BOOK VI

SIEGE AND SURRENDER OF MEXICO

(CONTINUED)

CONQUEST OF MEXICO

CHAPTER V

INDIAN FLOTILLA DEFEATED--OCCUPATION OF THE CAUSEWAYS--DESPERATE

ASSAULTS--FIRING OF THE PALACES--SPIRIT OF THE BESIEGED--BARRACKS

FOR THE TROOPS

1521

No sooner had Cortés received intelligence that his two officers had

established themselves in their respective posts, than he ordered

Sandoval to march on Iztapalapan. The cavalier’s route led him through a

country for the most part friendly; and at Chalco his little body of

Spaniards was swelled by the formidable muster of Indian levies who

awaited there his approach. After this junction, he continued his march

without opposition till he arrived before the hostile city, under whose

walls he found a large force drawn up to receive him. A battle followed,

and the natives, after maintaining their ground sturdily for some time,

were compelled to give way, and to seek refuge either on the water, or

in that part of the town which hung over it. The remainder was speedily

occupied by the Spaniards.

Meanwhile, Cortés had set sail with his flotilla, intending to support

his lieutenant’s attack by water. On drawing near the southern shore of

the lake, he passed under the shadow of an insulated peak, since named

from him the “Rock of the Marquis.” It was held by a body of Indians,

who saluted the fleet, as it passed, with showers of stones and arrows.

Cortés, resolving to punish their audacity, and to clear the lake of his

troublesome enemy, instantly landed with a hundred and fifty of his

followers. He placed himself at their head, scaled the steep ascent, in

the face of a driving storm of missiles, and, reaching the summit, put

the garrison to the sword. There was a number of women and children,

also, gathered in the place, whom he spared.[1]

On the top of the eminence was a blazing beacon, serving to notify to

the inhabitants of the capital when the Spanish fleet weighed anchor.

Before Cortés had regained his brigantine, the canoes and _piraguas_ of

the enemy had left the harbors of Mexico, and were seen darkening the

lake for many a rood. There were several hundred of them, all crowded

with warriors, and advancing rapidly by means of their oars over the

calm bosom of the waters.[2]

Cortés, who regarded his fleet, to use his own language, as “the key of

the war,” felt the importance of striking a decisive blow in the first

encounter with the enemy.[3] It was with chagrin, therefore, that he

found his sails rendered useless by the want of wind. He calmly awaited

the approach of the Indian squadron, which, however, lay on their oars

at something more than musket-shot distance, as if hesitating to

encounter these leviathans of their waters. At this moment, a light air

from land rippled the surface of the lake; it gradually freshened into a

breeze, and Cortés, taking advantage of the friendly succor, which he

may be excused, under all the circumstances, for regarding as especially

sent him by Heaven, extended his line of battle, and bore down, under

full press of canvas, on the enemy.[4]

The latter no sooner encountered the bows of their formidable opponents

than they were overturned and sent to the bottom by the shock, or so

much damaged that they speedily filled and sank. The water was covered

with the wreck of broken canoes, and with the bodies of men struggling

for life in the waves and vainly imploring their companions to take them

on board their over-crowded vessels. The Spanish fleet, as it dashed

through the mob of boats, sent off its volleys to the right and left

with a terrible effect, completing the discomfiture of the Aztecs. The

latter made no attempt at resistance, scarcely venturing a single flight

of arrows, but strove with all their strength to regain the port from

which they had so lately issued. They were no match in the chase, any

more than in the fight, for their terrible antagonist, who, borne on the

wings of the wind, careered to and fro at his pleasure, dealing death

widely around him, and making the shores ring with the thunders of his

ordnance. A few only of the Indian flotilla succeeded in recovering the

port, and, gliding up the canals, found a shelter in the bosom of the

city, where the heavier burden of the brigantines made it impossible for

them to follow. This victory, more complete than even the sanguine

temper of Cortés had prognosticated, proved the superiority of the

Spaniards, and left them, henceforth, undisputed masters of the Aztec

sea.[5]

It was nearly dusk when the squadron, coasting along the great southern

causeway, anchored off the point of junction, called Xoloc, where the

branch from Cojohuacan meets the principal dike. The avenue widened at

this point, so as to afford room for two towers, or turreted temples,

built of stone, and surrounded by walls of the same material, which

presented altogether a position of some strength, and, at the present

moment, was garrisoned by a body of Aztecs. They were not numerous, and

Cortés, landing with his soldiers, succeeded without much difficulty in

dislodging the enemy and in getting possession of the works.

It seems to have been originally the general’s design to take up his own

quarters with Olid at Cojohuacan. But, if so, he now changed his

purpose, and wisely fixed on this spot as the best position for his

encampment. It was but half a league distant from the capital, and,

while it commanded its great southern avenue, had a direct communication

with the garrison at Cojohuacan, through which he might receive supplies

from the surrounding country. Here, then, he determined to establish his

headquarters. He at once caused his heavy iron cannon to be transferred

from the brigantines to the causeway, and sent orders to Olid to join

him with half his force, while Sandoval was instructed to abandon his

present quarters and advance to Cojohuacan, whence he was to detach

fifty picked men of his infantry to the camp of Cortés. Having made

these arrangements, the general busily occupied himself with

strengthening the works at Xoloc and putting them in the best posture of

defence.

During the first five or six days after their encampment the Spaniards

experienced much annoyance from the enemy, who too late endeavored to

prevent their taking up a position so near the capital, and which, had

they known much of the science of war, they would have taken better care

themselves to secure. Contrary to their usual practice, the Indians made

their attacks by night as well as by day. The water swarmed with canoes,

which hovered at a distance in terror of the brigantines, but still

approached near enough, especially under cover of the darkness, to send

showers of arrows into the Christian camp, that fell so thick as to hide

the surface of the ground and impede the movements of the soldiers.

Others ran along the western side of the causeway, unprotected as it was

by the Spanish fleet, and plied their archery with such galling effect

that the Spaniards were forced to make a temporary breach in the dike,

wide enough to admit two of their own smaller vessels, which, passing

through, soon obtained as entire command of the interior basin as they

before had of the outer. Still, the bold barbarians, advancing along the

causeway, marched up within bow-shot of the Christian ramparts, sending

forth such yells and discordant battle-cries that it seemed, in the

words of Cortés, “as if heaven and earth were coming together.” But they

were severely punished for their temerity, as the batteries, which

commanded the approaches to the camp, opened a desolating fire, that

scattered the assailants and drove them back in confusion to their own

quarters.[6]

The two principal avenues to Mexico, those on the south and the west,

were now occupied by the Christians. There still remained a third, the

great dike of Tepejacac, on the north, which, indeed, taking up the

principal street, that passed in a direct line through the heart of the

city, might be regarded as a continuation of the dike of Iztapalapan. By

this northern route a means of escape was still left open to the

besieged, and they availed themselves of it, at present, to maintain

their communications with the country and to supply themselves with

provisions. Alvarado, who observed this from his station at Tacuba,

advised his commander of it, and the latter instructed Sandoval to take

up his position on the causeway. That officer, though suffering at the

time from a severe wound received from a lance in one of the late

skirmishes, hastened to obey, and thus, by shutting up its only

communication with the surrounding country, completed the blockade of

the capital.[7]

But Cortés was not content to wait patiently the effects of a dilatory

blockade, which might exhaust the patience of his allies and his own

resources. He determined to support it by such active assaults on the

city as should further distress the besieged and hasten the hour of

surrender. For this purpose he ordered a simultaneous attack, by the two

commanders at the other stations, on the quarters nearest their

encampments.

On the day appointed, his forces were under arms with the dawn. Mass,

as usual, was performed; and the Indian confederates, as they listened

with grave attention to the stately and imposing service, regarded with

undisguised admiration the devotional reverence shown by the Christians,

whom, in their simplicity, they looked upon as little less than

divinities themselves.[8] The Spanish infantry marched in the van, led

on by Cortés, attended by a number of cavaliers, dismounted like

himself. They had not moved far upon the causeway, when they were

brought to a stand by one of the open breaches, that had formerly been

traversed by a bridge. On the farther side a solid rampart of stone and

lime had been erected, and behind this a strong body of Aztecs were

posted, who discharged on the Spaniards, as they advanced, a thick

volley of arrows. The latter vainly endeavored to dislodge them with

their fire-arms and cross-bows; they were too well secured behind their

defences.

Cortés then ordered two of the brigantines, which had kept along, one on

each side of the causeway, in order to co-operate with the army, to

station themselves so as to enfilade the position occupied by the enemy.

Thus placed between two well-directed fires, the Indians were compelled

to recede. The soldiers on board the vessels, springing to land, bounded

like deer up the sides of the dike. They were soon followed by their

countrymen under Cortés, who, throwing themselves into the water, swam

the undefended chasm and joined in pursuit of the enemy. The Mexicans

fell back, however, in something like order, till they reached another

opening in the dike, like the former, dismantled of its bridge, and

fortified in the same manner by a bulwark of stone, behind which the

retreating Aztecs, swimming across the chasm, and reinforced by fresh

bodies of their countrymen, again took shelter.

They made good their post, till, again assailed by the cannonade from

the brigantines, they were compelled to give way. In this manner breach

after breach was carried; and at every fresh instance of success a shout

went up from the crews of the vessels, which, answered by the long files

of the Spaniards and their confederates on the causeway, made the Valley

echo to its borders.

Cortés had now reached the end of the great avenue, where it entered the

suburbs. There he halted to give time for the rear-guard to come up with

him. It was detained by the labor of filling up the breaches in such a

manner as to make a practicable passage for the artillery and horse and

to secure one for the rest of the army on its retreat. This important

duty was intrusted to the allies, who executed it by tearing down the

ramparts on the margins and throwing them into the chasms, and, when

this was not sufficient,--for the water was deep around the southern

causeway,--by dislodging the great stones and rubbish from the dike

itself, which was broad enough to admit of it, and adding them to the

pile, until it was raised above the level of the water.

The street on which the Spaniards now entered was the great avenue that

intersected the town from north to south, and the same by which they had

first visited the capital.[9] It was broad and perfectly straight, and,

in the distance, dark masses of warriors might be seen gathering to the

support of their countrymen, who were prepared to dispute the further

progress of the Spaniards. The sides were lined with buildings, the

terraced roofs of which were also crowded with combatants, who, as the

army advanced, poured down a pitiless storm of missiles on their heads,

which glanced harmless, indeed, from the coat of mail, but too often

found their way through the more common _escaupil_ of the soldier,

already gaping with many a ghastly rent. Cortés, to rid himself of this

annoyance for the future, ordered his Indian pioneers to level the

principal buildings as they advanced; in which work of demolition, no

less than in the repair of the breaches, they proved of inestimable

service.[10]

The Spaniards, meanwhile, were steadily, but slowly, advancing, as the

enemy recoiled before the rolling fire of musketry, though turning, at

intervals, to discharge their javelins and arrows against their

pursuers. In this way they kept along the great street until their

course was interrupted by a wide ditch or canal, once traversed by a

bridge, of which only a few planks now remained. These were broken by

the Indians the moment they had crossed, and a formidable array of

spears was instantly seen bristling over the summit of a solid rampart

of stone, which protected the opposite side of the canal. Cortés was no

longer supported by his brigantines, which the shallowness of the canals

prevented from penetrating into the suburbs. He brought forward his

arquebusiers, who, protected by the targets of their comrades, opened a

fire on the enemy. But the balls fell harmless from the bulwarks of

stone; while the assailants presented but too easy a mark to their

opponents.

The general then caused the heavy guns to be brought up, and opened a

lively cannonade, which soon cleared a breach in the works, through

which the musketeers and crossbowmen poured in their volleys thick as

hail. The Indians now gave way in disorder, after having held their

antagonists at bay for two hours.[11] The latter, jumping into the

shallow water, scaled the opposite bank without further resistance, and

drove the enemy along the street towards the square, where the sacred

pyramid reared its colossal bulk high over the other edifices of the

city.

It was a spot too familiar to the Spaniards. On one side stood the

palace of Axayacatl, their old quarters, the scene to many of them of so

much suffering.[12] Opposite was the pile of low, irregular buildings

once the residence of the unfortunate Montezuma;[13] while a third side

of the square was flanked by the _Coatepantli_, or Wall of Serpents,

which encompassed the great _teocalli_ with its little city of holy

edifices.[14] The Spaniards halted at the entrance of the square, as if

oppressed, and for the moment overpowered, by the bitter recollections

that crowded on their minds. But their intrepid leader, impatient at

their hesitation, loudly called on them to advance before the Aztecs had

time to rally; and, grasping his target in one hand, and waving his

sword high above his head with the other, he cried his war-cry of “St.

Jago,” and led them at once against the enemy.[15]

The Mexicans, intimidated by the presence of their detested foe, who, in

spite of all their efforts, had again forced his way into the heart of

their city, made no further resistance, but retreated, or rather fled,

for refuge into the sacred enclosure of the _teocalli_, where the

numerous buildings scattered over its ample area afforded many good

points of defence. A few priests, clad in their usual wild and

blood-stained vestments, were to be seen lingering on the terraces which

wound round the stately sides of the pyramid, chanting hymns in honor of

their god, and encouraging the warriors below to battle bravely for his

altars.[16]

The Spaniards poured through the open gates into the area, and a small

party rushed up the winding corridors to its summit. No vestige now

remained there of the Cross, or of any other symbol of the pure faith to

which it had been dedicated. A new effigy of the Aztec war-god had taken

the place of the one demolished by the Christians, and raised its

fantastic and hideous form in the same niche which had been occupied by

its predecessor. The Spaniards soon tore away its golden mask and the

rich jewels with which it was bedizened, and, hurling the struggling

priests down the sides of the pyramid, made the best of their way to

their comrades in the area. It was full time.[17]

The Aztecs, indignant at the sacrilegious outrage perpetrated before

their eyes, and gathering courage from the inspiration of the place,

under the very presence of their deities, raised a yell of horror and

vindictive fury, as, throwing themselves into something like order, they

sprang, by a common impulse, on the Spaniards. The latter, who had

halted near the entrance, though taken by surprise, made an effort to

maintain their position at the gateway. But in vain; for the headlong

rush of the assailants drove them at once into the square, where they

were attacked by other bodies of Indians, pouring in from the

neighboring streets. Broken, and losing their presence of mind, the

troops made no attempt to rally, but, crossing the square, and

abandoning the cannon, planted there, to the enemy, they hurried down

the great street of Iztapalapan. Here they were soon mingled with the

allies, who choked up the way, and who, catching the panic of the

Spaniards, increased the confusion, while the eyes of the fugitives,

blinded by the missiles that rained on them from the _azoteas_, were

scarcely capable of distinguishing friend from foe. In vain Cortés

endeavored to stay the torrent, and to restore order. His voice was

drowned in the wild uproar, as he was swept away, like drift-wood, by

the fury of the current.

All seemed to be lost;--when suddenly sounds were heard in an adjoining

street, like the distant tramp of horses galloping rapidly over the

pavement. They drew nearer and nearer, and a body of cavalry soon

emerged on the great square. Though but a handful in number,{*} they

plunged boldly into the thick of the enemy. We have often had occasion

to notice the superstitious dread entertained by the Indians of the

horse and his rider. And, although the long residence of the cavalry in

the capital had familiarized the natives in some measure with their

presence, so long a time had now elapsed since they had beheld them that

all their former mysterious terrors revived in full force; and, when

thus suddenly assailed in flank by the formidable apparition, they were

seized with a panic and fell into confusion. It soon spread to the

leading files, and Cortés, perceiving his advantage, turned with the

rapidity of lightning, and, at this time supported by his followers,

succeeded in driving the enemy with some loss back into the enclosure.

