero, the secretary. Nor failed he
now to recall the chief inducements in the argument,--the charms of the
heathen capital, and the easy life there waiting,--a life whose sole
vexation would be apportionment of the lands conquered and the gold
gathered. And the wonderful city,--here it was, placid as ever; and
neither the valley, nor the lake, nor the summering climate, nor the
abundance of which he had spoken, failed his description; nothing was
wanting but _the people_, THE PEOPLE! Where were they? He looked at the
prize ahead; gyres of smoke, slowly rising and purpling as they rose,
were all the proofs of life within its walls. He swept the little sea
with angry eyes; in the distance a canoe, stationary, and with a
solitary occupant, and he a spy! And this was the grand reception
promised the retainers of Narvaez! He struck his mailed thigh with his
mailed hand fiercely, and, turning in his saddle, looked back. The
column was moving forward compactly, the new men distinguishable by the
freshness of their apparel and equipments. "_Bien!_" he said, with a
grim smile and cunning solace, "_Bien!_ they will fight for life, if not
for majesty and me."
Close by the wall Father Bartolomé overtook him, and, after giving rein
to his mule, and readjusting his hood, said gravely, "If the tinkle of
my servant's bell disturb not thy musing, Señor,--I have been through
the files, and bring thee wot of the new men."
"Welcome, father," said Cortes, laughing. "I am not an evil spirit to
fly the exorcisement of thy bell, not I; and so I bid thee welcome. But
as for whereof thou comest to tell, no more, I pray. I know of what the
varlets speak. And as I am a Christian, I blame them not. We promised
them much, and--this is all: fair sky, fair land, strange city,--and all
without people! Rueful enough, I grant; but, as matter more serious,
what say the veterans? Came they within thy soundings?"
"Thou mayest trust them, Señor. Their tongues go with their swords. They
return to the day of our first entry here, and with excusable
enlargement tell what they saw then in contrast with the present."
"And whom blame they for the failure now?"
"The captain Alvarado."
Cortes' brows dropped, and he became thoughtful again, and in such
temper rode into the city.
Within the walls, everywhere the visitors looked, were signs of life,
but nowhere a living thing; neither on the street, nor in the houses,
nor on the housetops,--not even a bird in the sky. A stillness possessed
the place, peculiar in that it seemed to assert a presence, and palpably
lurk in the shade, lie on the doorsteps, issue from the windows, and
pervade the air; giving notice so that not a man, new or veteran, but
was conscious that, in some way, he was menaced with danger. There is
nothing so appalling as the unaccountable absence of life in places
habitually populous; nothing so desolate as a deserted city.
"_Por Dios!_" said Olmedo, toying with the beads at his side, "I had
rather the former reception than the present. Pleasanter the sullen
multitude than the silence without the multitude."
Cortes made him no answer, but rode on abstractedly, until stopped by
his advance-guard.
"At rest!" he said, angrily. "Had ye the signal? I heard it not."
"Nor did we, Señor," replied the officer in charge. "But, craving thy
pardon, approach, and see what the infidels have done here."
Cortes drew near, and found himself on the brink of the first canal. He
swore a great oath; the bridge was dismantled. On the hither side,
however, lay the timbers, frame and floor. The _tamanes_ detailed from
the guns replaced them.
"Bartolomé, good father," said Cortes, confidentially, when the march
was resumed, "thou hast a commendable habit of holding what thou
hearest, and therefore I shame not to confess that I, too, prefer the
first reception. The absence of the heathen and the condition of yon
bridge are parts of one plan, and signs certain of battle now ready to
be delivered."
"If it be God's will, amen!" replied the priest, calmly. "We are
stronger than when we went out."
"So is the enemy, for he hath organized his people. The hordes that
stared at us so stupidly when we first came--be the curse of the saints
upon them!--are now fighting men."
Olmedo searched his face, and said, coldly, "To doubt is to dread the
result."
"Nay, by my conscience! I neither doubt nor dread. Yet I hold it not
unseemly to confess that I had rather meet the brunt on the firm land,
with room for what the occasion offers. I like not yon canal, with its
broken bridge, too wide for horse, too deep for weighted man; it putteth
us to disadvantage, and hath a hateful reminder of the brigantines,
which, as thou mayest remember, we left at anchor, mistresses of the
lake; in our absence they have been lost,--a most measureless folly,
father! But let it pass, let it pass! The Mother--blessed be her
name!--hath not forsaken us. Montezuma is ours, and--"
"He is victory," said Olmedo, zealously.
"He is the New World!" answered Cortes.
And so it chanced that the poor king was centre of thought for both the
'tzin and his enemy,--the dread of one and the hope of the other.