University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

Slowly the morning dawned; and the foremost
Tlascalan, raising his head from the earth, could
behold, dimly relieved against an atmosphere of
mist, the outlines of the foe, yet loitering upon the
rampart behind the ditch, and warming his naked
body, for the last time, over his smouldering fire.
And now, also, were seen the brigantines, four in
number, which had taken post, long before day, on
either flank of the ditch, while a line of well-manned
piraguas extended some distance beyond them.

The savages gathered up their arms, and leaping
upon the ramparts, shook them with defiance at the
besiegers, taunting them with such words of opprobrium
as marked both their hatred and resolution.

“Ho-ah! ho-ah! What says the king of Castile?
what says the king of Castile?” they cried,—
for all the offers of peace and composition, (sent
occasionally by the hands of liberated captives,) being
made by Cortes in the name of his master, the
barbarians prefaced every defiance by expressing
their contempt for his authority,—“what says the
king of Castile? He is a woman,—he shows not his
face,—he is a woman. What says Malintzin?
what says Malintzin? He calls for peace,—he is a
coward: he fights in the house, when his foe is a
prisoner, but he calls for peace, when Mexico
comes out upon the causeways. What say the
Teuctlis,—the Spaniards,—the sons of the gods?

They bring the Tlascalans, to fight their battles,—
the Tlascalans, the Tezcucans, the Chalquese, and
the other little dogs of Mexico. Their flesh is very
bitter, and their hearts sour: the mitzlis and ocelotls,
the wolves and the vultures, in the king's garden,
say, `Give us better food, for this is the flesh
of crocodiles.' What say the men of Tlascala?
They are slaves,—they say they are slaves, and
what matters it where they fight? If Malintzin prevail,
wo for Tlascala! for he will scourge her with
whips, and burn her with brands, even from the
old man with gray hairs down to the little infant
that screams: If Mexico be victorious, wo for Tlascala!
for we will strike her down with our swords,
as we strike the maize-stalks in the harvest-field.
Ho-ah! ho-ah! Come on, then, ye women, cowards,
and slaves! for we are Mexicans, and our
gods are hungry!”

With such ferocious exclamations, the bold barbarians
provoked the besiegers; and with such
they were used, each morning, to incite them to the
work of slaughter.

The Spaniards still stood fast, and the Tlascalans
lay upon the earth, receiving the arrows that
were for awhile shot at them; until the Mexicans,
exhausting their voices with outcries, at last ceased
to continue them, and assumed an attitude as quiescent
as that of their foes.

While they thus remained, each party staring
the other in the face, and the rapidly increasing light
made it evident that a very considerable multitude
of infidels were gathered upon the dike, a trumpet
was winded behind the Tlascalans, in one single,
prolonged, and powerful note, that woke up the
echoes of mountains, even at the distance of leagues.
It was answered, first from the west, from the dike
of Tacuba, in a blast both strong and cheery, and

immediately after, though much more faintly, from
the northern causeway, where Sandoval was marshalling
his forces.

As soon as these signals, for such they were, had
been exchanged between the leaders, the trumpet
of Cortes sounded again, with a succession of short,
sharp, and fierce notes, such as blast fury into
men's hearts, through their ears. Instantly, and as
if by enchantment, the four falconets in the brigantines
were discharged, and swept hundreds of the
barbarians from the causeway, Then followed the
rattle of musketry, mingled with the clang of crossbows;
which din was continued, until the gunners,
loading again, discharged their pieces a second time
upon the enemy. And now the Tlascalan pioneers,
springing up, rushed, with wild yells to the ditch,
which they began to fill with frantic speed.

Notwithstanding the boldness of their defiance,
the Mexicans made a much less manly resistance
than was expected. But they stood as long as
any human beings could do, exposed between
two deadly batteries, both plied with unexampled
activity, and both strengthened by the addition of
the native archers in the piraguas. They handled
their bows and slings as they could, and they cheered
one another with shouts; but it was evident
that they must soon give way, and take post
behind some ditch unapproachable by the brigantines.

As soon as this became known, the Spanish footsoldiers
began to encourage one another, in anticipation
of the charge which they were soon to be
called on to make; and Bernal Diaz, losing his
grave equanimity, in the prospect of adding another
leaf to his chaplet of immortality, ran briskly to and
fro, in virtue of his official rank, which could scarce
be defined in any one title of modern military nomenclature,
and cheered every soldier with whom

he happened to be well acquainted. In the course
of his rounds, he fell upon Gaspar, from whom he
had been before separated, and whom he now
seized by the hand, crying,

“Now, Gaspar, my dear brother of Medina del
Campo, we shall have such a rouse among the red
infidels as will make posterity stare.”

He was then about to extend his exhortations to
others, when Gaspar arrested him, turning upon
him, to his great surprise, a countenance extremely
pale and agitated.

“Art thou sick, man?” cried the historian, “or
art thou worn out with watching? A few knocks,
Gaspar, will soon warm thy blood.”

“Bernal,” said his friend, with an unnatural
laugh, “wert thou ever in fear?”

