[D]If this incident be deemed apocryphal, by the rigid historian, the fable is fully justified by the known state of public sentiment among the Aztecs at this time. Sagahun, according to a note in Prescott, states, that polygamy, though allowed, was by no means generally practised among them; and that the prevailing sentiment of the nation was opposed to it. One of the very few relics of their ancient literature, which were preserved in the general devastation of the conquest, is a letter of advice from a father to his child, on the eve of her marriage, in which he declares that it was the purpose of God, in his grand design of replenishing the earth, to make the sexes equal, and to allow only one wife to each man; and any deviation from this arrangement, was contrary to the plainest laws of nature.
[D]If this incident be deemed apocryphal, by the rigid historian, the fable is fully justified by the known state of public sentiment among the Aztecs at this time. Sagahun, according to a note in Prescott, states, that polygamy, though allowed, was by no means generally practised among them; and that the prevailing sentiment of the nation was opposed to it. One of the very few relics of their ancient literature, which were preserved in the general devastation of the conquest, is a letter of advice from a father to his child, on the eve of her marriage, in which he declares that it was the purpose of God, in his grand design of replenishing the earth, to make the sexes equal, and to allow only one wife to each man; and any deviation from this arrangement, was contrary to the plainest laws of nature.
RETURN OF CORTEZ—SIEGE OF TENOCHTITLAN—BRAVERY AND SUFFERINGS OF THE AZTECS.
Guatimozin was kept constantly informed of the preparations and movements of the Spaniards. His faithful spies followed them in all their marches, and found no difficulty in divining their general intentions and plans, as their courage revived on their arrival at Tlascala, and still more on the accession of a large reinforcement of Spaniards at Vera Cruz. Cortez was now as resolute as ever in his purpose of conquest, and determined to regain his position in the capital, or perish in the attempt. He went with the sword in one hand and the olive-branch in the other, if that can be called an olive-branch, which admits of no answer but submission, and offers no alternative but slavery ordeath. With a large increase of cavalry and artillery, an ample supply of ammunition, and a force both of Castilian and Indian allies, more than double of that which accompanied him on his former expedition, he took up his line of march from the friendly city of Tlascala, to cross the mountain barrier that separated him from his prey. Previous to his departure, he gave orders for the construction of a considerable number of brigantines, under the inspection of experienced Spanish shipwrights, conceiving the singular and original idea of transporting them, on the shoulders of his men, across the mountains, and launching them upon the lake of Tezcuco, to aid him in laying siege to the city. His march was unchallenged till he arrived on the very shores of the great lake, and stood before the walls of Tezcuco.
Here he halted, and sent a message to the governor to throw open his gates, and renew his allegiance to the crown of Castile. The messenger returned with a request that the Spaniard would delay his entry into the city, until the next morning, when he should be prepared to give him a suitable reception. Cortez, suspecting that all was not right, ascended one of the Teocalli in the neighborhood, to ascertain if any hostile movement was contemplated. To his surprise, he saw immense crowds of people, thronging the thoroughfares on the other side of the city, and going, with as much of their substance as they could carry, towards the metropolis. Supposing that the city, when evacuated, would be given up to the flames, and that he should thus be cut off not only from supplies, but from a place of shelter and retreat, he instantly sent forward a strongbody of horse, with a battalion of infantry, to arrest the fugitives, and to demand an interview with the cacique.
Flight having been resolved upon, and the city having been devoted to destruction, as the most effectual annoyance to the Spaniards, no preparations were made to resist such a movement as this. The unarmed fugitives returned to their homes, in great numbers, and the city, with all its abandoned palaces and temples, offered ample accommodations to the invaders. The person of the chief was not secured, he having effected his escape, with the principal part of his nobles, and all his army, to the capital. Cortez, assuming to act in the name of the king of Castile, for whom he claimed the sovereignty of all these lands, immediately deposed the reigning chief, absolving the people from all further allegiance to him, and installed his brother, who was favorable to the cause of the Spaniards, in his place.
Thus secured in such commanding quarters, the haughty Castilian surveyed the field around him, and prepared himself, with great diligence and deliberation, to regain possession of it. The most liberal and conciliating overtures were made to the Emperor, if he would peaceably acknowledge the sovereignty of Castile, and admit him, as the representative of that crown, to the capital. These overtures were promptly and scornfully rejected, and every avenue to amicable negotiation effectually closed. The people of the country were sternly forbidden, on pain of death, from holding any intercourse with the strangers, or from administering, in any manner, to their wants. Large rewards were offered for captives, and every inducement held out toencourage the natives in a resistance, that should admit of no quarter, and terminate only in the utter extermination of one of the parties. Guatimozin was a man every way adapted to a crisis like this. Of a firm indomitable spirit, patient of suffering and of toil, and skilful in all the strategy of war and defence, and possessed of the entire confidence and affection of his own people, he applied himself to the work of self-preservation, with an energy and fertility of resource, which scarcely ever, in a righteous cause, fails to ensure success. That he was suffered to fail, is one of those inscrutable providences which stand frequently out on the page of history, to confound the short-sighted sagacity of man, and restrain his too inquisitive desire to fathom the counsels and purposes of heaven.
Perceiving that the ground was to be contested, step by step, and that not a foot would be yielded but at the point of the bayonet, and the mouth of the cannon, Cortez resolved on reducing the smaller towns first, and so approaching the capital, by slow degrees, leaving no unfriendly territory behind him, to cut off his supplies, or annoy his rear. In this manner, after almost incredible hardships, and many severe contests, in which his forces were very considerably reduced, he succeeded in wresting by violence, or winning by diplomacy, many of the tributary cities and districts from their allegiance to the Mexican crown. In their attempt upon Iztapalapan, which was led by Cortez in person, they were near being entirely overwhelmed by an artificial inundation of the city. The great dikes were pierced by the natives, and the waters of the lake came pouring in upon them, in torrents, from which they madetheir escape with the utmost difficulty, with the loss of all their booty and ammunition, and not a few of their Indian allies. The place, however, was reduced to submission. Chalco, Otumba, and many other important posts were soon after added to the number of the conquered.
