University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

The same solitude, which had covered the city the
preceding evening, now seemed again to invest it.
Corses were here and there strown in the street, as
of fugitives dying in their flight; and once a wounded
man was seen staggering blindly along, as if wholly
insensible to the approach of his foes. The sight of
this solitary wretch did more to disarm the fury of
Don Amador, than did the spectacle of thousands lying
dead on the square; and certain grievous reflections,
such as sometimes assailed him, after a battle, were
beginning to intrude upon his mind, when a cavalier,
darting forward with a loud cry, and couching his
lance, as if at a worthier enemy, thrust the wounded
barbarian through the body, and killed him on the
spot. A few hidalgos, and most of the footmen,
rewarded this feat of dexterity with a loud cheer;
but there were many, who, like the neophyte, met the
triumphant looks of the champion, Alvarado, with
glances of infinite disgust and frowning disdain.

As the party approached the neighbourhood of the
great temple, they began to perceive in the streets
groups of men, who, being altogether unarmed, commonly
fled at the first sight of the Christians; though,
sometimes, they stood aside, with submissive and
dejected countenances, as if awaiting any punishment
the Teuctli might choose to inflict upon them. But
Cortes, reading in this humility the proofs of penitence,

or willing to suppose that these men had not shared
in the hostilities of the day, commanded his followers
not to attack them; and thus restrained, they rode
slowly and cautiously onwards, their fury gradually
abating, and the fears which had been excited by the
late assault, giving place to the hope, that it indicated
no general spirit, and no deep-laid plan, of insurrection.

The groups of Mexicans increased, both in numbers
and frequency, as the Christians proceeded, but still
they betrayed no disposition to make use of the arms,
which were sometimes seen in their hands; and the
Spaniards, regulating their own conduct by that of
the barbarians, rode onwards with so pacific an air,
that a stranger, arriving that moment in the city,
might have deemed them associated together on the
most friendly terms, and proceeding in company, to
take part in some general festivity. Nevertheless,
the same stranger would have quickly observed, that
these friends, besides keeping as far separated as the
streets would allow, and even, where that was possible,
removing from each other's presence, entirely,
eyed each other, at times, with looks of jealousy,
which became more marked as the Mexicans grew
more numerous. In truth, the feelings which had so
quickly passed from rage to tranquillity, were now in
danger of another revulsion; and many an eye was
riveted on the countenance of the general, as if to
read a confirmation of the common anxiety, as, ever
and anon, it turned from the prospect of multitudes
in front, to the spectacle of crowds gathering, at a
distance, on the rear.

“All that is needful,” whispered, rather than spoke,
Don Hernan, though his words were caught by every
ear, “is to trust in God, and our sharp spears. There
is, doubtless, some idolatrous rite about to be enacted
in the temple, which draws these varlets thitherward;
and the gratitude with which they remember our
exploits of this morning, will account for their present
hang-dog looks. If they mean any treachery, such

as a decoy and ambuscado, why, by my conscience!
we must e'en allow them their humour, and punish
them, when 'tis made manifest. I counsel my friends
to be of good heart; for, I think, the dogs have had
fighting enough to-day. Nevertheless, I will not
quarrel with any man, who keeps his hands in readiness,
and puts his eyes and ears to their proper uses.”

As if to set them an example, Don Hernan now
began to look about him with redoubled vigilance;
and it was remarked that he passed no house, without
eyeing its terrace keenly and steadfastly, as if dreading
more to discover an enemy in such places than
in the street. This was, in fact, a situation from
which an enemy might annoy the Spaniards with the
greatest advantage, and at the least risk.

