prisoner was not released. His subjects were granted daily audience
with him, but they were only admitted a few at a time, and must pass
the scrutiny of a strong Spanish guard always maintained in the royal
antechamber.

This new order of things was hardly established before Sandoval began
making inquiries as to the name, rank, and nationality of the beautiful
girl with whom he had held so delightful, and, at the same time, so
unsatisfactory an interview in the royal gardens. To his dismay he
could learn nothing. No one to whom he applied could tell him aught
concerning her, and she seemed to have disappeared as absolutely as
though translated to another sphere. Even the page who had conducted
him to her was not to be found. Sandoval enlisted the services of both
Marina and Huetzin in the search, but they were equally unsuccessful
with himself.

The young Toltec had, by this time, acquired so fair a knowledge of
Spanish that he was able, after a fashion, to converse with his friend
without the aid of an interpreter. Taking advantage of this, Sandoval
would talk with him for hours concerning the object of his incessant
thoughts. He declared his willingness to resign all the treasure he had
acquired since coming to Mexico, if, by so doing, he could gain another
interview with the maiden. This was no mean sum, for, in one way and
another, the Spaniards had collected some six and a half millions of
dollars in gold alone, to say nothing of an immense quantity of silver,
jewels, and costly fabrics.

With all his wealth and bravery, poor Sandoval could discover no means
of accomplishing the desire of his heart, and so sank into such a state
of melancholy as to attract the attention and arouse the anxiety of
Cortes himself. This acute observer, believing hard work to be the best
lightener of a heavy heart, and being in want of a trusty governor for
the important post of Vera Cruz, forthwith appointed the unhappy young
soldier to the position, and despatched him to his new sphere of action.

By this time the entire Aztec kingdom seemed truly to have passed
under the dominion of the white conquerors, and that almost without
a struggle. Not only did Cortes levy tribute and dispense justice in
the name of the king, but he compelled Montezuma to publicly announce
himself a vassal of Spain. Although the Aztec priesthood and religion
were not yet overthrown, the Spaniards had erected a cross on the
summit of the great temple, and here their worship was conducted
by the side of that of the Aztec gods. Two brigantines, or small
sailing vessels, were built and armed, for the command of the Tezcucan
lake, and in no direction was the power of the Spaniards disputed.
Several incipient rebellions had been so promptly reported to the
Conqueror, though in so mysterious a manner that he could not trace his
information to its source, that he was enabled to crush them before
they came to a head. In the name of the king, who was but a passive
tool in his hands, he arrested and held captive several reputed leaders
of these rebellions, and among them Cacama, Prince of Tezcuco.

Some months were passed thus peacefully, and Huetzin, tired of
inactivity, as well as hopeless of discovering the fate of Tiata, whom
he mourned as dead, was about to apply for permission to return to
Tlascala, when one day there came a letter from Sandoval that changed
the whole current of events. It contained the intelligence that a
Spanish hidalgo, named Narvaez, in command of a fleet of eighteen
vessels, and an army of a thousand men, well supplied with horses,
artillery, muskets, and ammunition, had landed on the coast. This
new-comer claimed to have authority from the Governor-General of the
New World to supersede Cortes, and assume supreme control of the
great kingdom he had conquered. By virtue of this authority he had
summoned Sandoval to surrender Vera Cruz, and announced his intention
of immediately marching on Cortes in Tenochtitlan. Upon this Sandoval
had placed his little garrison in the best possible state of defence,
answered Narvaez that he would surrender when he had orders from his
commander to do so, but not before, and now awaited instructions.

In this grave emergency the white conqueror did not hesitate a moment
to consider his course of action. Taking with him two hundred troops,
he set out at once for the coast, where he proposed to at least test
the strength of the new-comer before submitting to his authority. He
left Alvarado, the "Tonatiah" of the Aztecs, behind in command of the
city; with him were also left one hundred and forty Spaniards, Huetzin
with his Tlascalans, and all the artillery.

As Cortes and his little army marched out of the city, Montezuma, in
the royal litter, accompanied him as far as the great causeway. There,
on the spot where they had first met, these two parted, with every mark
of mutual esteem.

CHAPTER XXV.

CORTES CAPTURES AND ENLISTS THE ARMY OF HIS RIVAL

Hastening with all speed back over the road he had learned so well a
few months before, Cortes led his little band across the valley, over
the lofty pass of its mountain wall, to the wide-spread table-land of
Puebla. Traversing this, by way of Cholula and Tlascala, the Conqueror
finally crossed the eastern Cordilleras, and plunged into the sea of
tropic vegetation that revels in the damp heats of the Tierra Caliente.

Narvaez had established himself at Cempoalla, with the intention of
using the Totonac city as a base of operations against Vera Cruz. But
Sandoval realizing that with a force of sixty men, as opposed to a
thousand, discretion was by far the better part of valor, did not wait
to be attacked. He slipped away during a night of stormy darkness, and
when, on the following morning, his empty and echoing barracks were
summoned to surrender, their late occupants were effectually hidden
behind a league or more of the well-nigh impenetrable forest in which
they had disappeared. Making a great circuit, so as to elude pursuit,
carefully avoiding all highways, and suffering incredible hardships in
trackless forests and wild mountain defiles, Sandoval and his handful
of men at length effected a joyful junction with the slender force
under Cortes.

They brought such news of the carelessness with which the camp of
Narvaez was guarded, and concerning the dissatisfaction of his troops
with their leader, that Cortes determined to attack him without delay.
Through the alternate downpours and steaming sunbursts that mark the
rainy season of the tropics, the little army advanced to the bank of
a small river in the vicinity of Cempoalla, without being discovered.
Here, while they lay concealed, they had the satisfaction of seeing
Narvaez sally forth at the head of his troops, march as far as the
opposite bank of the swollen stream, receive a thorough soaking from a
heavy shower, and then, apparently convinced that his rival was nowhere
in that part of the country, march back again to his comfortable
quarters.

That night, in a pelting storm, the veterans of Cortes forded the
stream, bracing themselves against its rushing current with the long
copper-headed chinantla pikes obtained from the Aztecs. Two only
were carried away by the flood, and the rest, advancing swiftly and
stealthily, soon found themselves in the deserted and storm-swept
streets of Cempoalla. Here, ere an alarm was given, they were so
completely masters of the situation that, although Narvaez and his
guard made a brave show of resistance, the moment the former fell,
dangerously wounded, his entire army surrendered.

On the following morning their submission, which was accompanied by the
laying down of their arms, was formally accepted by Cortes. Then the
troops so recently opposed to him were re-enlisted, but this time under
his victorious banner. Not only were their arms and other property
restored to them, but they received liberal presents of the gold he had
won from Aztec treasure-houses. Narvaez and his principal adherents
were sent in chains to Vera Cruz, and his fleet was dismantled of its
sails, rigging, and portable iron-work. Thus Cortes became again,
without question, the supreme ruler of Mexico.

Just as these matters were so happily adjusted, and he was considering
an extensive plan of new exploration and conquest, his attention was
abruptly recalled to Tenochtitlan. Late one night a weary and wayworn
native warrior reached the Christian camp, and, being halted by a
sentry, who was one of Narvaez's men, demanded, in broken Spanish, to
be conducted to the General, for whom he claimed to have an important
communication. The sentry, being extremely suspicious of all Indians,
including those who spoke Spanish, stood stoutly on the defensive,
with levelled pike, and called loudly for the captain of the guard.
This officer, who happened to be Sandoval, came hurrying to the post,
attended by the watch, one of whom bore a lantern. The sentry had only
begun to tell of the treacherous Indian who was seeking admission to
the commander, undoubtedly with designs against his life, when the
lantern light flashed full in the warrior's face. As it did so a cry
of delighted recognition came from the captain of the guard. Springing
forward, he embraced the newly arrived stranger, calling him Don Juan
and his brother, to the intense mystification of the gaping soldiers,
who were witnesses of this unprecedented performance.

Bidding the watch retire, and the sentry resume his beat, Sandoval led
Huetzin to his own quarters, where, after he had partaken of the food
he showed every evidence of needing, the latter inquired:

"Hast thou not heard of the uprising in Tenochtitlan, and the perilous
situation of thy friends?"

"Not a word," replied Sandoval.

"Then were the messengers captured as we feared. Full a dozen were sent
out, but in each case the altar of the great temple was shortly after
drenched with human blood. Two were Spaniards, and the rest warriors of
my own band. We were hemmed in on all sides, nearly all were wounded,
and all were exhausted with fighting and constant alarms. Without
succor we could hold out but a few days longer.

"At length, satisfied that no one of our messengers had escaped from
the city, I sought, and obtained permission from the lord Tonatiah to
make the attempt. It was granted and I ventured forth. I could not
escape by water, as the city is surrounded by an unbroken chain of
canoes, and so was forced to seek the causeway of Iztapalapan. It was
night, and being disguised, even as I now am, to resemble a tamane, I
set forth with strong hopes of escaping unnoticed. They were unfounded;
for before I had gone a hundred paces from the gate I was conscious
of being observed and followed. As far as the end of the causeway was
I allowed to go, but there I was waylaid and overcome by so strong a
force that even had I been armed, resistance would have been in vain.

"As I was being led toward the temple by my captors, who shouted for
joy that Huitzil would not lack for a victim that night, we were met
by a priest, who called on them to halt until he could examine their
prisoner. A light was brought, that exhibited my features without
revealing his. He evidently recognized me, for he said, in a low tone
and in the Mayan tongue: 'If thou canst escape the altar of Huitzil for
this, the third time, O son of Tlahuicol, then will the power of the
blood-loving gods be broken forever. Go, and may the gods of thy Toltec
ancestors go with thee.' Then, with an angry voice he roundly abused my
captors, saying to them that they had made a mistake, and arrested one
who was a patriot like themselves. While he thus held their attention
I slipped away, and now, the causeway being unguarded, I escaped across
it, and have in three days' time made my way to this place."

"But why should an Aztec priest exert himself in thy behalf?" demanded
Sandoval.

"Because," answered Huetzin, "he was Tlalco the Toltec, of whom I have
told thee as aiding my first escape."

"Tlalco," mused the other; "was not that the name of a priest who was
ever about Montezuma, and apparently exercised so great an influence
over him?"

"He is the same."

"Then he is the priest of all priests whom I am most anxious to meet.
I have cause to believe that he can give me information concerning the
lady of my heart, over whose loss I do so grieve that until I find her
again I am unfitted for a soldier."

"From what source gained you this idea?" queried Huetzin.