This work of subjugation among the tributary provinces and cities, was not a little facilitated by the memory of the iron rule of Montezuma, and his severe exactions upon all his subjects, to maintain the splendors of the imperial palace. They had long felt these exactions to be most burdensome and unequal, and had only submitted to them by force of the terror of that name, which made all Anahuac tremble. They were, therefore, not unwilling to embrace any opportunity to throw off the Aztec yoke, when they could do it with the hope of ultimate protection from its vengeance. They had not long enough tested the administration of Guatimozin, to look for any relief from their burdens under his reign. He came to the throne at one of those signal crises in the affairs of the empire, which demanded all its resources, both physical and pecuniary, and was therefore compelled, for the time, rather to increase than diminish their taxes, and make heavier requisitions than usual upon their personal services. They were ready for a change of masters, and, as is usual in such cases, did not stop to consider whether the change might not be rather for the worse than for the better. As soon, therefore, as they ascertained that the Spanish power was sufficient to protect them against the fury of their old oppressors, they rushed to their standard, and arrayed themselves against the bravedefenders of their native land. The event proved that the rod of iron was exchanged for a two-edged one of steel, a natural sovereign of their own race, for a worse than Egyptian task-master, and a subjection which left undisturbed their ancient customs, and the common relations of society, for an indiscriminate slavery which respected neither person nor property, and levelled alike the public and private institutions of the land.
Meanwhile the brigantines, which had been rapidly progressing at Tlascala, were completed. They were thirteen in number. They were first put together, and tried upon the waters of the Tahnapan; then taken to pieces, and the timbers, with all the tackle and apparel, including anchors, transported on the shoulders of the Tlascalan laborers, over the hills, and through the narrow defiles of the mountain, a distance of sixty miles, and re-constructed within the walls of Tezcuco. To open a communication with the lake, it was still necessary to make a canal, a mile and a half in length, twelve feet wide, and as many deep. This was accomplished in season for launching the little fleet, having eight thousand men employed upon it during two months. It was a day of great rejoicing and appropriate religious solemnity, when that little squadron appeared, with the ensign of Castile floating proudly at each mast head, their white sails swelling in the breeze, the smoke of the cannon rolling around, and the deep thunder reverberating from every side of the distant mountains.
There is, perhaps, no single achievement in the annals of human enterprize, more remarkable than this. There is certainly none which more clearly shows, ormore beautifully illustrates, the daring indomitable spirit, and mighty genius, which alone could have achieved the conquest of Mexico. Who but Cortez would have conceived of such a design? Who but Cortez would have attempted and successfully executed it? To construct thirteen vessels of sufficient burthen to sustain the weight and action of heavy cannon, and accommodate the men and soldiers necessary to navigate and defend them, at a distance of twenty leagues from the waters on which they were to swim—to convey them over mountains, and through deep and difficult defiles, on the shoulders of men, without the aid of any species of waggon, or beast of burden, and to do this in the midst of a country, and with the aid of a people, where nothing had hitherto been known beyond the primitive bark canoe, and where the natural associations, and prevailing superstitions of the natives, were totally adverse to his design—to accomplish this alone would immortalize any other man. What was the passage of the Alps by Hannibal, or by Napoleon, compared to this? Yet, so replete was the whole expedition of Cortez with adventures of unparalleled difficulty, and achievements of dazzling splendor, that this is but a common event in his history, with nothing small or insignificant to place it in commanding relief. It was one of the infelicities in the career of this wonderful man, that he was continually eclipsing himself, showing an originality and power of conception, a fertility of invention and resource, and a determination and energy in overcoming difficulties, and making occurrences, seemingly the most adverse, bend to his will and subserve his designs, which wearies our surpriseand admiration, and actually exhausts our capacity of astonishment.
Nothing was now wanting to complete the arrangements of the invader for laying siege to Tenochtitlan. By the aid of the brigantines, he was able to command the entire lake, sweeping away the frail canoes of the natives, like bubbles on the surface. All the cities and towns on its border had fallen, one after another, into his hands, though not without a desperate defence, and frequent and wasting sallies from the foe. The metropolis, that beautiful and magnificent gem upon the fair bosom of the lake, now stood alone, deserted by all her friends and supporters, the object of the concentrated hostility of the foreign invader, the ancient enemy, and the recent ally.
In that devoted capital, now so closely and fearfully invested, there was a spirit and power fully equal to the awful crisis. As soon as Guatimozin perceived, by the movements of his enemy, that the city was to be assailed rather by the slow and wasting siege, than by the storm of war, he made every possible preparation to sustain himself at his post. The aged, the infirm, the sick, and, as far as possible, all the helpless among the inhabitants, were sent off among the neighboring towns, and country; while all those who were able to do service in the army, were brought thence into the city. Provisions were collected in great quantities, and all the resources then left to the empire concentrated upon one point, that of making an obstinate, unyielding defence. In this condition of affairs the siege commenced; a large part of the fighting men of the neighboring cities and towns being in the capital, preparingto defend it against enemies with whom those cities and towns were now in close alliance. Though it thus brought the father against the son, and the son against the father, in many instances, it did not, in any case, disappoint the confidence of Guatimozin, or undermine the loyalty of his troops. There were no deserters from his standard. Through all the horrors of that wasting siege, they stood by their sovereign, and their capital, as if they knew no other home, no other friend.
In vain did the Castilian commander propose terms of accommodation to the beleaguered city. The Emperor would not condescend even to an interview. His chiefs and his people, whenever they had an opportunity to do so, treated every attempt at compromise with utter scorn. They derided Cortez upon his disastrous evacuation of the capital on “the melancholy night,” assuring him that, if he should enter its gates now, he would not find a Montezuma on the throne. They taunted their Tlascalan allies as women, who would never have dared to approach the capital, without the protection of the white men.
Sustained by this spirit, the warlike Mexican did not content himself with mere measures of defence. Frequent and desperate sallies were made upon the outposts of the enemy, until it seemed as if the hope of the noble Guatimozin might possibly be realized, that he might slowly and gradually destroy an enemy, whom he could not encounter in a pitched battle.
It was not until the last avenue to the surrounding country was cut off, by divisions of the invading army, planted upon all the causeways, supported in all their movements by the thundering brigantines, that the truespirit of the besieged began to show itself. Till then, their tables had been plentifully supplied, and their hopes continually encouraged by the occasional losses of their enemy, whose numbers were too small to admit of much diminution. The priests were unremitting in their appeals to the patriotism of the people, and in promises of peculiar divine blessings on all who should persevere to the last, in defence of their altars and their gods. Guatimozin was ever among his people, encouraging them by kind words, and an example of unyielding defiance to every advance of the foe. He showed that he was not less the father of his people, than their king, suffering the same exposure, and enduring the same fatigues with the boldest and hardiest of his subjects.