“In fear?” echoed Bernal Diaz. “Never, before
an infidel;—never, at least, but once, when they
had me in their hands, and I thought they were
carrying me to the temple.”

“What were thy feelings then?” demanded Gaspar,
with singular eagerness: “Was there ice in
thy bosom, and lead in thy brain? Were thy lips
cold and thy tongue hot? Did thy hand shake, thy
teeth chatter, thy leg fail?—Faugh! what should
make me fear to go into battle?”

“Fear! thou fear?” said Bernal, anxiously.
“Thou art beside thyself, never believe me else,—
frenzied with over-watching.”

“I tell thee,” said Gaspar, with a grin that was
indeed expressive of terror, “that, if thou hunt this
whole army through, thou wilt not find a white-livered
loon of them all, who is, at this moment,
more a coward than myself. Why should I be so?
Is there an axe at my ear, and a foot on my breast?
There are an hundred stout Spaniards, and thirty
score Tlascalans betwixt me and the foe; and yet

I am in great terror of mind. I have heard that
such things are forewarnings!”

“If thou art of this temper, indeed,” said honest
Bernal, with more disgust than he cared to conceal,
“get thee to the rear, in God's name, and thou
mayst light somewhere upon a flask of maguey-liquor.
Shame upon thee, man! canst thou be so
faint-hearted?”

“Ay!” replied Gaspar; “yet I go not to the rear,
notwithstanding. I thought thou shouldst have
counselled me.—Fare thee well, then, Bernal—
Thou dost not know, that one can be in terror of
death, and yet meet death without flinching. Fare
thee well, brother; and what angry things I have
said to thee, forget, even for the sake of our early
days. Fare thee well, Bernal, fare thee well.”

The Barba-Roxa locked his friend in a warm
embrace, kissed him on both cheeks, and then
starting away, rushed towards the front, with an
alacrity that seemed utterly to disprove his humbling
confession. Whether or not fear had, indeed,
for the first time in his life, beset him, it is certain
that Gaspar Olea did, that day, achieve exploits
which eclipsed those of the most distinguished
cavaliers, and consecrated his memory for ever in
the hearts of his comrades.

The Tlascalans, working with furious zeal, had
now so choked up the ditch, that stones and earth
already appeared above the water. The Mexicans
wavered, and seemed incapable of maintaining
their post for a moment longer.

The fiery spirit of the Captain-General became
incensed with impatience and hope. He rose upon
his stirrups, and exalting his voice, always of vast
and thrilling power, exclaimed,

“This time, brothers! we will seize the bridges
before the pagans have leisure to destroy them.
Footmen! see that ye follow after the horse, with

all your speed. Cavaliers! put your lances in rest,
and be ready. What, trumpeter! speak thy signal
to the pioneers; and, brave hearts! fear not the gap,
for it is strong enough to support you.—Sound,
trumpeter, sound!”

The trumpeter winded a peculiar blast, and the
Tlascalans, dividing asunder, flung themselves,
from either side of the causeway, into the lake,—a
feat often before practised,—and thus left the whole
space up to the ditch vacant for the horsemen. At
a second blast of the instrument, the cavaliers
spurred up to the chasm, and crossing it as they
could, and clambering over the rampart, dashed
down at once upon the disordered infidels. The
footmen followed, running with all their strength,
and returning the cheers, with which those in the
ships beheld the exploit of the cavalry.

Meanwhile, the Mexicans, seized with unusual
consternation, fled with great haste towards the
city, pursued so closely by the cavaliers, that they
made no attempt at a stand, even at the second
ditch; nor did they pause a moment, according to
their usual tactics, to destroy the bridge that
spanned it. It was indeed a narrow chasm, with
an unfinished breastwork, and could not have been
maintained for an hour. Another, equally narrow
and indefensible, occurred at a distance of less than
two hundred paces; and at such intervals, it appeared
that the dike was perforated, as far as it extended,
even within the limits of the island.

The ardour of the cavaliers, aided by that incentive
to valour, the back of the foe, carried them
over three several bridges, before they bethought
them of the propriety of drawing up their horses a
little, and waiting for the footmen.

“Halon! halt! and God give us better heads to
our helmets, or better helms to our heads!” cried
Juan of Salamanca, a valiant young hidalgo, who

had won immortal renown upon the field of Otumba:
“Does your excellency intend that we twenty
Paladins of Spain shall sack this city with our
lances and bucklers? In my mind, we should divide
a moiety of the honour with those who will
share a full half of the profit.”

“Ay,” said another, an ancient hidalgo, as all
checked their steeds at the sudden call of the
young man: “We should be wise, lest we fall
into an ambush. Let us wait here for the footmen.”

“And have the bridges torn up before our eyes!”
cried Cortes; with ungovernable fire. “Heaven
fights for us to-day; the infidels are seized with a
panic, and they are but few in number.”

