University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

The traveller, who wanders at the present day
along the northern and eastern borders of the Lake
of Tezcuco, searches in vain for those monuments
of aboriginal grandeur, which surrounded it in the
age of Montezuma. The lake itself, which, not so
much from the saltness of its flood as from the
vastness of its expanse, was called by Cortes the
Sea of Anahuac, is no longer worthy of the name.
The labours of that unhappy race of men, whose
bondage the famous Conquistador cemented in the
blood of their forefathers, have conducted, through
the bowels of a mountain, the waters of its great
tributaries, the pools of San Cristobal and Zumpango;
and these, rushing down the channel of
the Tula, or river of Montezuma, and mingled with
the surges of the great Gulf, support fleets of
modern argosies, instead of piraguas and chinampas,
and expend upon foundering ships-of-war the
wrath, which, in their ancient beds, was wasted
upon reeds and bulrushes. With the waters,
which rippled through their streets, have vanished
the numberless towns and cities, that once beautified
the margin of the Alpine sea; the towers have
fallen, the lofty pyramids melted into earth or air,
and the palaces and tombs of kings will be looked

for in vain, under tangled copses of thistle and
prickly-pear.

The royal city of Tezcuco is now, though the
capital of a republican state, a mean and insignificant
village. It was originally the metropolis of
a kingdom once more ancient and powerful than
that of Mexico; and which, when it had shared
the fate of all others within the bounds of Anahuac,
and acknowledged the sway of the Island Kings,
still preserved the reputed, and perhaps the real
possession of superior civilization. Its princes, in
becoming the feudatories, became also the electors,
of Mexico; and thus added dignity to an independence
which was only nominal. The polished
character of these barbarous chieftains, as the
world has been taught to esteem them, may be
better understood, when we know, that they sowed
the roadside with corn for the sustenance of travellers,
and the protection of husbandmen, built hospitals
and observatories, endowed colleges and
formed associations of literature and science, in
which, to compare small things with great, as in
the learned societies of modern Europe and America,
encouragement was given to the study of history,
poetry, music, painting, astronomy, and
natural magic. The various mechanical trades
were divided into corporate bodies, and assigned,
each, to some particular quarter of the city; courts
and councils were regularly established, and the
laws which they dispensed, digested into uniform
and written codes, some of which are still preserved.
The kings of Tezcuco themselves
mingled in the generous rivalries which they
fomented: there are still in existence,—at least, in
the form of translation,—several of the odes of
Nezahualcojotl, a royal Tezcucan poet; and his
hymns to the Creator, composed half a century
before the advent of the Spaniards, were admired
and chanted by the Conquerors, until devoted by

misjudging and fanatical missionaries to the flames
which consumed the written histories and laws of
the kingdom, as well as the idolatrous rituals of
the priests, with which last the others were unfortunately
confounded.[1]

A few ruins—a cluster of dilapidated houses—a
galloping Creole on his high Spanish saddle, with
glittering manga and rattling anquera,—and, now
and then, an Indian skulking moodily along, in his
squalid serape,[2] —are all that remain of Tezcuco.

In the spring of 1521, the year that followed the
flight of the Spaniards from Mexico, the city of the
Acolhuacanese presented all its grandeur of aspect,

and, to the eye, looked full as royal and imperishable
as in the best days of its freedom. But the
molewarp was digging at its foundations; and the
cloud which had ravaged the Mexican valley, and
then passed away into the east, where it lay for a
time still and small, `like to a man's hand,' had
again crept over the mountain barriers to its gates,
and was now brooding among its sanctuaries. A
group of Christian men sat under a cypress-tree,
without the walls, regarding the great pyramid, on
whose lofty terrace, overshadowing the surrounding
edifices, floated a crimson banner of velvet and
gold, on which, besides the royal arms of Spain,
was emblazoned, as on the Labarum of the Constantines,
a white cross, with the legend, imitated
from that famous standard of fanaticism, In hoc
signo vincemus. If other proof had been wanting
of the return of the Spaniards to the scene of their
discomfiture, their presence in Tezcuco, and their
unchangeable resolution to complete the work
of conquest so disastrously begun, it might have
been traced abundantly in the strange spectacle,
which, equally with the desecrated temple, divided
the attention of the group of Castilians at the
cypress-tree. They sat on a little swell of earth,
—a natural mound which jutted into the lake,
whose waters, agitated by a western breeze, dashed
in musical breakers at its base; while the rustling
of the leaves above, mingled with these sounds of
waves, a tone that was both melancholy and harmonious.
The beautiful prospect of Tezcuco,
rising beyond fertile meadows in the livery of
spring, flanked, on the right hand, by a sheet of
dark and glossy water,—with white towers, turrets,
and temple-tops, painted, as it seemed, on a background
of mountains of the purest azure, was
enough of itself to engross the admiration of a
looker-on, had there not been presented, hard by,
a scene still more singular and romantic.