{*} [There were but three according to most accounts.--M.]

It was now the hour of vespers, and, as night must soon overtake them,

he made no further attempt to pursue his advantage. Ordering the

trumpets, therefore, to sound a retreat, he drew off his forces in good

order, taking with him the artillery which had been abandoned in the

square. The allies first went off the ground, followed by the Spanish

infantry, while the rear was protected by the horse. The Aztecs hung on

the closing files, and, though driven back by frequent charges of the

cavalry, still followed in the distance, shooting off their ineffectual

missiles, and filling the air with wild cries and howlings, like a herd

of ravenous wolves disappointed of their prey. It was late before the

army reached its quarters at Xoloc.[18]

Cortés had been well supported by Alvarado and Sandoval in this assault

on the city; though neither of these commanders had penetrated the

suburbs, deterred, perhaps, by the difficulties of the passage, which in

Alvarado’s case were greater than those presented to Cortés, from the

greater number of breaches with which the dike in his quarter was

intersected. Something was owing, too, to the want of brigantines, until

Cortés supplied the deficiency by detaching half of his little navy to

the support of his officers. Without their co-operation, however, the

general himself could not have advanced so far, nor, perhaps, have

succeeded at all in setting foot within the city. The success of this

assault spread consternation not only among the Mexicans, but their

vassals, as they saw that the formidable preparations for defence were

to avail little against the white man, who had so soon, in spite of

them, forced his way into the very heart of the capital. Several of the

neighboring places, in consequence, now showed a willingness to shake

off their allegiance, and claimed the protection of the Spaniards. Among

these were the territory of Xochimilco, so roughly treated by the

invaders, and some tribes of Otomies, a rude but valiant people, who

dwelt on the western confines of the Valley.[19] Their support was

valuable, not so much from the additional reinforcements which it

brought, as from the greater security it gave to the army, whose

outposts were perpetually menaced by these warlike barbarians.[20]

The most important aid which the Spaniards received at this time was

from Tezcuco, whose prince, Ixtlilxochitl, gathered the whole strength

of his levies, to the number of fifty thousand, if we are to credit

Cortés, and led them in person to the Christian camp. By the general’s

orders, they were distributed among the three divisions of the

besiegers.[21]

Thus strengthened, Cortés prepared to make another attack upon the

capital, and that before it should have time to recover from the former.

Orders were given to his lieutenants on the other causeways to march at

the same time, and co-operate with him, as before, in the assault. It

was conducted in precisely the same manner as on the previous entry, the

infantry taking the van, and the allies and cavalry following. But, to

the great dismay of the Spaniards, they found two-thirds of the breaches

restored to their former state, and the stones and other materials, with

which they had been stopped, removed by the indefatigable enemy. They

were again obliged to bring up the cannon, the brigantines ran

alongside, and the enemy was dislodged, and driven from post to post, in

the same manner as on the preceding attack. In short, the whole work was

to be done over again. It was not till an hour after noon, that the army

had won a footing in the suburbs.

Here their progress was not so difficult as before; for the buildings,

from the terraces of which they had experienced the most annoyance, had

been swept away. Still, it was only step by step that they forced a

passage in face of the Mexican militia, who disputed their advance with

the same spirit as before. Cortés, who would willingly have spared the

inhabitants, if he could have brought them to terms, saw them with

regret, as he says, thus desperately bent on a war of extermination. He

conceived that there would be no way more likely to affect their minds

than by destroying at once some of the principal edifices, which they

were accustomed to venerate as the pride and ornament of the city.[22]

Marching into the great square, he selected, as the first to be

destroyed, the old palace of Axayacatl, his former barracks. The ample

range of low buildings was, it is true, constructed of stone; but the

interior, as well as the outworks, the turrets, and roofs, was of wood.

The Spaniards, whose associations with the pile were of so gloomy a

character, sprang to the work of destruction with a satisfaction like

that which the French mob may have felt in the demolition of the

Bastile. Torches and firebrands were thrown about in all directions; the

lower parts of the building were speedily on fire, which, running along

the inflammable hangings and wood-work of the interior, rapidly spread

to the second floor. There the element took freer range, and, before it

was visible from without, sent up from every aperture and crevice a

dense column of vapor, that hung like a funeral pall over the city. This

was dissipated by a bright sheet of flame, which enveloped all the upper

regions of the vast pile, till, the supporters giving way, the wide

range of turreted chambers fell, amidst clouds of dust and ashes, with

an appalling crash, that for a moment stayed the Spaniards in the work

of devastation.[23]

It was but for a moment. On the other side of the square, adjoining

Montezuma’s residence, were several buildings, as the reader is aware,

appropriated to animals. One of these was now marked for

destruction,--the House of Birds, filled with specimens of all the

painted varieties which swarmed over the wide forests of Mexico. It was

an airy and elegant building, after the Indian fashion, and, viewed in

connection with its object, was undoubtedly a remarkable proof of

refinement and intellectual taste in a barbarous monarch. Its light,

combustible materials, of wood and bamboo, formed a striking contrast to

the heavy stone edifices around it, and made it obviously convenient for

the present purpose of the invaders. The torches were applied, and the

fanciful structure was soon wrapped in flames, that sent their baleful

splendors far and wide over city and lake. Its feathered inhabitants

either perished in the fire, or those of stronger wing, bursting the

burning lattice-work of the aviary, soared high into the air, and,

fluttering for a while over the devoted city, fled with loud screams to

their native forests beyond the mountains.

The Aztecs gazed with inexpressible horror on this destruction of the

venerable abode of their monarchs and of the monuments of their luxury

and splendor. Their rage was exasperated almost to madness as they

beheld their hated foes the Tlascalans busy in the work of desolation,

and aided by the Tezcucans, their own allies, and not unfrequently their

kinsmen. They vented their fury in bitter execrations, especially on the

young prince Ixtlilxochitl, who, marching side by side with Cortés, took

his full share in the dangers of the day. The warriors from the

house-tops poured the most opprobrious epithets on him as he passed,

denouncing him as a false-hearted traitor; false to his country and his

blood,--reproaches not altogether unmerited, as his kinsman, who

chronicles the circumstance, candidly confesses.[24] He gave little heed

to their taunts, however, holding on his way with the dogged resolution

of one true to the cause in which he was embarked; and, when he entered

the great square, he grappled with the leader of the Aztec forces,

wrenched a lance from his grasp, won by the latter from the Christians,

and dealt him a blow with his mace, or _maquahuitl_, which brought him

lifeless to the ground.[25]

The Spanish commander, having accomplished the work of destruction,

sounded a retreat, sending on the Indian allies, who blocked up the way

before him. The Mexicans, maddened by their losses, in wild transports

of fury hung close on his rear, and, though driven back by the cavalry,

still returned, throwing themselves desperately under the horses,

striving to tear the riders from their saddles, and content to throw

away their own lives for one blow at their enemy. Fortunately, the

greater part of their militia was engaged with the assailants on the

opposite quarters of the city, but, thus crippled, they pushed the

Spaniards under Cortés so vigorously that few reached the camp that

night without bearing on their bodies some token of the desperate

conflict.[26]

On the following day, and, indeed, on several days following, the

general repeated his assaults with as little care for repose as if he

and his men had been made of iron. On one occasion he advanced some way

down the street of Tacuba, in which he carried three of the bridges,

desirous, if possible, to open a communication with Alvarado, posted on

the contiguous causeway. But the Spaniards in that quarter had not

penetrated beyond the suburbs, still impeded by the severe character of

the ground, and wanting, it may be, somewhat of that fiery impetuosity

which the soldier feels who fights under the eye of his chief.

In each of these assaults the breaches were found more or less restored

to their original state by the pertinacious Mexicans, and the materials,

which had been deposited in them with so much labor, again removed. It

may seem strange that Cortés did not take measures to guard against the

repetition of an act which caused so much delay and embarrassment to his

operations. He notices this in his Letter to the Emperor, in which he

says that to do so would have required either that he should have

established his quarters in the city itself, which would have surrounded

him with enemies and cut off his communications with the country, or

that he should have posted a sufficient guard of Spaniards--for the

natives were out of the question--to protect the breaches by night, a

duty altogether beyond the strength of men engaged in so arduous service

through the day.[27]

Yet this was the course adopted by Alvarado; who stationed at night a

guard of forty soldiers for the defence of the opening nearest to the

enemy. This was relieved by a similar detachment, in a few hours, and

this again by a third, the two former still lying on their post; so that

on an alarm a body of one hundred and twenty soldiers was ready on the

spot to repel an attack. Sometimes, indeed, the whole division took up

their bivouac in the neighborhood of the breach, resting on their arms,

and ready for instant action.[28]

But a life of such incessant toil and vigilance was almost too severe

even for the stubborn constitutions of the Spaniards. “Through the long

night,” exclaims Diaz, who served in Alvarado’s division, “we kept our

dreary watch; neither wind, nor wet, nor cold availing anything. There

we stood, smarting as we were from the wounds we had received in the

fight of the preceding day.”[29] It was the rainy season, which

continues in that country from July to September;[30] and the surface of

the causeways, flooded by the storms, and broken up by the constant

movement of such large bodies of men, was converted into a marsh, or

rather quagmire, which added inconceivably to the distresses of the

army.

The troops under Cortés were scarcely in a better situation. But few of

them could find shelter in the rude towers that garnished the works of

Xoloc. The greater part were compelled to bivouac in the open air,

exposed to all the inclemency of the weather. Every man, unless his

wounds prevented it, was required by the camp regulations to sleep on

his arms; and they were often roused from their hasty slumbers by the

midnight call to battle. For Guatemozin, contrary to the usual practice

of his countrymen, frequently selected the hours of darkness to aim a

blow at the enemy. “In short,” exclaims the veteran soldier above

quoted, “so unintermitting were our engagements, by day and by night,

during the three months in which we lay before the capital, that to

recount them all would but exhaust the reader’s patience, and make him

fancy he was perusing the incredible feats of a knight-errant of

romance.”[31]

The Aztec emperor conducted his operations on a systematic plan, which

showed some approach to military science. He not unfrequently made

simultaneous attacks on the three several divisions of the Spaniards

established on the causeways, and on the garrisons at their extremities.

To accomplish this, he enforced the service not merely of his own

militia of the capital, but of the great towns in the neighborhood, who

all moved in concert, at the well-known signal of the beacon-fire, or of

the huge drum struck by the priests on the summit of the temple. One of

these general attacks, it was observed, whether from accident or design,

took place on the eve of St. John the Baptist, the anniversary of the

day on which the Spaniards made their second entry into the Mexican

capital.[32]

Notwithstanding the severe drain on his forces by this incessant

warfare, the young monarch contrived to relieve them in some degree by

different detachments, which took the place of one another. This was

apparent from the different uniforms and military badges of the Indian

battalions that successively came and disappeared from the field. At

night a strict guard was maintained in the Aztec quarters, a thing not

common with the nations of the plateau. The outposts of the hostile

armies were stationed within sight of each other. That of the Mexicans

was usually placed in the neighborhood of some wide breach, and its

position was marked by a large fire in front. The hours for relieving

guard were intimated by the shrill Aztec whistle, while bodies of men

might be seen moving behind the flame, which threw a still ruddier glow

over the cinnamon-colored skins of the warriors.

While thus active on land, Guatemozin was not idle on the water. He was

too wise, indeed, to cope with the Spanish navy again in open battle;

but he resorted to stratagem, so much more congenial to Indian warfare.

He placed a large number of canoes in ambuscade among the tall reeds

which fringed the southern shores of the lake, and caused piles, at the

same time, to be driven into the neighboring shallows. Several

_piraguas_, or boats of a larger size, then issued forth, and rowed near

the spot where the Spanish brigantines were moored. Two of the smallest

vessels, supposing the Indian barks were conveying provisions to the

besieged, instantly stood after them, as had been foreseen. The Aztec

boats fled for shelter to the reedy thicket where their companions lay

in ambush. The Spaniards, following, were soon entangled among the

palisades under the water. They were instantly surrounded by the whole

swarm of Indian canoes, most of the men were wounded, several, including

the two commanders, slain, and one of the brigantines fell--a useless

prize--into the hands of the victors. Among the slain was Pedro Barba,

captain of the crossbowmen, a gallant officer, who had highly

distinguished himself in the Conquest. This disaster occasioned much

mortification to Cortés. It was a salutary lesson, that stood him in

good stead during the remainder of the war.[33]

Thus the contest was waged by land and by water,--on the causeway, the

city, and the lake. Whatever else might fail, the capital of the Aztec

empire was true to itself, and, mindful of its ancient renown, opposed a

bold front to its enemies in every direction. As in a body whose

extremities have been struck with death, life still rallied in the

heart, and seemed to beat there, for the time, with even a more vigorous

pulsation than ever.

It may appear extraordinary that Guatemozin should have been able to

provide for the maintenance of the crowded population now gathered in

the metropolis, especially as the avenues were all in the possession of

the besieging army.[34] But, independently of the preparations made with

this view before the siege, and of the loathsome sustenance daily

furnished by the victims for sacrifice, supplies were constantly

obtained from the surrounding country across the lake. This was so

conducted, for a time, as in a great measure to escape observation; and

even when the brigantines were commanded to cruise day and night, and

sweep the waters of the boats employed in this service, many still

contrived, under cover of the darkness, to elude the vigilance of the

cruisers, and brought their cargoes into port. It was not till the great

towns in the neighborhood cast off their allegiance that the supply

began to fail, from the failure of its sources. This defection was more

frequent, as the inhabitants became convinced that the government,

incompetent to its own defence, must be still more so to theirs; and the

Aztec metropolis saw its great vassals fall off one after another, as

the tree over which decay is stealing parts with its leaves at the first

blast of the tempest.[35]

The cities which now claimed the Spanish general’s protection supplied

the camp with an incredible number of warriors; a number which, if we

admit Cortés’ own estimate, one hundred and fifty thousand,[36] could

have only served to embarrass his operations on the long extended

causeways. Yet it is true that the Valley, teeming with towns and

villages, swarmed with a population--and one, too, in which every man

was a warrior--greatly exceeding that of the present day. These levies

were distributed among the three garrisons at the terminations of the

causeways; and many found active employment in foraging the country for

provisions, and yet more in carrying on hostilities against the places

still unfriendly to the Spaniards.

Cortés found further occupation for them in the construction of barracks

for his troops, who suffered greatly from exposure to the incessant

rains of the season, which were observed to fall more heavily by night

than by day. Quantities of stone and timber were obtained from the

buildings that had been demolished in the city. They were transported in

the brigantines to the causeway, and from these materials a row of huts

or barracks was constructed, extending on either side of the works of

Xoloc. It may give some idea of the great breadth of the causeway at

this place, one of the deepest parts of the lake, to add that, although

the barracks were erected in parallel lines on the opposite sides of it,

there still remained space enough for the army to defile between.[37]

By this arrangement, ample accommodations were furnished for the Spanish

troops and their Indian attendants, amounting in all to about two

thousand. The great body of the allies, with a small detachment of horse

and infantry, were quartered at the neighboring post of Cojohuacan,

which served to protect the rear of the encampment and to maintain its

communication with the country. A similar disposition of forces took

place in the other divisions of the army, under Alvarado and Sandoval,

though the accommodations provided for the shelter of the troops on

their causeways were not so substantial as those for the division of

Cortés.

