The two subalterns now rejoined their companions, and passing them, as they stood patiently to their arms, waiting for the dawn and the battle, they crept through the sleepers towards the cannon, which were placed in the rear, the cannoniers sleeping around them. Here, they found a solitary individual of the watch they had relieved, leaning moodily against one of the pieces, instead of sharing the slumber of his comrades.
Bernal Diaz surveyed him for a moment, and then touched him on the shoulder:
"Townsman," said he, "it is but a foolish thing of thee to stand upon thy legs, watching, when thy guard duty is over. Sleep a little, Gaspar—We shall have toilsome work to-morrow."
"Sleep thyself, Bernal," replied Gaspar Olea. "What care I for sleep? Come, get thee into the mud, and I will take thy place. Thou shalt have my cloak, too, if thou wilt, to keep the rain out—I can warm me by walking."
"I will do no such thing," said Bernal, grasping the hand of his friend, though Gaspar turned from him, and seemed desirous to continue the conversation no longer; "if thou wilt wake, why well. I will talk thee out of thy melancholy. Thou art very much changed, Gaspar. I know not why thou shouldst grieve after this boy. Thou must now confess, he is unworthy thy friendship."
Gaspar returned no answer, and Bernal continued to give consolation by inflicting pain,—which is the common way.
"It is allowed by all, that he is a renegade; and doubtless, also, he has become a worshipper of false gods; for he who will turn his sword against his countrymen, is a rogue and a blasphemer—That is my opinion. Gil Ortaga said—"
"The fiend seize Ortaga, and thee into the bargain!" said Gaspar, angrily. "If a deer be wounded, and hide himself in a by-way, his fellows will not hunt after him, to gore him!—Why shouldst thou have less humanity than a deer?"
"Come, Gaspar, if I have offended thee, I ask thy pardon," said Bernal Diaz; "for thou art my townsman and friend, though we have quarrelled sometimes; and what I say, I say with a good meaning."
Gaspar looked over his shoulder, and finding that Najara had returned to the front, he grasped Bernal's hand, and said earnestly,
"Let there be ill will and ill words between us no more; for who knows what may come to us to-morrow? I know what is said of Juan Lerma. He is with the infidels—but what drove him among them? He is a renegade, too,—yet what made him so? He teaches the enemy to cut ditches and throw up ramparts, to lay ambushes and attack ships, and a thousand other feats and stratagems, not to be looked for among barbarians. This they say,—all say; and some swear they have seen him, in a Mexican cloak, fighting at the head of the pagans, and knew him by his stature and voice. Let us believe all this—What then? Bernal, it is a thought that preys upon me, remembering his honour, his goodness, and truth,—and this it is,—that a damnable malice has driven him, against his own will, into the den of perdition. Hark thee, here, in thine ear—Thou rememberest the expedition to the South Sea? Before that, thou knowest, I was in great favour with Cortes, whom I loved well, for he had done me many good deeds in Cuba. About that time, Juan Lerma lost favour, and no one knew why; for as to censuring the indignities offered to Montezuma, that was a crime committed by some hundreds besides, who were never punished. The cause, Bernal, the true cause,—I would I might tell thee the true cause: but I swore an oath never to breathe it to mortal man. ButthisI may speak, (and thou must afterwards forget it.) I see things more clearly than I did before; and methinks, this night, mine eyes are further opened. I see very well, that we are all deluded and abused, and Juan Lerma an innocent man. Hearken then to what I say. One night, Cortes came to me, looking more like a demon than a man, and he said to me, 'Gaspar Olea, thou must kill me a snake, that has stung me upon the breast.' And with that he told me a thing, which I cannot speak; but this followed—I agreed that I would kill Juan Lerma."
"Thou art beside thyself, Gaspar!" said Bernal, with the utmost astonishment.
"I had good reason given to me," continued Olea; "and at that time I had but little acquaintance with the young man, and no love; and I was bound very strongly to Cortes. Understand me, Bernal: I did not consent to play the part of an assassin, for that was no part for Gaspar Olea. But being convinced the thing was just, and that the young man was a knave deserving death, I agreed to exasperate him into a quarrel; wherein I appeased my conscience, by thinking of the risk I ran, he being reckoned very good at all weapons. But what dost thou think? The very next night comes me Cortes again, with quite another story. 'Gaspar,' said he, 'the thing I told thee was false, and I have done the young man a wrong. Wherefore, quarrel with him not, and forget what I have told thee;' adding many things which satisfied my mind, that the youth was an innocent man, very basely slandered. This caused me to think well of him; and I consented to go with him to the South Sea. There, Bernal, I learned to love him, for he was brave, and noble, and good;—ay, by my faith, I loved him better than ever I had loved the general. But 'What then?' you will say; 'Whereto tends this?' To this—and it is damnable to think upon: The General deceived me,—he repented having made me his confidant; but he still longed for the blood of Juan Lerma. Hence the South Sea scheme, devised for our destruction—(At this moment, I see it plainly,)—for Juan's, because of the General's hate, and formine, Bernal, because he had confided to me a secret of which he was ashamed. Ay, by my faith! he repented him that passion had made him so indiscreet; and therefore designed to put me out of the way. The soldiers have a story that he was angry with me for some freedom of speech. This is false. He smiled on me to the last, and thus lulled my fears. Neither Juan nor myself had any suspicion of evil intentions. He made it appear, that the expedition was given to us, because of his regard for our courage; and he deigned to tell me in secret, that his chief reason for sending Lerma, was that he might be angered no longer by his censures,—Juan being then very melancholy and peevish, in consequence of the death of some old companion he had killed in Española. But, Bernal, he deceived us both, as I can now see clearly. He made it appear to the soldiers, that he was sorry to punish Juan—Nay some said he shed tears, among the Indians, when he signed the death-warrant. But this was hypocrisy. I know that he was rejoiced; for he remembered the old cause, and abhorred him."
"Marry," said Bernal Diaz, "it cannot be doubted he did. But the cause, Gaspar? I do not ask thee, what it was: but was it enough to excuse such rancour?"
"If true,yes," replied Gaspar, with deep emphasis: "But it was not true. Juan was innocent. I have probed his heart a thousand times, while we were in the desert together, and when he knew not what I was doing. He has not wronged Cortes—no, nor any other living creature. This I told the General, when we returned to Tezcuco, after the campaign round the lake. But what wouldst thou think? He averred that he had forgot the thing;—that it was very foolish;—a groundless slander brought against Juan by an enemy;—that he loved him as well as ever, and proceeded against him only on account of broken laws and decrees;—that he durst not pardon him, since his affection was well known, (hisaffection, Bernal!) and the men would cry out against his favouritism. I knew he spoke falsely, and so I told him. He hardened my heart; and then I ran to Villafana, who had the power to save him, and promised to make him our chief captain."
"Now that you speak of Villafana," said Bernal, "it reminds me of this: Why, had Juan Lerma been a man of honour and a Christian, should he have joined in the murderous plots of that detestable traitor?"
"Thou shouldst ask that ofme," said Gaspar, fiercely. "But it matters not. Who says that Juan Lerma joined him? Najara avers that he kept them from speech together; and Luis Rafaga, who died of the wounds he got among the piraguas, a week since, declared to his comrades as well as the priest, (and being of the prison-guard, he knew all,) that Juan fought in the prison with Villafana, about the list, the very night that Villafana was hanged, and would have been killed, but for the coming of La Monjonaza. I saw the traitor, myself, when he came among the cavaliers; and he was hurt in the shoulder. Does this look like joining him? Trust me, Bernal, we have done a great wrong to my young captain; and I cannot die, without thinking that I leave behind me one man, at least, to do him justice. This is what I say:—Not his crime, but the general's secret malice, has driven him among the infidels. He is a prisoner with them, or perhaps he has already died the death of sacrifice. They lie, who say they have seen, or will see him in arms against us. On this I will gage my life; and I pray heaven to take it, the moment the pledge is forfeited! I swear it—Amen."
