"Save me, Huetzin! Save me, son of Tlahuicol!" it cried, shrilly. Then, in softer tones, "Steady, Cocotin! Dear Cocotin! Good Cocotin! If thou wouldst but turn thy poor bleeding head the other way! Oh! Holy Mother of the Christians! She is sinking! She is dying, and I am lost!"
Then a dark form struggled out of the blackness beside them; both the old man and the old woman reached out toward it; and in another minute Marina lay, hysterically sobbing, in the bottom of the canoe.
The first impulse of Marina's preservers was to escape as quickly as possible from their awful surroundings. The spell that had held them in that vicinity was broken. They had snatched one victim from the jaws of death, and now they must remove her beyond reach of further danger. Instinctively they headed their canoe in the direction of the little hut, on the opposite side of the lake, that had for so long been their home. They had not gone far when, as though moved by a single impulse, both stopped paddling at the same instant.
"It is no longer possible that we should go back," said the old man.
"For we should be taking another into slavery," continued the old woman.
"Nor would we return to slavery for ourselves, even if there were no other."
"It is certain that we would not," agreed the wife.
"But whither shall we fly?" asked the old man, irresolutely.
"Ask the child; since she called on the son of Tlahuicol for aid she must be of our friends, and also she must be possessed of wisdom."
Marina, who had ceased to sob, and now lay quietly beneath the warm rabbit-hair blanket that the old woman had spread over her, listened to this conversation. Who could these people be? They did not talk like enemies bearing her to the altar of sacrifice. At any rate, a question could do no harm.
"Whither are you taking me?" she asked.
"Whither you would go," replied the gentle voice of the old woman.
"I would go to my friends. To Huetzin, and Sandoval, and Malinche, and the daughters of the king, who are captives."
"Where are they?"
"I know not, but I fear me they are dead. Who are you? You are not Aztecs."
"We are Tlascalans, and friends of the son of Tlahuicol, whom we seek," was the proud answer.
"I thought you were Tlascalans from your speech!" cried the girl, joyfully. "As such you must be my friends, and as friends of Huetzin you must be doubly my friends."
"Is he thy brother?" queried the old man, remembering that Huetzin had spoken of a sister.
"No."
"Thy husband?"
"No."
"What then——?"
"Hush, thou stupid!" exclaimed the old woman, "and waste not time in idle questionings. We be escaped Tlascalan slaves," she continued, speaking to Marina, "seeking the son of Tlahuicol, who has some knowledge of us, and who we trusted would aid us to freedom. Now we know not which way to turn, and would ask thy counsel."
"Will you in truth do as I advise?" asked Marina, who could scarcely credit her good fortune in falling into such friendly hands.
"In truth we will."
"Then," said the Indian girl. "I would advise that you seek no land before daybreak, but avoid all canoes. With daylight, if the fight be over, as ere then it must be, make thy way to Tlacopan, where we are almost certain to discover our friends—thy friends and my friends."
This advice was considered so sensible that it was acted upon, and the canoe lay motionless. After they had sat awhile in silence, listening to the distant din of battle, the old woman asked: "Were you not talking to some person, whom you called by name, just before we found you?"
"Yes," replied Marina, sadly. "I was speaking to poor, brave Cocotin, but she was not a person. She was a horse belonging to the son of Tlahuicol, and deeply will he grieve at her loss."
As these simple folk had never before heard of a horse, Marina found much difficulty in explaining its nature to them. When they finally comprehended, after a fashion, they returned to the name, Cocotin.
"It was the name of our little one," explained the old woman.
"Was she a babe but a year old, and left behind when you both were captured by the Aztecs?" inquired the Indian girl, with interest.
"Yes. But how knew you that?"
"Huetzin has told me of it, and his horse was named for that child; and you must be the brave Tlascalans who assisted his escape from the priests of Tenochtitlan!"
"That honor and joy were indeed ours," answered the old man; "but our part in his escape was so slight that he might readily have forgotten it."
"Indeed he has not!" cried Marina, "and his joy will be great when he again sets eyes on you, for his gratitude to you is like the love of an own son."
All this time Marina had not the least doubt of her hero's safety, for it did not occur to her that serious harm could come to one who had escaped so often, and was so brave and skilful a warrior. Therefore, while he mourned her as dead, she was looking forward with confidence to the joyful meeting that would take place as soon as daylight permitted. Nor could she realize in the slightest what a terrible disaster had overtaken the army of the white conquerors. She had never known it as aught but victorious, and its defeat was something she did not for a moment consider possible. Thus, instead of being a prey to the feverish anxiety that would have absorbed every thought had she known the true state of affairs on the causeway, she entertained her new friends with an account of her own life up to that moment. Her auditors listened with eager interest, though saying but little in return. After awhile the girl also grew silent, and then fell asleep wrapped in her rabbit-fur blanket.
The old people were careful not to disturb her, and only occasionally moved their light craft when other canoes threatened to approach so close that there was danger of being discovered. This, however, happened infrequently, so great was the attraction at the causeway. Once the old woman said, musingly:
"Our own Cocotin would have been about her age."
"And by birth she is Tlascalan," replied the man, which showed that their thoughts tended in the same direction.
At length the night passed, and daylight came. By it they earnestly studied the features of the sleeping girl.
"She is the image of what thou wast when first I knew thee!" exclaimed the old man, in trembling tones.
"We will question her more closely when she wakes," answered the other, calmly, but with an intense longing in her voice. "Now let us to Tlacopan; the way looks open."