The houses of this quarter were evidently inhabited
by the rich, perhaps by the nobles, of Mexico. They
were of solid stone, spacious, and frequently of two
floors, lofty, and their terraces crowned with battlements
and turrets. Each stood separated from its
neighbour by a little garden or alley, and sometimes
by a narrow canal, which crossed the great street,
and was furnished with a strong wooden bridge of
such width that five horsemen could pass it at a time.
Often, too, the dwelling of some man of power stood
so far back, as to allow the canal to be carried quite
round it, without infringing upon the street; but more
frequently it was fronted only with a little bed of
flowers. The stones of which such structures were
composed, were often sculptured into rude reliefs,
representing huge serpents, which twined in a fantastic
and frightful manner about the windows and doors,
as if to protect them from the invasion of robbers.
Indeed, these were almost the only defences; for the
green bulrush lying across the threshold, could deter
none but a Mexican from entering; and, perhaps,
none but a barbarian would have seen, in the string
of cacao berries, or of little vessels of earthenware,
hanging at the door, the bell to announce his visitation.
A curtain commonly hung flapping at the

entrance; but neither plank nor bar gave security to
the sanctity of the interior.

Notwithstanding the fears of the general, he beheld
no Mexicans lurking among the terraces, or peering
from the windows, but his anxiety was not the less
goading for that reason; for having now drawn nigh
to the great square, it seemed to him that he had, at
last, thrust himself into that part of the city, where
all the multitudes of Tenochtitlan were assembled to
meet him,—and whether for purposes of pacification
or vengeance, he dared not inquire.

The appearance of things, as the party issued upon
the square, and faced the House of Skulls, was indeed
menacing. That enormous pyramid, which Don
Amador had surveyed, with awe, in the gloom of
evening, was now concealed under a more impressive
veil;—it was invested and darkened by a cloud
of human beings, which surged over its vast summit,
and rolled along its huge sides like a living storm.
The great court that surrounded it, was also filled
with barbarians; for though the Coatepantli, or Wall
of Serpents, with its monstrous battlements and
gloomy towers, concealed them from the eye, there
came such a hum of voices from behind, as could
not have been produced alone, even by the myriads
that covered the temple. In addition to these, the
great square itself was alive with Mexicans, and the
sudden sight of them brought a thrill of alarm into
the heart of the bravest cavalier.

The people of Tenochtitlan, thus, as it were, hunted
by their invaders, even to their sanctuaries, turned
upon them with frowns, yet parted away from before
them in deep silence. Nevertheless, at this spectacle,
the Christians came to an immediate stand, in
doubt whether to entangle themselves further, or to
take counsel of their fears, and retreat, without delay,
to their quarters. While they stood yet hesitating,
and in some confusion, suddenly, and with a tone
that pierced to their inmost souls, there came a
horrid shriek from the top of the pyramid; and fifty

Castilian voices exclaimed, “A sacrifice! a human
sacrifice!—and under the cross of Christ, that we
raised on the temple!”

“The place of God is defiled by the rites of hell!”
cried Cortes, furiously, his apprehensions vanishing,
at once, before his fanaticism. “Set on, and avenge!
Couch your lances, draw your swords; and if any
resist, call on God, and slay!” So saying, he drew
his sword, spurred his dun steed, and rushed towards
the temple.

The half-naked herds fled, yelling, away from the
infuriated Christian, opening him a free path to the
walls; and had that fearful cry been repeated, there
is no doubt he would have led his followers even
within the Coatepantli, though at the risk of irretrievable
and universal destruction. Before, however,
he had yet reached the wall, he had time for
reflection; and, though greatly excited, he could no
longer conceal from himself the consequences of provoking
the pagans at their very temple, and during
the worship of their god. He was, at this moment,
well befriended, and numerously, indeed; but at a
distance from the garrison, without cannon, and almost
without musketry, surrounded by enemies whom
the eye could not number, and who had not feared to
assail him, even when fortified in a situation almost
impregnable, and assisted by three times his present
force, as well as several thousand bold Tlascalans;
and in addition to all these disadvantages, there came
neither such sound of trumpet, nor such distant commotion
among the Indians, as might admonish him
of the approach of Sandoval.

