FINAL OVERTHROW OF THE AZTEC GODS
The siege of Tenochtitlan had now been going on for nearly three
months. Still the besieged, animated by the heroism of their young
king, and the fatal superstition that caused them to believe in the
promises and tremble at the threats of their false priests, held out.
Famine, sickness, and death stalked abroad through the city; but it
would not surrender, nor would it so long as every house was a fortress
and every canal a barricade. Guatamotzin steadily refused to treat
with embassies, or grant a personal interview to the Christian leader.
Scores of Spaniards and hundreds of Huetzin's brave warriors had been
sacrificed by priestly knives, and their blood cried out for vengeance.
In view of these facts, Cortes came reluctantly to the conclusion that
the beautiful city must be destroyed, its buildings levelled to the
earth to afford a clear sweep for his guns, and its canals, filled with
their débris, converted into solid ground for the unimpeded movements
of his cavalry.
So the fatal order was given, and a hundred thousand natives of
Anahuac, who had suffered too bitterly from the oppression of the Aztec
to feel pity for him in the hour of his distress, seized their heavy
_coas_ (picks), and sprang cheerfully to the work of destruction.
First, the openings in the causeways were so solidly filled that they
were never again opened. Then the frail tenements of the suburbs
were demolished, and a broad belt, encircling the more substantially
built portions of the city, was presented for the movement of the
troops. The defenders of Tenochtitlan did not view these measures with
indifference; but, sallying forth on all sides, maintained an incessant
warfare with the besiegers.
At this stage of the proceedings a message was sent to Guatamotzin,
offering honorable terms of peace, and he called a great council to
consider it. His nobles advised its acceptance, but the priests,
foreseeing their own downfall if its terms were agreed to, forbade
him to submit. Their councils prevailed; and thus, in obedience to
priestly selfishness, was this queenly city of the New World doomed to
annihilation.
For two days the besiegers quietly awaited an answer to their message.
At length it came in the shape of a furious sortie, from every city
street, of host after host of desperate Aztecs. Like swollen mountain
torrents bursting their confining flood-gates, they swept in wave
after wave, across the causeways, to the very entrenchments of their
enemy, threatening to overwhelm him by sheer force of numbers. But
the besiegers were too strongly fortified, and too well armed, to be
dislodged. Into the very faces of the dense Aztec ranks was poured
a withering fire from the land batteries, while their flanks were
enfiladed by the guns of the fleet. Finally, hidden beneath clouds of
sulphurous smoke, their shattered columns wavered, and then rolled
slowly back into the city. It was their last great effort, and from
this time on, the proud city seemed to await its doom in sullen apathy.
Now the work of destruction was pressed with the utmost vigor. Day
after day witnessed the demolition of dwellings, palaces, and temples,
the filling of canals, and the penetrating of the besiegers, from
two sides at once, further and further toward the heart of the Aztec
capital. Fiercely did its starving defenders contest each foot of
progress, fighting from house to house, darting out in small parties
from side streets to slay a score or so of workmen, and then as
suddenly disappearing, charging after the retreating forces at each
nightfall, and at all times battling with the ferocity of despair.
From the six hundred temples of the city Huetzin and his band of picked
warriors hurled the idols, one after another, until at length, in all
Tenochtitlan, only one abiding-place remained to the Aztec gods. This
was the lofty teocal overlooking the market-place of Tlateloco, which
was second only in size and importance to the mighty structure from
which the war-god had long since been driven.
Three-fourths of the beautiful city, including the stately palace of
its king, lay in ruins, when near the close of a day of destruction,
the two attacking armies, doggedly fighting their way through the still
innumerable host of Aztecs, came in sight of each other on opposite
sides of the market-place. Suddenly, from the teocal overlooking it,
a bright blaze shot high in the air, reddening the eastern sky with a
glow like that of the western sunset. So ominous was the signal, that
for a moment all combatants paused to regard it. As they gazed upward,
a small body of men appeared on the verge of the lofty platform, and
the next instant a huge, shapeless mass, came crashing and thundering
down the steep declivity. During the momentary silence that followed, a
single figure stood boldly outlined, on the point from which the image
had come, and, in the ringing tones of Huetzin the Toltec, were heard
the words:
"Thus perishes the last of the Aztec gods!"
Then, making in mid-air the holy sign of his faith, he disappeared.
With joyous shouts the Christian soldiers sprang forward to complete
their victory; but it was completed. Guatamotzin was already a
fugitive, and, without king or gods, the Aztecs would fight no more.
That very evening Sandoval, who had been made admiral of the fleet,
chased with his swiftest vessel a large periagua that was endeavoring
to escape from the city. As he drew near to it, and was about to open
fire, a stately figure sprang up, and proclaimed:
"I am the king! Slay me if you will, but spare these helpless ones."
On hearing this, Sandoval ordered his men to lower their weapons, and
received Guatamotzin with courtesy and honor on board his vessel.
Thus ended the bitter siege of Tenochtitlan, a siege unsurpassed in the
annals of war for the heroic fortitude, bravery, and persistence shown
on both sides.