A train of warriors, artificers and labourers, the
latter bending under such burthens as had never
before descended to the verge of Tezcuco, was
seen passing, at a little distance, towards the city,
into which, as was denoted by a sudden explosion
of artillery and the blast of trumpets on the top of
the pyramid, the leaders were just entering, while
the rear of the procession, extending for miles, and
winding like some mighty snake, over hill and
meadow, was lost among distant forests.

The martial salutation from the town was answered
by the whole train with a yell, filling the
air, and causing the distant hills and lakes to tremble
with the reverberation. In this, the ear might
detect, besides the war-cry of Indians, “Tlascala,
Tlascala!” the not less piercing shouts of
Spaniards, “In the name of God and Santiago!” as
well as the flourish of bugles, scattered at intervals
among the train. If the broad Sea of Anahuac
trembled at the sound, it was with good reason;
for the clamour of triumph indicated the approach
of those unknown naval engines, which were to
plough its undefiled bosom, and convert every billow
into the vassal of the stranger. On the shoulders
of eight thousand Tlascalans, were borne the
materials for the construction of thirteen brigantines,
with which the unconquerable Spaniard, capable of
every expedient, meditated the complete investment
and the certain reduction of Tenochtitlan. The iron,
the sails, and cordage of that fleet which he had
caused to be broken up and sunk in the harbour of
Vera Cruz, were added to planks, spars, and timbers
from the sierras of Tlascala, and to pitch and
rosin from the pinales, or pine-forests, of Huexotzinco,—a
gloomy and broken desert, notorious, in
the present day, as the haunt of bandits, the most
brutal and merciless in the world.

The brawny carriers of these massive materials
were protected, on the front and in the rear, by legions

of their countrymen, armed, after their wild
and romantic way, and clad in tunics of cotton or
maguey cloth, with tiaras of feathers; who passed by
in successive bodies of spearmen, archers, slingers,
and swordsmen, arranged and divided in the manner
of their Christian confederates. Besides these
guards of front and rear, of whom the historian
Herrera asserts, there were 180,000, while even the
modest Clavigero computes their numbers at full
one-sixth of this vast host, there were on either
flank, bodies of picked warriors, marching in company
with small bands of Spaniards, and personally
led by distinguished Christian cavaliers. A military
man may form a juster estimate of the numbers
of the train, by being told, that it formed a line
more than six miles in length, the whole marching
compactly, and in strict order, so as to be best able
to resist an attack of enemies.

The Spaniards under the cypress-tree, surveyed
this striking spectacle with interest, but not with
the grave wonder and absorbing admiration of men
unfamiliar with such scenes. On the contrary, it
was evident, from the tone of the remarks with
which they wiled away the time of observation, (for
it was many a long hour before the last of the train
drew in sight,) that they were of that levity of spirit,
or in that wantonness of mood, which can find matter
for ridicule in the most serious of occurrences.
Thus, they beheld, or fancied they beheld, somewhat
that was diverting in the persons, or motions,
of the stern and warlike Tlascalans, and especially
in the zealous eagerness with which these barbarians
strove to imitate the bearing and gait, as well
as the evolutions, of their disciplined associates.
Nay, their raillery was extended even to the
Spanish portion of the train; and, sometimes,
when a comrade passed by, if near enough to be
made sensible of the jest, he was saluted with

some such outpouring of wit, as put to the proof
either his gravity or his patience.