Such was their confidence of ultimate success in the defence of the capital, that the splendor and gaiety of the court was little diminished, until famine began to stare them in the face. The aqueduct of Chapoltepec had been cut off, and there was no longer any supply of wholesome water in the city. The dark visions of the lovely queen were now renewed. For a brief season, she had been permitted to revel in daylight, with scarcely a cloud to darken the sky above her. Suddenly that light was obscured. All was gloom and darkness around her. War, desolating war hovered once more about the gates of the beloved city. Wan faces, and haggard forms began to take the places of the gay, happy, spirited multitudes, that so recently thronged the palace. The image of her father, insulted by the stranger, murdered by his own people, rose to her view. His melancholy desponding look and tone,as he gave way to the doom which he felt was sealed upon him, his frequent assurances that the white men were “the men of destiny,” the heaven appointed proprietors and rulers of the land, and that wo would betide all who should oppose their pretensions, or offer resistance to their invincible arms—all these came up fresh to her thoughts, and filled her with sadness. Her own ill-starred destiny too, marked by every possible sign and presage, as full of darkness and sorrow—the thought was almost overwhelming. Fain would she have severed at once the bond that linked her fate with that of Guatimozin, for she felt that he was only sharing her doom, and on her account was exposed to these terrible shafts of fate. The love of Guatimozin, the faithful devotion of Karee, though they soothed in some measure her troubled spirit, could not wholly re-assure her, or dissipate the dreadful thought, that all these terrible calamities were come upon the nation only as a part of that dark doom, for which the gods had marked her out, on her very entrance into life.
It was long before the Emperor and his immediate household, were made aware of the awful pressure of famine within that devoted city. Watchful and observing as he was, the people, with one consent, had contrived to keep him in comparative ignorance of the growing scarcity, in order that they might be permitted to supply his table, as long as possible, with all the necessaries and luxuries of life. So far was this loyal devotion carried, that multitudes, both of the chiefs and of the common people, were daily in the habit of denying themselves of every thing but what was absolutely necessary to sustain life, and sending to the palaceevery article of fresh food, or delicate fruit, which they could obtain from their own gardens, or purchase from those of others. This noble devotion on the part of his people, was discovered and made known to the Emperor by Karee. She was the almoner of the bounty of the queen to multitudes of the poor and the sick, in different quarters of the city. On one of her errands of mercy, while she was administering to the comfort of a poor friend, in the last stages of mortal disease, made ten-fold more appalling by the absence of almost every thing that could sustain nature in the final struggle, she overheard the conversation of a father with his child in the adjoining room.
“Nay, my dear father, you must eat it. Your strength is almost gone, and how can you stand among the fighting men, and defend your king and your house, when you have eaten nothing for two whole days?”
“My precious child, I shall find something when I go out. But this morsel is for you, for I know you cannot live till I come home, if you do not eat this. And what will life be worth when you are gone.”
“Father, dear father, I cannot eat it. It will do me more good to see you eat it, for then I shall be sure you can live another day at least, and then, who knows but the gods will send us help.”
Karee could listen no longer. Rushing into the apartment whence these melancholy sounds proceeded, she beheld the shadow of a once beautiful girl leaning on the arm of the pale and wasted figure of a man, endeavoring to draw him towards a table on which lay a single morsel of dried fruit, which he had brought infor her, it being the only food that either of them had seen for two days.
“Take this,” said she, offering the sweet child a portion of what she had prepared for the invalid, but which she was too far gone to receive, “and may it give you both strength till the day of our deliverance.” And she instantly returned to the death-bed of her friend.
To the famishing group it was like the apparition of an angel, with a gift from the gods. The savory mess was readily divided, though the affectionate self-denying child contrived to cheat her father into receiving a little more than his share, while he tried every effort in vain, to persuade her to take the larger half. The wretched pair had not had such a feast for many a long week. “Ah!” exclaimed the daughter, as she wept over the luxurious repast, “if our dear mother could have had such a morsel as this, before she died, to stay her in that last dreadful agony.”
“Yes, my beloved child,” replied the subdued and bitterly bereaved father, “but she has gone where there is plenty, and no tears mingled with it.”
The dried fruit was laid away for the morrow. But the same kind hand that relieved them on that day, was there again on the morrow, and on every succeeding day, till the city was sacked, and the wretched ghosts of its inhabitants given up to an indiscriminate slaughter.
When Guatimozin was made acquainted with this incident, he resolved on making another desperate sally, with the whole force of his wasted army, in the forlorn hope of breaking through the ranks of the enemy, andprocuring some subsistence for his famishing people. Having drawn them up in the great square, his heart sunk within him, when he saw their pale faces and emaciated forms, and contrasted them with the fierce, stout, and seemingly invincible host, whom he had so often led into battle. But the feeling of despondency gave way instantly to that stern fixed purpose, that terrible decision of soul, which is the natural offspring of desperation. With a firm voice, he addressed them.
“My brave soldiers, we must not any longer lie still. The enemy is at our gates, and we are perishing in our own citadel. Have we not once driven them, with a terrible and almost exterminating slaughter, along those very causeways which they now claim to occupy and to close up? Are they more invincible now than then? Are we less resolute, less fearless? By our famishing wives and children, by our desecrated altars and gods, let us rush upon them and overwhelm them at once.”
The monarch had not yet finished his stirring appeal, when a courier rushed in, bringing tidings that the several divisions of the besieging army were moving up the causeways, and approaching the city on every side.
“They come to their own destruction,” said the monarch, bitterly, and immediately proceeded to distribute his men, to give them a fitting reception. The larger part of the forces were ordered to occupy several somewhat retired places, amid the great public buildings in the centre of the city, where they should be in readiness to obey the royal signal. The remainder were to go out, in their several divisions, to meet and skirmish with the advancing foe, doing them as much mischiefas possible, yet suffering themselves to be driven before them, till they were decoyed into the heart of the city. The signal would then be given, when every man who could draw a bow, or wield a lance, or throw a stone, would be expected to do his duty.
It was a stratagem worthy of Guatimozin, and, in its execution, had well nigh overwhelmed the Spaniards, and saved the city. Cortez had appointed with the captains of each division of his army to meet in the great square of the city. Each one being eager to be first at the goal, they followed the retreating Aztecs without consideration, and without making any provision for their own retreat. The watchful agents of Guatimozin were behind as well as before them; and when they had passed the gates, and were pressing up, with all the heat and enthusiasm of a victorious army, into the heart of the city, the bridges were taken up in their rear, to cut off, if possible, their retreat. When this was effected, the fatal horn of Guatimozin blew a long loud blast, from the summit of the great Teocalli. In an instant, the retreating Aztecs turned upon their pursuers, like tigers ravening upon their prey; while swarms of fresh warriors poured in from every lane and street and avenue, rushing so fiercely upon the too confident assailants, as to bring them to a sudden pause in their triumphant career. At the same moment, the roof of every house and temple, along the whole line of their march, was covered with men, who poured upon them such a shower of stones that it seemed impossible to escape being buried under them. The tide of battle was now turned. The too daring invaders were thrown into confusion, and compelled toretreat. This they soon found, to their bitter cost, was nearly impossible. When it was discovered that the bridges, over which they had so recently passed, were removed, the utmost consternation prevailed. The heavy cannon were all on board the brigantines, so that they were unable, as in former times, to mow down the solid ranks of their foes, and break a way for their retreat. Their cavalry was of little service, for they could not leap the wide chasms made by the removal of the bridges. Cut off in front by the solid masses of warriors that blocked up every avenue, and in the rear by these yawning chasms, and hemmed in on each side by the massive stone walls of the buildings, they could neither protect themselves, nor effectually annoy their enemy. They were in imminent danger of perishing ignobly in the ditch, without even striking a blow in their own defence.
