Book 5, Chapter 2 of THE HISTORY OF THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO. The storming of the great temple, spirit of the Aztecs, distresses of the garrison, sharp combats in the city, death of Montezuma. Opposite to the Spanish quarters, at only a few rods' distance, stood the great Teocalia of Huizila Pochiti. This pyramidal mound, with the sanctuaries that crowned it, rising altogether to the height of near a hundred and fifty feet, afforded an elevated position that completely commanded the palace of Exa Cattel, occupied by the Christians. A body of five or six hundred Mexicans, many of them nobles and warriors of the highest rank, had got possession of the Teocali, whence they discharged such a tempest of arrows on the garrison that no one could leave his defenses for a moment without imminent danger, while the Mexicans, under shelter of the sanctuaries, were entirely covered from the fire of the besieged. It was obviously necessary to dislodge the enemy if the Spaniards would remain longer in their quarters. Cortez assigned this service to his chamberlain Escobar, giving him a hundred men for the purpose, with orders to storm the Teocali and set fire to the sanctuaries. But that officer was thrice repulsed in the attempt, and after the most desperate efforts was obliged to return with considerable loss and without accomplishing his object. Cortez, who saw the immediate necessity of carrying the place, determined to leave the storming party himself. He was then suffering much from the wound in his left hand, which had disabled it for the present. He made the arm serviceable, however, by fastening his buckler to it, and thus crippled, sallied out at the head of three hundred chosen cavaliers, and several thousand of his auxiliaries. In the courtyard of the temple he found a numerous body of Indians prepared to dispute his passage. He briskly charged them, but the flat, smooth stones of the pavement were so slippery that the horses lost their footing, and many of them fell. Hastefully dismounting they sent back the animals to their quarters, and, renewing the assault, the Spaniards succeeded without much difficulty in dispersing the Indian warriors, and opening a free passage for themselves to the Teokali. Cortez, having cleared away for the assault, sprang up the lower stairway, followed by Alvarado, Sandoval, Ordaz, and the other gallant cavaliers of his little band, leaving a file of archipousier and strong core of Indian allies to hold the enemy in check at the foot of the monument. On the first landing, as well as on the several galleries above, and on the summit, the Aztec warriors were drawn up to dispute his passage. From their elevated position they showered down volleys of lighter missiles, together with heavy stones, beams, and burning rafters, which, thundering along the stairway, overturned the ascending Spaniards, and carried desolation through their ranks. The more fortunate, eluding or springing over these obstacles, succeeded in gaining the first terrorist, where, throwing themselves on their enemies, they compelled them after a short resistance to fall back. The assailants pressed on, effectually supported by a brisk fire of the musketeers from below, which so much galled the Mexicans in their exposed situation that they were glad to take shelter on the broad summit of the Teokali. Cortez and his comrades were close upon the rear, and the two parties soon found themselves face to face on this aerial battlefield, engaged in mortal combat in presence of the whole city, as well as the troops within the courtyard, who paused as if by mutual consent from their own hostilities, gazing in silent expectation on the issue of those above. The area, though somewhat smaller than the base of the Teokali, was large enough to afford a fair field of fight for a thousand combatants. It was paved with broad, flat stones. No impediment occurred over its surface except the huge sacrificial block and the temples of stone which rose to the height of forty feet at the further extermination of the arena. One of these had been consecrated to the cross, the other was still occupied by the Mexican war-god. The Christian and the Aztec contended for their religions under the very shadow of their respective shrines, while the Indian priests running to and fro with their hair wildly streaming over their sable mantles seemed hovering in mid-air, like so many demons of darkness urging on the work of slaughter. The parties closed with the desperate fury of men who had no hope but in victory. Quarter was neither asked nor given, and to fly was impossible. The edge of the area was unprotected by parapet or battlement. The least slip would be fatal, and the combatants, as they struggled in mortal agony, were sometimes seen to roll over the sheer sides of the precipice together. Many of the Aztecs, seeing the fate of such of their comrades as fell into the hands of the Spaniards, voluntarily threw themselves headlong from the lofty summit and were dashed in pieces on the pavement. The battle lasted with the unintermitting fury for three hours. The number of the enemy was double that of the Christians, and it seemed as if it were a contest which must be determined by numbers and brute force rather than by superior science. But that was not so. The invulnerable armor of the Spaniard, his sword of matchless temper and his skill in the use of it, gave him advantages which far outweighed the odds of physical strength in numbers. After doing all that the courage of despair could enable men to do, resistance grew fainter and fainter on the side of the Aztecs. One after another they had fallen. Two or three priests only survived to be led away in triumph by the victors.  Yet the loss of Spaniards was not inconsiderable. It amounted to forty-five of their best men, and nearly all the remainder were more or less injured in the desperate conflict. The victorious Cavaliers now rushed toward the sanctuaries. The lower story was of stone, the two upper were of wood. Penetrating into their recesses they had the mortification to find the image of the virgin and the cross removed. But in the other edifice they still beheld the grim figure of Huizilopochtli, with the sensor of smoking hearts and the walls of his oratory reeking with gore, not improbably of their own countrymen. With shouts of triumph the Christians tore the uncouth monster from his niche and tumbled him in the presence of the horror-struck Aztecs down the steps of the Teokali. They then set fire to the accursed building. The flame speedily ran up the slender towers, sending forth an ominous light over city, lake, and valley to the remotest hut among the mountains. It was the funeral pyre of paganism, and proclaimed the fall of that sanguinary religion which had so long hung like a dark cloud over the fair regions of Anahuac. No achievement in the war struck more awe into the Mexicans than this storming of the great temple in which the white men seemed to bid defiance equally to the powers of God and man. Having accomplished this good work the Spaniards descended the winding slopes of the Teokali with more free and buoyant step, as if conscious that the blessing of heaven now rested on their arms. They passed through the dusky files of Indian warriors in the courtyard, too much dismayed by the appalling scenes they had witnessed to offer resistance, and reached their own quarters in safety. That very night they followed up the blow by a sortee on the sleeping-town, and burned three hundred houses, the horrors of conflagration, being made still more impressive by occurring at the hour when the Aztecs, from their own system of warfare, were least prepared for them. Hoping to find the temper of the natives somewhat subdued by these reverses, Cortes now determined with his usual policy to make them a vantage ground for proposing terms of accommodation. He accordingly invited the enemy to a parlay, and as the principal chiefs attended by their followers assembled in the great square, he mounted the turret before occupied by Montezuma and made signs that he would address them. Marina, as usual, took her place by his side as his interpreter. The multitude gazed with earnest curiosity on the Indian girl, whose influence with the Spaniards was well known, and whose connection with the general, in particular, had led the Aztecs to designate her by her Mexican name of Malinche. Cortes, speaking through the soft musical tones of his mistress, told his audience they must now be convinced that they had nothing further to help from opposition to the Spaniards. They had seen their gods trampled in the dust, their altars broken, their dwellings burned, their warriors falling on all sides. All this, continuity, you have brought on yourselves by your rebellion. Yet for the affection the sovereign, whom you have unworthily treated, still bears you, I would willingly stay my hand if you will lay down your arms and return once more to your obedience. But if you do not, he concluded, I will make your city a heap of ruins and leave not a soul alive to mourn over it. But the Spanish commander did not yet comprehend the character of the Aztecs if he thought to intimidate them by menaces. Calm in their exterior and slow to move, they were the more difficult to pass of Iowan roused, and now that they had been stirred to their inmost depths, it was no human voice that could still detempest. It may be, however, that Cortes did not so much misconceive the character of the people. He may have felt that an authoritative tone was the only one he could assume, with any chance of effect, in his present position, in which milder and more conciliatory language would, by intimating a consciousness of inferiority, have too certainly defeated its own object. It was true, they answered, he had destroyed their temples, broken in pieces their gods, massacred their countrymen. Many more doubtless were yet to fall under their terrible swords. But they were content so long as for every thousand Mexicans they could shed the blood of a single white man. Look out, they continued, on our terraces and streets, see them still thronged with warriors as far as your eyes can reach. Our numbers are scarcely diminished by our losses. Yours, on the contrary, are lessening every hour. You are perishing from hunger and sickness. Your provisions and water are failing. You must soon fall into our hands. The bridges are broken down and you cannot escape. There will be too few of you left to glut the vengeance of our gods. As they concluded they sent a volley of arrows over the battlements which compelled the Spaniards to descend and take refuge in their defences. The fierce and indomitable spirit of the Aztecs filled the besieged with its dismay. All then that they had done and suffered, their battles by day, their vigils by night, the perils they had braved, and the victories they had won, were of no avail. It was too evident that they had no longer the spring of ancient superstition to work upon the breasts of the natives, who, like some wild beast that has burst the bonds of its keeper, seem now to swell and exult in the full consciousness of their strength. The enunciation respecting the bridges fell like a knell on the ears of the Christians. All that they had heard was too true, and they gazed on one another with looks of anxiety and dismay. The same consequences followed which sometimes take place among the crew of a shipwrecked vessel. Subordination was lost in the dreadful sense of danger. A spirit of mutiny broke out, especially among the recent levies drawn from the army of Narvayas. They had come into the country from no motive of ambition, but attracted simply by the glowing reports of its opulence, and they had fondly hoped to return in a few months with their pockets well lined with the gold of the Aztec monarch. But how different had been their lot! In the first hour of their landing they had experienced only trouble and disaster, privations of every description, sufferings unexampled, and they now beheld in perspective a fate yet more appalling. Bitterly did they lament the hour when they left the sunny fields of Cuba for those cannibal regions, and heartily did they curse their own folly in listening to the call of Velazquez, and still more in embarking under the banner of Cortez. They now demanded with noisy vehemence to be led instantly from the city, and refused to serve longer in defence of a place where they were cooped up like sheep in the shambles, waiting only to be dragged to slaughter. In all this they were rebuked by the more orderly soldier-like conduct of the veterans of Cortez. These latter had shared with their general the day of his prosperity, and they were not disposed to desert him in the tempest. It was indeed obvious, on a little reflection, that the only chance of safety in the existing crisis rested on subordination and union, and that even this chance must be greatly diminished under any other leader than their present one. Thus pressed by enemies without, and by factions within, that leader was found, as usual, true to himself. Circumstances so appalling as would have paralyzed a common mind only stimulated his to higher action, and drew forth all its resources. He combined what is most rare, singular coolness and constancy of purpose, with a spirit of enterprise that might well be called romantic. His presence of mind did not now desert him. He calmly surveyed his condition, and weighed the difficulties which surrounded him before coming to a decision. Independently of the hazard of a retreat in the face of a watchful and desperate foe, it was deep mortification to surrender up the city, which he had so long lorded it as a master, to abandon the rich treasures which he had secured to himself and his followers, to forego the very means by which he had hoped to propitiate the favor of his sovereign and secure an amnesty for his irregular proceedings. This he well knew must, after all, be dependent on success. To fly now was to acknowledge himself further removed from the conquest than ever. What a close was this to a career so auspiciously begun.  