These happy individuals, to whom we desire to
introduce the reader, were five in number, and,
with a single exception, though betraying none of
the submissiveness of inferior personages, were
evidently of no very exalted rank in the Christian
army. Their attire was plain, and consisted, for
the most part, of the cumbrous escaupil, or cotton-armour,
over which, in the case of one or two, at
least, were buckled a few plates of iron. Most of
them had on their heads, helmets, or rather caps, of
the same flimsy material, sometimes so thickly
padded as to assume the bulk, as well as the appearance
of rude turbans; all wore swords, and
two had crossbows hanging at their backs. No
distinction of station could have been inferred from
their manner of discoursing one with another; and
it was only by the morion of bright steel, richly inlaid
with gold, on the head of one, and the polished
hauberk on his chest, worn more for display than
for any present service, that the wearer would
have been recognized as of a grade superior to that
of his companions. He was a tall and athletic
cavalier, with a long chin, and cheeks broad and
bony; and a singular and rather unpleasing expression
was added to his countenance by eyes
disproportionably small, though exceedingly black,
keen, and resolute. A small, sharply peaked beard,
—mustaches so thin, long, and straight, that they
looked rather like the drooping locks of a woman
than the favourites of a vain gallant,—a narrow
but lofty forehead, on either side of which, divided
and smoothed with effeminate care, fell masses of
straight black hair, touched, yet almost invisibly,
with the traces of matured manhood,—a small mouth,
—a prominent nose,—and a complexion exceedingly
dark, yet rather of the hue of iron than mahogany,
completed a visage which a stranger would not

have hesitated to attribute to a man of decided
character, but without daring to determine whether
that was of good or evil.

The individual who would have been the second
to attract the notice of a wayfarer, owed this distinction
rather to his personal deformity than to
any other very striking characteristic. He was a
hunchback, with much of the saturnine and sour
expression which distinguishes the countenances of
the deformed, and yet of a spirit so much belied by
his looks, that he heard, recognized, and constantly
replied to, without anger, the nickname of Corcobado,
or the humpbacked, to which his misfortune
exposed him. The most observable peculiarity in
his countenance, was the uncommon length of his
nose, which so far intruded upon the lower part of
his visage, as to give this a look of age, which was
contradicted, not only by other features, but by the
prodigious muscularity of his shoulders and arms.
It must be confessed, however, that his lower extremities
were entirely unworthy to compare with
the upper, being both so short and thin, that when
he stood upon his feet, his arms crossed behind,—
which was their ordinary position,—with the stout
iron plates protruding from both back and breast,
he looked rather like a bundle of armour and garments,
exposed to the air and supported above the
earth on two broken pikestaves or javelins, than a
living and human creature.

The next individual was a man of good stature,
who would have been considered, notwithstanding
his grey hairs, the strongest man in the company,
had it not been for his general emaciation and an expression
of suffering on a countenance over which
disease, contracted among the hot and humid
swamps of the coast, had cast the sickliest hues of
jaundice. Indeed, this discolouration, on a visage
naturally none of the fairest, was of so deep a tint,
that it had gained for the invalid, as well as for a

whole ship's crew of his companions, the significant
title of Ojo Verde, or the Green Eye. And here we
may as well observe, that, in the army of Cortes,
the wit which shows itself in the invention of such
distinctions, was so prevalent, that there was scarce
a man, from the general down to his groom or scullion,
who had not been honoured by at least one
sobriquet.

The fourth personage was a man of indifferent
figure, remarkable for little save the marvellous
sweetness of his eyes, which were set among features
exceedingly sharp and harsh, and the volubility
of his tongue.

The fifth sat apart from the others, a little down
the slope of the hillock, with tablets in his hands,
yet so plunged in abstraction, or so much wrapped
up in the contemplation of the dark lake, the little
piraguas dancing over its billows, and the far-distant
turrets of the infidel city, that he seemed to have
forgotten, not only the presence of his companions,
and the passing procession, but the purpose for
which he had drawn forth his writing implements.

The sound of the cannon, as we have said, was
immediately responded to by the shouts of the
train; which, commencing at the gates of the city,
were continued and prolonged by the various
bodies that composed the huge and moving mass,
until they died away in the distance, like peals of
rolling thunder. At the same time, the Indians
struck their tabours, and sounded their conches
and cane-flutes, in rivalry with the Spanish buglers;
and a din was made, which, for a time, put a stop
to the conversation of the four Castilians. It also
startled the solitary man from his meditations, but
only for an instant. He rose, turned his eye listlessly
towards the procession, and then again resuming
his seat, he was presently sunk in as profound
abstraction as before.

