crowd of natives, but, as the battle progressed, they were surrounded
on every side by a swarm of warriors. Cortés received a wound in the
head and his horse was killed beneath him, so that he was obliged
to mount one taken from the baggage train. His men became exhausted
beneath the fiery rays of the sun and began to give way. The enemy,
on the other hand, was constantly being reënforced from the rear, and
pressed on with redoubled fury.
Matters were critical for the Spaniards, when Cortés did a deed of
daring which was quite worthy of the Chevalier Bayard, or Murat, the
famous Napoleonic leader of horse. With his keen eye he discovered in
the distance a chief, who, from his dress and surroundings, he knew to
be the leader of the Aztec forces. Turning to his favorite henchmen,
the brave Spaniard cried out, while pointing his finger at the chief:
“There is our mark! Follow and support me!”
Then, shouting his war cry, he plunged into the thickest of the press
and bore towards the noble Aztec.
The enemy was taken completely by surprise and fell back. Many could
not dodge aside and were trampled down by the war-horse, or pierced by
the long lance which Cortés wielded with all the skill of a trained
fencer. The cavalier companions of the gallant Spaniard followed him
closely, and, in a few moments, they had come within striking distance
of the Aztec chieftain. Cortés rode speedily at him, and, thrusting
with his lance, brought him to earth, where he was stabbed to death
by a young Spaniard called Juan de Salamanca. Tearing his banner from
his clinched fist, the Castilian presented it to Cortés, who waved it
triumphantly above his head. The caciques’ guard, surprised by this
sudden onset, fled precipitously, while the panic spread to the other
Indians. The Spaniards pursued them for several miles, then returned to
secure the rich booty which they had left behind them. Truly the battle
had been won by the daring and personal initiative of the brave Spanish
leader.
The adventurers were now safely out of their grave peril. They reached
Tlascala in a few days, and, with the assistance of their native
allies, at once prepared to revenge themselves upon the Aztecs. Several
Spaniards were at Vera Cruz and these joined them. But there was much
need of gunpowder, and there was no way of getting sulphur for its
manufacture, unless it was obtained from one of the many volcanoes in
the neighborhood. How was this to be done?
A cavalier, named Francio Montaño, was equal to the emergency and
suggested that he be allowed to descend into the terrible volcano of
Popocatepetl, where sulphur, in a crude form, hung to the side of the
crater. Cortés was only too willing to allow him to make the attempt,
so accompanied by several others, he set out. After great hardship,
and, after passing through a region of perpetual snow, the explorers
reached the mouth of the fierce volcano, and, crawling cautiously to
the very edge, they peered down into its gloomy depths. At the bottom
of the dark abyss a lurid flame was burning, and, every now and again,
arose a sulphurous stream, which, cooling as it came upward, fell again
in showers upon the side of the cavity. It was necessary to descend
into this crater, with the boiling lava below, in order to scrape some
of the sulphur from the sides.
Montaño himself drew the longest stem of grass, when the Spaniards had
prepared lots to see who should descend, and, clinging to a basket
and rope, was soon four hundred feet within the horrible chasm. As
he hung there, he scraped the sulphur from the sides of the crater,
descending again and again, until he had procured enough for the wants
of the army. Then, with great elation, the adventurous sulphur hunters
returned to Tlascala, where their arrival was greeted with shouts of
joy.
Cortés was fully prepared to march again to the Mexican capital and to
wreak vengeance upon the Aztecs, who were now governed by Guatemozin, a
young prince who had married one of Montezuma’s daughters.
The Spanish army consisted of about six hundred men, of which forty
were cavalry, and eighty were arquebusiers and cross-bowmen. There were
nine cannon. The men were armed with swords and with long copper-headed
pikes, which had been specially constructed under the direction of the
General. There were, also, the Tlascalan allies, who were still anxious
and willing to fight their hated enemies, the Aztecs. Numerous other
bands of Indians also flocked to the Spanish standard.
Cortés determined to march to Tezcuco, establish his headquarters upon
the side of the great lake which was near the Mexican capital, and to
begin a blockade of the city of the Aztecs, until some ships, which
he was having constructed, could be brought to him. Then he could
transport his troops to the edge of the city and begin a direct assault.