The Spanish camp was supplied with provisions from the friendly towns in

the neighborhood, and especially from Tezcuco.[38] They consisted of

fish, the fruits of the country, particularly a sort of fig borne by the

_tuna_ (_cactus opuntia_), and a species of cherry, or something much

resembling it, which grew abundantly at this season. But their principal

food was the _tortillas_, cakes of Indian meal, still common in Mexico,

for which bake-houses were established, under the care of the natives,

in the garrison towns commanding the causeways.[39] The allies, as

appears too probable, reinforced their frugal fare with an occasional

banquet on human flesh, for which the battle-field unhappily afforded

them too much facility, and which, however shocking to the feelings of

Cortés, he did not consider himself in a situation, at that moment, to

prevent.[40]

Thus the tempest, which had been so long mustering, broke at length, in

all its fury, on the Aztec capital. Its unhappy inmates beheld the

hostile legions encompassing them about, with their glittering files

stretching as far as the eye could reach. They saw themselves deserted

by their allies and vassals in their utmost need; the fierce stranger

penetrating into their secret places, violating their temples,

plundering their palaces, wasting the fair city by day, firing its

suburbs by night, and intrenching himself in solid edifices under their

walls, as if determined never to withdraw his foot while one stone

remained upon another. All this they saw; yet their spirits were

unbroken; and, though famine and pestilence were beginning to creep

over them, they still showed the same determined front to their

enemies. Cortés, who would gladly have spared the town and its

inhabitants, beheld this resolution with astonishment. He intimated more

than once, by means of the prisoners whom he released, his willingness

to grant them fair terms of capitulation. Day after day he fully

expected his proffers would be accepted. But day after day he was

disappointed.[41] He had yet to learn how tenacious was the memory of

the Aztecs, and that, whatever might be the horrors of their present

situation, and their fears for the future, they were all forgotten in

their hatred of the white man.

CHAPTER VI

GENERAL ASSAULT ON THE CITY--DEFEAT OF THE SPANIARDS--THEIR

DISASTROUS CONDITION--SACRIFICE OF THE CAPTIVES--DEFECTION OF THE

ALLIES--CONSTANCY OF THE TROOPS

1521

Famine was now gradually working its way into the heart of the

beleaguered city. It seemed certain that, with this strict blockade, the

crowded population must in the end be driven to capitulate, though no

arm should be raised against them. But it required time; and the

Spaniards, though constant and enduring by nature, began to be impatient

of hardships scarcely inferior to those experienced by the besieged. In

some respects their condition was even worse, exposed as they were to

the cold, drenching rains, which fell with little intermission,

rendering their situation dreary and disastrous in the extreme.

In this state of things, there were many who would willingly have

shortened their sufferings and taken the chance of carrying the place by

a _coup de main_. Others thought it would be best to get possession of

the great market of Tlatelolco, which, from its situation in the

northwestern part of the city, might afford the means of communication

with the camps of both Alvarado and Sandoval. This place, encompassed by

spacious porticoes, would furnish accommodations for a numerous host;

and, once established in the capital, the Spaniards would be in a

position to follow up the blow with far more effect than at a distance.

These arguments were pressed by several of the officers, particularly by

Alderete, the royal treasurer, a person of much consideration, not only

from his rank, but from the capacity and zeal he had shown in the

service. In deference to their wishes, Cortés summoned a council of war,

and laid the matter before it. The treasurer’s views were espoused by

most of the high-mettled cavaliers, who looked with eagerness to any

change of their present forlorn and wearisome life; and Cortés, thinking

it, probably, more prudent to adopt the less expedient course than to

enforce a cold and reluctant obedience to his own opinion, suffered

himself to be overruled.[42]

A day was fixed for the assault, which was to be made simultaneously by

the two divisions under Alvarado and the commander-in-chief. Sandoval

was instructed to draw off the greater part of his forces from the

northern causeway and to unite himself with Alvarado, while seventy

picked soldiers were to be detached to the support of Cortés.

On the appointed morning, the two armies, after the usual celebration of

mass, advanced along their respective causeways against the city.[43]

They were supported, in addition to the brigantines, by a numerous fleet

of Indian boats, which were to force a passage up the canals, and by a

countless multitude of allies, whose very numbers served in the end to

embarrass their operations. After clearing the suburbs, three avenues

presented themselves, which all terminated in the square of Tlatelolco.

The principal one, being of much greater width than the other two, might

rather be called a causeway than a street, since it was flanked by deep

canals on either side. Cortés divided his force into three bodies. One

of them he placed under Alderete, with orders to occupy the principal

street. A second he gave in charge to Andres de Tápia and Jorge de

Alvarado; the former a cavalier of courage and capacity, the latter a

younger brother of Don Pedro, and possessed of the intrepid spirit which

belonged to that chivalrous family. These were to penetrate by one of

the parallel streets, while the general himself, at the head of the

third division, was to occupy the other. A small body of cavalry, with

two or three field-pieces, was stationed as a reserve in front of the

great street of Tacuba, which was designated as the rallying-point for

the different divisions.[44]

Cortés gave the most positive instructions to his captains not to

advance a step without securing the means of retreat by carefully

filling up the ditches and the openings in the causeway. The neglect of

this precaution by Alvarado, in an assault which he had made on the city

but a few days before, had been attended with such serious consequences

to his army that Cortés rode over, himself, to his officer’s quarters,

for the purpose of publicly reprimanding him for his disobedience of

orders. On his arrival at the camp, however, he found that his offending

captain had conducted the affair with so much gallantry, that the

intended reprimand--though well deserved--subsided into a mild

rebuke.[45]

The arrangements being completed, the three divisions marched at once up

the several streets. Cortés, dismounting, took the van of his own

squadron, at the head of his infantry. The Mexicans fell back as he

advanced, making less resistance than usual. The Spaniards pushed on,

carrying one barricade after another, and carefully filling up the gaps

with rubbish, so as to secure themselves a footing. The canoes

supported the attack, by moving along the canals and grappling with

those of the enemy; while numbers of the nimble-footed Tlascalans,

scaling the terraces, passed on from one house to another, where they

were connected, hurling the defenders into the streets below. The enemy,

taken apparently by surprise, seemed incapable of withstanding for a

moment the fury of the assault; and the victorious Christians, cheered

on by the shouts of triumph which arose from their companions in the

adjoining streets, were only the more eager to be first at the destined

goal.

Indeed, the facility of his success led the general to suspect that he

might be advancing too fast; that it might be a device of the enemy to

draw them into the heart of the city and then surround or attack them in

the rear. He had some misgivings, moreover, lest his too ardent

officers, in the heat of the chase, should, notwithstanding his

commands, have overlooked the necessary precaution of filling up the

breaches. He accordingly brought his squadron to a halt, prepared to

baffle any insidious movement of his adversary. Meanwhile he received

more than one message from Alderete, informing him that he had nearly

gained the market. This only increased the general’s apprehension that,

in the rapidity of his advance, he might have neglected to secure the

ground. He determined to trust no eyes but his own, and, taking a small

body of troops, proceeded at once to reconnoitre the route followed by

the treasurer.

He had not proceeded far along the great street, or causeway, when his

progress was arrested by an opening ten or twelve paces wide, and filled

with water, at least two fathoms deep, by which a communication was

formed between the canals on the opposite sides. A feeble attempt had

been made to stop the gap with the rubbish of the causeway, but in too

careless a manner to be of the least service; and a few straggling

stones and pieces of timber only showed that the work had been abandoned

almost as soon as begun.[46] To add to his consternation, the general

observed that the sides of the causeway in this neighborhood had been

pared off, and, as was evident, very recently. He saw in all this the

artifice of the cunning enemy, and had little doubt that his hot-headed

officer had rushed into a snare deliberately laid for him. Deeply

alarmed, he set about repairing the mischief as fast as possible, by

ordering his men to fill up the yawning chasm.

But they had scarcely begun their labors, when the hoarse echoes of

conflict in the distance were succeeded by a hideous sound of mingled

yells and war-whoops, that seemed to rend the very heavens. This was

followed by a rushing noise, as of the tread of thronging multitudes,

showing that the tide of battle was turned back from its former course,

and was rolling on towards the spot where Cortés and his little band of

cavaliers were planted.

His conjecture proved too true. Alderete had followed the retreating

Aztecs with an eagerness which increased with every step of his advance.

He had carried the barricades which had defended the breach, without

much difficulty, and, as he swept on, gave orders that the opening

should be stopped. But the blood of the high-spirited cavaliers was

warmed by the chase, and no one cared to be detained by the ignoble

occupation of filling up the ditches, while he could gather laurels so

easily in the fight; and they all pressed on, exhorting and cheering one

another with the assurance of being the first to reach the square of

Tlatelolco. In this way they suffered themselves to be decoyed into the

heart of the city; when suddenly the horn of Guatemozin--the sacred

symbol, heard only in seasons of extraordinary peril--sent forth a long

and piercing note from the summit of a neighboring _teocalli_. In an

instant, the flying Aztecs, as if maddened by the blast, wheeled about,

and turned on their pursuers. At the same time, countless swarms of

warriors from the adjoining streets and lanes poured in upon the flanks

of the assailants, filling the air with the fierce, unearthly cries

which had reached the ears of Cortés, and drowning, for a moment, the

wild dissonance which reigned in the other quarters of the capital.[47]

The army, taken by surprise, and shaken by the fury of the assault, was

thrown into the utmost disorder. Friends and foes, white men and

Indians, were mingled together in one promiscuous mass. Spears, swords,

and war-clubs were brandished together in the air. Blows fell at random.

In their eagerness to escape, they trod down one another. Blinded by the

missiles which now rained on them from the _azoteas_, they staggered on,

scarcely knowing in what direction, or fell, struck down by hands which

they could not see. On they came, like a rushing torrent sweeping along

some steep declivity, and rolling in one confused tide towards the open

breach, on the farther side of which stood Cortés and his companions,

horror-struck at the sight of the approaching ruin. The foremost soon

plunged into the gulf, treading one another under the flood, some

striving ineffectually to swim, others, with more success, to clamber

over the heaps of their suffocated comrades. Many, as they attempted to

scale the opposite sides of the slippery dike, fell into the water, or

were hurried off by the warriors in the canoes, who added to the horrors

of the rout by the fresh storm of darts and javelins which they poured

on the fugitives.

Cortés, meanwhile, with his brave followers, kept his station undaunted

on the other side of the breach. “I had made up my mind,” he says, “to

die, rather than desert my poor followers in their extremity!”[48] With

outstretched hands he endeavored to rescue as many as he could from the

watery grave, and from the more appalling fate of captivity. He as

vainly tried to restore something like presence of mind and order among

the distracted fugitives. His person was too well known to the Aztecs,

and his position now made him a conspicuous mark for their weapons.

Darts, stones, and arrows fell around him thick as hail, but glanced

harmless from his steel helmet and armor of proof. At length a cry of

“Malinche,” “Malinche,” arose among the enemy; and six of their number,

strong and athletic warriors, rushing on him at once, made a violent

effort to drag him on board their boat. In the struggle he received a

severe wound in the leg, which, for the time, disabled it. There seemed

to be no hope for him; when a faithful follower, Cristóval de Olea,

perceiving his general’s extremity, threw himself on the Aztecs, and

with a blow cut off the arm of one savage, and then plunged his sword in

the body of another. He was quickly supported by a comrade named Lerma,

and by a Tlascalan chief, who, fighting over the prostrate body of

Cortés, despatched three more of the assailants; though the heroic Olea

paid dearly for his self-devotion, as he fell mortally wounded by the

side of his general.[49]

The report soon spread among the soldiers that their commander was

taken; and Quiñones, the captain of his guard, with several others,

pouring in to the rescue, succeeded in disentangling Cortés from the

grasp of his enemies, who were struggling with him in the water, and,

raising him in their arms, placed him again on the causeway. One of his

pages, meanwhile, had advanced some way through the press, leading a

horse for his master to mount. But the youth received a wound in the

throat from a javelin, which prevented him from effecting his object.

Another of his attendants was more successful. It was Guzman, his

chamberlain; but, as he held the bridle while Cortés was assisted into

the saddle, he was snatched away by the Aztecs, and, with the swiftness

of thought, hurried off by their canoes. The general still lingered,

unwilling to leave the spot while his presence could be of the least

service. But the faithful Quiñones, taking his horse by the bridle,

turned his head from the breach, exclaiming, at the same time, that “his

master’s life was too important to the army to be thrown away

there.”[50]

Yet it was no easy matter to force a passage through the press. The

surface of the causeway, cut up by the feet of men and horses, was

knee-deep in mud, and in some parts was so much broken that the water

from the canals flowed over it. The crowded mass, in their efforts to

extricate themselves from their perilous position, staggered to and fro

like a drunken man. Those on the flanks were often forced by the lateral

pressure of their comrades down the slippery sides of the dike, where

they were picked up by the canoes of the enemy, whose shouts of triumph

proclaimed the savage joy with which they gathered in every new victim

for the sacrifice. Two cavaliers, riding by the general’s side, lost

their footing, and rolled down the declivity into the water. One was

taken and his horse killed. The other was happy enough to escape. The

valiant ensign, Corral, had a similar piece of good fortune. He slipped

into the canal, and the enemy felt sure of their prize, when he again

succeeded in recovering the causeway, with the tattered banner of

Castile still flying above his head. The barbarians set up a cry of

disappointed rage as they lost possession of a trophy to which the

people of Anahuac attached, as we have seen, the highest importance,

hardly inferior in their eyes to the capture of the commander-in-chief

himself.[51]

Cortés at length succeeded in regaining the firm ground, and reaching

the open place before the great street of Tacuba. Here, under a sharp

fire of the artillery, he rallied his broken squadrons, and, charging at

the head of the little body of horse, which, not having been brought

into action, were still fresh, he beat off the enemy. He then commanded

the retreat of the two other divisions. The scattered forces again

united; and the general, sending forward his Indian confederates, took

the rear with a chosen body of cavalry to cover the retreat of the army,

which was effected with but little additional loss.[52]

Andres de Tápia was despatched to the western causeway to acquaint

Alvarado and Sandoval with the failure of the enterprise. Meanwhile the

two

[Illustration: THE STANDARD OF CORTÉS]

captains had penetrated far into the city. Cheered by the triumphant

shouts of their countrymen in the adjacent streets, they had pushed on

with extraordinary vigor, that they might not be out-stripped in the

race of glory. They had almost reached the market-place, which lay

nearer to their quarters than to the general’s, when they heard the

blast from the dread horn of Guatemozin,[53] followed by the

overpowering yell of the barbarians, which had so startled the ears of

Cortés; till at length the sounds of the receding conflict died away in

the distance. The two captains now understood that the day must have

gone hard with their countrymen. They soon had further proof of it, when

the victorious Aztecs, returning from the pursuit of Cortés, joined

their forces to those engaged with Sandoval and Alvarado, and fell on

them with redoubled fury. At the same time they rolled on the ground two

or three of the bloody heads of the Spaniards, shouting the name of

“Malinche.” The captains, struck with horror at the spectacle,--though

they gave little credit to the words of the enemy,--instantly ordered a

retreat. Indeed, it was not in their power to maintain their ground

against the furious assaults of the besieged, who poured on them, swarm

after swarm, with a desperation of which, says one who was there,

“although it seems as if it were now present to my eyes, I can give but

a faint idea to the reader. God alone could have brought us off safe

from the perils of that day.”[54] The fierce barbarians followed up the

Spaniards to their very intrenchments. But here they were met, first by

the crossfire of the brigantines, which, dashing through the palisades

planted to obstruct their movements, completely enfiladed the causeway,

and next by that of the small battery erected in front of the camp,

which, under the management of a skilful engineer, named Medrano, swept

the whole length of the defile. Thus galled in front and on flank, the

shattered columns of the Aztecs were compelled to give way and take

shelter under the defences of the city.

