University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

The distance between the great temple and the
palace of Axajacatl was by no means great; though
Cortes, for the purpose of prying into many streets,
had led his followers against it by a long and circuitous
course,—a plan which had been followed by Don
Gonzalo, though in another direction. Indeed they

were not so far separated, but that a strong bowman
or a good slinger might, from the top of the pyramid,
drive his missile upon the roof of the garrison, to the
great injury of the besieged, as was, afterwards, fully
made manifest. The distance, therefore, to be won
by the retreating Spaniards, was small; but it took
them hours to accomplish it. It seemed as if the
infidels, fearing lest their foes might escape out of
the hands if they slackened their efforts for a moment,
were resolved to effect their destruction at any
cost, while they were still at a distance from succour,
They pressed ferociously and rapidly on the fugitives;
they gained their front; and thus encompassed them
with a compact mass of human beings, against which
the cavaliers charged, as against a stone wall; slaying
and trampling, indeed, but without penetrating it
for more than a few yards. Each step gained by
the van, was literally carved by the cavalry, as out
of a rock; while the utmost exertions of Don Hernan
could do nothing more than preserve his rear band
in the attitude of a dike, slowly moving before the
shocks of a flood, which it could not repel.

In addition to these alarming circumstances, there
were others now developed, of a not less serious
aspect, The canals that, in two or three places, intersected
the street, were swarming with canoes, from
which the savages discharged their arrows with fatal
aim, or sprang, at once, upon the footmen, striking
with spear and maquahuitl, and were driven back
only after the most strenuous efforts. They had
destroyed the bridges, and the canals could only be
passed by renewing them with such planks as the
infantry could tear from the adjoining houses, and
hastily throw over the water,—a work of no less suffering
than time and labour. Besides all this, the
annoyance which Don Hernan had first dreaded, was
now practised by the crafty barbarians. The terraces
were covered with armed men, who, besides
discharging their darts and arrows down upon the
exposed soldiers, tore away, with levers, the stones

from the battlements, and hurled them full upon the
beads of their enemies.

The sound of drums and conches, the fierce yells,
the whistling, the dying screams, the loud and hurried
prayers, the neighing of horses—and now and then
the shriek of some beast mangled by a rough spear,—
the rattling of arrow-heads, the clang of clubs upon
iron bucklers, the heavy fall of a huge stone crushing
a footman to the earth, the plunging of some wounded
wretch strangling in a ditch, and the roar of cannon
at the palace, showing that the battle was universal,—
these together, now made up such a chorus of hellish
sounds as Don Amador confessed to himself he had
never heard before, not even among the horrors of
Rhodes, when sacked by other infidels, then esteemed
the most valiant in the world. But to these dismal
tumults others were speedily added, when Cortes,
Taging with a fury that increased with his despair,
commanded the footmen to fire every house, whose
top afforded footing to the ferocious foe,—a command
that was obeyed with good will, and with dreadful
effect; for though, from the nature of its materials,
and the isolated condition of each structure, it was
not possible to produce a general conflagration, yet
the great quantity of cotton robes, of dry mats, and
of resinous woods about each house, left it so combustible,
that the application of a torch to the door-curtains,
or the casting of a firebrand into the interior,
instantly enveloped it in flames. Among these, when
they burst through the roofs of light rafters, and the
thatching of dried reeds, the pagan warriors perished
miserably; or, flinging themselves desperately down,
were either dashed to pieces, or transfixed by the
lances of the Spaniards.

But the same agent which so dreadfully paralyzed
the efforts of the Mexican, brought suffering scarcely
less disastrous to the Christian ranks. They were
stifled with the smoke, they were scorched by the
flames of the burning houses; and, ever and anon,
some frantic barbarian, perishing among the fires of

his dwelling, and seeking to inflict a horrid vengeance,
grasped, even in his death-gasp, a flaming rafter in
his arms, and sprang down with it upon his foes,
maiming and scorching where he did not kill.

Thus fighting, and thus resisted, weary and despairing,
their bodies covered with blood, their garments
sometimes burning, the Spaniards at last gained
the square that surrounded the palace; and fighting
their way through the herds that invested it, (for, almost
at the same moment that they had been attacked
at the temple, the quarters were again assailed,) and
shouting to the cannoniers, lest they should fire on
them, they placed their feet in the court-yard, and
thanked God for this respite to their sufferings.

It was a respite from death, for behind the stone
wall they were comparatively secure; but not a respite
from labour. The Mexicans abated not a jot of
their ardour. The same herds that covered the square
at dawn, were again yelling at the gates, and with
the same unconquerable fury; and the soldiers, already
fainting with fatigue, with famine, and thirst,
(for they had taken no refreshment since the preceding
evening,) were fain to purchase, painfully, a temporary
safety, by standing to the walls, and keeping
the savages at bay, as they could.