Everything went well with both ships and men. The vessels reached the
lake in good order, were launched, and were filled with soldiers. The
plan of action against the city was to send the cavalier, Sandoval,
with one division, to take possession of Iztapalapan at the southern
end of the lake, while Alvarado and Olid were to secure Tlacopan and
Chapultepec upon the western shore, destroy the aqueduct, and thus cut
off the city’s supply of fresh water. This was successfully done and
soon the Spaniards had penetrated into the city as far as the great
_teocalli_. The natives were driven before them, while the Tlascalans
in the rear filled up the gaps and brought up the cannon.
As you remember, it was at the great _teocalli_ that the most serious
fighting occurred when the Spaniards were previously driven from the
city. Now still fiercer battling took place and the Spaniards again
captured this temple of the war-god. Some of them rushed to the top and
there found a fresh image to Huitzilopochtli. Tearing off the gold and
jewels with which it was bedecked, they hurled it, with its attendant
priests, over the side, with a mighty yell of defiance. Then they
hastened below to the assistance of their comrades, who were being
furiously assailed by the Aztecs.
Things were going ill with the Spaniards and they were being driven
down the great street of the city in hopeless confusion and panic.
Luck was with them, however, for a small force of cavalry now arrived,
charged into the mass of yelping Indians, and drove them back again
to the _teocalli_. Here Cortés attacked by the flank and the natives
retired in confusion and dismay. Evening was now coming on, so the
Spanish troops retreated in good order, their Tlascalan allies pulling
down many of the houses as they departed. The palace of Montezuma was
set afire, and this sight so maddened the Aztecs, that they redoubled
their efforts to head off the disappearing white men. It was of no
avail. The attacking Spaniards soon reached Xoloc, where they learned
that many of the native tribes, seeing the Mexicans unable to hold the
city, would join with the men from Castile.
After months of siege the Aztecs still defied the conquerors and
fiercely rejected all overtures of peace, although the banner of
Castile floated undisturbed from the smoldering remains of the
sanctuary on the _teocalli_ of the war-god. Hundreds of famishing
wretches died every day and lay where they fell, with no one to bury
them. In the midst of all this brutality and misery, Guatemozin
remained calm and courageous, and was as firmly resolved as ever not to
capitulate.
An assault was ordered, and, although the Mexicans fought valiantly,
they were weakened by starvation and could not struggle as before.
After a bloody battle, the Spanish commander withdrew to his quarters,
leaving behind him forty thousand corpses and a smoldering ruin. This
blow seemed to utterly stun the Aztecs.
[Illustration: CAPTURE BY CORTÉS OF THE CITY OF MEXICO]
Cortés now determined to secure the person of Guatemozin, so, upon the
following day, August 13th., 1521, the Spaniards again advanced into
the town and were soon battling fiercely with the Aztecs. While this
was going on several canoes pushed off across the lake. The Spanish
ships gave chase and sunk most of them, but a few succeeded in getting
into open water. Two or three large canoes, close together, attracted
the attention of a soldier, named Garci Holguin, who instantly gave
chase, and, with a favorable wind, soon overtook the fugitives,
although they rowed with great energy. The Spaniards leveled their guns
at the Indians, when one rose, saying:
“I am Guatemozin. Lead me to Malinche. I am his prisoner. But let no
harm come to my wife and to my followers.”
The Emperor was taken on board one of the ships and was ordered to call
upon his people to surrender.
“There is no need of this,” he answered sadly, “for they will fight no
longer when they see that their Emperor has been captured.”
He had spoken correctly, for, when the news of his capture reached the
shore, the Mexicans at once ceased to defend themselves. They had put
up a hard battle in order to give their Sovereign an opportunity to
escape.
Cortés had been watching the affair from the flat roof of one of the
houses and now sent word that Guatemozin should be brought before him.
He came, escorted by Sandoval and Holguin, both of whom claimed the
honor of having captured him. The Spanish conqueror came forward with
dignified courtesy to receive the noble prisoner.