The greatest anxiety now prevailed in the camp regarding the fate of

Cortés; for Tápia had been detained on the road by scattered parties of

the enemy, whom Guatemozin had stationed there to interrupt the

communication between the camps. He arrived at length, however, though

bleeding from several wounds. His intelligence, while it reassured the

Spaniards as to the general’s personal safety, was not calculated to

allay their uneasiness in other respects.

Sandoval, in particular, was desirous to acquaint himself with the

actual state of things and the further intentions of Cortés. Suffering

as he was from three wounds, which he had received in that day’s fight,

he resolved to visit in person the quarters of the commander-in-chief.

It was mid-day--for the busy scenes of the morning had occupied but a

few hours--when Sandoval remounted the good steed on whose strength and

speed he knew he could rely. It was a noble animal, well known

throughout the army, and worthy of its gallant rider, whom it had

carried safe through all the long marches and bloody battles of the

Conquest.[55] On the way he fell in with Guatemozin’s scouts, who gave

him chase, and showered around him volleys of missiles, which,

fortunately, found no vulnerable point in his own harness or that of his

well-barbed charger.

On arriving at the camp, he found the troops there much worn and

dispirited by the disaster of the morning. They had good reason to be

so. Besides the killed, and a long file of wounded, sixty-two Spaniards,

with a multitude of allies, had fallen alive into the hands of the

enemy,--an enemy who was never known to spare a captive. The loss of two

field-pieces and seven horses crowned their own disgrace and the triumph

of the Aztecs. This loss, so insignificant in European warfare, was a

great one here, where both horses and artillery, the most powerful arms

of war against the barbarians, were not to be procured without the

greatest cost and difficulty.[56]

Cortés, it was observed, had borne himself throughout this trying day

with his usual intrepidity and coolness. The only time he was seen to

falter was when the Mexicans threw down before him the heads of several

Spaniards, shouting, at the same time, “Sandoval,” “Tonatiuh,” the

well-known epithet of Alvarado. At the sight of the gory trophies he

grew deadly pale; but, in a moment recovering his usual confidence, he

endeavored to cheer up the drooping spirits of his followers. It was

with a cheerful countenance that he now received his lieutenant; but a

shade of sadness was visible through this outward composure, showing how

the catastrophe of the _puente cuidada_, “the sorrowful bridge,” as he

mournfully called it, lay heavy at his heart.

To the cavalier’s anxious inquiries as to the cause of the disaster, he

replied, “It is for my sins that it has befallen me, son Sandoval;” for

such was the affectionate epithet with which Cortés often addressed his

best-beloved and trusty officer. He then explained to him the immediate

cause, in the negligence of the treasurer. Further conversation

followed, in which the general declared his purpose to forego active

hostilities for a few days. “You must take my place,” he continued, “for

I am too much crippled at present to discharge my duties. You must

watch over the safety of the camps. Give especial heed to Alvarado’s. He

is a gallant soldier, I know it well; but I doubt the Mexican hounds

may, some hour, take him at disadvantage.”[57] These few words showed

the general’s own estimation of his two lieutenants; both equally brave

and chivalrous, but the one uniting with these qualities the

circumspection so essential to success in perilous enterprises, in which

the other was signally deficient. The future conqueror of Guatemala had

to gather wisdom, as usual, from the bitter fruits of his own errors. It

was under the training of Cortés that he learned to be a soldier. The

general, having concluded his instructions, affectionately embraced his

lieutenant, and dismissed him to his quarters.

It was late in the afternoon when he reached them; but the sun was still

lingering above the western hills, and poured his beams wide over the

Valley, lighting up the old towers and temples of Tenochtitlan with a

mellow radiance, that little harmonized with the dark scenes of strife

in which the city had so lately been involved. The tranquillity of the

hour, however, was on a sudden broken by the strange sounds of the great

drum in the temple of the war-god,--sounds which recalled the _noche

triste_, with all its terrible images, to the minds of the Spaniards,

for that was the only occasion on which they had ever heard them.[58]

They intimated some solemn act of religion within the unhallowed

precincts of the _teocalli_; and the soldiers, startled by the mournful

vibrations, which might be heard for leagues across the Valley, turned

their eyes to the quarter whence they proceeded. They there beheld a

long procession winding up the huge sides of the pyramid; for the camp

of Alvarado was pitched scarcely a mile from the city, and objects are

distinctly visible at a great distance in the transparent atmosphere of

the table-land.

As the long file of priests and warriors reached the flat summit of the

_teocalli_, the Spaniards saw the figures of several men stripped to

their waists, some of whom, by the whiteness of their skins, they

recognized as their own countrymen. They were the victims for sacrifice.

Their heads were gaudily decorated with coronals of plumes, and they

carried fans in their hands. They were urged along by blows, and

compelled to take part in the dances in honor of the Aztec war-god. The

unfortunate captives, then stripped of their sad finery, were stretched,

one after another, on the great stone of sacrifice. On its convex

surface their breasts were heaved up conveniently for the diabolical

purpose of the priestly executioner, who cut asunder the ribs by a

strong blow with his sharp razor of _itztli_, and, thrusting his hand

into the wound, tore away the heart, which, hot and reeking, was

deposited on the golden censer before the idol. The body of the

slaughtered victim was then hurled down the steep stairs of the pyramid,

which, it may be remembered, were placed at the same angle of the pile,

one flight below another; and the mutilated remains were gathered up by

the savages beneath, who soon prepared with them the cannibal repast

which completed the work of abomination![59]

We may imagine with what sensations the stupefied Spaniards must have

gazed on this horrid spectacle, so near that they could almost recognize

the persons of their unfortunate friends, see the struggles and writhing

of their bodies, hear--or fancy that they heard--their screams of agony!

yet so far removed that they could render them no assistance. Their

limbs trembled beneath them, as they thought what might one day be their

own fate; and the bravest among them, who had hitherto gone to battle as

careless and light-hearted as to the banquet or the ball-room, were

unable, from this time forward, to encounter their ferocious enemy

without a sickening feeling, much akin to fear, coming over them.[60]

Such was not the effect produced by this spectacle on the Mexican

forces, gathered at the end of the causeway. Like vultures maddened by

the smell of distant carrion, they set up a piercing cry, and, as they

shouted that “such should be the fate of all their enemies,” swept along

in one fierce torrent over the dike. But the Spaniards were not to be

taken by surprise; and, before the barbarian horde had come within their

lines, they opened such a deadly fire from their battery of heavy guns,

supported by the musketry and cross-bows, that the assailants were

compelled to fall back slowly, but fearfully mangled, to their former

position.

The five following days passed away in a state of inaction, except,

indeed, so far as was necessary to repel the sorties made from time to

time by the militia of the capital. The Mexicans, elated with their

success, meanwhile, abandoned themselves to jubilee; singing, dancing,

and feasting on the mangled relics of their wretched victims. Guatemozin

sent several heads of the Spaniards, as well as of the horses, round

the country, calling on his old vassals to forsake the banners of the

white men, unless they would share the doom of the enemies of Mexico.

The priests now cheered the young monarch and the people with the

declaration that the dread Huitzilopochtli, their offended deity,

appeased by the sacrifices offered up on his altars, would again take

the Aztecs under his protection, and deliver their enemies, before the

expiration of eight days, into their hands.[61]

This comfortable prediction, confidently believed by the Mexicans, was

thundered in the ears of the besieging army in tones of exultation and

defiance. However it may have been contemned by the Spaniards, it had a

very different effect on their allies. The latter had begun to be

disgusted with a service so full of peril and suffering and already

protracted far beyond the usual term of Indian hostilities. They had

less confidence than before in the Spaniards. Experience had shown that

they were neither invincible nor immortal, and their recent reverses

made them even distrust the ability of the Christians to reduce the

Aztec metropolis. They recalled to mind the ominous words of

Xicotencatl, that “so sacrilegious a war could come to no good for the

people of Anahuac.” They felt that their arm was raised against the gods

of their country. The prediction of the oracle fell heavy on their

hearts. They had little doubt of its fulfilment, and were only eager to

turn away the bolt from their own heads by a timely secession from the

cause.

They took advantage, therefore, of the friendly cover of night to steal

away from their quarters. Company after company deserted in this manner,

taking the direction of their respective homes. Those belonging to the

great towns of the Valley, whose allegiance was the most recent, were

the first to cast it off. Their example was followed by the older

confederates, the militia of Cholula, Tepeaca, Tezcuco, and even the

faithful Tlascala. There were, it is true, some exceptions to these, and

among them Ixtlilxochitl, the young lord of Tezcuco, and Chichemecatl,

the valiant Tlascalan chieftain, who, with a few of their immediate

followers, still remained true to the banner under which they had

enlisted. But their number was insignificant. The Spaniards beheld with

dismay the mighty array, on which they relied for support, thus silently

melting away before the breath of superstition. Cortés alone maintained

a cheerful countenance. He treated the prediction with contempt, as an

invention of the priests, and sent his messengers after the retreating

squadrons, beseeching them to postpone their departure, or at least to

halt on the road, till the time, which would soon elapse, should show

the falsehood of the prophecy.

The affairs of the Spaniards at this crisis must be confessed to have

worn a gloomy aspect. Deserted by their allies, with their ammunition

nearly exhausted, cut off from the customary supplies from the

neighborhood, harassed by unintermitting vigils and fatigues, smarting

under wounds, of which every man in the army had his share, with an

unfriendly country in their rear and a mortal foe in front, they might

well be excused for faltering in their enterprise. They found abundant

occupation by day in foraging the country, and in maintaining their

position on the causeways against the enemy, now made doubly daring by

success and by the promises of their priests; while at night their

slumbers were disturbed by the beat of the melancholy drum, the sounds

of which, booming far over the waters, tolled the knell of their

murdered comrades. Night after night fresh victims were led up to the

great altar of sacrifice; and, while the city blazed with the

illumination of a thousand bonfires on the terraced roofs of the

dwellings and in the areas of the temples, the dismal pageant, showing

through the fiery glare like the work of the ministers of hell, was

distinctly visible from the camp below. One of the last of the sufferers

was Guzman, the unfortunate chamberlain of Cortés, who lingered in

captivity eighteen days before he met his doom.[62]

Yet in this hour of trial the Spaniards did not falter. Had they

faltered, they might have learned a lesson of fortitude from some of

their own wives, who continued with them in the camp, and who displayed

a heroism, on this occasion, of which history has preserved several

examples. One of these, protected by her husband’s armor, would

frequently mount guard in his place when he was wearied. Another,

hastily putting on a soldier’s _escaupil_ and seizing a sword and lance,

was seen, on one occasion, to rally their retreating countrymen and lead

them back against the enemy. Cortés would have persuaded these Amazonian

dames to remain at Tlascala; but they proudly replied, “It was the duty

of Castilian wives not to abandon their husbands in danger, but to share

it with them,--and die with them, if necessary.” And well did they do

their duty.[63]

Amidst all the distresses and multiplied embarrassments of their

situation, the Spaniards still remained true to their purpose. They

relaxed in no degree the severity of the blockade. Their camps still

occupied the only avenues to the city; and their batteries, sweeping the

long defiles at every fresh assault of the Aztecs, mowed down hundreds

of the assailants. Their brigantines still rode on the waters, cutting

off the communication with the shore. It is true, indeed, the loss of

the auxiliary canoes left a passage open for the occasional introduction

of supplies to the capital.[64] But the whole amount of these supplies

was small; and its crowded population, while exulting in their temporary

advantage and the delusive assurances of their priests, were beginning

to sink under the withering grasp of an enemy within, more terrible than

the one which lay before their gates.

CHAPTER VII

SUCCESSES OF THE SPANIARDS--FRUITLESS OFFERS TO

GUATEMOZIN--BUILDINGS RAZED TO THE GROUND--TERRIBLE FAMINE--THE

TROOPS GAIN THE MARKET-PLACE--BATTERING-ENGINE

1521

Thus passed away the eight days prescribed by the oracle; and the sun

which rose upon the ninth beheld the fair city still beset on every side

by the inexorable foe. It was a great mistake of the Aztec priests--one

not uncommon with false prophets, anxious to produce a startling

impression on their followers--to assign so short a term for the

fulfilment of their prediction.[65]

The Tezcucan and Tlascalan chiefs now sent to acquaint their troops with

the failure of the prophecy, and to recall them to the Christian camp.

The Tlascalans, who had halted on the way, returned, ashamed of their

credulity, and with ancient feelings of animosity heightened by the

artifice of which they had been the dupes. Their example was followed by

many of the other confederates, with the levity natural to a people

whose convictions are the result not of reason, but of superstition. In

a short time the Spanish general found himself at the head of an

auxiliary force which, if not so numerous as before, was more than

adequate to all his purposes. He received them with politic benignity;

and, while he reminded them that they had been guilty of a great crime

in thus abandoning their commander, he was willing to overlook it in

consideration of their past services. They must be aware that these

services were not necessary to the Spaniards, who had carried on the

siege with the same vigor during their absence as when they were

present. But he was unwilling that those who had shared the dangers of

the war with him should not also partake its triumphs, and be present at

the fall of their enemy, which he promised, with a confidence better

founded than that of the priests in their prediction, should not be long

delayed.

Yet the menaces and machinations of Guatemozin were still not without

effect in the distant provinces. Before the full return of the

confederates, Cortés received an embassy from Cuernavaca, ten or twelve

leagues distant, and another from some friendly towns of the Otomies,

still farther off, imploring his protection against their formidable

neighbors, who menaced them with hostilities as allies of the Spaniards.

As the latter were then situated, they were in a condition to receive

succor much more than to give it.[66] Most of the officers were,

accordingly, opposed to granting a request compliance with which must

still further impair their diminished strength. But Cortés knew the

importance, above all, of not betraying his own inability to grant it.

“The greater our weakness,” he said, “the greater need have we to cover

it under a show of strength.”[67]

He immediately detached Tápia with a body of about a hundred men in one

direction, and Sandoval with a somewhat larger force in the other, with

orders that their absence should not in any event be prolonged beyond

ten days.[68] The two captains executed their commissions promptly and

effectually. They each met and defeated his adversary in a pitched

battle, laid waste the hostile territories, and returned within the time

prescribed. They were soon followed by ambassadors from the conquered

places, soliciting the alliance of the Spaniards; and the affair

terminated by an accession of new confederates, and, what was more

important, a conviction in the old that the Spaniards were both willing

and competent to protect them.

