University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.

The sun had not yet set, when the ray, stealing
through the vapours that gathered among the distant
peaks, beheld the señor Cortes and his little army
crossing the River of Canoes. A quarter-league above
his encampment was the very ford which had given
him passage, when, with a force short of five hundred
men, and a few score of wild Totonacs, taken
with him less as warlike auxiliaries than as beasts of
burthen and hostages for the fidelity of their tribe,
he set out to cross mountains of snow and fire, rocky
deserts and foaming rivers, in the invasion of an empire,
whose limits, as well as its resources and power,
were utterly unknown. Here the stream was more
shallow than at that spot where it had been the fate
of Don Amador to ford it; the flood had also in a

measure subsided; and while the mounted individuals
passed it with ease, the waters came not above
the breasts of the footmen. Don Amador rode at
the side of his knight, and though chafing with discontent
at the thought that he should share no part
in the brave deeds of the coming night, and be but a
looker-on, while strangers were robbing him of his
vengeance, yet did he conceal his troubles, lest the
exhibition of them should give new pain to his unhappy
kinsman. The three attendants were behind,
and Fabueno, though evidently regarding the knight
Calavar with a deep and superstitious awe, rode not
far from his patron.

The rivulet was crossed, and the hardy desperadoes
who were now marching with spears to attack
a foe of five times their own number, fortified with
cannon on an eminence, gathered about their leader
as he sat his horse on the bank, as if expecting his
final instructions and encouragement. He surveyed
them not only with gravity but with complacency,
and smiling as if in derision of their weakness,—for
they did not number much over two hundred and
fifty men,—he said, with inimitable dryness:—

“My good friends and companions! you are now
about to fight a battle, the issue of which will depend
very much on your own conduct; and I have to inform
you, that if, as seems reasonable enough, you
are vanquished, there is not a man of you that shall
not hang at some corner of Zempoala to-morrow!”

A murmur running through the whole crew, marked
the disgust of all at this unsavoury exordium.

“The reasons for this opinion,” continued the leader,
gravely, “both as to the probable fate of the battle
and of yourselves in the event of your being
beaten, I shall have no trouble in speaking; only that,
like one who knows how to use the butt as well as
the blade of his lance, I shall discourse first of the
hinder part of my argument; that is to say, of the
very great certainty with which a gibbet shall reward
every man who, this night, handles his weapon

too tenderly. Know, then, my good brothers, that,
at this moment, though you very loyally and truly
avow yourselves the soldiers of his majesty, our king
and master, it hath somehow entered into the head
of the general Narvaez, the lieutenant of his majesty's
governor, to consider you as villain rebels and
traitors;—an imputation so exceedingly preposterous
and eccentric, that, were we in a Christian land, you
should not be required to deny it; but, standing as
you do, with no better present judge than your accuser,
it is certain your innocence could not be made
apparent to his majesty, until after the gallinazas had
picked the last morsel from your bones; at which
time, as I think you will agree with me, a declaration
of your true loyalty would not be a matter of
much consequence to any of you.”

Again a murmur, accompanied by sundry ferocious
looks and savage interjections, testified the discontent
of the adventurers.

“What I say, is the truth,” continued Cortes,
adopting the scowl which darkened the visages of all,
extending his drawn sabre above his head, and
speaking with a fierce and resolute indignation: “In
the face of that heaven, which has seen us, for its honour
and glory, devote ourselves to pain and peril,
landing friendless and unaided, save by its own divine
countenance, on the shores of bitter and murderous
barbarians, overthrowing their bloody idols,
and even in the chief sanctuaries of their diabolic
superstition, on the palaces of their emperors and the
pyramids of their gods, erecting the standard of the
crucified Saviour,—I say, even in the face of that
heaven that has seen us do these things that will immortalize
us on earth and glorify us in heaven, the
man Narvaez has dared to call us traitors to our king
and faith, has denounced us more as infidel Moors,
than as Christian Spaniards, and declaring war upon
us with sword, fire, and free rope, has sworn to give
us to the death of caitiffs and felons!”

The answer to this passionate appeal was loud and

furious. The cavaliers clashed their swords upon
their bucklers, the footmen drove their spears into
the soil, and, foaming with rage, swore they would
thus answer the calumny in the heart of their enemy.

“Does it need I should give you more proof of the
bloody and insolent violence of Narvaez?” said the
general. “He hath set a price upon my head, and
on the head of my loyal friend Sandoval, as though
we were vile bandits and assassins.”

“What needs more words?” cried the young captain,
thus referred to. “He shall have my head for
the three thousand crowns, if he can take it.”

“How it happens he has not thought any other
head in this company worth buying,” said the commander,
with an adroit bitterness, “is an insult he
must himself explain.”

There was not a cavalier present that did not
swear, in his heart, he would avenge such forbearance
with the full swing of his weapon.

