A BATTLE IN MID-AIR
So fierce was the Aztec temper, that, with earliest dawn of the third
day of fighting, they were swarming at the walls. So determined was
their assault, that, ere they could be driven back, nearly a thousand
of them had leaped inside, and gained the courtyard. Although these
fought with a desperation that resulted in serious injury to the
garrison, most of them were quickly despatched by the Tlascalans, among
whom they had appeared. A number, however, escaped, and darted into
the numerous buildings of the old palace. Here, though the Tlascalans
pursued them like ferrets after rats, they managed to set numerous
fires, kill or wound several persons, stab Cortes himself through the
hand, and do an immense amount of mischief before being finally hunted
down and destroyed. A few more assaults as desperate and successful as
this would seal the fate of the besieged, and, even to the bravest,
their situation began to appear alarming.
In this strait, Cortes appealed to his royal prisoner and urged him
to use his influence with his subjects to bring about a cessation of
hostilities. This, Montezuma at first refused to do; but, when assured
that the invaders would willingly leave the city if a way were opened
to him, he finally consented. Arrayed for the occasion in his most
kingly robes, he was escorted to the roof of the central turret of the
palace by a brilliant retinue of those Aztec nobles who still shared
his fortunes, and a number of Spanish cavaliers.
In the streets below the battle was raging furiously; but, as his
subjects recognized their monarch, the din of clashing weapons and
fierce war-cries instantly ceased. The tumult of war was succeeded by a
stillness as of death. Many of the Aztecs prostrated themselves to the
ground; others bowed their heads; but some gazed, unabashed, and even
defiantly, at the king, whose weak-minded superstition had lost him his
kingdom. More than one of these daring spirits secretly fitted an arrow
to his bowstring, and nervously fingered it. In more than one breast a
sacrilege was meditated that, though certain to be avenged by the gods,
might, after all, be for the best. But first they would hear what this
dishonored king had to say.
He was bidding them disperse, and do no further harm to his friends the
white men, who, if allowed, would willingly return whence they came.
This would never do! The priests of the war-god were greedy for the
victims, who were on the point of surrendering themselves. Should they
be balked of their prey by this king, who was already as good as dead?
Never! Let him die, and be no longer an impediment to their vengeance!
With him out of the way, the destruction of the Christians and their
base allies would be an easy matter! Then would the gods rejoice!
Then would their favor be restored! and again would Anahuac take her
proper place as leader of the nations! Down with Montezuma! Long live
Cuitlahua! To the altars with Spaniard and Tlascalan!
So whispered the busy priests, darting from one to another. The whisper
grew into a murmur, and it quickly rose to a storm of fierce cries.
Now was the time! An arrow, aimed by a subject at his king, hissed
through the air. A cloud of arrows followed it. Spanish bucklers were
interposed too late, and, as Montezuma fell, a frenzied yell of triumph
arose from the multitude.
Then a reaction set in. What would the gods do? "To the temple!" was
the cry. "The priests must plead for us!" The priests themselves
spread this shout, exulting, as they did so, in its evidence of their
unimpaired power. So the throngs hastened away toward the temples,
until, in a short time, not a person remained in the great square
fronting the Spanish quarters.
In the meantime, Montezuma, borne tenderly below, and laid on his royal
bed still dressed in his robes of state, was dying. The priests of his
own race came not near him. They had no use for a dying king! Already
were they busy with preparations for crowning another, who would heap
their altars with victims, and add to their power, until they should
become objects of fear and worship, even as were the gods themselves.
Already was Topil, the chief priest, preparing a sacrifice such as
had not been known at an Aztec coronation for nearly four centuries.
He had a Toltec in reserve for the altar. Not only that, but a Toltec
who had masqueraded as an Aztec priest, and had been detected in a
vile conspiracy against the gods. Besides, he had a few Spaniards in
his dungeons, and when had Christian blood been spilled at an Aztec
coronation? Never before!
So Montezuma, the king who might have been all-powerful, died, because
of his superstitious weakness, and the gods did not avenge his death,
but allowed Cuitlahua, his brother, to reign in his stead.