"I heard, not long since, from him who was a king's page. He is some
kin to the Totonac cacique, and in return for a favor I rendered the
latter, he sent me word that my life's happiness was in the hands
of Tlalco the priest. At first I could make nothing of so ambiguous
a message, but after much consideration I think I have solved its
meaning. Now, therefore, the dearest hope of my life, next to one, is
to meet with this same Tlalco."

"Then!" exclaimed Huetzin, "as he is not to be met short of
Tenochtitlan, let us hasten the meeting as much as we may, by reporting
the present state of affairs at once to my lord Malinche. It grieves me
to think of the hunger and suffering, the weariness and despair of thy
countrymen and my brave Tlascalans, whom I left penned in yonder city
like trapped eagles. Speaking of pages, I heard that in spite of the
strict watch maintained about our quarters a new one gained admittance
in some way, and was taken into the king's service the very day I
left. They said he was one of those handsome youths for whom the king
expresses such a preference."

As Sandoval's impatience to make a start for the Aztec capital was
equal to Huetzin's own, they proceeded to the quarters occupied by
Cortes, and in spite of the lateness of the hour, obtained an audience.
To the commander the young Toltec gave a full and detailed account of
what had taken place in Tenochtitlan since his departure from that
city. According to this Alvarado had been secretly informed that the
Aztec priests, taking advantage of his weakness, had planned his
destruction, and the rescue of Montezuma, by a general uprising, which
was to take place during the feast of the Incensing of Huitzil. As the
day of the feast approached they asked that the king might be permitted
to assist them in their ceremonies. This request was refused, and
Alvarado, recalling the summary vengeance taken by his commander on
the Cholulans for planning his destruction, determined to adopt similar
measures in the present case. He therefore caused the greater part of
the force at his command to gather about the scene of festivities as
though out of curiosity. At a given signal these fell upon the priests,
nobles, and others, engaged in the ceremonial dance, and slew them to
the number of six hundred.

At this the whole city rose in arms, drove the Spaniards to their
quarters, and, in spite of a devastating fire of artillery, made
assault after assault against the walls. Only at command of their king,
whom Alvarado persuaded to appeal to them, did the assailants withdraw.
Then they began a regular siege, burning the Spanish brigantines,
throwing up works about their quarters, cutting off their supplies of
water and provisions, and arresting all who attempted to pass either
in to or out from them. "So desperate is their condition," concluded
Huetzin, "that, unless my lord furnishes speedy relief, there is naught
before them save starvation or the altars of the Great Temple."

For answer, Cortes simply said, "The army marches at daylight, and do
thou, Gonzalo, give instant orders, in my name, to that effect."

CHAPTER XXVI.

TIATA'S BRAVE DEATH AND SANDOVAL'S GRIEF

So untiring were the efforts of Sandoval and his associates during the
remainder of that night, that by sunrise the army of rescue had left
Cempoalla. It consisted of about one thousand infantry, of whom nearly
one hundred were armed with muskets, and as many more with cross-bows,
a hundred cavalry, and a well-provisioned train of artillery. In three
days they reached Tlascala; and Huetzin, who had obtained permission to
hasten to this point in advance of the army, rejoined it with a welcome
reinforcement of two thousand Tlascalan warriors, all eager to be led
against their hereditary foe.

While the army halted at Tlascala, the aged chieftain of Titcala
offered to one of the newly arrived cavaliers so great a sum in gold
dust for his horse, a dainty sorrel mare, that the offer was promptly
accepted. This purchase was immediately transferred to Huetzin, of whom
his grandfather was so proud, that he was determined to give the young
warrior an opportunity for making as brave an appearance as any of his
white comrades. Thus Huetzin, raised to a pinnacle of proud happiness
by his new possession, became the first native of the new world to own
and bestride one of those marvellous animals which, but a year before,
had been spoken of throughout all Anahuac as either gods or devils.
He named his mare "Cocotin" (little girl), and, under the skilful
teachings of Sandoval, who was almost as delighted to see him mounted
as he was to be so, he soon became an expert horseman.

From Tlascala the conquerors made all speed over the rugged
Cordilleras, though this time, as a measure of precaution, taking a
more northerly route than that traversed before. On the western brow of
the mountains it presented the broad Mexican valley from an entirely
different point of view. It gave, however, the same exquisite picture
of shimmering lakes with white-walled cities and villas resting on
their bosoms, fire-tipped teocallis, dark groves, blooming fields,
and encircling walls of distant blue, that some of them had gazed on
before. At their feet lay the city of Tezcuco, shaded by cypresses,
while, far across the shining waters, rose the inscrutable walls of
Tenochtitlan, either the prison or the grave of their friends.

Their fears that it was the latter were aroused, as they descended into
the valley, by the coolness and even rudeness of their treatment by its
inhabitants. As they entered the city of Tezcuco, where they proposed
to rest for the night, their reception was even more chilling than any
yet experienced. No one came forth to give them welcome, and, as they
marched through the silent streets, only a furtive face, peering now
and then from a doorway, proved that any living soul still remained
in the city. These things raised uneasy forebodings, not only in the
mind of Cortes, but throughout all his army, as to the fate of Alvarado
and those with him, and they would have given much for news from the
distant city. Not only would it put an end to their suspense, but by it
their future movements could be determined. At a time and in a manner
that they least expected it, the news came.

The night had passed quietly, and Huetzin, who had charge of the
morning watch, stood on the shore of the lake, noting the rosy flush of
morning redden the snow-fields of towering Popocatepetl. A mist hung
over the waters that hid their farther shore and the city in which
he had dared and suffered so much. As he gazed in the direction of
Tenochtitlan, he became aware of moving forms out on the lake, dimly
disclosed through the lifting fog. They were advancing toward him, and
soon resolved themselves into two canoes, one behind the other. In a
moment Huetzin saw that in the first a slight youth was paddling with a
desperate energy, and evidently endeavoring to escape from the other.
In the second a man, clad in the white robe of a priest, was laboring
with an equal effort, and, by his superior strength, was surely
gaining on the other. After them more canoes shot out of the mist, all
coming from the same direction, and all advancing at their utmost speed.

A light craft lay drawn up on the shore, not far from where the young
Toltec stood, and, as a wild cry for aid came quavering across the
waters from the foremost canoe, Huetzin, first giving an alarm to
his own men, sprang into it, and put forth to the assistance of the
hard-pressed fugitive. As he did so, the man robed like a priest, who
led the pursuit, dropped his paddle, seized a bow lying in the bottom
of his boat, and stood up, with a copper-tipped arrow drawn back to its
head. Huetzin uttered a cry of horror as the cruel shaft sped on its
deadly errand, and sank deep in the back of the flying youth, striking
him squarely between the shoulders. As the stricken lad fell forward,
there came an exultant cry across the still waters: "Thus deals Topil
with the enemies of his gods!" Then his canoe was spun around, and
joined those of the other pursuers in an unharmed flight across the
lake, though a dozen bullets were sent whistling after them, by the few
musketeers who had been attracted to the shore.

Although Huetzin heard the priest's words plainly enough, he did not,
at the moment, realize their full meaning. Filled with sorrow for the
young stranger whom he had just seen so cruelly shot down, and who he
felt must be a friend, he drove his own craft rapidly to where the
other lay drifting. Its occupant, who seemed a mere boy, clad in the
picturesque costume of a king's page, lay, face downward in a pool of
his life's blood that was forming in the bottom of the canoe. The arrow
had been sped truly, and with a deadly force.

As Huetzin, stepping into the canoe, lifted the lad to an easier
position, a filmy scarf wound about his head, fell off, and a wealth of
auburn hair tumbled over his shoulders. Then a pair of glorious, brown
eyes were opened, and fixed full on the face of the Tlascalan warrior.
The latter grew rigid, as though from a numbing shock. The very blood
in his veins turned chill. A voice that he had thought never again to
hear, came to his ears. It was very faint, but the words were clear and
distinct:

"Huetzin, my brother! My dear, dear, brother! I knew you would
come, though they said you were dead. You are fighting for the true
faith, for the old faith, are you not, dear? I, too, have done what
I could. Now I am dying for it. Gladly. Help me to make the sign,
Huetzin. The holy sign of the Toltecs. There. Now it--is well.
Huetzin!--Father!--Mother!----" The brown eyes closed gently, like
those of an infant dropping into peaceful slumber. The queenly head
sunk back on the strong arm supporting it; there came a soft sigh,
and, as the rising sun burst in full glory from behind snow-crowned
Popocatepetl, the spirit of Tiata mingled with its flood of brightness.

Like one who dreams, Huetzin sat with the light burden in his arms,
gazing at the calmly beautiful face of his dead sister, but seeming to
see far beyond it. There was that in his expression that caused those
who came to his assistance to respect his silence, though they knew not
that the form, which he held, was other than what it appeared. Very
gently they led his canoe to land, and, when its prow grated on the
beach, he rose and stepped out, still bearing his burden. They offered
to relieve him of it, but he paid no heed. As he lifted it a letter
addressed to the Spanish commander fell to the ground. It was from
Alvarado, and it contained the news, so longed for, that the garrison
still held out. It concluded: "Were it not that I realize the great
importance of this word to you, and that your movements will be guided
by it, I should not strive to send it. Almost certain death awaits any
messenger who attempts to pass the lines that the priests, who are
heading this insurrection, have drawn about us. No ordinary despatch
bearer could cross them. I am sending this by a king's page, a brave
lad, who has volunteered for the service, and will get through the
lines if it be in the power of mortal to do so. I heartily recommend
him to your favor, and pray that no harm may befall him."

While this letter, borne hastily to Cortes, was being read by him,
Huetzin, taking no notice of proffered assistance, and still appearing
like one in a dream, bore his dead to his own quarters, and laid the
slender form on his own bed. He had barely deposited his sorrowful
burden, when Sandoval, who, hearing that something had gone amiss with
his friend, had hastened with ready sympathy to find him, entered the
room.

"What has happened thee, Don Juan, my brother?" he began. Then,
catching sight of the dead girl, lying so peacefully, he stopped as
though struck with an instant dumbness, clutched at his own throat, and
staggered back so that, but for the wall, he must have fallen.

Surprised from his own grief for the moment, Huetzin sprang to his
friend, crying: "What is it? What ails thee, my brother? Art thou
stricken with death?"

With a mighty sob, that sounded like the breaking of a heart, Sandoval
answered: "Thou hast said it, for I am indeed stricken with death.
There lies she who held my life, and if she has taken it not with her,
still it is gone from me, so that none other may ever hold it. I know
not even the name by which she was called, yet did I know her soul as
though it were mine own."