Fortunately for the invaders, their sagacious and ever-wakeful general had anticipated the possibility of such a scene as this, and had taken some measures to forestall it. His officers, however, were too high-spirited and self-confident to condescend to the cowardly drudgery of carrying out his precautionary measures. They thought only of victory, and the spoils of the glorious city, which they now regarded as their own.
In this fearful dilemma, the genius of Cortez did not desert him. When the first shout of battle reached his ears, as he was advancing cautiously along the avenue, he instantly conjectured the cause. Ordering his own column to halt, and selecting a chosen band of his best cavalry, he wheeled about, dashed furiously down theavenue, and put to flight the unarmed Aztecs, who were doing the work of destruction for him, and had then almost succeeded in tearing away the foundations of the great bridge. Making his way through the deserted streets, with the speed of the wind, he came round into the other avenue, where one division of his army was hemmed in, in the manner above described. Charging impetuously upon the gathering crowds of Aztecs, he succeeded in forcing his way up to the chasm, where he stood face to face with his own troops on the other side. Here, in the midst of a pitiless tempest of stones, and darts and arrows, he maintained his stand, while his men, with incredible labor, attempted to fill up the chasm.
The work was at length accomplished, though not without the most serious loss to Cortez. Some of his bravest officers fell in that merciless contest with foes who would neither give nor receive quarter. Many were pelted down with the huge stones, that ceased not to rain upon them from all the neighboring house tops. Some were taken by the feet as they labored to maintain a precarious footing on the slippery causeway, and dragged into the canals, either to be drowned in the desperate struggle there, or carried off in the canoes to captivity or sacrifice. Cortez himself narrowly escaped immolation.
At length, through the indomitable perseverance of the general, the breach was so far filled up as to make a practicable passage for the troops. A retreat was sounded, and that gallant band, which, a few hours before had rushed in with flaunting banners, and confident boastings of an easy victory, was glad to escapefrom the snare into which they had fallen, their numbers greatly reduced, their banners soiled and tattered, and their expectations of ultimate success terribly shaken. They were pursued through all their march by the exulting Aztecs, and many a broken head and bruised limb attested the truth of Guatimozin’s taunting challenge, that the Spaniards, if they entered the capital again, would find as many fortresses as there were houses, as many assailants as stones in the streets.
STRAITNESS OF THE FAMINE. THE FINAL CONFLICT. FLIGHT AND CAPTURE OF GUATIMOZIN. DESTINY FULFILLED.
This shameful defeat was a tremendous blow to the ardent anticipations of the conqueror. Many of the timid and the discontented in his own ranks availed themselves of the opportunity to create divisions, and withdraw from the doubtful contest. The Mexicans, strengthened by the spoils of their assailants, and yet more by the new courage which their late success infused into every heart among them, immediately commenced repairing their works, clearing their canals, and making the most vigorous preparations for maintaining the siege. Their priests, infuriated with the number of sacrifices which they had been enabled to offer to the gods, from the captives of high and low degree taken in the conflict, declared with authoritative solemnity, thatthe anger of the gods was now appeased, and that they had promised unequivocally, the speedy annihilation of their invading foes. This oracular declaration was, by the order of Guatimozin, published in the hearing of the Indian allies of his adversary. It was a politic stroke, and, if the oracle had not imprudently fixed too early a day for the execution of the predicted vengeance, its effect might have been such as to break for ever the bonds of that unnatural alliance, and leave the little handful of white men, with all their boasted pretensions to immortality, to perish by the hands of their own friends.
But why dwell longer upon the appalling details of this miserable siege. The day of predicted vengeance arrived, and the Spaniards survived it. Their superstitious terror-stricken allies returned to their allegiance. By a judicious administration of reward and discipline, of promise and threatening, all disaffection was hushed. New measures of offence were concerted, with a determination, on the part of the besiegers, to press into the city by degrees, securing every step, as they advanced, by levelling every building, and filling up every ditch, in their progress, till not one stone should be left upon another in Tenochtitlan. This terrible resolution was carried into effect. Every building, whether public or private, palace, temple, or Teocalli, from which they could be annoyed by the indomitable Aztec, was laid waste. The canals were filled up and levelled, so as to give free scope for the movements of the cavalry and artillery. The beautiful suburbs were reduced to a level plain, a dry arid waste, covered with the ruins of all that was dear and sacred in the eyes of the Aztec.Slowly, but surely, the Spaniard pressed on towards the heart of the city, in which the heroic monarch, with his miserable remnant of starving subjects and skeleton soldiers were pent up, dying by thousands of famine and pestilence, and yet ready to suffer a thousand deaths, rather than yield themselves up to the mercy of the foe.
There was now absolutely nothing left, in earth or air, to sustain for another day the poor remains of life in the camp of the besieged. Every foot of ground had been dug over many times, in quest of roots, and even of worms. The leaves and bark had been stripped from every tree and shrub, till there was not a green thing on all those terraces, which were once like the gardens of Elysium. The dead and the dying lay in heaps together, for there was neither life nor spirit in any that breathed, to do the last office for the departed. Pestilence was in all the air, so that many even of the besieging army snuffed it in the breeze that swept over the city, and fell victims to the very fate which their cruel rapacity was inflicting on the besieged.
Famine, cruel, gnawing famine, was in the palace of the Emperor, as well as in the hovel of his meanest subject. That noble prince quailed not before the fate that awaited himself. Had he stood alone in that citadel, with power in his single arm to keep out the foe, he would have stood till death, in whatever form, released him from his post, and spurned every suggestion of compromise or quarter. But the scenes of utter distress which every where met his eye—the haggard ghosts of his friends, flitting restlessly before him, or crawling feebly and with convulsive moans among the upturned earth, in the forlorn hope of finding anotherroot—the dead—the dying—the more miserable living longing for death, and glaring with their horribly prominent, but glazed and expressionless eye-balls on each other—this, this was too much for the heart of Guatimozin.