The worst point in the character of a dog, is that, in all the quarrels betwixt others of his species, he always takes part against the feebler. In this particular, he is sometimes aped by his master,—not, indeed, in an absolute conflict between man and man; for ninety in a hundred will, in such case, befriend the weaker party,—but in those combats which an individual wages with an evil destiny. Ill thoughts naturally follow upon ill luck; and it is the curse of misfortune to be followed by ungenerous suspicion and still more odious crimination. As the whole army were acquainted with the manner of Juan's flight, or rather captivity, they did not hesitate to believe him up in arms against them; and every repulse which they endured from the barbarians, they traced to the malignance and activity of the exile's treason. Fear and invention together clothed him with the vestments of a fallen angel; and if some savage, more gigantic and ferocious than the rest, distinguished himself in the front of battle, straightway a dozen voices invoked curses upon the head of the unhappy Lerma. There were few who did not forget his sorrows and wrongs, and speak of him only with execrations; and many had already begun to anticipate, as the chief triumph of victory, and the most delightful of all their hopes, the privilege of burning him alive on the temple-top, or even sacrificing him to their vengeance, after the equally horrific manner of the Mexicans.
While Bernal Diaz was thus conversing with the outcast's only friend, there came from the distant gates of Xoloc, a suppressed hum, as of an army arising from its slumbers. This was soon followed by the sound of heavy bodies of men, approaching over the causeway; and it soon became evident, that the morn was to be ushered in with the usual horrors of contention.
"Up, knaves!" cried the voice of the hunchback, "ye grumbling, growling, wallowing, swine, that call yourselves lions and tigers! up, and shake the clay from your cloaks, before it is trodden off by the hoofs of the horsemen!"
As he spoke, a cavalier galloped up to the party, and drawing in his steed, while the men rose to their feet, he exclaimed,
"Halon, Najara, man! where art thou? Dost thou talk thus in thy sleep?"
"Ay, may it please your excellency," said the hunchback, recognizing the voice of Cortes; "for it is well, on such a post, that a soldier should have the faculty of issuing commands asleep, as well as waking."
"Dost thou hear, Diaz?" muttered Gaspar in his companion's ear. "Wouldst thou think now to what the devil has tempted me, ever since I have seen clearly that of which I have spoken? I tell thee, man, I have sometimes thought it were but a turn of good friendship, to kill the man who has brought these things upon Juan Lerma!"
"Thou art mad!" said the historian in alarm. But his further remonstrance was cut short by Cortes riding by, and even urging his charger, though at a cautious pace, beyond the watchfire, as if to reconnoitre with his own eyes, the situation of the foe.
"Fear me not," said Gaspar, bitterly. "You shall see me do what I have done before at Xochimilco,—pluck him out of the jaws of the devourers, if need be. I think I was then enchanted; for, when I saw the Indians have him off his horse, I said to myself, 'If I let him die now, no harm happens to Juan Lerma.' But come—let us follow after him. And bid some of your dull sluggards along with us, lest the pagans should make a sally from the rampart. Hark! he has ridden up, till their fire shines on his armour, and they see him! He will have the villains upon us, before the reinforcements arrive!"
The Captain-General did, indeed, advance so far that he was seen by the pagan sentinels, who whistled out a shrill note of alarm, and then bent their bows against him, till his corslet and the iron buckler which he carried before his face, rattled under the crashing arrowheads. Thus admonished, he rode a little back, and was joined by three or four other cavaliers, who came galloping up from the causeway.
"What say ye, cavaliers?" he cried. "Methinks there is not even a duck lying near the causey-side, much less a brace or two of my brigantines."
"If your excellency be looking for the ships," said Najara, "I can satisfy your mind. There were some five or six here an hour since: I heard the plunging of their anchors on both sides of the dike."
"Ah! I will set thine ears against mine eyes any dark morn, Corcobado.—Fetch up the Indians, Quinones; and bid the horsemen follow at their heels. And hark ye, Najara,—let your drowsy knaves take post on the causey-sides, lest they be trampled to death under the feet of my red pioneers. Wheel up the pieces some ninety or an hundred paces in advance; and see that your matchsticks be dry and combustible. Where didst thou hear the sound of the anchors?"
"But a little distance on the lake; and methinks I can see two of the vessels on the left, betwixt us and the Indians.—His valour, Don Garci Holguin, did but now take up the señor Guzman—"
"A pest upon Guzman!" said the general, sharply. "Get thee to thy men, and move me the ordnance without delay."
"'A pest upon Guzman?'" muttered Gaspar. "I have a thought of him also; but I know not that he has done Juan a wrong. At all events, methinks, his case is like mine.—The general's secrets are unlucky."
With that, he retired, and took post among the soldiers.
In a few moments, a numerous body of Indian auxiliaries made their appearance, bearing, besides their ordinary weapons, which were slung on their backs, certain hoes and mattocks, calledcoas, some of stone, others of copper, but most of them of some hard wood. It was the business of these men to fill up the ditches, after the defenders had been driven away by a fierce cannonade from the ships, and by incessant discharges of stones and arrows from fleets of piraguas, manned by other Indian confederates, which lay near the brigantines. And here it may be observed, that the labour of filling a ditch was much inferior to that of re-opening it; and the causeways being constructed of stones as well as clay, it was not possible to remove the former to any great extent. Hence, the gaps that had been once or twice filled, remained, notwithstanding the toil of the besieged, so shallow, that they might, at almost any period, be forded; though this, usually, was not done, until they were filled above the level of the water.
Immediately after these pioneers, came a small body of horsemen, behind whom were ranged the lancers and swordsmen; the musketeers and cross-bowmen being chiefly distributed among the ships.
These arrangements having been made, and the Tlascalans halting within the distance of two hundred paces from the ditch, and throwing themselves flat upon their faces on the causeway, to guard against the first volleys of the foe, all were directed to remain in repose, until the coming daylight should give the signal for battle.
Nothing now broke the silence of the hour, save the dropping sound of paddles from two numerous squadrons of canoes, filled with allies, which were stationed on the flanks of the rear.
Slowly the morning dawned; and the foremost Tlascalan, raising his head from the earth, could behold, dimly relieved against an atmosphere of mist, the outlines of the foe, yet loitering upon the rampart behind the ditch, and warming his naked body, for the last time, over his smouldering fire. And now, also, were seen the brigantines, four in number, which had taken post, long before day, on either flank of the ditch, while a line of well-manned piraguas extended some distance beyond them.
The savages gathered up their arms, and leaping upon the ramparts, shook them with defiance at the besiegers, taunting them with such words of opprobrium as marked both their hatred and resolution.
"Ho-ah! ho-ah! What says the king of Castile? what says the king of Castile?" they cried,—for all the offers of peace and composition, (sent occasionally by the hands of liberated captives,) being made by Cortes in the name of his master, the barbarians prefaced every defiance by expressing their contempt for his authority,—"what says the king of Castile? He is a woman,—he shows not his face,—he is a woman. What says Malintzin? what says Malintzin? He calls for peace,—he is a coward: he fights in the house, when his foe is a prisoner, but he calls for peace, when Mexico comes out upon the causeways. What say the Teuctlis,—the Spaniards,—the sons of the gods? They bring the Tlascalans, to fight their battles,—the Tlascalans, the Tezcucans, the Chalquese, and the other little dogs of Mexico. Their flesh is very bitter, and their hearts sour: the mitzlis and ocelotls, the wolves and the vultures, in the king's garden, say, 'Give us better food, for this is the flesh of crocodiles.' What say the men of Tlascala? They are slaves,—they say they are slaves, and what matters it where they fight? If Malintzin prevail, wo for Tlascala! for he will scourge her with whips, and burn her with brands, even from the old man with gray hairs down to the little infant that screams: If Mexico be victorious, wo for Tlascala! for we will strike her down with our swords, as we strike the maize-stalks in the harvest-field. Ho-ah! ho-ah! Come on, then, ye women, cowards, and slaves! for we are Mexicans, and our gods are hungry!"
