University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.

The effects of this battle upon the Spaniards
were disastrous in the extreme. The assault, as
has been mentioned, and as was anticipated, was
made upon all the causeways at once; and, on all,
successfully repelled, though an ambuscade was
only attempted upon the dike of Iztapalapan. It
seemed as if the Mexicans, thinned as their numbers
had been, by so many conflicts, and now the
remainder absolutely perishing under want and
pestilence, had collected all their energies for one
final blow. It was first successful in the quarter
attacked by the Captain-General, in consequence of
his surprising infatuation; and victory soon after
followed in the others. The Spaniards fled, so
completely broken and so utterly defeated, that the
priests, in the wild hope of completing their destruction
at once, even drew the sacred horn from the
tabernacle of Mexitli, and added its dreadful uproar
to the thunder of the great tymbal. This was always
regarded by the Mexicans as the voice of the
god himself, and was never sounded without filling
them with a delirium of fury, utterly inconceivable.
It was not more maddening to the infidels than
frightful to the Spaniards; who remembered the
horrors of the Noche Triste, augmented, if not altogether
caused by its unearthly roar. The Spaniards
were driven back to their strong and defensible
stations at the gates; the dikes were lost; and

had not famine now fought for them, they must
have given up the siege in despair. Nearly an
hundred Spaniards, and many thousand Indian allies,
were killed; the fleets of canoes and piraguas
were destroyed, and several brigantines wholly
ruined.

But the miseries of the besiegers were not confined
to the events of the day. Night opened to
them a scene of grief and horror. The whole mass
of the pyramid, always a striking object, was suddenly
illuminated by a myriad of flambeaux, so
that it blazed like a mountain of solid fire. The
night was clear, and the peculiarly rarified and
transparent atmosphere of Mexico rendering objects
distinct at a much greater distance than in other
lands, the Spaniards, looking from the towers at
the gates, could plainly perceive some of their late
fellow-soldiers, stripped naked and their hands
bound behind them, driven up the stairs from platform
to platform, by the blows and other indignities
of their cruel captors. On the summit of the pyramid,
they were unbound, their heads adorned with
plumes, and great waving penachos placed in their
hands, with which they were forced to dance round
the ever-burning censers of the gods, in the midst
of shouting pagans, until dragged away by the
priests and immolated, at a signal blasted from the
sacred horn, upon the stone of sacrifice. The station
of Alvarado on the dike of Tacuba, was nearer
than either of the others; and his men, while they
wept and prayed over a spectacle so appalling, even
fancied they could distinguish the figures and faces
of particular individuals, and hear their cries to
heaven. Many were the wretches who had yielded
themselves alive into the hands of the foe; and for
ten nights in succession, the blazing temple echoed
to their groans, and their garrisoned friends were
compelled to be the witnesses of their torments.

But this triumph was the last of the pagans. All
supplies of corn from the lake-sides were cut off,
and they were known to be famishing; and besides,
as if heaven were willing to assist even the
arms of rapacity, to subdue a race, all whose institutions
were more or less infected by the spirit of
blood that brutalized their religion, the rainy season
was brought to a close preternaturally early, and
they were left without water. The Spaniards recovered
their spirits, and collecting again vast
bands of confederates, recommenced the siege, advancing
with prudence, and destroying every thing
as they advanced, and not only regaining all they
had lost, but even effecting, despite all resistance,
a secure lodgment upon the island, from their several
points of attack. The Mexicans still fought; but
it was with bodies emaciated and enfeebled, and
with hearts subdued by despair. The three divisions
of besiegers met upon the great square, blew
up the Huitzompan, and all the temples within the circuit
of the Wall of Serpents, which they fortified and
preserved; and then, still demolishing houses as
they advanced, they pushed on until they reached
the great market-place of Tlatelolco; and thus
hemmed in upon the narrow peninsula the unfortunate
king of Mexico, and the few shattered remnants
of his army.

Before this crisis had yet arrived, there occurred
another incident, in which, as in all others since his
return from the South Sea, the virtues of Juan Lerma
were made the instruments of still further misfortune.
He beheld Magdalena but once, after the
adventure of the garden; and she was then raving
with delirium, in which she did not know even him.
The fate of Zelahualla was still wrapt in obscurity;
for such had been the suddenness of the attack in
the garden, that none knew of her fate, and Magdalena

was incapable of uttering any rational word,
to remove the mountain of anxiety from his breast.
His scheme to effect the deliverance of the princess
had doubtless thrown her into the power of the
Spaniards; and the thought of such a captive in
such hands, preyed upon him with a bitterness
that exceeded death. He fought no more, and indeed
he was urged no longer by the king, who was
himself reduced to such desperation, that he thought
no further of stratagems, but merely of blind and
sullen resistance.