Fortune, who seldom dispenses her frowns or her favors single-handed,

further showed her good will to the Spaniards, at this time, by sending

a vessel into Vera Cruz laden with ammunition and military stores. It

was part of the fleet destined for the Florida coast by the romantic

old knight, Ponce de Leon. The cargo was immediately taken by the

authorities of the port, and forwarded, without delay, to the camp,

where it arrived most seasonably, as the want of powder, in particular,

had begun to be seriously felt.[69] With strength thus renovated, Cortés

determined to resume active operations, but on a plan widely differing

from that pursued before.

In the former deliberations on the subject, two courses, as we have

seen, presented themselves to the general. One was to intrench himself

in the heart of the capital and from this point carry on hostilities;

the other was the mode of proceeding hitherto followed. Both were open

to serious objections, which he hoped would be obviated by the one now

adopted. This was to advance no step without securing the entire safety

of the army, not only on its immediate retreat, but in its future

inroads. Every breach in the causeway, every canal in the streets, was

to be filled up in so solid a manner that the work should not be again

disturbed. The materials for this were to be furnished by the buildings,

every one of which, as the army advanced, whether public or private,

hut, temple, or palace, was to be demolished! Not a building in their

path was to be spared. They were all indiscriminately to be levelled,

until, in the Conqueror’s own language, “the water should be converted

into dry land,” and a smooth and open ground be afforded for the

manœuvres of the cavalry and artillery![70]

Cortés came to this terrible determination with great difficulty. He

sincerely desired to spare the city, “the most beautiful thing in the

world,”[71] as he enthusiastically styles it, and which would have

formed the most glorious trophy of his conquest. But in a place where

every house was a fortress and every street was cut up by canals so

embarrassing to his movements, experience proved it was vain to think of

doing so and becoming master of it. There was as little hope of a

peaceful accommodation with the Aztecs, who, so far from being broken by

all they had hitherto endured, and the long perspective of future woes,

showed a spirit as haughty and implacable as ever.[72]

The general’s intentions were learned by the Indian allies with

unbounded satisfaction; and they answered his call for aid by thousands

of pioneers, armed with their _coas_, or hoes of the country, all

testifying the greatest alacrity in helping on the work of

destruction.[73] In a short time the breaches in the great causeways

were filled up so effectually that they were never again molested.

Cortés himself set the example by carrying stones and timber with his

own hands.[74] The buildings in the suburbs were then thoroughly

levelled, the canals were filled up with the rubbish, and a wide space

around the city was thrown open to the manœuvres of the cavalry, who

swept over it free and unresisted. The Mexicans did not look with

indifference on these preparations to lay waste their town and leave

them bare and unprotected against the enemy. They made incessant efforts

to impede the labors of the besiegers; but the latter, under cover of

their guns, which kept up an unintermitting fire, still advanced in the

work of desolation.[75]

The gleam of fortune which had so lately broken out on the Mexicans

again disappeared; and the dark mist, after having been raised for a

moment, settled on the doomed capital more heavily than before. Famine,

with all her hideous train of woes, was making rapid strides among its

accumulated population. The stores provided for the siege were

exhausted. The casual supply of human victims, or that obtained by some

straggling pirogue from the neighboring shores, was too inconsiderable

to be widely felt.[76] Some forced a scanty sustenance from a

mucilaginous substance gathered in small quantities on the surface of

the lake and canals.[77] Others appeased the cravings of appetite by

devouring rats, lizards, and the like loathsome reptiles, which had not

yet deserted the starving city. Its days seemed to be already numbered.

But the page of history has many an example to show that there are no

limits to the endurance of which humanity is capable, when animated by

hatred and despair.

With the sword thus suspended over it, the Spanish commander, desirous

to make one more effort to save the capital, persuaded three Aztec

nobles, taken in one of the late actions, to bear a message from him to

Guatemozin; though they undertook it with reluctance, for fear of the

consequences to themselves. Cortés told the emperor that all had now

been done that brave men could do in defence of their country. There

remained no hope, no chance of escape, for the Mexicans. Their

provisions were exhausted; their communications were cut off; their

vassals had deserted them; even their gods had betrayed them. They stood

alone, with the nations of Anahuac banded against them. There was no

hope but in immediate surrender. He besought the young monarch to take

compassion on his brave subjects, who were daily perishing before his

eyes; and on the fair city, whose stately buildings were fast crumbling

into ruins. “Return to the allegiance,” he concludes, “which you once

proffered to the sovereign of Castile. The past shall be forgotten. The

persons and property, in short, all the rights, of the Aztecs shall be

respected. You shall be confirmed in your authority, and Spain will once

more take your city under her protection.”[78]

The eye of the young monarch kindled, and his dark cheek flushed with

sudden anger, as he listened to proposals so humiliating. But, though

his bosom glowed with the fiery temper of the Indian, he had the

qualities of a “gentle cavalier,” says one of his enemies, who knew him

well.[79] He did no harm to the envoys; but, after the heat of the

moment had passed off, he gave the matter a calm consideration, and

called a council of his wise men and warriors to deliberate upon it.

Some were for accepting the proposals, as offering the only chance of

preservation. But the priests took a different view of the matter. They

knew that the ruin of their own order must follow the triumph of

Christianity. “Peace was good,” they said, “but not with the white men.”

They reminded Guatemozin of the fate of his uncle Montezuma, and the

requital he had met with for all his hospitality; of the seizure and

imprisonment of Cacama, the cacique of Tezcuco; of the massacre of the

nobles by Alvarado; of the insatiable avarice of the invaders, which had

stripped the country of its treasures; of their profanation of the

temples; of the injuries and insults which they had heaped without

measure on the people and their religion. “Better,” they said, “to trust

in the promises of their own gods, who had so long watched over the

nation. Better, if need be, give up our lives at once for our country,

than drag them out in slavery and suffering among the false

strangers.”[80]

The eloquence of the priests, artfully touching the various wrongs of

his people, roused the hot blood of Guatemozin. “Since it is so,” he

abruptly exclaimed, “let us think only of supplying the wants of the

people. Let no man, henceforth, who values his life, talk of surrender.

We can at least die like warriors.”[81]

The Spaniards waited two days for the answer to their embassy. At length

it came, in a general sortie of the Mexicans, who, pouring through every

gate of the capital, like a river that has burst its banks, swept on,

wave upon wave, to the very intrenchments of the besiegers, threatening

to overwhelm them by their numbers. Fortunately, the position of the

latter on the dikes secured their flanks, and the narrowness of the

defile gave their small battery of guns all the advantages of a larger

one. The fire of artillery and musketry blazed without intermission

along the several causeways, belching forth volumes of sulphurous smoke,

that, rolling heavily over the water, settled dark around the Indian

city and hid it from the surrounding country. The brigantines thundered,

at the same time, on the flanks of the columns, which, after some

ineffectual efforts to maintain themselves, rolled back in wild

confusion, till their impotent fury died away in sullen murmurs within

the capital.

Cortés now steadily pursued the plan he had laid down for the

devastation of the city. Day after day the several armies entered by

their respective quarters, Sandoval probably directing his operations

against the northeastern district. The buildings, made of the porous

_tetzontli_, though generally low, were so massy and extensive, and the

canals were so numerous, that their progress was necessarily slow. They,

however, gathered fresh accessions of strength every day from the

numbers who flocked to the camp from the surrounding country, and who

joined in the work of destruction with a hearty good will which showed

their eagerness to break the detested yoke of the Aztecs. The latter

raged with impotent anger as they beheld their lordly edifices, their

temples, all they had been accustomed to venerate, thus ruthlessly swept

away; their canals, constructed with so much labor and what to them

seemed science, filled up with rubbish; their flourishing city, in

short, turned into a desert, over which the insulting foe now rode

triumphant. They heaped many a taunt on the Indian allies. “Go on,” they

said, bitterly: “the more you destroy, the more you will have to build

up again hereafter. If we conquer, you shall build for us; and if your

white friends conquer, they will make you do as much for them.”[82] The

event justified the prediction.

In their rage they rushed blindly on the corps which covered the Indian

pioneers. But they were as often driven back by the impetuous charge of

the cavalry, or received on the long pikes of Chinantla, which did good

service to the besiegers in their operations. At the close of day,

however, when the Spaniards drew off their forces, taking care to send

the multitudinous host of confederates first from the ground, the

Mexicans usually rallied for a more formidable attack. Then they poured

out from every lane and by-way, like so many mountain streams, sweeping

over the broad level cleared by the enemy, and falling impetuously on

their flanks and rear. At such times they inflicted considerable loss in

their turn, till an ambush, which Cortés laid for them among the

buildings adjoining the great temple, did them so much mischief that

they were compelled to act with more reserve.

At times the war displayed something of a chivalrous character, in the

personal rencontres of the combatants. Challenges passed between them,

and especially between the native warriors. These combats were usually

conducted on the _azoteas_, whose broad and level surface afforded a

good field of fight. On one occasion, a Mexican of powerful frame,

brandishing a sword and buckler which he had won from the Christians,

defied his enemies to meet him in single fight. A young page of Cortés’,

named Nuñez, obtained his master’s permission to accept the vaunting

challenge of the Aztec, and, springing on the _azotea_, succeeded, after

a hard struggle, in discomfiting his antagonist, who fought at a

disadvantage with weapons in which he was unpractised, and, running him

through the body, brought off his spoils in triumph and laid them at the

general’s feet.[83]

The division of Cortés had now worked its way as far north as the great

street of Tacuba, which opened a communication with Alvarado’s camp, and

near which stood the palace of Guatemozin. It was a spacious stone pile,

that might well be called a fortress. Though deserted by its royal

master, it was held by a strong body of Aztecs, who made a temporary

defence, but of little avail against the battering enginery of the

besiegers. It was soon set on fire, and its crumbling walls were

levelled in the dust, like those other stately edifices of the capital,

the boast and admiration of the Aztecs, and some of the fairest fruits

of their civilization. “It was a sad thing to witness their

destruction,” exclaims Cortés; “but it was part of our plan of

operations, and we had no alternative.”[84]

These operations had consumed several weeks, so that it was now drawing

towards the latter part of July. During this time the blockade had been

maintained with the utmost rigor, and the wretched inhabitants were

suffering all the extremities of famine. Some few stragglers were taken,

from time to time, in the neighborhood of the Christian camp, whither

they had wandered in search of food. They were kindly treated, by

command of Cortés, who was in hopes to induce others to follow their

example, and thus to afford a means of conciliating the inhabitants,

which might open the way to their submission. But few were found willing

to leave the shelter of the capital, and they preferred to take their

chance with their suffering countrymen rather than trust themselves to

the mercies of the besiegers.

From these few stragglers, however, the Spaniards heard a dismal tale

of woe respecting the crowded population in the interior of the city.

All the ordinary means of sustenance had long since failed, and they now

supported life as they could, by means of such roots as they could dig

from the earth, by gnawing the bark of trees, by feeding on the

grass,--on anything, in short, however loathsome, that could allay the

craving of appetite. Their only drink was the brackish water of the soil

saturated with the salt lake.[85] Under this unwholesome diet, and the

diseases engendered by it, the population was gradually wasting away.

Men sickened and died every day, in all the excruciating torments

produced by hunger, and the wan and emaciated survivors seemed only to

be waiting for their time.

The Spaniards had visible confirmation of all this as they penetrated

deeper into the city and approached the district of Tlatelolco, now

occupied by the besieged. They found the ground turned up in quest of

roots and weeds, the trees stripped of their green stems, their foliage,

and their bark. Troops of famished Indians flitted in the distance,

gliding like ghosts among the scenes of their former residence. Dead

bodies lay unburied in the streets and court-yards, or filled up the

canals. It was a sure sign of the extremity of the Aztecs; for they held

the burial of the dead as a solemn and imperative duty. In the early

part of the siege they had religiously attended to it. In its later

stages they were still careful to withdraw the dead from the public eye,

by bringing their remains within the houses. But the number of these,

and their own sufferings, had now so fearfully increased that they had

grown indifferent to this, and they suffered their friends and their

kinsmen to lie and moulder on the spot where they drew their last

breath![86]

As the invaders entered the dwellings, a more appalling spectacle

presented itself;--the floors covered with the prostrate forms of the

miserable inmates, some in the agonies of death, others festering in

their corruption; men, women, and children inhaling the poisonous

atmosphere, and mingled promiscuously together; mothers with their

infants in their arms perishing of hunger before their eyes, while they

were unable to afford them the nourishment of nature; men crippled by

their wounds, with their bodies frightfully mangled, vainly attempting

to crawl away, as the enemy entered. Yet even in this state they scorned

to ask for mercy, and glared on the invaders with the sullen ferocity of

the wounded tiger that the huntsmen have tracked to his forest cave.

The Spanish commander issued strict orders that mercy should be shown to

these poor and disabled victims. But the Indian allies made no

distinction. An Aztec, under whatever circumstances, was an enemy; and,

with hideous shouts of triumph, they pulled down the burning buildings

on their heads, consuming the living and the dead in one common funeral

pile!

Yet the sufferings of the Aztecs, terrible as they were, did not incline

them to submission. There were many, indeed, who, from greater strength

of constitution, or from the more favorable circumstances in which they

were placed, still showed all their wonted energy of body and mind, and

maintained the same undaunted and resolute demeanor as before. They

fiercely rejected all the overtures of Cortés, declaring they would

rather die than surrender, and adding, with a bitter tone of exultation,

that the invaders would be at least disappointed in their expectations

of treasure, for it was buried where they could never find it![87]

The women, it is said, shared in this desperate--it should rather be

called heroic--spirit. They were indefatigable in nursing the sick and

dressing their wounds; they aided the warriors in battle, by supplying

them with the Indian ammunition of stones and arrows, prepared their

slings, strung their bows, and displayed, in short, all the constancy

and courage shown by the noble maidens of Saragossa in our day, and by

those of Carthage in the days of antiquity.[88]

Cortés had now entered one of the great avenues leading to the

market-place of Tlatelolco, the quarter towards which the movements of

Alvarado were also directed. A single canal only lay in his way; but

this was of great width and stoutly defended by the Mexican archery. At

this crisis, the army one evening, while in their intrenchments on the

causeway, were surprised by an uncommon light that arose from the huge

_teocalli_ in that part of the city which, being at the north, was the

most distant from their own position. This temple, dedicated to the

dread war-god, was inferior only to the pyramid in the great square; and

on it the Spaniards had more than once seen their unhappy countrymen led

to slaughter. They now supposed that the enemy were employed in some of

their diabolical ceremonies,--when the flame, mounting higher and

higher, showed that the sanctuaries themselves were on fire. A shout of

exultation at the sight broke forth from the assembled soldiers, as they

assured one another that their countrymen under Alvarado had got

possession of the building.

It was indeed true. That gallant officer, whose position on the western

causeway placed him near the district of Tlatelolco, had obeyed his

commander’s

[Illustration: VIEW OF THE GREAT SQUARE IN MEXICO

_Goupil & Cº., Paris_]

instructions to the letter, razing every building to the ground in his

progress, and filling up the ditches with their ruins. He at length

found himself before the great _teocalli_ in the neighborhood of the

market. He ordered a company, under a cavalier named Gutierre de

Badajoz, to storm the place, which was defended by a body of warriors,

mingled with priests, still more wild and ferocious than the soldiery.