With such ferocious exclamations, the bold barbarians provoked the besiegers; and with such they were used, each morning, to incite them to the work of slaughter.
The Spaniards still stood fast, and the Tlascalans lay upon the earth, receiving the arrows that were for awhile shot at them; until the Mexicans, exhausting their voices with outcries, at last ceased to continue them, and assumed an attitude as quiescent as that of their foes.
While they thus remained, each party staring the other in the face, and the rapidly increasing light made it evident that a very considerable multitude of infidels were gathered upon the dike, a trumpet was winded behind the Tlascalans, in one single, prolonged, and powerful note, that woke up the echoes of mountains, even at the distance of leagues. It was answered, first from the west, from the dike of Tacuba, in a blast both strong and cheery, and immediately after, though much more faintly, from the northern causeway, where Sandoval was marshalling his forces.
As soon as these signals, for such they were, had been exchanged between the leaders, the trumpet of Cortes sounded again, with a succession of short, sharp, and fierce notes, such as blast fury into men's hearts, through their ears. Instantly, and as if by enchantment, the four falconets in the brigantines were discharged, and swept hundreds of the barbarians from the causeway. Then followed the rattle of musketry, mingled with the clang of cross-bows; which din was continued, until the gunners, loading again, discharged their pieces a second time upon the enemy. And now the Tlascalan pioneers, springing up, rushed, with wild yells to the ditch, which they began to fill with frantic speed.
Notwithstanding the boldness of their defiance, the Mexicans made a much less manly resistance than was expected. But they stood as long as any human beings could do, exposed between two deadly batteries, both plied with unexampled activity, and both strengthened by the addition of the native archers in the piraguas. They handled their bows and slings as they could, and they cheered one another with shouts; but it was evident that they must soon give way, and take post behind some ditch unapproachable by the brigantines.
As soon as this became known, the Spanish foot-soldiers began to encourage one another, in anticipation of the charge which they were soon to be called on to make; and Bernal Diaz, losing his grave equanimity, in the prospect of adding another leaf to his chaplet of immortality, ran briskly to and fro, in virtue of his official rank, which could scarce be defined in any one title of modern military nomenclature, and cheered every soldier with whom he happened to be well acquainted. In the course of his rounds, he fell upon Gaspar, from whom he had been before separated, and whom he now seized by the hand, crying,
"Now, Gaspar, my dear brother of Medina del Campo, we shall have such a rouse among the red infidels as will make posterity stare."
He was then about to extend his exhortations to others, when Gaspar arrested him, turning upon him, to his great surprise, a countenance extremely pale and agitated.
"Art thou sick, man?" cried the historian, "or art thou worn out with watching? A few knocks, Gaspar, will soon warm thy blood."
"Bernal," said his friend, with an unnatural laugh, "wert thou ever in fear?"
"In fear?" echoed Bernal Diaz. "Never, before an infidel;—never, at least, butonce, when they had me in their hands, and I thought they were carrying me to the temple."
"What were thy feelings then?" demanded Gaspar, with singular eagerness: "Was there ice in thy bosom, and lead in thy brain? Were thy lips cold and thy tongue hot? Did thy hand shake, thy teeth chatter, thy leg fail?—Faugh! what should makemefear to go into battle?"
"Fear!thoufear?" said Bernal, anxiously. "Thou art beside thyself, never believe me else,—frenzied with over-watching."
"I tell thee," said Gaspar, with a grin that was indeed expressive of terror, "that, if thou hunt this whole army through, thou wilt not find a white-livered loon of them all, who is, at this moment, more a coward than myself. Why should I be so? Is there an axe at my ear, and a foot on my breast? There are an hundred stout Spaniards, and thirty score Tlascalans betwixt me and the foe; and yet I am in great terror of mind. I have heard that such things are forewarnings!"
"If thou art of this temper, indeed," said honest Bernal, with more disgust than he cared to conceal, "get thee to the rear, in God's name, and thou mayst light somewhere upon a flask of maguey-liquor. Shame upon thee, man! canst thou be so faint-hearted?"
"Ay!" replied Gaspar; "yet I go not to the rear, notwithstanding. I thought thou shouldst have counselled me.—Fare thee well, then, Bernal.—Thou dost not know, that one can be in terror of death, and yet meet death without flinching. Fare thee well, brother; and what angry things I have said to thee, forget, even for the sake of our early days. Fare thee well, Bernal, fare thee well."
The Barba-Roxa locked his friend in a warm embrace, kissed him on both cheeks, and then starting away, rushed towards the front, with an alacrity that seemed utterly to disprove his humbling confession. Whether or not fear had, indeed, for the first time in his life, beset him, it is certain that Gaspar Olea did, that day, achieve exploits which eclipsed those of the most distinguished cavaliers, and consecrated his memory for ever in the hearts of his comrades.
The Tlascalans, working with furious zeal, had now so choked up the ditch, that stones and earth already appeared above the water. The Mexicans wavered, and seemed incapable of maintaining their post for a moment longer.
The fiery spirit of the Captain-General became incensed with impatience and hope. He rose upon his stirrups, and exalting his voice, always of vast and thrilling power, exclaimed,
"This time, brothers! we will seize the bridges before the pagans have leisure to destroy them. Footmen! see that ye follow after the horse, with all your speed. Cavaliers! put your lances in rest, and be ready. What, trumpeter! speak thy signal to the pioneers; and, brave hearts! fear not the gap, for it is strong enough to support you.—Sound, trumpeter, sound!"
The trumpeter winded a peculiar blast, and the Tlascalans, dividing asunder, flung themselves, from either side of the causeway, into the lake,—a feat often before practised,—and thus left the whole space up to the ditch vacant for the horsemen. At a second blast of the instrument, the cavaliers spurred up to the chasm, and crossing it as they could, and clambering over the rampart, dashed down at once upon the disordered infidels. The footmen followed, running with all their strength, and returning the cheers, with which those in the ships beheld the exploit of the cavalry.
Meanwhile, the Mexicans, seized with unusual consternation, fled with great haste towards the city, pursued so closely by the cavaliers, that they made no attempt at a stand, even at the second ditch; nor did they pause a moment, according to their usual tactics, to destroy the bridge that spanned it. It was indeed a narrow chasm, with an unfinished breastwork, and could not have been maintained for an hour. Another, equally narrow and indefensible, occurred at a distance of less than two hundred paces; and at such intervals, it appeared that the dike was perforated, as far as it extended, even within the limits of the island.
The ardour of the cavaliers, aided by that incentive to valour, the back of the foe, carried them over three several bridges, before they bethought them of the propriety of drawing up their horses a little, and waiting for the footmen.
"Halon!halt! and God give us better heads to our helmets, or better helms to our heads!" cried Juan of Salamanca, a valiant young hidalgo, who had won immortal renown upon the field of Otumba: "Does your excellency intend that we twenty Paladins of Spain shall sack this city with our lances and bucklers? In my mind, we should divide a moiety of the honour with those who will share a full half of the profit."
"Ay," said another, an ancient hidalgo, as all checked their steeds at the sudden call of the young man: "We should be wise, lest we fall into an ambush. Let us wait here for the footmen."
"And have the bridges torn up before our eyes!" cried Cortes; with ungovernable fire. "Heaven fights for us to-day; the infidels are seized with a panic, and they are but few in number."