“I have done all that I could to defend myself and my people,” said
Guatemozin. “I am now reduced to this awful state. Deal with me,
Malinche, as you will.” Then, laying his hand upon a dagger which hung
from the belt of the Spanish invader, he added: “Better dispatch me at
once with this, and rid me of life.”
Cortés smiled.
“Fear not,” said he. “You will be treated with honor. You have defended
your capital like a brave warrior, and a Spaniard knows how to respect
valor, even in an enemy.”
In spite of these remarks he treated him with great cruelty, for,
when the city was entered and less treasure was found there than had
been expected, Cortés caused poor Guatemozin to be tortured. Fire and
cord could not, however, wring the secret of the treasure from this
illustrious Prince. Later on he was hanged, upon the pretense that he
had conspired against the Spaniards.
The Aztec dead were now collected and burned in huge bonfires. Those
who were still alive were allowed to leave the city, and for three days
a mournful train of men, women, and children straggled feebly across
the causeways, sick and wounded, wasted with famine and with misery.
Again and again they turned to take one more look at the spot which
had once been their home. When they were gone, the Spanish conquerors
took possession of the place and purified it as speedily as possible,
burying those who were not burned in the bonfires.
The treasures of gold and of jewels which were found fell far short
of the expectations of the conquerors, for the Aztecs, no doubt, had
buried their hoards, or sunk them in the lake on purpose to disappoint
the avarice of their enemies.
Thus, after three months of continued fighting, the renowned capital of
the Aztecs fell before Cortés and his men. The Mexicans had put up a
courageous fight and had suffered much, but they had been no match for
the soldiers from Cuba and from Spain.
The Aztecs would not have thus gone down to ruin, had they not
ruthlessly made war upon the neighboring states, which caused them to
be hated. Their human sacrifices had angered their weaker neighbors,
and thus Cortés had secured the aid of the Tlascalans, without whose
assistance he could never have won the fight.
Cortés and his Spaniards were now masters of Mexico. A brave man with
equally brave followers had conquered an entire empire!
And what of the future days of this bold-hearted explorer? Alas! These
were similar to those which came to Columbus, the Navigator. Poor,
forsaken by the King of Spain, surrounded by persons who were jealous
of his position and his fame, the once rich and prosperous adventurer
died miserably at Castilleja, Spain, on December second, 1547, at the
age of sixty-two. With him was his devoted son, Martin, a youth of
fifteen.
Cortés was entombed in the land of his birth, but this was not to be
his last resting place, for his remains were taken across the sea to
the country which he had conquered. He was buried for the second time
in the Franciscan monastery at Tezcuco; then, for a third time, in the
church of St. Francis in the City of Mexico. On this occasion, which
was sixty-seven years after the first entombment, all the dignitaries
of Mexico marched in procession through the streets of the city. Still
again, in 1794, there was another removal of the General’s moldering
dust to the hospital of Jesus, where a monument of bronze was erected
to his fame and glory.
In 1823 there was yet another disturbance of what remained of our hero.
The previous removals of his ashes had been inspired by regard, but now
a revolutionary mob of frenzied Mexicans, in order to show its hatred
and detestation of the Spanish conquerors, endeavored to desecrate the
tomb. To prevent this, the casket, in the dead of night, was secretly
carried away by the Duke of Monteleone, a descendant of Cortés on the
female line, and for more than seventy years remained in a place of
safety. Monteleone, himself, was killed in one of the many Mexican
revolutions, and all knowledge was lost of the spot where he had hidden
the ashes of the conqueror. Yet, within a few years, the remains have
been discovered and a movement has been started to have them placed
in the national pantheon, a temple in the City of Mexico, erected to
all those who have made great names in the history of this turbulent
republic.
So at last, perhaps, the valiant Cortés will receive the honor that is
due him.
FERDINAND MAGELLAN:
EXPERT MARINER, WHOSE FOLLOWERS WERE THE FIRST TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE THE
GLOBE
(1480-1521)
FERDINAND MAGELLAN:
EXPERT MARINER, WHOSE FOLLOWERS WERE THE FIRST TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE THE
GLOBE
(1480-1521)
“COME hither, page, I want you.”
