THE NIGHT OF FEAR
Long before I awoke that day the commands of the council had been
carried out, and the bridges in the great causeways were broken down
wherever dykes crossed the raised roads that ran through the waters of
the lake. That afternoon also I went dressed as an Indian warrior with
Guatemoc and the other generals, to a parley which was held with
Cortes, who took his stand on the same tower of the palace that
Montezuma had stood on when the arrow of Guatemoc struck him down.
There is little to be said of this parley, and I remember it chiefly
because it was then for the first time since I had left the Tobascans
that I saw Marina close, and heard her sweet and gentle voice. For now
as ever she was by the side of Cortes, translating his proposals of
peace to the Aztecs. Among those proposals was one which showed me that
de Garcia had not been idle. It asked that the false white man who had
been rescued from the altars of the gods upon the _teocalli_ should be
given in exchange for certain Aztec prisoners, in order that he might
be hung according to his merits as a spy and deserter, a traitor to the
emperor of Spain. I wondered as I heard, if Marina knew when she spoke
the words, that “the false white man” was none other than the friend of
her Tobascan days.
“You see that you are fortunate in having found place among us Aztecs,
Teule,” said Guatemoc with a laugh, “for your own people would greet
you with a rope.”
Then he answered Cortes, saying nothing of me, but bidding him and all
the Spaniards prepare for death:
“Many of us have perished,” he said; “you also must perish, Teules. You
shall perish of hunger and thirst, you shall perish on the altars of
the gods. There is no escape for you Teules; the bridges are broken.”
And all the multitude took up the words and thundered out, “There is no
escape for you Teules; the bridges are broken!”
Then the shooting of arrows began, and I sought the palace to tell
Otomie my wife what I had gathered of the state of her father
Montezuma, who the Spaniards said still lay dying, and of her two
sisters who were hostages in their quarters. Also I told her how my
surrender had been sought, and she kissed me, and said smiling, that
though my life was now burdened with her, still it was better so than
that I should fall into the hands of the Spaniards.
Two days later came the news that Montezuma was dead, and shortly after
it his body, which the Spaniards handed over to the Aztecs for burial,
attired in the gorgeous robes of royalty. They laid it in the hall of
the palace, whence it was hurried secretly and at night to Chapoltepec,
and there hidden away with small ceremony, for it was feared that the
people might rend it limb from limb in their rage. With Otomie weeping
at my side, I looked for the last time on the face of that most unhappy
king, whose reign so glorious in its beginning had ended thus. And
while I looked I wondered what suffering could have equalled his, as
fallen from his estate and hated by the subjects whom he had betrayed,
he lay dying, a prisoner in the power of the foreign wolves who were
tearing out his country’s heart. It is little wonder indeed that
Montezuma rent the bandages from his wounds and would not suffer them
to tend his hurts. For the real hurt was in his soul; there the iron
had entered deeply, and no leech could cure it except one called Death.
And yet the fault was not all his, the devils whom he worshipped as
gods were revenged upon him, for they had filled him with the
superstitions of their wicked faith, and because of these the gods and
their high priest must sink into a common ruin. Were it not for these
unsubstantial terrors that haunted him, the Spaniards had never won a
foothold in Tenoctitlan, and the Aztecs would have remained free for
many a year to come. But Providence willed it otherwise, and this dead
and disgraced monarch was but its instrument.
Such were the thoughts that passed through my mind as I gazed upon the
body of the great Montezuma. But Otomie, ceasing from her tears, kissed
his clay and cried aloud:
“O my father, it is well that you are dead, for none who loved you
could desire to see you live on in shame and servitude. May the gods
you worshipped give me strength to avenge you, or if they be no gods,
then may I find it in myself. I swear this, my father, that while a man
is left to me I will not cease from seeking to avenge you.”
Then taking my hand, without another word she turned and passed thence.
As will be seen, she kept her oath.
On that day and on the morrow there was fighting with the Spaniards,
who sallied out to fill up the gaps in the dykes of the causeway, a
task in which they succeeded, though with some loss. But it availed
them nothing, for so soon as their backs were turned we opened the
dykes again. It was on these days that for the first time I had
experience of war, and armed with my bow made after the English
pattern, I did good service. As it chanced, the very first arrow that I
drew was on my hated foe de Garcia, but here my common fortune pursued
me, for being out of practice, or over-anxious, I aimed too high,
though the mark was an easy one, and the shaft pierced the iron of his
casque, causing him to reel in his saddle, but doing him no further
hurt. Still this marksmanship, poor as it was, gained me great renown
among the Aztecs, who were but feeble archers, for they had never
before seen an arrow pierce through the Spanish mail. Nor would mine
have done so had I not collected the iron barbs off the crossbow bolts
of the Spaniards, and fitted them to my own shafts. I seldom found the
mail that would withstand arrows made thus, when the range was short
and the aim good.