"Say not so, señor," exclaimed Salamanca, pointing in front, where they could see the fugitives checked by what seemed a flood of armed men, pouring out from the city. "They are in no panic; but we took them too early. Their drum has not yet been beaten upon the temple-top; but we shall hear it now, soon enough.—What ho! ye lame ducks with swords and lances! ye lagging footmen! come on like men, and be fleeter."
"Let us pass on, at least, slowly," said Cortes. "The footmen are nigh, and we may yet gain two or three bridges. Do you not see, we are almost upon the island?—Hark! I hear the trumpet of Alvarado!—He will win the race to the pyramid!—Press on, gallant cavaliers, press on!"
They were indeed within but a short distance from the island, surrounded by the ruins of the water suburb; and it seemed yet easy to secure, at least, two more bridges, over which the fugitives had fled without pausing, and which could be gained before the causeway should be obstructed by the advance of the dense column from the city. Calling out therefore to the infantry to hasten, and finding themselves already joined by two or three of the fleetest of foot, of whom the Barba-Roxa was one, they again dashed onwards, and secured the desired passes.
They now found themselves so near to the island, as to be within reach of annoyance from the adjoining housetops; and this circumstance, together with the unexpected conduct of the Mexicans, produced such alarm in the bosom of the cavalier who had seconded Salamanca's caution before, that he exclaimed,
"Señor mio, and good brothers, let us think a little what we do, before proceeding further. Let us beware of an ambuscado. The knaves yielded us the rampart, almost without a blow; and they leave the ditches bridged behind them. This is not the way Mexicans fight, when they fight honestly. Lo you, now, yonder is a herd of twenty thousand men, with flags and banners, and they stop at sight of us, as if in dismay! What does this mean, if not some decoy for a stratagem?"
"It means," said Cortes, "that they are in a perplexity, because their priests have not yet given them the signal to fall on: and of this perplexity it should be our wisdom to take advantage. See, now, the dogs are in confusion!—Nay, by my conscience! 'tis the confusion of attack, and they come against us! Couch your lances, and at them! for it is better they should feel the weight of our horses, than we the shock of their stormy bodies. On, footmen, on! spur, cavaliers, spur! Santiago and Spain! and down with the paynim scum!"
At these words of exhortation, the horsemen closed their ranks, shouted their war-cries, and dashed with fearless audacity upon the advancing warriors. They swept the causeway, like a moving wall, and however insignificant their numbers, it did not seem possible for the enemy to withstand the violence of their onset; indeed, before a drop of blood was shed, they manifested such symptoms of hesitation and wavering, as greatly exalted the courage of the assailants. They plied their slings and arrows, indeed, they darted their javelins, brandished their spears, and added their discordant shrieks and wild whistling to the shouts of the Spaniards; but still it was in a kind of confusion and disorder, that showed them to be, from some cause or other, not yet prepared for combat. Nay, some were seen, as the galloping squadron approached, to cast themselves into the lake, as if in fear, and swim to the nearest ruins for protection.
This degree of disrelish for battle was a phenomenon, so unusual in the character of barbarians brave not only to folly, but to madness, that a wary commander would have laid it to heart, and pondered over it with suspicion. But not so the Captain-General. He remembered, with Salamanca, that the sound of the enormous drum on the temple of Mexitli, with which, each morning, the Mexican emperor gave the signal for battle, had not yet been heard; and as there seemed to be as close, and almost as fanatical, a connexion between the thunder of this instrument and the courage of the pagans, as he had found, in former days, in the case of the sacred horn, he did not doubt that their present timidity was caused entirely by the failure of the signal. Perhaps he thought it increased also by their sense of weakness; for, now that he was nigh, it became obvious that their numbers were much less considerable than they had appeared at a distance. At all events, they were in fear, and they wavered; which was enough to give his valour the upperhand of his prudence.—It is with martial ardour as with a pestilence;—it ravens most furiously among the ranks of fear.
Fierce, therefore, was the zeal of his cavaliers, and their hearts flamed at the thought of blood. They raised their voices in a cry of victory, and bounded like thunderbolts among their opponents. The shock was decisive; in a moment, the whole mass of pagans was put to rout. They flung down their arms, and betook themselves to flight. Those who could, fled down along the dike into the city; others flung themselves into the water, and swam to the island, or to the neighbouring ruins. The only ones who made resistance, were those whose hearts were transfixed by Spanish lances, before they could turn to retreat. Such men uttered the yell of battle, and, in their dying agonies, thrust with their own hands, the spears further through their vitals, that they might be nearer to the foe, and strike the macana once more for Tenochtitlan.
"On, ye men of the foot!" cried the Captain-General. "Let the Tlascalans fire the houses behind me; for now we are again upon the island. Charge, cavaliers, charge! The saints open a path for us. Charge, my brothers, charge! andvivafor Spain and our honour!"
The horsemen pursued along the dike, spearing, or tumbling into the water, the few who had the heart to resist; and so great was, or seemed, the terror of the barbarians, that the victors penetrated even within the limits of the island, until the turrets of houses, from which they were separated only by the lateral canals, darkened them with their shadows. Upon these were clustered many pagans, who shot at them both arrows and darts, but with so little energy, that it seemed as if despondence or fatuity had robbed them of their usual vigour. Hence, the excited cavaliers gave them but little attention, not doubting that they would be soon dislodged by the infantry. They were even regardless of circumstances still more menacing; and if a lethargy beset the infidel that day, it is equally certain that a species of distraction overwhelmed the brains of the Spaniards. It seemed as if the great object of their ambition depended more upon their following the fugitives to the temple-square than upon any other feat; and to this they encouraged one another with vivas and invocations to the saints. They could already behold the huge bulk of the pyramid, rising up at the distance of a mile, as if it shut up the street; and its terraced sides, thronged with multitudes of men, seemed to prove to them, that the frighted Mexicans were running to their gods for protection. It is true, they perceived vast bodies of infidels blocking up the avenue afar, as if to dispute their passage beyond the canalled portion of the island; but they regarded them with scorn.
They rushed onwards, occasionally arrested by some flying group, but only for a moment.
There was a place, not far within the limits of the island, where they found the causeway, for the space of at least sixty paces, so delved and pared away on either side, that it scarce afforded a passage for two horsemen abreast. The device was of recent execution, for they beheld the mattocks of labourers still sticking in the earth, as if that moment abandoned. This circumstance, so strange, so novel, and so ominous, it might be supposed, would have aroused them to suspicion. The passage, as it was, so contracted, broken, and rugged, looked prodigiously like the Al-Sirat, or bridge to paradise of the Mussulmans,—that arch, narrow as the thread of a famished spider, over which it is so much easier to be precipitated than to pass with safety. Yet grim and threatening as it was, there was but one among the cavaliers who raised a voice of warning. As the Captain-General, without a moment's hesitation, pushed his horse forward, to lead the way, and without a single expression of surprise, the ancient hidalgo, who had twice before sounded a note of alarm, now exclaimed,—
"For the love of heaven, pause, señor! This is a trap that will destroy us."
"Art thou afraid, Alderete?" cried Cortes, looking back to him, grimly. "This is no place for a King's Treasurer," (such was Alderete, the royal Contador.)—"Get thee back, then, to the first ditch, and fill it up to thy liking.Thiswill be charge enough for a volunteer."
"I will fight where thou wilt, when thou wilt, and as boldly as thou wilt," said the indignant cavalier; "but here play the madman no longer."
"I will take thy counsel,—rest where I am,—and, in an hour's time, see myself shut out from the city by a ditch, sixty yards wide! God's benison upon thy long beard! and mayst thou be wiser. Forward, friends! Do you not see? the knaves are running amain to check us, and recover their unfinished gap! On! courage, and on! Santiago and at them!"