"She was Tiata, my sister," answered Huetzin, in a whisper.

"Then are we indeed brothers, and more than brothers," replied
Sandoval. With these words he left the room, nor was he seen again by
living soul that day.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE CONQUERORS ARE BESIEGED IN THEIR QUARTERS

The brave girl who had risked and lost her life in bringing Alvarado's
message to Cortes, was buried that same day, at sunset, amid the
drooping cypresses and perfumed flowers of the royal garden of Tezcuco.
During the day, Marina, and a few young Tezcucan girls whom she
persuaded to venture timidly forth from their homes, lined the grave
with a plait of sweet-scented grasses. When Tiata had been laid gently
within it, there was erected above it a snow-white cross, the symbol of
the Toltec faith, for love of which she died. It was a day of sadness
in the deserted city, for the story of the great sorrow that had fallen
on both Huetzin and Sandoval was known to every soldier and warrior. At
the young Tlascalan leader they cast glances of respectful sympathy,
but Sandoval was seen of no man that day. When, on the following
morning, he reappeared among them, none dared speak to him of what had
happened, for to his face had come that look of sternness that it held
to the day of his death, and which caused even the boldest to shrink
from incurring his displeasure.

From Tezcuco the army swept around the southern shore of the salt
lake, to that same great causeway over which the first triumphal entry
had been made into Tenochtitlan. Then, they had barely found room
to advance amid the welcoming throngs of spectators with which it
was crowded. Now, save for their own heavy tread, it was silent and
deserted. Then, the sparkling waters on either side had swarmed with
swift canoes filled with eager sight-seers. Now, only an occasional
craft was to be seen stealthily regarding their movements from a
distance and darting away like a frightened water-fowl when attention
appeared to be attracted to it. Even from the far-reaching city, before
them came no sound, nor was there sign of life. A death-like stillness
brooded over the entire scene, and it filled the hearts of the
advancing troops with an ominous dread. To dispel this, Cortes ordered
the trumpets to sound a merry blast. Its echoes had hardly died away
before they were answered by a glad roar of artillery from the distant
fortress, in the heart of the city.

With this evidence that the little garrison still held out, and that
the cross was still uplifted in the very shadow of Huitzil's temple,
the troops entered Tenochtitlan with lighter hearts and a brisker
tread. As they marched through its silent streets, these appeared
even more deserted than had those of Tezcuco. The active population
of former days had vanished, and the tramp of iron-shod hoofs only
awoke melancholy echoes from empty houses. The veterans, who had seen
these same streets teeming with eager multitudes, gazed about them in
bewilderment, while the levies of Narvaez jeered at them for having,
with all their boasted prowess, only conquered a city of the dead.

Finally they came to the Spanish quarters. The great gates behind which
their friends had been besieged so long, were flung joyously open, and
the new-comers were received with greetings as hearty as they were
sincere. To the veterans little seemed changed since their departure.
Some traces of the siege, in the shape of fire-blackened buildings and
shattered walls, were to be seen here and there, but Montezuma was
still a prisoner; military order still prevailed, and, with the advent
of this fresh army, there was every reason to believe that the former
state of affairs would speedily be restored. Thus Cortes believed, and
thus he wrote to the officer whom he had left in command at Vera Cruz.

Only two comparatively unimportant matters gave him any uneasiness.
One of these was the escape of Cuitlahua, the king's brother, and thus
heir to the Aztec throne, which had been made only a few days before.
The other was Montezuma's complaint that Tlalco, his favorite priestly
adviser, was no longer permitted to visit him. When Cortes questioned
Alvarado concerning this, the latter denied having refused admittance
to any person whom the king desired to see. He added that he had
noted the absence of this particular priest, but had accounted for it
by supposing that he had joined his fellows in inciting the present
insurrection. Both Huetzin and Sandoval deeply regretted that they were
unable to question Tlalco concerning certain matters. Knowing what they
did of his personality, they feared lest it should have been discovered
by the chief priest, in which case they knew there was little hope of
ever again meeting with the devoted Toltec.

A day or two after his arrival, Cortes, having completed his despatches
for Vera Cruz, entrusted them to a messenger who was ordered to proceed
to that fort. He set forth; but in less than half an hour, came flying
back, terror-stricken and covered with wounds. "The city is in arms!"
he cried. "The drawbridges are raised, and no avenue of escape is left!"

Even as he spoke, his words were confirmed by a dark flood of Aztec
warriors, sweeping down the great avenue, like some mighty tide
that has burst its limits. At the same time the parapeted roofs of
neighboring buildings were covered with a multitude of slingers and
bowmen, who seemed to spring into existence as though by magic. As
the astonished Spaniards gazed on this sudden repopulating of the
deserted city with warriors instead of traders, the dread tones of the
great serpent drum, thundering forth from Huitzil's temple, proclaimed
that the Aztec gods had at length awakened and were about to wage a
pitiless, unrelenting war against all followers of the cross.

The ominous booming of the war-drum was instantly answered by the
ringing notes of Christian trumpets, summoning every man within the
palace-fortress to his post. Their call was so promptly obeyed that ere
the tawny Aztec wave reached the wall, every musketeer, cross-bowman,
and gunner was in place, and waiting.

A blinding flight of arrows, darts, and stones, from the Aztec front,
and a storm of missiles from the house-tops, together with a fierce
yell from ten thousand Aztec throats, opened the battle. In reply
came a rattling volley from Spanish guns, that mowed down hundreds of
the advancing hosts. But they did not falter. Again and again they
charged, dashing themselves with impotent fury against the low stone
wall separating them from their enemies, and, time after time, the
same murderous volley drove them back. Hundreds of them, upborne by
hundreds more, scaled the walls, only to fall victims to the Tlascalan
maquahuitls, that sprang to meet them from the opposite side. They
tried to effect a breach with battering-rams, and to set the quarters
on fire with blazing arrows. The woodwork of some of the buildings was
soon burning briskly, and a few rods of wall were levelled; but the
fire died out without injuring the more substantial portions of the
buildings, and a grinning battery lay in wait behind the breach. Like
crouched tigers the black guns seemed to leap at the swarming foe, and
in a few minutes the breach was choked with lifeless human bodies.
Still the battle raged with unabated fury until, with the coming of
night, both sides were thankful for a respite.

With earliest sunrise the Spaniards were again under arms and at
their posts, but only to see the streets and squares swarming with
a more numerous and determined foe than had attacked them on the
preceding day. In its approach to military order the hand of the
warlike Cuitlahua was visible. Instead of being a disorderly mob,
the Aztec force was drawn up in compact bodies, each under its own
leader. Above them streamed banners emblazoned with the devices of many
cities, while over all soared a golden eagle, bearing in his talons
a writhing serpent, the proud cognizance of the Montezumas, and the
standard of the Aztec nation. Among the crowded ranks, fierce priests
were everywhere to be seen promising the protection of the gods, and
inviting their followers to deeds of valor. The gorgeous feather
mantles and golden bucklers of the nobles glistened in the morning sun,
while above the cotton-armored, or naked ranks of the humbler warriors,
a forest of tossing spears reflected his rays from their myriad
gleaming points.

As Cortes had determined to take the offensive in this day's fight,
he ordered a general discharge of artillery and musketry to be poured
into the thickset Aztec ranks before they had made a movement of
attack. Under cover of the resulting confusion, the gates were thrown
open, and out of the smoke clouds the Spanish cavalry dashed forth in
a resistless charge. They were supported by Huetzin with a thousand
Tlascalan warriors, and such was the fury of their onslaught that,
for several blocks, the Aztecs were swept helplessly before it.
Their precipitate flight ended at a barricade of timber and stones,
that had been thrown across the great avenue during the night. Here
they made so determined a stand that the Spaniards, galled by their
hurtling missiles, and an incessant rain of stones from the neighboring
house-tops, were compelled to retire.

Two heavy guns, advanced on the run by scores of lusty Tlascalans,
soon levelled the barricade. But it had served as a rallying-point for
fresh battalions of the enemy, by whom an attempt of the Spaniards to
repeat their brilliant charge was doggedly and successfully resisted.
Regardless of wounds or death, numbers of them would, at a signal, dart
under the horses' bellies and cling to their legs, while others strove
to fell the riders from their saddles.

It was fortunate for the bulk of the Spanish army that the efforts
of the Aztecs were invariably directed toward the taking of
prisoners, rather than to the killing of their enemies; though to the
unfortunates thus captured and dragged away for sacrifice, instant
death would have been infinitely preferable. Everywhere the Spaniards
found barricades erected, and at these points were massed fresh bodies
of Aztec troops, impatiently awaiting their turn to plunge into the
fray. No matter how often they were repulsed or how many of them
were killed, they appeared to the disheartened whites to swarm in
undiminished numbers, and with unabated courage.

So the day was spent in a steady succession of petty, but desperate
engagements. At its close, although the Spaniards had been everywhere
victorious, they were exhausted and filled with gloomy forebodings,
while their adversaries seemed more confident and in a better humor for
fighting than at the beginning of the struggle.

All night long they gathered outside the Spanish quarters, taunting the
invaders with their helplessness, now that the gods were awake. "The
altars of Huitzil thirst for your blood!" they cried. "But soon they
will be drenched with it, and the wild beasts of the palace shall feast
on your carcasses! The knives of sacrifice are sharpened!--and cages
for fattening await the lean and hungry Tlascalans!"

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A BATTLE IN MID-AIR

So fierce was the Aztec temper, that, with earliest dawn of the third
day of fighting, they were swarming at the walls. So determined was
their assault, that, ere they could be driven back, nearly a thousand
of them had leaped inside, and gained the courtyard. Although these
fought with a desperation that resulted in serious injury to the
garrison, most of them were quickly despatched by the Tlascalans, among
whom they had appeared. A number, however, escaped, and darted into
the numerous buildings of the old palace. Here, though the Tlascalans
pursued them like ferrets after rats, they managed to set numerous
fires, kill or wound several persons, stab Cortes himself through the
hand, and do an immense amount of mischief before being finally hunted
down and destroyed. A few more assaults as desperate and successful as
this would seal the fate of the besieged, and, even to the bravest,
their situation began to appear alarming.

In this strait, Cortes appealed to his royal prisoner and urged him
to use his influence with his subjects to bring about a cessation of
hostilities. This, Montezuma at first refused to do; but, when assured
that the invaders would willingly leave the city if a way were opened
to him, he finally consented. Arrayed for the occasion in his most
kingly robes, he was escorted to the roof of the central turret of the
palace by a brilliant retinue of those Aztec nobles who still shared
his fortunes, and a number of Spanish cavaliers.