What a triumph would it afford to his enemies. The governor of Cuba would be amply revenge'd. But if such humiliating reflections crowded on his mind, the alternative of remaining, in his present crippled condition, seemed yet more desperate. With his men daily diminishing in strengthened numbers, their provisions reduced so low that a small daily ration of bread was all the sustenance afforded to the soldier under his extraordinary fatigues. With the breeches every day winding in his feeble fortifications, with his ammunition, in fine, nearly expended, it would be impossible to maintain the place much longer, and none but men of iron constitutions and tempers like the Spaniards could have held it out so long against the enemy. Chief embarrassment was as to the time and manner in which it would be expedient to evacuate the city. The best route seemed to be that of Tlacopan, Tacuba. For the causeway, the most dangerous part of the road, was but two miles long in that direction, and would therefore place the fugitives much sooner than either of the other great avenues on Terraferma. Before his final departure, however, he proposed to make another sally in that direction in order to reconnoiter the ground, and at the same time divert the enemy's attention from his real purpose by a show of active operations. For some days his workmen had been employed in constructing a military machine of his own invention. It was called a manta, and was contrived somewhat on the principle of the mental aids used in the wars of the Middle Ages. It was, however, more complicated, consisting of a tower made of light beams and planks, having two chambers, one over the other. These were to be filled with musketeers, and the sides were provided with loopholes, through which a fire could be kept up on the enemy. The great advantage proposed by this contrivance was to afford a defense to the troops against the missiles hurled from the terraces. These machines, three of which were made, rested on rollers, and were provided with strong ropes by which they were to be dragged along the streets by the Tlaskalan auxiliaries.  By bringing the mantas under the walls of the houses, the Spaniards were enabled to fire with effect on the mischievous tenants of the Azoteas, and when this did not silence them, by letting a ladder or light drawbridge fall on the roof from the top of the manta, they opened a passage to the terrace and closed with the combatants hand-to-hand. They could not, however, thus approach the higher buildings from which the Indian warriors threw down such heavy masses of stone and timber as dislodge the planks that covered the machines, or, thundering against their sides, shook the frail edifices to their foundations, threatening all within with indiscriminate ruin. Indeed, the success of the experiment was doubtful, when the intervention of a canal put a stop to their further progress. The Spaniards now found the assertion of their enemies too well-confirmed. The bridge which traversed the opening had been demolished, and although the canals which intersected the city were in general of no great width or depth, the removal of the bridges not only impeded the movements of the general's clumsy machines, but effectually disconcerted those of his cavalry. Resolving to abandon the mantas, he gave orders to fill up the chasm with stone, timber, and other rubbish drawn from the ruined buildings, and to make a new passageway for the army. While this labor was going on, the Aztecs slingers and archers on the other side of the opening kept up a galling discharge on the Christians, the more defenseless from the nature of their occupation. When the work was completed and a safe passage secured, the Spanish Cavaliers rode briskly against the enemy, who, unable to resist the shock of the steel-clad column, fell back with precipitation to where another canal afforded a similar strong position of defense. There was no less than seven of these canals intersecting the great street of Tlacopan, and at every one the same scene was renewed, the Mexicans making a gallant stand and inflicting some loss at each on their persevering antagonists. These operations consumed two days when, after incredible toil, the Spanish general had the satisfaction to find the line of communication completely reestablished through the whole length of the avenue, and the principal bridges placed under strong detachments of infantry. At this juncture, when he had driven the foe before him to the furthest extremity of the city where it touches on the causeway, he was informed that the Mexicans, disheartened by their reverses, decided to open parlay with him respecting the terms of an accommodation, and that their chiefs awaited his return for that purpose at the fortress. Overjoyed at the intelligence, he instantly rode back, attended by Alvarado, Sandoval, and about sixty of the Cavaliers, to his quarters. The Mexicans proposed that he should release the two priests captured in the temple, who might be the bearers of his terms, and serve as agents for conducting the negotiation. They were accordingly sent with the requisite instructions to their countrymen, but they did not return. The whole was an artifice of the enemy, anxious to procure the liberation of their religious leaders, one of whom was their Teoteupli, or high priest, whose presence was indispensable in the probable event of a new coronation. Cortes, meanwhile, relying on the prospects of a speedy arrangement, was hastily taking some refreshment with his officers after the fatigues of the day, when he received the alarming tidings that the enemy were in arms again with more fury than ever, that they had overpowered the detachments post under Alvarado at three of the bridges, and were busily occupied in demolishing them. Stung with shame at the facility with which he had been duped by his wily foe, or rather by his own sanguine hopes, Cortes threw himself into the saddle, and, followed by his brave companions, galloped back at full speed to the scene of the action. The Mexicans were coiled before the impetuous charge of the Spaniards. The bridges were again restored, and Cortes and the cavalry rode down the whole extent of the Great Street, driving the enemy like frightened deer at the points of their lances. But before he could return on his steps he had the mortification to find that the indefatigable foe, gathering from the adjoining lanes and streets, had again closed on his infantry who, worn down by fatigue, were unable to maintain their position at one of the principal bridges. New swarms of warriors now poured in on all sides, overwhelming the little band of Christian Cavaliers, with a storm of stones, darts, and arrows which rattled like hail on their armor and on that of their well-barbed horses. Most of the missiles, indeed, glanced harmless from the good panoples of steel, or thick, quilted cotton. But now and then one better aimed penetrated the joints of the harness and stretched the rider on the ground. The confusion became greater around the broken bridge. Some of the horsemen were thrown into the canal, and their steeds floundered wildly about without a rider. Cortes himself, at this crisis, did more than any other to cover the retreat of his followers. While the bridge was repairing, he plunged boldly into the midst of the barbarians, striking down an enemy at every vault of his charger, cheering on his own men, and spreading terror through the ranks of his opponents by the well-known sound of his battle cry. Never did he display greater hardy-hood, or more freely exposed his person, emulating, says an old chronicler, the feats of the Roman cockleys. In this way he stayed the tide of silence, till the last man had crossed the bridge. When some of the planks having given way, he was compelled to leap a chasm of full six feet in width, amidst a cloud of missiles before he could place himself in safety. A report ran through the army that the general was slain. It soon spread through the city to the great joy of the Mexicans and reached the fortress, where the besieged were thrown into no less consternation, but happily for them it was false. He indeed received two severe contusions on the knee, but in other respects remained uninjured.  The coming of night dispersed the Indian battalions, which, punishing like birds of elomen from the field, left the well contested paths in possession of the Spaniards. They returned, however, with none of the joyous feelings of the conquerors in their citadel, but with slow step and dispirited, with weapons hacked and armor battered, and fainting under the loss of blood, fasting, and fatigue. In this condition they had yet to learn the tidings of a fresh misfortune in the death of Montezuma. The Indian monarch had rapidly declined since he had received his injury, sinking, however, quite as much under the anguish of a wounded spirit as under a disease. He continued in the same moody state of insensibility as that already described, holding little communication with those around him, deft to consolation, obstinately rejecting all medical remedies as well as nourishment. Perceiving his end approach, some of the Cavaliers present in the fortress, whom the kindness of his manners had personally attached to him, worked anxious to save the soul of the dying prince from the sad doom of those who perish in the darkness of unbelief. They accordingly waited on him, with father Almeida at their head, and in the most earnest manner implored him to open his eyes to the error of his creed and consent to be baptized. But Montezuma, whatever may have been suggested to the contrary, seems never to have faltered in his redditary faith, or to have contemplated becoming an apostate, for surely he merits that name in its most odious application, who, whether Christian or pagan, renounces his religion without conviction of its falsehood. Indeed, it was a too implicit reliance on its oracles which had led him to give such easy confidence to the Spaniards. His intercourse with them had doubtless not sharpened his desire to embrace their communion, and the calamities of his country he might consider as sent by his gods to punish him for his hospitality to those who had desecrated and destroyed their shrines. When father Almeida, therefore, kneeling at his side with the uplifted crucifix, affectionately besought him to embrace the sign of man's redemption, he coldly repulsed the priest, exclaiming, I have but a few moments to live, and will not at this hour desert the faith of my