He checked his horse, and waving to his followers
to halt, again cast his eyes around on the multitude,
as if to determine in what manner to begin his retreat,
for he felt that this measure could be no longer
delayed. The Mexicans gazed upon him with angry
visages, but still in silence. Not an arm was yet
raised; and they seemed prepared to give him passage,

whichever way he might choose to direct his
course.

While hesitating an instant, Don Hernan perceived
a stir among the crowds, close under the Wall of
Serpents, accompanied by a low but general murmur
of voices; and immediately the eyes of the pagans
were turned from him towards the Coatepantli,
as if to catch a view of some sight still more attractive
and important. His first thought was, that these
movements indicated the sudden presence of Sandoval
and his party; a conceit that was, however, immediately
put to flight by the events which ensued.

The murmurs of the multitude were soon stilled,
and the pagans that covered the pyramid were seen
to cast their eyes earnestly down to the square, as
the sound of many flutes, and other soft wind-instruments,
rose on the air, and crept, not unmusically,
along the Wall of Serpents, and thence to the ears
of the Spaniards. Before these had yet time to express
their wonder at the presence of such peaceful
music amidst a scene of war and sacrifice, the
crowds slowly parted asunder, and they plainly beheld
(for the Mexicans had opened a wide vista to
the principal gate,) a procession, seemingly of little
children, clad in white garments, waving pots of incense,
conducted by priests, in gowns of black and
flame colour, and headed by musicians and men
bearing little flags, issue from the throng, and bend
their steps towards the savage portal. In the centre
of the train, on a sort of litter, very rich and gorgeous,
borne on men's shoulders, and sheltered by a
royal canopy of green and crimson feathers, stood a
figure, which might have been some maiden princess,
arrayed for the festival, or, as she seemed to one or
two of the more superstitious Castilians, some fiendish
goddess, conjured up by the diabolical arts of the
priests, to add the inspiration of her presence to the
wild fury of her adorers. She stood erect, her body
concealed in long flowing vestments of white, on
which were embroidered serpents, of some green

material; in her hand she held a rod; imitative of the
same reptile; and on her forehead was a coronet of
feathers, surrounding what seemed a knot of little
snakes, writhing round a star, or sun, of burnished
gold.

As this fair apparition was carried through their
ranks, between the great wall and the House of Skulls,
the Mexicans were seen to throw themselves reverently
on the earth, as if to a divinity; and those that
stood most remote, no sooner beheld her, than they
bowed their heads with the deepest humility.

Meanwhile, the Spaniards gazed on with both admiration
and wonder, until the train had reached the
open portal; at which place, and just as she was
about to be concealed from them for ever, the divinity,
priestess, or princess, whichever she was, turned
her body slowly round, and revealed to them a face
of a paler hue than any they had yet seen in the
new world, and, as they afterwards affirmed, of the
most incomparable and ravishing beauty. At this
sight, all uttered exclamations of surprise, which were
carried to the ears of the vision: but Don Amador
de Leste, fetching a cry that thrilled through the
hearts of all, broke from the ranks, as if beset by
some sudden demon, and dashed madly towards the
apparition.

Before the Spaniards could recover from their astonishment,
the members of the procession,—deity,
priests, censer-bearers, and musicians,—with loud
screams vanished under the portals; and the infidels,
starting up in a rage that could be suppressed no
longer, rushed upon the novice, to avenge, in his
blood, the insult he had offered to their deity.

“Quick, a-God's name! and rescue!” cried Cortes,
“for the young man is mad!”

There seemed grounds for this imputation; for, besides
the inexplicable folly of his first act, Don Amador
appeared now, for a moment, to be lost in such a
maze, that blows of the heavy maquahuitl were rained
upon his stout armour, and several furious hands had

clutched not only upon his spear, but upon himself, to
drag him from the saddle, before he bethought him
to draw his sword and defend his life. But his sword
was, at last, drawn, his fit dispelled; and before his
countrymen had yet reached him, he was dealing
such blows around him, and so urging his courageous
steed upon the assailants, as quickly to put himself
out of the danger of immediate death.