The garrison, rushing down the winding terraces, fell on the assailants

with such fury as compelled them to retreat in confusion and with some

loss. Alvarado ordered another detachment to their support. This last

was engaged, at the moment, with a body of Aztecs, who hung on its rear

as it wound up the galleries of the _teocalli_. Thus hemmed in between

two enemies, above and below, the position of the Spaniards was

critical. With sword and buckler, they plunged desperately on the

ascending Mexicans, and drove them into the courtyard below, where

Alvarado plied them with such lively volleys of musketry as soon threw

them into disorder and compelled them to abandon the ground. Being thus

rid of annoyance in the rear, the Spaniards returned to the charge. They

drove the enemy up the heights of the pyramid, and, reaching the broad

summit, a fierce encounter followed in mid-air,--such an encounter as

takes place where death is the certain consequence of defeat. It ended,

as usual, in the discomfiture of the Aztecs, who were either slaughtered

on the spot still wet with the blood of their own victims, or pitched

headlong down the sides of the pyramid.

The area was covered with the various symbols of the barbarous worship

of the country, and with two lofty sanctuaries, before whose grinning

idols were displayed the heads of several Christian captives who had

been immolated on their altars. Although overgrown by their long, matted

hair and bushy beards, the Spaniards could recognize, in the livid

countenances, their comrades who had fallen into the hands of the enemy.

Tears fell from their eyes as they gazed on the melancholy spectacle and

thought of the hideous death which their countrymen had suffered. They

removed the sad relics with decent care, and after the Conquest

deposited them in consecrated ground, on a spot since covered by the

Church of the Martyrs.[89]

They completed their work by firing the sanctuaries, that the place

might be no more polluted by these abominable rites. The flame crept

slowly up the lofty pinnacles, in which stone was mingled with wood,

till at length, bursting into one bright blaze, it shot up its spiral

volume to such a height that it was seen from the most distant quarters

of the Valley. It was this which had been hailed by the soldiery of

Cortés, and it served as the beacon-light to both friend and foe,

intimating the progress of the Christian arms.

The commander-in-chief and his division, animated by the spectacle,

made, in their entrance on the following day, more determined efforts to

place themselves alongside of their companions under Alvarado. The

broad canal, above noticed as the only impediment now lying in his way,

was to be traversed; and on the farther side the emaciated figures of

the Aztec warriors were gathered in numbers to dispute the passage, like

the gloomy shades that wander--as ancient poets tell us--on the banks of

the infernal river. They poured down, however, a storm of missiles,

which were no shades, on the heads of the Indian laborers while occupied

with filling up the wide gap with the ruins of the surrounding

buildings. Still they toiled on in defiance of the arrowy shower, fresh

numbers taking the place of those who fell. And when at length the work

was completed, the cavalry rode over the rough plain at full charge

against the enemy, followed by the deep array of spearmen, who bore down

all opposition with their invincible phalanx.

The Spaniards now found themselves on the same ground with Alvarado’s

division. Soon afterwards, that chief, attended by several of his staff,

rode into their lines, and cordially embraced his countrymen and

companions in arms, for the first time since the beginning of the siege.

They were now in the neighborhood of the market. Cortés, taking with him

a few of his cavaliers, galloped into it. It was a vast enclosure, as

the reader has already seen, covering many an acre.[90] Its dimensions

were suited to the immense multitudes who gathered there from all parts

of the Valley in the flourishing days of the Aztec monarchy. It was

surrounded by porticoes and pavilions for the accommodation of the

artisans and traders who there displayed their various fabrics and

articles of merchandise. The flat roofs of the piazzas were now covered

with crowds of men and women, who gazed in silent dismay on the

steel-clad horsemen, that profaned these precincts with their presence

for the first time since their expulsion from the capital. The

multitude, composed for the most part, probably, of unarmed citizens,

seemed taken by surprise; at least, they made no show of resistance; and

the general, after leisurely viewing the ground, was permitted to ride

back unmolested to the army.

On arriving there, he ascended the _teocalli_, from which the standard

of Castile, supplanting the memorials of Aztec superstition, was now

triumphantly floating. The Conqueror, as he strode among the smoking

embers on the summit, calmly surveyed the scene of desolation below. The

palaces, the temples, the busy marts of industry and trade, the

glittering canals, covered with their rich freights from the surrounding

country, the royal pomp of groves and gardens, all the splendors of the

imperial city, the capital of the Western World, forever gone,--and in

their place a barren wilderness! How different the spectacle which the

year before had met his eye, as it wandered over the same scenes from

the heights of the neighboring _teocalli_, with Montezuma at his side!

Seven-eighths of the city were laid in ruins, with the occasional

exception, perhaps, of some colossal temple which it would have required

too much time to demolish.[91] The remaining eighth, comprehending the

district of Tlatelolco, was all that now remained to the Aztecs, whose

population--still large after all its losses--was crowded into a compass

that would hardly have afforded accommodations for a third of their

numbers. It was the quarter lying between the great northern and western

causeways, and is recognized in the modern capital as the _Barrio de San

Jago_ and its vicinity. It was the favorite residence of the Indians

after the Conquest,[92] though at the present day thinly covered with

humble dwellings, forming the straggling suburbs, as it were, of the

metropolis. Yet it still affords some faint vestiges of what it was in

its prouder days; and the curious antiquary, and occasionally the

laborer, as he turns up the soil, encounters a glittering fragment of

obsidian, or the mouldering head of a lance or arrow, or some other

warlike relic, attesting that on this spot the retreating Aztecs made

their last stand for the independence of their country.[93]

On the day following, Cortés, at the head of his battalions, made a

second entry into the great _tianguez_. But this time the Mexicans were

better prepared for his coming. They were assembled in considerable

force in the spacious square. A sharp encounter followed; but it was

short. Their strength was not equal to their spirit, and they melted

away before the rolling fire of musketry, and left the Spaniards masters

of the enclosure.

The first act was to set fire to some temples, of no great size, within

the market-place, or more probably on its borders. As the flames

ascended, the Aztecs, horror-struck, broke forth into piteous

lamentations at the destruction of the deities on whom they relied for

protection.[94]

The general’s next step was at the suggestion of a soldier named Sotelo,

a man who had served under the Great Captain in the Italian wars, where

he professed to have gathered knowledge of the science of engineering,

as it was then practised. He offered his services to construct a sort of

catapult, a machine for discharging stones of great size, which might

take the place of the regular battering-ram in demolishing the

buildings. As the ammunition, notwithstanding the liberal supplies

which from time to time had found their way into the camp, now began to

fail, Cortés eagerly acceded to a proposal so well suited to his

exigences. Timber and stone were furnished, and a number of hands were

employed, under the direction of the self-styled engineer, in

constructing the ponderous apparatus, which was erected on a solid

platform of masonry, thirty paces square and seven or eight feet high,

that covered the centre of the market-place. This was a work of the

Aztec princes, and was used as a scaffolding on which mountebanks and

jugglers might exhibit their marvellous feats for the amusement of the

populace, who took great delight in these performances.[95]

The erection of the machine consumed several days, during which

hostilities were suspended, while the artisans were protected from

interruption by a strong corps of infantry. At length the work was

completed; and the besieged, who with silent awe had beheld from the

neighboring _azoteas_ the progress of the mysterious engine which was to

lay the remainder of their capital in ruins, now looked with terror for

its operation. A stone of huge size was deposited on the timber. The

machinery was set in motion; and the rocky fragment was discharged with

a tremendous force from the catapult. But, instead of taking the

direction of the Aztec buildings, it rose high and perpendicularly into

the air, and, descending whence it sprung, broke the ill-omened machine

into splinters! It was a total failure.

The Aztecs were released from their apprehensions, and the soldiery made

many a merry jest on the catastrophe, somewhat at the expense of their

commander, who testified no little vexation at the disappointment, and

still more at his own credulity.[96]

CHAPTER VIII

DREADFUL SUFFERINGS OF THE BESIEGED--SPIRIT OF

GUATEMOZIN--MURDEROUS ASSAULTS--CAPTURE OF GUATEMOZIN--EVACUATION

OF THE CITY--TERMINATION OF THE SIEGE--REFLECTIONS

1521

There was no occasion to resort to artificial means to precipitate the

ruin of the Aztecs. It was accelerated every hour by causes more potent

than those arising from mere human agency. There they were,--pent up in

their close and suffocating quarters, nobles, commoners, and slaves,

men, women, and children, some in houses, more frequently in

hovels,--for this part of the city was not the best,--others in the open

air in canoes, or in the streets, shivering in the cold rains of night,

and scorched by the burning heat of day.[97] An old chronicler mentions

the fact of two women of rank remaining three days and nights up to

their necks in the water among the reeds, with only a handful of maize

for their support.[98] The ordinary means of sustaining life were long

since gone. They wandered about in search of anything, however

unwholesome or revolting, that might mitigate the fierce gnawings of

hunger. Some hunted for insects and worms on the borders of the lake, or

gathered the salt weeds and moss from its bottom, while at times they

might be seen casting a wistful look at the green hills beyond, which

many of them had left to share the fate of their brethren in the

capital.

To their credit, it is said by the Spanish writers that they were not

driven, in their extremity, to violate the laws of nature by feeding on

one another.[99] But, unhappily, this is contradicted by the Indian

authorities, who state that many a mother, in her agony, devoured the

offspring which she had no longer the means of supporting. This is

recorded of more than one siege in history; and it is the more probable

here, where the sensibilities must have been blunted by familiarity with

the brutal practices of the national superstition.[100]

But all was not sufficient, and hundreds of famished wretches died every

day from extremity of suffering. Some dragged themselves into the

houses, and drew their last breath alone and in silence. Others sank

down in the public streets. Wherever they died, there they were left.

There was no one to bury or to remove them. Familiarity with the

spectacle made men indifferent to it. They looked on in dumb despair,

waiting for their own turn. There was no complaint, no lamentation, but

deep, unutterable woe.

If in other quarters of the town the corpses might be seen scattered

over the streets, here they were gathered in heaps. “They lay so thick,”

says Bernal Diaz, “that one could not tread except among the

bodies.”[101] “A man could not set his foot down,” says Cortés, yet more

strongly, “unless on the corpse of an Indian.”[102] They were piled one

upon another, the living mingled with the dead. They stretched

themselves on the bodies of their friends, and lay down to sleep there.

Death was everywhere. The city was a vast charnel-house, in which all

was hastening to decay and decomposition. A poisonous steam arose from

the mass of putrefaction, under the action of alternate rain and heat,

which so tainted the whole atmosphere that the Spaniards, including the

general himself, in their brief visits to the quarter, were made ill by

it, and it bred a pestilence that swept off even greater numbers than

the famine.[103]

Men’s minds were unsettled by these strange and accumulated horrors.

They resorted to all the superstitious rites prescribed by their

religion, to stay the pestilence. They called on their priests to invoke

the gods in their behalf. But the oracles were dumb, or gave only gloomy

responses. Their deities had deserted them, and in their place they saw

signs of celestial wrath, telling of still greater woes in reserve.

Many, after the siege, declared that, among other prodigies, they beheld

a stream of light, of a blood-red color, coming from the north in the

direction of Tepejacac, with a rushing noise like that of a whirlwind,

which swept round the district of Tlatelolco, darting out sparkles and

flakes of fire, till it shot far into the centre of the lake![104] In

the disordered state of their nerves, a mysterious fear took possession

of their senses. Prodigies were of familiar occurrence, and the most

familiar phenomena of nature were converted into prodigies.[105] Stunned

by their calamities, reason was bewildered, and they became the sport

of the wildest and most superstitious fancies.

In the midst of these awful scenes, the young emperor of the Aztecs

remained, according to all accounts, calm and courageous. With his fair

capital laid in ruins before his eyes, his nobles and faithful subjects

dying around him, his territory rent away, foot by foot, till scarce

enough remained for him to stand on, he rejected every invitation to

capitulate, and showed the same indomitable spirit as at the

commencement of the siege. When Cortés, in the hope that the extremities

of the besieged would incline them to listen to an accommodation,

persuaded a noble prisoner to bear to Guatemozin his proposals to that

effect, the fierce young monarch, according to the general, ordered him

at once to be sacrificed.[106] It is a Spaniard, we must remember, who

tells the story.

Cortés, who had suspended hostilities for several days, in the vain hope

that the distresses of the Mexicans would bend them to submission, now

determined to drive them to it by a general assault. Cooped up as they

were within a narrow quarter of the city, their position favored such an

attempt. He commanded Alvarado to hold himself in readiness, and

directed Sandoval--who, besides the causeway, had charge of the fleet,

which lay off the Tlatelolcan district--to support the attack by a

cannonade on the houses near the water. He then led his forces into the

city, or rather across the horrid waste that now encircled it.

On entering the Indian precincts, he was met by several of the chiefs,

who, stretching forth their emaciated arms, exclaimed, “You are the

children of the Sun. But the Sun is swift in his course. Why are you,

then, so tardy? Why do you delay so long to put an end to our miseries?

Rather kill us at once, that we may go to our god Huitzilopochtli, who

waits for us in heaven to give us rest from our sufferings!”[107]

Cortés was moved by their piteous appeal, and answered that he desired

not their death, but their submission. “Why does your master refuse to

treat with me,” he said, “when a single hour will suffice for me to

crush him and all his people?” He then urged them to request Guatemozin

to confer with him, with the assurance that he might do it in safety, as

his person should not be molested.

The nobles, after some persuasion, undertook the mission; and it was

received by the young monarch in a manner which showed--if the anecdote

before related of him be true--that misfortune had at length asserted

some power over his haughty spirit. He consented to the interview,

though not to have it take place on that day, but the following, in the

great square of Tlatelolco. Cortés, well satisfied, immediately

withdrew from the city and resumed his position on the causeway.

The next morning he presented himself at the place appointed, having

previously stationed Alvarado there with a strong corps of infantry, to

guard against treachery. The stone platform in the centre of the square

was covered with mats and carpets, and a banquet was prepared to refresh

the famished monarch and his nobles. Having made these arrangements, he

awaited the hour of the interview.

But Guatemozin, instead of appearing himself, sent his nobles, the same

who had brought to him the general’s invitation, and who now excused

their master’s absence on the plea of illness. Cortés, though

disappointed, gave a courteous reception to the envoys, considering that

it might still afford the means of opening a communication with the

emperor. He persuaded them, without much entreaty, to partake of the

good cheer spread before them, which they did with a voracity that told

how severe had been their abstinence. He then dismissed them with a

seasonable supply of provisions for their master, pressing him to

consent to an interview, without which it was impossible their

differences could be adjusted.

The Indian envoys returned in a short time, bearing with them a present

of fine cotton fabrics, of no great value, from Guatemozin, who still

declined to meet the Spanish general. Cortés, though deeply chagrined,

was unwilling to give up the point. “He will surely come,” he said to

the envoys, “when he sees that I suffer you to go and come unharmed,

you who have been my steady enemies, no less than himself, throughout

the war. He has nothing to fear from me.”[108] He again parted with

them, promising to receive their answer the following day.

On the next morning the Aztec chiefs, entering the Christian quarters,

announced to Cortés that Guatemozin would confer with him at noon in the

market-place. The general was punctual at the hour; but without success.

