There is no chapter in all history more crowded with interesting and
romantic events than the story of the conquest of Mexico by the Spaniards
under Cortez. And of all these records of desperate daring and wonderful
success, the most extraordinary is the tale of the _Noche Triste_, the
terrible night-retreat of the Spaniards from the Aztec capital. No one can
read this story, and that of the remarkable victory of Otumba which
followed it, without feeling that Cortez and his men were warriors worthy
of the most warlike age. This oft-told story we shall here again relate.
In a preceding tale we described how Cortez set out from Cuba on his great
expedition, with a few hundred soldiers and a small number of cannon,
muskets, and horses. It may briefly be stated here that he sought to
conquer a warlike and powerful nation with this insignificant force, less
than a modern regiment. We might relate how he landed in Mexico; won, with
the terror of his horses and guns and the valor of his men, victory in
every battle; gained allies among the foes of the Aztecs; made his way
into their capital; seized and held prisoner their emperor, Montezuma, and
for a time seemed to be full master of the land. We might go on to tell
how at length the Mexicans rose in fury, attacked the Spaniards with the
courage of desperation, mortally wounded their own emperor, and at length
brought the invaders into such terrible straits that they were forced to
fight their way out of the city as their last hope of life.
To understand what followed, it must be stated that the city of Mexico
lay, not in the open country, but on an island in the centre of a large
lake, and that all the roads leading to it passed over narrow causeways of
earth across this lake. Each of these causeways was broken at intervals by
wide ditches, with bridges crossing them. But the Aztecs had removed these
bridges, and thus added immensely to the difficulty of the night-march
which the desperate Spaniards were obliged to make.
It was at midnight on the 1st of July, 1520, that Cortez and his men threw
open the gates of the palace fortress in which they had long defended
themselves against the furious assaults of thousands of daring foes. The
night was dark and cloudy, and a drizzling rain was falling. Not an enemy
was to be seen, and as they made their way with as little noise as
possible along the great street of Tlacopan, all was hushed in silence,
Hope rose in their hearts. The tramp of the horses and the rumble of the
guns and baggage-wagons passed unheard, and they reached the head of the
causeway without waking a sleeping Aztec warrior.
Here was the first break in the causeway, and they had brought with them a
bridge to lay across it. But here also were some Indian sentinels, who
fled in haste on seeing them, rousing the sleeping city with their cries.
The priests on the summit of the great temple pyramid were also on the
watch, and when the shouts of alarm reached their ears from below, they
sounded their shells and beat their huge drum, which was only heard in
times of peril or calamity. Instantly the city broke from its slumber, and
as the leading Spaniards crossed the bridge a distant sound was heard,
which rapidly approached. Soon from every street and lane poured enemies,
flinging stones and arrows into the crowded ranks of the Spaniards as they
came. On the lake was heard a splashing sound, as of many oars, and the
war-cry of a host of combatants broke on the air. A brief interval had
sufficed to change the silence into a frightful uproar of sound and the
restful peace into the fast growing tumult of furious battle.
The Spaniards pushed steadily along the causeway, fighting only to drive
back the assailants who landed from their canoes and rushed in fury upon
the marching ranks. The horsemen spurred over them, riding them down; the
men on foot cut them down with their swords, or hurled them backward with
the butts of their guns; the Indian allies of the Spaniards attacked them
fiercely, and the roar of war spread far through the gloom of the night.
Onward marched the Spaniards, horse and foot; onward creaked and rumbled
the artillery and the wagons; and the second canal in the causeway was
reached while the rear files were not yet across the first. The Spaniards
had made a fatal mistake in bringing with them only one bridge. When the
last of the retreating force was across this, a vigorous effort was made
to raise it and carry it to the canal in front, but in vain. The weight of
men, horses, and cannon had wedged it so firmly in the earth and stones
that it could not be moved. Every nerve was strained to lift the heavy
mass, until, many of the workmen being killed and all wounded by the
torrent of Aztec missiles, they were forced to abandon it.
When the dread tidings that the bridge could not be raised spread through
the crowded host, a cry of despair arose that almost drowned the sounds of
conflict. All means of retreat were cut off. Before them lay a deep and
yawning ditch. Behind them pressed an army of assailants. On each side
hundreds of canoes dashed on the causeway, yielding foes who rushed in
fury upon their crowded ranks. All hope seemed lost. All discipline was at
an end. Every one thought only of saving his own life, without regard to
the weak or wounded. The leading files, gathered on the brink of the gulf,
were pressed forward by the rear. The horsemen in front dashed into the
water and swam across, but some of the horses failed to climb the steep
and slippery bank, and rolled back with their mail-clad riders headlong
into the lake.
After them pell mell came the infantry, some seeking to swim, others
forced into the water to sink to a muddy death; many of them slain by the
arrows and war-clubs of the Aztecs; others, wounded or stunned, dragged
into the canoes and carried away to be sacrificed to the terrible war-god
of the pagan foe. Along the whole length of the causeway, from ditch to
ditch, the contest raged fearfully. The Aztecs, satisfied that they had
now got their detested foes in their power, fought like demons, grappling
with the Christians and rolling with them down the sloping way together;
seeking to take their enemies alive that they might be kept for the bloody
sacrifice.
