The appearance of the vast crowd that surrounded the palace
differed much from that which they had presented on the previous
day, when the Mexicans had fought in their usual garments, or in
their padded cuirasses. Today they had laid aside all their
garments save their loincloths, having found by experience that
their cotton armor was absolutely useless against the missiles of
the Spaniards. The chiefs were now conspicuous, as they moved to
and fro among the dark masses, by their gay dresses and the metal
breastplates worn over the bright feather work. They wore helmets
made to resemble the heads of ferocious wild beasts, crested with
bristly hair or surmounted by bright feather plumes. Some wore only
a red fillet round their head, having tufts of cotton hanging from
it; each tuft denoting some victory in which they had taken part,
and their own rank in the army. Noble and citizen, priest and
soldier, had all united in the common cause.
The assault was about to commence, when the Spaniards' artillery
and musketry poured death into the crowded ranks. The gates were at
once thrown open, and Cortez at the head of his cavalry dashed out,
followed by the infantry and the Tlascalan allies. Confused by the
slaughter made by the firearms, the Aztecs could offer no
resistance to the onslaught. The cavalry trampled them underfoot,
and mowed them down with sword and lance. The Spanish foot and
Tlascalans following close behind carried on the work of
destruction, and it seemed to the Spaniards that the fight was
already over, when the Aztecs fled before them.
The movement of retreat, however, ceased the moment the Mexicans
reached the barricades which they had thrown up across the streets;
and forming behind these they made a gallant stand, while those
upon the housetops poured showers of arrows, darts, and great
stones down upon the advancing Spaniards. In vain the Spanish
artillery were brought up, and their fire swept away the
barricades; there were still others behind, and at each the
desperate fight was renewed.
Coming down from the side streets, the Aztecs fell upon the Spanish
flanks; and clouds of missiles were shot from the boats, which
crowded the canals everywhere intersecting the streets.
Cortez and his cavaliers continued to make desperate charges
through the Aztecs, who, although unable to withstand the weight
and impetus of the horses, closed round them, striving to throw the
riders from their backs and to stab the horses themselves--throwing
away their lives without hesitation, on the chance of getting one
blow at the Spaniards. The moment the horsemen drew back, the
Aztecs followed them; and although their loss was immense, their
ranks were instantly filled up again, while the Spaniards could ill
spare the comparatively small number who fell on their side.
At last, after hours of carnage, the Spaniards, exhausted by their
exertions and having eaten nothing since the night before, fell
back to the palace. Diaz, one of the historians of the events, who
was present at the combat, expressed the astonishment felt by the
Spaniards at the desperation with which the despised Mexicans had
fought.
"The Mexicans," he said; "fought with such ferocity that if we had
had the assistance of ten thousand Hectors, and as many Orlandos,
we should have made no impression on them. There were several of
our troops who had served in the Italian wars; but neither there,
nor in the battles with the Turk, have they ever seen anything like
the desperation shown by these Indians."
As the Spaniards fell back the Aztecs followed them, pouring in
volleys of stones and arrows; and as soon as they had entered the
palace encamped around it, showing that their spirit was wholly
unbroken. Although--as it was contrary to their custom to fight at
night--they did not renew the attack, they shouted insulting
threats as to the Spaniards' fate, when they should fall into their
hands; and were evidently well satisfied with the events of the
day, and looked for victory on the morrow.
Cortez had received a severe wound in the hand during the fight,
and he and his companions felt how grievously they had mistaken the
character of the Aztecs. They had sallied out that morning,
confident in their power to crush out the insurrection. They
returned, feeling that their situation was well-nigh desperate, and
that henceforth they must fight, not for dominion, but for life.
As soon as day broke the fight was renewed, but this time it was
the Aztecs and not the Spaniards who began it. There was no idea of
a fresh sortie. All that the garrison could hope was to defend
their position. So furiously did the natives attack that, for a
time, they forced their way into the entrenchments; but the
Spaniards, whose turn it was to fight with the bravery of despair,
fell upon them with such fury that none of those who had gained an
entry returned.