In the streets below the battle was raging furiously; but, as his
subjects recognized their monarch, the din of clashing weapons and
fierce war-cries instantly ceased. The tumult of war was succeeded by a
stillness as of death. Many of the Aztecs prostrated themselves to the
ground; others bowed their heads; but some gazed, unabashed, and even
defiantly, at the king, whose weak-minded superstition had lost him his
kingdom. More than one of these daring spirits secretly fitted an arrow
to his bowstring, and nervously fingered it. In more than one breast a
sacrilege was meditated that, though certain to be avenged by the gods,
might, after all, be for the best. But first they would hear what this
dishonored king had to say.

He was bidding them disperse, and do no further harm to his friends the
white men, who, if allowed, would willingly return whence they came.

This would never do! The priests of the war-god were greedy for the
victims, who were on the point of surrendering themselves. Should they
be balked of their prey by this king, who was already as good as dead?
Never! Let him die, and be no longer an impediment to their vengeance!
With him out of the way, the destruction of the Christians and their
base allies would be an easy matter! Then would the gods rejoice!
Then would their favor be restored! and again would Anahuac take her
proper place as leader of the nations! Down with Montezuma! Long live
Cuitlahua! To the altars with Spaniard and Tlascalan!

So whispered the busy priests, darting from one to another. The whisper
grew into a murmur, and it quickly rose to a storm of fierce cries.

Now was the time! An arrow, aimed by a subject at his king, hissed
through the air. A cloud of arrows followed it. Spanish bucklers were
interposed too late, and, as Montezuma fell, a frenzied yell of triumph
arose from the multitude.

Then a reaction set in. What would the gods do? "To the temple!" was
the cry. "The priests must plead for us!" The priests themselves
spread this shout, exulting, as they did so, in its evidence of their
unimpaired power. So the throngs hastened away toward the temples,
until, in a short time, not a person remained in the great square
fronting the Spanish quarters.

In the meantime, Montezuma, borne tenderly below, and laid on his royal
bed still dressed in his robes of state, was dying. The priests of his
own race came not near him. They had no use for a dying king! Already
were they busy with preparations for crowning another, who would heap
their altars with victims, and add to their power, until they should
become objects of fear and worship, even as were the gods themselves.
Already was Topil, the chief priest, preparing a sacrifice such as
had not been known at an Aztec coronation for nearly four centuries.
He had a Toltec in reserve for the altar. Not only that, but a Toltec
who had masqueraded as an Aztec priest, and had been detected in a
vile conspiracy against the gods. Besides, he had a few Spaniards in
his dungeons, and when had Christian blood been spilled at an Aztec
coronation? Never before!

So Montezuma, the king who might have been all-powerful, died, because
of his superstitious weakness, and the gods did not avenge his death,
but allowed Cuitlahua, his brother, to reign in his stead.

The great temple of Huitzil stood so near the ancient palace in which
the Spaniards and their allies were quartered, as to overlook it. A
quantity of stones and heavy timbers had been conveyed to its summit
under cover of darkness, and one morning the Christians were dismayed
to find these thundering down on them from the lofty height. At the
same time came such flights of arrows, as denoted the presence on this
vantage ground of a large body of warriors. In connection with this
attack, came another of those furious assaults on their works, of which
the enemy seemed never to tire. It was at once realized that if they
would escape speedy destruction, the temple must be carried, and Cortes
detailed one hundred men, under Escobar, the chamberlain, for the
purpose.

Three separate charges did this officer and his brave followers
make in their effort to capture the huge teocal; but each time they
were repulsed with serious loss. Finally, Escobar returned with but
half his men, leaving the others where they had fallen. He, and all
of the survivors, were wounded, some of them so severely that they
died soon after, and the capture of the temple was reported to be an
impossibility.

Cortes declaring that nothing was impossible, that the place must be
captured, and that he would either accomplish it or die in the attempt,
detailed another storming party of three hundred Spaniards, and two
thousand Tlascalan warriors. These last were headed by their young
chieftain, while the whole force was led by the General in person.
Fifteen minutes of furious fighting forced a passage through the throng
of Aztecs occupying the temple court, and placed the assailants at the
foot of the first of the five flights of stone steps by which the top
was to be reached.

Leaving the Tlascalans and a score of musketeers to repel the Aztecs,
who were making constant efforts to regain possession of the court,
the leader, closely followed by Sandoval, Huetzin, and the other
gallant cavaliers of the storming party, sprang up the first stairway.
On each of the terraces above them stood strong bodies of the enemy to
dispute their passage. These showered down arrows and darts, together
with great stones and massive timbers. Most of the latter bounded
harmlessly over the heads of the scaling party, but every now and then
one would crash into their ranks, and, sweeping some of the unfortunate
Spaniards from their narrow foothold, hurl them lifeless to the bottom.
In spite of the terrible odds thus presented, the dauntless conquerors
fought their way foot by foot, from terrace to terrace, and from
stairway to stairway, ever upward, until at length the lofty summit was
attained.

Here, in sight of the whole city the opposing forces closed in furious
combat, of such a phenomenal nature, that all other hostilities
were suspended by mutual consent, in order that this death-struggle
in mid-air might be watched without interruption. The priests of
the temple, seeming more like demons than human beings, with their
blood-clotted locks and savage aspect, fought like such. They rushed
at the Spaniards with incredible fury, and, in many cases, forced them
over the awful brink, willing to sacrifice their own lives in the leap
to death, if they could only carry the hated Christians with them.

Once, in the midst of the fighting, Huetzin heard his own name called
in accents of despair, and saw his brother Sandoval whose sword had
snapped off at the hilt, struggling with half a dozen of these fiends,
who had forced him to within a few feet of the edge. In a moment the
young Toltec had hewed a way to his friend's side, and in another
Sandoval was free to snatch the sword of a dying cavalier, and plunge
once more into the thickest of the fight. For three dreadful hours did
the combat rage. At the end of that time a remnant only of the gallant
band of assailants remained masters of the bloody arena. Every Aztec,
priest, noble, or warrior, had either been slain, or hurled from the
giddy height.

Some of the survivors entered the sanctuary where sat the frightful
image of Huitzil, the war-god. Bound to the altar in front of it they
discovered a man. His eyes were torn from their sockets; his limbs were
broken, and he bore other evidences of the most diabolical tortures.
That he still lived, in spite of all, was attested by his feeble
moanings. For a moment the victors paused aghast at the sight. Then one
from among them sprang forward, and knelt beside this pitiful victim of
the most hideous religion known to the New World. He was Huetzin, and
in the cruelly mutilated form before him, he still recognized Tlalco
the Toltec, the priest who, on three separate occasions, had saved him
from a like awful fate.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE GLORIOUS TRIUMPH OF TLALCO

Tlalco the Toltec, one of the few survivors in Mexico of that
mysterious race to which Huetzin traced his own ancestry, had, like
Tlahuicol, been born in the land of the Mayans. Here he was educated
as a priest of that gentle religion of love and peace, whose gods were
the Four Winds, and other forces of nature, and the symbol of which was
a cross. It had at one time been the faith of all Anahuac; but, with
the coming of the conquering Aztecs, it was supplanted by the cruel
worship of Huitzil, the war-god, whose blood-stained priests demanded
the sacrifice of thousands of human victims every year.

The young Toltec first heard of these abominations with horror, but
not until his only brother, to whom he was passionately attached, was
captured by an Aztec war party and doomed to sacrifice in Tenochtitlan,
did he conceive the idea of devoting his life to conflict with the gods
who exacted them. His first act was to secretly enlist a number of
young men whose enthusiasm in the sacred cause was equal to his own.
Then, like a crusader of the old world, he entered Anahuac at the head
of his little band. Its members were distributed by twos, in various
places, from which they were to maintain a regular correspondence
with him. By this means he gained early information of all important
occurrences throughout the kingdom, and was able to lay his plans
accordingly. He established himself in Tenochtitlan. Here he bearded
the lion in its den, by entering the service of the temple, and
becoming a candidate for the priesthood of Huitzil. While thus engaged
he first heard of Tlahuicol.

Tlalco's nature was to plot and work by hidden means; but he could
rejoice in the downright blows of the warrior, who fought openly
against those of whom he was the secret enemy. Though he did not
meet Tlahuicol, nor even learn that he, too, was a Toltec, until the
very hour of the latter's death, he made himself familiar with every
event of the great warrior's career. He augmented the prestige of
the Tlascalan war-chief by originating, and spreading, the prophecy
that through Tlahuicol should Huitzil fall. It was this prophecy, a
knowledge of which had become general at the time the Tlascalan was
captured by his enemies, that caused Topil, the chief priest, to regard
him with such a bitter hatred, and demand his life of Montezuma.

After the death of Tlahuicol, and the startling discovery that he,
too, was a Toltec, Tlalco determined to protect the children of the
hero so far as lay in his power, and at the same time to use them in
furthering his own life-work. All his hopes of ultimate success now
centred in the mysterious white conquerors, who, bearing a cross as
their symbol of faith, had recently arrived on the coast. Therefore,
after rescuing Huetzin from the knife of sacrifice, he bade him seek
and join himself to them, thus, unwittingly, reiterating the last
instructions of Tlahuicol.

Tiata, he saved from Topil's vengeance, by causing the praises of her
beauty to be so artfully sounded within hearing of Cacama, Prince
of Tezcuco, that the latter demanded her in marriage of Montezuma.
By Tlalco's instructions the girl claimed the privilege of a year's
mourning for her parents, before becoming a bride. This was granted;
but in accordance with established custom, she was compelled to reside
at the Court of Tezcuco, in charge of a noble lady of the prince's
household. From here Tiata, who was now enlisted heart and soul in
the cause of the Toltec, for the overthrow of the hated religion to
which her parents had been sacrificed, constantly furnished Tlalco
with important information. Under the strict watch of her duenna, she
was permitted to visit Tenochtitlan, to witness the first entry of the
white conquerors, and her heart swelled with pride at the sight of her
brother leading his army of Tlascalans. No opportunity was allowed
her for communicating with him, ere he was spirited away through the
efforts of the chief priest.

When Tlalco learned that Huetzin was, for the second time, about to be
led to the altar of sacrifice, he was for a moment at a loss how to
act. Had the message sent to Sandoval been traced to him, his influence
with Montezuma, as an Aztec priest, would have been destroyed. Then he
remembered Tiata's presence in the palace, and sent the message through
her. That very evening, after her strange interview with Sandoval,
the Toltec maiden was compelled to return to Tezcuco, where, for many
weeks, she was so closely watched, that she could gain no intelligence
of her brother's fate.