With the horrid shouts of the combatants, the cries of vengeance and
groans of agony, the prayers to the saints and the blessed Virgin, mingled
the screams of women, of whom there were several, both Spaniard and
Indian, in the Christian ranks. One of these, Maria de Estrada, fought as
valiantly as any of the warriors, battling staunchly with broadsword and
target in the thickest of the fray, and proving herself as valiant a
soldier as the best.
During this terrible contest, Cortez was not at rest. He was everywhere,
ordering, fighting, inspiring, seeking to restore the lost discipline to
his ranks. Conscious that all was lost unless the fatal ditch could be
crossed, and feeling that life must be considered before wealth, he
hurried forward everything, heavy guns, ammunition-wagons, baggage-vans,
and hurled them into the water along with the spoil of the Spaniards,
bales of costly goods, chests of solid ingots, everything that would serve
to fill the fatal gap. With these were mingled bodies of men and horses,
drowned in that deadly ditch, the whole forming a terrible pathway across
which the survivors stumbled and clambered until they reached the other
side.
Cortez, riding forward, found a spot in the ditch that was fordable, and
here, with the water up to his saddle-girths, he tried to bring order out
of confusion, and called his followers to this path to safety. But his
voice was lost in the turmoil, and with a few cavaliers who kept with him,
he pressed forward to the van, doubly saddened by seeing his favorite
page, Juan de Salazar, struck down in death by his side.
Here he found the valiant Gonzalo de Sandoval, who, with about twenty
other cavaliers, had led the van, composed of two hundred Spanish
foot-soldiers. They were halted before the third and final breach in the
causeway, a ditch as wide and deep as those which had been passed.
Fortunately it was not so closely beset by the enemy, who were still
engaged with the centre and rear, and the gallant cavaliers plunged
without hesitation into the water, followed by the foot, some swimming,
some clinging desperately to the manes and tails of the horses, some
carried to the bottom by the weight of the fatal gold with which they were
heavily laden. On leaving the fortress in which they had so long defended
themselves, much of the gold which they had gathered was necessarily
abandoned. Cortez told the soldiers to take what they wished of it, but
warned them not to overload themselves, saying, "He travels safest in the
dark night who travels lightest." Many of those who failed to regard this
wise counsel paid for their cupidity with their death.
Those who safely passed this final ditch were at the end of their
immediate peril. Soon they were off the causeway and on solid ground,
where the roar of the battle came more faintly to their ears. But word
came to them that the rear-guard was in imminent danger and would be
overwhelmed unless relieved. It seemed an act of desperation to return,
but the valiant and warm-hearted cavaliers did not hesitate when this cry
for aid was heard. Turning their horses, they galloped back, pushed
through the pass, swam the canal again, and rode into the thick of the
fight on the opposite section of the causeway.
The night was now passing, and the first gray light of day was visible in
the east. By its dim illumination the frightful combat could be seen in
all its horrid intensity. Everywhere lay dead bodies of Christian or
pagan; the dark masses of the warriors could be seen locked in deadly
struggle crowding the blood-stained causeway; while the lake, far and
near, was crowded with canoes, filled with armed and ardent Aztec
warriors, yelling their triumphant war-cry.
Cortez and his companions found Alvarado, who led the rear, unhorsed and
wounded, yet fighting like a hero. His noble steed, which had borne him
safely through many a hard fight, had fallen under him. With a handful of
followers he was desperately striving to repel the overwhelming tide of
the enemy which was pouring on him along the causeway, a dozen of the
Indians falling for every Spaniard slain. The artillery had done good work
in the early part of the contest, but the fury of the assault had carried
the Aztecs up to and over the guns, and only a hand-to-hand conflict
remained. The charge of the returning cavaliers created a temporary check,
and a feeble rally was made, but the flood of foes soon came on again and
drove them resistlessly back.
Cortez and the cavaliers with him were forced to plunge once more into the
canal, not all of them this time escaping. Alvarado stood on the brink for
a moment, uncertain what to do, death behind him and deadly peril before.
He was a man of great strength and agility, and despair now gave him
courage. Setting his long lance firmly on the wreck that strewed the
bottom, he sprang vigorously forward and cleared the wide gap at a bound,
a feat that filled all who saw it with amazement, the natives exclaiming,
as they beheld the seemingly impossible leap, "This is truly the
_Tonatiuh_,--the child of the Sun!" This name they had given Alvarado from
his fair features and flaxen hair. How great the leap was no one has told
us, though the name of "Alvarado's leap" still clings to the spot.
Thus ended the frightful _noche triste_, or "doleful night." Cortez led
the remnant of his men off the causeway, a feeble, wounded, straggling
few, faltering from weariness and loss of blood. Fortunately, the Aztecs,
attracted by the rich spoil that strewed the ground, did not pursue, or it
is doubtful if a man of the Spaniards, in their worn and wounded state,
would have survived. How many perished in that night of dread no one
knows. A probable estimate is about five hundred Spaniards and four
thousand natives, nearly all the rear-guard having fallen. Of forty-six
horses, half had been slain. The baggage, the guns, the ammunition, the
muskets, and nearly all the treasure were gone. The only arms left the
warriors were their swords and a few damaged cross-bows, while their mail
was broken, their garments were tattered, their proud crests and banners
gone, their bright arms soiled, and only a miserable and shattered
fragment of their proud force was left, these dragging themselves along
with pain and difficulty.
[Illustration: AZTEC IDOLS CARVED IN STONE.]