A SACRIFICE OF CHILDREN, AND WHAT IT PORTENDED
As the ancient capital of his father's race, Huetzin regarded the city
of Cholula with an intense interest. It was a source of real sorrow to
him that it, rather than another, should be selected as the sacred city
of the Aztec priests. His eyes blazed with indignation on seeing the
flames of Aztec altars rising from the mighty pyramid erected by his
Toltec ancestors, a thousand years before, in honor of their bloodless
religion.
This most colossal monument of the New World rose to a height of two
hundred feet, and its base covered forty-four acres, an area twice as
great as that occupied by the Egyptian pyramid of Cheops. It was a
venerable pile when the Aztecs took possession of the land and erected
on its summit a magnificent temple, which they dedicated to Quetzal.
With the advent of their cruel religion began those daily human
sacrifices that drenched its altars with blood for two centuries, or
until the coming of the white conquerors. Other temples sprang up about
that of Quetzal, each demanding human victims, until the number of
those annually sacrificed, in Cholula alone, was over six thousand.
No sooner was Huetzin left with his command than he began to put into
practice some of the lessons he had learned from his new friends. His
first care was to establish a chain of sentinels and advanced pickets
about his camp. Then he sent out small scouting parties in various
directions to glean all possible information regarding any other troops
that might be discovered in that neighborhood. Finally, after darkness
had fallen, disguising himself in the coarse and mud-stained garments
of a maker of pottery, whom he had caused to be captured for this
purpose, he made his own way into the city.
Once among the streets he avoided those places in which the Spaniards
were being lavishly entertained by the caciques of Cholula, and
threaded the more distant but populous quarters. He was struck with
the number of people still at work, in spite of the lateness of the
hour. Masons appeared to be repairing house-walls in all directions,
and quantities of stone were being carried to the roofs for their
use. Laborers were making excavations in the streets, apparently
for foundations; woodchoppers were hewing numbers of posts into
sharp-pointed stakes. Many old people, women, and children were also to
be seen, and all of these appeared to be removing household goods.
At length, in the most remote part to which he penetrated, Huetzin
came upon that which caused his blood to boil, and, at the same time,
filled him with horror. Several hundred persons were grouped about the
entrance to a small temple. They were silent, almost to breathlessness,
and were evidently intent upon some scene being enacted within. Every
now and then a stifled cry, apparently that of a child, came from the
interior of the temple.
Determined to discover what was taking place, Huetzin, by patient
and persistent effort, finally forced his way to the very front rank
of the spectators, and in another moment was as anxious to make good
his retreat from this position as he had been to gain it. For fully a
minute he was so tightly wedged in by the eager throng about him that
to move was impossible, and he gazed with a horrible fascination at the
awful scene disclosed through the open doorway by the flickering light
of its lurid altar flames. It was a scene of human sacrifice, though
not one of such every-day occurrence that the spectators were wholly
hardened to it. It was a sacrifice of children; and, as one pitiful
little victim after another was roughly seized by the blood-stained
priests and laid beneath the merciless knife, a suppressed shudder
passed through the gaping throng. Still no manifestation of disapproval
was made, and every eye eagerly followed the motions of an aged
priest, whose scanty white locks were blood-reddened like his body,
and to whom each little heart was handed still palpitating, as it was
torn from a child's breast. He was an augur, and was watched with a
breathless interest as he sought for omens from the dread thing held in
his hand. As each was tossed aside, evidently unpropitious, a murmur of
disappointment arose from the spectators, and more than once Huetzin
heard the remark: "The hour is not yet come."
Finally, sick with horror, and raging with a furious anger, the young
Toltec could bear it no longer. With a stifled cry he burst through
the encircling throng of human wolves, and in spite of angry words and
even blows, forced his way into the open space beyond them. When once
more free he fled, he knew not whither, filled with a tumult of thought
the central idea of which was vengeance. At length he reached his own
camp, heart-sick, and exhausted by the strength of his emotions. Here
he received the reports of his scouting parties, and learned several
things, which, added to his own information, kept him in a state of
wakeful anxiety until morning.