After the first day’s fight I was appointed general over a body of
three thousand archers, and was given a banner to be borne before me
and a gorgeous captain’s dress to wear. But what pleased me better was
a chain shirt which came from the body of a Spanish cavalier. For many
years I always wore this shirt beneath my cotton mail, and it saved my
life more than once, for even bullets would not pierce the two of them.
I had taken over the command of my archers but forty-eight hours, a
scant time in which to teach them discipline whereof they had little,
though they were brave enough, when the occasion came to use them in
good earnest, and with it the night of disaster that is still known
among the Spaniards as the _noche triste_. On the afternoon before that
night a council was held in the palace at which I spoke, saying, I was
certain that the Teules thought of retreat from the city, and in the
dark, for otherwise they would not have been so eager to fill up the
canals in the causeway. To this Cuitlahua, who now that Montezuma was
dead would be emperor, though he was not yet chosen and crowned,
answered that it might well be that the Teules meditated flight, but
that they could never attempt it in the darkness, since in so doing
they must become entangled in the streets and dykes.
I replied that though it was not the Aztec habit to march and fight at
night, such things were common enough among white men as they had seen
already, and that because the Spaniards knew it was not their habit,
they would be the more likely to attempt escape under cover of the
darkness, when they thought their enemies asleep. Therefore I
counselled that sentries should be set at all the entrances to every
causeway. To this Cuitlahua assented, and assigned the causeway of
Tlacopan to Guatemoc and myself, making us the guardians of its safety.
That night Guatemoc and I, with some soldiers, went out towards
midnight to visit the guard that we had placed upon the causeway. It
was very dark and a fine rain fell, so that a man could see no further
before his eyes than he can at evening through a Norfolk roke in
autumn. We found and relieved the guard, which reported that all was
quiet, and we were returning towards the great square when of a sudden
I heard a dull sound as of thousands of men tramping.
“Listen,” I said.
“It is the Teules who escape,” whispered Guatemoc.
Quickly we ran to where the street from the great square opens on to
the causeway, and there even through the darkness and rain we caught
the gleam of armour. Then I cried aloud in a great voice, “To arms! To
arms! The Teules escape by the causeway of Tlacopan.”
Instantly my words were caught up by the sentries and passed from post
to post till the city rang with them. They were cried in every street
and canal, they echoed from the roofs of houses, and among the summits
of a hundred temples. The city awoke with a murmur, from the lake came
the sound of water beaten by ten thousand oars, as though myriads of
wild-fowl had sprung suddenly from their reedy beds. Here, there, and
everywhere torches flashed out like falling stars, wild notes were
blown on horns and shells, and above all arose the booming of the
snakeskin drum which the priests upon the _teocalli_ beat furiously.
Presently the murmur grew to a roar, and from this direction and from
that, armed men poured towards the causeway of Tlacopan. Some came on
foot, but the most of them were in canoes which covered the waters of
the lake further than the ear could hear. Now the Spaniards to the
number of fifteen hundred or so, accompanied by some six or eight
thousand Tlascalans, were emerging on the causeway in a long thin line.
Guatemoc and I rushed before them, collecting men as we went, till we
came to the first canal, where canoes were already gathering by scores.
The head of the Spanish column reached the canal and the fight began,
which so far as the Aztecs were concerned was a fray without plan or
order, for in that darkness and confusion the captains could not see
their men or the men hear their captains. But they were there in
countless numbers and had only one desire in their breasts, to kill the
Teules. A cannon roared, sending a storm of bullets through us, and by
its flash we saw that the Spaniards carried a timber bridge with them,
which they were placing across the canal. Then we fell on them, every
man fighting for himself. Guatemoc and I were swept over that bridge by
the first rush of the enemy, as leaves are swept in a gale, and though
both of us won through safely we saw each other no more that night.
With us and after us came the long array of Spaniards and Tlascalans,
and from every side the Aztecs poured upon them, clinging to their
struggling line as ants cling to a wounded worm.