It was indeed as Cortes said. The infidels, who blocked up the streets afar, were now seen running towards them, with the most terrific yells, as if to seize, before it was too late, a pass so easily maintained. The cavaliers, animated by the words of their leader, were quite as resolute to disappoint them, and therefore rode across as rapidly as they could. The pass was not only narrow, but tortuous and irregular; which increased the difficulties of surmounting it; so that the Mexicans, running with the most frantic speed, were within a bowshot, before Cortes had spurred his steed upon the broader portion of the dike. But, as if there were something dreadful to the infidels, in the spectacle of the great Teuctli of the East, thus again in their stronghold, they came to a sudden halt, and testified their valour only by yelling, and waving their spears and banners.
"Courage, friends, and quick!" cried Cortes. "The dogs are beset with fear, and will not face us. Ye shall hear other yells in a moment. Haste, valiant cavaliers! haste, men of Spain! and make room for the footmen, who are behind you."
The screams of the barbarians were loud and incessant; but in the midst of the din, as he turned to cheer his cavaliers over the broken passage, Don Hernan's ears were struck by the sound of a Christian voice, calling from the midst of the pagans, with thrilling vehemence,
"Beware! beware! Back to the causey! Beware!"
"Hark!" cried Alderete, who had already passed; "Our Saint calls to us! Let us return!"
"It is a trick of the fiend!" exclaimed Cortes, in evident perturbation of mind. "Come on, good friends, and let us seize vantage-ground; or the dogs will drive us, singly, into the ditches."
"Back! back!" shouted the cavaliers behind—"We are ambushed! We are surrounded!"
Their further exclamations were lost in a tempest of discordant shrieks, coming from the front and the rear, from the heavens above, and, as they almost fancied, from the earth beneath. They looked northward, towards the pyramid,—the whole broad street was filled with barbarians, rushing towards them with screams of anticipated triumph; they looked back to the lake,—the causeway was swarming with armed men, who seemed to have sprung from the waters; to either side, and beheld the canals of the intersecting streets lashed into foam by myriads of paddles; while, at the same moment, the few pagans, who had annoyed them from the housetops, appeared transformed, by the same spell of enchantment, into hosts innumerable, with spirits all of fury and flame.
"What says the king of Castile? What says the king of Castilenow?" roared the exulting infidels.
"Santiago! and God be with us!" exclaimed Cortes, waving his hand, with a signal for retreat, that came too late: "Cross but this devil-trap again, and—"
Before he could conclude the vain and useless order, the drum of the emperor sounded upon the pyramid. It was an instrument of gigantic size and horrible note, and was held in no little fear, especially after the events of this day, by the Spaniards, who fabled that it was covered with the skins of serpents. It was a fit companion for the horn of Mexitli; which latter, however, being a sacred instrument, was sounded only on the most urgent and solemn occasions.
The first tap,—or rather peal, for the sound came from the temple more like the roll of thunder than of a drum,—was succeeded by yells still more stunning; and while the cavaliers, retreating, struggled, one by one, to recross the narrow pass, they were set upon with such fury as left them but little hope of escape.
If the rashness of Cortes had brought his friends into this fatal difficulty, he now seemed resolved to atone his fault, by securing their retreat, even although at the expense of his life. It was in vain that those few cavaliers who had succeeded in reaching him, before the onslaught began, besought him to take his chance among them, and recross, leaving them to cover his rear.
"Get ye over yourselves," he cried, with grim smiles, smiting away the headmost of the assailants from the street: "If I have brought ye among coals of fire, heaven forbid I should not broil a little in mine own person. Quick, fools! over and hasten! over and quick! and by and by I will follow you."
For a moment, it seemed as if the terror of his single arm would have kept the barbarians at bay. But, waxing bolder, as they saw his attendants dropping one by one away, they began to close upon him, and his situation became exceedingly critical. He looked over his shoulder, and perceived that his followers threaded their way along the broken dike with less difficulty than he at first feared. The very narrowness of the passage left but little foothold for the enemy; and their attacks, being made principally from canoes, were not such as wholly to dishearten a cavalier, whose steed was as strongly defended by mail as his own body. Encouraged by this assurance, the Captain-General still maintained his post, rushing ever and anon upon the closing herds, and mowing right and left with his trusty blade, while his gallant charger pawed down opposition with his hoofs. Thus he fought, with the mad valour that made his enemies so often deem him almost a demigod, until satisfied that his own attempt to cross the pass could no longer embarrass the efforts of his followers. Then, charging once more upon the pagans, and even with greater fury than before, he wheeled round with unexpected rapidity, and uttering his famous cry, "Santiago and at them!" dashed boldly at the passage.
Seven pagans sprang upon the path. They were armed like princes, and the red fillets of the House of Darts waved among their sable locks.
"The Teuctli shall have the tribute of Mexico!" shouted one, flourishing a battle-axe that seemed of weight sufficient, in his brawny arm, to dash out the charger's brains at a blow. The words were not understood by Cortes; but he recognized at once the visage of the Lord of Death.
"I have thee, pagan!" he cried, striking at the bold barbarian. The blow failed; for one of the others, springing at the charger's head with unexampled audacity, seized him by the bridle, so that he reared backwards, and thus foiled the aim of his rider. The next moment, the Spanish steel fell upon the neck of the daring infidel, killing him on the spot; yet not so instantaneously as to avert a disaster, which it seemed the object of his fury to produce. His convulsive struggles, as he clung, dying, to the rein, drove the steed off the narrow ledge; and thus losing his foothold, the noble animal rolled over into the deep canal, burying the Captain-General in the flood.
"The general! save the general!" shrieked the only Christian, who, in this horrible melée, (for the battle was now universal,) beheld the condition of Cortes, and who, although on foot, and bristling with arrows that had stuck fast in his cotton-armour, and resisted by other weapons at every step, had yet the courage to run to the rescue. It was Gaspar Olea. His visage was yet wan, and expressive of the unusual horror preying upon his mind; yet he rushed forward, as if he had never known a fear. He exalted his voice, while crying for assistance, until it was heard far back upon the causeway; yet he reached the place of Don Hernan's mischance alone. The scene was dreadful: the nobles had flung themselves into the flood, and were dragging the stunned and strangling hero from the steed, which lay upon its side on the rugged and shelving edge of the dike, unable to rise, and perishing with the most fearful struggles; while, all the time, the elated infidels expressed their triumph with shouts of frantic joy.
"Courage, captain! be of good heart, señor!" exclaimed the Barba-Roxa, striking down one of the captors at a single blow: "Courage! for we have good help nigh," he continued, attacking a second with the same success: "Courage, señor, courage!"
No Mexican helm of dried skins, and no breast-plate of copper, could resist the machete of a man like Gaspar. Yet his first success was caused rather by the Mexicans being so intently occupied with their captive, that they thought of nothing else, than by any miraculous exertion of skill and prowess. He slew two, before they dreamed of attack, and he mortally wounded a third, ere the others could turn to drive him back. A fourth rushed upon him, before he could again lift up his weapon, and grasping him in his arms, with the embrace of a mountain bear, leaped with him into the canal.
There were now but two left in possession of Cortes; yet his resistance even against these was ineffectual. His sword had dropped from his hand; a violent blow had burst his helmet, and confounded his brain; and he had been lifted from the water, already half suffocated. Yet he struggled as he could, and catching one of his foes by the throat, he succeeded in overturning him into the water, and there grappled with him among the shallows. The remaining barbarian, yelling for assistance, flung himself upon the pair; and though twenty Spaniards, headed by Bernal Diaz and the hunchback, were now within half as many paces, Cortes would have perished where he lay, had not assistance arose from an unexpected quarter.