The passions of the multitude, restrained, for a
moment, by their superstition or their rulers, were
now fully and unappeasably roused; and with yells,
that came at once from the pyramid, from the temple
yard, from the great square, and the neighbouring
streets, they rushed upon the Christians, surrounding
them, and displaying such ferocious determination,
as left them but small hopes of escape.

“God and Spain! honour and fame!” cried Alvarado,
spearing a barbarian at each word, “what do
you think of my Mexicans now, true friends?”

His cheer was lost in the roar of screams; and
nothing but the voice of Don Hernan, well known to
be as clear and powerful in battle as the trumpet
which he invoked, was heard pealing above the din;

“Now show yourselves Spaniards and soldiers,
and strike for the blood of Christ!—Ho, trumpeter!
thy flourish! and find me where lags my lazy Gonzalo?”

As he spoke, he fought; for so violent had been
the attack of the infidels, that they were mingled
among, and fighting hand to hand with the Christians,
—a confused and sanguinary chaos. Scarcely, indeed,
had the trumpeter time to wind his instrument,
before it was struck out of his hand by a brawny
savage; and the same blow which robbed him of it,
left the arm that held it a shattered and useless member.
The blast, however, had sounded; and, almost
instantaneously, it was answered by a bugle, afar indeed,
and blown hurriedly as if the musician were in
as much jeopardy as his fellow, but still full of joy
and good cheer to the Christian combatants.

“Close and turn!—Footmen, to your square!”
cried Cortes; “and, valiant cavaliers, charge me
now as though ye fought against devils, with angels
for your lookers-on!”

“To the temple! to the temple!” cried Amador,
with a voice rivalling the general's in loudness, and
turning in a frenzy towards the pyramid, down
whose sides the infidels were seen rushing with frantic
speed.

But the head of Fogoso was seized by two friendly
followers, and while Don Amador glared fiercely at
the pale but not affrighted secretary, he heard, on the
other side, the tranquil voice of Lazaro:

“Master,” said the faithful servant, “if we separate
from our friends, we are dead men; and Don
Gabriel is left without a kinsman in this land of demoniacs.”

“Close, and turn, I bid ye!” cried Cortes, furiously.
“Heed not the wolves that are fast to your sides.
Charge on the herds, charge on the herds! and overthrow
with the weight of your hoofs! Charge, I bid
ye; and care not though ye should find your lances
striking against the breast of Sandoval. Charge on
the herds!—charge on the herds!”

So saying, Don Hernan set an example, followed
by the cavaliers; and as the fifty horsemen spurred
violently upon the mob, shouting and cheering, the
naked multitudes quailed from before them, though
only to gather again on their flanks with renewed
desperation.

“Will ye desert us that are afoot?” cried voices
from behind, with dolorous cries.

“Ho, Sandoval! art thou sleeping?”

“Santiago! and God be thanked!—'tis the voice
of the general!” cried Sandoval, in the distance. His
voice came from the surge of battle, like the cheer of
a sailor who recks not for the tempest. It filled the
cavaliers with joy.

“Good heart now, brave hearts!” shouted Cortes;

“for my son Sandoval answers me! Rein me round,
and charge me back to the infantry!”

Backwards galloped the fifty cavaliers, strewing
the earth with trampled pagans; and the footmen
shouted with delight, as they again beheld their
leader. But the relief and the joy were only momentary.

“Fight ye, my dogs! and slay your own sheep!
Be firm; wall yourselves with spears; and presently
ye shall be lookers-on.—Sweep the square again,
brave cavaliers! Goad flanks! couch spears! and,
this time, let me see the red face of my lieutenant!”