Cortez now sent to Montezuma, to request him to interpose, as he
had done before, between them and his people. The emperor refused
to interfere. He had viewed the desperate fighting of the last two
days with bitter humiliation. He had seen his brother Cuitlahua
leading on his troops, with the greatest gallantry; while he
himself, thanks to his own conduct, was a helpless prisoner. He
mourned over the terrible losses his people were suffering; and the
fact that his kindness to the Spaniards had brought upon him
nothing but ill treatment and insult at their hands, had earned him
the contempt of his people, and had involved his country in
misfortune and ruin, cut him to the heart.
"What have I to do with Malinzin?" he said coldly. "I desire only
to die."
When still further urged, he added:
"It is useless. They will neither believe me, nor the false words
and promises of Malinzin. You will never leave these walls alive."
On being assured that the Spaniards would willingly depart, and
leave the country, if their assailants would open a way to them, he
at last consented to address the people. Clothing himself in his
richest robes of state, he ascended the central turret of the
palace; surrounded by a guard of Spaniards, and accompanied by
several Aztec nobles. When he was seen, the din of war ceased as if
by magic. A dead silence fell upon the multitude, and they knelt
and prostrated themselves before the sovereign they had so long
held in the deepest reverence.
But when he addressed them, assuring them that he was a guest, and
not a prisoner, of the Spaniards; and ordered them to lay down
their arms, and to allow the Spaniards to march to the coast,
indignation at his cowardice overpowered their feelings of
reverence and respect. They burst into taunts and execrations, and
a moment later a storm of missiles were hurled at the man who had
betrayed them.
The Spanish guards, seeing the effect his presence had produced,
had stood aside, to enable him the better to be seen; and before
they could close around him, and cover him with their shields,
three missiles struck him; one, a stone hurled from a sling,
smiting him on the head with such violence that he fell insensible.
When the Aztecs saw him fall, their brief outburst of indignation
was succeeded by one of sorrow; and with a cry of grief the whole
multitude dispersed, and in a minute or two the crowded square was
wholly deserted.
Montezuma was carried to his chamber. When he recovered
sensibility, he refused absolutely to allow his wounds to be
dressed, and tore off the bandages. Not a word passed his lips. He
sat in an attitude of the deepest dejection. His own people
despised him, and had raised their hands against him. He had drunk
deeply of the cup of humiliation, at the hands of the Spaniards;
but this last drop filled it to overflowing. There was nothing for
him but to die.
The Spanish leaders tried, but in vain, to persuade him to submit
to surgical treatment. He paid no attention to their words, and
they were soon called away by fresh danger from without.
The Aztecs had speedily recovered from their emotion at seeing the
fall of the emperor, and a body of five or six hundred of them,
including many nobles and military leaders of high rank, had taken
possession of the great temple; and now from its summit, a hundred
and fifty feet high, opened a rain of missiles upon the palace. The
Spaniards could not effectually return their fire, for the Aztecs
were sheltered by the sanctuaries on the summit of the pyramids.
It was absolutely necessary, for the safety of the defenders, to
dislodge them from this position; and Cortez ordered his
chamberlain, Don Escobar, with a hundred men, to storm the teocalli
and set fire to the sanctuaries. But the little force were three
times repulsed, and forced to fall back with considerable loss.
Cortez then, though suffering much from the wound in his left hand,
determined himself to lead the assault. As he was incapable of
holding his shield, he had it strapped to his left arm; and with
three hundred picked men, and some thousands of the Tlascalans,
sallied out from the palace, and attacked the Aztecs in the temple
at the foot of the pyramid.
The Spaniards made their way through these without much difficulty,
and then commenced the ascent of the pyramid. This offered great
facilities for defense. There were five terraces connected by
steps, so placed that those mounting the pyramid had to make the
whole circuit, on each terrace, before reaching the steps leading
to the next. It was thus necessary to pass round the pyramid four
times, or nearly two miles, exposed to the missiles of those upon
the summit.
Leaving a strong body of Spaniards and Tlascalans at the bottom, to
prevent the natives ascending and attacking him in the rear, Cortez
led the way up the staircase, followed closely by his principal
officers. In spite of the heavy stones and beams of wood which,
with a storm of arrows, were hurled down upon them, the Spaniards
won their way from terrace to terrace, supported by the fire of
their musketeers below, until at last they reached the great
platform on the summit of the pyramid.