So they made for the town, and, as the canoe grated on the beach, the girl awoke. She was at first bewildered by her surroundings, but reassured by the kindly words of the old people, quickly recovered her usual presence of mind, and exclaimed, with decision, "Now must we find our friends!"
The old man gathered up their scanty property, and they entered one of the deserted streets. Most of the inhabitants had been drawn to Tenochtitlan. Stopping at a humble hut to ask for food and information, they found it empty. Entering without further ceremony, they found food, of which they did not hesitate to partake, and a fire by which the girl's wet clothing could be dried. Leaving the two women here, the old man went out to seek for information.
He was gone the best part of an hour, and when he returned his wife greeted him with tearful but joyous face. In trembling tones she exclaimed, "Husband, she is indeed our own Cocotin, lost to us these many years and now restored to our old age by the gods! The marks are unmistakable." And then Marina, also tearful with her new-found joy, threw her arms about his neck and called him "father."
There was so much to tell and explain and wonder at, that the day was well advanced ere they set out to follow the Spanish army. This, as the old man had learned, was camped, at no great distance, on the hill of Montezuma. He had also heard rumors of the strong Aztec force already gathering to descend on them and complete their destruction at that place. To this news Marina listened with eager attention and all of her wonted alertness.
"Let us hasten!" she cried, when he had finished, "for it may be that this information will prove of the greatest importance."
So they set forth, the childless woman who had so marvellously recovered a daughter, and the motherless girl who had found that she was still possessed of the greatest of earthly blessings, walking hand in hand.
With all their haste they made such slow progress, on account of their anxiety to avoid undesirable meetings, that the sun was in the western sky ere they climbed the hill of Montezuma, and received the challenge of a Spanish sentinel, from a wall of the temple. He was one of Cortes's veterans, and could hardly credit his senses when the challenge was answered in his own tongue, and in the voice of the girl whom all the army knew, loved, and was even now mourning as dead.
To Huetzin, roused out of a heavy sleep, she appeared like a vision from heaven, and her restoration to him like a miracle of the all-powerful gods. So overpowering was his happiness that it could find no expression in words, and he was as dumb, in the presence of her whom he worshipped, as might have been Sandoval himself.
To the White Conqueror this joyful coming again of her whom he had named his "right hand" seemed to render all things possible, and again the future glowed with the sunrise of hope. He and the others gathered in eager welcome, listened intently to her story, and, for her sake, the aged Tlascalans, whom she proudly claimed as father and mother, were treated with the courtesy due to princes.
When she told Cortes of the Aztec army gathering for the assault of his place of refuge, he exclaimed: "They shall have it and welcome, if they have the courage to take it; but, ere then, I trust we shall be far hence."
So, at midnight, the Spanish army, refreshed by its rest, and filled with a new hope inspired by Marina's restoration to them, marched silently away from the temple, to continue its retreat; but leaving behind them watch-fires that would burn until morning, for the misleading of the enemy.
In the retreat from the temple that had proved such a veritable haven to the shattered army of the invaders, Marina was borne in her own litter. Another was provided for her mother, but, never having been accustomed to such a luxury, she preferred to walk beside the conveyance of her newly recovered daughter. Guided by Huetzin, with a small body of Tlascalans who formed the vanguard, the little army made a great circuit among the rugged hills bounding the western and northern side of the Mexican Valley. Their progress was slow and painful, and they were at all times subjected to irritating attacks from the clouds of Aztecs who hovered about their line of march. These, constantly recruited from the surrounding country, assaulted them with sudden flights of darts and arrows, or by rolling great stones down among them.
At night they usually sought shelter in some hamlet, from which the inhabitants invariably carried away all provisions on their approach. Thus the Spaniards were soon brought to the point of starvation. For seven wretched days they had little to eat but wild cherries, the occasional unplucked ears of maize which they were so fortunate as to find, and the few rabbits and birds brought down by the darts of Huetzin and his Tlascalans. Many of the soldiers fell by the wayside from sheer exhaustion, while others, who had brought their treasure of gold through the perils of the noche triste and thus far in safety, now flung it away, as too great a burden to be longer borne. Always the enemy hovered in small parties on their flanks, or followed closely in the rear, eager to pounce upon stragglers in search of food, or those who had fallen from exhaustion.
In all this weary march, Cortes was the life of his fainting troops. With sturdy Sandoval at his side, he was ever at the point of greatest danger, driving back those adversaries who ventured within reach, helping the stragglers, cheering the wounded, sharing every hardship, refusing the few scant mouthfuls of rabbit-meat reserved for his table and distributing them among the sick or most feeble of his men. In one skirmish he was struck in the head by a splinter of rock and severely injured; but he made light of the wound, caused it to be bound up, and continued as before.
At the end of seven days the army was still less than thirty miles from Tenochtitlan, though owing to their circuitous march they had traversed thrice that distance. From an absolute necessity for rest, the last two nights were spent in the same camp. During the intervening day, while the greater part of the army lay sleeping about its camp-fires, the indefatigable Huetzin led a strong party of his Tlascalans on an extended scout.
Next to the undaunted leader himself, the young Toltec was the encouraging spirit of this weary retreat. Since Marina's return to him, life had assumed its brightest aspect, and not all the sufferings of the march could depress him. He animated his own warriors by telling them that now was the time to show the white soldiers, by their patient endurance and cheerful bravery, of what stuff Tlascalan mountaineers were made. In obedience to this suggestion his followers marched, day after day, with elastic steps and proud bearing, scouted to right and left, scattered hovering bands of the enemy with brisk charges, and in fact saved their white allies from despair and destruction. At night, whether there was food to be eaten or not, the Tlascalan camp-fires were centres of merry groups, whose songs and laughter exercised a cheering influence upon the whole army.
