SORROW TURNED INTO JOY, AND DARKNESS INTO LIGHT
The first impulse of Marina's preservers was to escape as quickly as
possible from their awful surroundings. The spell that had held them in
that vicinity was broken. They had snatched one victim from the jaws
of death, and now they must remove her beyond reach of further danger.
Instinctively they headed their canoe in the direction of the little
hut, on the opposite side of the lake, that had for so long been their
home. They had not gone far when, as though moved by a single impulse,
both stopped paddling at the same instant.
"It is no longer possible that we should go back," said the old man.
"For we should be taking another into slavery," continued the old woman.
"Nor would we return to slavery for ourselves, even if there were no
other."
"It is certain that we would not," agreed the wife.
"But whither shall we fly?" asked the old man, irresolutely.
"Ask the child; since she called on the son of Tlahuicol for aid she
must be of our friends, and also she must be possessed of wisdom."
Marina, who had ceased to sob, and now lay quietly beneath the warm
rabbit-hair blanket that the old woman had spread over her, listened to
this conversation. Who could these people be? They did not talk like
enemies bearing her to the altar of sacrifice. At any rate, a question
could do no harm.
"Whither are you taking me?" she asked.
"Whither you would go," replied the gentle voice of the old woman.
"I would go to my friends. To Huetzin, and Sandoval, and Malinche, and
the daughters of the king, who are captives."
"Where are they?"
"I know not, but I fear me they are dead. Who are you? You are not
Aztecs."
"We are Tlascalans, and friends of the son of Tlahuicol, whom we seek,"
was the proud answer.
"I thought you were Tlascalans from your speech!" cried the girl,
joyfully. "As such you must be my friends, and as friends of Huetzin
you must be doubly my friends."
"Is he thy brother?" queried the old man, remembering that Huetzin had
spoken of a sister.
"No."
"Thy husband?"
"No."
"What then----?"
"Hush, thou stupid!" exclaimed the old woman, "and waste not time in
idle questionings. We be escaped Tlascalan slaves," she continued,
speaking to Marina, "seeking the son of Tlahuicol, who has some
knowledge of us, and who we trusted would aid us to freedom. Now we
know not which way to turn, and would ask thy counsel."
"Will you in truth do as I advise?" asked Marina, who could scarcely
credit her good fortune in falling into such friendly hands.
"In truth we will."
"Then," said the Indian girl. "I would advise that you seek no land
before daybreak, but avoid all canoes. With daylight, if the fight be
over, as ere then it must be, make thy way to Tlacopan, where we are
almost certain to discover our friends--thy friends and my friends."
This advice was considered so sensible that it was acted upon, and the
canoe lay motionless. After they had sat awhile in silence, listening
to the distant din of battle, the old woman asked: "Were you not
talking to some person, whom you called by name, just before we found
you?"
"Yes," replied Marina, sadly. "I was speaking to poor, brave Cocotin,
but she was not a person. She was a horse belonging to the son of
Tlahuicol, and deeply will he grieve at her loss."
As these simple folk had never before heard of a horse, Marina found
much difficulty in explaining its nature to them. When they finally
comprehended, after a fashion, they returned to the name, Cocotin.
"It was the name of our little one," explained the old woman.
"Was she a babe but a year old, and left behind when you both were
captured by the Aztecs?" inquired the Indian girl, with interest.
"Yes. But how knew you that?"
"Huetzin has told me of it, and his horse was named for that child;
and you must be the brave Tlascalans who assisted his escape from the
priests of Tenochtitlan!"
"That honor and joy were indeed ours," answered the old man; "but our
part in his escape was so slight that he might readily have forgotten
it."
"Indeed he has not!" cried Marina, "and his joy will be great when he
again sets eyes on you, for his gratitude to you is like the love of an
own son."