fathers. One thing, however, seemed to press heavily on Montezuma's mind. This was the fate of his children, especially of three daughters, whom he had by his two wives, for there were certain rights of marriage which distinguished a lawful wife from the concubine. Calling Cortez to his bedside, he earnestly commended these children to his care as the most precious jewels that he could leave him. He besought the general to interest his master, the Emperor, in their behalf, and to see that they should not be left destitute, but be allowed some portion of their rightful inheritance. Your Lord will do this, he concluded, if it were only for the friendly offices I have rendered the Spaniards, and for the love I have shown them, though it has brought me to this condition, for this I bear them no ill will. Such according to Cortez himself were the words of the dying monarch. Not long after, on the thirtieth of June, fifteen-twenty, he expired in the arms of some of his own nobles, who still remained faithful in their attendance on his person. Montezuma at the time of his death was about forty-one years old, of which he reigned eighteen. His person and manners have already been described. He left a numerous progeny by his various wives, most of whom, having lost their consideration after the conquest, fell into obscurity as they mingled with the mass of the Indian population. Two of them, however, a son and a daughter who embraced Christianity, became the founders of noble houses in Spain. The government, willing to show its gratitude for the large extent of empire derived from their ancestor, conferred on them ample estates and important hereditary honors, and the counts of Montezuma and Tula, intermarrying with the best blood of cut steel, intimated by their names and titles the illustrious descent from the royal dynasty of Mexico. Montezuma's death was a misfortune to the Spaniards. While he lived they had a precious pledge in their hands, which in extremity they might possibly have turned to account. Now the last link was snap, which connected them with the natives of the country. But independently of interested feelings, Cortez and his officers were much affected by his death from personal considerations, and when they gazed on the cold remains of the ill-starred monarch, they may have felt a natural compunction as they contrasted his late flourishing condition with that to which his friendship for them had now reduced him. The Spanish commander showed all respect for his memory. His body, arrayed in its royal robes, was laid decently on a beer and borne on the shoulders of his nobles to his subjects in the city. What honors, if any, were paid to his remains is uncertain. A sound of wailing, distinctly heard in the western quarters of the capital, was interpreted by the Spaniards into the moans of a funeral procession, as it bore the body to be laid among those of his ancestors under the princely shades of chapel tepik. Others state that it was removed to a burial place in the city named Copalco, and there burnt were the usual solemnities and signs of lamentation by his chiefs, but not without some unworthy insults from the Mexican populace. Whatever be the fact, the people, occupied with the stirring scenes in which they were engaged, were probably not long-mindful of the monarch, who had taken no share in their late patriotic movements, nor is it strange that the very memory of his apulcher should be effaced in the terrible catastrophe which afterwards overwhelmed the capital and swept away every landmark from its surface. End of Book 5, Chapter 2. Recording by Colinda in Raymond, New Hampshire on November 18, 2007. Book 5, Chapter 3 of the History of the Conquest of Mexico. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Margaret Espayat. History of the Conquest of Mexico by William H. Prescott, Book 5, Chapter 3. Council of War. Spaniards evacuate the city. Chitriste, or the melancholy night. Terrible slaughter. Halt for the night. Amount of losses. There was no longer any question asked to the expediency of evacuating the capital. The only doubt was asked to the time of doing so and the root. The Spanish commander called a Council of Officers to deliberate on these matters. It was his purpose to retreat on Tlaxcala and in that capital to decide according to circumstances on his future operations. After some discussion they agreed on the causeway of Tlaxopan as the avenue by which to leave the city. It would indeed take them back by a circuitous route, considerably longer than either of those by which they had approached the capital. But for that reason it would be less likely to be guarded, as least suspected, and the causeway itself being shorter than either of the other entrances would sooner place the army in comparative security on the mainland. There was some difference of opinion in respect to the hour of departure. The daytime it was argued by some would be preferable since it would enable them to see the nature and extent of their danger and to provide against it. Darkness would be much more likely to embarrass their movements than those of the enemy who were familiar with the ground. A thousand impediments would occur in the night, which might prevent their acting in concert, or obeying, or even ascertaining the orders of the commander. But on the other hand it was urged that the night presented many obvious advantages in dealing with a foe who rarely carried his hostilities beyond the day. The late active operations of the Spaniards had thrown the Mexicans off their guard, and it was improbable they would anticipate so speedy a departure of their enemies. With celerity and caution they might succeed, therefore, in making their escape from the town, possibly over the causeway before their retreat should be discovered, and could they once get beyond that pass of peril they felt little apprehension for the rest. These views were fortified, it is said, by the councils of a soldier named Botello, who professed the mysterious science of judicial astrology. He had gained credit with the army by some predictions which had been verified by the events, those lucky hits which make chance pass for calculation with a credulous multitude. This man recommended to his countrymen by all means to evacuate the place in the night, as the hour most propitious to them, although he should perish in it. The event proved the astrologer better acquainted with his own horoscope than with that of others. It is possible Botello's predictions had some weight in determining the opinion of Cortes. Superstition was the feature of the age, and the Spanish general, as we have seen, had a full measure of its bigotry. Seasons of gloom, moreover, disposed the mind to a ready acquiescence in the marvelous. It is, however, quite as probable that he made use of the astrologer's opinion, finding it coincided with his own, to influence that of his men, and inspire them with higher confidence. At all events it was decided to abandon the city that very night. The general's first care was to provide for the safe transportation of the treasure. Many of the common soldiers had converted their share of the prize, as we have seen, into gold chains, collars, or other ornaments which they easily carried about their persons. But the royal fifth, together with that of Cortes himself, and much of the rich booty of the principal cavaliers, had been converted into bars and wedges of solid gold, and deposited in one of the strong apartments of the palace. Cortes delivered the share belonging to the crown, to the royal officers, assigning them one of the strongest horses, and a guard of Castilian soldiers to transport it. Still much of the treasure belonging both to the crown and to individuals was necessarily abandoned from the want of adequate means of conveyance. The metal lace scattered in shining heaps along the floor, exciting the cupidity of the soldiers. "'Take what you will of it,' said Cortes to his men. "'Better you should have it than these Mexican hounds. But be careful not to overload yourselves. He travels safest in the dark night, who travels lightest.' His own more wary followers took heed to his counsel, helping themselves to a few articles of leased bulk, though it might be of greatest value. But the troops of Narváez, pining for riches of which they had heard so much, and hitherto seen so little, showed no such discretion. To them it seemed as if the very minds of Mexico were turned up before them. And rushing on the treacherous spoil they greedily loaded themselves with as much of it not merely as they could accommodate about their persons, but as they could stow away in wallets, boxes, or any other mode of conveyance at their disposal. Cortes next arranged the order of March. The van, composed of two hundred Spanish foot, he placed under the command of the valiant consalo de Sandoval, supported by Diego de Ordaz, Francisco de Lugo, and about twenty other Cavaliers. The rear-guard, constituting the strength of the infantry, was entrusted to Pedro de Alvarado and Velazquez de León. The general himself took charge of the battle, or center, in which went the baggage some of the heavy guns, most of which, however, remained in the rear. The treacher and the prisoners. These consisted of a son and two daughters of Montesuma, Cacama, the deposed lord of Tescucco, and several other nobles, whom Cortes retained as important pledges in his future negotiations with the enemy. The Tlaxcalans were distributed pretty equally among the three divisions, and Cortes had under his immediate command a hundred picked soldiers, his own veterans most attached to his service, who with Cristobal de Olid, Francisco de Morla, Alonso de Ávila, and two or three other Cavaliers formed a select corps to act wherever occasion might require. The general had already superintended the construction of a portable bridge to be laid over the open canals in the causeway. This was given in charge to an officer named Magarino, with forty soldiers under his orders, all pledged to defend the passage to the last extremity. The bridge was to be taken up when the entire army had crossed one of the breaches and transported to the next. There were three of these openings in the causeway, and most fortunate would it have been for the expedition if the foresight of the commander had provided the same number of bridges. But the labor would have been great, and time was short. At midnight the troops were under arms in readiness for the march. Mass was performed by Father Olmedo, who invoked the protection of the Almighty through the awful perils of the night. The gates were thrown open, and on the first of July, 1520, the Spaniards for the last time sallied forth from the walls of the ancient fortress the scene of so much suffering and such indomitable courage. The night was cloudy and a drizzling rain which fell without intermission added to the obscurity. The great square before the palace was deserted, as, indeed, it had been since the fall of Montezuma. Steadily and as noiselessly as possible the Spaniards held their way along the great street of Tlacopane, which so lately had resounded to the tumult of battle. All was now hushed in silence, and they were only reminded of the past by the occasional presence of some solitary corpse, or a dark heap of the slain, which too plainly told where the strife had been hottest. As they passed along the lanes and alleys which opened into the great street, or looked down the canals whose polished surface gleamed with a sort of ebon luster through the obscurity of night, they easily fancied that they discerned the shadowy reforms of their foe lurking in ambush and ready to spring on them. But it was only a fancy, and the city slept undisturbed even by the prolonged echoes of the tramp of the horses and the horse rumbling of the artillery and baggage trains. At length the lighter space between the dusky line of buildings showed the van of the army that it was emerging on an open causeway. They might well have congratulated themselves on having thus escaped the dangers of an assault in the city itself, and that a brief time would place them in comparative safety on the opposite shore. But the Mexicans were not all asleep. As the Spaniards drew near the spot where the street opened on the causeway, and were preparing to lay the