In the meanwhile, the cavalier of the helmet had

bent his gaze upon the pyramid, from the top of
which the cannon-smoke was driving slowly away
like a cloud, and revealing the proud banner, which
it had for a moment enveloped. He could see,
even at this distance, that the two stone turrets,—
the idol-chambers,—on the summit, were crowned
with crosses, and that the flag-staff,—a tall cedar,
that might have made a mast for an admiral's ship,
—was surrounded by a tent, or rather pavilion, of
native white cloth, broadly striped with crimson,
which glittered brilliantly at its foot. As he looked
he stroked his beard, and muttered, addressing
himself to the hunchback,

“Harkee, Najara, man! give me the benefit of
thy thoughts, and care not if they come out like
crab-apples. What thinkest thou of Cortes now?
Is there not something over-stately and very regallike
in the present condition of his temper?”

“Why dost thou ask that of me, when thou hast
Villafana at thy elbow?” replied the hunchback,
with a voice worthy the acerbity of his aspect: “if
thou wilt have dirty water, get thee to the ditch.”

“You call me Gruñidor, and grumbler I am,”
said he of the sweet eyes, with a laugh. “I grumble
when I am in the humour; and I care not who
knows it. Am I a ditch, old sinner? I'faith, I must
be, when I have such ill weeds as thyself growing
about me. Wilt thou have my thoughts, señor
Guzman, on this subject? I can speak them.”

“Be quick, then,” said the cavalier; “for Corcobado
is digesting an answer to thy fling, which
will leave thee speechless.”

“Pho, I will bandy mudballs with him at any
moment,” said Villafana: “I care not for the buffets
of a friend. As for the noble señor, the Captain
General, what you say is true. The king's letter
hath set him mad. While the Bishop of Burgos
was still in power, and his enemy, he was e'en a
good companion,—a comrade, and no master. Demonios!

'twas a better thing for us, when his authority
rested on our good-will, and no royal patent.”

“Ay,” said Guzman; “when we were but rebels
and exiles, denounced by the governor, cursed by
the priest, and outlawed by the king, Cortes was
the most moderate, humble, and loving rogue of us
all. I do think, he is somewhat altered.”

“Oh, señor, there is no such bond for our friendship
as a consciousness of dependence upon those
who love us; and nothing so efficacious in cooling
us to friends, as the discovery that we can do without
them. His authority is no longer our gift; the
bishop has fallen; the king has acknowledged his
claims, and sent him, besides a fair, lawful commission
and goodly reinforcements both of men and
arms, a letter of commendation written with his
own royal hands. May his majesty live a thousand
years! but would to heaven his letter were at the
bottom of the sea. It has brought us a hard master.
Can your favour solve me the riddle of the
king's change? What argument has so operated on
his mind, that he now does honour to a man he once
condemned as a traitor, and advances him into such
power as leaves him independent even of the Governor
of the Islands?”

“The very same argument,” replied Guzman,
“which has turned thee—a friend of Velasquez—
into the most devoted, though grumbling adherent
of our Captain—interest, sirrah, interest. It is
manifest, that this empire was made to be won; and
equally apparent, that the man who could half subdue
it, though trammelled and opposed by all the
arts and power of Velasquez, was the fittest to conclude
the good work; and what was no less persuasive,
it was plain, our valiant Don was fully determined
to do the work himself, without much
questioning whether the king would or not.”

“Why, by heaven!” cried Villafana, “you make
out the general to be a traitor, indeed!”

“Ay;—for, in certain cases, there is virtue in
treason.”

“Hark now to Villafana!” cried the hunchback,
abruptly: “he will thank you for the maxim, as if
'twere a mass for his soul.”

“I, curmudgeon?” exclaimed the grumbler.
“There were a virtue in it, could it bring such
fellows as thyself to the block. What I aver, is,
that the king's honours have spoiled our general.
By'r lady, I see not what good can come of sending
us a Royal Treasurer, Franciscan friars with bulls
of St. Peter, and Lady Abbesses to build up nunneries,
unless to make up more state for our
leader.”

“Then art thou more thick-pated than I thought
thee,” replied the cavalier. “The bulls will make
us somewhat stronger of heart, and therefore better
gatherers of gold in a land where gold is not to be
had without fighting. La Monjonaza will sanctify
our efforts, by converting the women; and the
king's Treasurer will see that we do not cheat the
king, after we have got our rewards, as, it is rumoured,
we have done somewhat already.”

