THE FALL OF THE LAKE CITY
The Valley of Mexico--The City and the Causeways--The _Conquistadores_
enter Mexico City--Meeting of Cortes and Montezuma--Greeting of the
Aztec emperor to the Spaniards--Tradition of Quetzalcoatl--Splendid
reception--The Teocalli--Spanish duplicity--Capture of Montezuma--
Spanish gambling--News from Vera Cruz--Forced march to the coast--
Cortes defeats Narvaez--Bad news from Mexico--Back to the capital--
Alvarado's folly--Barbarous acts of the Spaniards--The fight on the
pyramid--Destruction of Aztec idols--Death of Montezuma--Spaniards flee
from the city--Frightful struggle on the Causeway--Alvarado's leap--The
_Noche Triste_--Battle of Otumba--Marvellous victory--Spanish
recuperation--Cuitlahuac and Guatemoc--Fresh operations against the
capital--Building of the brigantines--Aztec tenacity--Expedition to
Cuernavaca--Xochimilco--Attack upon the city--Struggles and reverses--
Sacrifice of Spaniards--Desertion of the Allies--Return of the Allies--
Renewed attacks--Fortitude of the Aztecs--The famous catapult--
Sufferings of the Aztecs--Final attack--Appalling slaughter--Ferocious
Tlascalans--Fall of Mexico.
The Valley of Mexico is a region of somewhat remarkable topographical
character. It consists of a plain or inter-montane basin, enclosed on
all sides by ranges of hills, forming a hydrographic entity whose
waters have no natural outlet.[15] A group of lakes occupy the central
part of this valley, very much reduced, however, in size since the time
of the Conquest.
[Footnote 15: See p. 17.]
[Illustration: THE LAKES OF THE VALLEY OF MEXICO AT THE TIME OF THE
CONQUEST, SHOWING THE CAUSEWAYS TO THE AZTEC ISLAND-CITY OF
TENOCHTITLAN. (From Prescott's "Conquest of Mexico.")]
It was the 8th of November, 1519. Across the southern end of the great
Lake Texcoco stretched a singular dyke or causeway, several miles in
length and a few yards in width--a road or pathway built up of stone
and mortar above the surrounding water, connecting the shores of that
inland sea with an island and three other similar causeways. Upon this
island arose a beautiful city with streets of strange buildings, above
which rose great pyramids with sanctuaries upon their summits; and upon
the bosom of the lake numerous canoes were plying, laden with men and
merchandise. So rose those towers, and lived and moved the dwellers of
this lake city, unknowing and unknown of European man, living their
life as if no other world than theirs held sway beneath the firmament
of the "unknown God." But the spell is broken. A trumpet sound is
ringing through the morning air. Across the causeway comes a troop of
strange men-animals--fearful things which snort and tramp, making the
causeway rumble, whilst the notes of that strange music echo away among
the towers and pyramids of the city, and are borne far over the waters
of the lake, to smite the ears of wondering Indians.
Cortes and his Spaniards rode steadily along the causeway, their hearts
beating--as well they might--with astonishment, admiration,
apprehension, and all those emotions to which their unique and romantic
position gave impulse. Guided by the messengers of Montezuma, the white
men rode beneath a fortification in mid-causeway, where another similar
structure joined it from another shore of the lake, passed the
drawbridge and the city walls, and clattered up the stone-paved avenue
of Tenochtitlan to where, in pomp and splendour, surrounded by his
lords and vassals, the great Aztec chief awaited them, in a royal
litter gleaming with polished gold.
Cortes and his men dropped foot to earth, and Montezuma descended from
his litter. The Spaniard _Conquistador_, after the custom of his race,
advanced to embrace the chief, "but," wrote Cortes to Charles V., "the
two lords in attendance prevented me with their hands that I might not
touch him, and both Montezuma and they performed instead their ceremony
of kissing the ground."
The meeting of these two chiefs--one the autocrat of a strange, unknown
civilisation there in the heart of the mountains, the other the
representative of an equally strange and unknown power from an outside
world, both, to the other, undreamt of--is of dramatic memory. But the
address of Montezuma was singularly dignified, prophetic, or
philosophical. After the presents and greetings were exchanged, and the
monarch and the invader sate at their ease, he spake in this wise: "You
who have come from the direction of the sunrise, from a great lord of
some far regions, shall not lack power here to command, for well we
know as to our ancestry that we are not of the aborigines of this land
where we now dwell, but of that of a great lord--which must be that you
represent--who brought us here in ages past, departed, and promised to
return. Rest here, therefore, and rejoice; take what you will, my house
is yours; but believe not the slanders of my enemies through whose
countries you have journeyed."
So strong was the remarkable tradition of Quetzalcoatl, that it had
held this powerful chief and his warlike people in check before the
invasion of a band of adventurers from abroad. A word of command from
him, and the Spaniards, with all their advantages of firearms and
horses, could never have passed the causeway or set foot within that
impregnable city of Tenochtitlan--that fatal causeway, as indeed it
afterwards became.