portable bridge across the uncovered breach which now met their eyes, several Indian sentinels who had been stationed at this, as at the other approaches to the city, took the alarm and fled, rousing their countrymen by their cries. The priests, keeping their night watch on the summit of the Teocayis, instantly caught the tidings and sounded their shells, while the huge drum in the desolate temple of the war-god sent forth their solemn tones which, heard only in seasons of calamity, vibrated through every corner of the capital. The Spaniards saw that no time was to be lost. The bridge was brought forward and fitted with all possible expedition. Sandoval was the first to try its strength and, riding across, was followed by his little body of chivalry, his infantry, and Tlaxcalan allies who formed the first division of the army. Then came Cortes and his squadrons, with the baggage, ammunition wagons, and part of the artillery. But before they had time to defile across the narrow passage, a gathering sound was heard, like that of a mighty forest agitated by the winds. It grew louder and louder, while on the dark waters of the lake was heard a splashing noise, as of many oars. Then came a few stones and arrows striking at random among the hurricane troops. They fell every moment faster and more furious, till they thickened into a terrible tempest, while the very heavens were rent with the yells and war cries of myriads of combatants who seemed all at once to be swarming over land and lake. The Spaniards pushed steadily on through this arrowy sleet, through the barbarians, dashing their canoes against the sides of the causeway, clambered up and broke in upon their ranks. But the Christians, anxious only to make their escape, declined all combat except for self-preservation. The Cavaliers, spurring forward their steeds, shook off the assailants and rode over their prostrate bodies, while the men on foot with their good swords or the butts of their pieces drove them headlong again down the sides of the dyke. But the advance of several thousand men, marching probably on a front of no more than fifteen or twenty abreast, necessarily required much time, and the leading files had already reached the second breach in the causeway before those in the rear had entirely traversed the first. Here they halted, as they had no means of affecting a passage, smarting all the while under unintermitting volleys from the enemy, who were clustered thick on the waters around this second opening. Sorely distressed, the vanguard sent repeated message to the rear to demand the portable bridge. At length the last of the army had crossed, and Magarino and his sturdy followers endeavored to raise the ponderous framework. But it stuck fast in the sides of the dyke. In vain they strained every nerve. The weight of so many men and horses, and above all of the heavy artillery, had wedged the timbers so firmly in the stones and earth that it was beyond their power to dislodge them. Still they labored amidst a torrent of missiles until many of them slain, and all wounded, they were obliged to abandon the attempt. The tidings soon spread from man to man, and no sooner was their dreadful import comprehended than a cry of despair arose which for a moment drowned all the noise of conflict. All means of retreat were cut off, scarcely hope was left. The only hope was in such desperate exertions as each could make for himself. Danger and subordination were at an end. Intense danger produced intense selfishness, each thought only of his own life. Pressing forward he trampled down the weak and the wounded, heedless whether it were friend or foe. The leading files urged on by the rear were crowded on the brink of the gulf. Santual, Ordaz, and the other cavaliers dashed into the water. Some succeeded in swimming their horses across, others failed, and some who reached the opposite bank, being overturned in the ascent, rolled headlong with their steeds into the lake. The infantry followed Pelmel, heaping promiscuously one on another, frequently pierced by the shafts or struck down by the war-clubs of the Aztecs, while many an unfortunate victim was dragged half-stunt on board their canoes to be reserved for a protracted but more dreadful death. The carnage raged fearfully along the length of the causeway. Its shadowy bulk presented a mark of sufficient distinctness for the enemy's missiles, which often prostrated their own countrymen in the blind fury of the tempest. Those nearest the dyke, running their canoes alongside with a force that shattered them to pieces, leaped on the land and grappled with the Christians until both came rolling down the side of the causeway together. But the Aztec fell among his friends, while his antagonist was borne away in triumph to the sacrifice. The struggle was long and deadly. The Mexicans were recognized by their white cotton tunics which showed faint through the darkness. Above the combatants rose a wild and discordant clamor in which horrid shouts of vengeance were mingled with groans of agony, with invocations of the saints and the blessed virgin, and with the screams of women, for there were several women, both native and Spaniards, who had accompanied the Christian camp. Among these one named Maria de Estrada is particularly noticed for the courage she displayed, battling with broadsword and target, like the staunchest of the warriors. The opening in the causeway, meanwhile, was filled up with the wreck of matter which had been forced into it, ammunition wagons, heavy guns, bales of rich stuff scattered over the waters, chests of solid ingots and bodies of men and horses, till over this dismal ruin a passage was gradually formed by which those in the rear were unable to clamber to the other side. Cortes, it is said, found a place that was fortable, where halting with the water up to his saddle girths he endeavored to check the confusion and lead his followers by a safer path to the opposite bank. But his voice was lost in the wild uproar, and finally, hurrying on with the tide, he pressed forward with a few trusty cavaliers who remained near his person to the van, but not before he had seen his favorite page, one de Salazar struck down a corpse by his side. Here he found Sandoval and his companions halting before the third and last breach, endeavouring to cheer on their followers to surmount it. But their resolution faltered. It was wide and deep, though the passage was not so closely beset by the enemy as the preceding ones. The cavaliers again set the example by plunging into the water. Horse and foot followed as they could, some swimming, others with dying grasp clinging to the mains and tails of the struggling animals. Those fared best as the general had predicted, who traveled blightest, and many were the unfortunate wretches who, weighed down by the fatal gold which they loved so well, were buried with it in the salt floods of the lake. Cortés, with his gallant comrades, Olid, Morla, Sandoval, and some few others, still kept in the advance, leading his broken remnant off the fatal causeway. The din of battle lessened in the distance, when the rumour reached them that the rearguard would be wholly overwhelmed without speedy relief. It seemed almost an act of desperation. But the generous hearts of the Spanish cavaliers did not stop to calculate danger when the cry for succor reached them. Turning their horses bridles, they galloped back to the theatre of action, worked their way through the press, swam the canal, and placed themselves in the thick of the melee on the opposite bank. The first grey of the morning was now coming over the waters. It showed the hideous confusion of the scene which had been shrouded in the obscurity of night. The dark masses of combatants, stretching along the dyke, were seen struggling for mastery, until the very causeway on which they stood appeared to tremble, and reel to and fro, as if shaken by an earthquake, while the bosom of the lake, as far as the eye could reach, was darkened by canoes crowded with warriors whose spears and bludgeons, armed with blades of volcanic glass, gleamed in the morning light. The cavaliers found Alvarado unhorst, and defending himself with a poor handful of followers against an overwhelming tide of the enemy. His good steed, which had borne him through many a hard fight, had fallen under him. He was himself wounded in several places, and was striving in vain to rally his scattered column, which was driven to the verge of the canal by the fury of the enemy, then in possession of the whole rear of the causeway, where they were reinforced every hour by fresh combatants from the city. The artillery in the earlier part of the engagement had not been idle, and its iron shower sweeping along the dyke had mowed down the assailants by hundreds. But nothing could resist their impetuosity. The front ranks pushed on by those behind, were at length forced up to the pieces, and pouring over them like a torrent overthrew men and guns in one general ruin. The resolute charge of the Spanish cavaliers, who had now arrived, created a temporary check, and gave time for their countrymen to make a feeble rally. But they were speedily borne down by the returning flood. Cortez and his companions were compelled to plunge again into the lake, though all did not escape. Alvarado stood on the brink for a moment, hesitating what to do. Unhorst as he was, to throw himself into the water in the face of the hostile canoes that now swarmed around the opening afforded but a desperate chance of safety. He had but a second for thought. He was a man of powerful frame, and despair gave him unnatural energy. Setting his long lance firmly on the wreck which strewed the bottom of the lake, he sprung forward with all his might, and cleared the wide gap at a leap.  This is truly that T'unatiu, the child of the sun. The breadth of the opening is not given. But it was so great that the valorous Captain Dias, who well remembered the place, says the leap was impossible to any man. Other contemporaries, however, do not discredit the story. Cortez and his companions now rode forward to the front, where the troops in a loose disorderly manner were marching off the fatal causeway. A few only of the enemy hung on their rear, or annoyed them by occasional flights of arrows from the lake. The attention of the Aztecs was diverted by the rich spoil that strewed the battleground. Fortunately for the Spaniards, who had their enemy pursued with the same ferocity with which he had fought, would, in their crippled condition, have been cut off, probably to a man. But little molested, therefore, they were allowed to defile through the adjacent village, or suburbs, it might be called, of Popotla. The Spanish commander there dismounted from his jaded steed, and sitting down on the steps of an Indian temple, gazed mournfully on the broken files as they passed before him. What a spectacle did they present! The cavalry, most of them dismounted, were mingled with the infantry, who dragged their feeble limbs along with difficulty. Their shattered mail and tattered garments dripping with the salt ooze, showing through their wrents many abrues and ghastly wound, their bright arms soiled, their proud crests and banners gone, the baggage, artillery, all in short that constitutes the pride and panoply of glorious war for ever lost. Cortes, as he looked wistfully on their thin and disordered ranks, sought in vain for many a familiar face, and missed more than one dear companion who had stood side by side with him through all the perils of the conquest. Though accustomed to control his emotions, or at least to conceal them, the sight was too much for him.  