The horsemen pursued along the dike, spearing, or tumbling into the
water, the few who had the heart to resist; and so great was, or seemed,
the terror of the barbarians, that the victors penetrated even within
the limits of the island, until the turrets of houses, from which they
were separated only by the lateral canals, darkened them with their
shadows. Upon these were clustered many pagans, who shot at them both
arrows and darts, but with so little energy, that it seemed as if
despondence or fatuity had robbed them of their usual vigour. Hence, the
excited cavaliers gave them but little attention, not doubting that they
would be soon dislodged by the infantry. They were even regardless of
circumstances still more menacing; and if a lethargy beset the infidel
that day, it is equally certain that a species of distraction
overwhelmed the brains of the Spaniards. It seemed as if the great
object of their ambition depended more upon their following the
fugitives to the temple-square than upon any other feat; and to this
they encouraged one another with vivas and invocations to the saints.
They could already behold the huge bulk of the pyramid, rising up at the
distance of a mile, as if it shut up the street; and its terraced sides,
thronged with multitudes of men, seemed to prove to them, that the
frighted Mexicans were running to their gods for protection. It is true,
they perceived vast bodies of infidels blocking up the avenue afar, as
if to dispute their passage beyond the canalled portion of the island;
but they regarded them with scorn.
They rushed onwards, occasionally arrested by some flying group, but
only for a moment.
There was a place, not far within the limits of the island, where they
found the causeway, for the space of at least sixty paces, so delved and
pared away on either side, that it scarce afforded a passage for two
horsemen abreast. The device was of recent execution, for they beheld
the mattocks of labourers still sticking in the earth, as if that moment
abandoned. This circumstance, so strange, so novel, and so ominous, it
might be supposed, would have aroused them to suspicion. The passage, as
it was, so contracted, broken, and rugged, looked prodigiously like the
Al-Sirat, or bridge to paradise of the Mussulmans,--that arch, narrow as
the thread of a famished spider, over which it is so much easier to be
precipitated than to pass with safety. Yet grim and threatening as it
was, there was but one among the cavaliers who raised a voice of
warning. As the Captain-General, without a moment's hesitation, pushed
his horse forward, to lead the way, and without a single expression of
surprise, the ancient hidalgo, who had twice before sounded a note of
alarm, now exclaimed,--
"For the love of heaven, pause, senor! This is a trap that will destroy
us."
"Art thou afraid, Alderete?" cried Cortes, looking back to him, grimly.
"This is no place for a King's Treasurer," (such was Alderete, the royal
Contador.)--"Get thee back, then, to the first ditch, and fill it up to
thy liking. _This_ will be charge enough for a volunteer."
"I will fight where thou wilt, when thou wilt, and as boldly as thou
wilt," said the indignant cavalier; "but here play the madman no
longer."
"I will take thy counsel,--rest where I am,--and, in an hour's time, see
myself shut out from the city by a ditch, sixty yards wide! God's
benison upon thy long beard! and mayst thou be wiser. Forward, friends!
Do you not see? the knaves are running amain to check us, and recover
their unfinished gap! On! courage, and on! Santiago and at them!"
It was indeed as Cortes said. The infidels, who blocked up the streets
afar, were now seen running towards them, with the most terrific yells,
as if to seize, before it was too late, a pass so easily maintained. The
cavaliers, animated by the words of their leader, were quite as resolute
to disappoint them, and therefore rode across as rapidly as they could.
The pass was not only narrow, but tortuous and irregular; which
increased the difficulties of surmounting it; so that the Mexicans,
running with the most frantic speed, were within a bowshot, before
Cortes had spurred his steed upon the broader portion of the dike. But,
as if there were something dreadful to the infidels, in the spectacle of
the great Teuctli of the East, thus again in their stronghold, they came
to a sudden halt, and testified their valour only by yelling, and waving
their spears and banners.
"Courage, friends, and quick!" cried Cortes. "The dogs are beset with
fear, and will not face us. Ye shall hear other yells in a moment.
Haste, valiant cavaliers! haste, men of Spain! and make room for the
footmen, who are behind you."
The screams of the barbarians were loud and incessant; but in the midst
of the din, as he turned to cheer his cavaliers over the broken passage,
Don Hernan's ears were struck by the sound of a Christian voice, calling
from the midst of the pagans, with thrilling vehemence,
"Beware! beware! Back to the causey! Beware!"
"Hark!" cried Alderete, who had already passed; "Our Saint calls to us!
Let us return!"
"It is a trick of the fiend!" exclaimed Cortes, in evident perturbation
of mind. "Come on, good friends, and let us seize vantage-ground; or the
dogs will drive us, singly, into the ditches."