Barbaric splendour, blended with the arts and industries of a civilised
and practical people, formed the environment of this long-striven-for
goal, where the men of Spain now lay at ease. A great pile of low stone
buildings gave them commodious quarters. Rich gifts of gold and
clothing, and ample food supplies, were given and provided for the
white men; and their hearts, whether of the high-mettled and scornful
cavaliers, or of the rude boors who formed the common soldiery, were
won by the gentle courtesy and the generosity of Montezuma and the
respect of the Aztecs who obeyed him. Even the savage and hated
Tlascalan allies were lodged and provided for--their detested presence
tolerated from consideration for the Spaniards. Here was an unhoped-for
and magnificent reception. Here was a way and a time where the
civilisation and religion of the Christian world might have been
implanted--it would seem--by the philosophy of natural methods, by
forbearance, example, and sagacity. So, at least, have thought some of
the old chroniclers--so the student of to-day cannot but think.
But it was not to be so. The heart of the thinker bleeds to-day for the
things of history which might have been; and the story of Montezuma is
strong to give us philosophical regret. Some six days elapsed in this
peaceful occupation of the city. Cortes and his Spaniards admired the
huge market-place, where products from all quarters of the country were
brought together: food, clothing, weapons, manufactured articles of
rich material and colour, objects of gold, and a wealth of flowers
which the inhabitants loved, stone buildings which lined the streets,
the canals and streets which gave access thereto, and, in brief, the
whole detail and substance of that remarkable centre of a
semi-civilisation which the Spaniards commonly pronounced the equal of
anything in their own native land. In company with Montezuma Cortes
ascended the great _teocalli_, or pyramidal temple, and he and his
companion, from this high point, beheld with amazement the panorama of
the city below--with the lakes, the causeways giving access to the
mainland, the towns on the farther side, and the intense cultivation of
the valley. "Only the murmur of the people below reached our ears, as
we gazed upon this panorama," wrote Bernal Diaz, who was there. To the
chiefs who had been ordered to carry Cortes up the fatiguing
stairway-ascent of the pyramid, and to the polite inquiries of
Montezuma, the _Conquistador_ replied, "that a Spaniard was never
weary!" "But this abode of the devil," he said, with less politic
words, which somewhat offended Montezuma--indicating the blood-stained
sanctuary of the summit where they stood--"should rather be the home of
the Cross"; and, indeed, the abominable place might well arouse the
indignation of a Christian man: even one of that race and religion
which later, in the same place, burned its own brethren at the stake
for the good of their souls!
A few days wrought a change. Montezuma became a prisoner in the Spanish
camp! In the heart of his own city, surrounded by his powerful chiefs
and armies, the Aztec languished in vile, if seemingly voluntary,
durance; and, an instrument in the invaders' hands, he governed his
realm from their quarters. How was this astonishing transformation
brought about? Cortes and his companions were in a singular position.
Living in friendly harmony with their powerful host, shielded by his
strange, superstitious reverence for a tradition, they yet could not
but fear some change of circumstance which might, at any moment, plunge
them into insecurity or threaten them with destruction. Moreover,
Cortes knew not in what condition he stood with the dreaded powers of
Castile. What favour or disfavour had he incurred in Spain for his
irregular proceedings?--adverse representation of which, he well knew,
would have been made by Velasquez and others, jealous of the conquest.
Also--and this was a more poignant consideration than any other--Mexico
was not conquered; it was only discovered. Action was necessary--to go
or stay. "Listen," said Cortes to his captains, as they held solemn
conclave. "This is my plan. We will seize and hold Montezuma. What say
you?" It was done. For a pretext for this unworthy act the murder of
two Spaniards upon an expedition at Vera Cruz was assigned. Visiting
Montezuma's residence under pretence of asking redress for this--which
was fully granted by the Aztec king, with absolute proofs of his
non-participation in the occurrence--the Spaniards demanded that he
should accompany them to their camp and take up his residence there.
This remarkable request was acceded to by the weak Montezuma--let us
not say weak, but rather fatalist--and, accompanied by his weeping
vassals, he allowed himself to be conducted to the stone fortress which
had been assigned to the Spaniards as their habitation. The
circumstance is perhaps unique in history.
And then the barbarous abuse of power, so strong a trait in the Spanish
character, was exercised by Cortes and his captains. The chiefs who had
been responsible for the killing of the two Spaniards arrived in the
capital in accordance with Montezuma's summons. The Spaniards seized
them, bound them to stakes in the courtyard, and burned them alive, an
abominable act and stain upon their name, for which they paid dearly
afterwards. Montezuma had been put in chains, the prisoners having
confessed, although falsely, it is held, that they had acted in
accordance with the Emperor's instructions. Afterwards Montezuma's
shackles were taken off, but the indignity remained, although the
Spaniards treated him well and endeavoured to render his captivity
light, not so much out of regard for him, as that the safe keeping of
his person was a valuable hostage for them.
