THE SIGN OF THE GOD OF THE FOUR WINDS
It was in August, the height of the rainy season, that the little
Spanish army of four hundred men, only fifteen of whom were mounted,
took up their line of march from Vera Cruz for the Aztec capital.
They carried with them but three heavy guns and the four falconets.
The remainder of the troops, one horse, and seven pieces of heavy
artillery, were left for the defence of their infant city. To drag
their guns and transport their baggage over the mountains they obtained
from Cempoalla the services of a thousand tamanes, or porters. An army
of thirteen hundred Totonac warriors also accompanied them.
Their first day's journey was through the perfumed forest filled with
gorgeous blossoms and brightly plumaged tropic birds of the _Tierra
Caliente_. Then they began to ascend the eastern slope of the Mexican
Cordilleras, above which towers the mighty snow-robed peak of Orizaba.
At the close of the second day they reached the beautifully located
city of Jalapa, standing midway up the long ascent. Two days later they
came to Naulinco, whose inhabitants, being allied to the Totonacs,
received them in the most friendly manner. From here they passed into
the rugged defile now known as the "Bishop's Pass," where, instead of
the tropic heats and sunshine to which they had become accustomed, they
began to experience cold winds, with driving storms of rain, sleet, and
hail, which chilled them to the marrow, and caused the death of many of
the Indian porters. The aspect of the surrounding country was as dreary
as that of its leaden skies. On all sides were granite bowlders rent
into a thousand fantastic shapes, huge masses of lava, beds of volcanic
cinders and scoriæ, bearing no traces of vegetation, while, above all,
towered snow-clad pinnacles and volcanic peaks. After three days of
suffering and the most fatiguing labor amid these desolate scenes they
descended, and emerged through a second pass into a region of exceeding
fertility and a genial climate. They were now on the great table-land
of Puebla, and seven thousand feet above the level of the sea. Here
they rested for several days in the Aztec city of Cocotlan, the
governor of which dared not resist them, as he had received no orders
from his royal master to do so.
From Cocotlan they travelled down a noble, forest-clad valley, watered
by a bold mountain-torrent, and teeming with inhabitants, who collected
in throngs to witness the passing of the mysterious strangers, but made
no offer to molest them. At the fortress of Xalacingo they came to
two roads, one leading to the sacred city of Cholula, famed for its
great pyramid, its temples, and its pottery, and the other leading to
Tlascala. By the advice of their native allies the conquerors decided
to take the latter way, and visit the sturdy little mountain republic
which had maintained a successful warfare against the arrogant Aztec
for more than two centuries, and with which they hoped to form an
alliance. So an embassy of Totonac caciques, bearing an exquisite
Spanish sword as a present, was despatched to explain to the Tlascalan
chiefs the peaceful intentions of the Spaniards, and ask for permission
to pass through their territory.
The Christian army waited several days in vain for the return of these
messengers, and at length, impatient of the delay, determined to push
on at all hazards. Leaving the beautiful plain in which they had
halted, they struck into a more rugged country, and at length paused
before a structure so strange that they gazed at it in wonder. It was
a battlemented stone wall nine feet high, twenty in thickness, six
miles long, and terminating at either end in the precipitous sides
of tall mountains too steep to be scaled. Only in the centre of this
wellnigh impregnable fortress was there a narrow opening, running for
forty paces between overlapping sections of the wall. This remarkable
structure stood on the boundary of Tlascalan territory and, had the
mountain warriors to whom it belonged chosen to defend it upon this
occasion, the white men might have dashed themselves against it as
fruitlessly as the waves of the sea against an iron-bound coast, until
their strength was spent, without effecting a passage to the country
beyond.
For days the great council of Tlascala had been the scene of stormy
debate as to how the strangers applying for admission to their
territory should be received. Some of its members were for making an
immediate alliance with them against the Aztecs. Others claimed that
these unknown adventurers had not yet declared themselves as enemies of
Montezuma, nor had their vaunted powers been tested in battle against
true warriors. "Therefore," said these counsellors, "let us first fight
them, and if they prove able to withstand us, then will it be time to
accept their alliance." This advice finally prevailed, war was decided
upon, and a force was despatched to guard the great fortress. But it
was too late. Cortes and his little army had already passed through its
unguarded opening and gained the soil of the free republic.
After proceeding a few miles the leader, riding at the head of his
horsemen perceived a small body of warriors armed with maquahuitls
and shields, and clad in armor of quilted cotton, advancing rapidly.
These formed the van of those who should have guarded the fortress.
On seeing that the Spaniards had already passed it, they halted; and,
as the latter continued to approach, they turned and fled. Cortes
called upon them to halt, but as they only fled the faster he and his
companions clapped spurs to their steeds and speedily overtook them.