Here a terrible conflict commenced. The Aztecs, brought to bay, and
fighting not only for life, but in the presence of their country's
gods, displayed a valor at least equal to that of the Spaniards.
Numbers were slightly in their favor, but this was far more than
counter-balanced by the superior arms of the Spaniards; and by the
armor, which rendered them almost invulnerable to the comparatively
puny weapons of the Mexicans. And yet, for three hours the fight
continued. At the end of that time, all the Mexicans, save two or
three priests, were killed; while forty-five of the Spaniards had
fallen, and almost all the others were wounded.
While this fight had been raging the combat had ceased, elsewhere;
the combatants on both sides being absorbed in the struggle taking
place at the summit of the temple. They could not, of course, judge
how it was going; though they caught sight of the combatants as
they neared the edges of the platform, which was unprotected by
wall or fence; and many in the course of the struggle fell, or were
hurled, over it.
The moment the struggle was over, the Spaniards rushed with
exulting shouts into the sanctuary of the Mexican god, reeking with
the blood of fresh-killed victims; cast the image from its
pedestal; rolled it across the platform to the head of the steps;
and then, amid shouts that were echoed by their comrades below,
sent it bounding down, while a cry of anguish and dismay rose from
the Mexicans.
The image dethroned, fire was applied to the sanctuary; and the
smoke and flames, rising up, must have told countless thousands,
watching the capital from the housetops of the neighboring cities,
that the white men had triumphed over the gods of Mexico; and that,
as at Cholula so at the capital, these had proved impotent to
protect their votaries from the dread invaders. So dismayed were
the Mexicans, at the misfortune, that they offered no resistance to
the return of the Spaniards from the temple, and retired to their
houses without further fighting.
At night the Spaniards sallied out again, relying upon the habit of
the Mexicans to abstain from fighting at night, and burnt several
hundred houses.
Believing that the spirit of the Mexicans would be broken now,
Cortez, on the following morning, mounted the turret from which
Montezuma had addressed them. Malinche was by his side; and when he
held up his hands, to show that he wished to address them, a
silence fell upon the multitude; and Malinche's voice was heard
plainly by them, as she translated the words of Cortez. He told
them they must now feel that they could not struggle against the
Spaniards. Their gods had been cast down, their dwellings burnt,
their warriors slaughtered. And all this they had brought on
themselves, by their rebellion. Yet if they would lay down their
arms, and return to the obedience of their sovereign, he would stay
his hand. If not, he would make their city a heap of ruins, and
leave not a soul alive to mourn over it.
But Cortez learned, at once, that the spirit he had roused in the
Mexicans was in no way lowered by their reverses. One of the great
chiefs answered him that it was true he had hurled down their gods,
and massacred their countrymen; but they were content to lose a
thousand lives for every one that they took.
"Our streets," he said, "are still thronged with warriors. Our
numbers are scarcely diminished. Yours are lessening every day. You
are dying with hunger and sickness. Your provisions and water are
failing. You must soon fall into our hands. The bridges are broken
down, and you cannot escape. There will be too few of you left to
satisfy the vengeance of the gods."
When he had finished, a shower of arrows showed that hostilities
had recommenced.
The garrison were now completely disheartened. Of what use the
tremendous exertions they had made, and the lives that had been
lost? They were still, as they had been on the first day of their
arrival, hemmed in in their fortress, surrounded by foes thirsting
for their blood. Great numbers were wounded, more or less severely.
Their provisions were well-nigh gone. The enemy were bolder than
ever. They had been promised wealth and honor--they were starving,
and death stared them in the face. They loudly exclaimed that they
had been deceived, and betrayed.
But the men who had served all along with Cortez stood firm. They
had still every confidence in their leader. It was not his fault
that they had been brought to this pass, but by the misconduct of
others, during his absence. At any rate, as they pointed out to
their comrades, the only chance of escape was unity and obedience.
Cortez himself was, as always in a moment of great danger, calm and
collected. The thought of having to leave the city, to abandon all
the treasures they had taken, was even more painful to him than to
the soldiers. It was not the loss of his own share of the booty,
but of that of the emperor, that he regretted; for he felt that
this, together with the downfall of all his plans, and the loss of
the kingdom he had already counted won, would bring upon him the
displeasure of his emperor, would give strength to his enemies at
court, and would probably ensure his being recalled in disgrace.