The days went on in the Spanish camp. There was gaming with the huge
treasure which, after his captivity, Montezuma gave the Spaniards; a
treasure of which the gold, in three great heaps upon the floor of the
habitation, was of value so prodigious as to dazzle even them, and of
which a fifth was set apart for the Spanish king. Not content with
these matters, or, rather, urged by their religious fervour, the
Spaniards obtained permission to erect an altar and crucifix in one of
the sanctuaries of the great _teocalli_. There Father Olmedo celebrated
Mass, and the _Te Deum_ was chanted by the soldiers, side by side with
the sacrificial stone; the abominable war-god's image, and all the
attendant machinery of its savage priestcraft.
But a time of change looms up. Six months have elapsed since the
Spaniards entered the city. The unnatural condition of these things
bears its fruit. The Aztec king has sounded the knell of his own
authority and prestige, and the Spaniards' religious work has incurred
the hatred of the seething multitude, scarcely held in check by the
commands of Montezuma. Cortes and most of his captains at this critical
time are called to Vera Cruz by Sandoval, the captain in charge; and go
they must, for life or death. For hostile ships, sent by the jealous
Velasquez and commanded by one Narvaez, menace the base of operations
on the coast. Leaving Alvarado in charge of Montezuma and Spanish
prestige in Tenochtitlan, Cortes by forced marches gained the coast,
journeying with great speed, and under grave apprehension.
Fortune on this occasion favoured the _Conquistador_ in a remarkable
way. With only a third of his small force--140 men had remained in the
capital--Cortes, under cover of a fearful storm at night, attacked
Narvaez and the Spaniards of his command, routing them and taking the
leader prisoner. The defeated soldiers soon enrolled themselves under
Cortes's successful banner, stimulated by tales of gold and glory in
the interior. But whilst the _Conquistadores_ were resting and
congratulating themselves upon the addition of men, horses, and
ammunition to their forces, grave tidings came from Mexico. The Indians
of Tenochtitlan had arisen, assaulted the fortifications of the
Spaniards on all sides, and unless Cortes desired to see all his work
undone, his people massacred, and his hard-won prestige ruined, he must
make his way as fast as God would let him again to the city on the
lakes of Anahuac.
Up, up they went once more. Up through the tropical forests and among
the appalling escarpments of the Sierra. Again they descended the
valley slopes, approached the lakes--round which an ominous abandonment
prevailed--and crossing the long causeway, entered the Spanish camp.
The fault of the insurrection, Cortes learned now, lay with the
commander in charge--the foolish and cruel Alvarado, whose barbarous
acts on other occasions had needlessly embroiled the Spaniards with the
natives. A great celebration and religious festival was being
held--Cortes learned--and whilst the Aztec nobles and people were
occupied, unsuspecting any hostile act of their guests, Alvarado and
the Spaniards, armed to the teeth, had mingled with the crowd with
their purpose all planned, fallen upon the unarmed worshippers, and
perpetrated a frightful massacre--"without pity or Christian mercy, so
that the gutters ran with blood as in a rain-storm," say the
chroniclers.
The result of this barbarous act was a vengeance and punishment which
cost the _Conquistadores_ dear, and stripped them in a few days of all
they had won. For the maddened people, roused by sorrow and hate, and
urged on by the priests, assailed the Spanish dwelling with frenzied
attack. A rain of darts and missiles descended day after day upon the
quarters of the Christians, so numerous that they had to be gathered in
heaps and burnt in the courtyard. The main point of attack by the
Mexicans was the great _teocalli_ of the war-god, which overlooked the
Spaniards' quarters, and so fierce was the hail of arrows and stones
from this that a sortie was made. Cortes, with Sandoval and Alvarado,
and a number of the Spaniards, led a gallant attack on the pyramid,
fought their way up its precipitous steps and terraces, and after a
frightful hand-to-hand struggle on its giddy summit, forced the Aztecs
and their priests over the edge, and rolled the infernal idol of
Huitzilopotchli, the war-god, down among the people in the streets
below.
Impressed as they were by the destruction of their temple and god--an
event which was rapidly circulated about the country by hieroglyphical
paintings--the Aztecs abated nothing of their attack and siege of the
hated white men. All superstitious fear had gone, and the true
character of these people the Spaniards had now to learn. Day after day
the barbarians came on. Sortie after sortie, sometimes with success,
sometimes with severe loss, was made by the Christians, Cortes more
than once barely escaping with his life, while numerous Spaniards and
horses fell. The labyrinth of streets and cross-canals and bridges much
hampered the Spaniards' movements, and houses and walls were torn down
to fill these fatal ditches. Distress and famine fell upon the
garrison, mutiny arose, and some of the Spaniards cursed themselves and
their leader as fools for having left their comfortable homes in Cuba
to embark on this mad enterprise, whose termination seemed as if it
might be--as indeed it was for many of them--the sacrificial stone of
the heathen god.