“What!” he exclaimed, “shall I submit to see my last friend die before my eyes, and my own sweet wife perish of hunger, only to retain for another hour the empty name of king. No. I will endure it no longer. I will go to Malinché, alone, and unaccompanied, and offer my life for yours. He only wants our gold. Let him find that if he can. He will spareyou, and wreak all his vengeance on my head.”
A faint murmur ran through the crowd, and then a feeble expiring “No, never,” burst feebly from many lips. One, a little stronger than the rest, arose and said—
“Most gracious sovereign, think not of us. We only ask to live and die with and for you. And the more cruel the death, the more glorious the martyrdom for our country and our gods. Trust not Malinché.”
The speaker fainted and fell, with his fist clenched, and his teeth set, as if he felt that he held the last foe in mortal conflict.
“No, never—trust not Malinché—let us die together,” was echoed by many sepulchral voices, that seemed more like the groans of the dead, than the remonstrances of the living.
“Trust not Malinché, remember my father,” whispered the fond, devoted, faithful, affectionate wife, now the shadow of her former self, beautiful in her queenly sorrow, sublime in her womanly composure.
Guatimozin, the proud, the lofty chief, whose heart had never known fear, whose soul had never been subdued, bowed his head upon the bosom of his wife, and wept. The strong heart, the lion spirit melted.
“Who, who will care for Tecuichpo? Who will cherish the last daughter of Montezuma?”
“Think not of me, Guatimozin, think of yourself and your people, I am resigned to my fate. If I may but die with you, it is all I desire—for how could I live without you. But think not of trusting Malinché. Let us remain as we are. Another day, and we shall all be at rest from our sufferings. And surely it were better to die together by our altars, than to fall into the hands of the treacherous stranger.”
“Trust not Malinché,” added Karee. “Was it not trust in him that brought all this evil upon us? Think not of submission. You shall see that women can die as well as men. Let Malinché come, and take possession of the remains of these mutilated walls and desolated gardens, but let him not claim one living Aztec, to be his slave, or his subject.”
A murmur of approbation followed, and then a long pause ensued. It was like the silence of death. The whole scene would have made an admirable picture. At length the silence was broken by the voice of the young Cacique of Tlacopan.
“My sovereign,” said he, in a faint voice, but with something of the energy of despair, “there is yet hope. Let us muster what force we can, of men who are able to stand, and sally out upon the enemy. We cannot do him much harm. But, while he is occupied with us, you and your family, with a few attendants canescape by a canoe over the lake. As many of us as have life and strength to do it, will follow you, under cover of the coming night. Your old subjects will flock around you there, and we may yet, when we shall have tasted food, and become men again, make a stand somewhere against the foe, and drive him out.”
“It is well! it is well!” was the feeble response on every side.
“I cannot leave you,” replied the monarch. “What! shall your king fly, like a coward, while his people rush upon the enemy only to cover his retreat? No, that were worse than death—worse than captivity!”
“It is not flight, my beloved sovereign,” responded the Cacique, “it is an honorable stratagem of war, for the good of the nation, not less than your own. Whenyouare gone, we have no head, and we fall at once into the captivity we so much dread. Leave us but the name and person of Guatimozin to rally around, and it will be a tower of strength, which can never fail us.”
“Yes, yes, it is right,” was whispered on every side—“Go, noble monarch, go at once. It is a voice from heaven to save us.”
To this counsel the priests added their earnest advice, and even Tecuichpo ventured to say, “it whispered of hope to her heart.” Guatimozin suffered himself to be overruled. The canoes were made ready in the grand canal, which yet remained open on the eastern side. All that could be safely taken of treasure, and of convenient apparel, was carefully stowed. The Queen and other ladies of the court, with her faithful Karee, allwasted to skeletons, and moving painfully, like phantoms of beauty in a sickly dream, were conveyed to the barges. The Emperor and his attendants followed, and all was in readiness for the departure. At that moment the martial horn was sounded from the great Teocalli, and the shadowy host of the Aztec army staggered forth to offer battle to the enemy. It was a fearful sight. It seemed as if the armies of the dead, the mighty warriors of the past, had risen from their graves, to fight for their desecrated altars, and to defend those very graves from profanation. Feebly, but fearfully, with glaring eyes and hideous grin, they rushed upon the serried ranks of the besiegers. A kind of superstitious terror seized them, as if these shapes were something more than mortal. For a moment they gave way to panic, and fell back without striking a blow. Roused by the stentorian voice of Cortez, they rallied instantly, and discharging their heavy fire arms, swept away whole ranks of their frenzied assailants. It was a brief conflict. Many of the Aztecs fell by the swords of the Spaniards, and the spears of their merciless allies. Some fell, faint with their own exertions, and died without a wound. Some grappled desperately with the foe, content to die by his hand, if they could first quench their burning thirst with one drop of his blood.
At length, a long blast from the horn sounded a retreat. The poor remnant turned towards the city, and were suffered to escape unmolested to their desolate homes.
Meanwhile, the little fleet of Guatimozin had put forth upon the lake. The canoes separated, as they leftthe basin of the canal, taking different directions, the better to escape the observation of the brigantines. The precaution was a wise one, but unavailing. The watchful eye of the besieging general was there. The brigantines gave chase to the fugitives. Bending to their paddles with the utmost strength of their feeble emaciated arms, they found their pursuers gaining upon them. Casting their gold into the lake, Guatimozin directed them to cease their exertions, and wait the approach of the enemy.
“Not without one little effort more, I beseech you,” exclaimed Karee. “See, my chinampa is close at hand. Let us try to gain that. It has food on its trees for many days, and I have there a place of concealment, curiously contrived beneath the water, where you and the queen may remain without fear of detection, till we can effect your escape to the shore.”
In an instant the paddles were in the water, and the canoe shot ahead with unusual speed. The combined energy of hope and despair nerved every arm, and fired every heart. They neared the beautiful chinampa. Their eyes feasted on its fresh and cooling verdure, and its ripe fruits hanging luxuriantly on every bough. Their ears were ravished with the music of the birds, who had long since deserted their wonted haunts in the capital.
While the chase was gaining rapidly upon them, another of those fearful brigantines, which had hitherto been concealed by the thick foliage of the chinampa, rounded its little promontory, and appeared suddenly before them. Instantly, every paddle dropped, every arm was paralyzed. Not a word was spoken. In passivesilence each one waited for his doom, which was now inevitable. When the Spaniard had approached within hailing distance, the Emperor rose in his little shallop, and, waving his hand proudly, said, “I am Guatimozin.”