A little boy ran through the corridors of the palace of King John of
Portugal as this cry rang out, and, kneeling at the feet of the Queen,
kissed her hand.
“That is a good boy,” said Queen Leonora, smiling. “Ferdinand, I wish
to say that you need not accompany me this afternoon, but can go out
hawking.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said the little boy, and, scampering off,
he was soon outside the palace, where some of the men-at-arms took him
hunting. This was much more to his liking than staying near the Queen
and carrying messages for her, which he was expected to do nearly every
day in the week.
Little Ferdinand had been born about the year 1470 at the Villa de
Sabroza, which is situated about the center of that part of Portugal
which lies north of the River Douro. His family was a noble one and
consequently it had been easy for the youth to obtain a position of
page at Court, a position which in those days, was equivalent to going
to boarding-school at the present time.
In 1470 a page was taught something of the history of his own country,
and a little about the history of others. He was instructed in
Latin,—enough to enable him to understand the church service,—and
was also taught how to read and to write. He was shown how to use
the rapier, the lance, and the arquebus; how to ride a horse; how to
swim and to dance. This was supposed to constitute the education of a
Portuguese gentleman, and, as there was some rivalry among the nobles
in regard to their respective households, the retinues of a Count or a
Baron quite resembled a modern boarding-school.
These were days when all eyes were turned upon the New World and the
recent discoveries in America. Every Portuguese youth was anxious to
follow the sea, perhaps to become a great explorer or navigator. The
discovery of a route to the Indies by a mariner in the service of
Spain had awakened a jealousy in the hearts of the Portuguese, and all
patriotic sailors were anxious to coast down the African shore, and, if
possible, to find a way to the Indies by the Cape of Good Hope. Young
Ferdinand grew up in this atmosphere, so you can readily see that he
eagerly looked for a chance when he could leave the court and could
become a mariner upon the wide and surging ocean.
The ambitious Ferdinand did not have to look far, or long, before
he had an opportunity to follow the sea. We find that he served
an apprenticeship under a famous navigator called Albuquerque,
who, although he maintained a strict military discipline over his
followers, was wise, humane, and just in his dealings with them. Young
Ferdinand spent much time in the Indies, where he had an excellent
opportunity to study and learn by experience how to govern men, so,
when Albuquerque was recalled to Portugal, he went with him, only
to find that the King would give him but slight recognition for his
services. This angered the high-spirited young fellow.
“I will leave the service of such a monarch,” said he, “and will go to
Spain. There, I hear, they know how to treat a valiant man.”
So, accompanied by one Roy Falero, who had earned quite a reputation
as a geographer and astronomer, he sought out Charles the Fifth at
Seville, proposing that the King allow him men and money for a journey
of exploration.
“I wish to sail westward,” said he, “and will discover a new route to
the Indies. If your gracious Majesty will but help me, I will find new
lands which will become the possessions of the Crown of Castile.”
Charles the Fifth, the grandson of Ferdinand and Isabella, was King of
Spain, and also Monarch of Austria; one crown being his by right of
his mother, the other by inheritance from his father. He was a man of
large ideas, so, when this project was presented to him, he heartily
approved, saying:
“Of course you shall go, and I will give you the money, the men,
and the ships. But all that you discover must belong to the King of
Spain.—Understand this!”
“We do.”
“Then you may sail, and God be with you!”
Five ships were soon fitted out for the expedition. Their crews
numbered two hundred and thirty-seven men and Ferdinand was
commissioned Admiral of the squadron, a position which pleased him
mightily. The caravels turned southward, and, leaving Seville on
August 10th., 1519, lazed along until they reached the Gulf of Guinea
on the west coast of Africa, where the ships cast anchor. By and by a
trade-wind came along, and aided by this and by the South Equatorial
current, the vessels made a safe and easy passage across the Atlantic,
to the shore of Brazil.
The Spaniards were delighted with what they saw, for they found a
large, fresh-water river, seventeen miles across, and at its mouth were
seven islands. Going ashore the sailors saw many brown-skinned natives,
who ran away whenever they approached, yelling like demons. One of
them “had the stature of a giant and the voice of a bull,” but even he
skipped headlong into the brush as the men from Castile made after him.