But Cortes, intrepid and serene in the face of disaster, called them to
order. The unfortunate Montezuma, who, buried in a profound melancholy,
took no part in the struggle, was urged to address his frenzied people
from the tower of the fortification. He consented, and the Aztec
warriors without the walls gazed with astonishment on their captured
chief, and heard with still greater amazement his commands that strife
against the white man should cease. But the power of his name and
presence was gone; howls and execration arose from the mob; a stone
from a sling struck Montezuma upon the forehead, and he sank back into
the arms of the Spaniards and was borne to his quarters. For a space,
the mob, horror-struck at its sacrilegious act, fled from the place,
and not a man was seen within the square that day. Montezuma, sorely
stricken, declined rapidly, and refusing the attentions of Father
Olmedo, who knelt at his bedside with uplifted crucifix, sank to his
end. "Half an hour of life alone remains me; at least I will die in the
faith of my forefathers," he said, adding in expiring tones to Cortes,
his last words: "To your care and your Emperor's I commend my
daughters, my precious jewels. You, for whose sake I have been brought
to indignity and death, will not refuse me this last request." So
perished the noble Montezuma.[16]
[Footnote 16: It is stated by some historians that the death of
Montezuma was really brought about by Cortes and the Spaniards, who,
considering the unfortunate monarch an incumbrance, killed him in
captivity; and there are grounds for suspecting that this is true.]
The bridges broken, the savages screaming outside the walls, hope of
victory gone, there was now no counsel of war for the Spaniards save
that of escape. But how? At night and along the great causeway was the
only plan. A weird scene it was on the beginning of that _Noche
Triste_--the sorrowful night--which stands forth so unforgetably in the
history of the Conquest. Disorder everywhere; piles of gold and
valuables upon the floor, each Spaniard, whether cavalier or boor,
loading himself with what he thought he could carry. "Pocket what you
can," Cortes said, "but recollect that gold is heavy and we have to
travel swiftly"--grave advice, the neglect of which cost some their
lives upon that awful night.
And then began the retreat along the fatal causeway. It was known that
there were three openings in this, and a portable bridge had been made
and was borne along to enable passage to be effected. Hurrying on in
the hope of passing the breaches before alarm might be given, the
Spaniards entered upon the causeway and placed their portable bridge
upon the first breach. Was safety to be theirs? No! What was that
appalling sound, sonorous and melancholy, which rang over the city and
the waters amid the darkness? It was the great drum on the _teocalli_;
the _tambor_ of the war-god, sounded by vigilant priests, calling the
people to vengeance and battle. And in their myriads the Aztecs poured
forth and fell upon the Christians, raining darts and stones upon them,
and making the night hideous with their war-cries. Meanwhile Cortes and
the advance guard had passed over, and reached the second breach.
"Bring up the bridge!" was, the repeated order, as those behind crowded
on. Useless; the bridge was stuck fast in the first breach, wedged down
by the weight of guns and horses which had passed over it, and as these
dread tidings were heard the mass of men upon the narrow causeway lost
their presence of mind. Those behind crowded on those in front; men and
horses rolled into the lake; Spaniards and Tlascalans fell victims to
the Aztecs, who crowded the water in their canoes and leapt upon the
causeway; the shouts of vengeance and triumph of the savages resounded
all along the dyke, silencing the muttered oath or prayer of the
Christians huddled at the breach. Down went horse and man, artillery
and treasure, until with the bodies of Christians and Indians and
horses, and bales of merchandise and chests of ammunition the breach
was almost filled, and a portion of the fugitives passed over. And now
the third breach yawns before them--deep and wide. The morning is
dawning upon the fatal scene; the salt waters of the lake have closed
over many a gallant Christian head; the frightful causeway is strewn
with wreck of man and merchandise. "The rear guard perishes!" and "back
and save them!" were the words which rang out then; and Cortes and his
remaining cavaliers, who were in the lead, rode back, even in that
frightful hour--be it recorded to their honour--and, swimming the
breach once more, strove to support their comrades. There stood
Alvarado unhorsed and battling, with the savages pressing upon his
rear. Escape there seemed none. Canoes and spears teemed on every side,
and Cortes and his companions were forced onward. The heroic figure of
Alvarado stood up against the grey sky alone--a moment--and then he
measured the breach with his eye, whilst--
"Friends and foes in dumb surprise
With parted lips and straining eyes
Stood gazing,"--
but not "where he sank," for sink he did not.[17] Planting his lance on
the wreckage in the waters of the breach, after the manner of a
leaping-pole, the heroic Spaniard collected his energies, leapt
forward, and passed the chasm at a bound. To this day, in the City of
Mexico, the spot exists, and is known as the _puente de Alvarado_.
[Footnote 17: It is stated that the Aztecs paused in admiration of this
feat, whilst "the Son of the Sun," as they termed Alvarado, from his
fair hair and rubicund visage, performed this extraordinary leap;
considering it miraculous.]