For the white men Huetzin painted glowing pictures of the welcome they would receive in the "land of bread" (Tlascala), of the feasting that should be theirs, and of the rest and safety to be found behind its impregnable mountain walls. It is certain that these pictures lost none of their attractiveness through the interpretation of Marina. Like him whose words she translated, she was light-hearted and joyous in spite of all hardships. And why should she not be? Was not the whole army devoted to her? Had she not a loving mother, like other girls? Was not her father a Tlascalan warrior, and captain of a hundred men (for so Huetzin had made him)? Above all, though her hero spoke not of love, could she not read his heart through his eyes? What more of happiness could a maiden of Anahuac ask?
On the day of the army's resting Huetzin extended his scout as far as the pyramids of Teotihuacan, two colossal monuments erected by his long-ago Toltec ancestors. They were dedicated to the sun and moon, and were surrounded by a vast number of burial mounds, in which were laid to rest the most famous men of his race. These were symmetrically ranged beside avenues, all of which led to the pyramids, and the plain in which they stood was known to that day as "Micoatl," or Way of the Dead.
From the summit of the taller of the pyramids, on which in former ages stood a gigantic image of the sun, bearing a breast-plate of burnished gold that reflected the earliest beams of the great luminary, Huetzin caught a glad sight of the blue Tlascalan hills rising on the farther side of the plain. They promised shelter and plenty; but, between him and them, he saw something else that filled him with dismay.
At several different points of the wide-spread landscape, he could distinguish moving bodies of white-armored Aztec troops, all converging toward a common centre. After an hour of watching, he located this as being the village of Otampan, situated in the wide plain that must be crossed before the retreating army could reach the Tlascalan frontier. Here doubtless was the place selected by Cuitlahua for their destruction. With this melancholy news, and with but a scanty supply of provisions, Huetzin led his scouting party back to camp.
That night was one of deepest gloom and despondency. Even the Tlascalan warriors no longer maintained their show of cheerfulness. Many times during its hours of darkness mysterious voices came to them from the surrounding hill-tops, crying:
"Hasten on, ye enemies of the gods! You will soon find yourselves where you can no longer escape their awful vengeance!"
In the morning there was naught to do but move on. Save in Tlascala alone, there was no place in which they might hope for safety. As the feeble army gained the crest of the intervening sierra, and gazed past the Toltec pyramids into the vale of Otampan, they were greeted by such a sight as assured them that their last hour had indeed come. As far as the eye could reach, the plain was so covered with the white of cotton-mailed warriors, that it was like a vast field of snow. By order of Montezuma's successor the full war strength of the Aztec nation was there assembled for the final overthrow of the invaders. From the mighty host came a volume of sound like the murmur of a wind-swept sea, while the morning sunlight was reflected from acres of shining bucklers and a forest of tossing spears.
Even the stout heart of the Conqueror failed him in the presence of this multitude of enemies. Noting this, sturdy Sandoval said: "We can die but once, and 'twill be much pleasanter for us, though not so amusing for them, if we die as soldiers rather than as sacrifices. Besides, it is not wholly certain that our time for dying has yet come. We have fought against odds before."
"Never such odds as these," replied the Commander. At the same time, the cool bravery of his young captain gave him new heart; and, as he formed his little army in order of battle, he strengthened the determination to fight as became brave men that he read in their faces, with stout words.
The women, the sick, and wounded were left behind in charge of the old Tlascalan and a half-dozen of warriors, instructed, in case of disaster, to kill them all rather than allow them to fall into priestly hands. From each of the grim warriors, Huetzin personally exacted the promise that these instructions should be implicitly obeyed. Thus, when he bade Marina a lingering farewell, it was with the hope of a speedy reunion, either on the field of an earthly victory or in the blissful realms of the sun.
So the scanty force of Spaniards and their Tlascalan allies, having neither artillery nor muskets, and supported by but a score of cavalry, of which half was posted on either flank, descended steadily to the plain to meet the on-rushing hosts of their enemies.
The air was rent with the fierce war-cries of the exultant Aztecs, and darkened by the tempest of missiles that they let fly the moment they came within range. The Spanish infantry received the shock on their levelled pikes, against which the human wave dashed itself as fruitlessly as those of the sea against some rocky pinnacle rising from a waste of waters. With lowered lances the cavalry charged in turn, opening broad lanes through the thick-set ranks. Into these sprang Huetzin's trained warriors, following close on the heels of the horsemen, and widening the lanes on either side, with javelin and maquahuitl. So stoutly did these and their white allies ply their deadly weapons, that the foremost ranks of the Aztecs, broken and dismayed, attempted to fly. The attempt was a vain one, for they were instantly overwhelmed by the crowding myriads behind them, who, sweeping forward with the irresistible power of uncounted numbers, completely surrounded the Christian army, making it the vortex of a seething maëlstrom of fiercely struggling humanity.
Bravely did the cavaliers fight that day, charging in parties of four or six, deep into the Indian ranks. Sandoval seemed to be on all sides at once, fighting with the practised skill and deadly fury of a young war-god; while mail-fronted Motilla, screaming with the rage of battle, crashed through the Aztec files like a thunderbolt.