Nevertheless, he saw that retreat was necessary, for the position
could not be maintained. Every day the defenses became weaker, the
men more exhausted by fighting, and there would soon be no longer a
morsel of bread to serve out to them. A retreat must therefore be
made.
The question was, which route should be chosen? In any case, one of
the narrow dikes connecting the island city with the shore must be
traversed; and on these causeways the Spaniards would fight under
great disadvantage. Finally, he settled upon that leading to
Tlacopan, which was much the shortest, being only two miles in
length.
For some days a large party of men had been at work constructing
movable towers, similar to those used, centuries before, in sieges.
They moved on rollers, and were to be dragged by the Tlascalan
allies. From their summits the soldiers could shoot down upon the
housetops, from which they had been hitherto so annoyed. The towers
were also provided with bridges, which could be let down on to the
roofs, and so enable the soldiers to meet their opponents hand to
hand.
When the structures were completed, the Spaniards again took the
offensive. The gates were opened, and the three towers, dragged by
the Tlascalans, moved out. The Mexicans, astonished at the sight of
these machines, from whose summits a heavy fire of musketry were
kept up, fell back for a time. The towers were moved up close to
the terraces, and the soldiers, after partly clearing them by their
fire, lowered the light bridges and, crossing, engaged in a
hand-to-hand fight with the Mexicans, and drove them from their
positions.
But from the lofty houses of the nobles, the Mexicans still
maintained their resistance. The towers were not high enough to
overlook these and, as they came up, beams of wood and huge stones
were cast down upon them; striking with such force that it soon
became evident, to those within them, that the towers would not
hold together.
They were dragged on, however, until a canal crossed the road. The
bridge had been removed, and both the cavalry and the towers were
brought to a standstill. The latter were abandoned, and Cortez
ordered his troops to make a road forward, by filling up the canal
with stones and wood from the houses near.
While engaged in this operation, they were exposed to an incessant
fire from every point of advantage in the neighborhood, and from
the opposite bank of the canal. The work was, however, completed;
and the cavalry, crossing, drove the Mexicans headlong down the
great street; until they came to another canal, where the same work
had again to be performed. No less than seven canals crossed the
street, and it took two days of constant fighting before the last
of these was crossed, and the whole street in their hands.
Just as the last canal had been captured, Cortez, who was ever at
the head of his men, received news that the Mexicans desired to
open a parley with him, and that some of their nobles had arrived
at the palace for that purpose. Delighted at the news, he rode back
with his officers. The Mexicans requested that the two priests who
had been captured in the great temple should be released, and
should be the bearers of his terms, and discuss the negotiations.
Cortez at once consented, and the priests left with the envoys;
with instructions that, if the Mexicans would lay down their arms,
the past should be forgiven. The mission was, however, a mere
trick. The Mexicans were most anxious to rescue the priests, one of
whom was the high priest, and therefore most sacred in their eyes.
Cortez had scarcely sat down to a meal, which he sorely needed
after his fatigues, when the news was brought that the Mexicans had
again attacked, with greater fury than ever; and, at three points,
had driven off the detachments placed to guard the newly-made
causeways across the canal.
Cortez and his companions leaped on their horses and, riding down
the great street, again cleared it. But no sooner had he reached
the other end than the Mexicans, gathering in the lanes and side
streets, poured in again, and overpowered the guard at one of the
principal canals.
Swarms of warriors poured in on all sides, and a storm of arrows
and other missiles was poured down upon Cortez and his cavaliers.
The confusion at the broken bridge was tremendous. The cavalry and
infantry struggled fiercely with the crowds of foes, while others
strove again to repair the bridge which the Mexicans had again torn
down.
Cortez himself performed prodigies of valor in covering the retreat
of his men, dashing alone into the midst of the ranks of the enemy,
shouting his battle cry, and dealing death with every blow of his
sword. So far did he penetrate among his foes, that reports spread
that he was killed; and when at last he fought his way back, and
leaped his horse over a chasm still remaining in the bridge, his
escape was regarded by his troops as absolutely miraculous; and it
was said that he had been saved by the national Apostle, Saint
James, and the Virgin Mary, who had fought by his side. At night
the Mexicans, as usual, drew off; and the Spaniards, dispirited and
exhausted, fell back to their citadel.