On the third day after the battle, he was summoned
by Techeechee to attend the king in public;
and without questioning for what purpose, he
gloomily obeyed, taking with him the Spanish
sword with which he had been provided, on the day
of his attempted escape.

It was midday: no sound of contention came to
his ears, for the besiegers were yet lying in their
quarters on the dikes, healing their wounds and
lamenting their friends; but the quiet of the garden
was broken by the howling of the beasts, and the
shrill screams of birds of prey,—of such at least as
had not already been slaughtered, to appease the
hunger of the wretches, who yet fought for their expiring
empire. One circumstance, had Juan noticed
it, might have convinced him of the dreadful
extent and intensity of the suffering, of which he
had been before apprized. The trees of the garden
had begun to be robbed of their leaves, but not by
summer heat or autumnal drought;—the tender
shrubs were stripped of their bark;—the smaller
plants had been rooted up, and even the grass, in
some places, torn from the earth, and even the earth
itself upturned, in the search after edible roots.—All
that could be gnawed by the teeth of man had
vanished, or did soon after vanish, from the garden.

When the Spaniards walked afterwards through
their conquest, not a green leaf, as they have recorded,
was found in all the city.

He passed through the broken wall, now only
defended by rude palisades, strengthened by an
abatis of withered shrubs and brambles, and passing
the moat, over the ruins of the prostrate wall,
found himself on the market-square of Tlatelolco, of
which the Spaniards gave such surprising accounts,
when they beheld it filled with the merchants and
riches of the empire, before the death of Montezuma.
It was of very great extent, and contained, at
the eastern boundary, a pyramid, on which was the
temple of one of the lesser divinities. On the west
was a platform, or rather stage, faced and flagged
with stone, and devoted to theatrical exhibitions,
which, however primitive and barbarous, were yet
a chief feature among the amusements of a Mexican
festival.

Almost in the centre of the square, and yet so
nigh to the garden wall that it could be overlooked
by the nearest turrets of the palace, was another
platform, perhaps four feet in height, and circular,
upon which lay the famous stone Temalacatl, devoted
to the purpose of the gladiatorial sacrifice.
It now lies in the Plaza May or of the modern city,
near the walls, and within the enclosure, of the
great Cathedral, and is one of the few monuments
which the conquerors have left of the savage institutions
of the Aztec empire. It is a circular block
of porphyry, nine or ten feet in diameter, and is
sculptured over with the effigies of warriors. The
privilege of dying upon this stone was awarded
only to captives of the most extraordinary prowess;
and as such were never taken alive, unless when
conquered by accident, the exhibition of such a sacrifice
was as rare as it was agreeable to the fierce

tastes of the Mexicans. It was essentially gladiatorial,
and it offered a prospect even of life and
liberty to the valiant prisoner. A sword and buckler
were put into his hands, and he was tied by one
leg to the stone; yet, if he succeeded in slaying or
defeating six chosen Mexican warriors, he was released
and sent back in safety to his own country.
The last victim of the Temalacatl was the famous
Tlascalan chief, Tlahuicotl, the Orlando of Anahuac,
captured by Montezuma not many years before the
advent of the Spaniards, who, fighting only to die,
(for he refused to accept life, even as the meed of
his own heroism,) and fighting till he did die, slew
no less than eight different opponents, and disabled
twenty others, before his great spirit sank under
his exertions. If the gladiator fell, before he had
accomplished his task, he was dragged to the neighbouring
temple, and there sacrificed, while yet living.
The last victim, destined to close the list of
those to whom Mexico did honour, was a Spaniard.

A vast multitude of pagans surrounded the platform,
except on that side which looked to the temple.
Here stood the priests, few in number, yet
prepared, at the moment of the victim's fall, to
clutch upon him, and bear him to the altar, a space
being left for them, as much out of reverence for
their sacred character, as to preserve their pathway
entirely unobstructed. The side that looked to the
palace was also but little encumbered; for here the
king of Mexico sat upon a scaffold, attended by his
chief nobles.