At length, wearying of Cacama's unwelcome attentions, Tiata found means
of sending an appeal to Tlalco for aid in escaping them. At the same
time she informed him that the Tezcucan prince was secretly raising an
army with which he proposed to destroy the Spaniards, and usurp the
Aztec throne. Tlalco immediately caused this information to be conveyed
to Cortes, who as promptly effected the arrest of Cacama, whom he
afterward held as a captive in the Spanish quarters.

After the departure of Cortes to meet Narvaez, Tlalco found that,
by his constant intercourse with the king, upon whose superstitious
nature he had been able to exert a powerful influence, he was exciting
the jealousy and suspicions of Topil. Therefore, as a measure of
precaution, he suddenly ceased his visits to the captive monarch. At
the same time, in order that he might still be kept informed of all
that was taking place in the palace, he conceived and carried out the
plan of having Tiata, disguised as a youth, installed as a king's page.
Before she found an opportunity of communicating with her brother, she
heard that he was to take the dangerous task of conveying the news of
Alvarado's desperate situation to Cortes, and this was the first bit
of information that she sent to Tlalco. He, knowing only too well what
precautions were taken to prevent the escape of any such messenger, and
the terrible fate already suffered by those previously sent out, for a
moment believed the son of Tlahuicol to be lost. Then a high resolve
filled his breast.

Although not a warrior, he determined on a course of action from which
many a one entitled to the name might well have shrunk. He knew himself
to be an object of such suspicion to Topil, that the spies of the
chief priest were ever on his track, and that his every movement was
instantly reported to his arch enemy. He knew, too, that Topil, having
become superstitious through the prophecy concerning Tlahuicol, and the
two miraculous escapes of Tlahuicol's son from his clutches, thirsted
for the blood of the young Toltec, with an eagerness that would have
given anything short of life itself for his capture. Knowing all this,
Tlalco still watched for Huetzin's departure from the palace, followed
him to the place of his capture, allowed the guards to lead him for
some distance, thus withdrawing themselves from the causeway, and
then effected the prisoner's release by stepping forward, and, in his
capacity of priest, boldly denouncing their stupidity, and holding
their attention by his words, until Huetzin had slipped away and
disappeared.

Five minutes later, Tlalco was seized and dragged before Topil. "Ha,
false priest! Have I discovered thee at last?" cried the latter in a
voice well nigh choked with fury. "Long hast thou deceived me, but mine
eyes are at length opened, and now shalt thou experience the wrath of
the outraged gods, in a manner that will teach thee its possibilities
as thou hast not dreamed of them."

From that moment the body of Tlalco was racked by a system of the most
exquisite tortures that even the practiced ingenuity of Aztec priests
could invent. For two weeks these had been prolonged, until, at the
end of that time, the poor, agonized wreck of humanity lay where
Huetzin discovered it, still conscious, but with the brave spirit just
lingering on the threshold of its mortal home, before departing to the
realms of immortality.

Heart-sick and filled with horror, at thus finding his friend and
thrice preserver, the young Toltec knelt beside the hideous altar, and
said: "Tlalco, my father, dost thou know me?"

The face of the dying man was lit with a glow of recognition, and in a
whisper so feeble as to be barely heard, he answered:

"It is the son of Tlahuicol."

Then they severed the cruel bonds and lifted him tenderly into the open
air, where the sightless face instinctively turned toward the glowing
noonday sun. Here Huetzin moistened his blackened lips and bathed his
face with water that was at the same time mingled with his own scalding
tears of fierce indignation, love, and pity. While he was thus engaged,
his white comrades, filled with a furious rage, tore the grinning
war-god from his blood-soaked throne and rolled the senseless image out
on the broad arena which had but just been the scene of so terrible a
battle.

"The hour of the false God has come!" cried Huetzin in the Toltec
tongue: "The white conquerors are about to hurl him from his loftiest
temple! Now is thy victory gained, O Tlalco! for the power of Aztec
priesthood is broken forever! Oh, that my father could have lived
to see this day! Oh, that Tiata might have seen it! The gods of the
Toltecs, thy gods and my gods, O Tlalco, be praised that thou and I are
permitted to share in this their glorious triumph!"

As he uttered these words in a tongue understood only by the dying man,
the face of the youth was transfigured, the wrath of battle passed from
it and it shone with the light of an all-absorbing enthusiasm.

"Lift me in thy strong arms," whispered Tlalco, "and make for me the
holy sign."

As Huetzin lifted him and gently touched him on forehead, breast, and
each shoulder, there came an exultant shout from the soldiers, a sound
of crashing, splintering, and rending, as the ponderous image of the
god thundered down to the bottom of the vast pyramid and a great cry of
terror and consternation rose from the multitudes below. At the same
moment the tortured features of him whom Huetzin supported, became
radiant with the glory of the immortal gods, to whom his glad spirit
was already winging its triumphant flight.

CHAPTER XXX.

MONTEZUMA'S SUCCESSOR DEFIES THE CONQUERORS

As Huetzin rose to his feet, after laying gently down the lifeless body
of the Toltec martyr, he beheld Sandoval patiently waiting to attract
his attention. The young Spaniard stood with one mail-shod foot resting
on the neck of a writhing Aztec priest, who strove in vain to free
himself from its weight.

"Here is a vermin," spoke Sandoval, "who bears a certain look of
familiarity and who, I imagine, must be accounted of some consequence
among his own diabolical crew. Yet I cannot place him and have
persuaded him to come to thee for recognition. I found him, squatted
like a toad in a hole, after yon image was dragged from its pedestal.
He seems not to be wounded, nor do I believe he appeared in the fight
at all. Now, lift thy head, vermin, that a man may gaze on thy devil's
face!"

Thus exclaiming, Sandoval caught at the matted hair of the priest
and pulled up his head so that Huetzin had a fair view of the
fear-distorted features. As he glanced at them the young Toltec uttered
a great cry and sprang forward.

[Illustration: SANDOVAL PULLED UP HIS HEAD.]

"Aye, well do I know him!" he exclaimed. "He is the murderer of
thousands, and thrice have I been in his clutches. From me has he taken
father, mother, and sister! There (pointing to the mutilated body
of Tlalco) is a specimen of his work. With his own hand did he slay
Tlahuicol and Tiata! He is Topil, the chief-priest, the chief curse of
Anahuac. Let me at him, that I may hurl him to everlasting damnation!
Let me at him, I say! He is mine!"

"Gently, lad, gently!" interposed Sandoval, in a tone whose very
softness intimated his rage. "To hurl him over the brink would be a
kindness. 'Twould be too sweet a death for him. I have a better plan.
Leave him to me, and I promise you thou shalt be satisfied."

With this he again grasped the long hair of Topil's head, and dragged
the screaming wretch back into the shrine from which he had brought
him. There, lifting him with a quick jerk to his feet, he drove him
up the stairway to its top, hastening his movements with many a
sword-prick in his bare legs. When Topil emerged on the roof, he was
sixty feet above the platform where the combat had raged, and standing
on the summit of a wooden tower. Sandoval bound his prisoner's wrists
firmly together, behind him, and then fastened one of his ankles, by a
copper censer chain that he had found in the temple, to a projecting
timber, so that the priest, while allowed a certain freedom of
motion, could by no possibility escape. There Sandoval left him, and,
descending, closed the only avenue of escape behind him. Seizing a
burning brand from an altar, he set fire to the woodwork of the temple
in a dozen places. It was like tinder, and in a minute the red flames
were greedily licking the slender tower on all sides. The screams
of the miscreant, dancing in torment on its summit, attracted the
attention of the multitudes below, and they, still trembling from the
destruction of their god, were compelled to gaze helplessly upon the
awful but well-merited fate of their chief-priest. Even after he was
hidden from sight by a towering screen of flame and smoke, his voice
could be heard in frantic appeals to the impotent gods.

When Cortes and the slender remnant of his victorious band descended
from this memorable battle-field, the Aztec throngs shrunk from them
as though they were plague-stricken, and they passed unmolested to
their own quarters. That night the Spaniards again sallied forth, and,
carrying blazing brands in every direction through the sleeping city,
destroyed over three hundred houses.

On the following day, Cortes, thinking that by these reverses and by
the overthrow of their principal god, the Aztecs must be sufficiently
humbled to submit, called a parley. As the principal nobles and their
followers assembled in the great square, he addressed them, through the
voice of Marina, from the same turret on which Montezuma had received
his death-wound.

"Men of Tenochtitlan," he said, "you have seen your gods trampled in
the dust, their priests destroyed, your warriors slain by thousands,
and your dwellings burned. All this you have brought upon yourselves.
Yet, for the affection I bore the king whom you murdered, I am willing
to forgive you, if you lay down your arms, renounce the hideous
religion that offers no hope for your salvation, and resume the
allegiance to his most Catholic majesty of Spain sworn by your king. If
you refuse these things, then will I make your beautiful city a heap of
smouldering ruins, as barren of human life as the fire-crowned summit
of yon sky-piercing mountain. What say you? Shall it be peace with
immunity from further suffering, or shall it be war to the death, and
utter ruin?"

Then answered Cuitlahua, the newly crowned king: "It is true, O
Malinche, that thou hast destroyed one of our temples, broken the image
of a god, and slain many of my people. Many more will doubtless fall
beneath thy terrible sword. But we are satisfied so long as for the
blood of every hundred, we can shed that of one white man. Look on our
roofs and terraces, our streets and squares. They are thronged with
Aztec warriors, as far as thine eye can reach. Our numbers are scarcely
diminished. Yours are lessening every hour! You are perishing with
hunger, and thirst, and sickness! Your provisions are failing! We will
see to it that you get no more. You have but little water! You must
soon fall into our hands. _The bridges are removed_, and you cannot
escape! Truly, O Malinche, is the vengeance of the outraged gods about
to descend on thee."

At the conclusion of this bold speech, which well showed the temper of
the newly made king, a flight of arrows compelled the Spaniards hastily
to descend from the turret and seek the shelter of their defences.

Cuitlahua's defiance filled the besieged with dismay. Of what use were
all their fightings, their sufferings, and their brilliant victories?
The enemy was more determined than ever, and a hundred fresh warriors
stood ready to take the place of each one who was killed. A contest
against such overwhelming odds was hopeless, and the sooner it was
abandoned the better. Thus argued the Spanish soldiers, especially the
recruits who had come with Narvaez. These, to a man, declared they
would fight no longer, unless to preserve themselves in a retreat from
the fatal city.