“Say not so, señor,” exclaimed Salamanca,
pointing in front, where they could see the fugitives
checked by what seemed a flood of armed
men, pouring out from the city. “They are in no
panic; but we took them too early. Their drum
has not yet been beaten upon the temple-top; but
we shall hear it now, soon enough.—What ho! ye
lame ducks with swords and lances! ye lagging
footmen! come on like men, and be fleeter.”

“Let us pass on, at least, slowly,” said Cortes.
“The footmen are nigh, and we may yet gain two
or three bridges. Do you not see, we are almost
upon the island?—Hark! I hear the trumpet of
Alvarado!—He will win the race to the pyramid!
—Press on, gallant cavaliers, press on!”

They were indeed within but a short distance
from the island, surrounded by the ruins of the
water suburb; and it seemed yet easy to secure, at
least, two more bridges, over which the fugitives
had fled without pausing, and which could be gained
before the causeway should be obstructed by the
advance of the dense column from the city. Calling
out therefore to the infantry to hasten, and finding

themselves already joined by two or three of
the fleetest of foot, of whom the Barba-Roxa was
one, they again dashed onwards, and secured the
desired passes.

They now found themselves so near to the
island, as to be within reach of annoyance from the
adjoining housetops; and this circumstance, together
with the unexpected conduct of the Mexicans,
produced such alarm in the bosom of the
cavalier who had seconded Salamanca's caution
before, that he exclaimed,

“Señor mio, and good brothers, let us think a
little what we do, before proceeding further. Let
us beware of an ambuscado. The knaves yielded
us the rampart, almost without a blow; and they
leave the ditches bridged behind them. This is
not the way Mexicans fight, when they fight
honestly. Lo you, now, yonder is a herd of twenty
thousand men, with flags and banners, and they
stop at sight of us, as if in dismay! What does this
mean, if not some decoy for a stratagem?”

“It means,” said Cortes, “that they are in a
perplexity, because their priests have not yet given
them the signal to fall on: and of this perplexity it
should be our wisdom to take advantage. See,
now, the dogs are in confusion!—Nay, by my
conscience! 'tis the confusion of attack, and they
come against us! Couch your lances, and at them!
for it is better they should feel the weight of our
horses, than we the shock of their stormy bodies.
On, footmen, on! spur, cavaliers, spur! Santiago
and Spain! and down with the paynim scum!”

At these words of exhortation, the horsemen
closed their ranks, shouted their war-cries, and
dashed with fearless audacity upon the advancing
warriors. They swept the causeway, like a moving
wall, and however insignificant their numbers, it
did not seem possible for the enemy to withstand

the violence of their onset; indeed, before a drop
of blood was shed, they manifested such symptoms
of hesitation and wavering, as greatly exalted the
courage of the assailants. They plied their slings
and arrows, indeed, they darted their javelins,
brandished their spears, and added their discordant
shrieks and wild whistling to the shouts of the
Spaniards; but still it was in a kind of confusion
and disorder, that showed them to be, from some
cause or other, not yet prepared for combat. Nay,
some were seen, as the galloping squadron approached,
to cast themselves into the lake, as if in
fear, and swim to the nearest ruins for protection.

This degree of disrelish for battle was a phenomenon,
so unusual in the character of barbarians
brave not only to folly, but to madness, that a wary
commander would have laid it to heart, and pondered
over it with suspicion. But not so the Captain-General.
He remembered, with Salamanca,
that the sound of the enormous drum on the temple
of Mexitli, with which, each morning, the Mexican
emperor gave the signal for battle, had not yet been
heard; and as there seemed to be as close, and almost
as fanatical, a connexion between the thunder of
this instrument and the courage of the pagans, as
he had found, in former days, in the case of the
sacred horn, he did not doubt that their present
timidity was caused entirely by the failure of the
signal. Perhaps he thought it increased also by
their sense of weakness; for, now that he was
nigh, it became obvious that their numbers were
much less considerable than they had appeared at
a distance. At all events, they were in fear, and
they wavered; which was enough to give his valour
the upperhand of his prudence.—It is with martial
ardour as with a pestilence;—it ravens most furiously
among the ranks of fear.

Fierce, therefore, was the zeal of his cavaliers,

and their hearts flamed at the thought of blood.
They raised their voices in a cry of victory, and
bounded like thunderbolts among their opponents.
The shock was decisive; in a moment, the whole
mass of pagans was put to rout. They flung down
their arms, and betook themselves to flight. Those
who could, fled down along the dike into the city;
others flung themselves into the water, and swam
to the island, or to the neighbouring ruins. The
only ones who made resistance, were those whose
hearts were transfixed by Spanish lances, before
they could turn to retreat. Such men uttered the
yell of battle, and, in their dying agonies, thrust
with their own hands, the spears further through
their vitals, that they might be nearer to the foe,
and strike the macana once more for Tenochtitlan.

“On, ye men of the foot!” cried the Captain-General.
“Let the Tlascalans fire the houses behind
me; for now we are again upon the island.
Charge, cavaliers, charge! The saints open a path
for us. Charge, my brothers, charge! and viva
for Spain and our honour!”