Finding escape impossible the Tlascalans faced about, but instead of
surrendering or showing themselves terror-stricken at the appearance
of their pursuers, they began a furious attack upon them. Handful as
they were, they fought so bravely that they held their ground until
the appearance, a few minutes later, of the main body to which they
belonged. These numbering several thousand, and advancing on the run,
at once gave battle to the little body of Spanish cavaliers. First
discharging a blinding flight of arrows, they rushed, with wild cries,
upon the horsemen, striving to tear their lances from their grasp
and to drag the riders from their saddles. They seemed fully aware
that rider and horse were distinct individuals, in which respect they
differed from any of the natives yet encountered. Fortunately for the
cavaliers the press about them was so great that their assailants found
it almost impossible to wield their weapons, while from their superior
elevation they were enabled to use their swords with telling effect.
Still the Tlascalans succeeded in dragging one rider to the ground and
in wounding him so severely that he soon afterward died. Two horses
were also killed, and this formed by far the most serious loss yet
sustained by the Spaniards.
Scores of the Tlascalans received mortal wounds, but the sight of
their stricken comrades only served to animate the survivors with fresh
courage and an increased fury. From their childhood the Tlascalans were
taught that there was no glory so great as that to be gained by death
on the field of battle, and that the warrior thus dying was at once
transported to the blissful mansions of the sun. Nowhere in the New
World had the Spaniards encountered such warriors as these, and it was
with inexpressible thankfulness that the hard-pressed cavaliers beheld
the rapid advance of their own infantry, and were able to retreat for a
breathing spell behind their sheltering lines. A simultaneous fire of
artillery, muskets, and crossbows so bewildered the Tlascalans, who now
for the first time heard the terrifying sound, and witnessed the deadly
effect, of fire-arms, that they made no further attempt to continue the
battle. They did not fly but withdrew in good order, carrying their
dead with them.
The Spaniards were too exhausted to follow up their victory, and were
anxious only to find a safe camping-place for the night. During the
hours of darkness they carefully buried the two horses killed in that
day's fight, hoping that when the Tlascalans found no trace of them
they might still believe them to be supernatural beings. A strong guard
was maintained all night, and those who slept did so in their armor
with their weapons in their hands.
On the following day the Spaniards resumed their march, presenting,
with their Indian allies, quite an imposing array. As on the previous
day the pursuit of a small body of the enemy, who fell back as they
advanced, led them into the presence of another Tlascalan army, headed
by Tlahuicol's nephew and successor, a fiery young warrior named
Xicoten. This army met them in a narrow valley of such broken ground
that the artillery could not be operated within its limits. Here thirty
thousand warriors not only filled the valley with their numbers, but
spread out on the plain beyond, presenting a confused assemblage of
gay banners, glittering weapons, and many-colored plumes tossing above
the white of cotton-quilted armor. Over all floated proudly the heron
device of the great house of Titcala, to which Xicoten, the general,
belonged.
The battle now fought was more stubborn and prolonged than that of
the day before. Another horse was killed, and his mangled remains
were borne off in triumph to be distributed as trophies through every
Tlascalan village. A terrible hand-to-hand struggle took place over
the prostrate form of his rider, who was finally recovered by the
Spaniards, only to die shortly after of his wounds.
While the Christians, protected by their armor, received the showers of
Tlascalan arrows and darts with impunity, their Totonac allies suffered
heavily. All were nearly exhausted before the artillery was dragged
clear of the broken ground and brought into play. Then, as on the
previous day, the Tlascalans sullenly retreated before a deadly fire
which they had no means of returning.
Again the Spaniards, weary with a day of fighting, sought only a
safe place of encampment. This they found on the hill of Zompach, a
rocky eminence crowned by a small temple, which they converted into
a fortress. Here they rested and cared for their wounded during the
succeeding day; but on the next, as provisions were running low,
Cortes, taking with him only his cavalry, made a foray through the
surrounding villages and farms. During this wild ride Sandoval, with
the recklessness of youth, trusting to his good sword and the fleet
Motilla for safety, allowed himself to become separated from the rest.
He was at some distance behind, and galloping furiously through a
narrow street of a deserted village, when Motilla swerved so suddenly
to one side as to almost unseat her rider, and then stood snorting
and quivering with excitement. The object of her terror was the body
of a young man who lay prone on the ground, bleeding profusely from a
sword-cut on the head, evidently just given him by one of those who had
passed on before. As Sandoval gazed at him with an expression of pity,
for the youth was well favored and of about his own age, the latter
lifted his right hand and made a few motions that, feeble as they were,
almost caused the young Spaniard to fall off his horse with amazement.
He gazed for a moment longer, and then, moved by a sudden impulse, he
sprang from Motilla's back, lifted the limp and unconscious form of the
wounded youth to the saddle, remounted behind him, and, with only this
strange prize to show as his share of booty, galloped back to camp.
When the Spanish commander laughingly asked him what he was going to do
with his captive, Sandoval answered:
"I am going to care for him until he recovers sufficiently to tell me
how it came about that, when he thought himself dying, he made the sign
of the cross."