Against such a feeling among his followers, even the bold spirit of
the commander was forced to yield. So, after a consultation with his
officers, including the young chief of Tlascalans, he announced that
preparations would at once be made for leaving Tenochtitlan. It was
decided that the retreat should be by the causeway of Tlacopan,
which, being but two miles in length, and thus much shorter than the
one by which they had entered the city, would soonest lead them to the
mainland, where they could fight to advantage.

In the meantime, as in their frequent sorties, the Spaniards had
suffered their greatest annoyance through missiles showered down from
the housetops, Cortes had designed and caused to be built three wooden
towers that he termed _mantas_. These were of two stories, and were
mounted on rude wheels by means of which it was proposed to roll them
through the streets, with musketeers stationed in the upper stories,
who should sweep the housetops of all enemies as they advanced. In each
lower story, which was open to the ground, a force of brawny Tlascalans
was to push and pull the movable fortress without being exposed to
attack. It was now determined to test the efficacy of these rude
machines in the sortie about to be made, to discover whether or not the
avenue of Tlacopan was open and free from obstructions.

When all was in readiness the great gate of the fortress was thrown
open, and, with much creaking, groaning, and rocking the manta
issued forth. The Aztecs beheld its stately advance with bewildered
astonishment. They could not conceive its purpose, nor understand by
what power it was propelled. There was no sign of human agency and its
progress filled them with awe. As they gazed in gaping wonder, it
slowly crossed the square and entered the avenue of Tlacopan. Suddenly,
as it halted before a building, the roof of which was thronged with
armed men, a side of the upper story fell outward, and a volley of
musketry was delivered with startling effect. A light, but strong,
bridge was thrown to the housetop, and the Spaniards, crossing on it,
quickly put its remaining occupants to flight with their swords. Then
they retreated to their wooden fortress, pulled in the bridge, drew
up their protecting shield and the engine of destruction proceeded
on its ponderous way. But its purpose was no longer a mystery. The
swarming occupants of the housetops withdrew to places of safety on
its approach, or hurled down fire brands and coping-stones from such
elevations as commanded it. Its utility had begun to appear doubtful
when it came to a halt at the first canal. Here the bridge had been
destroyed, and it could proceed no farther.

A tall building stood at this point, and from its roof an avalanche of
heavy timbers and great stones was poured on the devoted manta, ere its
progress could be reversed. One of these formidable missiles crushed in
a side of the structure, causing it to sway alarmingly. Several others
struck it together, a moment later, and, with a melancholy crash, it
toppled to the ground burying its unfortunate defenders in the wreck,
killing several of them, and injuring many more. With exulting yells
the Aztecs rushed upon the prostrate tower, and, but for the prompt
assistance of a troop of cavalry, whose fierce onset quickly cleared
the street, not one of its struggling occupants would have escaped.

This experiment proved the uselessness of the mantas, on the
construction of which so much time and labor had been expended. It also
proved the truth of Cuitlahua's words. The bridges, over which the
retreat must be conducted, were indeed removed, and seven open canals
lay between the fortress and the causeway. These gaping chasms must be
filled at all hazards.

After four days of incessant labor beneath a galling fire of arrows,
darts, and stones, incessant fighting, incessant dying and suffering,
the task was completed. The labor of tearing down buildings and filling
the canals with their débris, devolved on the Tlascalans. The Spanish
cavaliers charged up and down the avenue clearing it of the enemy who
swarmed in behind them the moment they had passed, while the Spanish
infantry guarded each bridge as it was finished. Many and fierce were
the hand to hand struggles during those four days; and, at their
conclusion, although their way of retreat was opened as far as the
causeway, the white conquerors were in as sorry a plight as were ever
any conquerors in all the world. But their present misfortunes were as
nothing compared with those held in store for them by the immediate
future.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE RETREAT FROM TENOCHTITLAN

The way of escape was partially prepared by the filling up of the
canals, but who could tell how long it would remain so? At any moment
the forces guarding these all-important points might be overcome or
driven back and the canals reopened. It was therefore decided, at a
council of officers convened late on that fourth day of fighting,
that the retreat should be undertaken that very night. Now began busy
preparations for evacuating the palace-fortress occupied by the white
conquerors for so many months. Litters for the transportation of the
wounded were hastily constructed, and Huetzin was called upon to detail
a body of warriors to carry and guard these helpless ones. The rich
booty of the conquest was drawn from its hiding-places, and much of
the gold was packed in stout bags for transportation on horse-back.
Still a large portion of it must necessarily be abandoned. As it lay,
scattered in shining heaps about the floor, the soldiers looked at it
with longing eyes. It seemed to them that the wealth of the New World
lay at their feet, waiting to be picked up.

"Take what you will of it!" exclaimed the commander, reading their
thoughts in their faces, "but be careful not to overload yourselves.
Remember that he travels best, who travels lightest."

With this permission the troops rushed at the glittering spoil like
famishing men upon food, while the grim Tlascalans, indifferent to
wealth of this description, watched the avaricious scramble with
unconcealed contempt. The men of Narvaez, who had heard so much
concerning Mexican gold without having thus far acquired any of it,
greedily loaded themselves with as much as they could possibly carry,
but the veteran followers of Cortes, taking heed to their leader's
counsel, helped themselves sparingly, each selecting only a few objects
of the greatest value. As for the piles of rich fabrics, jewel-studded
weapons, feather mantles of inestimable value, delicate ware, and
costly and curious articles of every description, the greater part of
them was abandoned with hardly a regret, in the all-absorbing eagerness
to escape from that sorrowful prison-house.

While these scenes were being enacted in one part of the palace, a
party of workmen was busily engaged in another, constructing a stout
portable-bridge. Although the canals intersecting the city streets had
been so filled that they could be crossed, there still remained three
that cut the causeway of Tlacopan. From there, as well as from the
others, the bridges had been removed. As these three openings were
of the same size, each being thirty feet in width, a single portable
bridge, that could be taken up from the first opening after the army
had passed, and carried to the next was deemed sufficient. It was
placed in charge of a trusty officer named Margarino, who was given
forty picked men, all pledged to defend it with their lives.

The night was intensely dark, and a drizzling rain fell steadily. At
midnight all was in readiness for a start, and the great gate of the
palace-fortress was swung open for the last time. The order of march
had been carefully planned beforehand, and, according to it, Sandoval,
mounted on Motilla, and commanding the advance guard was the first to
ride forth. At his left hand rode the only mounted native of the New
World, Huetzin, the young Toltec; for besides a score of cavaliers, and
two hundred foot soldiers, the advance contained two thousand Tlascalan
warriors. To these faithful mountaineers had been entrusted the object
deemed most precious by the whole army, the covered litter in which
was borne Marina, their well-loved interpreter. With the advance also
marched Margarino and his forty men, bearing on their sturdy shoulders
the heavy timbers of the portable bridge upon which the salvation of
the army depended.

In the centre, or main division, were the prisoners, among whom were
several of Montezuma's children, Cacama, Prince of Tezcuco, and a
number of Aztec nobles held as hostages, the treasure, the baggage, the
wounded, and the heavy guns. These were guarded by the veterans who had
been with Cortes from the first, and a strong force of Tlascalans.

As these slowly defiled into the great square they were followed by
the rear guard under command of Alvarado. It contained the bulk of the
Spanish infantry who had been enlisted from the force of Narvaez, and a
battery of light artillery in charge of Mesa and his well-tried gunners.

When the last man had passed through the gateway, the commander, who
had waited motionless on his gray steed to assure himself that no
stragglers were left behind, roused, as from a deep revery, gave a
parting glance at the quarters that had been the scene of so stirring a
chapter of his life's history, clapped spurs to his horse, and dashed
down the long black line of his retreating army.

Although every precaution was taken to move silently, the passage of so
large a body of troops through paved streets, could not be accomplished
without noise. To the strained ears of the fugitives, expecting each
moment to hear the exulting war-cries of their enemies, or to see their
dark masses rushing from every cross street and alley, the heavy rumble
of their own artillery, the sharp ring of iron-shod hoofs, the measured
tramp of infantry, and the unavoidable rattle of weapons, seemed to
create a volume of sound that must be heard in the remotest quarters
of Tenochtitlan. Still the battle-wearied city slept on, nor did it
betray, by a sign, its consciousness that the prey, it had deemed so
surely its own, was slipping from its grasp.

On through the blackness, shrouding the long avenue of Tlacopan, moved
the retreat. Here they stumbled over the corpse of some dead Aztec,
there they could distinguish the dark heaps of slain marking some
fiercely contested point of the recent fighting. To their excited
imaginations it seemed as though these must rise up and betray them.
The shadowy ruins of fire-scathed buildings seemed again peopled with
flitting forms, and, as they crossed one after another of the canals,
the ebon water seemed alive with swarming paddles. But they passed on
as unmolested by the living as by the dead, until at length a lighter
space between the buildings in front of them announced to the van-guard
that the causeway was at hand. As they drew aside to allow the men of
Margarino room in which to advance and place their bridge, they felt
that the worst of the perilous retreat was over, and could hardly
restrain the shouts that would have proclaimed their joy.

Suddenly a shrill cry, chilling the blood in their veins, rose from
close beside them. There was a sound of flying footsteps, and the
alarm was echoing and re-echoing through the wind-swept streets with
an ever-increasing clamor. The priests, watching their fires on top
of tall teocals, caught the cry of the flying sentinels and spread
the alarm with sounding blasts upon their conch-shells. Now, from the
desolated heights of Huitzil's temple, the solemn booming of the great
serpent drum, only sounded in times of gravest moment, vibrated through
the remotest comers of the city and far out over the waters surrounding
it. Red beacon flames sprang from the top of every temple, warning the
whole valley that the time of the crisis had come.

"Tlacopan! Tlacopan!" was shouted in frenzied tones through every
street and into every house of the sleeping city, and this single word
named the rallying point.

With desperate haste Margarino and his men laid their bridge. No longer
was there need of silence or concealment. Flight, instant and rapid,
was the sole animating thought of the whole army. Sandoval, on prancing
Motilla, was the first to test its strength, and after him streamed the
eager troops. To the vanguard hastening forward without opposition,
safety still seemed within reach; but to the rear, impatiently awaiting
the movement of those before them, the night was filled with ominous
rushings and sounds denoting the gathering of a mighty host. By the
fitful glare of the lofty beacons, now streaming through the upper
darkness from all parts of the city, they caught glimpses of hurrying
forms and glintings of angry weapons. Mesa's grim gunners blew the
matches, kept dry beneath their cloaks, into brighter flame and
chuckled hoarsely as they thought of the havoc their falconets would
make when once turned loose.