"Back! back!" shouted the cavaliers behind--"We are ambushed! We are
surrounded!"
Their further exclamations were lost in a tempest of discordant shrieks,
coming from the front and the rear, from the heavens above, and, as they
almost fancied, from the earth beneath. They looked northward, towards
the pyramid,--the whole broad street was filled with barbarians, rushing
towards them with screams of anticipated triumph; they looked back to
the lake,--the causeway was swarming with armed men, who seemed to have
sprung from the waters; to either side, and beheld the canals of the
intersecting streets lashed into foam by myriads of paddles; while, at
the same moment, the few pagans, who had annoyed them from the
housetops, appeared transformed, by the same spell of enchantment, into
hosts innumerable, with spirits all of fury and flame.
"What says the king of Castile? What says the king of Castile _now_?"
roared the exulting infidels.
"Santiago! and God be with us!" exclaimed Cortes, waving his hand, with
a signal for retreat, that came too late: "Cross but this devil-trap
again, and--"
Before he could conclude the vain and useless order, the drum of the
emperor sounded upon the pyramid. It was an instrument of gigantic size
and horrible note, and was held in no little fear, especially after the
events of this day, by the Spaniards, who fabled that it was covered
with the skins of serpents. It was a fit companion for the horn of
Mexitli; which latter, however, being a sacred instrument, was sounded
only on the most urgent and solemn occasions.
The first tap,--or rather peal, for the sound came from the temple more
like the roll of thunder than of a drum,--was succeeded by yells still
more stunning; and while the cavaliers, retreating, struggled, one by
one, to recross the narrow pass, they were set upon with such fury as
left them but little hope of escape.
If the rashness of Cortes had brought his friends into this fatal
difficulty, he now seemed resolved to atone his fault, by securing their
retreat, even although at the expense of his life. It was in vain that
those few cavaliers who had succeeded in reaching him, before the
onslaught began, besought him to take his chance among them, and
recross, leaving them to cover his rear.
"Get ye over yourselves," he cried, with grim smiles, smiting away the
headmost of the assailants from the street: "If I have brought ye among
coals of fire, heaven forbid I should not broil a little in mine own
person. Quick, fools! over and hasten! over and quick! and by and by I
will follow you."
For a moment, it seemed as if the terror of his single arm would have
kept the barbarians at bay. But, waxing bolder, as they saw his
attendants dropping one by one away, they began to close upon him, and
his situation became exceedingly critical. He looked over his shoulder,
and perceived that his followers threaded their way along the broken
dike with less difficulty than he at first feared. The very narrowness
of the passage left but little foothold for the enemy; and their
attacks, being made principally from canoes, were not such as wholly to
dishearten a cavalier, whose steed was as strongly defended by mail as
his own body. Encouraged by this assurance, the Captain-General still
maintained his post, rushing ever and anon upon the closing herds, and
mowing right and left with his trusty blade, while his gallant charger
pawed down opposition with his hoofs. Thus he fought, with the mad
valour that made his enemies so often deem him almost a demigod, until
satisfied that his own attempt to cross the pass could no longer
embarrass the efforts of his followers. Then, charging once more upon
the pagans, and even with greater fury than before, he wheeled round
with unexpected rapidity, and uttering his famous cry, "Santiago and at
them!" dashed boldly at the passage.
Seven pagans sprang upon the path. They were armed like princes, and the
red fillets of the House of Darts waved among their sable locks.
"The Teuctli shall have the tribute of Mexico!" shouted one, flourishing
a battle-axe that seemed of weight sufficient, in his brawny arm, to
dash out the charger's brains at a blow. The words were not understood
by Cortes; but he recognized at once the visage of the Lord of Death.
"I have thee, pagan!" he cried, striking at the bold barbarian. The blow
failed; for one of the others, springing at the charger's head with
unexampled audacity, seized him by the bridle, so that he reared
backwards, and thus foiled the aim of his rider. The next moment, the
Spanish steel fell upon the neck of the daring infidel, killing him on
the spot; yet not so instantaneously as to avert a disaster, which it
seemed the object of his fury to produce. His convulsive struggles, as
he clung, dying, to the rein, drove the steed off the narrow ledge; and
thus losing his foothold, the noble animal rolled over into the deep
canal, burying the Captain-General in the flood.
"The general! save the general!" shrieked the only Christian, who, in
this horrible melee, (for the battle was now universal,) beheld the
condition of Cortes, and who, although on foot, and bristling with
arrows that had stuck fast in his cotton-armour, and resisted by other
weapons at every step, had yet the courage to run to the rescue. It was
Gaspar Olea. His visage was yet wan, and expressive of the unusual
horror preying upon his mind; yet he rushed forward, as if he had never
known a fear. He exalted his voice, while crying for assistance, until
it was heard far back upon the causeway; yet he reached the place of Don
Hernan's mischance alone. The scene was dreadful: the nobles had flung
themselves into the flood, and were dragging the stunned and strangling
hero from the steed, which lay upon its side on the rugged and shelving
edge of the dike, unable to rise, and perishing with the most fearful
struggles; while, all the time, the elated infidels expressed their
triumph with shouts of frantic joy.