The artillery thundered, the cross-bows twanged,
the arquebuses added their destructive volleys to the
other warlike noises; but the Mexicans, disregarding
these sounds, as well as the havoc made among their
ranks, rushed, in repeated assaults, against the walls,
and, sometimes, with such violence, that they drove
the besieged from the gate, and entered pell-mell with
them into the court-yard. Then, indeed, ensued a
scene of murder; for the Christians, flying again to
the portal, cut off the retreat of such desperadoes, and
slew them within the walls, without loss, and almost
at their leisure.

On such occasions, no one showed more spirit in
attacking, or more fury in slaying, than the young
secretary. The suit of goodly armour sent him by

the admiral, and his rapid proficiency in the practice
of arms, had inflamed his vanity; and he burned to
approve himself worthy the companionship of cavahers.
The native conscientiousness which filled him
with horror at the sight of the first blood shed, the first
life destroyed, by his hand, had vanished as a dream;
for it is excellence of war, that, while developing
our true nature, and remaining, itself, as the link which
binds man to his original state of barbarism, it preserves
him the delights of a savage, without entirely
depriving him of the pleasures of civilization. The
right of shedding blood, mankind enjoy in common
with brutes; and, doubtless, a conformable philosophy
will not frown on the privilege, so long as the loss of
it would contract our circle of enjoyments. There
is something poetical in the diabolism of a fiend, and
as much that is splendid in the ferocity of a tiger;
and though these two qualities be the chief elements
of heroism, they bring with them such accompaniments
of splendour and sentiment, that he would rob
the world of half its glory, as well as much of its
poetry, who should destroy the race of the great,
and leave mankind to the dull innocence of peace.—
There are more millions of human beings, the victims
of war, rotting under the earth, than now move
on its surface.

The pain of wounds had also produced a new effect
in the bosom of Lorenzo; for, instead of cooling
his courage, it now inflamed his rage, and helped to
make him valiant. The mild and feeling boy was
quite transformed into a heartless ruffian; and so
great had become his love of slaughter, and so unscrupulous
his manner of gratifying it, that, once or
twice, Don Amador noticed him, and would have
censured him sharply, but that his attention was immediately
absorbed by the necessity of self-defence. The
cavaliers had dismounted, and the neophyte fought at
the gates on foot. In the midst of an assault, in
which the defenders had been driven back, but which
disgrace they were now repairing, he beheld his ward

struggling with a wounded savage, who grasped his
knees and hand, but in intreaty, not hostility; and
greatly was Don Amador shocked, when he beheld
the secretary disengage his arm, and, with a shout
of triumph, plunge his steel into the throat of the supplicating
barbarian.

“Art thou a devil, Lorenzo?” cried the cavalier,
indignantly. “That was a knave's and a coward's
blow! Thou shalt follow me no longer.”

While he spoke, and left himself unguarded, a
gigantic pagan, taking advantage of his indiscretion,
leaped suddenly upon him, and struck him such a
blow with a maquahuitl, as, but for the strength of
his casque, would have killed him outright. As it was,
the shock so stunned him, as to leave him for a moment,
incapable of defence. In that moment, the
savage, uttering a loud yell, sprang forward to repeat
the blow, or to drag him off a prisoner; when Fabueno,
perceiving the extremity of his patron, and fired
with the opportunity of proving his valour, rushed
between them, and with a lucky blow on the naked
neck of the Mexican, instantly despatched him.

“A valiant stroke, Lorenzo!” said the neophyte,
losing somewhat of his heat, as he recovered his
wits. “But it does not entirely wipe out the shame
of the other. Moderate thy wrath, curb thy fury,
and remember that cruelty is the mark of a dastard.
Strike me no more foes that cry for mercy!”

As his anger had been changed into approbation,
so now were his censures abruptly ended by exclamations
of surprise. For at that instant, Fabueno,
grasping his arm with one hand, and with the other
pointing a little to one side, turned upon him a countenance
full of alarm. He looked around, and beheld
with amazement, his kinsman, Don Gabriel, entirely
unarmed, except with sword and buckler, mingled
with the combatants, shouting a feeble war-cry,
striking faintly, and, indeed, preserved less by his
courage than his appearance, from the bludgeons of
the infidels. His grizzly locks (for he was entirely

bare-headed,) fell over his hollow and bloodless
cheeks, whereon glittered, black and hideous, a single
gout of gore. His face was like the face of the dead;
and the savages recoiled from before him, as if from
a spirit rousing from Mictlan, the world of gloom, to
call them down to his dark dwelling.

In a moment the neophyte, followed by Fabueno,
and Lazaro, who answered to his call, and Marco,
who seemed to have been separated by the melée
from his master, was at the side of Calavar. The
mind of the knight was wholly gone; and he seemed
as if, at the point of death, raised from his couch by
the clamours of the contest, and urged into it by the
instinct of long habit, or by the goadings of madness.

He submitted patiently, and without words, to the
gentle violence of his kinsman, and was straightway
carried to his apartment.