That night the fall of the Aztec capital, and the overthrow of its
gods, was signalized by one of the most fearful storms ever known in
the Mexican valley. For hours the rain descended in torrents, the
heavens were rent by incessant flashes of blinding lightning, and the
continuous crash of thunder shook the encircling mountain-walls to
their foundation. It was a fitting requiem over the death of a brave
and powerful, but at the same time cruel and superstitious, nation.
On the following morning began an exodus, from the devastated city, of
its remaining inhabitants; and so great was the number who had survived
the horrors of battle, pestilence, and famine, that the sorrowful
processions occupied three days in defiling across the causeways to the
mainland. As they had for many days been unable to bury their dead, the
deserted city was now but a vast charnel-house in which no human being
could exist. As soon after this as was practicable, Cortes set to work,
with the aid of the conquered citizens and immense levies drawn from
the surrounding country, to rebuild what he had destroyed. The first
building to be erected was a magnificent Christian cathedral, which,
dedicated to St. Francis, was made to occupy the very site on which
formerly stood the temple of the Aztec war-god. So actively was the
work of reconstruction pushed, that in less than four years' time the
new city of Mexico, in many respects more splendid than its predecessor
on the same site, had arisen from the ashes of Tenochtitlan.
With the fall of the Aztec capital, and the final overthrow of its
cruel gods, Huetzin, the Knight of Castile and head chief of the free
republic of Tlascala, was absolved from his vow. Thus the moment
his military duties would permit, he sought the brave and beautiful
Indian girl, to win whom had for so long been the hope of his life.
He found her in the royal gardens of Tezcuco; where, above the grave
of Tiata, he declared to Marina the love which had been hers, and had
been reciprocated by her, from the time of their first meeting. A few
days later they were married by the good Father Olmedo, the Christian
priest who had accompanied the white conquerors through all their weary
marches and battles.
Thus when the Lord of Titcala returned to his mountain home, at
the head of his army of victorious warriors, all other causes for
happiness seemed to him insignificant as compared with that of taking
with him, as his wife, the maiden whose services as interpreter to the
white conquerors were no longer needed.
The fall of Tenochtitlan occurred in August, 1521, and for seven years
longer did Cortes remain in Mexico, founding new cities, rebuilding
many of those that had been destroyed, extending the dominion of the
Spanish king, and in all ways perfecting his glorious conquest. At the
end of that time, or in the early summer of 1528, two fine ships, laden
with the rarest products of Anahuac, sailed from Vera Cruz, and, after
a prosperous voyage across the Atlantic, entered the port of Palos, in
Spain. On the deck of one of them, eagerly gazing at the land which
some of them had not seen in many years, and others were now viewing
for the first time, stood a group, most of whom would be recognized
by those familiar with the Mexico of that day. Chief among them was
Hernando Cortes, the leader. Beside him stood Gonzalo de Sandoval, his
beloved and well-tried Captain, and several other cavaliers, all heroes
of the Mexican wars. Near at hand were Huetzin, Lord of Titcala, his
beautiful wife, a son of Montezuma, and a number of other Tlascalan and
Aztec nobles.
Immediately on their arrival these repaired to the convent of La
Rabida, long since inseparably connected with the immortal name of
Columbus, to offer up thanks for their safe voyage.
Here, on the threshold of his native land, sturdy Sandoval took sick
of a mysterious malady, which, it was quickly evident, was about to
terminate his earthly career of glory and usefulness.
About the dying bed of the soldier were gathered his commander and his
best-loved friends. With the same composure and undaunted courage with
which he had faced death on a hundred battle-fields, he faced it now.
With a lingering hand-clasp to each, he bade farewell to the comrades
who had fought those battles beside him.
"To thy gentle care, Marina, I commend Motilla. From thee, Juan, my
brother, I will bear a message to Tiata."
Very faint were these words, but with the mention of her name, to whom
his loyal troth had been plighted years before in the royal gardens
of fair Tenochtitlan, a smile of ineffable glory illumined his rugged
features. In another moment his soldier spirit was answering the glad
trumpet-call of the Immortals, while above its earthly habitation,
Huetzin the Toltec was making the holy sign of the peace-loving but
all-powerful God of the Four Winds.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
This book uses dialect. To retain the intended flavor of the book,
spelling and punctuation in dialect text have not been altered.
Spelling of non-dialect wording in the text was made consistent when
a predominant preference was found in this book; if no predominant
preference was found, or if there is only one occurrence of the word,
spelling was not changed.
Hyphenation irregularities in non-dialect text were retained as found.
Occasional spaces following dashes were retained as found.
Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained. If other
occurrences of the word were found, end-of-line broken words were
hyphenated to match the most prevalent.
Punctuation has been standardized to modern usage for better
readability.
Punctuation in chapter titles and illustration captions was made
consistent.
Page 287--The name "Alvavado" was used. Elsewhere the name "Alvarado"
was used. With no definitive evidence that all referred to the same
character, both spellings were retained as found.