Among the vast numbers who came crowding from the city over the broken passage, were several who knew, by the cry of the seventh noble, that Malintzin was in his hands; and they rushed forward, to insure his capture. The foremost and fleetest of these was distinguished from the rest by a frame of towering height; and, had there been a Spaniard by to notice him, would have been still more remarkable from the fact, that he uttered all his cries in good, expressive Castilian. He bore a Spanish weapon, too, and his first act, as he flung himself into the ditch where Cortes was drowning, was to strike it through the neck of the uppermost noble. His next was to spurn the other from the breast of the general, whom he raised to his feet, murmuring in his ear,
"Be of good heart, señor! for you are saved."
What more he would have said and done can only be imagined; for, at that moment, the Barba-Roxa rushed out of the ditch, followed close at hand by the hunchback, Bernal Diaz, and others, and seeing his commander, as he thought, in the hands of a foeman, he lifted his good sword once again, and smote him over the head, crying,
"Down, infidel dog! andvivafor Spain and our general!"
At this moment, there rushed up a crew of fresh combatants, Spaniards from the rear and infidels from the front. But before they closed upon him entirely, the Barba-Roxa caught sight of the man he had struck down, and beheld, in his pale and quivering aspect, the features of Juan Lerma.
The unhappy wretch, thus beholding the beloved youth, with his own eyes, a leaguer and helpmate of the infidel, and punished to death, as it seemed, by his hand, set up a scream wildly vehement, and broke from the group of Spaniards, who now surrounded Cortes, endeavouring to drag him in safety over the pass. The exile had been seen by others as well as Gaspar, and many a ferocious cry of exultation burst from their lips, as they saw him fall.
Meanwhile, Gaspar, distracted in mind, and dripping with blood, for he had not escaped from the ditch and the fierce embrace of his fourth antagonist, without many severe wounds, endeavoured to retrace his steps to the spot where Juan had fallen. It was occupied by infidels, who drove him into the ditch, where his legs were grasped by a drowning Mexican, who raised himself a little from the water, and displayed, between his neck and shoulder, a yawning chasm, rather than a wound, from which the blood, at every panting expiration of breath, rolled out hideously in froth and foam. It was the Lord of Death, thus struck by Juan Lerma, as he lay upon the breast of Cortes, and now perishing, but still like a warrior of the race of America. He clambered up the body of Gaspar, for it could hardly be said, that he rose upon his feet; and seeing that he grasped a Christian soldier, he strove to utter once more a cry of battle. The blood foamed from his lips, as from his wound; and his voice was lost in a suffocating murmur. Yet, with his last expiring strength, he locked his arms round the neck of the Spaniard, now almost as much spent as himself, and falling backwards, and writhing together as they fell, they rolled off into the deep water, where the salt and troubled flood wrapped them in a winding-sheet, already spread over the bosoms of thousands.
If it be indeed permitted to disembodied spirits to look back to the world they have left, and to read the hearts they have, in life, mistaken, then should that of Gaspar Olea have seen, that his unlucky blow fell not upon the head of an apostate, and that it had not slain his friend and companion of the wilderness. Even Gaspar's strength failed to pierce entirely through a morion composed of tiger-skins and thickly-padded escaupil; and though the violence of the blow forced Juan to the earth, and left him for a time almost insensible, it had done him no serious injury. It robbed him, to be sure, of the dearly coveted opportunity of escape, which the lucky service he had done the Captain-General would have rendered of still more inestimable value; but it yet served the good purpose, since he didnotescape, of removing from the minds of the Mexicans many fierce doubts and suspicions, with which they beheld him rush into the melée.
He was dragged back upon the causeway, and soon found himself in the arms of the king.
"My brother is brave and true," said the young monarch, tearing from his own hair the symbols of military renown, and fastening them to Juan's. "The people have seen his bravery, and now they know him well. Did he not lay his hands upon Malintzin? and was not Malintzin his prisoner, until the red lion with the white and bloody face, struck my brother with his sword? Is this a good deed, men of Mexico?"
"The king's brother is valiant!" exclaimed many nobles, who surrounded the monarch with a guard of honour, eyeing the outcast with reverence.
Their words stung Juan to the soul; for he abhorred his deception, though still urged, by his desire of escaping, to carry it on.
"Why do we stand here idle?" he cried, with affected zeal: "Is not Malintzin yet upon the causeway? My heart is very strong; I will look him in the face again."
At this proof of courage and apparent devotion to their cause, the infidels shouted with approbation. But the king took him by the arm, and withdrawing him a little, said,
"My brother will go now to the palace.—What is this that Azcamatzin says of my brother? He says that my brother pierced the Lord of Death with a sword, and pulled Malintzin out of his hands! This foolish thing of Azcamatzin has made many angry, and they say, 'Let us know; for perhaps the Great Eagle is for Malintzin.' Therefore my brother shall not go from the king, till Azcamatzin thinks better things; for many hurts have made him mad."
"Think not of this," said Juan, eagerly, for every moment the shouts of the Christians were at a greater distance, and he feared that every step of their retreat was one more link taken from his chain of hope.
"My brother," said Guatimozin, interrupting him, "may yet fight the battles of the king, and be the king's friend. It is said to me, by a messenger, that the ships have broken the wall of my garden, and that Spaniards are slaying the women."
"Ha!" cried Juan, his own agitation at this information, contrasting strongly with the frigid placidity of the king.
"Why should the king think of his women—of his wife and his little boy,—when he is taking the Spaniards, like birds in a net? Let my brother think for the king, for the king thinks for his people. My brother's arm is yet strong—he will fight for Zelahualla, and for her sister, the queen."
A thousand contrary emotions tore the breast of Juan, yet his thoughts were fixed upon the garden. He remembered what counsel he had given to the maidens, to sally forth, at any moment, when a trumpet should be heard among the trees; and he conceived the danger in which they would be involved, among a troop of enraged and merciless soldiers. He needed no second exhortation to run to their assistance; and following Techeechee, who remained at his side, he made his way through the multitudes that thronged all the great streets, with a rapidity that, at any other period, would have even surprised himself. He passed the great square of the pyramid, the Wall of Serpents, and the House of Skulls, from which, had he been so minded, he might have looked, at the same moment, upon the three battles raging upon the three several causeways, (for it was here the dikes terminated;) he passed the house of Axajacatl, in which the Spaniards, a year since, had endured those assaults which terminated only in their expulsion from Tenochtitlan; and he trod again upon the vast market square of Tlatelolco, the northern side of which was bounded by the walls of Guatimozin's palace and garden. Upon this square he beheld many infidels, shouting at once with wrath and triumph, a party of whom bore in their arms a Christian prisoner, bound hand and foot, over whom the others seemed to exult, piercing the very heavens with their clamorous cries.
Heart-sick, for well he knew the fate in store for the captive, and struck with foreboding fear, he rushed over the fosse that laved the garden wall, and was now choked up by the falling of a portion of its extent, washed and undermined by the heavy rains, and passed into the pleasant wilderness within. It was a theatre of wild disorder and affright: men were seen rushing to and fro in great numbers, and their cries were re-echoed by the yells of a thousand beasts of prey, famished with hunger, or alarmed by the tumult.
He perceived that the water-wall was rent at one of the chief sally-ports, as if battered by cannon; and he had no doubt, if it were not yet over, that some terrific combat had but lately taken place in the garden.
He came too late to share in it, but as he ran down to the water-side, he beheld four brigantines making their way with oars, for the atmosphere was breathless, towards the dike of Tepejacac, which was itself a scene of furious conflict. The vessels were surrounded by countless canoes and piraguas, some of which seemed to be manned by Tlascalans; for while the brigantines were seen contending with this aquatic army, it was equally manifest that a battle was raging also among the canoes themselves.