Turning, and shouting with a louder cheer, (for
the experience of the two first charges had warned
the Mexicans of their destructive efficacy, and they
now recoiled with a more visible alarm,) the cavaliers
again rushed through their foes like a whirlwind; and
brushing them aside, as the meteor brushes the fogs of
evening, they dashed onwards, until their shouts were
loudly re-echoed, and they found themselves confronted
with Don Gonzalo and his party.

The greetings of the friends were brief and few,
for the same myriads, attacking with the same frenzied
desperation, invested them with a danger that
did not seem to diminish.

“Bring thy foot in front,” cried Cortes, “and,
while they follow me, charge thou behind them. Be
quick, and be brave. March fast, ye idle spearmen:
and stare not, for these are not devils, but men!—
God and Spain!—Santiago, and at them again, peerless
cavaliers!—We fight for Christ and immortal
honour!”

The valiant band of cavaliers again turned at the
voice of their leader, and again they swept the corse-encumbered
square, rushing to the relief of their own
infantry. Following the counsel he had given to Sandoval,
the wary general passed by his foot-soldiers,
and bidding them march boldly forwards, and join
themselves with the infantry of Don Gonzalo, he
charged the infidels from their rear with a fury they

could not resist; and then rushing backwards with
equal resolution, discovered the foot-soldiers in the
position in which it had been his aim to place them.
The united infantry, full seven hundred men in number,
were now protected, both in front and rear, by
a band of cavalry; their flanks looking, on one side,
to the temple, and, on the other, to a great street that
opened opposite. Arranging them, at a word, in two
lines, standing back to back, and seconding himself
the manœuvre which he dictated to Sandoval, the
general swept instantly to that flank which bordered
on the Wall of Serpents, while Gonzalo rode to the
other. Thus arranged, the little army presented the
figure of a hollow square, or rather of a narrow
parallelogram, the chief sides of which, were made
by double rows of spearmen, and the smaller by
bands of horsemen. Thus arranged, too, the Christians
fought with greater resolution and success; for,
parting at once from a common centre, the infantry
drove the assailants from before them on two sides,
while the cavalry carried death and horror to the
others; until, at a given signal, all again fell back to
their position, and presented a wall altogether inexpugnable
to the weak though untiring savages.

It was the persuasion of Don Hernan, that, in this
advantageous position, he could, in a short time, so
punish his enemies, as to teach them the folly of contending
with Christian men, and perhaps end the
war in a day. But, for a full hour, he repeated his
charges, now pinning his foes against the wall, or
the steps of the House of Skulls, now falling back to
breathe; and, at each charge, adding to the number
of the dead, until their corses literally obstructed his
path, and left it nearly impassable. At every charge,
too, his cavaliers waxed more weary, and struck
more faintly, while the horses obeyed the spur and
voice with diminishing vigour; and it seemed that
they must soon be left unable, from sheer fatigue, to
continue the work of slaughter. The pagans perished
in crowds at each charge, and at each volley of

bow-shots; but neither their spirit, nor their numbers,
seemed to decrease. Their yells were as loud, their
countenances as bold, their assaults as violent as at
first; and the Spaniards beheld the sun rising high in
the heavens, without any termination to their labours,
or their sufferings. Twenty Christians already lay
dead on the square, or had been dragged, perhaps,
while yet breathing, to be sacrificed on the pyramid.
This was a suspicion that shocked the souls of many;
for, twice or thrice, they heard, among the crowds,
who still stood on the lofty terrace, shooting arrows
down on the square, such shouts of triumphant delight
as, they thought, could be caused by nothing but the
immolation of a victim.

Grief and rage lay heavily on the heart of Cortes;
but though the apprehension, that, if much longer
over-worn by combat, his followers might be left
unable even to fly, added its sting to the others, shame
deterred him, for a time, from giving the mortifying
order. Harassed, and even wounded, (for a defective
link in his mail had yielded to an arrow-head, and
the stone was buried in his shoulder,) he nevertheless
preserved a good countenance; cheered his people
with the assurance of victory; fought on, exposing
himself like the meanest of his soldiers; and
several times, at the imminent risk of his life, rescued
certain foot-soldiers from the consequences of their
foolhardiness.