Away off the causeway into the grey dawn of morning passed the remnant
of the routed army, wounded, bleeding, starving, their comrades gone,
some to death, some to the sacrifice, and annihilation threatening all.
Baggage and artillery were gone, not a carbine was left, and Cortes,
seating himself upon the steps of a ruined temple on the shore, wept
bitter tears of sorrow and vanished fortune. So passed the _Noche
Triste_.
The next great event of this remarkable campaign was the battle of
Otumba. The wretched soldiers, having obtained what rest and
nourishment were possible, continued their retreat around the northern
part of the lake valley; passed beneath the shadow of the pyramids of
Teotihuacan--standing ever there ruined and wrapped in the mystery of
their prehistoric builders--and seven days after the events of that
awful night crossed the summit of the range which bounds the plain of
Anahuac. Thence they set their gaze eastwards towards the coast. What
was it that greeted their eyes on the plain below? A mighty army of
warriors whose hosts absolutely covered the plain with glowing lance
and waving plumes--the forces of the warlike Otomies. So numerous were
they that, dressed in their armour of white quilted cotton, it "looked
as if the land was covered with snow," as the historians put it. There
was nothing for it but to face these fearful odds, and, weakened as
they were, the remnant of the Spanish force, encouraged by their leader
and exhorted by their priest, fell valiantly on. They were soon wrapped
in the enfolding masses of the savages, who attacked them with the
utmost ferocity. The cavalry fell back; the Spaniards were stricken on
every side, and absolute disaster hung over them. "We believed it to be
our last day," Cortes wrote to Spain afterwards. But the tide of battle
changed miraculously. In a last furious charge Cortes, followed by the
few officers who remained, leaped upon the foe, reached the litter of
their chief, and, running him through the body with a lance, tore down
the standard. This act saved the day. Stricken with panic at the loss
of their leader, the Indians fell into disorder, threw down their arms,
and turned and fled. Hot upon them, and thirsting for revenge, poured
the Spaniards and Tlascalans--it is to be recollected that the
Christians had no firearms nor artillery--and utterly routed them. The
victory of Otumba is considered one of the most remarkable in the
history of the New World.
[Illustration: THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO: CORTES AT THE BATTLE OF OTUMBA.
(From the painting by Ramirez.)]
Their fortunes thus somewhat ameliorated, the Spaniards continued
onward to Tlascala, where they were received with the utmost
hospitality, and there they recuperated their shattered energies.
Further alliance was entered into with these people, despite embassies
from the Aztecs. Further operations were successfully conducted against
the powerful Tepeacans--allies of the Aztecs--who were beaten, and
transferred their allegiance to the men of Castile. These successes
were followed by others; the Tlascalans in a severe battle defeated a
large force of the Aztecs; numerous other tribes, influenced by these
matters, sent to offer their allegiance, and a vast part of the country
was soon under the authority of the Spaniards. The intrepid and
persistent spirit of Cortes, undismayed by the reverses which the
attempted conquest of Mexico had cost him and his followers, now laid
his plans for a further campaign against the lake-city of Anahuac. Over
Tenochtitlan there had reigned a master-enemy, to whose work had been
due the frightful reverses of the "sorrowful night" and the battle of
Otumba. This was Cuitlahuac, brother of Montezuma. But having saved his
capital from falling before the detested white men, this capable prince
expired from smallpox--a disease introduced into the country by the
invaders--after a few months' reign. In his stead now arose the famous
Guatemoc, Montezuma's nephew, and he also had sworn a deep hatred
against the ravishers of his country.
Up, up once more, away over the rocky fastnesses of the sierra,
followed by his allies, the flower of the armies of Tlascala, Tepeaca,
and Cholula, Cortes and his Spaniards pressed. But his measures this
time had been taken with care and forethought. The resources of the
country furnished sinews of war. Twelve brigantines were put under
construction by the Spanish shipbuilder who was among the forces,
timber and pitch being obtained from the mountains near at hand, and
the ironwork and rigging of the destroyed navy of Vera Cruz used for
their outfitting. This astonishing piece of work was performed by the
Tlascalans, and the ships, carried from Tlascala to the shore of
Texcoco, were floated thereon by means of a canal dug by these
magnificent allies of the Spanish Crown. The building of ships in a
forest and carrying them in pieces for sixty miles over mountains and
plains to the water, is a feat which may well command our admiration
even to-day!
The subjugation of the Aztec city proved to be a protracted and bloody
task. The only method by which it could be compassed was that of laying
waste the surrounding places on the lake and the holding of the
environs of the city in a state of siege. Cortes established his centre
of operations in the city of Texcoco, capital of the nation of the same
name, on the eastern extremity of the lake, and the young Prince
Ixtlilxochitl, whom he installed upon the throne of that kingdom, was
his powerful ally. Indeed, it was only the disaffections of the
outlying peoples, who generally abhorred the Aztec hegemony, that
enabled the Spaniards to carry on their operations, or, indeed, to set
foot in the country at all.