The advanced guard had crossed the bridge and the dense squadrons of
the centre, with the heavy guns, ammunition wagons, baggage, treasure,
prisoners, and wounded, were passing it when the storm broke. First a
few stones and arrows rattled on the mail of the cavaliers, or pricked
the naked Tlascalans. Then the dark waters of the lake were smitten
by the dip of ten thousand angry paddles, as though by the fierce
breath of a whirlwind. The sprinkle of stones and arrows increased to a
tempest of hissing missiles. The dark lines of on-rushing canoes dashed
against the very rocks of the causeway, while their occupants, leaping
out, threw themselves, with reckless ferocity, upon the retreating
troops. The shrieks of wounded and dying men began to rise from the
hurrying column and the despairing cries of others, overthrown and
dragged to the canoes. Above all and drowning all, rose the shrill,
exultant yell of "Tlacopan! Tlacopan!" made, for the time being, the
Aztec war-cry and taken up by a myriad of fresh voices with each
passing minute.

From the distant rear came the roar of Mesa's guns. There the cowardly
enemy will be checked at any rate! But they are not. No longer do
belching cannon nor levelled lances possess any terror for those whom
the war-like Cuitlahua leads to battle.

As hundreds were mowed down by the storm of iron balls, thousands
leaped into their places. So irresistibly furious was the Aztec advance
that ere the deadly falconets could be reloaded, Mesa, his men, and his
guns, were overwhelmed, and swept out of sight, as though beneath the
overpowering mass of an alpine avalanche. Alvarado and his handful of
cavaliers, who had charged again and again into the fiercely swelling
tide of foemen, supporting the guns as long as any were left, now
turned, and fled across the narrow bridge.

While these events were taking place with frightful rapidity in the
rear, the advance had reached, and were halted by, the second opening
in the causeway. Galled by the incessant attacks of their swarming
adversaries, and with their own swords rendered well-nigh useless by
the cramped space into which they were crowded, these sent back message
after message imploring Margarino to hasten forward with the bridge.
But the bridge would never be brought forward. Its timbers had become
so wedged among the stones of the causeway, by the weight of ponderous
guns and mail-clad troops, that not all the efforts of Margarino's
sturdy men could move them. Desperately they tugged and strained, but
in vain. The bridge was as immovable as the causeway itself. Even as
they fulfilled their pledge never to move forward without the bridge,
the exulting foe leaped upon them. For a few minutes there was a fierce
conflict. Then the seething Aztec flood rolled on, sweeping over
Margarino and his men, as it had over Mesa and his guns.

CHAPTER XXXII.

A NIGHT OF FIGHTING, DESPAIR, AND DEATH

The dreadful news that the bridge could not be moved, and that with its
loss went their chief hope of escape, swept like wild fire from the
rear where Alvarado and his gallant band were charging and momentarily
holding in check the thronging masses of the enemy. Like a death-knell
it sounded through the long line, beset on both lines by a myriad of
assailants who seemed to rise from the very waters, to the distant
front where Sandoval and his cavaliers fought, as best they might, and
fretted at Margarino's delay. Everywhere the fatal message converted
the orderly ranks into a panic-stricken mob. All subordination was at
an end. Frenzied men flung away their weapons and sought only to save
themselves. The wounded were abandoned and trampled under foot. The
weak gave way before the strong.

In the very front, snugly nestled among the soft cushions of her
litter, and surrounded by her faithful body guard, Marina hardly
realized that anything more than a skirmish was taking place. Every
now and then she heard the ringing voice of sturdy Sandoval, and more
than once Huetzin parted the curtains to assure her that he was close
at hand. She liked to see him on horseback, this noble cavalier of her
own race, and, as she lay back in the litter, listening to the far-away
roar of grim Mesa's final volley, she saw a vision of a battle scene
in which her hero led a glorious charge of cavalry, and the gallant
horsemen were of her own people.

Suddenly she was startled by a swaying of her litter, as though by the
advanced swell of a mighty tide. There came cries of terror and dismay,
oaths, prayers, and a great surging to and fro. The panic-stricken
fugitives in the rear were pressing tumultuously forward, and her
Tlascalan body-guard were fighting savagely, against their own friends,
in a desperate effort to stem the swelling flood, and keep from being
swept off their narrow footing.

Already Sandoval and his cavaliers were dashing into the dark waters,
and struggling to clear a way, in which the infantry might follow,
through the close-packed canoes that blocked the passage.

Backward, step by step, were the Tlascalans pressed, until half of them
had been forced to take the fatal plunge, and the litter containing the
chiefest treasure of the Spanish army, hovered on the very brink of the
black chasm. At this juncture the curtains were torn aside, and the
terrified girl was lifted from her soft nest in a pair of strong arms.
In a moment she found herself on horseback, in front of a cavalier who
was saying, in reassuring tones: "Thou shalt yet be saved, dear one."
In the next, the steed, bearing this double burden, had taken the leap,
and all three were struggling in the cold waters.

Cocotin, though fleet of foot and brave of spirit, had not the body nor
strength of Motilla, and quickly gave signs of being overweighted. As
he realized this, Huetzin slipped from the saddle, pulled Marina back
into its safer seat and swam beside her. The dark waters about them
were filled with despairing men, fighting, struggling, and drowning
each other in their frenzied efforts to escape the fate of which all
seemed doomed. Among them dashed the Aztec canoes, their inmates
dealing savage blows to right and left, and only striving to save
lives that their gods might have the more victims. From one of these
canoes Cocotin was wounded in the head by the blow of a maquahuitl,
and unmanageable from pain, swerved toward the open lake. Huetzin let
go his hold of the saddle to spring to her head. At that moment his
feet were seized by some drowning wretch, and he was dragged beneath
the blood-stained waters. It was a full minute before he could release
himself from that death-clutch at the bottom of the lake. When with
bursting temples, he again breathed the blessed air, the same awful
struggle was going on about him, but Cocotin and her precious burden
had disappeared.

In the meantime the gaping chasm was rapidly filling with the bodies
of men and horses, guns and baggage wagons, ingots of gold that might
ransom a prince, bales of rich fabrics, weapons and equipments of every
description. It was a seething inferno from which frantic Aztec demons,
plying war club and javelin, were reaping a goodly harvest of captives.
The awful carnage that now raged along the length of the causeway, was
nowhere so great as at this point. Finally, the ghastly opening was
filled with the wreck of battle, until over the hideous bridge thus
formed those in the rear passed dry-shod to the opposite side.

All this while Cortes, who had discovered, a little to one side, a
passage that was fordable, was valiantly holding it with a handful of
cavaliers, while vainly urging the troops to gain safety by coming that
way. Through the storm-swept darkness, he could not be seen, nor could
his voice be heard above the wild uproar. At length, swept onward by
the human tide and forced to the opposite bank, he spurred forward to
the third and last opening. Here he found Sandoval and a few followers
engaged in another fierce conflict with the enemy, who had hurried a
strong force to this point in canoes. At this place the exultant Aztecs
hoped to complete the destruction of the shattered army, and but for
the matchless bravery of Cortes and his cavaliers they would have
succeeded.

Without a moment's hesitation the leader, close followed by Sandoval
and the others, plunged into the deadly waters, and, waging a
hand-to-hand conflict from canoe to canoe, finally forced the passage.
All the foot-soldiers, who were huddled like sheep on the brink of
this chasm, at which the dreadful scenes of the other seemed about to
be repeated, now cast themselves into the water. Many were drowned
by the weight of gold with which they had over-burdened themselves,
others grasped the manes or tails of swimming horses and so were helped
across. Still others, having cast away muskets, armor, gold, everything
that might embarrass their flight, gained the opposite side by their
own unaided efforts. When all who were within hearing had scrambled, in
one fashion or another, upon the causeway the precipitate flight was
continued, though a distant din of battle showed some survivors to be
still waging the conflict of despair.

Cortes and the shattered remnant of his army had hardly reached solid
earth, when a breathless runner overtook them, with the information
that what was left of the rear-guard had won its way to the farther
side of the last opening, where they were now battling against such
odds that, unless speedily relieved, not a man would be left. Sandoval,
utterly exhausted, had thrown himself on the ground beside his dripping
steed, as had many of the others. At this despairing cry for help the
sturdy young soldier again sprang into his saddle, exclaiming: "I,
for one, am ready!" "And I!" "And I!" shouted several more. With a
grateful nod, Cortes put spurs to his own horse and galloped back over
the fatal causeway followed by a dozen gallant gentlemen, who thus rode
into the jaws of death as cheerfully as though to a friendly trial of
arms.

For five hours had the battle raged, and in the gray light, now
breaking, some of the hideous details of the night's disaster were
made visible. As far as the eye could reach, the road of death swarmed
with the victorious enemy, while on either side the lake was black
with their canoes. The sight was fitted to appal even the stout hearts
of the Spanish cavaliers; but near at hand was that which appealed
to a feeling stronger than fear. On the opposite bank of the bloody
gulf, which was fast filling with the dead, golden-bearded Alvarado,
bare-headed, and bleeding from a dozen wounds, still fought with
superhuman strength, and so animated his scant handful of troops, that,
had they been fresh, instead of well-nigh fainting, their heroism must
have been crowned with victory.

With a cheering shout that inspired new hope in the sinking hearts of
Alvarado's men, the dozen cavaliers led by Cortes dashed once more into
the water, swam to the opposite side, and plunged into the thick of the
fray. For a moment the Aztecs fell back before their fierce onslaught,
like a receding wave of the sea. In the respite thus afforded all but
one of those who had fought with the "Tonatiah," cast themselves into
the water, from which most of them emerged on the other side in safety.
At that moment Alvarado's horse, the faithful steed that had borne him
so nobly amid a thousand dangers, fell, to rise no more, pinning her
master to the ground as she did so. A Tlascalan warrior, who was so
disfigured by wounds and covered with blood, that the Spanish cavalier
had not recognized him, though they had fought side by side for the
past hour, sprang to his relief. As he succeeded in disengaging the
entangled man, the rescuing party was driven back upon them, with
ranks sadly thinned, and unable longer to hold their own against the
onrushing foe.

"Mount with me!" shouted Sandoval to his unhorsed comrade, "Motilla can
bear us both!"