There was among the infantry, a man of great
courage and strength, by the name of Lezcano, whose
only weapon was a huge two-handed sword, the
valiant use of which had gained him among his companions,
the title of Dos Manos, or Two-Hands. No
spearman of his company advanced to the charge
with more readiness than did this fellow with his gigantic
weapon, and none retreated with more constant
reluctance. Indeed, he commonly fell back so
leisurely as to draw three or four foes upon him at
once; and it seemed to be his pleasure, to meet these
in such a way, as should call for the praises of his

companions. His daring, that day, would have left
him with the additional name of the bravest of the
brave, had it been tempered with a little discretion.
But inflamed by the encomiums of his comrades, and
not less by the complimentary rebukes of his captain,
his rashness knew no bounds; and twice or thrice he
thrust himself into situations of peril, from which he
was rescued with great difficulty. He had been
saved once by Don Hernan. It was his fate, a second
time, to draw the notice of the general; who,
falling back on the infantry, beheld him beset by a
dozen foes, surrounded, and using his great scimitar
furiously, yet, as it seemed, in vain; for he was unhelmed.

“What ho, Don Amador!” cried Cortes to the cavalier,
who was at his side, “let us rescue Dos Manos,
the mad!”

In an instant of time, the two hidalgos had reached
the group, and raised their voices in encouragement,
while each struck down a savage. At that moment,
and while Lezcano elevated his scimitar, to ward off
the blow of a maquahuitl, the massive blade, shivered
as if by a thunder-bolt, fell to the earth; but, before
it reached it, the sharp glass of the Indian sword
had entered his brain. The cavaliers struck fast
and hard, on either hand; the barbarians fled; but,
Lezcano, the Two-handed, lay rolling his eyes to heaven,
his head cloven to the mouth.

“If we slay a thousand foes for every Christian
man that dies, yet shall we be vanquished!” said Cortes,
turning an eye of despair on his companion, and
speaking the feelings he had concealed from all others.
Indeed, he seemed to rejoice that destiny had given
him one follower, to whom he might unbosom himself
without the apprehension of creating alarm—he hesitated
not to relieve himself of his grief to Don Amador;
for he knew him to be inaccessible to fear. “Be
of good heart, my friend. I have drawn thee into a
den of devils. We must retreat, or die.”

“I will advance or retreat, as thou wilt,” said Amador,

with a visage, in which Don Hernan now, for
the first time, beheld an expression so wild and
ghastly, that he was reminded of Calavar. “It matters
nothing—here or at the palace! But it is my duty
to assure thee of mine own persuasion: Retreat may
bring us relief—there is no victory for us, to-day.”

“God help thee! art thou wounded?” cried Cortes.

“A little hurt by the skilless hand of Fabueno,”
said the novice, tranquilly, “who, not yet being perfected
in the use of the spear, thrust his weapon into
my back, while aiming at the throat of a cacique.—
But that is not it. I have, this day, seen a sight,
which convinces me we are among magicians and
devils; and persuades me, along with certain other
recent occurrences, that the time of some of us is
reckoned. Therefore I say to thee, I will advance
with thee or retreat, as thou thinkest best. To me it
matters not. But my counsel is, to fly. We may
save others.”

“It is needful,” replied Don Hernan, mournfully.—
He gave his orders to certain officers; and the retreat
was commenced in the order in which they had
fought,—that is to say, the infantry, drawing their
lines closer together, and facing to the flank, began
to march down the street, preceded by Sandoval,
charging the opponents from the front, while Cortes
and his band, at intervals, rushing back upon the pursuers,
kept the triumphant barbarians from the rear.