Deeper and deeper did the Christian force work its way into this interminable host, ever meeting with fresh battalions and ever growing weaker from losses. Hundreds of the Tlascalans and scores of the Spaniards had fallen. All were wounded, including the gallant leader, who had received another cut on the head. The noon-day sun beat pitilessly and with a fierce fervor on the steel-capped soldiers. Dying of heat, thirst, and wounds, panting, praying, and cursing, their blows falling slower and more feebly with each moment. What hope was there for them but that death would put an end to their sufferings as quickly as might be? Like a horrid vision, the faces of fresh foes ever danced before them. A score would fall, and a score of others, so similar that they appeared the same, were instantly in their places.
"Holy Mother!" cried Sandoval, reining in Motilla beside the steed of Cortes, "is there no end to these infidels? I have killed until I can kill no more, and their legions are as at the beginning! Methinks, General, the end of all things has come for us. Our brave troops can hold out no longer. They have fought as never mortals fought before; but now they are giving way on all sides. Does it please you that we make one more charge and die as becomes Christian soldiers, with our lances in our hands?"
Before answering Sandoval, the White Conqueror, like a stag at bay who tosses his mighty head aloft in search of an opening through which he may escape ere gathering himself for the death-struggle, raised high in his stirrups and surveyed the field. In all directions, as far as he could see, tossed the plumes and waved the banners of the Aztec host. The battle raging at his side disturbed but a portion of it. His own men were falling fast. The exhaustion of their recent hardships, combined with the present heat and four hours of incessant fighting, was doing more to deplete their numbers than even Aztec weapons. He had no reserves to call up, no guns to fall back upon. Of the hundred trusty knights on whom he could have depended a week since, four score had left him on that most sorrowful of noches triste. Never again would they answer the call of the trumpets, nor charge with levelled lances and cheery shouts. "If they cannot rejoin us, we can at least join them!"
With this last sigh of a breaking heart, the leader was sinking back into his saddle, when his eye was caught by a more dazzling object, a richer gleam than any seen elsewhere in all that bedizened host. It was the sunlight reflected from the gold and silver armor, the gorgeous feather mantle, and the glittering escort of a Cacique, borne in a golden-plated litter. He was the Aztec general, the commander of all these myriads of warriors. Without his guiding orders the mighty army would be as helpless as a ship bereft of its rudder. With the gleam of his armor a ray of hope flashed into the breast of the Christian leader.
"Yes, gentlemen," he answered, dropping into his saddle and gripping his ponderous battle-ax with a fiercer clutch. "It pleases me to make one more charge. One more! Sandoval, Alvavado, Olid, Avila, cavaliers all! One more for victory or death! Forward! and may Christ and St. James go with us!"
Thus crying, the White Conqueror gave spurs to his steed, and, with whirling battle-ax clearing all obstacles from his pathway, he again plunged into the dense ranks of the Aztec host. At his side rode Sandoval and one other; behind them came three more. Six against ten thousand! But so terrible was the thrust of their lances, the swing of their axes, and the whistling sweep of their good swords, so frightful the screaming and tearing and crushing of their mail-clad chargers, that while its impetus lasted the death-dealing progress of this little group could no more be checked than that of a bomb-shell just started on its shrieking flight. The thick-set Aztec ranks reeled before them, and crowded to either side to give them passage. The earth behind them was cumbered with dead and dying. Their audacity paralyzed resistance, and their mission was accomplished ere its purport was suspected.
Straight as an arrow to a mark, rode Cortes to the spot where the proud Aztec leader lay indolently back in his cushioned litter. He was too certain of the fortunes of that battle to take much further interest in it. Already he was planning his triumphal entry into Tenochtitlan, and hoping that Malinche might be taken alive to grace it. All at once his pleasing reflections were interrupted by some unusual commotion near at hand.
As he raised himself to learn its cause, shrill screams of terror greeted him, and he saw what appeared to his startled vision a mighty war engine, fire-breathing, steel-armored, and death dealing, rushing toward him. In an instant more it was upon him. There came a crashing blow, a death shriek, and the Aztec leader would dream no more of triumphant entries into Tenochtitlan. Scattered like chaff were his body-guard of gay young nobles; and as they fled, terror-stricken, they spread on all sides the dread news that the chief had fallen.
Who, now, will give commands? No one. Who would obey them if given? None. Consternation seizes upon the mighty host. A wave of panic sweeps over it. No longer will it fight. To fly is its only thought. The strong trample whom they may; the front ranks flee in terror from those behind, fancying them the enemy. They fling away weapons, banners, everything. They fill the air with their cries of terror. Over all ring out the exultant shouts of Christians and Tlascalans, their hopeless death-struggle changed in a moment to an amazing, unheard-of victory. Forgotten are thirst, wounds, and exhaustion, as they pursue their flying enemies, and drink draughts, long and deep, of vengeance to compensate for la noche triste.
Thus was fought and won the desperate battle of Otampan, one of the most notable of all the world's battles, when the disparity of the engaged forces and the results of its issue are considered. So thoroughly panic-stricken were the defeated Aztecs, that one Spaniard or Tlascalan could put a hundred of them to headlong flight. Their losses were terrible, though they would have been much greater, but that the victors were too exhausted to push the pursuit. As they returned from it, they gathered up the rich spoils of weapons, armor, gold, jewels, and blazoned banners scattered over the field.