The great temple of Huitzil stood so near the ancient palace in which
the Spaniards and their allies were quartered, as to overlook it. A
quantity of stones and heavy timbers had been conveyed to its summit
under cover of darkness, and one morning the Christians were dismayed
to find these thundering down on them from the lofty height. At the
same time came such flights of arrows, as denoted the presence on this
vantage ground of a large body of warriors. In connection with this
attack, came another of those furious assaults on their works, of which
the enemy seemed never to tire. It was at once realized that if they
would escape speedy destruction, the temple must be carried, and Cortes
detailed one hundred men, under Escobar, the chamberlain, for the
purpose.
Three separate charges did this officer and his brave followers
make in their effort to capture the huge teocal; but each time they
were repulsed with serious loss. Finally, Escobar returned with but
half his men, leaving the others where they had fallen. He, and all
of the survivors, were wounded, some of them so severely that they
died soon after, and the capture of the temple was reported to be an
impossibility.
Cortes declaring that nothing was impossible, that the place must be
captured, and that he would either accomplish it or die in the attempt,
detailed another storming party of three hundred Spaniards, and two
thousand Tlascalan warriors. These last were headed by their young
chieftain, while the whole force was led by the General in person.
Fifteen minutes of furious fighting forced a passage through the throng
of Aztecs occupying the temple court, and placed the assailants at the
foot of the first of the five flights of stone steps by which the top
was to be reached.
Leaving the Tlascalans and a score of musketeers to repel the Aztecs,
who were making constant efforts to regain possession of the court,
the leader, closely followed by Sandoval, Huetzin, and the other
gallant cavaliers of the storming party, sprang up the first stairway.
On each of the terraces above them stood strong bodies of the enemy to
dispute their passage. These showered down arrows and darts, together
with great stones and massive timbers. Most of the latter bounded
harmlessly over the heads of the scaling party, but every now and then
one would crash into their ranks, and, sweeping some of the unfortunate
Spaniards from their narrow foothold, hurl them lifeless to the bottom.
In spite of the terrible odds thus presented, the dauntless conquerors
fought their way foot by foot, from terrace to terrace, and from
stairway to stairway, ever upward, until at length the lofty summit was
attained.
Here, in sight of the whole city the opposing forces closed in furious
combat, of such a phenomenal nature, that all other hostilities
were suspended by mutual consent, in order that this death-struggle
in mid-air might be watched without interruption. The priests of
the temple, seeming more like demons than human beings, with their
blood-clotted locks and savage aspect, fought like such. They rushed
at the Spaniards with incredible fury, and, in many cases, forced them
over the awful brink, willing to sacrifice their own lives in the leap
to death, if they could only carry the hated Christians with them.
Once, in the midst of the fighting, Huetzin heard his own name called
in accents of despair, and saw his brother Sandoval whose sword had
snapped off at the hilt, struggling with half a dozen of these fiends,
who had forced him to within a few feet of the edge. In a moment the
young Toltec had hewed a way to his friend's side, and in another
Sandoval was free to snatch the sword of a dying cavalier, and plunge
once more into the thickest of the fight. For three dreadful hours did
the combat rage. At the end of that time a remnant only of the gallant
band of assailants remained masters of the bloody arena. Every Aztec,
priest, noble, or warrior, had either been slain, or hurled from the
giddy height.
Some of the survivors entered the sanctuary where sat the frightful
image of Huitzil, the war-god. Bound to the altar in front of it they
discovered a man. His eyes were torn from their sockets; his limbs were
broken, and he bore other evidences of the most diabolical tortures.
That he still lived, in spite of all, was attested by his feeble
moanings. For a moment the victors paused aghast at the sight. Then one
from among them sprang forward, and knelt beside this pitiful victim of
the most hideous religion known to the New World. He was Huetzin, and
in the cruelly mutilated form before him, he still recognized Tlalco
the Toltec, the priest who, on three separate occasions, had saved him
from a like awful fate.