A series of severe struggles began then, both by land and
water--burning, slaughter, and the destruction of the lake towns. The
Aztecs, with their great number, raining darts and stones upon the
invaders at every engagement, attacked them with unparalleled ferocity
both by forces on shore and their canoes on the lake. The Spaniards
took heavy toll of the enemy at every turn, assisted by their allies
the Tlascalans, as savage and implacable as the Aztecs, whom they
attacked with a singular and persistent spirit of hatred, the result of
long years of oppression by the dominant power of Anahuac. Cortes, on
every occasion when it seemed that the last chance of success might
attend it, offered terms to the Aztec capital, by no means
dishonourable, assuring them their liberty and self-government in
return for allegiance to the Crown of Spain and the renouncing of their
abominable system of sacrificial religion. These advances were
invariably met by the most implacable negatives. The Aztecs, far from
offering to yield, swore they would sacrifice, when the day was theirs,
every Spaniard and Tlascalan on the bloody altars of their gods; and as
for entering into any treaty, the last man, woman, and child would
resist the hated invaders until the last drop of blood was shed and the
last stone of their city thrown down. This vaunt, as regards the latter
part, was almost literally carried out, and to some extent as regards
the former.
During the earlier part of the siege a welcome addition was made to the
Spanish forces. Three vessels from Hispaniola arrived at Vera Cruz, and
the two hundred men, artillery, gunpowder, and quantity of horses they
brought placed the Spaniards again in possession of superior arms.
Previous to this the brigantines had arrived, transported by the
Tlascalans, eight thousand bearers loaded with timbers and appliances,
"a marvellous sight to see," wrote Cortes to the king. "I assure your
Majesty that the train of bearers was six miles long." It is related by
a subsequent historian, in 1626, that tallow being scarce for the
shipwrights' purposes, it was obtained from the dead bodies of Indians
who had fallen in the fights; presumably by boiling them down.[18]
[Footnote 18: This obtaining of _sebo humano_, or "human tallow," by
the Spaniards seems to have been practised in Peru also, according to
stories told me by the natives of the Andes, and recorded in my book,
"The Andes and the Amazon."]
Plans were then laid for an attack upon the island-city. But before
this it was necessary to subjugate some troublesome Indians to the
west, and the expedition to Cuernavaca was successfully carried out. A
remarkable incident of this was the surprise attack upon the enemy in
an impregnable position, by the crossing of a profound chasm by means
of two overhanging trees, which were utilised as a natural bridge by
some Tlascalans and the Spaniards, who passed the dangerous spot by
this method. Return was then made to Xochimilco on the fresh-water lake
of that name, adjoining at that time that of Texcoco on the south. The
name of this place in the Aztec tongue signifies "The Field of
Flowers," for there were numbers of the singular _chinampas_, or
floating-gardens, which were a feature of the aquatic life of the
Mexicans, existing upon this lake.
The siege operations were conducted vigorously both by land and water.
Again before the eyes of the Spaniards stretched that fatal
causeway--path of death amid the salt waters of Texcoco for so many of
their brave comrades upon the _Noche Triste_ of their terrible flight
from Tenochtitlan. And there loomed once more that dreaded _teocalli_,
whence the war-drum's mournful notes were heard. Guarded now by the
capable and persistent Guatemoc, the city refused an offer of treaty,
and invited the destruction which was to fall upon it. From the
_azoteas_, or roofs of their buildings and temples, the undaunted
Mexicans beheld the white-winged brigantines, armed with those belching
engines of thunder and death whose sting they well knew: and saw the
ruthless hand of devastation laying waste their fair town of the lake
shore, and cutting off their means of life.
But the Spaniards had yet to learn to their cost the lengths of Aztec
tenacity and ferocity. It will be recollected that the city was
connected to the lake shores by means of four causeways, built above
the surface of the water; engineering structures of stone and mortar
and earth, which had from the first aroused the admiration of the
Spaniards. These causeways, whilst they rendered the city almost
impregnable from attack, were a source of weakness in the easy
cutting-off of food supplies, which they afforded to the enemy. A
simultaneous assault on all these approaches was organised by the
Spaniards, under Sandoval, Alvarado, and Cortes himself, respectively,
whilst the brigantines, with their raking artillery, were to support
the attack by water, aided by the canoes of the Tlascalan and Texcocan
allies. A series of attacks was made by this method, and at last the
various bodies of Spaniards advanced along the causeways and gained the
city walls. But frightful disaster befel them. The comparative ease
with which they entered the city aroused Cortes's suspicions; and at
that moment, from the summit of the great _teocalli_, rang out a
fearful note--the horn of Guatemoc, calling for vengeance and a
concerted attack. The notes of the horn struck some ominous sense of
chill in the Spaniards' breasts, and the soldier-penman, Bernal Diaz,
who was fighting valiantly there, says that the noise echoed and
re-echoed, and rang in his ears for days afterwards. The Spaniards on
this, as on other occasions, had foolishly neglected to secure the
breaches in the causeways as they passed, or at least the rash Alvarado
had not done so with his command, his earlier lesson unheeded; and when
the Christians were hurled backwards--for their easy entrance into the
great square of the city had been in the nature of a decoy--disaster
befel them, which at one moment seemed as if it would be a repetition
of that of the _Noche Triste_. "The moment I reached that fearful
bridge," Cortes wrote in his despatches, "I saw the Spaniards returning
in full flight." Remaining to hold the breach, if possible, and cover
the retreat, the chivalrous Cortes almost lost his life from a furious
attack by the barbarians in their canoes, and was only saved by the
devotion of his own men and Indian allies, who gave their lives in his
rescue. Word, nevertheless, had gone forth among the men that Cortes
had fallen; and the savages, throwing before the faces of Alvarado and
Sandoval the bloody heads of decapitated Spaniards, cried tauntingly
the name "Malintzin," which was that by which Cortes was known among
the Mexicans. Men and horses rolled into the lake; dead bodies filled
the breaches; the Christians and their allies were beaten back, and "as
we were all wounded it was only the help of God which saved us from
destruction," wrote Bernal Diaz. Indeed, both Cortes and the Spaniards
only escaped, on these and other occasions, from the Aztecs' desire to
take them alive for sacrifice.