When the Spaniards reached the village of these Brazilians they found
the remains of human beings roasting on their fires. They stood aghast,
for these fellows were cannibals!
The ships were headed southward and languidly cruised along the coast
to Patagonia where the explorers lingered for two full months, eagerly
looking for precious stones and for human beings. But they found none
of the former and only one of the latter, this fellow being a giant who
came down to the shore dancing, singing, and throwing dust over his
head.
He was so tall, says an old chronicler of this voyage, that the
head of a middling-sized man reached only to his waist; he was
well-proportioned; his visage was large and painted with different
colors, principally with yellow. There were red circles about his eyes
and something like a beard was pictured on either cheek. His hair
was colored white and his apparel was the skin of some beast, laced
together, the head of which appeared to have been very large. It had
ears like a mule, the body of a camel, and the tail of a horse: the
skin of it was wrapped about his feet in the manner of shoes. In his
hand was a short, thick bow and a bundle of arrows, made of reeds and
pointed with sharp stones.
Magellan invited the giant Patagonian on board his flagship, and, when
the old fellow had mounted the rope-ladder leading over the side,
presented him with hawk’s bells, a comb, some blue beads, and a looking
glass, into which the dusky-hued savage took a glance.
“Hu—rruu!!” No sooner had he seen his own horrid appearance than he
started backwards, with such violence, that he knocked down two sailors
who were standing behind him. He slipped, fell down on the deck, and,
when he arose, stood there shivering. His own face, never seen before,
had terrorized him. After awhile he was rowed ashore, still quaking and
rolling his eyes with unpleasant recollections of what he had seen.
The Spaniards laughed heartily at what had occurred, but the next
day a man of still greater stature came to visit them. He sang some
native songs, danced on the deck, and brought out some skins which he
traded for glass beads and other trinkets. Then he disappeared and did
not return, which led the voyagers to the belief that his countrymen
had made away with him because of the friendship which they had shown
towards him.
This did not deter other natives from paddling out to the ships, and
four soon came on board. These were presented with beads, with bells,
and similar trifles. But the Spaniards determined to trick them, so
fastened iron shackles around the ankles of two of them, as if for
ornaments. The ignorant Indians professed great delight with the
shining bands of metal, but, when they were ready to leave the vessel,
the fraud was discovered. It was certainly a cruel way to treat the
poor South Americans.
As for the other two, they dove over the side of the vessel and swam to
land, as soon as they perceived what had happened to their companions,
who began to roar “as loud as bulls,” and implored the assistance of
their God, the great devil Setebos. It was of no avail. The Spaniards
would not let them go and took them with them when they sailed further
south. They called them Patagonians, for their feet were covered with
skins, and the Portuguese word pata means a hoof or paw.
Now trouble beset Magellan, the same kind of trouble which Columbus had
with his men. His followers grew rebellious, and threatened to break
into open mutiny. Winter was at hand, and the ships were laid up for
the cold weather, but this forced inactivity made the sailors begin
to think about home, and they grew restless and discontented. They
requested their commander to set sail for Spain, but this he refused to
do. The sailors talked the matter over, and their sense of oppression
grew stronger and stronger. So they decided to take possession of the
ships, put the Admiral to death, imprison or kill such of the superior
officers as refused to acknowledge the authority of the mutineers, and
to return to Spain with a story that their commander had been swept
overboard in a storm.
The leader of this conspiracy was one Luis de Mendoza, who was assisted
by a Roman Catholic priest, Juan de Carthagena, who had accompanied
the expedition so that the Spaniards might not be without spiritual
assistance during their roving trips into unknown seas. Fortunately
for the Admiral this plot was disclosed to him in time to prevent its
execution. He had a trial and found the mutineers guilty. Many were
sentenced to be hanged, drawn, and quartered.
But the priest was allowed to have his life, for the Spaniards were too
good Catholics to harm any one who had devoted his days to the Church.
Carthagena was not injured; but was simply put under arrest, guarded
by one of the captains. The man of God was forced into the stocks: an
instrument made of two pieces of wood placed one upon the other and
pierced by two holes in which were inserted the legs of the person who
was to be punished.