He found some consolation, however, in the sight of several of the cavaliers on whom he most relied. Alvarado, Sandoval, Olid, Ordaz, Avila were yet safe. He had the inexpressible satisfaction also of learning of the safety of the Indian interpreter Marina so dear to him, and so important to the army. She had been committed, with a daughter of a Tlaxcalan chief, to several of that nation. She was fortunately placed in the van, and her faithful escort had carried her securely through all the dangers of the night. Aguilar, the other interpreter, had also escaped, and it was with no less satisfaction that Cortés learned the safety of the ship-builder Martin López. The general's solicitude for the fate of this man, so indispensable as he proved to the success of his subsequent operations, showed that, amidst all his affliction, his indomitable spirit was looking forward to the hour of vengeance. Meanwhile the advancing column had reached the neighboring city of Tlacopan, Tacuba, once the capital of an independent principality. There it halted in the great street, as if bewildered and altogether uncertain what course to take. Cortés, who had hastily mounted and rode on to the front again, saw the danger of remaining in a populous place where the inhabitants might sorely annoy the troops from the Azoteas, with little risk to themselves. Pushing forward, therefore, he soon led them into the country. There he endeavored to reform his disorganized battalions, and bring them to something like order. Hard by, at no great distance on the left rose an eminence, looking towards a chain of mountains which fences in the valley on the west. It was called the hill of Oton Calpolco, and sometimes the hill of Montesuma. It was crowned with an indian teokai, with its large outworks of stone, covering an ample space, and by its strong position, which commanded the neighboring plain, promised a good place of refuge for the exhausted troops. But the men, disheartened and stupefied by their late reverses, seemed for the moment incapable of further exertion, when the place was held by a body of armed indians. Cortes saw the necessity of dislodging them if he would save the remains of his army from entire destruction. The event showed he still held a control over their wills stronger than circumstances themselves. Cheering them on, and supported by his gallant cavaliers, he succeeded in infusing into the most sluggish something of his own intrepid temper, and led them up the ascent in the face of the enemy. But the latter made slight resistance, and after a few feeble volleys of missiles which did little injury, left the ground to the assailants. It was covered by a building of considerable size, and furnished ample accommodations for the diminished number of the Spaniards. They found there some provisions, and more, it is said, were brought to them in the course of the day by some friendly Otomi villages in the neighborhood. There was also a quantity of fuel in the courts, designed to the uses of the temple. With this they made fires to dry their drenched garments, and busily employed themselves in dressing one another's wounds, stiff and extremely painful from exposure and long exertion. Thus refreshed the weary soldiers threw themselves down on the floor and courts of the temple, and soon found the temporary oblivion which nature seldom denies even in the greatest extremity of suffering. There was one eye in that assembly, however, which we may well believe did not so speedily close. For what agitating thoughts must have crowded on the mind of their commander as he beheld his poor remnant of followers thus huddled together in this miserable Bivouac? And this was all that survived of the brilliant array of which but a few weeks since he had entered the capital of Mexico, where now were his dreams of conquest and empire. And what was he but a luckless adventurer at whom the finger of scorn would be uplifted as a madman? Whichever way he turned the horizon was almost equally gloomy, with scarcely one light spot to cheer him. He had still a weary journey before him, through perilous and unknown paths, with guides of whose fidelity he could not be assured. And how could he rely on his reception at Tlaxcala, the place of his destination, the land of his ancient enemies, where formerly as a foe, and now as a friend, he had brought desolation to every family within its borders? Yet these agitating and gloomy reflections, which might have crushed a common mind, had no power over that of Cortes, or rather they only served to renew his energies and quicken his perceptions as the war of the elements purifies and gives elasticity to the atmosphere. He looked with an unblanching eye on his past reverses, but confident in his own resources he saw a light through the gloom which others could not. Even in the shattered relics which lay around him, resembling in their haggard aspect and wild attire a horde of famished outlaws, he discerned the materials out of which to reconstruct his ruined fortunes. In the very hour of discomforture and general despondency, there is no doubt that this heroic spirit was meditating the plan of operations which he afterwards pursued with such dauntless constancy. The loss sustained by the Spaniards on this fatal night, like every other event in the history of the conquest, is reported with the greatest discrepancy. If we believe Cortes' own letter, it did not exceed one hundred and fifty Spaniards and two thousand Indians. But the General's bulletins, while they do full justice to the difficulties to be overcome, and the importance of the results, are less scrupulous in stating the extent either of his means or of his losses. Duan Cano, one of the Cavaliers present, estimates the slain at eleven hundred and seventy Spaniards and eight thousand allies. But this is a greater number than we have allowed for the whole army. Perhaps we may come nearest the truth by taking the computation of Gomara, the chaplain of Cortes, who had free access, doubtless, not only to the General's papers, but to other authentic sources of information. According to him the number of Christians killed and missing was four hundred and fifty, and that of natives four thousand. This, with a loss sustained in the conflicts of the previous week, may have reduced the former to something more than a third, and the latter to a fourth, or perhaps fifth, of the original force with which they entered the capital. The brunt of the action fell on the rear-guard, few of whom escaped. It was formed chiefly of the soldiers of Narvaes, who fell the victims in some measure of their cupidity. Forty-sixth of the cavalry were cut off, which with previous losses reduced the number in this branch of the service to twenty-three, and some of these in very poor condition. The greater part of the treasure, the baggage, the General's papers including his accounts, and a minute diary of transactions since leaving Cuba, which, to posterity at least, would have been of more worth than the gold, had been swallowed up by the waters. The ammunition, the beautiful little train of artillery with which Cortes had entered the city, were all gone. Not a musket even remained, the men having thrown them away, eager to disencomber themselves of all that might retard their escape on that disastrous night. Nothing in short of their military apparatus was left but their swords, their crippled cavalry, and a few damaged crossbows to assert the superiority of the European over the barbarian. The prisoners including, as already noticed, the children of Montesuma and the Casique of Tescuco, all perished by the hands of their ignorant countrymen, it is said, in the indiscriminate fury of the assault.  Such was Francisco de Morla, who fell by the side of Cortes, on returning with him to the rescue. But the greatest loss was that of Juan Belasquez de León, who, with Albarado, had command of the rear. It was the post of danger on that night, and he fell, actively defending it, at an early part of the retreat. There was no cavalier in the army, with the exception, perhaps, of Sandoval and Albarado, whose loss would have been so deeply deplored by the commander. Such were the disastrous results of this terrible passage of the causeway, more disastrous than those occasioned by any other reverse which has stained the Spanish arms in the New World, and which have branded the night on which it happened in the national annals, with the name of the Noche Triste, the sad or melancholy night. CHAPTER IV The Mexicans, during the day which followed the retreat of the Spaniards, remained for the most part, quiet in their own capital, where they found occupation in cleansing the streets and causeways from the dead, which lay festering in heaps that might have bred a pestilence. They may have been employed, also, in paying the last honours to such of their warriors, as had fallen, solemnising the funeral rites by the sacrifice of their wretched prisoners, who, as they contemplated their own destiny, may well have envied the fate of their companions, who left their bones on the battlefield. It was most fortunate for the Spaniards, in their extremity, that they had this breathing time allowed them by the enemy. But Cortes knew that he could not calculate on its continuance, and feeling how important it was to get the start of his vigilant foe, he ordered his troops to be in readiness to resume their march by midnight. Fires were left burning, the better to deceive the enemy, and at the appointed hour, the little army, without sound of drum or trumpet, but with renewed spirits, sellied forth from the gates of the Teokali. It was arranged that the sick and wounded should occupy the centre, transported on litters, or on the backs of the Tamanis, while those who were strong enough to keep their seats, should mount behind the cavalry. The able-bodied soldiers were ordered to the front and rear, while others protected the flanks, thus affording all the security possible to the invalids. The retreating army held on its way, unmolested, under cover of the darkness. But as morning dawned, they beheld parties of the natives moving over the heights, or hanging at a distance, like a cloud of locusts on their rear. They did not belong to the capital, but were gathered from the neighbouring country, where the tidings of their route had already penetrated. The charm which had hitherto covered the white man, was gone. The Spaniards, under the conduct of their Tlaxcalan guides, took a circuitous route to the north, passing through Quachtilan, and round-legged Zumpango, Zumpango, thus lengthening their march, but keeping at a distance from the capital. From the eminences as they passed along, the Indians rolled down heavy stones, mingled with volleys of darts and arrows on the heads of the soldiers. Some were even bold enough to descend into the plain, and assault the extremities of the column. But they were soon beaten off by the horse, and compelled to take refuge among the hills, where the ground was too rough for the rider to follow. Indeed, the Spaniards did not care to do so, their object being rather to fly than to fight. In this way they slowly advanced, halting at intervals to drive off their assailants, when they became too importunate, and greatly distressed by their missiles and their desultory attacks. At night the troops usually found shelter in some town or hamlet, once the inhabitants, in anticipation of their approach, had been careful to carry off all provisions. The Spaniards were soon reduced to the greatest straits for subsistence. Their principal food was wild cherry, which grew in the woods or by the roadside. Fortunate were they if they found a few heirs of corn unplugged. More frequently nothing was left but the stalks, and with them, and like unwholesome fare, they were feigned to supply the cravings of appetite. When a horse happened to be cured, it furnished an extraordinary banquet, and Cortez himself records the fact of his having made one of a party, who thus sumptuously regaled to themselves, devouring the animal even to his hide. The wretched soldiers, feigned with famine and fatigue, were sometimes seen to drop down lifeless on the road. Others loitered behind, unable to keep up with the march, and fell into the hands of the enemy, who followed in the track of the army like a flock of famished vultures, eager to pounce on the dying and the dead. Others again, who strayed too far in their eagerness to procure sustenance, shared the same fate. The number of these at length, and the consciousness of the cruel lot for which they were reserved, compelled Cortez to introduce stricter discipline, and to enforce it by sterner punishments than he had his or two done. Though too often ineffectually, such was the indifference to danger, under the overwhelming pressure of present calamity. Through these weary days Cortez displayed his usual serenity and fortitude. He was ever in the post of danger, freely exposing himself in encounters with