That evening Montezuma died. He had refused all nourishment, as
well as medicine, from the time he had been wounded. Father Olmedo
did his best to persuade him to embrace the Christian faith, but
Montezuma stoutly refused. Just before he died he sent for Cortez,
and recommended his three daughters by his principal wife to his
charge; begging him to interest his master, the emperor, on their
behalf, and to see that they had some portion of their rightful
inheritance.
"Your lord will do this," he said, "if only for the friendly
offices I have rendered the Spaniards; and for the love that I have
shown them, though it has brought me to this condition; but for
this I bear them no ill will."
This Cortez promised and, after the conquest, took the three ladies
into his own family. They were instructed in the doctrines of
Christianity, and were married to Spanish nobles, and handsome
dowries assigned to them.
The news of Montezuma's death was received with real grief by the
Spaniards, to whom his generosity, and constant kindness, and
gentleness of manner had endeared him. There can be but little
doubt that, in spite of the accusations against him of meditating
treachery, Montezuma was, from the time they entered the capital,
sincere in his goodwill towards the Spaniards. He was devoted to
his own gods, and believed implicitly in the prophecy that
Quetzalcoatl, or his descendants, would return to rule Mexico.
Their superior science and attainments confirmed him in his belief
that the Spaniards fulfilled the prophecy, and he was willing to
resign alike his power, his possessions, and himself to their
hands. In his early days he had shown great personal bravery; and
the cowardice he displayed, throughout the whole of his dealing
with the Spaniards, was the result of superstition, and not that of
personal fear.
Cortez paid all respect to the remains of his late unhappy captive.
The body was arrayed in royal robes, and laid on a bier; and was
carried, by the nobles who had remained faithful to him during his
imprisonment, into the city. It is uncertain where Montezuma was
finally buried.
With the death of the emperor, the last hope of the Spaniards of
making terms with their assailants vanished. There was nothing,
now, but retreat. After some debate, it was settled that this
should take place at night, when they would find the Mexicans
unprepared. The difficulties of passage would be greater; but these
would, it was thought, be counterbalanced by the advantage of being
able to make at least a portion of their retreat unobserved.
It was determined that no time should be lost. The Mexicans would
doubtless be mourning over the body of Montezuma, and would be
unprepared for such prompt action on the part of the Spaniards.
The first question was the disposal of the treasure. The soldiers
had, for the most part, converted their share of the gold into
chains; which they wore round their necks. But there was a vast
amount in bars and ornaments, constituting the one-fifth which had
been set aside for the crown, the one-fifth for Cortez himself, and
the shares of his principal officers.
One of the strongest horses was laden with the richest portion of
the crown treasure, but all the rest was abandoned. The gold lay in
great heaps.
"Take what you like of it!" Cortez said to his men, "but be careful
not to overload yourselves. 'He travels safest, in the dark, who
travels lightest.'"
His own veterans took his advice, and contented themselves with
picking out a few of the most valuable ornaments; but the soldiers
of Narvaez could not bring themselves to leave such treasures
behind them, and loaded themselves up with as much gold as they
could carry.
Cortez now arranged the order of march. The van was composed of two
hundred Spanish foot, and twenty horsemen, under the orders of
Gonzalo de Sandoval. The rearguard, with the main body of the
infantry and the greater portion of the guns, was commanded by
Alvarado and Velasquez de Leon. Cortez himself led the center,
which was in charge of the baggage, some of the heavy guns, and the
prisoners; among whom were a son and two daughters of Montezuma,
Cacama, and the other nobles who had been in prison with him. The
Tlascalans were divided among the three corps.
A portable bridge had been prepared for crossing the canals which
intersected the causeway; the intention being that it should be
laid across a canal, that the army should pass over it, and that it
should then be carried forward to the next gap in the causeway.
This was a most faulty arrangement, necessitating frequent and long
delays, and entailing almost certain disaster. Had three such
portable bridges been constructed, the column could have crossed
the causeway with comparatively little risk; and there was no
reason why these bridges should not have been constructed, as they
could have been carried, without difficulty, by the Tlascalans.