Among the first to weary of slaughter was the young Tlascalan chief. When there was no longer a show of resistance, he turned his steps toward the place in which the helpless ones of the army had been left. For long hours had they noted the varying fortunes of the battle, with straining eyes and sick hearts. From their distance they could not distinguish its details. Many times they so completely lost sight of their friends in the white-armored sea surrounding them, that they gave up all for lost, and expected the grim Tlascalan guard to execute its dread instructions. As time passed, and no enemy appeared to molest them, they gained new courage, and, hoping against hope, watched eagerly for further indications.
When the amazing rout of the mighty host began, they could not credit their senses, nor were they convinced that a glorious victory had been won by their friends, until Huetzin, blood-stained and dishevelled, but radiant with triumph, appeared among them with the marvellous tidings. As he told the wonderful story, the men, wild with excitement, crowded about him craving every word of detail. The women, with over-strained feelings finding relief in joyful tears, caressed him, and bathed his wounds, and questioned one another with their eyes, as to how they could have doubted that this their hero would be victorious.
After a while he conducted them to the appointed rendezvous, a fortified but desolate temple on the outskirts of Otampan. Here the army of the white conquerors, now indeed worthy the name, were to pass the night of their victory, a night of as profound gratitude and heartfelt joy, as that other had been of defeat, humiliation, and heart-breaking sorrows.
On the following day they passed the rude fortifications marking a boundary of Tlascala, the brave mountain republic, to which, next to their own indomitable courage and incredible powers of endurance, the Christians owed everything, including their lives. Here at a little frontier town they rested, doubtful of the reception to be accorded them by those who had suffered such losses in their behalf; while Huetzin, attended by a small body of his own warriors, hastened to the capital. In this city of his birth the young warrior received the welcome reserved for victors, and amid joyous acclamations from the populace, made his way to where the venerable councillors of the nation awaited him. The disaster in Tenochtitlan, the noche triste, and the retreat, were all forgotten for the time being, and only the glorious victory of Otampan was remembered. The aged chieftain of Titcala fell on the young man's neck, with grateful tears in his sightless eyes, and blessed him. All voices sounded his praises, and proclaimed unwavering allegiance to the Christians. Only one was silent, and it was that of the envious Xicoten.
The next day, again clad as became his rank, Huetzin returned to the anxious army accompanied by the noble chieftain of his house, and many of the most prominent citizens of Tlascala. These bore messages and tokens of a generous welcome to Cortes, and offers of the hospitality of their city, to him and his followers, for as long as they would accept of it.
With a glad gratitude was this offer accepted, and in the hospitable city the weary army rested until its wounds were healed and its strength restored. In the palace of Titcala, Cortes himself, succumbing to his hurts and the mental strain that had been upon him for so long, lay many days in the weakness and delirium of a fever. As soon as the active brain began again to work, and while he still lay helpless as an infant on his bed of convalescence, the undaunted soldier planned for the future. Never for a moment had he relinquished his purpose to conquer Tenochtitlan, and supplant its hideous religion with that of the Cross.
With his first strength he undertook a brilliant campaign against a number of Aztec cities, situated within striking distance of Tlascala, whose inhabitants had cut off and sacrificed to their gods small parties of Spaniards. At the end of four months he had reconquered the whole of the vast Puebla table-land, had received reinforcements of men, horses, guns, and ammunition, and was again ready to march back over the frowning western Cordilleras, which he had already traversed four times, under extraordinary circumstances.
During the four months occupied by Cortes in reconquering the eastern half of the Aztec kingdom, so that when he was ready to proceed against its capital city he might leave no enemy behind him, events of importance were taking place elsewhere. One of these was the death of Cuitlahua, Montezuma's brother and successor. He fell before a dread scourge now sweeping over the land, and reaping such a harvest of dead as even that warlike country had never known. It was the small-pox, introduced to the Western World by a negro, the first of his race to set foot on the American continent, who had been one of the followers of Narvaez. Breaking out at Cempoalla, it swept over the land with the virulence of a plague, seizing alike upon hut and palace. In Tlascala, the blind chieftain of Titcala was among its victims. Huetzin, hastily summoned from a distant battle-field, stood at the bedside of his dying grandsire, and as the old man breathed his last under the holy sign of the Cross, the son of Tlahuicol was proclaimed head of the proud house of Titcala, and ruled in his place.
At nearly the same time and in the same city, Marina closed forever the eyes of her parents, who expired within a few minutes of each other, of the same fatal disease. Thus the young chieftain and the orphaned Indian girl became companions in sorrow, as they had been in seasons of rejoicing.
In the proud city of Tenochtitlan the dead king was succeeded by his nephew, Guatamotzin, a young man of twenty-five, well instructed in the art of native warfare, fierce, energetic, and shrewd, hating the white men and their religion with a bitter hatred, fanatically devoted to the bloodthirsty gods of his own land, and influenced in all his actions by their priests. In him the white conquerors were to encounter their most formidable opponent.
But they were not to encounter him unprepared, and their most important preparation was in progress during the four months of their military activity. All that time Martin Lopez, the ship-builder, aided by a few Spanish carpenters and a great force of natives, was hewing down timber in the forests of Tlascala, and converting it into a fleet of thirteen brigantines. These were to be completely set up and launched for trial on a small lake near the city. Then they were to be taken to pieces, transported on the shoulders of tamanes across the mountains to Tezcuco, where they were to be again put together, and finally launched on the great salt lake washing Tenochtitlan. Their rigging, sails, iron-work, and anchors were transported on the backs of tamanes from the distant port of Vera Cruz, where this material had been stored ever since the destruction of the ships that had brought the conquerors to the country.