The grim looks of expectation, with which the assembled
multitude surveyed the platform, were
heightened in ferocity by the privations that had
pinched and hollowed their visages. They looked
like winter wolves, gaunt with famine; and one

would have thought their appetites were whetting
for a repast on the flesh of the victim. There was
indeed something horrid in their appearance, as
well as in the cause which had assembled them
together. It was plain that they waited impatiently
for the coming of the prisoner. As they rolled
their eyes over the square, they caught sight of Juan,
conspicuous by his lofty stature, though he now
drooped his head with gloom, and hailed his appearance
with such shouts as proved what a change
had been made in their feelings, by his presence, in
the battle of the ambuscade. The imputations of
Azcamatzin were ended, for Ascamatzin perished
an hour after uttering them, under a shot from the
crossbow of the hunchback: they remembered nothing
now, but that the Christian had touched the
body of Malintzin, and was struck down while he
had him in his hands, and that he was the brother
of the king.

It was these acclamations which roused him out
of his sullen mood, so that he could exert his mind
and imagine the object for which he had been summoned.
But no sooner did he perceive the priests
near the Temalacatl, than he was seized with horror,
and disregarding the command of Guatimozin,
who beckoned to him to ascend the platform to
his side, he turned to fly.

“Is not my brother a Mexican, and among the
sons of the king?” said the infidel; and then added
with a look of bitter meaning, “My brother shall
see the revenge of the daughter of Montezuma!”

Struck by these words, yet incapable of fathoming
their signification, Juan looked up to the young
monarch, and would even have ascended the scaffold,
had not the sudden appearance of the captive
engaged his whole attention. A wild and frantic
cry burst from the mob, and looking round, he beheld
a body of ten or twelve priests, with their

black robes, and long plaited, rope-like hair, leading
the prisoner towards the platform. His arms
were bound behind him, and his only garment was a
coarse cloth wrapped round the loins.

Juan's heart sickened; he would have sunk to
the earth, or buried his head in his tilmaltli, to
avoid looking upon the spectacle of a Christian and
countryman, thus brought forth to be slaughtered.
But the fiery spirit displayed by the victim, as soon
as he was lifted upon the mound and set upon his
feet, drew another shout from the admiring infidels,
which caused him to steal one look at the scene;
and that look left him without the power of withdrawing
his eyes. The captive, as soon as he
was on the mound, leaped, of his own accord, upon
the stone, as if to testify not only his knowledge of
the purpose for which he was brought there, but
his willingness to engage in the combat. He then
turned his face towards the king, and, at that moment,
Juan Lerma lifting his eyes, beheld the only
man he had ever learned to hate—It was Don
Francisco de Guzman.

Noble, compassionate, and truly unvindictive, as
was Lerma's spirit, he did not make this discovery
without a thrill of fierce exultation. There is a
touch of the wild beast in the hearts of us all; and
so long as man is capable of anger, he will, at some
moment, and for some brief space of time, yield to
thoughts and wishes, that he himself must, a moment
after, esteem diabolic. Religion and moral
culture make us the masters of our malign propensities;
but man is naturally a vengeful animal.

It was but the weakness of a moment with Juan
Lerma; perhaps, too, it was caused by the thrill of
joy at the proof thus rendered, that Guzman, at least,
exercised no control over the fate of the princess of
Mexico; and if he did not instantly commiserate the
condition of an enemy justly abhorred, but now so

fallen, so wretched, and about to expiate his evil
deeds by a punishment so fearfully retributive, he
was able to banish all unworthy elation from his
mind, and look on with feelings more becoming a
man and Christian.

He could not indeed but admire the fearless intrepidity,
or rather audacity, with which Guzman
(more oppressed by a sense of humiliation, at being
made a spectacle among a crew so despised and
abhorred, than by any other feeling,) looked around
him upon the pagans, and extended his foot to the
ligature, with which it was to be secured to the
stone. Whatever were his faults, it could not be
denied, that Don Francisco was a man of unflinching
courage, which was indeed a constitutional trait.
His presence on the stone of battle indicated that
he had been captured after a heroic resistance.
His resolution was, in this case, kept up by a
knowledge of the nature of the ordeal through
which he was to pass, and by full confidence in his
ability to win all the privileges it conferred upon
him. He had some little acquaintance with the
Mexican tongue, and was by no means ignorant
of the more remarkable institutions of the country.
A victory over six awkward and half-starved barbarians,
was an exploit not to be despaired of by a
well-trained cavalier, even when denied any advantage
of weapons, and defensive armour. Yet
it was a curious circumstance, that he, who had not
often kept faith himself, when his interest called
upon him to break it, should rest with such perfect
reliance upon the willingness of the Mexicans to
liberate him, in the event of his prevailing over
their champions. But he knew, that never but
once had a tribe of all the broad regions of Anahuac
broken its pledged faith to a successful gladiator;
and that tribe was, for that reason, ever after
held infamous. It was the tribe of Huexotzinco;

and Cortes himself placed the circumstance on record.