the enemy, in one of which he received a severe wound in the head, that afterwards gave him much trouble. He feared no better than the humblest soldier, and strove, by his own cheerful countenance and counsels, to fortify the courage of those who faltered, assuring them that their sufferings would soon be ended by the arrival in the hospitable land of bread. His faithful officers co-operated with him in these efforts, and the common file, indeed, especially his own veterans, must be allowed for the most part, to have shown a full measure of the constancy and power of endurance, so characteristic of their nation, justifying the honest boast of an old chronicle, that there was no people so capable of supporting hunger as the Spaniards, and none of them who were ever more severely tried, than the soldiers of Cortez. A similar fortitude was shown by the Plascalans, trained in rough school, that made them familiar with hardships and privations. Although they sometimes threw themselves on the ground, in the extremity of famine, imploring their gods not to abandon them, there did their duty as warriors, and far from manifesting coldness towards the Spaniards, as the cause of their distresses, seemed only the more firmly knit to them by the sense of a common suffering. On the seventh morning the army had reached a mountain rampart, which overlooks the plains of Otompan, or Atumba, as commonly called, from the Indian city, now a village, situated in them. The distance from the capital is hardly nine leagues, but the Spaniards had traveled more than thrice that distance, in their circuitous march round the lakes. This had been performed so slowly, that it consumed a week, two nights of which had been passed in the same quarters, from the absolute necessity of rest. It was not therefore, till the 7th of July, that they reached the heights commanding the plains, which stretched far away towards the territory of Tlaxcala. In full view of the venerable pyramids of Teotihuacan, two of the most remarkable monuments of the antique American civilization, now existing north of the Isthmus. During all the preceding day they had seen parties of the enemy hovering like dark clouds above the highlands, brandishing their weapons, and calling out in vindictive tones, hasten on, you will soon find yourselves where you cannot escape. Words of mysterious import, which they were made fully to comprehend on the following morning. As the army was climbing the mountain steeps, which shut in the valley of Otompan, the vedettes came in with the intelligence, that a powerful body was encamped on the other side, apparently awaiting their approach. The intelligence was soon confirmed by their own eyes, as they turned the crest of the Sierra, and so spread out below, a mighty host, filling up the whole depth of the valley, and giving to it the appearance, from the white cotton mail of the warriors, of being covered with snow. It consisted of levies from the surrounding country, and especially the populous territory of Teoscucco, drawn together at the instance of Cuit Lahore, Montezuma's successor, and now concentrated on this point, to dispute the passage of the Spaniards. Every chief of note had taken the field, with whose whole array gathered under his standard, proudly displaying all the pomp and rude splendor of his military equipment. As far as the eye could reach, were to be seen shields and waving banners, fantastic helmets, forests of shining spears, the bright feather mail of the chief, and the coarse cotton penably of his follower, all mingled together in wild confusion, and tossing to and fro like the billows of a troubled ocean. It was a sight to fill the stoutest heart among the Christians with dismay, heightened by the previous expectation of soon reaching the friendly land which was to terminate their fearsome pilgrimage. Even Cortez, as he contrasted the tremendous array before him, with his own diminished squadrons, wasted by disease and enfeeble by hunger and fatigue, could not escape the conviction that his last hour had arrived. But his was not the heart to despond, and he gathered strength from the very extremity of his situation. He had no room for hesitation, for there was no alternative left to him. The escape was impossible. He could not retreat on the capital from which he had been expelled. He must advance, cut through the enemy, or perish. He hastily made his dispositions for the fight. He gave his force as broad a front as possible, protecting it on each flank by his little body of horse, now reduced to twenty. Fortunately he had not allowed the invalids for the last two days to mount behind the riders, from a desire to spare the horses, so that these were now in a tolerable condition. And indeed the whole army had been refreshed by halting, as we have seen, two nights and a day in the same place. A delay, however, which had allowed the enemy time to assemble in such force to dispute its progress. Cortés instructed his cavaliers not to part with their lances, and to direct them at the face. The infantry were to thrust, not strike, with their swords, passing them at once through the bodies of the enemies. They were, above all, to aim at the leaders, as the general well knew, how much depends on the life of the commander in the wars of barbarians, whose want of subordination makes them impatient of any control but that to which they are accustomed. He then addressed to his troops a few words of encouragement, as customary was him on the eve of an engagement. He reminded them of the victories they had won, with odds nearly as discouraging as the present, thus establishing the superiority of science and discipline over numbers. Numbers indeed were of no account where the arm of the Almighty was on their side. And he bade them have full confidence that he, who had carried them safely through so many perils, would not now abandon them, and his own good cause, to perish by the hand of the infidel. His address was brief, for he read in their looks that settled resolve which rendered words unnecessary. The circumstances of their positions spoke more forcibly to the heart of every soldier than any eloquence could have done, filling it with that feeling of desperation, which makes the weak arm strong, and turns the coward into a hero. After they had earnestly commanded themselves, therefore, to the protection of God, the Virgin and St. James, Cortes led his battalions straight against the enemy. It was a solemn moment, that in which they devoted little band with steadfast countenances, and their usual intrepid step descended on the plain to be swallowed up, as it were, in the vast ocean of their enemies. The latter rushed on with impetuosity to meet them, making the mountains ring to their discordant yells and battle cries, and sending forth wollies of stones and arrows, which for a moment shut out the light of day. But when the leading files of the two armies closed, the superiority of the Christians was felt, as their antagonists falling back before the charges of cavalry were thrown into confusion by their own numbers who pressed on them from behind. The Spanish infantry followed up the blow, and a wide lane was opened in the ranks of the enemy, who, receding on all sides, seemed willing to allow a free passage for their opponents. But it was to return on them with accumulated force, as rallying they poured upon the Christians, enveloping the little army on all sides, which with its bristling array of long swords and javelins stood firm, in the words of a contemporary, like an islet against which the breakers, roaring and surging, spend their fury in vain. The struggle was desperate of men against men. That Lascalan seemed to renew his strength, as he fought almost in view of his own native hills, as did the Spaniard, with the horrible doom of the captive before his eyes. Well did the Cavaliers do their duty on that day, charging in little bodies of four or five abreast, deep into the enemy's ranks, riding over the broken files, and by this temporary advantage giving strength and courage to the infantry. Not a lance was there which did not reek with the blood of the infidel. Amongst the rest, the young Captain Sandoval is particularly commemorated for his daring prowess. Managing his fury steed with easy horsemanship, he darted, when least expected, into the sickest of the melee, overturning the staunchest warriors, and rejoicing in danger, as if it were his natural element. But these gallant displays of heroism served only to engulf the Spaniards deeper and deeper in the mass of the enemy, with scarcely any more chance of cutting their way through his this tense and interminable battalions, than of hewing a passage with their swords through the mountains. Many of the Lascalans and some of the Spaniards had fallen, and not one, but had been wounded. Cortez himself had received a second cut on a head, and his horse was so much injured that he was compelled to dismount, and take one from the baggage train, a strong-boned animal, who carried him well through the turmoil of the day. The contest had now lasted several hours. The sun rode high in the heavens, and shed an intolerable fervor over the plain. The Christians, weakened by previous sufferings, and faint with loss of blood, began to relax in their desperate exertions. Their enemies, constantly supported by fresh relays from the rear, were still in good heart, and quick to perceive their advantage, pressed with redoubled force on the Spaniards. The horse fell back, crowded on the foot, and the latter, in vain seeking a passage amidst the dusky throngs of the enemy, who now closed up the rear, were thrown into some disorder. The tide of battle was setting rapidly against the Christians. The fate of the day would soon be decided, and all that now remained for them seemed to be to sell their lives as dearly as possible. At this critical moment Cortes, whose restless eye had been rowing round the field in quest of any object, that might offer him the means of arresting the coming ruin, rising in his stirrups, described at a distance, in the midst of the throng, the chief, who from his dress and military courtage, he knew must be the commander of the barbarian forces. He was covered with a rich surcoat of featherwork, and a panache of beautiful plumes, gorgeously set in gold and precious stones, floated above his head. Rising above this and attached to his back, between the shoulders, was a short staff bearing a golden net for a banner, the singular but customary symbol of authority for an Aztec commander. The Katzig, whose name was Tsihuaca, was born on a litter on a body of young warriors, whose gay and ornamented dresses showed them to be the flower of the Indian nobles, stood round as a guard of his person and the sacred emblem. The eagle eye of Cortes, no sooner fell on this personage, than it lighted up with triumph. Turning quickly round to the cavaliers at his side, among whom were Sandoval, Ollid, Alvarado and Avila, he pointed out the chief, exclaiming, There is our mark, follow and support me. Then crying his war cry and striking his iron heel into his very steed, he plunged headlong into the thickest of the press. His enemies fell back, taken by surprise and downed by the ferocity of the attack, those who did not wear pierced through with his lance, or worn down by the weight of his charger. The cavaliers followed close in their ear, on they swept, with the fury of a thunderbolt, cleaving the solid ranks asunder, strewing their paths with dying and the dead, and bounding over every obstacle in their way. In a few minutes they were in the presence of the Indian commander, and Cortes, overturning his supporters, sprung forward with the strength of a lion, unstracking him through with his lance, hurled him to the ground. A young cavalier, Rwanda Salamanca, who had kept close by his general side, quickly dismounted and dispatched the fallen chief. Blantering away his banner, he presented it to Cortes, as a trophy to which he had the best claim. It was all the work of a moment. The guard, overpowered by the suddenness of the onset, made little resistance, but flying communicated their own panic to the comrades. The tidings of the loss soon spread over the field. The Indians, filled with consternation, now thought only of escape. In their blind terror, their numbers augmented their confusion. They trembled on one another, fancying it was the enemy in their ear. The Spaniards and Plascallans were not slow to avail themselves of the marvelous change in their affairs.  