Once more, after disastrous retreats and heavy loss, the bleeding and
discouraged Spaniards lay in their camp, as evening fell. Of dead,
wounded, and captured the Spaniards missed more than a hundred and
twenty of their comrades, and the Tlascalans a thousand, whilst
valuable artillery, guns, and horses were lost. But listen! what is
that mournful, penetrating sound which smites the Christians' ears? It
is the war-god's drum, and even from where the Spaniards stand there is
visible a procession ascending the steps of the _teocalli_, and, to
their horror, the forms of their lost comrades are seen within it:
whose hearts are doomed to be torn out living from their breasts to
smoke before the shrine of Huitzilopochtli, the war-devil of their
enemies. From that high and fearful place their comrades' eyes must be
gazing with despairing look towards the impotent Spanish camp, glazing
soon in death as the obsidian knives of the priests performed their
fiendish work. The disastrous situation of the Spaniards was made worse
by the desertion, at this juncture, of the Tlascalan and other allies.
Awed by a prophecy sent out confidently by the Aztec priests, that both
Christians and allies should be delivered into their hands before eight
days had passed (prophecy or doom, which the priests said, was from the
mouth of the war-god, appeased by the late victory), the superstitious
Indians of Cortes's forces sneaked off in the night.
Continued reverses, in the face of long-continued action and desire for
the attaining a given end, forges in the finer calibre of mind a spirit
of unremitting purpose. Blow after blow, which would turn away the
ordinary individual from his endeavour, serves to steel the real hero
to a dispassionate and persistent patience, and the purpose from its
very intensity becomes almost a sacred cause, and seems to obtain from
the unseen powers of circumstance success at last. So with Cortes and
others of the Spaniards. The period prescribed by the somewhat rash
prophecy of the Aztec priests and their infernal oracle having passed
without anything remarkable having taken place, the Tlascalan and
Texcocan allies, upbraided and warned by the Spaniards' messengers, now
sneaked back to resume the attack against the city. The Aztecs had
sought to cause disaffection in outlying places by sending round the
bloody heads of decapitated Spaniards and horses, but with little
effect. Cortes then prepared for a final effort. The plan adopted was
to be slower but surer than the former one of simple slaughter. It was
determined to raze the city to the ground; to destroy the buildings
step by step, fill up the canals, and so lay waste the whole area from
the outside, so that unobstructed advance might be maintained.
The execution of this plan was begun. The city ends of the causeways
were captured and held; street after street was demolished, and canal
after canal filled up amid scenes of incessant fighting and slaughter.
Day after day the Spaniards returned to their work; day after day with
admirable tenacity the inhabitants of Tenochtitlan disputed the ground
inch by inch, watered with the blood of themselves, their women and
their children. Their supplies cut off, famine and pestilence wrought
more terrible havoc among them--crowded as they gradually became into
one quarter of the city--than the arms of the Spaniards and the
Tlascalans. At the termination of each day's work the Spanish prepared
an ambuscade for the enemy, drawing them on by seeming to retire, and
massacring them with the artillery and gun-fire and lances, to say
nothing of the weapons of their savage allies. On one of these
occasions "the enemy rushed out yelling as if they had gained the
greatest victory in the world," Cortes wrote in his despatches, and
"more than five hundred, all of the bravest and principal men, were
killed in this ambush." He added, and it was a common occurrence, "our
allies"--the Indians--"supped well that night, cutting up and eating
their captives!" During the days of this terrible siege the famous
catapult was made, an extraordinary engine to discharge great stones
upon the enemy. This was to enable the Spaniards to husband their
powder, which was getting low, and the Aztecs watched the construction
of this machine with certain fear. It was completed and set to work,
but the builder, a Spanish soldier of inventive faculty, nearly played
the part of the engineer hoist with his own petard, for the great stone
fired rose, it is true, but went straight up and descended again upon
the machine, which was ever afterwards the laughing-stock of the army.