The royal prisoners were treated with the utmost deference and respect. Being brought into the presence of Cortez, the monarch, pale, emaciated, the shadow of what he had been, approached with an air of imperial dignity, and said—
“Malinché, I have done what I could to defend myself and protect my people. Now I am your prisoner. Do what you will with me, but spare my poor people, who have shown a fidelity and an endurance worthy of a better fate.”
Cortez, filled with admiration at the proud bearing of the young monarch, assured him that not only his family and his people, but himself should be treated with all respect and tenderness. “Better,” said Guatimozin, laying his hand on the hilt of the general’s poignard, “better rid me of life at once, and put an end to my cares and sufferings together.”
“No,” replied Cortez, “you have defended your capital like a brave warrior. I respect your patriotism, I honor you valor, and your firm endurance of suffering. You shall be my friend and the friend of my sovereign, and live in honor among your own people.”
The keen eye of the monarch flashed with something like indignation, when allusion was made to the king of Castile, and to himself as his vassal.
“In honor Icannotlive,” he said proudly, “for I am defeated. A king Icannotbe, for he is no king who issubject to another. I am your prisoner. The gods have willed it, and I submit.”
Renewing his politic assurances of friendship and favor, the conqueror sent for the wife and family of his captive, first ordering a royal banquet to be prepared for them. Supported by Karee, leaning on the arm of the devoted Nahuitla, the lord of Tlacopan, the queen was ushered into the presence of the conqueror. Her appearance struck the general and his officers with admiration. Timid as she was by nature, she had the air and port of inborn royalty; and, in deference to her husband, she would not have allowed herself to quail before the assembled host of Castile, dreaded as they were, and had long been. With a becoming courtesy, she returned the respectful salutations of Malinché and his cavaliers, and asked no other favor than to share the fate of her lord.
What that fate was, and how the Castilian knight redeemed his pledges to his unfortunate and noble captives, is matter of historical record. It is the darkest page in the memoir of that wonderful chief—a foul blot upon the name even ofthatman, who was capable of requiting the superstitious reverence and confidence of a Montezuma, with a treacherous and inglorious captivity in his own palace, and a yet more inglorious death at the hands of his own subjects. History must needs record it, dark and painful as it is. Romance would throw a veil over it.
Years of intense suffering, of harrowing bereavement, of insult, humiliation, and every species of mental and social distress, were yet appointed to the daughter of Montezuma, the bride of Guatimozin. Her predicted destiny was fulfilled to the letter. She bowed meekly to her fate, sustaining every reverse with a fortitude and composure of soul, that indicated a mind of uncommon resources. It was a long, dark, stormy day, “but in the evening time there was light.” It was the light of faith. She abandoned the false gods of her fathers, and found true and lasting peace in the cross of Jesus Christ.
So, in sweetly plaintive strains, chanted the beautiful young bride of a Katahba chief, as she prepared his frugal morning meal, while he was busying himself in examining the string of his bow, replenishing his quiver with straight polished shafts, and renewing the edge of his trusty hatchet.
In all the forest homes of the native tribes, there wasnot a fairer flower than Minaree, the loved and devoted wife of the brave Ash-te-o-láh. The only daughter of a chief of the Wateree tribe, which was one branch of the great family of the Katahbas, she inherited the spirit and pride of her father, with all the simple beauty, and unsophisticated womanly tenderness of her mother. She was the idol of Ash-te-o-láh’s heart; for, savage as the world would call him, and ignorant of the codes of chivalry and of the courtly phrase of love, he was as true to all the warmer and purer affections, which constitute the bliss of domestic life, as to the lofty sentiments of heroic virtue, which made him early conspicuous in the councils of his people. Though fearless as the lion, fleet as the roe, and adventurous, sagacious and powerful as any that ever sounded the war-whoop, or startled the deer, in those interminable wilds—he was noble, generous, warm-hearted, and devotedly tender to the objects of his love.
The winning tones, and the affectionate glances of Minaree, as she chanted her simple prophetic lay, had almost won Ash-te-o-láh from his purpose. But, half doubting whether her oracular dream was any thing more than a little artifice of affection, and always superior to that prevailing superstition of his people, which gave to dreams all the sanctity and force of divine revelation, and excited by the preparations he had been making, he flung his rattling quiver to his back, whispered a gentle intimation that Ash-te-o-láh feared neither tiger nor foeman, and returning the affectionate glance of his bride, left the wigwam.
It was a clear bright summer morning. There was a balmy sweetness in the air, and melody in all thegroves; but they won not the ear, they regaled not the sense of Minaree, whose heart sunk within her, as she saw her beloved Ash-te-o-láh launch his canoe into the stream, and dash away over its glassy surface, like a swallow on the wing. Ere he dipped his paddle in the water, he turned and gracefully waved her a parting salute, the affectionate desire to stay and soothe the troubled spirit of her dream, still struggling with that lofty pride which told him that he had never yet shrunk from any form of danger, or known the name of fear.
The lands bordering on the Katahba, were covered, for many a league, with a dense and thriving population. More than twenty tribes were clustered there into one powerful fraternity, capable of bringing two thousand warriors into the field. Their grounds were extensively cultivated, their forests abounded with the choicest game, and their rivers with fish, and they regarded themselves as the most prosperous of the nations.
Nothing could exceed the romantic beauty and loveliness of some of their villages. Stretching along the banks of the rivers, and embowered deeply in the luxurious forests of that favored clime, the numerous wigwams, simple enough in their construction, but adorned here and there with the trophies of war or the chase, and often alive with the athletic sports of the young Indians, formed a scene as animated and picturesque as ever glowed on the bosom of the earth—a scene of patriarchal life, such as cannot now be found among all the families of men.
Conspicuous among them all was the wigwam of Ash-te-o-láh. The hand of Minaree was visible in thetasteful arrangement of a few simple ornaments about the door, and the trailing of a white flowering vine over its walls, which fell in luxuriant festoons, or floated in feathery pensiles on every side.
Minaree stood in the door of the wigwam, watching the retreating form of her lord, as his light canoe swept down with the current of the river, till it was lost in the distance, and then pensively, and as if unconsciously to herself, resumed her solemn chant, weaving the while a wreath of her wild flowering vine.