“It must be now manifest,” continued Cortes, with
composure, “that defeat will be the warrant and assurance
of a gallows-death to all that may render
themselves prisoners. And having convinced you of
this, I may now betake me to the first article of my
discourse, as one that concerns the possibility of your
defeat. It is quite probable,” he went on to say, with
an irony more effectual than the most encouraging
argument of hope, “that being but two hundred and
fifty strong, and enfeebled by your divers battles with
the Tlascalans, and the knavish herds of Cholula, you
will be easily beaten by a thousand men, who, besides
being fond of the valiant diversions of Indian
dancers, and the martial delights of house shelter and
soft beds, have hardened their bodies, and perfected
their knowledge of arms, among the plantain patches
of Cuba; and who, in addition, are of so magnanimous
a turn, that they would, the half of them, at this
moment, rather join your ranks than draw sword
against you. But why do I talk thus? A live dog is
better than a dead lion,—and a score of waking men,

better than a hundred sleepers. Know, then, ye grumbling
and incensed companions, if ye will conquer this
man that comes with a rope, ye may. Botello hath
shown me how the stars are propitious, and how the
Spirit of the Crystal hath promised us success. Heaven
fights on our side, for we fight for heaven;—St.
Paul will be with us, for we contend for the privilege
to convert the heathen;—and Santiago will not
forget us, for with every thrust of our spears, we
strike a brave blow for Spain!”

“Let us on!” cried all, with a shout of exultation;
“We will conquer!”

“Nay!” cried the general, with a mock discretion.
“Rush not too eagerly on danger. Let us wait a
day for those two thousand brown varlets of Chinantla,
whom the loitering Barrientos conducts hitherward;
for though it be somewhat dishonourable to
share a triumph with Indian soldiers, yet will they
doubtless make that triumph the more certain.”

“We will win it ourselves!” cried the excited
desperadoes.

“Ye will have hotter work than ye think,” said
Cortes; “and surely I believe ye will take to your
heels, like the old Arrowauks of Cuba, leaving me to
die at the pyramid—For I swear you, if ye force me
to conduct you to Zempoala, I will not come from it
alive, unless as its master!”

“Let it be proclaimed death to any one that turns
his back!” cried an hundred voices.

“Ay then, ye mad valiant rogues! ye shall have
your wish!” cried Cortes, yielding to an excitement
he had not easily suppressed, rising in his stirrups
and looking round him with that fiery and fanatical
enthusiasm which was the true secret of his greatness,
and which left him not for a moment even in
the darkest and most perilous hour of his enterprise.
“We will march to Zempoala, with God in our
hearts, and the name of the Holy Spirit on our lips;
and remembering that, under such influence, we scattered
the tens of thousands that beset us on the plains

of Tlascala, we will show this dog of a Biscayan
what it is to oppose the arms of heaven,—Amen!”

And Amen was uttered fiercely and frantically by
the adventurers, as they prepared to follow their
leader. But a wave of his hand checked their ardour
for a moment; a few words explained the order of
attack, and the duties of the several leaders, of whom
the young Sandoval was appointed to the most honourable
and dangerous task,—to seize the artillery by
a coup-de-main, and thus give passage for De Leon
in the assault of the towers, while Cortes himself
should stand by with a chosen body of reserve, to
witness the valour of his captains, and give assistance
where it might be needed. Again, when the announcement
of these orders seemed to have taken
the restraint from the ardour of his followers, the
general checked them. A huge and rugged cross of
cotton-wood raised its mouldering bulk before them
on their path,—a holy landmark, raised by the piety of
the invader, nine months before, while on his march
to Tenochtitlan.

“Under the cross will we commend ourselves to
God, and prepare ourselves for battle,” said the
leader, riding forward, and dismounting. His example
was followed by all the cavaliers, who, together
with the footmen, knelt upon the dank grass, and
baring their heads, prepared for the rites of penitence
and absolution. None knelt with a more devout submission
than the knight of Calavar; none exposed
with more humility their youthful heads to the evening
breeze than did he his silver-touched locks and
withered temples; and none, as the holy chaplain dictated
the act of general confession and contrition,
echoed his words with a more fervent sincerity. Under
the rude crucifix in the desert, knelt those men
who were about to imbrue their hands in blood, and
that the blood of their countrymen.

The words of penitence were said, the rite of absolution
pronounced; and the followers of Cortes
rose to their feet, with their hearts full of conquest.

But before the helm was buckled and the horse
mounted, there came on the twilight air, from the
towers of Zempoala, the sound of the vesper-bell of
Narvaez.

“It is long since we have worshipped at the sound
of a Christian bell,” said Cortes, again flinging himself
on his knees. “God speaks to us in the omen.
We have not forgotten, among infidel savages, that
we are Christians!”

As if those tones were rung in the chapel of a brother,
instead of the barracks of an enemy, and as if
to join that enemy in one act of piety, before springing
upon him, sword in hand, all again knelt down;
and the Ave-Marias of two hostile armies, on the
brink of engagement, went up to heaven together.