As soon as his foot was properly secured, his
arms were unbound, and a noble, who stood upon
the scaffold in the character of a herald, addressed
him in the following official terms:

“This is the law of Mexico, and let the people
hear: `The prisoner who is brave, the gods honour.
If he kill six strong men upon the stone Temalacatl,
he shall be set free.' This is the law.”

“This is the law, then,” repeated Guzman, in
imperfect Mexican, turning his eyes upon Guatimozin,
as if he disdained to hold converse with
any meaner infidel: “Is it a law that will be remembered,
when the prisoner is a Spaniard?”

“He who is a prisoner, has no name and no
country,” replied the prince. “He is neither Tlascalan
nor Castilian, but a man who kills or dies.”

“And if I prevail over six of thy soldiers,” again
cried Guzman, as the attendants strapped upon one
arm a light buckler of basket-work, and gave him
also a short macana, “dost thou warrant me by
thy gods, that I shall be sent back to Don Hernan?”

“Let the prisoner fight,” said the king sternly:
“Are the warriors of Mexico blades of grass, that
they should be blown down by a man's breath,
before the sword has struck them?”

“Thou shalt see,” replied Guzman, with a grim
smile. “What are six warriors to a man fighting
for liberty? Give me a Spanish sword,—a weapon
of iron,—and let my adversaries be doubled in
number.”

The boldness of this demand greatly excited the
admiration of the warlike spectators, who rewarded
it with cheers. But they checked their tumult
to hear the words of the king.

“The white man talks with the lips of a boaster,”

he said. “Had he not a Spanish sword in the king's
garden, among the women? How is this? He is
a prisoner!”

“Ask thy warriors,—it was not broken off in
my hand! How else should they have taken me?”
replied Guzman, to the words of scorn; and then
added, in Spanish, as if to himself, “So much for
striking the accursed hound! I would he and his
master were broiling in purgatory; for they have
ever brought me bad luck.”

Juan Lerma heard not these words, but he remembered
the broken blade in Befo's body, and
again his heart hardened against his foemen. But
matters were now approaching to a crisis. The
monarch, disdaining to hold further discourse with
the prisoner, waved his hand, and a warrior, darting
from the ground at the foot of the scaffold, leaped
with a single bound upon the platform, and uttered
the yell of battle, which was instantly re-echoed by
the shouts of the multitude. He was a tall and
powerful savage, though meager of frame, of great
activity, as was proved by his ready leap, and of a
spirit fully corresponding. His equipments were
but little superior to those of the captive; his battle-axe
was somewhat longer, his buckler a little
broader, and he had some slight defence for his
head, in a cap of alligator-skin, that crowned his
matted hair.

No sound of trump and tymbal gave the signal
for beginning the fight, as in a Christian tourney.
The yell of the infidel, as he sprang upon the mound,
and brandished his battle-axe, was all that was allowed
or required, to put the prisoner on his guard;
and Don Francisco seemed to understand enough
of the nature of the ceremony, to look for no further
warning.

The great superiority of the infidel consisted in
his being entirely at liberty, able to begin the attack

by leaping upon the stone at any point he chose,
and to continue it thereon, by changing his position
as often as he thought fit; while the prisoner, secured
by a thong not above eighteen inches in
length, to the centre of it, enjoyed no such facilities
of motion. He might turn, indeed, and as rapidly
as he pleased, but always with the danger, if he
forgot himself for a moment, of tripping himself, and
falling; in which case, his death was certain, for
no forbearance was practised in the event of such
an accident.