He gave but little heed to this spectacle, nor did he scarcely note that among the many human corses which strewed the lower part of the garden, there were several with the visages of Spaniards.
His attention was arrested by a yelping cry; and looking round, he beheld the dog Befo lying upon the ground, with an iron sword-blade, broken off near the hilt, sticking quite through his body. But this painful sight was forgotten, when, having approached, he beheld three or four barbarians raising from the earth what seemed the dead body of Magdalena. There were indeed blood-drops upon her hollow and ghastly cheeks; and when he rushed up among the Indians, they exclaimed,
"The Teuctlis killed her, the men of Malintzin with beards,—they killed the bright-eyed lady, and they killed the daughter of Montezuma!" And then they added their wild lamentations to the mourning cries of Juan.
Distracted himself, as indeed were all the infidels, he could learn nothing but that the Teuctlis, or Spaniards, had suddenly burst into the garden, and besides slaughtering all that opposed them, in their attempt to reach the palace, had killed, or carried off, as seemed much more probable, the princess Zelahualla.
The misery that took possession of his heart at these evil tidings, he smothered within its secret recesses, or strove to forget it in the contemplation of his sister—for so his heart acknowledged her. He bore her to the palace, and gave her in charge to the maidens, who, whatever was their fright, were not unmindful of the duties of humanity. He then, in much of that sullen despair that had oppressed him in the prison of Tezcuco, returned to the garden and to Befo, whom he had left in suffering, and drawing the sword-blade from his body, he examined it with stern curiosity, as if hoping to penetrate the mystery of the whole unhappy transaction, from such records as it might furnish. His scrutiny was vain: it was a blade without any name, by which he might be enabled to guess at its owner. He snapped it under his foot, and muttered a malediction upon the unknown foe:
"Cursed be he that did this deed," he cried; "for he slew the only protector of a feeble and wretched woman."
He then carried Befo, almost with as much tenderness as he had bestowed upon Magdalena, into the palace, and stanching his wounds as he could, deposited him upon his own couch.
The effects of this battle upon the Spaniards were disastrous in the extreme. The assault, as has been mentioned, and as was anticipated, was made upon all the causeways at once; and, on all, successfully repelled, though an ambuscade was only attempted upon the dike of Iztapalapan. It seemed as if the Mexicans, thinned as their numbers had been, by so many conflicts, and now the remainder absolutely perishing under want and pestilence, had collected all their energies for one final blow. It was first successful in the quarter attacked by the Captain-General, in consequence of his surprising infatuation; and victory soon after followed in the others. The Spaniards fled, so completely broken and so utterly defeated, that the priests, in the wild hope of completing their destruction at once, even drew the sacred horn from the tabernacle of Mexitli, and added its dreadful uproar to the thunder of the great tymbal. This was always regarded by the Mexicans as the voice of the god himself, and was never sounded without filling them with a delirium of fury, utterly inconceivable. It was not more maddening to the infidels than frightful to the Spaniards; who remembered the horrors of the Noche Triste, augmented, if not altogether caused by its unearthly roar. The Spaniards were driven back to their strong and defensible stations at the gates; the dikes were lost; and had not famine now fought for them, they must have given up the siege in despair. Nearly an hundred Spaniards, and many thousand Indian allies, were killed; the fleets of canoes and piraguas were destroyed, and several brigantines wholly ruined.
But the miseries of the besiegers were not confined to the events of the day. Night opened to them a scene of grief and horror. The whole mass of the pyramid, always a striking object, was suddenly illuminated by a myriad of flambeaux, so that it blazed like a mountain of solid fire. The night was clear, and the peculiarly rarified and transparent atmosphere of Mexico rendering objects distinct at a much greater distance than in other lands, the Spaniards, looking from the towers at the gates, could plainly perceive some of their late fellow-soldiers, stripped naked and their hands bound behind them, driven up the stairs from platform to platform, by the blows and other indignities of their cruel captors. On the summit of the pyramid, they were unbound, their heads adorned with plumes, and great waving penachos placed in their hands, with which they were forced to dance round the ever-burning censers of the gods, in the midst of shouting pagans, until dragged away by the priests and immolated, at a signal blasted from the sacred horn, upon the stone of sacrifice. The station of Alvarado on the dike of Tacuba, was nearer than either of the others; and his men, while they wept and prayed over a spectacle so appalling, even fancied they could distinguish the figures and faces of particular individuals, and hear their cries to heaven. Many were the wretches who had yielded themselves alive into the hands of the foe; and for ten nights in succession, the blazing temple echoed to their groans, and their garrisoned friends were compelled to be the witnesses of their torments.
But this triumph was the last of the pagans. All supplies of corn from the lake-sides were cut off, and they were known to be famishing; and besides, as if heaven were willing to assist even the arms of rapacity, to subdue a race, all whose institutions were more or less infected by the spirit of blood that brutalized their religion, the rainy season was brought to a close preternaturally early, and they were left without water. The Spaniards recovered their spirits, and collecting again vast bands of confederates, recommenced the siege, advancing with prudence, and destroying every thing as they advanced, and not only regaining all they had lost, but even effecting, despite all resistance, a secure lodgment upon the island, from their several points of attack. The Mexicans still fought; but it was with bodies emaciated and enfeebled, and with hearts subdued by despair. The three divisions of besiegers met upon the great square, blew up the Huitzompan, and all the temples within the circuit of the Wall of Serpents, which they fortified and preserved; and then, still demolishing houses as they advanced, they pushed on until they reached the great market-place of Tlatelolco; and thus hemmed in upon the narrow peninsula the unfortunate king of Mexico, and the few shattered remnants of his army.
Before this crisis had yet arrived, there occurred another incident, in which, as in all others since his return from the South Sea, the virtues of Juan Lerma were made the instruments of still further misfortune. He beheld Magdalena but once, after the adventure of the garden; and she was then raving with delirium, in which she did not know even him. The fate of Zelahualla was still wrapt in obscurity; for such had been the suddenness of the attack in the garden, that none knew of her fate, and Magdalena was incapable of uttering any rational word, to remove the mountain of anxiety from his breast. His scheme to effect the deliverance of the princess had doubtless thrown her into the power of the Spaniards; and the thought of such a captive in such hands, preyed upon him with a bitterness that exceeded death. He fought no more, and indeed he was urged no longer by the king, who was himself reduced to such desperation, that he thought no further of stratagems, but merely of blind and sullen resistance.
On the third day after the battle, he was summoned by Techeechee to attend the king in public; and without questioning for what purpose, he gloomily obeyed, taking with him the Spanish sword with which he had been provided, on the day of his attempted escape.
It was midday: no sound of contention came to his ears, for the besiegers were yet lying in their quarters on the dikes, healing their wounds and lamenting their friends; but the quiet of the garden was broken by the howling of the beasts, and the shrill streams of birds of prey,—of such at least as had not already been slaughtered, to appease the hunger of the wretches, who yet fought for their expiring empire. One circumstance, had Juan noticed it, might have convinced him of the dreadful extent and intensity of the suffering, of which he had been before apprized. The trees of the garden had begun to be robbed of their leaves, but not by summer heat or autumnal drought;—the tender shrubs were stripped of their bark;—the smaller plants had been rooted up, and even the grass, in some places, torn from the earth, and even the earth itself upturned, in the search after edible roots.—All that could be gnawed by the teeth of man had vanished, or did soon after vanish, from the garden. When the Spaniards walked afterwards through their conquest, not a green leaf, as they have recorded, was found in all the city.