Long did they pursue, till the enemy having abandoned the field, they returned, sated with slaughter to Glean, the booty which he had left. It was great, for the ground was covered with the bodies of chiefs, at whom the Spaniards, in obedience to the general's instructions, had particularly aimed, and their dresses displayed all the barbaric pomp of ornament, in which the Indian warrior delighted. When his men had thus indemnified themselves, in some degree, for their late reverses, Cortes called them again under their banners, and after offering up a grateful acknowledgement to the Lord of Hosts, for their miraculous preservation, they renewed their march across the now deserted Wally. The sun was declining in the heavens, but before the shades of evening had gathered around, they reached an Indian temple on an eminence, which afforded a strong and commodious position for the night. Such was the famous battle of Otompan, or Atomba, as commonly called, from the Spanish corruption of the name. It was fought on the 8th of July, 1520. The whole amount of the Indian force is reckoned by Castilian writers at 200,000, that of the slain at 20,000. Those who admit the first part of the estimate will find no difficulty in receiving the last. Yet it was, undoubtedly, one of the most remarkable victories ever achieved in the New World. History of the Conquest of Mexico by William H. Prescott Book 5, Chapter 5 Arrival in Clascala Friendly reception Discontents of the army Jealousy of the Clascalans Embassy from Mexico On the following morning, the army broke up its encampment at an early hour. The enemy do not seem to have made an attempt to rally. Clouds of skirmishers, however, were seen during the morning, keeping at a respectful distance, though occasionally venturing near enough to salute the Spaniards with a volley of missiles. On a rising ground, they discovered a fountain, a blessing not too often met with in these arid regions, and gratefully commemorated by the Christians for the refreshment afforded by its cool and abundant waters. A little further on, they described the rude works which served as the bulwark and boundary of the Clascalan territory. At the site, the allies sent up a joyous shout of congratulation in which the Spaniards heartily joined, as they felt they were soon to be on friendly and hospitable ground. But these feelings were speedily followed by others of a different nature, and as they drew nearer the territory, their minds were disturbed with the most painful apprehensions as to their reception by the people among whom they were bringing desolation and mourning, and who might so easily, if ill-disposed, take advantage of their present crippled condition. Thoughts like these, says Cortes, weighed as heavily on my spirit as any which I ever experienced in going to battle with the Aztecs. Still he put, as usual, a good face on the matter, and encouraged his men to confide in their allies whose past conduct had afforded every ground for trusting to their fidelity in future. He cautioned them, however, as their own strength was so much impaired, to be most careful to give no umbridge or ground for jealousy to their high-spirited allies. Be but on your guard, continued the intrepid general, and we have still stout hearts and strong hands to carry us through the midst of them. With these anxious surmises, bidding adieu to the Aztec domain, the Christian army crossed the frontier, and once more trod the soil of the Republic. The first place at which they halted was the town of Rechotlipan, a place of about twelve or fifteen thousand inhabitants. They were kindly greeted by the people who came out to receive them, inviting the troops to their habitations, and administering all the relief of their simple hospitality, yet not so disinterested as to prevent their expecting a share of the plunder. The weary forces remained two or three days when the news of their arrival having reached the capital, not more than four or five leagues distant. The old chief, Mashishka, their efficient friend on their former visit, and Shikon Tenkatl, the young warrior who, it will be remembered, had commanded the troops of his nation in their bloody encounters with the Spaniards, came with a numerous concourse of the citizens to welcome the fugitives to Tlaxcala. Mashishka, cordially embracing the Spanish commander, testified the deepest sympathy for his misfortunes. That the white men could so long have withstood the confederated power of the Aztecs was proof enough of their marvellous prowess. We have made common cause together, said the Lord of Tlaxcala, and we have common injuries to avenge, and come wheel or come woe, be assured we will prove true and loyal friends, and stand by you to the death. This cordial assurance and sympathy from one who exercised a control over the public councils beyond any other ruler effectually dispelled the doubts that lingered in the mind of Cortes. He readily accepted his invitation to continue his march at once to the capital, where he would find so much better accommodation for his army than in a small town on the frontier. The sick and wounded, placed in hammocks, were born on the shoulders of the friendly natives, and as the troops drew near the city, the inhabitants came flocking out in crowds to meet them, rending the air with joyous acclamations and wild bursts of their rude Indian minstrosy. Amidst the general jubilee, however, were heard sounds of wailing and sad lament, as some unhappy relative or friend, looking earnestly into the diminished files of their countrymen, sought in vain for some dear and familiar countenance, and as they turned disappointed away, gave utterance to their sorrow in tones that touched the heart of every soldier in the army. With these mingled accompaniments of joy and woe, the motley web of human life, the way-worn columns of Cortes at length re-entered the republican capital. The general and his suite were lodged in the rude but spacious palace of Mashishka. The rest of the army took up their quarters in the district over which the Tluscalan Lord presided. Here they continued several weeks, until by the attentions of the hospitable citizens, and such medical treatment as their humble science could supply, the wounds of the soldiers were healed, and they recovered from the debility to which they had been reduced by their long and unparalleled sufferings. Cortes was one of those who suffered severely. He lost the use of two of the fingers of his left hand. He had received, besides two injuries on the head, one of which was so much exasperated by the subsequent fatigue and excitement of mind that it assumed an alarming appearance. A part of the bone was obliged to be removed. A fever ensued, and for several days the hero who had braved danger and death in their most terrible forms lay stretched on his bed, as helpless as an infant. His excellent constitution, however, got the better of disease, and he was at length once more unable to resume his customary activity. The Spaniards, with politic generosity, required the hospitality of their hosts by sharing with them the spoils of their recent victory, and Cortes especially rejoiced the heart of Machishka by presenting him with the military trophy which he had won from the Indian commander. But while the Spaniards were thus recruiting their health and spirits under the friendly treatment of their allies, and recovering the confidence and tranquility of mind which had sunk under their hard reverses, they received tidings from time to time which showed that their late disaster had not been confined to the Mexican capital. On his descent from Mexico to encounter Narvaeth, Cortes had brought with him a quantity of gold which he left for safekeeping at Tlaxcala. To this was added a considerable sum collected by the unfortunate Velazquez de Leon in his expedition to the coast, as well as contributions from other sources. From the unquiet state of the capital, the general thought it best, on his return there, still to leave the treasure under the care of a number of invalid soldiers who, when in marching condition, were to rejoin him in Mexico. A party from Veracruz, consisting of five horsemen and forty foot, had since arrived at Tlaxcala, and, taking charge of the invalids and treasure, undertook to escort them to the capital. He now learnt they had been intercepted on the route and all cut off with the entire loss of the treasure. Twelve other soldiers marching in the same direction had been massacred in the neighbouring province of Tepiaca, and accounts continually arrived of some unfortunate Castilian, who, presuming the effect he the two shown to his countrymen, and ignorant of the disasters in the capital, had fallen a victim to the fury of the enemy. These dismal tidings filled the mind of Cortes with gloomy apprehensions for the fate of the settlement at Villarica, the last of their hopes. He dispatched a trusty messenger at once to that place, and had the inexpressible satisfaction to receive a letter in return from the commander of the garrison, acquainting him with the safety of the colony and its friendly relations with the neighbouring Totonacs. It was the best guarantee of the fidelity of the latter that they had offended the Mexicans too deeply to be forgiven. While the affairs of Cortes were so gloomy an aspect without, he had to experience an annoyance scarcely less serious from the discontents of his followers. Many of them had fancied that their later pauling reverses would put an end to the expedition or at least postpone all thoughts of resuming it for the present. But they knew little of Cortes who reasoned thus. Even while tossing on his bed of sickness, he was ripening in his mind fresh schemes for retrieving his honour and for recovering the empire which had been lost more by another's rashness than his own. This was apparent as he became convalescent from the new regulations he made respecting the army as well as from the orders sent to Veracruz for fresh reinforcements. The knowledge of all this occasioned much disquietude to the disaffected soldiers. They were for the most part the ancient followers of Narvaeth on whom, as we have seen, the brunt of war had fallen the heaviest. Many of them possessed property in the islands and had embarked on this expedition chiefly from the desire of increasing it. But they had gathered neither gold nor glory in Mexico. Their present service filled them only with disgust and the few comparatively who had been so fortunate as to survive languished to return to their rich mines and pleasant farms in Cuba, bitterly cursing the day when they had left them. Finding their complaints little-heeded by the general they prepared a written remonstrance in which they made their demand more formally. They represented the rashness of persisting in the enterprise in his present impoverished state without arms or ammunition, almost without men, and this too against a powerful enemy who had been more than a match for him with all the strength of his late resources. It was madness to think of it. The attempt would bring them all to the sacrifice block. Their only course was to continue their march to Veracruz. Every hour of delay might be fatal. The garrison in that place might be overwhelmed from want of strength to defend itself, and thus their last hope would be annihilated. But once there they might wait in comparative security for such reinforcements as would join them from abroad, while in case of failure they could the more easily make their escape. They concluded with insisting on being permitted to return at once to the port of Villarica. This petition or rather remonstrance was signed by all the disaffected soldiers, and after being formally attested by the royal notary was presented to Cortes. It was a trying circumstance for him. What touched him most nearly was to find the name of his friend, the secretary Duero, to whose good offices he had chiefly owed his command, at the head of the paper. He was not, however, to be shaken from his purpose for a moment, and while all outward resources seemed to be fading away and his