“Santos! I know what thou art pointing at, Don
Francisco,” said Villafana, significantly. “The
four hundred thousand crowns that have vanished
out of the treasury, hah! This is a matter that has
stained the General's honour for ever. And as
for La Monjonaza, thou knowest there are dark
thoughts about her.”

“Have a care,” said Don Francisco. “We are
friends, and friends may speak their minds: but I
cannot hear thee abuse Don Hernan.”

“Hast thou never been as free thyself?” cried
Villafana, with a laugh, which mingled a careless
derision with good-humour. “Come, now,—confess

thou wert pleased to be appointed Grand
Guardian and Chamberlain,—or, if thou wilt, Grand
Vizier,—to his god-son, the young king of Tezcuco;
and that, since he gave thee Lerma's horse, thou
hast been better mounted than any other cavalier
in the army.”

“Thou art an ass. Cortes has ever been my
friend; and when I have complained, as I have
sometimes done, it was only like a good house-dog,
who howls in the night-watches, because he has
nothing better to amuse him. But hold,—look!
the carriers are passed. The rear-guard approaches.
Now is my friend Sandoval yonder, betwixt the
two Tlascalan chiefs, glorified in his imagination.
'Slid! he would have had me exchange my brown
Bobadil for his raw-boned Motacila!—Come, Najara,
rub up thy wit; fling me some sweet word
into the teeth of the Tlascalan generals. Dost thou
perceive with what solemn visages they approach
us?”

“I perceive,” said Najara, “that Xicotencal is in
no mood for jesting. It is said, he comes to join us
with his power reluctantly. Dost thou see how he
stalks by himself, frowning? A maravedi to a
ducat, he would sooner take us by the throat than
the hand!”

“Why then, be quick, show him thy scorn in a
fillip.”

“Hast thou forgotten it has been decreed a matter
for the bastinado, to abuse an ally?”

“Ay!” cried Villafana, “there is another fruit of
a king's patent. One may neither laugh nor scold,
gamble nor play truant, but straight he is told of
a decree. Faith, when Cortes was our plain Captain,
it was another matter: if there was aught to
be done or not to do, it was then, in simple phrase,
`I commend to your favours,' or, `I beg of your
friendships, do me this thing,' or, `do it not,' as was
needful. But now the Captain-General deals only

in decrees or proclamations, wherein we have commands
for exhortations, prohibitions in place of
dissuasions, and, withal, a plentiful garnishing of
stocks and dungeons, whips and halters, all in the
king's name. By Santiago! there is too much state
in this.”

“Pho! thou art an Alguazil; why shouldst thou
care?” said the Cavalier. “The decrees are wholesome,
the restrictions wise. It is right, we should
not displease the Republicans: they are our best
friends,—very quick and jealous too; and we were
but a scotched snake without them.”

“If they fight our battles,” said Villafana, “they
divide our spoil. In my mind, that black-faced
Xicotencal is a villain and traitor.”

“Thy judgment is better, in such matters, than
another's,” said the hunchback.

“Right!” cried Guzman; “the Alguazil will be
presently in his own stocks, if thou dost heat him
into a quarrel. We are not forbidden to abuse one
another. Let the red jackalls pass by unnoticed;
we have mirth enough among ourselves,—we will
worry our Immortality. Look, Najara, man; dost
thou not see in what perplexity of cogitation he is
involved,—yonder dull Bernal? Rouse him with a
quip, now; pierce him with a jest. Come, stir;
rub thy nose, make thy wit as sharp as a goad, and
prick the ox out of his slumber.”

“Ay, good Corcobado,” cried Villafana, turning
from the procession, and mischievously eyeing their
solitary and abstracted companion, “fling out the
legs of thy understanding, like a rough horse, and
see if thou canst not strike fire out of his flinty
brain. All the scratching in the world will not
do it.”

“Now, were you not both besotted, and bent
upon self-destruction,” said the deformed, regarding
the pair with a commiserating sneer, “you would
not ask me to disturb our Immortality; who is, at

this moment, meditating by what possible stretch of
benevolence he can hand your names down to
posterity; a thing, which if he do not effect, you
may be sure, nobody else will. Señor Guzman,
'twas but a half-hour since, that he asked me, if I
could, upon mine own knowledge, acquaint him
with any act of thine worthy of commemoration.”