The infidel began the combat with the same
agility he had displayed in leaping up to the platform.
He uttered his yell, brandished his axe, and
making a half circuit round the stone, suddenly
darted upon it, and aimed a blow at Guzman. He
was met by the Spaniard with an address and effect,
that showed he had not overrated his skill.
Rather meeting than avoiding the blow, he struck
up, with his bucklered hand, not the macana, but
the arm of the assailant, seemingly calculating that
the shock of the rebuff would tumble him from the
stone. It did more: it caused the Mexican to fling
up his arms, in the instinctive effort to preserve his
equilibrium. The next instant, Guzman drove his
glassy axe deep into his uncovered side, and spurning
him violently with the foot which was at liberty,
the Mexican fell backwards upon the platform,
writhing in the agonies of death. The whole combat
was scarce the work of a minute. Those who
drew in their breath as the Mexican sprang to
the assault, had not taken a second inspiration,
before their countryman was discomfited and
dying.

The infidels set up a scream, as much of approbation
as surprise. The spirit of the Roman amphitheatre
was felt around the Temalacatl of Mexico;

and plaudits were bestowed upon a victor,
when pity was denied to the slain.

The vanquished and writhing combatant was
dragged from the mound, and his place immediately
occupied by a second, who leaped up with the
same alacrity, and attacked with similar violence.

“Fool that thou art!” muttered Guzman, with
scorn and lofty self-reliance, “were there twenty
such grasshoppers at thy back, yet should it be but
boy's play to despatch thee.”

He caught the blow of the savage on his buckler,
but greatly to his injury; for the sharp blades of
the iztli severed it nearly in twain, and besides
diminishing its already insufficient defence, inflicted
a severe wound upon his arm. But it was the only
blow struck by the barbarian. Infuriated by the
wound, Guzman smote him over the head with his
weapon, and with such rapidly continued blows as
entirely confounded the Mexican, so that he made
scarce any use of his shield. The first stroke tore
the cayman-scales from his hair, and the next clove
through his skull.

Guzman's victory was as complete as before, but
he found that several of the separate blades, or teeth
of obsidian, that edged his weapon, were broken off
by the blows. He beheld this with alarm, for having
held up the axe, to show its dilapidated condition,
and demand another, he found himself answered
only by the appearance of a third antagonist.

“Dogs and jugglers that ye are!” he cried, indignantly:
“ye would cheat me then to death, by
leaving me weaponless! St. Dominic, knaves! but
I will sort your wit with a better wisdom.—Now,
what a spectacle might I not make for my brother
Christians on the dikes! Thou art playing quits
with me, Cortes!—Hah, dog! art thou so ready?”

It was Guzman's determination, after killing the

third assailant, which event he still looked forward
to with unabated confidence, to possess himself of
his weapon, which, though secured in the usual
manner by a thong, he doubted not he could easily
rend from his arm.

But his antagonist was by no means so easily
mastered as the others. Taking caution from the
fate of his predecessors, he changed the mode of attack;
and though he rushed upon the block with
as much resolution as either, he betrayed no such
ambition to come to close quarters. On the contrary,
taking advantage of the breadth of the Temalacatl,
he confined himself to the very edge, now
facing the Spaniard, as if about to make his spring,
now darting behind him, as if to assault him in the
rear, and, all the time, vexing Guzman's ears with
the most terrific screams. Then, perceiving the
Spaniard's wariness, he began to run around the
stone with all his speed, flourishing his axe, as if to
take advantage of the least opening offered by the
weariness or dizziness of his foe. Guzman at once
perceived the danger to which he was reduced by
a system of attack so difficult to be guarded against.
It was almost impossible, tied as he was, to preserve
his face always against the pagan; twice or
thrice he stumbled over the rope, and already his
brain began to reel with the rapidity of his gyrations.
At each stumble, the Mexican struck at him
with his axe, and one blow had taken effect, though
not dangerously, upon his shoulder. This incensed
the Spaniard almost to madness, and he voluntarily
exposed himself to another wound, in order to bring
his opponent within his reach. Thus, as the infidel
was still continuing to run round the stone, he
flung himself round the other way very suddenly,
yet not so quickly as wholly to escape the rapid
attacks of his assailant. The macana inflicted another
and deeper wound in his back, while his

own broken weapon struck the savage on the hip.
At the same moment he seized him by the throat,
and employing a strength greatly superior to the
Indian's, threw him under his feet, and crushed
him with hand and knee, while despatching him
with blows over the face and head. He then
grasped at the macana; but before he could wrest
it from the grasp of his dying foe, the Indian
was plucked from under him by the attendant
priests.