own friends faltered or failed him, he was still true to himself. He knew that to retreat to Veracruz would be to abandon the enterprise. Once there his army would soon find a pretext and a way for breaking up and returning to the islands. All his ambitious schemes would be blasted. The great prize, already once in his grasp, would then be lost for ever. He would be a ruined man. In his celebrated letter to Charles V he says that in reflecting on his position he felt the truth of the old adage that fortune favours the brave. The Spaniards were the followers of the cross and trusting in the infinite goodness and mercy of God he could not believe that he would suffer them and his own good cause, thus to perish among the heathen. He was resolved, therefore, not to descend to the coast, but at all hazards, to retrace his steps and beard the enemy again in his capital. It was in the same resolute tone that he answered his discontented followers. He urged every argument which could touch their pride or honour as cavaliers. He appealed to that ancient Castilian valour which had never been known to falter before an enemy. He sought them not to discredit the great deeds which had made their name ring throughout Europe, not to leave the emperies half achieved for others more daring and adventurous to finish. How could they with any honour, he asked, desert their allies whom they had involved in the war and leave them unprotected to the vengeance of the Aztecs. To retreat but a single step towards Villarica would be to proclaim their own weakness. It would dishearten their friends and give confidence to their foes. He implored them to resume the confidence in him which they had ever shown and that to reflect that if they had recently met with reverses he had up to that point accomplished all and more than all that he had promised. It would be easy now to retrieve their losses if they would have patience and abide in this friendly land until the reinforcements which would be ready to come in at his call should enable them to act on the offensive. If, however, there were any so insensible to the motives which touch a brave man's heart as to prefer ease at home to the glory of this great achievement he would not stand in their way let them go in God's name, let them leave their general in his extremity. He should feel stronger in the service of a few brave spirits than if surrounded by a host of the false or the faint-hearted. The disaffected party, as already noticed, was chiefly drawn from the troops of Narvaith. When the general's own veterans heard this appeal their blood warmed with indignation at the thoughts of abandoning him or the cause at such a crisis. They pledged themselves to stand by him to the last, and the malcontents, silenced if not convinced by this general expression of sentiment from their comrades, consented to postpone their departure for the present under the assurance that no obstacle should be thrown in their way when a more favourable season should present itself. Scarcely was this difficulty adjusted when Cortes was menaced with one more serious in the jealousy springing up between his soldiers and their Indian allies. Notwithstanding the demonstrations of regard by Mashishka and his immediate followers there were others of the nation who looked with an evil eye on their guests for the calamities in which they had involved them, and they tauntingly asked if, in addition to this, they were now to be burdened by the presence and maintenance of the strangers. The sallies of discontent were not so secret as altogether to escape the ears of the Spaniards in whom they occasioned no little disquietude. They proceeded, for the most part, it is true, from persons of little consideration, since the four great chiefs of the Republic appear to have been steadily secured to the interests of Cortes, but they derived some importance from the countenance of the warlike Shikod Tenkatl, in whose bosom still lingered the embers of that implacable hostility which he had displayed so courageously on the field of battle, and sparkles of this fiery temper occasionally gleamed forth in the intimate intercourse into which he was now reluctantly brought with his ancient opponents. Cortes, who saw with alarm the growing feelings of estrangement, which must sap the very foundation on which he was to rest the lever for future operations, employed every argument which suggested itself to restore the confidence of his own men. He reminded them of the good services they had uniformly received from the great body of the nation. They had a sufficient pledge of the future constancy of the Tluskarlans in their long cherished hatred of the Aztecs, which the recent disasters they had suffered from the same quarter could serve only to sharpen, and he urged, with much force, that if any evil designs had been meditated by them against the Spaniards, the Tluskarlans would doubtless have taken advantage of their late disabled condition and not waited till they had recovered their strength and means of resistance. While Cortes was thus endeavouring with somewhat doubtful success to stifle his own apprehensions, as well as those in the bosoms of his followers, an event occurred which happily brought the affair to an issue and permanently settled the relations in which the two parties were to stand to each other. This will make it necessary to notice some events which had occurred in Mexico since the expulsion of the Spaniards. On Montetuma's death his brother Quitlahua, Lord of Itapalapan, conformably to the usage regulating the descent of the Aztec crown, was chosen to succeed him. He was an active prince of large experience in military affairs and, by the strength of his character, was well-fitted to sustain the tottering fortunes of the monarchy. He appears, moreover, to have been a man of liberal and what may be called enlightened taste to judge from the beautiful gardens which he had filled with rare exotics and which so much attracted the admiration of the Spaniards in his city of Itapalapan. Unlike his predecessor he held the white men in detestation and had probably the satisfaction of celebrating his own coronation by the sacrifice of many of them from the moment of his release from the Spanish quarters where he had been detained by Cortes, he entered into the patriotic movements of his people. It was he who conducted the assaults both in the streets of the city and on the melancholy night, and it was at his instigation that the powerful force had been assembled to dispute the passage of the Spaniards in the Vale of Otumba. Since the evacuation of the capital he had been busily occupied in repairing the mischief it had received, restoring the buildings and the bridges and putting it in the best posture of defence. He had endeavoured to improve the discipline and arms of his troops. He introduced the long spear among them and by attaching the sword-blades taken from the Christians to long poles contrived a weapon that should be formidable against cavalry. He summoned his vassals far and near to hold themselves in readiness to march to the relief of the capital, if necessary, and the better to secure their goodwill, relieved them from some of the burdens usually laid on them. But he was now to experience the instability of a government which rested not on love but on fear. The vassals in the neighbourhood of the valley remained true to their allegiance, but others held themselves aloof, uncertain what cause to adopt, while others again in the more distant provinces refused obedience altogether, considering this a favourable moment for throwing off the yoke which had so long galled them. In this emergency the government sent a deputation to its ancient enemies, the Tluscarlins. It consisted of six Aztec nobles bearing a present of cotton cloth, salt and other articles rarely seen of late years in the Republic. The Lords of the State astonished at this unprecedented act of condescension in their ancient foe, called the Council or Senate of the Great Chiefs together to give the envoys audience. Before this body the Aztecs stated the purpose of their mission. They invited the Tluscarlins to bury all past grievances in oblivion, and to enter into a treaty with them. All the nations of Anahuac should make common cause in defence of their country against the white men. The Tluscarlins would bring down on their heads the wrath of the gods, if they long harboured the strangers who had violated and destroyed their temples. If they counted on the support and friendship of their guests, let them take warning from the fate of Mexico which had received them kindly within its walls, and which, in return, they had filled with blood and ashes. They conjured them by their reverence for their common religion, not to suffer the white men, disabled as they now were, to escape from their hands, but to sacrifice them at once to the gods, whose temples they had profaned. In that event they proffered them their alliance and the renewal of that friendly traffic which would restore to the Republic the possession of comforts and luxuries of which it had been so long deprived. The proposals of the ambassadors produced different effects on their audience. Shikotenkak was for embracing them at once. Far better was it, he said, to unite with their kindred, with those who held their own language, their faith and usages, than to throw themselves into the arms of the fierce strangers, who however they might talk of religion, worshipped by God but gold. This opinion was followed by that of the younger warriors who readily caught the fire of his enthusiasm. But the elder chiefs, especially his blind old father, one of the four rulers of the state, who seemed to have been all heartily in the interests of the Spaniards, and one of them, Mashishka, their staunch friend, strongly expressed their aversion to the proposed alliance with the Aztecs. They were always the same, said the latter, fair in speech and false in heart. They now proffered friendship to the Tlaxcarlins, but it was fear which drove them to it, and when that fear was removed they would return to their old hostility. Who was it that these insidious foes that had so long deprived the country of the very necessaries of life of which they were now so lavish in their offers? Was it not owing to the white men that the nation at length possessed them? Yet they were called on to sacrifice the white men to the gods, the warriors who, after fighting the battles of the Tlaxcarlins, now threw themselves on their hospitality. But the gods abhorred perfidy, and were not their guests the very beings whose coming had been so long predicted by the oracles? Let us avail ourselves of it, he concluded, and unite and make common cause with them until we have humbled our haughty enemy. This discourse provoked a sharp rejoinder from Shikotenkatl, till the passion of the elder chieftain got the better of his patience, and substituting force for argument he thrust his younger antagonist with some violence from the council chamber. A proceeding so contrary to the usual decorum of Indian debate astonished the assembly, but far from bringing censure on its author it effectually silenced opposition. Even the hot-headed followers of Shikotenkatl shrunk from supporting a leader who had incurred such a mark of contemptuous displeasure from the ruler whom they most venerated. His own father openly condemned him, and the patriotic young warrior, gifted with a truer foresight into futurity than his countryman, was left without support in the council as he had formerly been on the field of battle. The proffered alliance of the Mexicans was unanimously rejected, and the envoys fearing that even the sacred character with which they were invested might not protect them from violence, made their escape secretly from the capital. The result of the conference was of the last importance to the Spaniards, who in their present crippled condition, especially if taken unawares, would have been probably at the mercy of the Tluscalans. At all events the union of these latter with the Aztecs would have settled the fate of the expedition, since in the poverty of his own resources it was only by adroitly playing off one part of the Indian population against the other that Aztecs could ultimately hope for success. End of Book 5, Chapter 5