“Ay, indeed!” said the cavalier, laughing; “was
Bernal of this mind, then? He asked thee this
question? By my faith, have I not killed as many
Indians as another? Have I not encountered as
many risks, and endured as many knocks? Out
upon the misbelieving caitiff! he asked thee this
question? Thy reply now? pr'ythee, thy learned
answer to this foolish interrogatory? What saidst
thou, now, in good truth?”

“In good truth, then,” replied Najara, with a sour
gravity, “I told him, I had it, upon excellent authority,
though I believed it not myself, that thou
wert a cavalier, equal to any, in the virtues of
a soldier,—bold, quick, and resolute,—cool and
fiery,—a lover of peril, a relisher of blood; one
that had won more gold than he could pocket, more
slaves than he could make marketable, and more
renown than he cared to boast of; a prudent captain,
yet a better follower, because of the ardour of
his temper, which was, indeed, upon occasion, so
hot, that, sometimes, it was feared, he might take
Cortes by the beard, for being too faint-hearted.”

“Oh, thou rogue, thou merry thing of vinegar,
thou hast belied me!” cried Guzman; “thou
knowest, I would sooner eat my arms,—lance,
buckler, and all,—than lift my hand against the
General: I would, by my troth, for I love him.
But come, now,—thou saidst all this, upon good
authority? You jest, you rogue,—we are all jealous
and envious. We have good words from none
but Cortes.—What authority?”

“Marry, upon that of thine own lips,” replied the

hunchback; “for I know not who else could have
invented so liberally.”

“Out!” cried the cavalier, somewhat intemperately;
“you presume—”

“Ha! ha! a truce, a truce, Don Francisco!”
exclaimed Villafana; “a fair hit—no quarrelling;
for captain though thou be, thou knowest I am
sworn Alguazil, as well as head-turnkey, chief
executioner, and the Lord knows what beside.
No wrath among friends—A very justifiable, fair
hit! Najara must have his ways. Thou wilt see,
by and by, how he will lay me by the ears. Come,
Corcobado, begin.—He who plays with colts, must
look to be kicked.—Come now, be sharp, fear not;
I am a dog, and love thee all the better for cudgelling.”

“I know thou art, and I know thou dost,” said
Najara; “for I remember, that ever since Don Hernan
had thee scourged, for abusing the Tlascalan
woman, thou hast been a more loving hound than
any other of the Velasquez faction.”

“Fuego de dios! Pho,—Good! Ha! ha! very
good!” exclaimed Villafana, laughing, though
somewhat disconcerted. “I confess the beating;
but then I have a back to endure it—Hah! A Roland
for an Oliver, a kick for a buffet! Thou liest,
though, as to the cause: 'twas for taking the old
senator they call Maxiscatzin by the beard, when
he had given me the first sop of the Maguey-liquor.
I was drunk, sirrah, broke rules, disobeyed orders,
and so deserved my guerdon. Wilt thou be satisfied?
By this hand, I grumble not. I should trounce
thee for the like misdemeanour,—that is, if I could
find whereon to lay my scourge. Aha! wilt thou
pull noses with me? Come, what saidst thou of me
to Bernal? I bear thee no malice, man;—no, no more
than the general.—Drunk indeed? He should have
struck my head off!”

“I told him,” said Najara, “that thou wert, in
some sense, worthy to be chronicled.”

“Many thanks for that,” said Villafana, “were it
only on account of the beating.”

“For though thou wert as naturally given to
grovelling as a football, yet wouldst thou as certainly
mount, at every kick, as that same bag of
wind.”

“Bravo! bravo!” cried the Alguazil, with a roar
of delight, in which he was joined by Guzman;
“thou art as witty and unsavoury as ever, and
thou dingest me about the ears as with a pine-tree.
What else, cielo mio? what else saidst thou to
Bernal?”

“Simply, that thou hadst more boldness than
would be thought of thee, more dreams than would
be reckoned of thy dull brain, and such skill at
rising, notwithstanding the clog of thy folly, that it
was manifest thou wouldst not be content, till thy
feet were two fathoms from the earth, and thy
crown as near to the oak-bough as the rope
would.”