Neither monarch nor ministers appeared there. It was plain that the

Indian prince did not care to trust the promises of his enemy. A thought

of Montezuma may have passed across his mind. After he had waited three

hours, the general’s patience was exhausted, and, as he learned that the

Mexicans were busy in preparations for defence, he made immediate

dispositions for the assault.[109]

The confederates had been left without the walls; for he did not care to

bring them within sight of the quarry before he was ready to slip the

leash. He now ordered them to join him, and, supported by Alvarado’s

division, marched at once into the enemy’s quarters. He found them

prepared to receive him. Their most able-bodied warriors were thrown

into the van, covering their feeble and crippled comrades. Women were

seen occasionally mingling in the ranks, and, as well as children,

thronged the _azoteas_, where, with famine-stricken visages and haggard

eyes, they scowled defiance and hatred on their invaders.

As the Spaniards advanced, the Mexicans set up a fierce war-cry, and

sent off clouds of arrows with their accustomed spirit, while the women

and boys rained down darts and stones from their elevated position on

the terraces. But the missiles were sent by hands too feeble to do much

damage; and, when the squadrons closed, the loss of strength became

still more sensible in the Aztecs. Their blows fell feebly and with

doubtful aim, though some, it is true, of stronger constitution, or

gathering strength from despair, maintained to the last a desperate

fight.

The arquebusiers now poured in a deadly fire. The brigantines replied by

successive volleys, in the opposite quarter. The besieged, hemmed in,

like deer surrounded by the huntsmen, were brought down on every side.

The carnage was horrible. The ground was heaped up with slain, until the

maddened combatants were obliged to climb over the human mounds to get

at one another. The miry soil was saturated with blood, which ran off

like water and dyed the canals themselves with crimson.[110] All was

uproar and terrible confusion. The hideous yells of the barbarians, the

oaths and execrations of the Spaniards, the cries of the wounded, the

shrieks of women and children, the heavy blows of the Conquerors, the

death-struggle of their victims, the rapid, reverberating echoes of

musketry, the hissing of innumerable missiles, the crash and crackling

of blazing buildings, crushing hundreds in their ruins, the blinding

volumes of dust and sulphurous smoke shrouding all in their gloomy

canopy, made a scene appalling even to the soldiers of Cortés, steeled

as they were by many a rough passage of war, and by long familiarity

with blood and violence. “The piteous cries of the women and children,

in particular,” says the general, “were enough to break one’s

heart.”[111] He commanded that they should be spared, and that all who

asked it should receive quarter. He particularly urged this on the

confederates, and placed Spaniards among them to restrain their

violence.[112] But he had set an engine in motion too terrible to be

controlled. It were as easy to curb the hurricane in its fury, as the

passions of an infuriated horde of savages. “Never did I see so pitiless

a race,” he exclaims, “or anything wearing the form of man so destitute

of humanity.”[113] They made no distinction of sex or age, and in this

hour of vengeance seemed to be requiting the hoarded wrongs of a

century. At length, sated with slaughter, the Spanish commander sounded

a retreat. It was full time, if, according to his own statement,--we may

hope it is an exaggeration,--forty thousand souls had perished.[114] Yet

their fate was to be envied, in comparison with that of those who

survived.

Through the long night which followed, no movement was perceptible in

the Aztec quarter. No light was seen there, no sound was heard, save the

low moaning of some wounded or dying wretch, writhing in his agony. All

was dark and silent,--the darkness of the grave. The last blow seemed to

have completely stunned them. They had parted with hope, and sat in

sullen despair, like men waiting in silence the stroke of the

executioner. Yet, for all this, they showed no disposition to submit.

Every new injury had sunk deeper into their souls, and filled them with

a deeper hatred of their enemy. Fortune, friends, kindred, home,--all

were gone. They were content to throw away life itself, now that they

had nothing more to live for.

Far different was the scene in the Christian camp, where, elated with

their recent successes, all was alive with bustle and preparation for

the morrow. Bonfires were seen blazing along the causeways, lights

gleamed from tents and barracks, and the sounds of music and merriment,

borne over the waters, proclaimed the joy of the soldiers at the

prospect of so soon terminating their wearisome campaign.

On the following morning the Spanish commander again mustered his

forces, having decided to follow up the blow of the preceding day before

the enemy should have time to rally, and at once to put an end to the

war. He had arranged with Alvarado, on the evening previous, to occupy

the market-place of Tlatelolco; and the discharge of an arquebuse was to

be the signal for a simultaneous assault. Sandoval was to hold the

northern causeway, and, with the fleet, to watch the movements of the

Indian emperor, and to intercept the flight to the main land, which

Cortés knew he meditated. To allow him to effect this would be to leave

a formidable enemy in his own neighborhood, who might at any time kindle

the flame of insurrection throughout the country. He ordered Sandoval,

however, to do no harm to the royal person, and not to fire on the enemy

at all, except in self-defence.[115]

It was the memorable thirteenth of August, 1521, the day of St.

Hippolytus,--from this circumstance selected as the patron saint of

modern Mexico,--that Cortés led his warlike array for the last time

across the black and blasted environs which lay around the Indian

capital. On entering the Aztec precincts, he paused, willing to afford

its wretched inmates one more chance of escape before striking the fatal

blow. He obtained an interview with some of the principal chiefs, and

expostulated with them on the conduct of their prince. “He surely will

not,” said the general, “see you all perish, when he can so easily save

you.” He then urged them to prevail on Guatemozin to hold a conference

with him, repeating the assurances of his personal safety.

The messengers went on their mission, and soon returned with the

_cihuacoatl_ at their head, a magistrate of high authority among the

Mexicans. He said, with a melancholy air, in which his own

disappointment was visible, that “Guatemozin was ready to die where he

was, but would hold no interview with the Spanish commander;” adding, in

a tone of resignation, “it is for you to work your pleasure.” “Go,

then,” replied the stern Conqueror, “and prepare your countrymen for

death. Their hour is come.”[116]

He still postponed the assault for several hours. But the impatience of

his troops at this delay was heightened by the rumor that Guatemozin and

his nobles were preparing to escape with their effects in the

_piraguas_ and canoes which were moored on the margin of the lake.

Convinced of the fruitlessness and impolicy of further procrastination,

Cortés made his final dispositions for the attack, and took his own

station on an _azotea_ which commanded the theatre of operations.

When the assailants came into the presence of the enemy, they found them

huddled together in the utmost confusion, all ages and sexes, in masses

so dense that they nearly forced one another over the brink of the

causeways into the water below. Some had climbed on the terraces, others

feebly supported themselves against the walls of the buildings. Their

squalid and tattered garments gave a wildness to their appearance which

still further heightened the ferocity of their expression, as they

glared on their enemy with eyes in which hate was mingled with despair.

When the Spaniards had approached within bowshot, the Aztecs let off a

flight of impotent missiles, showing to the last the resolute spirit,

though they had lost the strength, of their better days. The fatal

signal was then given by the discharge of an arquebuse,--speedily

followed by peals of heavy ordnance, the rattle of fire-arms, and the

hellish shouts of the confederates as they sprang upon their victims. It

is unnecessary to stain the page with a repetition of the horrors of the

preceding day. Some of the wretched Aztecs threw themselves into the

water and were picked up by the canoes. Others sank and were suffocated

in the canals. The number of these became so great that a bridge was

made of their dead bodies, over which the assailants could climb to the

opposite banks. Others again, especially the women, begged for mercy,

which, as the chroniclers assure us, was everywhere granted by the

Spaniards, and, contrary to the instructions and entreaties of Cortés,

everywhere refused by the confederates.[117]

While this work of butchery was going on, numbers were observed pushing

off in the barks that lined the shore, and making the best of their way

across the lake. They were constantly intercepted by the brigantines,

which broke through the flimsy array of boats, sending off their volleys

to the right and left, as the crews of the latter hotly assailed them.

The battle raged as fiercely on the lake as on the land. Many of the

Indian vessels were shattered and overturned. Some few, however, under

cover of the smoke, which rolled darkly over the waters, succeeded in

clearing themselves of the turmoil, and were fast nearing the opposite

shore.

Sandoval had particularly charged his captains to keep an eye on the

movements of any vessel in which it was at all probable that Guatemozin

might be concealed. At this crisis, three or four of the largest

_piraguas_ were seen skimming over the water and making their way

rapidly across the lake. A captain, named Garci Holguin, who had command

of one of the best sailers in the fleet, instantly gave them chase. The

wind was favorable, and every moment he gained on the fugitives, who

pulled their oars with a vigor that despair alone could have given. But

it was in vain; and, after a short race, Holguin, coming alongside of

one of the _piraguas_, which, whether from its appearance or from

information he had received, he conjectured might bear the Indian

emperor, ordered his men to level their cross-bows at the boat. But,

before they could discharge them, a cry arose from those in it that

their lord was on board. At the same moment a young warrior, armed with

buckler and _maquahuitl_, rose up, as if to beat off the assailants. But

as the Spanish captain ordered his men not to shoot, he dropped his

weapons, and exclaimed, “I am Guatemozin. Lead me to Malinche; I am his

prisoner; but let no harm come to my wife and my followers.”[118]

Holguin assured him that his wishes should be respected, and assisted

him to get on board the brigantine, followed by his wife and attendants.

These were twenty in number, consisting of Coanaco, the deposed lord of

Tezcuco, the lord of Tlacopan, and several other caciques and

dignitaries, whose rank, probably, had secured them some exemption from

the general calamities of the siege. When the captives were seated on

the deck of his vessel, Holguin requested the Aztec prince to put an end

to the combat by commanding his people in the other canoes to surrender.

But, with a dejected air, he replied, “It is not necessary. They will

fight no longer, when they see that their prince is taken.” He spoke

truth. The news of Guatemozin’s capture spread rapidly through the

fleet, and on shore, where the Mexicans were still engaged in conflict

with their enemies. It ceased, however, at once. They made no further

resistance; and those on the water quickly followed the brigantines,

which conveyed their captive monarch to land. It seemed as if the fight

had been maintained thus long the better to divert the enemy’s attention

and cover their master’s retreat.[119]

Meanwhile, Sandoval, on receiving tidings of the capture, brought his

own brigantine alongside of Holguin’s and demanded the royal prisoner to

be surrendered to him. But the captain claimed him as his prize. A

dispute arose between the parties, each anxious to have the glory of the

deed, and perhaps the privilege of commemorating it on his escutcheon.

The controversy continued so long that it reached the ears of Cortés,

who, in his station on the _azotea_, had learned with no little

satisfaction the capture of his enemy. He instantly sent orders to his

wrangling officers to bring Guatemozin before him, that he might adjust

the difference between them.[120] He charged them, at the same time, to

treat their prisoner with respect. He then made preparations for the

interview, caused the terrace to be carpeted with crimson cloth and

matting, and a table to be spread with provisions, of which the unhappy

Aztecs stood so much in need.[121] His lovely Indian mistress, Doña

Marina, was present to act as interpreter. She had stood by his side

through all the troubled scenes of the Conquest, and she was there now

to witness its triumphant termination.

Guatemozin, on landing, was escorted by a company of infantry to the

presence of the Spanish commander. He mounted the _azotea_ with a calm

and steady step, and was easily to be distinguished from his attendant

nobles, though his full, dark eye was no longer lighted up with its

accustomed fire, and his features wore an expression of passive

resignation, that told little of the fierce and fiery spirit that burned

within. His head was large, his limbs well proportioned, his complexion

fairer than that of his bronze-colored nation, and his whole deportment

singularly mild and engaging.[122]

Cortés came forward with a dignified and studied courtesy to receive

him. The Aztec monarch probably knew the person of his conqueror,{*} for

he first broke silence by saying, “I have done all that I could to

defend myself and my people. I am now reduced to this state. You will

deal with me, Malinche, as you list.” Then, laying his hand on the hilt

of a poniard stuck in the general’s belt, he added, with vehemence,

“Better despatch me with this, and rid me of life at once.”[123] Cortés

was filled with admiration at the proud bearing of the young barbarian,

showing in his reverses a spirit worthy of an ancient Roman. “Fear not,”

he replied: “you shall be treated with all honor. You have defended your

capital like a brave warrior. A Spaniard knows how to respect valor even

in an enemy.”[124] He then inquired of him where he had left the

princess his wife; and, being informed that she still remained under

protection of a Spanish guard on board the brigantine, the general sent

to have her escorted to his presence.

{*} [It was unnecessary to qualify the statement, as they had often seen

each other at the court of Montezuma. Alaman, Conquista de Méjico (trad.

de Vega), tom. ii. p. 211, note.--K.]

She was the youngest daughter of Montezuma, and was hardly yet on the

verge of womanhood. On the accession of her cousin Guatemozin to the

throne, she had been wedded to him as his lawful wife.[125] She is

celebrated by her contemporaries for her personal charms; and the

beautiful princess Tecuichpo is still commemorated by the Spaniards,

since from her by a subsequent marriage are descended some of the

illustrious families of their own nation.[126] She was kindly received

by Cortés, who showed her the respectful attentions suited to her rank.

Her birth, no doubt, gave her an additional interest in his eyes, and he

may have felt some touch of compunction as he gazed on the daughter of

the unfortunate Montezuma. He invited his royal captives to partake of

the refreshments which their exhausted condition rendered so necessary.

Meanwhile the Spanish commander made his dispositions for the night,

ordering Sandoval to escort the prisoners to Cojohuacan, whither he

proposed himself immediately to follow. The other captains, Olid and

Alvarado, were to draw off their forces to their respective quarters. It

was impossible for them to continue in the capital, where the poisonous

effluvia from the unburied carcasses loaded the air with infection. A

small guard only was stationed to keep order in the wasted suburbs. It

was the hour of vespers when Guatemozin surrendered,[127] and the siege

might be considered as then concluded. The evening set in dark, and the

rain began to fall before the several parties had evacuated the

city.[128]

During the night, a tremendous tempest, such as the Spaniards had rarely

witnessed, and such as is known only within the tropics, burst over the

Mexican Valley. The thunder, reverberating from the rocky amphitheatre

of hills, bellowed over the waste of waters, and shook the _teocallis_

and crazy tenements of Tenochtitlan--the few that yet survived--to their

foundations. The lightning seemed to cleave asunder the vault of heaven,

as its vivid flashes wrapped the whole scene in a ghastly glare, for a

moment, to be again swallowed up in darkness. The war of elements was in

unison with the fortunes of the ruined city. It seemed as if the deities

of Anahuac, scared from their ancient abodes, were borne along shrieking

and howling in the blast, as they abandoned the fallen capital to its

fate![129]

On the day following the surrender, Guatemozin requested the Spanish

commander to allow the Mexicans to leave the city and to pass unmolested

into the open country. To this Cortés readily assented, as, indeed,

without it he could take no steps for purifying the capital. He gave his

orders, accordingly, for the evacuation of the place, commanding that no

one, Spaniard or confederate, should offer violence to the Aztecs or in

any way obstruct their departure. The whole number of these is

variously estimated at from thirty to seventy thousand, besides women

and children, who had survived the sword, pestilence, and famine.[130]

It is certain they were three days in defiling along the several

causeways,--a mournful train;[131] husbands and wives, parents and

children, the sick and the wounded, leaning on one another for support,

as they feebly tottered along, squalid, and but half covered with rags,

that disclosed at every step hideous gashes, some recently received,

others festering from long neglect, and carrying with them an atmosphere

of contagion. Their wasted forms and famine-stricken faces told the

whole history of the siege; and, as the straggling files gained the

opposite shore, they were observed to pause from time to time, as if to

take one more look at the spot so lately crowned by the imperial city,

once their pleasant home, and endeared to them by many a glorious

recollection.

