MONTEZUMA'S SUCCESSOR DEFIES THE CONQUERORS
As Huetzin rose to his feet, after laying gently down the lifeless body
of the Toltec martyr, he beheld Sandoval patiently waiting to attract
his attention. The young Spaniard stood with one mail-shod foot resting
on the neck of a writhing Aztec priest, who strove in vain to free
himself from its weight.
"Here is a vermin," spoke Sandoval, "who bears a certain look of
familiarity and who, I imagine, must be accounted of some consequence
among his own diabolical crew. Yet I cannot place him and have
persuaded him to come to thee for recognition. I found him, squatted
like a toad in a hole, after yon image was dragged from its pedestal.
He seems not to be wounded, nor do I believe he appeared in the fight
at all. Now, lift thy head, vermin, that a man may gaze on thy devil's
face!"
Thus exclaiming, Sandoval caught at the matted hair of the priest
and pulled up his head so that Huetzin had a fair view of the
fear-distorted features. As he glanced at them the young Toltec uttered
a great cry and sprang forward.
[Illustration: SANDOVAL PULLED UP HIS HEAD.]
"Aye, well do I know him!" he exclaimed. "He is the murderer of
thousands, and thrice have I been in his clutches. From me has he taken
father, mother, and sister! There (pointing to the mutilated body
of Tlalco) is a specimen of his work. With his own hand did he slay
Tlahuicol and Tiata! He is Topil, the chief-priest, the chief curse of
Anahuac. Let me at him, that I may hurl him to everlasting damnation!
Let me at him, I say! He is mine!"
"Gently, lad, gently!" interposed Sandoval, in a tone whose very
softness intimated his rage. "To hurl him over the brink would be a
kindness. 'Twould be too sweet a death for him. I have a better plan.
Leave him to me, and I promise you thou shalt be satisfied."
With this he again grasped the long hair of Topil's head, and dragged
the screaming wretch back into the shrine from which he had brought
him. There, lifting him with a quick jerk to his feet, he drove him
up the stairway to its top, hastening his movements with many a
sword-prick in his bare legs. When Topil emerged on the roof, he was
sixty feet above the platform where the combat had raged, and standing
on the summit of a wooden tower. Sandoval bound his prisoner's wrists
firmly together, behind him, and then fastened one of his ankles, by a
copper censer chain that he had found in the temple, to a projecting
timber, so that the priest, while allowed a certain freedom of
motion, could by no possibility escape. There Sandoval left him, and,
descending, closed the only avenue of escape behind him. Seizing a
burning brand from an altar, he set fire to the woodwork of the temple
in a dozen places. It was like tinder, and in a minute the red flames
were greedily licking the slender tower on all sides. The screams
of the miscreant, dancing in torment on its summit, attracted the
attention of the multitudes below, and they, still trembling from the
destruction of their god, were compelled to gaze helplessly upon the
awful but well-merited fate of their chief-priest. Even after he was
hidden from sight by a towering screen of flame and smoke, his voice
could be heard in frantic appeals to the impotent gods.
When Cortes and the slender remnant of his victorious band descended
from this memorable battle-field, the Aztec throngs shrunk from them
as though they were plague-stricken, and they passed unmolested to
their own quarters. That night the Spaniards again sallied forth, and,
carrying blazing brands in every direction through the sleeping city,
destroyed over three hundred houses.
On the following day, Cortes, thinking that by these reverses and by
the overthrow of their principal god, the Aztecs must be sufficiently
humbled to submit, called a parley. As the principal nobles and their
followers assembled in the great square, he addressed them, through the
voice of Marina, from the same turret on which Montezuma had received
his death-wound.
"Men of Tenochtitlan," he said, "you have seen your gods trampled in
the dust, their priests destroyed, your warriors slain by thousands,
and your dwellings burned. All this you have brought upon yourselves.
Yet, for the affection I bore the king whom you murdered, I am willing
to forgive you, if you lay down your arms, renounce the hideous
religion that offers no hope for your salvation, and resume the
allegiance to his most Catholic majesty of Spain sworn by your king. If
you refuse these things, then will I make your beautiful city a heap of
smouldering ruins, as barren of human life as the fire-crowned summit
of yon sky-piercing mountain. What say you? Shall it be peace with
immunity from further suffering, or shall it be war to the death, and
utter ruin?"
Then answered Cuitlahua, the newly crowned king: "It is true, O
Malinche, that thou hast destroyed one of our temples, broken the image
of a god, and slain many of my people. Many more will doubtless fall
beneath thy terrible sword. But we are satisfied so long as for the
blood of every hundred, we can shed that of one white man. Look on our
roofs and terraces, our streets and squares. They are thronged with
Aztec warriors, as far as thine eye can reach. Our numbers are scarcely
diminished. Yours are lessening every hour! You are perishing with
hunger, and thirst, and sickness! Your provisions are failing! We will
see to it that you get no more. You have but little water! You must
soon fall into our hands. _The bridges are removed_, and you cannot
escape! Truly, O Malinche, is the vengeance of the outraged gods about
to descend on thee."