“Oh, fu! fy!” said Villafana, “hast thou no better
trope for hanging? Have you done? Am I despatched?
Get thee to better game, then; and see
thou art more metaphoric. Hast thou no verjuice
for our good friend here, Camarga?”

The individual thus alluded to, though giving his
attention to the conversation, had maintained a
profound and unsympathetic silence during all.
He stood leaning against the tree, folding over his
breast, and even wrapping about his chin, the long
cloak of striped cotton cloth—the product of the
country,—the bright and gaudy colours of which
contrasted unnaturally with the sickly hue of his
visage. Throughout all, when not particularly noticed,
his countenance wore an expression of as
much mental as bodily pain; but when thus accosted
by Villafana, it changed at once, and in a

remarkable degree, from gloom to good-humour,
and even to apparent gayety. It is true, that, at
the moment when his name was pronounced, he
started quickly with a sort of nervous agitation;
and a sudden rush of blood into his face, mingling
with its bilious stain, covered it with the swarthiest
purple: but this immediately passed away—perhaps
before any of his comrades had noted it.

“I cry you mercy, señor Villafana,” he said; “I
am as unworthy to be made the butt of wit as the
subject of history. My ambition runs not beyond
my conscience; the month that I have spent in this
land,—and it is scarce a month,—has been wasted
in disease and idleness. A year hence, I shall be
more worthy your consideration. But tell me,
good friends, is it true, as you say, that yonder
worthy soldier hath been appointed the historian of
your brave exploits? By mine honour, his head
seems to me better fitted to receive blows than to
remember them, and his hand to repay them rather
than to record.”

“He is, truly,” said Villafana, “our Immortality,
as we call him, or our Historian, as he denominates
himself. As to his appointment, it comes of his own
will, and not of our grace; but we quarrel not with
his humours. He conceives himself called to be
our chronicler. Who cares? He can do no harm.
I am told, he doth greatly abuse Cortes, especially
in the matter of the slaves, and the gold we fetched
from Mexico in the Flight. By'r lady, I have heard
some sharp things said about that.”

“You said them yourself,” muttered Najara. “It
is well you are in favour.”

“Ay, by my troth,” cried Guzman; “Cuidado,
Villafana! Don Hernan will be angry. Good
luck to you! You are the lion's small dog: seize
not his majesty by the nose.”

“Pho, friends! here's a coil,” said the Alguazil,
stoutly: “Don Hernan knows me: “I will say

what I think. I have maintained to his face, that
there was foul work with the gold, and that we
have been cheated of our shares; I have told him
what ill work was made of both Repartimientos,—
the partition of the slaves,—at Segura-de-la-Frontera,
and here at Tezcuco,—scurvy, knavish work,
señores: One may fetch angels to the brand, but,
ay de mi! the iron turns them into beldames!”

“Ay, there is some truth in that,” said Guzman,
a little thoughtfully. “No man honours Don Hernan
more than myself; and yet did he suffer me
to be choused out of the princess I fetched from
Iztapalapan.”

“Ay, the whole army witnessed it, and there was
not a man who did not cry shame on you for taking
it so—”

“Good-humouredly,” interrupted the cavalier.
“Rub me as thou wilt for a jest, Villafana; but
touch me not in soberness.”

“Pshaw! can I not abuse thee as a friend, without
the apology of a grin? Thou hadst been used
basely, had not Cortes made up the loss with Lerma's
horse. I have heard thee complain as much
as another; and even now, thou art as bitter as
any against this mad scheme of the ships. Demonios!
our general will have us rot in the lake, like
our friends of the Noche Triste!”

“Thou errest,” said the cavalier, gravely. “I
have changed my mind, on this subject: I perceive
we shall conquer this city.”

“Wilt thou be sworn to that?” exclaimed the
Alguazil, earnestly. “I tell thee, as a friend, we
are all mad, and we are deluded to death. If we
launch the brigantines, we are but gods' meat—food
for idols and cannibals. We were fools to come
from Tlascala. Would to Heaven we had departed
with Duero! We are toiled on to our fate,
to make Cortes famous: he will win his renown

out of our corses. What sayst thou, Najara, mi
Corcobado, mi Hacedor de Tropos?”