At the earliest possible hour he sought an audience with the Spanish
leader, to whom he imparted his fears that some deep-laid plot for the
destruction of the invaders at this point was in preparation. He told
Cortes of the Aztec army discovered by his scouts hidden in a valley
but a short distance from the city; of the exodus of those too old or
feeble to fight; of the piles of stones secretly accumulated on the
house-tops adjoining certain streets; of the pits dug in those same
streets and artfully concealed, after being lined with sharp-pointed
stakes; of the various chance expressions that he had overheard; and of
the awful, but unusual, sacrifice of children of which he had been an
unwilling eye-witness. At the same time he expressed it as his belief
that the hour had not yet come for springing the trap thus set. It was
evident that the portents were not yet favorable, and everything seemed
to be awaiting further orders, probably from Montezuma himself. From
the nature of the preparations it seemed likely that nothing would
be undertaken until the Spaniards were ready to leave the city and
continue their march.
Marina, who interpreted this communication, added some suspicions
of a similar character, that she had gleaned from certain unguarded
utterances of the wife of a Cholulan cacique, with whom she had formed
an acquaintance.
Although the conqueror was not one to be easily alarmed, yet he was
prudent and ever on the watch for treachery among those surrounding
him. So important did he deem the information just given him, that he
at once doubled his precautions against a surprise. After thanking
the young leader of Tlascalans for his vigilance, he requested him to
return to his own camp, continue his work of acquiring a knowledge of
what was taking place in and about the city, and to hold his warriors
in readiness for instant action.
When Huetzin had departed, Cortes turned his attention to his immediate
surroundings. He ordered that no Spaniard should pass beyond the walls
of the temple enclosure in which they were quartered. Nor should one
lay aside his arms, on any pretext, for a moment. The horses of the
cavaliers were kept saddled and bridled, ready for instant service, and
the artillery was posted beside the three gateways in the temple walls,
in a position to sweep the streets leading to them.
While these preparations were being made, Marina's new acquaintance,
the garrulous wife of the cacique, came to pay her a visit. In a short
time the Indian girl, pretending to be anxious to escape from the
Spaniards, had drawn from her a full account of the conspiracy, which,
she said, originated with Montezuma. The Christians, on attempting to
leave the city, were to be led into the streets prepared with pitfalls,
into which it was expected the cavalry would be precipitated. In the
resulting confusion they were to be attacked from the housetops and by
the Aztec army that was in waiting, when their easy destruction was
deemed a certainty. Even a division of the anticipated captives had
already been made, and, while a certain number were to be retained for
sacrifice on Cholulan altars, the remainder were to be led in triumph
to Tenochtitlan, in the leathern collars, affixed to the ends of stout
poles, that were even then prepared for them.
Having agreed to a plan for taking flight to the house of this
talkative acquaintance that night, Marina dismissed the woman and
hastened to lay the plot before Cortes. The latter, summoning his
captains, disclosed it to them and asked their advice as to what course
should be pursued. Some of them, in despair at the imminence of the
threatened peril, advised an instant return to Tlascala, if not to the
coast. Sandoval, Alvarado, and others of stouter hearts, declaring that
such a retreat would certainly insure their destruction, advised that
in boldly facing the danger, and continuing their onward march at all
hazards, lay their only safety. Cortes agreed with this, and added that
at no time since they entered the land of Anahuac had the thought of
retreat been further from his mind than now.
He then sent for some of the Cholulan caciques and announced his
intention of leaving their city early on the following morning. He
desired that they should furnish him with a thousand porters for the
transport of his artillery and baggage, and should themselves act as
his guides to the limits of their domain. These requests they willingly
promised to grant, and were dismissed.
That night there was little sleep in the Spanish army, and all held
themselves in readiness for an attack. The period of darkness was,
however, passed in peace, and through the night no sound broke
the stillness of the city, save the hoarse voices of the priests
proclaiming the hour from the summit of its lofty teocallis.