All this time Marina had not the least doubt of her hero's safety, for
it did not occur to her that serious harm could come to one who had
escaped so often, and was so brave and skilful a warrior. Therefore,
while he mourned her as dead, she was looking forward with confidence
to the joyful meeting that would take place as soon as daylight
permitted. Nor could she realize in the slightest what a terrible
disaster had overtaken the army of the white conquerors. She had never
known it as aught but victorious, and its defeat was something she did
not for a moment consider possible. Thus, instead of being a prey to
the feverish anxiety that would have absorbed every thought had she
known the true state of affairs on the causeway, she entertained her
new friends with an account of her own life up to that moment. Her
auditors listened with eager interest, though saying but little in
return. After awhile the girl also grew silent, and then fell asleep
wrapped in her rabbit-fur blanket.
The old people were careful not to disturb her, and only occasionally
moved their light craft when other canoes threatened to approach
so close that there was danger of being discovered. This, however,
happened infrequently, so great was the attraction at the causeway.
Once the old woman said, musingly:
"Our own Cocotin would have been about her age."
"And by birth she is Tlascalan," replied the man, which showed that
their thoughts tended in the same direction.
At length the night passed, and daylight came. By it they earnestly
studied the features of the sleeping girl.
"She is the image of what thou wast when first I knew thee!" exclaimed
the old man, in trembling tones.
"We will question her more closely when she wakes," answered the other,
calmly, but with an intense longing in her voice. "Now let us to
Tlacopan; the way looks open."
So they made for the town, and, as the canoe grated on the beach,
the girl awoke. She was at first bewildered by her surroundings, but
reassured by the kindly words of the old people, quickly recovered her
usual presence of mind, and exclaimed, with decision, "Now must we find
our friends!"
The old man gathered up their scanty property, and they entered one
of the deserted streets. Most of the inhabitants had been drawn to
Tenochtitlan. Stopping at a humble hut to ask for food and information,
they found it empty. Entering without further ceremony, they found
food, of which they did not hesitate to partake, and a fire by which
the girl's wet clothing could be dried. Leaving the two women here, the
old man went out to seek for information.
He was gone the best part of an hour, and when he returned his wife
greeted him with tearful but joyous face. In trembling tones she
exclaimed, "Husband, she is indeed our own Cocotin, lost to us these
many years and now restored to our old age by the gods! The marks are
unmistakable." And then Marina, also tearful with her new-found joy,
threw her arms about his neck and called him "father."
There was so much to tell and explain and wonder at, that the day was
well advanced ere they set out to follow the Spanish army. This, as the
old man had learned, was camped, at no great distance, on the hill of
Montezuma. He had also heard rumors of the strong Aztec force already
gathering to descend on them and complete their destruction at that
place. To this news Marina listened with eager attention and all of her
wonted alertness.
"Let us hasten!" she cried, when he had finished, "for it may be that
this information will prove of the greatest importance."
So they set forth, the childless woman who had so marvellously
recovered a daughter, and the motherless girl who had found that she
was still possessed of the greatest of earthly blessings, walking hand
in hand.
With all their haste they made such slow progress, on account of
their anxiety to avoid undesirable meetings, that the sun was in the
western sky ere they climbed the hill of Montezuma, and received the
challenge of a Spanish sentinel, from a wall of the temple. He was
one of Cortes's veterans, and could hardly credit his senses when the
challenge was answered in his own tongue, and in the voice of the girl
whom all the army knew, loved, and was even now mourning as dead.
To Huetzin, roused out of a heavy sleep, she appeared like a vision
from heaven, and her restoration to him like a miracle of the
all-powerful gods. So overpowering was his happiness that it could find
no expression in words, and he was as dumb, in the presence of her
whom he worshipped, as might have been Sandoval himself.
To the White Conqueror this joyful coming again of her whom he had
named his "right hand" seemed to render all things possible, and again
the future glowed with the sunrise of hope. He and the others gathered
in eager welcome, listened intently to her story, and, for her sake,
the aged Tlascalans, whom she proudly claimed as father and mother,
were treated with the courtesy due to princes.
When she told Cortes of the Aztec army gathering for the assault of his
place of refuge, he exclaimed: "They shall have it and welcome, if they
have the courage to take it; but, ere then, I trust we shall be far
hence."
So, at midnight, the Spanish army, refreshed by its rest, and filled
with a new hope inspired by Marina's restoration to them, marched
silently away from the temple, to continue its retreat; but leaving
behind them watch-fires that would burn until morning, for the
misleading of the enemy.