“Even that the will-o-th'-wisps, the Ignes-fatui,
rising out of our decaying bodies, will forsake each
honest man's corse, to gather, glory-wise, about
the head of our leader.—Is that to thy liking?”

“Marvellously! Thy wit explains and gives
tongue to my thoughts. Thou seest things clearly
—I am glad thou art of my way of thinking. This
is our destiny, if we continue our insane enterprise.”

“A pest upon thee, clod!” cried the Hunchback;
“I did but supply thee a simile, in pity of thine
own barrenness. I of thy way of thinking? Dost
imagine I will hang with thee? I see things
clearly? Marry, I do. Give tongue to thy
thoughts? Ratsbane!”

As Najara spoke, he bent his sour and piercing
looks on the Alguazil; who, much to the surprise
of Camarga, grew pale, and snatched at his dagger,
in an ecstasy of rage, greatly disproportioned to the
offence, if such there could be in what seemed idle
and unmeaning sarcasms. The wrath of Villafana,
however, was checked by the mirth of the cavalier,
Don Francisco, who exclaimed with the triumph of
retaliation,

“A fair knock, by St. Dominic! Art thou laid by
the heels, now? Sirrah Alguazil, if thou showest
but an inch more of thy dudgeon, I will have thee
in thine own stocks,—ay, faith, and on thine own
block, into the bargain. Forgettest thou the decree?
Death, man, very mortal death to any one
who draws weapon upon a christian comrade: thy
hidalgo blood, (if thou hast any, as thou art ever
boasting,) will not save thee. Pho! thou art notoriously
known to be a plotter. Why shouldst thou
be angry?”

“Hombre! I am not angry now: but, methinks,
Corcobado hath the art of inflaming whatever is

combustible in man's body. A good friend were
he for a poor man, in the winter. Why, thou bitter,
misjudging, remorseless, male-shrew, here is
my hand, in token I will not maul thee. Why
dost thou ever persecute me with thy hints? By
and by, men will come to believe thou art in
earnest. What dost thou see, that I care not to
have exposed? I am a plotter? I grant ye; so
Cortes hath called me to my face a dozen times, or
more. I am a grumbler? So he avers, and so I
allow. I must speak what I think; ay, and I must
growl, too. All this is apparent, but it harms me
not with the general: he scolds me very oft; but
who stands better in his favour?”

“Thou takest the matter too seriously,” said
Guzman. “Hast thou no suspicion that thy self-commendations
are tedious?”

“In such case, hadst thou ever any thyself?” demanded
the unrelenting Najara. “Pray, let him go
on. Let him draw his dagger, if he will, too.
What care I? I have a better fence than the decree.”

“Pshaw, man,” said Villafana, “why dost thou
take a frown so bitterly? I will not quarrel with
thee. But I would thou couldst be reasonable in
thy fillips: call me a knave openly, if thou wilt;
thy insinuations have the air of seriousness. But
come; you have robbed the señor Camarga of his
diversion with Bernal. Lo you now, if our
wrangling have disturbed him a jot! He sits there,
like an old horse of a summer's day, patient and
uncomplaining; and, all the time, there are gadfly
thoughts persecuting his imagination.”

“Methinks, señores,” said Camarga, “you should
be curious to know in what manner the good man
records your actions. For my part, I should be
well content to be made better acquainted with
them; especially with those later exploits, since
the retreat from Mexico, of which I have heard

only confused and contradictory accounts. Will
he suffer us to examine his chronicles?”

“Suffer us!” cried Guzman; “if you do but give
him a grain of encouragement, never believe me
but he will requite you with pounds of his stupidity.
What, have you any curiosity?—Harkee, Bernal,
man!—You shall see how I will rouse him,—Bernal
Diaz! Historian! Immortality! what ho, señor
Del Castillo! Are you asleep? Zounds, sirrah,
here are three or four dull fellows, who, for lack of
better amusement, are willing to listen to your history.”

When, therefore, we relate any very curious and marvellous
matters, appertaining to Mexican literature, though
we speak upon the authority of historians, we invite the
reader to receive our accounts with some grains of allowance.
With the exception of a few arbitrary symbols, expressive
of numerals, and a few other objects of constant
recurrence, the picture-writing of Mexico spoke in ideas,
not words; and it may therefore be assumed, that it could
express nothing that did not, or by a stretch of ingenuity,
could not be made to, address and explain itself to the
eye.