Gently and placidly flowed the Katahba—every tree and shrub mirrored in its beautiful waters. Not a sound disturbed the perfect stillness; not even the hum of the cricket, or the song of the bird. It seemed an utter solitude. Then a light canoe was seen slowly gliding down the stream. A noble looking Indian was standing in it, erect and tall, with his paddle poised, as if wrapped in meditation, or unwilling to disturb the quiet and charm of the silence. It was a scene to awaken a sense of poetic beauty, even in the mind of an untutored savage. It thrilled the soul of Ash-te-o-láh, and held him some moments in admiring contemplation. Suddenly starting from his unwonted reverie, he rounded a jutting promontory, and moored his skiff, carefully concealing it amid the overhanging shrubs.
There was something surpassingly graceful and majestic in the figure of this noble son of the forest. Formed by nature in her most perfect mould, tall, sinewy, athletic, yet with every feature and every limb rounded to absolute grace, he was a fine subject for a painter or sculptor. His dress consisted of a beautiful robe, gracefully flung over one shoulder, and confined at the waist by a richly ornamented belt. His hair was wrought into a kind of crown, and ornamented with a tuft of feathers. Equipped with bow and quiver, he seemed intent on game; and yet one might have imagined, from his keen glance and cautious manner, that he expected a foe in ambush.
Ash-te-o-láh was soon on the track of the deer, which, starting from the thicket, bounded away with the speed of the wind. Pursuing with equal pace, the bold hunter dashed into the depths of the forest, watching for a favorable moment to take the deadly aim. The arrow was on the string, and about to be raised to fly at his panting victim, when the shrill war-whoop burst suddenly on his ear. It arrested his step, for a moment, but not his arm; for the arrow sped as if nothing had occurred to divert its course, and buried itself in the heart of the flying deer.
Perceiving, at a glance, that a party of the Senecas, the old and deadly enemies of the Katahbas, were down upon him, and had cut off his retreat to the river, he held on his course, as before, but with redoubled speed, intending, if possible, to secure a refuge from his pursuers, in a cavern about five miles distant. Fleet as the wind, he would have gained his purpose, if the course had been direct, for there was not a red man inthe wide forests of America, who could outrun Ash-te-o-láh. Dividing themselves into several parties, and taking different courses to intercept his flight, his enemies gave instant chase to the fugitive. One party followed close on his trail, but he was soon lost to their view. Another struck off northwardly, towards a bend in the West Branch, where the rapids afforded an opportunity for crossing the stream without impeding his flight. A third made for a deep cut, or ravine, about a mile further down, where a fallen tree, extending from bank to bank, served the purpose of a bridge.
Ash-te-o-láh soon perceived that his enemies were divided, and resolved that, if theydidintercept or overtake him, it should cost them dear. Halting a little in his flight, and taking to the covert of a tree, he drew upon the foremost of his pursuers, and laid him dead in the path. The next in the pursuit, pausing a moment over his fallen brother, shared the same fate. Knowing, as by instinct, that the other parties would endeavor to cut him off at the rapids and the bridge, he dashed forward, in a straight line for the stream, plunged into the water, and holding his bow aloft, struggled with a powerful arm to reach the other side. He gained the bank, just as his pursuers made their appearance on the opposite shore. Turning suddenly upon them, he levelled another shaft with such unerring aim, that one of their number fell bleeding into the stream. Another and another, in the act of leaping over the bank, received the fatal shaft into his heart. Hearing the distant whoop, which indicated that the other party had reached the bridge, Ash-te-o-láh waited not for another victim, but bounded away for his mountainfastness. The little delay which had been necessary to cut off five of his pursuers, had given an advantage to the other parties, who were now on the same side of the stream with himself, and gaining upon his steps. No sooner was this perceived, than the heroic fugitive turned upon the nearest of them, and, with the same infallible aim, laid him dead in the path. Still another had fallen before his sure aim, and his bow was strained for another shot, when one of the other party, who had made a circuit, and come up behind him unperceived, leaped upon, and held him pinioned in his powerful grasp. His struggles were terrible; but he was immediately surrounded, overpowered and disarmed.
Though seven of their number had fallen in this brief chase, the brave Senecas were so struck with admiration at the wonderful skill and noble bearing of their captive, that they did not, as usual, instantly avenge the slain, by taking the life of the slayer; but resolved to take him along with them, and to lead him in triumph into the midst of the council of their nation, there to be disposed of by the united voices of their chiefs.
It was a sad triumph, for they were filled with grief and mortification for the loss of so many of their brave kindred, all fallen by the hand of one of the hated Katahbas, and he now completely in their power. Though stung with shame, and thirsting for a worthy revenge, yet such was their love of martial virtue, that, during all their long journey homeward, they treated their haughty captive with far greater respect and kindness than if he had acted the part of a coward, andsuffered himself to fall into their hands without any attempt at resistance. As for him, with an unsubdued spirit, and an air of proud superiority, he marched in the midst of his enemies, as if defying their power, and scorning the vengeance from which it was impossible to escape. To one unaccustomed to the modes of Indian warfare, and the code of Indian etiquette, who might have witnessed that triumphant procession, Ash-te-o-láh would have appeared the proud and absolute prince, surrounded by his admiring and subservient life-guard, rather than the subdued and helpless captive, escorted by his enemies to an ignominious execution.
Arrived within the territories of their own tribe, the triumph of the captors began. The whole nation was roused to revenge the death of their lost heroes. In every village, as they passed along, the women and children were permitted to beat and insult the unresisting captive, who bore every indignity with stoical indifference, and proud disdain, never indicating by word or look, the slightest sense of mortification or pain, nor bating one jot of his lofty and scornful bearing.
Before the great council of assembled chiefs, he maintained the same tone of fearless dignity and self-respect. His very look was defiance, that quailed not before the proudest glance of his enemy, nor showed the slightest symptom of disquietude, when the decision of the council was announced, condemning him to die by the fiery torture. It might reasonably be imagined that his past sufferings, his tedious marches, his scanty fare, lying at night on the bare ground, exposed to the changes of the weather, with his arms and legs extended and cramped in a pair of rough stocks, the insulting treatment, andcruel scourgings of the exasperated women and children, who were taught to consider it a virtue to torment an enemy, along with the anticipation of those more bitter sufferings which he was yet to endure, would have impaired his health, and subdued his hitherto proud and unyielding spirit. Such would have been the effect of similar circumstances upon the physical frame, and stout-hearted fortitude of the great majority of the heroes of that pale-faced race, who boast of a proud superiority over the unlettered children of the forest. There are few so hardy, that they could endure, not only without a murmur, but without shrinking, what Ash-te-o-láh had already suffered—few so courageous, that they could hear, with an unmoved countenance, the terrible doom which his enemies had prepared for him, or witness undisturbed the fearful arrangements, and horrid ceremonies, that were designed to give intensity and effect to its infliction.