When Cortes returned to Tlascala from the subjugation of the neighboring provinces, he found this fleet well on its way toward completion. Several of the brigantines with which he proposed to conquer the distant island city were already floating bravely on the tiny lake, beside which they were built, to the wonder and delight of all Tlascala.
As the Christian leader and his companions entered the city, they completely won the hearts of its inhabitants, by wearing badges of deep mourning in honor of the late chieftain of Titcala. After causing a solemn mass to be performed in memory of the dead, Cortes, in the presence of the whole city, conferred the degree of knighthood upon the aged chieftain's successor, who, with the accolade, formally received the christian name of "Juan." Thus, for his own noble qualities and unswerving loyalty to the faith of his fathers, even to the point of death, Huetzin, the son of Tlahuicol, became a Knight of Castile, and the first native of the New World to receive that honor.
By the Christmas of 1520, all preparations for again advancing on Tenochtitlan were completed, and on the following day the Spanish army, together with an allied force of ten thousand warriors under command of Huetzin, marched forth from the friendly city of Tlascala. As on former occasions, it was accompanied for miles by half the population, who mingled their acclamations with tears and prayers to the gods for its safety and success. Besides the Tlascalans, the present army contained nearly six hundred Spaniards, forty of whom were cavaliers, and eighty bore muskets. The rest were armed with swords and Chinantla pikes. In addition to all this, Cortes had nine small cannon, and a fair supply of powder, manufactured by himself with sulphur obtained at fearful risk from the smoking crater of lofty Popocatepetl.
In two days this army had scaled the western Cordilleras, and were again gazing, with mingled feelings and memories, into the fair valley of Mexico that, bathed in its golden sunshine, lay outspread at their feet.
In spite of the ominous beacon flames streaming from the tower-like temples of every city in the valley, they marched at once to the city of Tezcuco, from which the Prince, who had succeeded Cacama, and many of the inhabitants fled at their approach. They entered the city, the name of which is interpreted to mean "place of rest," on the last day of the year that had been so filled with stirring events, and in which defeat and victory, disaster and triumph, had succeeded each other with such rapidity.
From Tezcuco as a base of operations, Cortes proposed to reduce, in succession, every city of the valley, before proceeding to the attack of Tenochtitlan. Many of these, and conspicuous among them Chalco, on the fresh-water lake of the same name, he found heartily ready to throw off the hated Aztec yoke, and enter into an alliance with the whites. Others, such as the royal city of Iztapalapan, he assaulted and captured.
Wishing to test the temper of the new king, and to avoid further bloodshed if possible, Cortes liberated several Aztec nobles made prisoners in Iztapalapan, and sent them with a message to the capital. They were instructed to say that, if the city would return to the allegiance sworn to by Montezuma, and renounce human sacrifices to its gods, the authority of Guatamotzin should be confirmed, and the persons and property of his subjects respected by the Christians.
To this message no direct answer was received, but a royal proclamation was made, commanding that every Spaniard or Tlascalan captured within the kingdom should be immediately sent to Tenochtitlan for sacrifice. It also offered tempting rewards for every one thus taken, or for his dead body.
Then Cortes knew that the war must be fought out to its bitter end, and immediately set forth with another expedition for the reduction of the surrounding country. This time he advanced as far as Tlacopan, where, in his mind and in those of his veterans, sad memories of the terrible night, the noche triste, were revived. Two well-fought battles were necessary for the reduction of this city, and after its capture Cortes occupied it for several days, during which he made sorties into the neighborhood.
In one of these he, with a small body of troops, pursued a flying party of Aztecs out over the fatal causeway. The enemy fled as far as the first bridge, and there, suddenly opening to either side, displayed to the astonished Spaniard a large and well-appointed force advancing rapidly toward them. At the same time a great fleet of canoes appeared, and directly Cortes found himself engaged in another desperate struggle on this sadly remembered battle-ground. Ere they could make good their retreat, a dozen of the Spaniards and twice that number of Tlascalans had been killed or borne off to a more horrible fate in the canoes, and all were more or less wounded. It was a severe lesson in the tactics of Guatamotzin, and the Conqueror meditated it deeply, as he led his force back to Tezcuco.
At this place he received word from Tlascala that his brigantines were finished and ready for transportation across the mountains. Thereupon, he immediately despatched Sandoval and Huetzin, with two hundred Spanish foot, fifteen horsemen, and two thousand Tlascalan warriors, to convoy them to the scene of their intended usefulness. On their way these passed through the little town of Zaltepec, the place in which the five-and-forty Spanish explorers had been treacherously captured and sacrificed.
The inhabitants fled at Sandoval's approach; but in their deserted temples he found many traces of his unfortunate countrymen. Not only were their armor and clothing hung about the walls as trophies, but their heads were found embalmed and suspended before the altars. Here, too, were the skins of their horses, so skilfully mounted that for a moment the Spaniards stared at them in amazement, thinking them live animals. As a punishment for this crime Sandoval ordered that the town be destroyed by fire, and that such of its inhabitants as might be captured should be branded as slaves.
From Zaltepec, Sandoval and Huetzin rapidly crossed the mountains; but before they reached Tlascala they met the advanced guard of an immense army, headed by Xicoten, and threading its sinuous way through the narrow defiles of the sierra. Old Martin Lopez, having finished his vessels, tested them, and taken them to pieces again, was impatient to see them in action. So he persuaded the Tlascalan councillors to furnish him with a convoy to Tezcuco. Xicoten, the war-chief, refused to march at the head of less than fifty thousand men. Consequently this number of warriors had to be gathered and placed under his command. His instructions were to join his forces with those already at Tezcuco, and place them at the disposal of Cortes, for the capture of Tenochtitlan.