At the conclusion of this bold speech, which well showed the temper of
the newly made king, a flight of arrows compelled the Spaniards hastily
to descend from the turret and seek the shelter of their defences.
Cuitlahua's defiance filled the besieged with dismay. Of what use were
all their fightings, their sufferings, and their brilliant victories?
The enemy was more determined than ever, and a hundred fresh warriors
stood ready to take the place of each one who was killed. A contest
against such overwhelming odds was hopeless, and the sooner it was
abandoned the better. Thus argued the Spanish soldiers, especially the
recruits who had come with Narvaez. These, to a man, declared they
would fight no longer, unless to preserve themselves in a retreat from
the fatal city.
Against such a feeling among his followers, even the bold spirit of
the commander was forced to yield. So, after a consultation with his
officers, including the young chief of Tlascalans, he announced that
preparations would at once be made for leaving Tenochtitlan. It was
decided that the retreat should be by the causeway of Tlacopan,
which, being but two miles in length, and thus much shorter than the
one by which they had entered the city, would soonest lead them to the
mainland, where they could fight to advantage.
In the meantime, as in their frequent sorties, the Spaniards had
suffered their greatest annoyance through missiles showered down from
the housetops, Cortes had designed and caused to be built three wooden
towers that he termed _mantas_. These were of two stories, and were
mounted on rude wheels by means of which it was proposed to roll them
through the streets, with musketeers stationed in the upper stories,
who should sweep the housetops of all enemies as they advanced. In each
lower story, which was open to the ground, a force of brawny Tlascalans
was to push and pull the movable fortress without being exposed to
attack. It was now determined to test the efficacy of these rude
machines in the sortie about to be made, to discover whether or not the
avenue of Tlacopan was open and free from obstructions.
When all was in readiness the great gate of the fortress was thrown
open, and, with much creaking, groaning, and rocking the manta
issued forth. The Aztecs beheld its stately advance with bewildered
astonishment. They could not conceive its purpose, nor understand by
what power it was propelled. There was no sign of human agency and its
progress filled them with awe. As they gazed in gaping wonder, it
slowly crossed the square and entered the avenue of Tlacopan. Suddenly,
as it halted before a building, the roof of which was thronged with
armed men, a side of the upper story fell outward, and a volley of
musketry was delivered with startling effect. A light, but strong,
bridge was thrown to the housetop, and the Spaniards, crossing on it,
quickly put its remaining occupants to flight with their swords. Then
they retreated to their wooden fortress, pulled in the bridge, drew
up their protecting shield and the engine of destruction proceeded
on its ponderous way. But its purpose was no longer a mystery. The
swarming occupants of the housetops withdrew to places of safety on
its approach, or hurled down fire brands and coping-stones from such
elevations as commanded it. Its utility had begun to appear doubtful
when it came to a halt at the first canal. Here the bridge had been
destroyed, and it could proceed no farther.
A tall building stood at this point, and from its roof an avalanche of
heavy timbers and great stones was poured on the devoted manta, ere its
progress could be reversed. One of these formidable missiles crushed in
a side of the structure, causing it to sway alarmingly. Several others
struck it together, a moment later, and, with a melancholy crash, it
toppled to the ground burying its unfortunate defenders in the wreck,
killing several of them, and injuring many more. With exulting yells
the Aztecs rushed upon the prostrate tower, and, but for the prompt
assistance of a troop of cavalry, whose fierce onset quickly cleared
the street, not one of its struggling occupants would have escaped.
This experiment proved the uselessness of the mantas, on the
construction of which so much time and labor had been expended. It also
proved the truth of Cuitlahua's words. The bridges, over which the
retreat must be conducted, were indeed removed, and seven open canals
lay between the fortress and the causeway. These gaping chasms must be
filled at all hazards.
After four days of incessant labor beneath a galling fire of arrows,
darts, and stones, incessant fighting, incessant dying and suffering,
the task was completed. The labor of tearing down buildings and filling
the canals with their débris, devolved on the Tlascalans. The Spanish
cavaliers charged up and down the avenue clearing it of the enemy who
swarmed in behind them the moment they had passed, while the Spanish
infantry guarded each bridge as it was finished. Many and fierce were
the hand to hand struggles during those four days; and, at their
conclusion, although their way of retreat was opened as far as the
causeway, the white conquerors were in as sorry a plight as were ever
any conquerors in all the world. But their present misfortunes were as
nothing compared with those held in store for them by the immediate
future.