Ash-te-o-láh was insensible to fear, and would sooner have undergone a thousand torturing deaths, than permit his enemies to see that he was conscious even of suffering. So nobly did he sustain his courage amid the trial, so well did he act his heroic part, that his enemies, who admired and inculcated the same unflinching fortitude, were surprised and vexed at his lofty superiority, and resolved, by every possible aggravation of his sufferings, to break down and subdue his proud indomitable spirit.
The hour of execution had arrived. The pile was ready for its victim. Every engine of torture, which savage ingenuity could invent, was exhibited in dreadful array, within the area selected for the trying scene.The whole nation was assembled to witness, and take part in the ceremony, which had, in their view, all the solemnity and sacredness of a religious rite. Ash-te-o-láh was led forth, unpinioned, into the midst—for the red man would scorn the weakness of leading a victim in chains to the altar.
The place of sacrifice was an open space near the bank of the river, the dark forest frowning over it on every side, the entire foreground being filled and crowded with an eager, angry multitude, to whom a sacrifice was a feast, and revenge the sweetest luxury that could be offered to their taste. Their wild parade, their savage dances, their hideous yells and demoniacal looks and gestures, designed to terrify, only fired the soul of Ash-te-o-láh to a yet prouder and more majestic bearing. His firm step, his unblenching eye, his fearless and lofty port, touched even his executioners with admiration, and struck his guards with a momentary awe.
Suddenly, as with a bolt from the cloud, he dashed down those who stood in his way, sprung out, and plunged into the water, swimming underneath, like an otter, only rising occasionally to take breath, till he reached the opposite shore. He ascended the steep bank at a bound; and then, though the arrows had been flying thick as hail about him from the time that he took to the water, and though many of the fleetest of his enemies were, like very blood-hounds, close in pursuit of him, he turned deliberately around, and with a graceful and becoming dignity, took a formal leave of them, as if he would acknowledge the extraordinary favors they had shown him. Then, raising the shrillwar-whoop of defiance, as his last salute, till some more convenient opportunity should be afforded him to do them a warrior’s homage, he darted off, like a beast broke loose from its torturing enemies. Inspired with new strength by his sudden release, and the returning hope of life, he flew with a winged speed, so as entirely to distance the fleetest of his eager pursuers. Confident in his speed, and assured that his enemies could neither overtake nor surprise him, he rested nearly a whole day, to recruit his wasted strength, and watch an opportunity to gain, if possible, some further advantage over those who were scenting his track, and thirsting for his blood.
Passing a considerable distance beyond a spot, which his well-trained sagacity told him would be the natural resting place of his pursuers, he retraced his steps, walking carefully backwards, and planting each step with great precision, in the very tracks he had just made, so as effectually to conceal the artifice of his return. In this way, he came to a high rock, in which there was a considerable fissure, very narrow at the top, but widening toward the ground, and so concealed by the dense shrubbery that grew around, that it could only be discovered by the most careful scrutiny. Into this fissure he thrust himself, scrupulously replacing every leaf that had been disturbed by his entrance, and adjusting the whole so as not to excite the slightest suspicion in his keen-sighted enemies. Here he awaited their approach.
It was near night of the second day, when the Senecas reached the spring where Ash-te-o-láh lay concealed, and where he had already rested nearly a whole day.Following his track some distance beyond, and not doubting he was yet in advance, they returned without suspicion to the spring, lighted their fires, partook hastily of their simple meal, and laid themselves down to sleep, in perfect security. They were five in number, powerful men, and thoroughly armed, after their own peculiar fashion. Ash-te-o-láh, from his narrow cavern, had watched all their movements. He well knew that they slept soundly, for they had satisfied themselves that no danger was near. But he also knew equally well how wakeful is the sleep of an Indian, and how almost impossible it is to surprise him, even in his soundest sleep. Every circumstance of his situation occurred to him, to inspire him with heroism, and urge him to attempt an impossibility, though his life was the certain forfeit of a failure. He was naked, torn, and hungry. His enraged enemies, who had so recently held him in their toils, and made him ready for a sacrifice, were now come up with him. In their little camp was every thing to relieve his wants. He would not only save his own life, but get great honor and sweet revenge, if he should succeed in cutting them off.
Resolution, a convenient spot, and a sudden surprise, might effect this main object of all his wishes and hopes. Creeping cautiously out from his covert, and approaching the sleepers with the noiseless and stealthy cunning of a fox, he seized one of their tomahawks, and wielding it with inconceivable power and rapidity, left four of them in an eternal sleep, before the fifth had time to awake and spring to his feet. The struggle that ensued was terrible; but Ash-te-o-láh had the advantage in every respect, and the conflict ended in avery few minutes, by leaving him alone in the camp of his enemies.
Selecting from the spoils of the fallen a suitable dress for himself, with the choicest of their bows, a well-stored quiver, a tomahawk, and an ample pouch of provisions, and securing to his belt the scalps of his yet breathing victims, Ash-te-o-láh set off afresh, with a light heart, and a bounding step, for the sunny vales of the Katahba. Resolved not to hazard any of the advantage he had gained, he did not allow himself any sleep, for several successive nights, only as he reclined, for a few moments, a little before day, with his back to a tree, and a clear space about him, where he could not be taken by surprise. Growing more secure, as he approached his home, and discovered no sign of his pursuing enemy, he sought out the spot where he had killed seven of the chase, in the first day of his flight, opened their yet fresh graves, added their scalps to the five then hanging to his belt, burnt their bodies to ashes, and returned in safety, laden with his hard earned trophies, to gladden his humble wigwam, and thrill the council of his people with the story of his singular adventures.
Her prophetic dream had made so deep an impression upon the mind of Minaree, that, from the first, she did not expect “the bold hunter’s return.” His lengthened absence troubled, but did not surprise her. She yielded him to a stern fate, from which there was no escape; and with a calmness which we, of another race, too often regard as coldness and insensibility, prepared to follow him to the spirit land. His return was to her soul like a visit from that land—a gift from the GreatSpirit—and ever after, to the deep devotion of her early love, was added that peculiar reverence, that tender, holy affection, which the Indians every where cherish for the departed.
When the second party of the Senecas, in the course of the third day of the pursuit, arrived at the camp of their slaughtered people, the sight gave them a greater shock than they had ever known before. In their chilled war council they concluded, that he who had performed such surprising feats in his defence, before he was captured, and since that in his naked and unarmed condition, would, now that he was well armed and free, be a match for them all, if they should continue the pursuit. They regarded him as a wizard enemy, whose charmed life it was vain and wicked to attempt. They, accordingly, buried their comrades, and returned, with heavy hearts, to their homes.