"I can care for myself! Take thou this youth, to whom I owe my life
many times," answered Alvarado. Thus saying, he seized a long Chinantla
pike, and planted one end in the wreck at the bottom of the canal.
Then, gathering his strength for a prodigious effort, he vaulted clear
across, and landed safely on the other side of the yawning chasm.
Victors and vanquished, Aztecs, Spaniards, and Tlascalans, stood for a
moment spell-bound at the sight of this marvellous feat.

Sandoval was among the first to recover from his amazement, and turning
to the youth whom Alvarado had recommended, he bade him mount behind
him. They two, on the gallant Motilla were the last to leave; but it
was not until the brave mare had borne them to the opposite side, and
the young warrior leaped to the ground, that Sandoval recognized him.
Then in joyful accents he cried out, "Praised be the blessed saints!
Don Juan, that thou hast escaped yon hell in safety, for truly I had
given thee up for dead."

"And I would that I were," answered the young Toltec, bitterly, "since
I have lost that which, of all life, I held most dear. But I sought
death in vain. It could come to all others, but not to me."

"What mean you?" cried Sandoval, bewildered by this strange speech.

"I mean that Marina lies somewhere in yon lake, and if I knew where, my
body should lie beside hers."

Thus ended the dreadful night, called for all time the _Noche Triste_,
or night of sadness.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

MARINA IS LOST AND SAVED

As the darkness of the _noche triste_ was dispelled by the rising sun,
Cortes led the broken remnant of his army away from the fatal dike
on which all had so nearly laid down their lives. The first march of
the long anticipated retreat was an accomplished fact; but at what a
fearful cost! Not a gun remained to the Spaniards, not a musket. Their
banners and trumpets had disappeared. Of one hundred horses but a score
were left, and all of these were wounded. There were no ammunition
wagons, there was no baggage-train. Most of the treasure had been
lost. Some of the soldiers had indeed clung to their gold, even while
throwing away the muskets on which they relied to defend it; but, a few
days later, even this, for which they had been willing to sacrifice
all, became an intolerable burden, that was in turn flung aside.

All the prisoners had been slain in the _mêlée_ by their own friends,
and of the fate of the wounded no one dared to speak. Of the retreating
Spaniards nearly one-half had been slain or captured on that two miles
of causeway, while of the faithful Tlascalans over two thousand were
missing. About the same time forty-five Spaniards, who had been sent
by Cortes two months before to visit some distant mines, were captured
and sacrificed by the Aztecs, at Zaltepec, while on their way back to
Tenochtitlan, in total ignorance of the existing state of affairs.

Thus there were Christian victims for the altars of every Aztec city,
while native nobles were armed with Spanish weapons, and wore odd
pieces of Spanish armor. It was owing to the rich spoil abandoned by
the well-nigh helpless survivors, that they owed their present safety.
Had the Aztecs followed them as vigorously as they had attacked them
on the causeway, not a soul could have escaped. But the victors were
too busily engaged in gathering up such treasures as had never before
fallen into Indian hands, in securing their prisoners, in making
preparations for festivals of rejoicing, in cleansing their city and
burying their dead, to concern themselves about the forlorn remnant
of those who had been termed the "White Conquerors," but who would
now quickly perish in the mountains, or be destroyed by the first of
Cuitlahua's armies with which they should come into collision.

So the Spaniards, weak, weary, and wounded, disheartened, water-soaked,
and ragged, defenceless save for their swords, a score of lances, and
as many disabled cross-bows, were allowed to straggle unmolested
through the deserted streets of Tlacopan, and make their way into
the open country beyond. Here they were halted by their leader, who
endeavored to reform the shattered battalions, and bring some sort of
order out of their confusion.

Near by rose the hill of Montezuma, crowned by an extensive temple
that offered a tempting place of shelter. But, as they could see, it
was already occupied by a force of the enemy, and at that moment the
dispirited Spaniards had no mind for further fighting. The cavaliers
indeed were ready, but they were so few! and their poor horses were
completely used up. In this emergency, Huetzin, seizing a javelin from
one of his Tlascalans, sprang up the ascent. His mountain warriors
followed so promptly that, as he gained the outer wall of the temple,
they were also swarming over it, in face of the shower of darts and
arrows let fly by the garrison. Then the defenders, amazed at so
fierce an attack from those whom they had deemed incapable of further
fighting, took to flight, and the place of refuge was secured.

In the temple were found a certain amount of provisions, and an ample
supply of fuel, from which the new occupants built great fires to dry
their clothing and warm their chilled bodies. Wounds were dressed as
best they might be, a hearty meal was eaten, and then the weary troops
sought to forget their sorrows in sleep. Not all slept, however.
Sentries guarded the outer walls, and several small groups, gathered
near the fires, conversed in low tones. In one of these the leader,
planning for the future even in this his darkest hour of defeat, talked
earnestly with Martin Lopez, his master ship-builder. Not far away
Sandoval and Huetzin, drawn to a closer brotherhood by the similarity
of their sorrows, talked of Marina, and the sturdy cavalier strove to
comfort his stricken comrade with the tenderness that had come recently
to him through his own irreparable loss.

Although no word of love had passed between Huetzin and Marina, each
had known the heart of the other ever since those days of illness
and nursing on the hill of Zampach. Many a time since would Huetzin
have declared his passion for the Indian girl, but for a vow, that no
word of love should pass his lips so long as an Aztec god reigned in
Tenochtitlan. To their overthrow was his life devoted, and with the
constancy of a crusading knight he had remained true to his pledge.
When the image of the Aztec war-god was hurled from its pedestal, he
had hoped that the period of his vow was nearly at an end; but with the
ordering of a retreat from the city, he knew that it was indefinitely
extended. Even when he held Marina in his arms as, on Cocotin's back,
they plunged together into the lake, he had spoken no word of love,
though indeed his tones had interpreted his feelings beyond a doubt of
misunderstanding. Now that the life of his life was forever lost to
him, he had no reason for concealment, and to his friend he laid open
his heart.

Sadly enough, the litter in which Marina had been borne, and in which
she had seemed in so great danger that Huetzin had snatched her from
it, had been brought through in safety by its stout Tlascalan bearers,
and now stood drying near the very fire beside which Huetzin and
Sandoval sat. Until its emptiness was disclosed, the army had not
known of Marina's disappearance; but the moment it was announced all
other losses were lessened in comparison with this one, so generally
was the Indian girl beloved. Even the leader, in planning his future
operations, wondered if they could succeed without the almost
indispensable aid of his brave girl interpreter.

To turn from this scene of a defeated Spanish army mourning its losses
and sleeping the sleep of exhaustion in an Aztec temple, to the hut of
a slave of Iztapalapan, is to make an abrupt transition. Still it is a
necessary one, if the threads of our story are to be connected. Ever
after it was learned that an alliance had been entered into between the
mountain republic and the white conquerors, the lot of those Tlascalan
slaves held by the Aztecs was of unusual hardship. They were everywhere
regarded with suspicion and treated with cruelty. Even such faithful
servants of their master as the aged couple who had dealt so kindly by
Huetzin did not escape the harsh treatment accorded to their race.
Double tasks were imposed, and not even their age, nor efforts to
accomplish all that was required of them, saved them from the biting
lash of the driver. They often dreamed, and even spoke in whispers, of
escape. But how might it be accomplished? Whither should they fly? Not
until long after the arrival of the Spaniards in Tenochtitlan did these
questions find even the shadow of an answer.

In that country, and in those days, news, other than that borne by
king's couriers, travelled slowly, and rare indeed were the items that
reached the ears of slaves. So, although the aged Tlascalans knew
something of the coming of the strange white beings, it was long before
they heard that they were accompanied by a friendly Tlascalan army. It
was longer still ere they learned that the leader of this army was none
other than that son of Tlahuicol, who had been their guest in the time
of his greatest danger.

With this bewildering news to consider, the aged couple glanced at each
other meaningly, as they sat at night through a long silence, on the
opposite sides of a tiny blaze, in their rude fireplace. Finally the
old man said:

"If we could only get to him!" and the wife answered:

"He would be to us as an own son, for so he said."

Several nights later the old man asked, "When shall we make the
attempt?" and the old woman answered, "Whenever thou art ready to lead,
I am ready to follow."

"To be captured means a certain death!"

"But a free death is better than a living slavery."

"Thou art true and brave as always. On the first night of storm-clouded
blackness will we set forth."

"On the first night of storm-clouded blackness," repeated the old
woman, slowly, as though committing the words to memory.

Thus it happened that the very night selected by the Spaniards for
their escape from Tenochtitlan was also the one chosen by the aged
Tlascalan couple for their flight from slavery. After dark, and moving
with the utmost caution, the old man secured the canoe in which they
had been wont, though not for many months, to carry flowers to the
city, and brought it to the beach near their hut. To it he conveyed
their few poor treasures, some bits of rude pottery fashioned by
himself, a bundle of gay feathers, a battered javelin such as he had
used when a young man and a Tlascalan warrior, and the blanket woven
of rabbit's fur, on which the old woman had spent the scant leisure
of years. Then they set forth, guided by the faint altar fires of the
distant city. They knew not how nor where they should find him whom
they sought, but they had a simple faith that, once near him, they
would be safe.

A long time they labored at the paddles, until at length they neared
the city. Suddenly a startling clamor arose from it. There were shouts
as of a mighty host, the discordant notes of priest-blown shells, and,
above all, the dread booming of the great serpent drum. They rested on
their paddles and listened in frightened bewilderment. Now red beacon
flames blazed from every temple, and by this light they perceived a
myriad of canoes sweeping past them, all hurrying toward the causeway
of Tlacopan. To lessen the chances of being run down, the old man
headed his canoe in the same direction, and drifted with the others.

Then came the sound of fighting, the terrifying roar of guns, the
clashing of weapons, and the screams of those who fell; but, above all,
they heard a sound that recalled their own youth and their own country,
the shrill war-cry of the Tlascalans.

"Let us approach closer," urged the brave old wife. "Some of our own
may be in the fight, and so sorely pressed that even our feeble aid may
prove of value."

So they approached as close as they dared, to where the uproar was
loudest. As they lingered, terrified but held by an awful fascination,
there came a voice, seemingly that of a girl, to their ears.

[Illustration: MARINA IS SAVED BY THE TLASCALA SLAVES.]

"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.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

SORROW TURNED INTO JOY, AND DARKNESS INTO LIGHT

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.

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE DESPERATE BATTLE OF OTAMPAN

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?"

CHAPTER XXXVI.

VICTORY SNATCHED FROM DEFEAT

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