Sandoval, knowing that it would be almost impossible to feed such an army at Tezcuco, kindly but firmly dismissed two-thirds of Xicoten's force as soon as he met it; the remainder, still under Xicoten's lead, he allowed to act as a vanguard. With his Spaniards he protected the flanks of the army of Cortes bearing the precious brigantines, and to Huetzin he entrusted the responsibility of the rear.
For twenty leagues was this inland-built fleet of war-ships thus transported over rugged mountains. The thousands of tamanes bearing its timbers, spars, sails, rigging, anchors, and, in fact, its entire equipment, formed a compact line of over six miles in length; and as, on the fifth day after leaving Tlascala, this unique procession filed into the streets of Tezcuco, joyfully welcomed by Cortes and his entire army, it occupied six hours in passing a given point. On this great occasion Sandoval had insisted that to Huetzin and his tried warriors should be accorded the honor of heading the brilliant train. This so filled Xicoten with mortification and jealous rage, that from that moment he plotted, not only the overthrow of his rival, but of the Christian army.
That very night he caused Huetzin to be seized in his own quarters and hurried away toward the mountains. At the same time he ordered the secret departure of the entire Tlascalan army. In the morning he was the first to report to Cortes this defection of the allied force. He attributed it to Huetzin, who, he declared he had reason to know, had deserted to the enemy.
To his confusion, even while he was making this statement, the young Toltec, who by the aid of some of his own faithful followers, had succeeded in making his escape, returned and confronted the Tlascalan war-chief. Greatly incensed at this baseness, and at the same time desirous of making an example that should impress his allies as well as his enemies, Cortes caused Xicoten to be tried by court-martial. By it he was without hesitation condemned to death, and that same evening he was publicly executed, in the presence of the entire army.
There was no harbor at Tezcuco where vessels the size of the brigantines, which had been so skilfully brought thus far over leagues of rugged mountain trails, could be put together and launched. Indeed, the only place fitted for such work was half a league distant from the lake shore. Here, therefore, was the shipyard located, and while the vessels were being rebuilt, a force of eight thousand laborers were set to work to construct a canal from it to the deep waters of the lake. This canal, which when finished was twelve feet deep and twenty wide, was provided with gates, and had its banks strengthened by wooden palisades or, as was in some places necessary, by walls of masonry. The labor of constructing it was so great that, even with the immense force of workmen engaged, it occupied two months.
During this time, Cortes, with three hundred Spaniards and Huetzin's entire force of Tlascalans, swept entirely around the valley, and even penetrated into the mountains on the southeast, dispersing Aztec armies and capturing or conciliating Aztec cities, until only the capital remained unsubdued.
While thus engaged in cutting off the enemy's sources of supply, not a day passed without its fighting or deeds of heroism. One of the last cities to be thus attacked was Zochimilco, on the border of the salt lake. After a stout resistance the enemy gave way and fled through the city streets, pursued by almost the entire force of Christians and their allies. Cortes, being weary, remained with but two servants near the principal gate, to which the troops had been ordered to return.
Huetzin, who, as usual, tired of slaughter long before the vengeance of his fierce followers was satisfied, was the first to make his way back to the place of rendezvous. As he approached it, he was dismayed to see a fresh body of Aztecs rush out of a neighboring lane and make a furious attack upon the general. He defended himself valiantly, but was quickly overpowered by numbers. His horse was thrown down, and Cortes himself received a severe blow on the head. Ere he could rise, he was seized by his exulting foes. As they were dragging him away Huetzin reached the spot and sprang at them with the fury of a tiger. Almost before the astonished Aztecs knew they were attacked, three of their number lay dead, pierced or cut down by the young Knight's good Toledo blade. With this timely aid, and that of his servants, the general regained his feet, tore loose from those who still held him, vaulted again into the saddle, and, in less time than it takes to write it, was scattering the foes who had so nearly dragged him to the altar of sacrifice. It was the narrowest escape of the Conqueror's career up to that moment; and, had the Aztecs been content to kill him instead of being fanatically determined to deliver him to their priests, Guatamotzin might have reigned for years undisturbed.
When next the General and Huetzin met, the former dismounted to greet the young Knight, and grasping his hand, said, earnestly:
"I am well aware of my indebtedness to thee Don Juan, and to my dying day will I not forget it. Still, see thou to it that thy vigilance makes me not over-confident. With such quick blades as that of thine and of trusty Sandoval ever at hand, I am apt to lose sight of all need for care."
At the end of this expedition, during which there was enough of desperate fighting, hair-breadth escapes and rescues, sacking of cities, and romantic adventures, to fill a volume of knight-errantry, Cortes led his spoil-laden troops once more into Tezcuco, where he heard, at once, three items of good news. His brigantines were ready for launching; the canal was finished; and strong reinforcements, for which he had sent to Hispaniola six months before, had arrived.
As, to his mind, the launching of his little navy would mark the beginning of the end, he determined to inaugurate the event with due pomp. Accordingly, on the 28th day of April, 1521, after attending the celebration of high mass, the entire army, with sounding trumpets, rolling drums, and waving banners, marched to the shipyard. Here the thirteen vessels, with masts stepped, sails bent, and colors flying, sat on their well-greased ways, awaiting the signal that should consign them to the element for which they were intended.