He passed through the broken wall, now only defended by rude palisades, strengthened by an abatis of withered shrubs and brambles, and passing the moat, over the ruins of the prostrate wall, found himself on the market-square of Tlatelolco, of which the Spaniards gave such surprising accounts, when they beheld it filled with the merchants and riches of the empire, before the death of Montezuma. It was of very great extent, and contained, at the eastern boundary, a pyramid, on which was the temple of one of the lesser divinities. On the west was a platform, or rather stage, faced and flagged with stone, and devoted to theatrical exhibitions, which, however primitive and barbarous, were yet a chief feature among the amusements of a Mexican festival.
Almost in the centre of the square, and yet so nigh to the garden wall that it could be overlooked by the nearest turrets of the palace, was another platform, perhaps four feet in height, and circular, upon which lay the famous stoneTemalacatl, devoted to the purpose of the gladiatorial sacrifice. It now lies in the Plaza Mayor of the modern city, near the walls, and within the enclosure of the great Cathedral, and is one of the few monuments which the conquerors have left of the savage institutions of the Aztec empire. It is a circular block of porphyry, nine or ten feet in diameter, and is sculptured over with the effigies of warriors. The privilege of dying upon this stone was awarded only to captives of the most extraordinary prowess; and as such were never taken alive, unless when conquered by accident, the exhibition of such a sacrifice was as rare as it was agreeable to the fierce tastes of the Mexicans. It was essentially gladiatorial, and it offered a prospect even of life and liberty to the valiant prisoner. A sword and buckler were put into his hands, and he was tied by one leg to the stone; yet, if he succeeded in slaying or defeating six chosen Mexican warriors, he was released and sent back in safety to his own country. The last victim of the Temalacatl was the famous Tlascalan chief, Tlahuicotl, the Orlando of Anahuac, captured by Montezuma not many years before the advent of the Spaniards, who, fighting only to die, (for he refused to accept life, even as the meed of his own heroism,) and fighting till hediddie, slew no less than eight different opponents, and disabled twenty others, before his great spirit sank under his exertions. If the gladiator fell, before he had accomplished his task, he was dragged to the neighbouring temple, and there sacrificed, while yet living. The last victim, destined to close the list of those to whom Mexico did honour, was a Spaniard.
A vast multitude of pagans surrounded the platform, except on that side which looked to the temple. Here stood the priests, few in number, yet prepared, at the moment of the victim's fall, to clutch upon him, and bear him to the altar, a space being left for them, as much out of reverence for their sacred character, as to preserve their pathway entirely unobstructed. The side that looked to the palace was also but little encumbered; for here the king of Mexico sat upon a scaffold, attended by his chief nobles.
The grim looks of expectation, with which the assembled multitude surveyed the platform, were heightened in ferocity by the privations that had pinched and hollowed their visages. They looked like winter wolves, gaunt with famine; and one would have thought their appetites were whetting for a repast on the flesh of the victim. There was indeed something horrid in their appearance, as well as in the cause which had assembled them together. It was plain that they waited impatiently for the coming of the prisoner. As they rolled their eyes over the square, they caught sight of Juan, conspicuous by his lofty stature, though he now drooped his head with gloom, and hailed his appearance with such shouts as proved what a change had been made in their feelings, by his presence, in the battle of the ambuscade. The imputations of Azcamatzin were ended, for Azcamatzin perished an hour after uttering them, under a shot from the crossbow of the hunchback: they remembered nothing now, but that the Christian had touched the body of Malintzin, and was struck down while he had him in his hands, and that he was the brother of the king.
It was these acclamations which roused him out of his sullen mood, so that he could exert his mind and imagine the object for which he had been summoned. But no sooner did he perceive the priests near the Temalacatl, than he was seized with horror, and disregarding the command of Guatimozin, who beckoned to him to ascend the platform to his side, he turned to fly.
"Is not my brother a Mexican, and among the sons of the king?" said the infidel; and then added with a look of bitter meaning, "My brother shall see the revenge of the daughter of Montezuma!"
Struck by these words, yet incapable of fathoming their signification, Juan looked up to the young monarch, and would even have ascended the scaffold, had not the sudden appearance of the captive engaged his whole attention. A wild and frantic cry burst from the mob, and looking round, he beheld a body of ten or twelve priests, with their black robes, and long plaited, rope-like hair, leading the prisoner towards the platform. His arms were bound behind him, and his only garment was a coarse cloth wrapped round the loins.
Juan's heart sickened; he would have sunk to the earth, or buried his head in his tilmaltli, to avoid looking upon the spectacle of a Christian and countryman, thus brought forth to be slaughtered. But the fiery spirit displayed by the victim, as soon as he was lifted upon the mound and set upon his feet, drew another shout from the admiring infidels, which caused him to steal one look at the scene; and that look left him without the power of withdrawing his eyes. The captive, as soon as he was on the mound, leaped, of his own accord, upon the stone, as if to testify not only his knowledge of the purpose for which he was brought there, but his willingness to engage in the combat. He then turned his face towards the king, and, at that moment,
Juan Lerma lifting his eyes, beheld the only man he had ever learned to hate—It was Don Francisco de Guzman.
Noble, compassionate, and truly unvindictive, as was Lerma's spirit, he did not make this discovery without a thrill of fierce exultation. There is a touch of the wild beast in the hearts of us all; and so long as man is capable of anger, he will, at some moment, and for some brief space of time, yield to thoughts and wishes, that he himself must, a moment after, esteem diabolic. Religion and moral culture make us the masters of our malign propensities; but man is naturally a vengeful animal.
It was but the weakness of a moment with Juan Lerma; perhaps, too, it was caused by the thrill of joy at the proof thus rendered, that Guzman, at least, exercised no control over the fate of the princess of Mexico; and if he did not instantly commiserate the condition of an enemy justly abhorred, but now so fallen, so wretched, and about to expiate his evil deeds by a punishment so fearfully retributive, he was able to banish all unworthy elation from his mind, and look on with feelings more becoming a man and Christian.
He could not indeed but admire the fearless intrepidity, or rather audacity, with which Guzman (more oppressed by a sense of humiliation, at being made a spectacle among a crew so despised and abhorred, than by any other feeling,) looked around him upon the pagans, and extended his foot to the ligature, with which it was to be secured to the stone. Whatever were his faults, it could not be denied, that Don Francisco was a man of unflinching courage, which was indeed a constitutional trait. His presence on the stone of battle indicated that he had been captured after a heroic resistance. His resolution was, in this case, kept up by a knowledge of the nature of the ordeal through which he was to pass, and by full confidence in his ability to win all the privileges it conferred upon him. He had some little acquaintance with the Mexican tongue, and was by no means ignorant of the more remarkable institutions of the country. A victory over six awkward and half-starved barbarians, was an exploit not to be despaired of by a well-trained cavalier, even when denied any advantage of weapons, and defensive armour. Yet it was a curious circumstance, that he, who had not often kept faith himself, when his interest called upon him to break it, should rest with such perfect reliance upon the willingness of the Mexicans to liberate him, in the event of his prevailing over their champions. But he knew, that never butoncehad a tribe of all the broad regions of Anahuac broken its pledged faith to a successful gladiator; and that tribe was, for that reason, ever after held infamous. It was the tribe of Huexotzinco; and Cortes himself placed the circumstance on record.
As soon as his foot was properly secured, his arms were unbound, and a noble, who stood upon the scaffold in the character of a herald, addressed him in the following official terms:
"This is the law of Mexico, and let the people hear: 'The prisoner who is brave, the gods honour. If he kill six strong men upon the stone Temalacatl, he shall be set free.' This is the law."
"This is the law, then," repeated Guzman, in imperfect Mexican, turning his eyes upon Guatimozin, as if he disdained to hold converse with any meaner infidel: "Is it a law that will be remembered, when the prisoner is a Spaniard?"
"He who is a prisoner, has no name and no country," replied the prince. "He is neither Tlascalan nor Castilian, but a man who kills or dies."