A certain degree of monotony prevails among all the vicissitudes of
life, and even the most exciting events fail, after a time, to interest.
A paucity of incidents will not much sooner disgust us with the pages of
history, than the most abundant stores of plots and battles, triumphs
and defeats, if too liberally dispensed;--for these are composed of the
same elements, and have, on the whole, the same wearisome identity of
character. For this reason, though the many battles fought in the
streets of Mexico, during the seven days which intervened betwixt the
second coming and the second departure of Cortes, have something in them
both of interest and novelty, we have not dared to recount them in full,
nor, indeed, to mention all of them; being satisfied to touch only
such, and, in truth, only such parts of such, as, in themselves, have
each some peculiar variety of characteristic. We pass by, with a word,
the increased sufferings of the Christians,--their murmurs and
lamentations,--their despair and frenzy.
The day that followed after the fatal victory of the pyramid, brought
its battles like others. That day it became apparent that the last fibre
which bound hope to the palace wall, was about snapping--it was known to
all, that the Indian monarch was expiring. The prediction of Botello had
made all acquainted with the day on which a retreat might be
accomplished. That day was drawing nigh; but the impatience of the
soldiers, and the anxiety of the officers to prepare, or, at least, to
reconnoitre, the path of retreat, again drove them from their quarters.
A weak, but well chosen and trusty garrison was left in charge of the
palace; while Don Hernan, with all the forces that could be spared of
his reduced army, sallied from the court-yard, and fought his way to the
dike of Iztapalapan.
In this exploit, new difficulties were to be overcome, and new proofs
were exhibited of the sagacity and determination of the barbarians.
Besides the obstacles offered by the ditches, robbed of their bridges,
the Mexicans had heaped together across the streets, the fragments of
their demolished houses, thus forming barriers, which were not passed
without the greatest labour and suffering. Nevertheless, the Spaniards
persevered, and not only gained the causeway, but approached nigh to
Iztapalapan, before a Tlascalan messenger, creeping in disguise through
the crowds of enemies, recalled them to the palace, which was furiously
assailed, and in imminent danger of being carried by storm.
It is not to be supposed, that this attempt on the great dike, and the
return, were effected without the most bloody opposition. The lake
suddenly swarmed with canoes full of fighting men, and when Don Hernan
again turned his face towards Tenochtitlan, he beheld the causeway
covered with warriors, who, besides disputing his passage with
unappeasable rage, broke, as well as they could, the bridges over the
sluices, seven in number, wherein were mingled the floods of Chalco and
Tezcuco. His valour, however, or his good fortune, prevailed; and by
night-fall he reached the square of Axajacatl, and fell with renewed
fury upon the savages who still struggled with the garrison. When he had
carved his way through them, and had directed the exertions of his
united forces against the besiegers, who still raved, like wolves,
around him, he gave some thought to those companions, whose fate it had
been, to lay their bodies on the causeway, or to take their rest, with
such exequies as could be rendered in the lamentations of men expecting
each instant to share their fate, under the salt bosom of Tezcuco.
It became known, that, among these unhappy victims, was the knight of
Calavar,--but how slain, or where entombed, no one could relate. From
the day of the loss of his kinsman, he had been reckoned by all,
entirely insane. He held communion with none, not even his attendants;
but casting aside his abstraction, and resuming his armour, he was
present in every conflict which ensued, fighting with an ardour, fury,
and recklessness, as astonishing as they were maniacal. All that was
remembered of his fate, this day, was, that, when at the farthest part
of the causeway the trumpets were ordered to sound a retreat, he was
seen, without attendants, for they were wedged fast in the melee,
dashing onwards amid the dusky crowds that came rushing upon the front
from the suburbs of Iztapalapan. Cortes had, himself, called to the
knight to return, and not doubting that he would extricate himself
without aid, had then given all his attention to the Mexicans attacking
on the rear. This was known; it was known also that Don Gabriel had not
returned: beyond this, all was mystery and gloom.