At midnight the troops were in readiness for the march. Mass was
performed by Father Olmedo; and at one o'clock on July 1st, 1520,
the Spaniards sallied out from the fortress that they had so
stoutly defended.
Silence reigned in the city. As noiselessly as possible, the troops
made their way down the broad street, expecting every moment to be
attacked; but even the tramping of the horses, and the rumbling of
the baggage wagons and artillery did not awake the sleeping
Mexicans, and the head of the column arrived at the head of the
causeway before they were discovered. Then, as the advanced guard
were preparing to lay the portable bridge across the first opening,
some Aztec sentinels gave the alarm.
The priests on the summits of the temples heard their cries, and at
once sounded their horns and the huge war drum. Instantly the city
awoke, and the silence was succeeded by a roar of sound. The
vanguard had scarcely got upon the causeway when canoes shot out
upon the lake, and soon a storm of stones and arrows burst upon the
column. More and more terrible did it become, as fresh canoes,
crowded with the warriors, came up. Many of these pushed up to the
causeway itself; and the natives, landing, fell upon the Spaniards
with fury.
The latter made no stay. Fighting their way through their foes they
pressed on until they reached the next opening in the causeway, and
there waited for the bridge to come up. But a column many thousands
strong, with baggage and artillery, takes a long time to cross a
bridge; and the advanced guard had reached the opening long before
the rear had passed the bridge, and there stood helpless, exposed
to the terrible storm of missiles, until at last the column were
all across the bridge.
Then forty picked men, who had been specially told off for the
task, tried to raise it so that it might be carried to the front;
but the weight of the baggage wagons and artillery had so wedged it
into the earth, that they were unable to move it. They persevered
in their efforts until most of them had fallen. The rest bore the
terrible news to the army that the bridge was immovable.
A terrible cry of despair arose, as the news spread. All hope
seemed lost and, regardless of order or discipline, all pressed
forward to endeavor, in some way or other, to cross the obstacle
that barred their way.
Pressed on by those behind them, Sandoval and his cavaliers dashed
into the water. The distance was short, but the horses were weak
from hunger, and burdened by their own heavy armor and that of
their riders. Some succeeded in swimming across. Others sank; while
some reached the opposite side, only to fall back again, as they
tried to climb the steep bank.
The infantry followed them, throwing away their armor to enable
them to swim. Some succeeded, others were pressed down by their
comrades. Many were killed by the war clubs or spears of the
Mexicans in their canoes. Others again, half stunned by the clubs,
were dragged into the canoes and carried off to the city to be
sacrificed.
All along the causeway the fight raged unceasingly; the Aztecs in
the boats alongside leaping ashore, and grappling with their foes,
and rolling with them down the causeway into the water; while those
in the distance kept up their rain of missiles. The opening in the
causeway was at last filled--choked up with ammunition wagons and
guns, bales of rich goods, chests of gold, and the bodies of men
and horses--and over these the Spaniards made their way.
Cortez had swum or waded across on his horse, and he rode on until
he joined Sandoval and the remains of the advanced guard, who were
checked at the third and last opening. The cavaliers set the
example to their followers by plunging into the water. The rest
followed as best they could. Many were drowned by the weight of the
gold they carried. Others got across by clinging to the tails and
manes of the horses.
Cortez, with Sandoval and other cavaliers, led the retreat until
they reached the end of the causeway. The din of battle was now far
behind, but those who came up brought the news that the rear guard
were so sorely pressed, that they would be destroyed unless aid
reached them.
Cortez and his companions did not hesitate. They dashed along the
causeway, again swam the canal, and made their way through the
crowd until they reached the rear guard. Morning was breaking now,
and it showed the lake covered with canoes filled with warriors.
Along the whole length of the causeway a desperate fight was
raging.
Cortez found Alvarado on foot, his horse had been killed under him.
With a handful of followers, he was still desperately defending the
rear against the Mexicans, who had poured out from the city in
pursuit. The artillery had at first done good service, sweeping the
causeway and mowing down hundreds of their assailants; but the
Aztecs were careless of life, and rushed on so furiously that they
swept over the guns, killing those who served them, and fell upon
the infantry.