At the firing of a cannon the first slid gracefully into the water. Then came another gun and another launch; and so on, until, with the thirteenth gun, the thirteenth brigantine entered the water, and the first American-built navy was afloat. Now, amid a roar of artillery and musketry, the acclamations of tens of thousands of dusky spectators, and the sound of martial music, with the banner of Castile flying from every mast-head, and their own guns answering the glad salute from the shore, the fleet dropped down the canal, and spreading its white wings to a brisk breeze, stood proudly out over the broad waters of the lake.
It was a novel spectacle to the simple natives, and a glad one to the white conquerors; for, with the combined forces of an army and a navy opposed to it, they felt assured that the bloody priesthood of Tenochtitlan was destined to a speedy overthrow. So inspired were they by these feelings, that, led by their commander, the entire Christian army raised its voice in a grand Te Deum.
At this time, exclusive of their allies, the besieging army consisted of eight hundred and eighteen foot soldiers, and eighty-seven cavalry. For weapons they had one hundred and eighteen muskets and crossbows, three heavy iron guns, and fifteen falconets of brass, half a ton of powder, fifty thousand copper-headed arrows, and a thousand long Chinantla pikes, besides their swords and the lances of the cavaliers. To each of the brigantines was allotted a falconet, and three hundred of the troops were detailed to man the fleet. The remainder of the Spaniards, together with one hundred thousand warriors from Tlascala and other allied cities, all eager for the downfall of Tenochtitlan, the stronghold of the oppressor, were divided into three armies, commanded by Sandoval, Alvarado, and Olid.
By the end of May, everything being in readiness, these armies were dispatched to their stations at the ends of the three great causeways leading to the city, while Cortes took temporary command of the fleet. He set sail from Tezcuco; but before he reached Istapalapan the breeze failed, and his vessels lay becalmed. While thus helpless, they were approached by an immense flotilla of Aztec canoes and periaguas, sent out by Guatamotzin for their destruction. These came on boldly until within pistol shot of the drifting fleet, and then halted, irresolute as to how they should attack such monsters.
Just then, a light air springing up, the brigantines bore directly down on the gathered canoes, which greeted them with a dense, but ineffective, flight of arrows and stones. Gathering headway as they advanced, the vessels crashed into the massed flotilla with frightful effect, at the same time letting fly their falconets to right and left. The rippling waters were instantly covered with the wreckage of shattered canoes and struggling human forms. The few survivors fled, with all speed, back to their city, and thus ended the first naval engagement in American waters.
Continuing his way to the great dike, by which he had made his first entry into Tenochtitlan, Cortes assaulted and captured the fort of Xoloc, by which it was defended, midway between the mainland and the city. Here he planted his heavy guns, and this place he made his headquarters during the siege.
In the meantime Alvarado had succeeded, after a stubborn battle, in cutting the aqueduct by which fresh water reached the city from Chapultepec. He next attempted to gain possession of the fatal causeway of Tlacopan, but was driven back, with heavy losses, after several hours of fighting.
After a week spent in the comparative inactivity of perfecting the blockade, the Commander resolved upon a general assault on the city by the three armies. As Huetzin had no longer a separate command, he asked and obtained permission to devote himself to the especial destruction of the Aztec gods. For this purpose he carefully selected one hundred of his most valiant warriors, and attached himself to the division led by the General over the causeway of Iztapalapan.
Its several openings were guarded by strong barricades, behind which the enemy made resolute stands. By the aid of the brigantines, which attacked them on each side, these were successfully carried, one after another, and at length the conquerors trod once more the familiar streets of the city.
How different now was this reception from that of their first entry! Then, myriads of eager and welcoming spectators, men, women, and children, were gathered on the flower-roofed houses. Now, most of the women and children had been sent from the city, and the house-tops were thronged only with grim warriors, who showered down a continuous storm of arrows, darts, and great stones, that stretched many a bold Spaniard and swarthy Tlascalan in the dust.
At every canal in place of a bridge was a rampart, that must be battered down by the heavy guns. Still, doggedly fighting, the besiegers made their slow way to the square, on one side of which stood the quarters they had evacuated on the noche triste, and on the other the great temple of Huitzil. As the Spaniards cleared the courtyard of the temple, Huetzin and his agile followers dashed up the long flights of steps to its top. Here they found only a few frantic priests, whom they pitched headlong from the lofty platform. In the shrine was a new image of the war-god, more hideous and more lavishly covered with gold than its predecessor. This they dragged from its pedestal, and, with an exulting heart, the young Toltec saw it, too, go thundering and crashing to the base of the great teocal.
Outraged and infuriated by this sacrilege, the Aztec warriors gathered about the temple in such overwhelming numbers, that the besiegers were forced back, down the avenue up which they had come; and only by the most determined fighting did Huetzin and his followers escape from being cut off, and rejoin their friends.
Although on this occasion the besiegers were driven from the city on all sides, Huetzin at least felt that the day's fighting and losses had not been in vain. He knew that his time for triumph was at hand, and that, with this overthrow of their war-god, the power of the Aztec priests had received a blow from which it would never recover.
The next day another assault was made that penetrated, as before, to the square of the temple. On this occasion the Spaniards, filled with hatred against the ancient palace in which they had suffered so much, set fire to it in a hundred places, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing it in ruins. As on the previous occasion, the retreat to their own camp was so bitterly assailed that few reached it without bearing on their bodies smarting tokens of the fight. These assaults were continued for many days, though with but slight results; for, wherever the besiegers filled canal openings during the day, the Aztecs cleared them out again at night. They also, contrary to their usual custom, made constant night attacks upon the Christian camps, so that the Spaniards were allowed no rest.