"Courage, captain! be of good heart, senor!" exclaimed the Barba-Roxa,
striking down one of the captors at a single blow: "Courage! for we have
good help nigh," he continued, attacking a second with the same success:
"Courage, senor, courage!"
No Mexican helm of dried skins, and no breast-plate of copper, could
resist the machete of a man like Gaspar. Yet his first success was
caused rather by the Mexicans being so intently occupied with their
captive, that they thought of nothing else, than by any miraculous
exertion of skill and prowess. He slew two, before they dreamed of
attack, and he mortally wounded a third, ere the others could turn to
drive him back. A fourth rushed upon him, before he could again lift up
his weapon, and grasping him in his arms, with the embrace of a mountain
bear, leaped with him into the canal.
There were now but two left in possession of Cortes; yet his resistance
even against these was ineffectual. His sword had dropped from his hand;
a violent blow had burst his helmet, and confounded his brain; and he
had been lifted from the water, already half suffocated. Yet he
struggled as he could, and catching one of his foes by the throat, he
succeeded in overturning him into the water, and there grappled with him
among the shallows. The remaining barbarian, yelling for assistance,
flung himself upon the pair; and though twenty Spaniards, headed by
Bernal Diaz and the hunchback, were now within half as many paces,
Cortes would have perished where he lay, had not assistance arose from
an unexpected quarter.
Among the vast numbers who came crowding from the city over the broken
passage, were several who knew, by the cry of the seventh noble, that
Malintzin was in his hands; and they rushed forward, to insure his
capture. The foremost and fleetest of these was distinguished from the
rest by a frame of towering height; and, had there been a Spaniard by to
notice him, would have been still more remarkable from the fact, that he
uttered all his cries in good, expressive Castilian. He bore a Spanish
weapon, too, and his first act, as he flung himself into the ditch where
Cortes was drowning, was to strike it through the neck of the uppermost
noble. His next was to spurn the other from the breast of the general,
whom he raised to his feet, murmuring in his ear,
"Be of good heart, senor! for you are saved."
What more he would have said and done can only be imagined; for, at that
moment, the Barba-Roxa rushed out of the ditch, followed close at hand
by the hunchback, Bernal Diaz, and others, and seeing his commander, as
he thought, in the hands of a foeman, he lifted his good sword once
again, and smote him over the head, crying,
"Down, infidel dog! and _viva_ for Spain and our general!"
At this moment, there rushed up a crew of fresh combatants, Spaniards
from the rear and infidels from the front. But before they closed upon
him entirely, the Barba-Roxa caught sight of the man he had struck down,
and beheld, in his pale and quivering aspect, the features of Juan
Lerma.
The unhappy wretch, thus beholding the beloved youth, with his own eyes,
a leaguer and helpmate of the infidel, and punished to death, as it
seemed, by his hand, set up a scream wildly vehement, and broke from the
group of Spaniards, who now surrounded Cortes, endeavouring to drag him
in safety over the pass. The exile had been seen by others as well as
Gaspar, and many a ferocious cry of exultation burst from their lips, as
they saw him fall.
Meanwhile, Gaspar, distracted in mind, and dripping with blood, for he
had not escaped from the ditch and the fierce embrace of his fourth
antagonist, without many severe wounds, endeavoured to retrace his steps
to the spot where Juan had fallen. It was occupied by infidels, who
drove him into the ditch, where his legs were grasped by a drowning
Mexican, who raised himself a little from the water, and displayed,
between his neck and shoulder, a yawning chasm, rather than a wound,
from which the blood, at every panting expiration of breath, rolled out
hideously in froth and foam. It was the Lord of Death, thus struck by
Juan Lerma, as he lay upon the breast of Cortes, and now perishing, but
still like a warrior of the race of America. He clambered up the body of
Gaspar, for it could hardly be said, that he rose upon his feet; and
seeing that he grasped a Christian soldier, he strove to utter once more
a cry of battle. The blood foamed from his lips, as from his wound; and
his voice was lost in a suffocating murmur. Yet, with his last expiring
strength, he locked his arms round the neck of the Spaniard, now almost
as much spent as himself, and falling backwards, and writhing together
as they fell, they rolled off into the deep water, where the salt and
troubled flood wrapped them in a winding-sheet, already spread over the
bosoms of thousands.