On the departure of the inhabitants, measures were immediately taken to

purify the place, by means of numerous fires kept burning day and night,

especially in the infected quarter of Tlatelolco, and by collecting the

heaps of dead, which lay mouldering in the streets, and consigning them

to the earth. Of the whole number who perished in the course of the

siege it is impossible to form any probable computation. The accounts

range widely, from one hundred and twenty thousand, the lowest estimate,

to two hundred and forty thousand.[132] The number of the Spaniards who

fell was comparatively small, but that of the allies must have been

large if the historian of Tezcuco is correct in asserting that thirty

thousand perished of his own countrymen alone.[133] That the number of

those destroyed within the city was immense cannot be doubted, when we

consider that besides its own redundant population, it was thronged with

that of the neighboring towns, who, distrusting their strength to

resist the enemy, sought protection within its walls.

The booty found there--that is, the treasures of gold and jewels, the

only booty of much value in the eyes of the Spaniards--fell far below

their expectations. It did not exceed, according to the general’s

statement, a hundred and thirty thousand _castellanos_ of gold,

including the sovereign’s share, which, indeed, taking into account many

articles of curious and costly workmanship, voluntarily relinquished by

the army, greatly exceeded his legitimate fifth.[134] Yet the Aztecs

must have been in possession of a much larger treasure, if it were only

the wreck of that recovered from the Spaniards on the night of the

memorable flight from Mexico. Some of the spoil may have been sent away

from the capital, some spent in preparations of defence, and more of it

buried in the earth, or sunk in the water of the lake. Their menaces

were not without a meaning. They had, at least, the satisfaction of

disappointing the avarice of their enemies.

Cortés had no further occasion for the presence of his Indian allies. He

assembled the chiefs of the different squadrons, thanked them for their

services, noticed their valor in flattering terms, and, after

distributing presents among them, with the assurance that his master the

emperor would recompense their fidelity yet more largely, dismissed them

to their own homes. They carried off a liberal share of the spoils of

which they had plundered the dwellings,--not of a kind to excite the

cupidity of the Spaniards,--and returned in triumph, short-sighted

triumph! at the success of their expedition and the downfall of the

Aztec dynasty.

Great, also, was the satisfaction of the Spaniards at this brilliant

termination of their long and laborious campaign. They were, indeed,

disappointed at the small amount of treasure found in the conquered

city. But the soldier is usually too much absorbed in the present to

give much heed to the future; and, though their discontent showed itself

afterwards in a more clamorous form, they now thought only of their

triumph, and abandoned themselves to jubilee. Cortés celebrated the

event by a banquet, as sumptuous as circumstances would permit, to which

all the cavaliers and officers were invited. Loud and long was their

revelry, which was carried to such an excess as provoked the

animadversion of Father Olmedo, who intimated that this was not the

fitting way to testify their sense of the favors shown them by the

Almighty. Cortés admitted the justice of the rebuke, but craved some

indulgence for a soldier’s license in the hour of victory. The following

day was appointed for the commemoration of their successes in a more

suitable manner.

A procession of the whole army was then formed, with Father Olmedo at

its head. The soiled and tattered banners of Castile, which had waved

over many a field of battle, now threw their shadows on the peaceful

array of the soldiery, as they slowly moved along, rehearsing the

litany, and displaying the image of the Virgin and the blessed symbol

of man’s redemption. The reverend father pronounced a discourse, in

which he briefly reminded the troops of their great cause for

thankfulness to Providence for conducting them safe through their long

and perilous pilgrimage; and, dwelling on the responsibility incurred by

their present position, he besought them not to abuse the rights of

conquest, but to treat the unfortunate Indians with humanity. The

sacrament was then administered to the commander-in-chief and the

principal cavaliers, and the services concluded with a solemn

thanksgiving to the God of battles, who had enabled them to carry the

banner of the Cross triumphant over this barbaric empire.[135]

Thus, after a siege of nearly three months’ duration, unmatched in

history for the constancy and courage of the besieged, seldom surpassed

for the severity of its sufferings, fell the renowned capital of the

Aztecs. Unmatched, it may be truly said, for constancy and courage, when

we recollect that the door of capitulation on the most honorable terms

was left open to them throughout the whole blockade, and that, sternly

rejecting every proposal of their enemy, they, to a man, preferred to

die rather than surrender. More than three centuries had elapsed since

the Aztecs, a poor and wandering tribe from the far Northwest, had come

on the plateau. There they built their miserable collection of huts on

the spot--as tradition tells us--prescribed by the oracle. Their

conquests, at first confined to their immediate neighborhood, gradually

covered the Valley, then, crossing the mountains, swept over the broad

extent of the table-land, descended its precipitous sides, and rolled

onwards to the Mexican Gulf and the distant confines of Central America.

Their wretched capital, meanwhile, keeping pace with the enlargement of

territory, had grown into a flourishing city, filled with buildings,

monuments of art, and a numerous population, that gave it the first rank

among the capitals of the Western World. At this crisis came over

another race from the remote East, strangers like themselves, whose

coming had also been predicted by the oracle, and, appearing on the

plateau, assailed them in the very zenith of their prosperity, and

blotted them out from the map of nations forever! The whole story has

the air of fable rather than of history! a legend of romance,--a tale of

the genii!

Yet we cannot regret the fall of an empire which did so little to

promote the happiness of its subjects or the real interests of humanity.

Notwithstanding the lustre thrown over its latter days by the glorious

defence of its capital, by the mild munificence of Montezuma, by the

dauntless heroism of Guatemozin, the Aztecs were emphatically a fierce

and brutal race, little calculated, in their best aspects, to excite our

sympathy and regard. Their civilization, such as it was, was not their

own, but reflected, perhaps imperfectly, from a race whom they had

succeeded in the land. It was, in respect to the Aztecs, a generous

graft on a vicious stock, and could have brought no fruit to perfection.

They ruled over their wide domains with a sword, instead of a sceptre.

They did nothing to ameliorate the condition or in any way promote the

progress of their vassals. Their vassals were serfs, used only to

minister to their pleasure, held in awe by armed garrisons, ground to

the dust by imposts in peace, by military conscriptions in war. They did

not, like the Romans, whom they resembled in the nature of their

conquests, extend the rights of citizenship to the conquered. They did

not amalgamate them into one great nation, with common rights and

interests. They held them as aliens,--even those who in the Valley were

gathered round the very walls of the capital. The Aztec metropolis, the

heart of the monarchy, had not a sympathy, not a pulsation, in common

with the rest of the body politic. It was a stranger in its own land.

The Aztecs not only did not advance the condition of their vassals, but,

morally speaking, they did much to degrade it. How can a nation where

human sacrifices prevail, and especially when combined with cannibalism,

further the march of civilization? How can the interests of humanity be

consulted, where man is levelled to the rank of the brutes that perish?

The influence of the Aztecs introduced their gloomy superstition into

lands before unacquainted with it, or where, at least, it was not

established in any great strength. The example of the capital was

contagious. As the latter increased in opulence, the religious

celebrations were conducted with still more terrible magnificence; in

the same manner as the gladiatorial shows of the Romans increased in

pomp with the increasing splendor of the capital. Men became familiar

with scenes of horror and the most loathsome abominations. Women and

children--the whole nation--became familiar with and assisted at them.

The heart was hardened, the manners were made ferocious, the feeble

light of civilization, transmitted from a milder race, was growing

fainter and fainter, as thousands and thousands of miserable victims,

throughout the empire, were yearly fattened in its cages, sacrificed on

its altars, dressed and served at its banquets! The whole land was

converted into vast human shambles! The empire of the Aztecs did not

fall before its time.

Whether these unparalleled outrages furnish a sufficient plea to the

Spaniards for their invasion, whether, with the Protestant, we are

content to find a warrant for it in the natural rights and demands of

civilization, or, with the Roman Catholic, in the good pleasure of the

Pope,--on the one or other of which grounds the conquests by most

Christian nations in the East and the West have been defended,--it is

unnecessary to discuss, as it has already been considered in a former

chapter. It is more material to inquire whether, assuming the right, the

conquest of Mexico was conducted with a proper regard to the claims of

humanity. And here we must admit that, with all allowance for the

ferocity of the age and the laxity of its principles, there are passages

which every Spaniard who cherishes the fame of his countrymen would be

glad to see expunged from their history; passages not to be vindicated

on the score of self-defence, or of necessity of any kind, and which

must forever leave a dark spot on the annals of the Conquest. And yet,

taken as a whole, the invasion, up to the capture of the capital, was

conducted on principles less revolting to humanity than most, perhaps

than any, of the other conquests of the Castilian crown in the New

World.

It may seem slight praise to say that the followers of Cortés used no

blood-hounds to hunt down their wretched victims, as in some other parts

of the Continent, nor exterminated a peaceful and submissive population

in mere wantonness of cruelty, as in the Islands. Yet it is something

that they were not so far infected by the spirit of the age, and that

their swords were rarely stained with blood unless it was indispensable

to the success of their enterprise. Even in the last siege of the

capital, the sufferings of the Aztecs, terrible as they were, do not

imply any unusual cruelty in the victors; they were not greater than

those inflicted on their own countrymen at home, in many a memorable

instance, by the most polished nations, not merely of ancient times, but

of our own. They were the inevitable consequences which follow from war

when, instead of being confined to its legitimate field, it is brought

home to the hearthstone, to the peaceful community of the city,--its

burghers untrained to arms, its women and children yet more defenceless.

In the present instance, indeed, the sufferings of the besieged were in

a great degree to be charged on themselves,--on their patriotic but

desperate self-devotion. It was not the desire, as certainly it was not

the interest, of the Spaniards to destroy the capital or its

inhabitants. When any of these fell into their hands, they were kindly

entertained, their wants supplied, and every means taken to infuse into

them a spirit of conciliation; and this, too, it should be remembered,

in despite of the dreadful doom to which they consigned their Christian

captives. The gates of a fair capitulation were kept open, though

unavailingly, to the last hour.

The right of conquest necessarily implies that of using whatever force

may be necessary for overcoming resistance to the assertion of that

right. For the Spaniards to have done otherwise than they did would have

been to abandon the siege, and, with it, the conquest of the country. To

have suffered the inhabitants, with their high-spirited monarch, to

escape, would but have prolonged the miseries of war by transferring it

to another and more inaccessible quarter. They literally, so far as the

success of the expedition was concerned, had no choice. If our

imagination is struck with the amount of suffering in this and in

similar scenes of the Conquest, it should be borne in mind that it was a

natural result of the great masses of men engaged in the conflict. The

amount of suffering does not of itself show the amount of cruelty which

caused it; and it is but justice to the Conquerors of Mexico to say that

the very brilliancy and importance of their exploits have given a

melancholy celebrity to their misdeeds, and thrown them into somewhat

bolder relief than strictly belongs to them. It is proper that thus much

should be stated, not to excuse their excesses, but that we may be

enabled to make a more impartial estimate of their conduct as compared

with that of other nations under similar circumstances, and that we may

not visit them with peculiar obloquy for evils which necessarily flow

from the condition of war.[136] I have not drawn a veil over these

evils; for the historian should not shrink from depicting in their true

colors the atrocities of a condition over which success is apt to throw

a false halo of glory, but which, bursting asunder the strong bonds of

human fellowship, purchases its triumphs by arming the hand of man

against his brother, makes a savage of the civilized, and kindles the

fires of hell in the bosom of the savage.

Whatever may be thought of the Conquest in a moral view, regarded as a

military achievement it must fill us with astonishment. That a handful

of adventurers, indifferently armed and equipped, should have landed on

the shores of a powerful empire inhabited by a fierce and warlike race,

and, in defiance of the reiterated prohibitions of its sovereign, have

forced their way into the interior;--that they should have done this

without knowledge of the language or of the land, without chart or

compass to guide them, without any idea of the difficulties they were to

encounter, totally uncertain whether the next step might bring them on a

hostile nation or on a desert, feeling their way along in the dark, as

it were;--that, though nearly overwhelmed in their first encounter with

the inhabitants, they should have still pressed on to the capital of the

empire, and, having reached it, thrown themselves unhesitatingly into

the midst of their enemies;--that, so far from being daunted by the

extraordinary spectacle there exhibited of power and civilization, they

should have been but the more confirmed in their original design;--that

they should have seized the monarch, have executed his ministers before

the eyes of his subjects, and, when driven forth with ruin from the

gates, have gathered their scattered wreck together, and, after a system

of operations pursued with consummate policy and daring, have succeeded

in overturning the capital and establishing their sway over the

country;--that all this should have been so effected by a mere handful

of indigent adventurers, is a fact little short of the miraculous,--too

startling for the probabilities demanded by fiction, and without a

parallel in the pages of history.

Yet this must not be understood too literally; for it would be unjust to

the Aztecs themselves, at least to their military prowess, to regard the

Conquest as directly achieved by the Spaniards alone. This would indeed

be to arm the latter with the charmed shield of Ruggiero, and the magic

lance of Astolfo, overturning its hundreds at a touch. The Indian empire

was in a manner conquered by Indians. The first terrible encounter of

the Spaniards with the Tlascalans, which had nearly proved their ruin,

did in fact insure their success. It secured to them a strong native

support on which to retreat in the hour of trouble, and round which they

could rally the kindred races of the land for one great and overwhelming

assault. The Aztec monarchy fell by the hands of its own subjects, under

the direction of European sagacity and science. Had it been united, it

might have bidden defiance to the invaders. As it was, the capital was

dissevered from the rest of the country, and the bolt, which might have

passed off comparatively harmless had the empire been cemented by a

common principle of loyalty and patriotism, now found its way into every

crack and crevice of the ill-compacted fabric and buried it in its own

ruins. Its fate may serve as a striking proof that a government which

does not rest on the sympathies of its subjects cannot long abide; that

human institutions, when not connected with human prosperity and

progress, must fall,--if not before the increasing light of

civilization, by the hand of violence; by violence from within, if not

from without. And who shall lament their fall?

With the events of this Book terminates the history, by Solís, of

the _Conquista de Méjico_; a history, in many points of view, the

most remarkable in the Castilian language. Don Antonio de Solís was

born of a respectable family, in October, 1610, at Alcalá de

Henares, the nursery of science, and the name of which is

associated in Spain with the brightest ornaments of both church and

state. Solís, while very young, exhibited the sparks of future

genius, especially in the vivacity of his imagination and a

sensibility to the beautiful. He showed a decided turn for dramatic

composition, and produced a comedy, at the age of seventeen, which

would have reflected credit on a riper age. He afterwards devoted

himself with assiduity to the study of ethics, the fruits of which

are visible in the moral reflections which gave a didactic

character to the lightest of his compositions.

At the usual age he entered the University of Salamanca, and went

through the regular course of the canon and civil law. But the

imaginative spirit of Solís took much more delight in the soft

revels of the Muses than in the severe discipline of the schools;

and he produced a number of pieces for the theatre, much esteemed

for the richness of the diction and for the ingenious and delicate

texture of the intrigue. His taste for dramatic composition was, no

doubt, nourished by his intimacy with the great Calderon, for whose

dramas he prepared several _loas_, or prologues. The amiable

manners and brilliant acquisitions of Solís recommended him to the

favor of the Conde de Oropesa, Viceroy of Navarre, who made him his

secretary. The letters written by him while in the service of this

nobleman, and afterwards, have some of them been given to the

public, and are much commended for the suavity and elegance of

expression characteristic of all the writings of their author.