The charge of Cortez and his companions for a moment bore back the
foe; but, pressed by those behind, they swept aside resistance, and
bore back the Spaniards to the edge of the canal. Cortez and his
companions plunged in and swam across. Alvarado stood on the brink,
hesitating. Unhorsed and defenseless, he could not make his way
across the gap, which was now crowded with the canoes of the enemy.
He set his strong lance on the bottom of the canal and, using it as
a leaping pole, sprang across. The feat was an extraordinary one,
for although the width is not given, it was declared, by those who
witnessed it, to be impossible for any mortal. It filled friends
and foes alike with astonishment; and the spot is, to this day,
known by the Mexicans as "Alvarado's Leap."
The Aztecs followed no farther. They were occupied, now, in
securing the enormous wealth the Spaniards had left behind them;
and the remnants of the army marched along the causeway unmolested,
and took possession of the village at its end.
Cortez, iron hearted as he was, sat down and burst into tears as he
viewed the broken remnant of his army. He was consoled, however, by
finding that many of his most trusted companions had escaped.
Sandoval, Alvarado, Olid, Ordaz and Avila were safe; and so, to his
great joy, was Marina. She had, with a daughter of a Tlascalan
chief, been placed under the escort of a party of Tlascalan
warriors, in the van of the column, and had passed unharmed through
the dangers of the night.
The loss of the Spaniards in their retreat is variously estimated;
but the balance of authority, among contemporary writers, places it
at four hundred and fifty Spaniards, and four thousand Tlascalans.
This, with the loss sustained in the previous conflicts, reduced
the Spaniards to about a third, and the Tlascalans to a fifth of
the force which had entered the capital. The greater part of the
soldiers of Narvaez had been killed. They had formed the rear
guard, and had not only borne the brunt of the battle, but had
suffered from the effect of their cupidity. Of the cavalry but
twenty-three remained mounted, all the artillery had been lost, and
every musket thrown away in the flight.
Velasquez de Leon had fallen in the early part of the retreat,
bravely defending the rear; and several others among the leaders
had also fallen, together with all the prisoners whom they had
brought out from the capital.
The remains of the army straggled on into the town of Tlacopan, but
Cortez would allow of no halt there. At any moment the exultant
Aztecs from the capital might arrive and, in a battle in the
streets, the Spaniards would stand no chance, whatever, with their
foes. He therefore hurried the soldiers through and, when outside,
endeavored to form them into some sort of order.
It was necessary to give them a few hours of repose, and he led
them towards an eminence, crowned by a temple, which commanded the
plain. It was held by a party of natives; and the troops,
dispirited and exhausted, refused at first to advance against them;
but the influence of Cortez, backed by the example of his officers,
had its usual effect. The column moved forward against the temple,
and the natives, after a few discharges of missiles, abandoned the
place.
It was a large building, affording ample shelter for the Spaniards
and their allies. Provisions were found there, and a large supply
of fuel intended for the service of the temple. Here, lighting
great fires, they dried their clothing, bound up their wounds and,
after partaking of food, threw themselves down to sleep.
Fortunate it was for the Spaniards that the Mexicans, contented
with the slaughter they had inflicted, the plunder they had
captured, and most of all with the prisoners whom they had carried
off to be sacrificed on their altars, retired to the capital, and
allowed the invaders twenty-four hours' breathing time. Had they
pressed them hotly and relentlessly, from the moment when they
emerged from the causeway, they would have annihilated them; for at
that time the Spaniards were too worn out, and dispirited, to be
capable of any effectual resistance. Food and rest, however, did
wonders for them. They were hardy veterans, and with Cortez and the
leaders they most trusted with them, they soon came to look at
matters in a more cheerful light.
They were still stronger than they were when they first marched
upon Mexico. Why, then, should they despair of making their way
back to Tlascala, where they would have rest and friends? They knew
there was a long and painful march before them, and probably
desperate battles to fight; but in a fair field, they felt
themselves a match for any number of the enemy; and when, late in
the evening, their officers bade them form up and prepare for a
night's march, they fell in steadily and willingly; and Cortez felt
that they could again be relied upon, under every emergency.