Further severe losses were now inflicted upon the beleaguered
inhabitants, as more ammunition had been obtained. Peace had again been
offered by the Spaniards, and again refused by the Aztecs. An Aztec
chief of high rank had been captured, and then returned to Guatemoc as
a peace envoy. The Mexicans' reply was to execute and sacrifice the
unfortunate emissary, and then collecting their forces they poured out
upon the causeways like a furious tide, which seemed as if it would
sweep all before it. But the Spaniards were prepared. The narrow
causeways were commanded by the artillery, which poured such a deadly
hail upon the enemy's numbers that they returned fleeing to the city.
And soon the end approaches. The division led by Cortes made a fierce
assault; and whilst the battle raged the Spaniards observed that the
summit of one of the _teocallis_ was in flames. It was the work of
Alvarado's men, who had penetrated already to the plaza. Forces were
joined, and the inhabitants of the city, driven into one quarter
thereof, still made their stubborn and--now--suicidal stand. For the
streets were piled up with corpses, the Aztecs refraining from throwing
the bodies of their slain into the lake, or outside the city, in order
not to show their weakness. Pestilence and famine had made terrible
inroads upon the population. Miserable wretches, men, women, and
children, were encountered wandering about careless of the enemy, only
bent upon finding some roots, bark, or offal which might appease the
hunger at their vitals. The salt waters of the lake, which they had
been obliged to drink, for the Spaniards had cut the aqueduct which
brought the fresh water from Chapultepec, had caused many to sicken and
die. Mothers had devoured their dead children; the bodies of the slain
had been eaten, and the bark gnawed from the trunks of trees. In their
dire extremity some of the chiefs of the beleaguered city called Cortes
to the barricade. He went, trusting that capitulation was at hand, for,
as both he and his historians record, the slaughter was far from their
choosing. "Do but finish your work quickly," was the burden of their
parley. "Let us go and rest in the heaven of our war-god; we are weary
of life and suffering. How is it that you, a son of the Sun, tarry so
long in finishing, when the Sun himself makes circuit of the earth in a
day, and so accomplishes his work speedily?"
This remarkable appeal struck renewed pity to the heart of Cortes, and
once more he begged them to surrender and avoid further suffering, and
the Spaniards drew off their forces for a space. But the inexorable
Guatemoc, although he sent an embassy to say he would hold parley, and
the Spaniards waited for him, did not fulfil the promise at the last
moment. Incensed at this behaviour, the Spaniards and the Tlascalans
renewed the attack with overpowering energy on the one part and
barbaric savagery on the other. Contrary to the orders of the
Spaniards, their savage allies gave no quarter, but murdered men,
women, and children in fiendish exultation. The stench of the dead in
the beleaguered city was overpowering; the soil was soaked with blood;
the gutters ran as in a rain-storm, say the chroniclers, and, wrote
Cortes to the King of Spain: "Such slaughter was done that day on land
and water that killed and prisoners numbered forty thousand; and such
were the shrieks and weeping of women and children that there were none
of us whose hearts did not break." He adds that it was impossible to
contain the savage killing and torturing by their allies the
Tlascalans, who practised such cruelty as had never been seen, and "out
of all order of nature."
At nightfall the attacking forces drew off, leaving the remainder of
the inhabitants of the stricken city to consider their position. It is
stated that the Tlascalans made a great banquet of the flesh of the
fallen Aztecs, and that on this and other occasions they fished up the
bloated bodies of their enemies from the lake and devoured them! At
sunrise on the following day Cortes and a few followers entered the
city, hoping to have a supplication for terms from Guatemoc. The army
was stationed outside the walls, ready, in the event of a refusal--the
signal of which should be a musket-shot--to pour in and strike the
final blow. A parley was entered into as before, which lasted several
hours. "Do you surrender?" Cortes demanded. The final reply of Guatemoc
was, "I will not come: I prefer to die where I am: do your worst."
A musket-shot rang out upon the air; the Spaniards and their allies
fell on to merciless slaughter: cannons, muskets, arrows, slings,
lances--all told their tale upon the huddled mass of panic-stricken
people, who, after presenting a feeble and momentary front, poured
forth upon the fatal causeways to escape. Drowned and suffocated in the
waters of the lake, mowed down by the fire from the brigantines, and
butchered by the brutal Tlascalans, women, children, and men struggled
and shrieked among that frightful carnage; upon which it were almost
impious to dwell further. Guatemoc, with his wife and children, strove
to escape, and the canoe containing them was already out upon the lake,
when a brigantine ran it down and captured him. All resistance was at
an end. No sign of life or authority remained among the ruined walls;
the fair city by the lake was broken and tenantless, its idols fallen,
and its people fled. The Homeric struggle was over; the conquest of
Mexico was accomplished.