How can I tell all that came to pass that night? I cannot, for I saw
but little of it. All I know is that for two hours I was fighting like
a madman. The foe crossed the first canal, but when all were over the
bridge was sunk so deep in the mud that it could not be stirred, and
three furlongs on ran a second canal deeper and wider than the first.
Over this they could not cross till it was bridged with the dead. It
seemed as though all hell had broken loose upon that narrow ridge of
ground. The sound of cannons and of arquebusses, the shrieks of agony
and fear, the shouts of the Spanish soldiers, the war-cries of the
Aztecs, the screams of wounded horses, the wail of women, the hiss of
hurtling darts and arrows, and the dull noise of falling blows went up
to heaven in one hideous hurly-burly. Like a frightened mob of cattle
the long Spanish array swayed this way and that, bellowing as it
swayed. Many rolled down the sides of the causeway to be slaughtered in
the water of the lake, or borne away to sacrifice in the canoes, many
were drowned in the canals, and yet more were trampled to death in the
mud. Hundreds of the Aztecs perished also, for the most part beneath
the weapons of their own friends, who struck and shot not knowing on
whom the blow should fall or in whose breast the arrow would find its
home.
For my part I fought on with a little band of men who had gathered
about me, till at last the dawn broke and showed an awful sight. The
most of those who were left alive of the Spaniards and their allies had
crossed the second canal upon a bridge made of the dead bodies of their
fellows mixed up with a wreck of baggage, cannon, and packages of
treasure. Now the fight was raging beyond it. A mob of Spaniards and
Tlascalans were still crossing the second breach, and on these I fell
with such men as were with me. I plunged right into the heart of them,
and suddenly before me I saw the face of de Garcia. With a shout I
rushed at him. He heard my voice and knew me. With an oath he struck at
my head. The heavy sword came down upon my helmet of painted wood,
shearing away one side of it and felling me, but ere I fell I smote him
on the breast with the club I carried, tumbling him to the earth. Now
half stunned and blinded I crept towards him through the press. All
that I could see was a gleam of armour in the mud. I threw myself upon
it, gripping at the wearer’s throat, and together we rolled down the
side of the causeway into the shallow water at the edge of the lake. I
was uppermost, and with a fierce joy I dashed the blood from my eyes
that I might see to kill my enemy caught at last. His body was in the
lake but his head lay upon the sloping bank, and my plan was to hold
him beneath the water till he was drowned, for I had lost my club.
“At length, de Garcia!” I cried in Spanish as I shifted my grip.
“For the love of God let me go!” gasped a rough voice beneath me.
“Fool, I am no Indian dog.”
Now I peered into the man’s face bewildered. I had seized de Garcia,
but the voice was not his voice, nor was the face his face, but that of
a rough Spanish soldier.
“Who are you?” I asked, slackening my hold. “Where is de Garcia—he whom
you name Sarceda?”
“Sarceda? I don’t know. A minute ago he was on his back on the
causeway. The fellow pulled me down and rolled behind me. Let me be I
say. I am not Sarceda, and if I were, is this a time to settle private
quarrels? I am your comrade, Bernal Diaz. Holy Mother! who are you? An
Aztec who speaks Castilian?”
“I am no Aztec,” I answered. “I am an Englishman and I fight with the
Aztecs that I may slay him whom you name Sarceda. But with you I have
no quarrel, Bernal Diaz. Begone and escape if you can. No, I will keep
the sword with your leave.”
“Englishman, Spaniard, Aztec, or devil,” grunted the man as he drew
himself from his bed of ooze, “you are a good fellow, and I promise you
that if I live through this, and it should ever come about that I get
_you_ by the throat, I will remember the turn you did me. Farewell;”
and without more ado he rushed up the bank and plunged into a knot of
his flying countrymen, leaving his good sword in my hand. I strove to
follow him that I might find my enemy, who once more had escaped me by
craft, but my strength failed me, for de Garcia’s sword had bitten deep
and I bled much. So I must sit where I was till a canoe came and bore
me back to Otomie to be nursed, and ten days went by before I could
walk again.
This was my share in the victory of the _noche triste_. Alas! it was a
barren triumph, though more than five hundred of the Spaniards were
slain and thousands of their allies. For there was no warlike skill or
discipline among the Aztecs, and instead of following the Spaniards
till not one of them remained alive, they stayed to plunder the dead
and drag away the living to sacrifice. Also this day of revenge was a
sad one to Otomie, seeing that two of her brothers, Montezuma’s sons
whom the Spaniards held in hostage, perished with them in the fray.
As for de Garcia I could not learn what had become of him, nor whether
he was dead or living.