University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

The sufferings of the Spaniards in the streets,
when returning from the pyramid, had admonished
the general of the necessity of devising some plan
of protection against those citizens who fought from
the house-tops, whenever constrained to attempt a
second sortie. Accordingly, the artisans, in obedience
to his commands, had spent the preceding
night in the construction of certain wooden turrets,
sufficiently lofty to overlook the commoner houses,
and strong enough to bid defiance to the darts of the
enemy. They were framed of timbers and planks,
torn from different parts of the palace. Each was
two stories in height, and, in addition, was furnished
with a guard, or battlement over the roof, breast-high,
behind which, some half a score musketeers might
ensconce themselves to advantage, while nearly as
many crossbowmen could be concealed in either
chamber, discharging their weapons from narrow
loop-holes. A little falconet was also placed in the
upper chamber. They were mounted on gun-carriages,
and meant to be drawn by the Indian allies.
They were called at first mantas, or blankets; but
afterwards were nicknamed burros,—either because
they were such silly protections as might have been
devised by the most stupid of animals, which is one
signification of the word, or, because the cannon-wheels,
revolving under the mass, reminded the soldiers

of the great wheel of a mill, which is another
meaning. One of these machines had been completed,
and was now ordered to be taken out,—not
from any apprehension that it might be needed, but
because it appeared to the sagacious general, that,
if fate should imprison him longer in Tenochtitlan,
the present was the best opportunity to instruct his
soldiers in the management of it.

It was already lumbering slowly and clumsily over
the broken square, drawn by some two hundred Tlascalans,
and well manned with soldiers, when Don
Amador passed from the gates. As the cavaliers
rode by, its little garrison, vastly delighted with their
safe and lazy quarters, greeted them with a merry
cheer, the gayest and most sonorous strain of which
was sounded by those who defended the roof. As Don
Amador looked curiously up, he was hailed by a voice
not yet forgotten, and beheld, perched among others,
whom he seemed to command, on the very top of the
manta, the master of the caravel.

“I give you a good day, noble Don Amador!”
said this commander, with a grin. “I am not now
aboard of such a bark as the little Sangre de Cristo;
but, for navigating through a beleagured city, especially
among such cut-throats as we have here in Tenochtitlan,
perhaps a better ship could not be invented.”

“Thou art then resolved,” said the cavalier, with
a smile, “that this people is not far behind the race
of Florida?”

“Ay! I cannot but believe it; and I ask their pardon,
for having so greatly belied them,” said the
captain; “for more ferocious devils than these, never
saw I;—they dwell not among the lagoons of the
north.”

“And dost thou remember thy wager?” said Don
Amador, losing the little gayety that was on his visage,
at the recollection.

“Concerning my soul, (which heaven have in keeping!)
and the cotton neck-piece?” cried the sailor,
with a grim look.—“Ay, by my faith, I do. If we

fly this day, the first part of the venture is accomplished;
for true valour must acknowledge a defeat,
as well as boast a victory. And if we do not, I am
even ready to wager over again for the second, touching
heaven. Three more such days as yesterday,
and God bless us all! But it is a good death to die,
fighting the heathen! At the worst, I have cheated
the devil;—for the padre Olmedo absolved me this
morning.”

Don Amador rode forward, relapsing into gloom.

The streets were, for a time, deserted and silent, as
if the inhabitants had fled from the island; and when,
now and then, the cavaliers halted, to deliberate on
their course, to list for the cries of human voices, or
to watch the progress of the tottering manta, already
far behind, the sound of shrubs rustling together on
the terraces, came to their ears with the melancholy
cadences of a desert. Sometimes, indeed, in these
pauses, they heard, from the recesses of a dwelling,
which otherwise seemed forsaken, faint groans, as
of a wounded foeman dying without succour; and,
occasionally, to these were added the low sobs of
women, lamenting a sire or brother. But they had
approached the limits of the island, and almost within
view of the causeway, without yet beholding an
enemy, when a warning gesture from the hands of
Don Hernan, at the front, brought them to a halt;
and, as they stood in silence, they heard, coming
faintly on the breeze, and, as it seemed, from a street
which crossed their path, a little in advance, such
sounds of flutes and tabours as had, the day before,
conducted the mysterious priestess to the pyramid.

Don Amador's heart beat with a strange agitation,
as he listened; and he burned again to look on the
countenance of this divine representative of a pagan
divinity. Whether it was the dejection of his spirits,
which gave its own character to the music, or whether
indeed this was now breathed from the lips of
mourners, he thought not to inquire; but others were
struck with the wild sadness of the strain, and gazed

inquisitively upon one another, as if to gather its
meaning. While they thus exchanged looks, and
awaited the issue of the event, the sounds approached,
growing louder, but losing none of their melancholy;
and a train of priests, in long black robes,
and with downcast eyes, followed by boys with
smoking censers, at last stole on their view, slowly
crossing the street on which they had halted. At
this moment, and just as the prophetess (for it was
she who stood, as before, under the feathered canopy,
carried by the devotees,) came into sight, the roar of
a cannon, bellowing afar from the palace, startled
the cavaliers from their tranquillity; and, in the assurance
of new conflicts, destroyed, at once, their
hope of peaceful escape. This explosion, as was afterwards
discovered, was rather the cause than the
consequence of hostilities; for the Mexicans, after
the sortie of Cortes, approaching the citadel in great
numbers, to beseech the body of their king, not doubting
that he was slain, the Spaniards had mistaken
their grief for renewing rage, and immediately fired
upon them.

A furious scowl darkened the visage of Don Hernan,
as this distant discharge swept away his hopes;
and rising on his stirrups, he cried to his companions,

“Let us seize the person of this accursed priestess,
—demon, or woman,—who profanes the holiness of
Our Lady, and incenses the hearts of the rabble! On,
and be quick; for 'tis an easy prize, and may replace
the emperor!”

Until this moment, the train, casting their eyes
neither to the right nor left, and raising them not
even at the roar of the cannon, had been ignorant of
the presence of the Spaniards. But when the harsh
voice of the Christian drowned the breathings of the
flutes, they paused, looking towards him in affright;
and again, for an instant, the lustrous eyes of the
prophetess fell upon the visage of Don Amador. His
heart heaved with a sickening sensation; and the impulse
which had before driven to flight his better

judgment, assailed him anew with violence. His
voice shouted with the rest, but it uttered the name
of Leila; and, as if, indeed, he beheld the lost maid
of Almeria, or her phantom, he spurred towards the
prophetess full as madly as when she vanished, before,
under the Wall of Serpents. But the train, scattering
at once, fled in horror from the Spaniards,
escaping into the neighbouring houses. The object
of the outrage, nevertheless, seemed in the power of
the cavaliers; for though the bearers deserted her not,
they fled but slowly under their burden.

But there were protectors nigh, of whom the Spaniards
had not dreamed; and even Cortes himself
reined back his horse with dismay, when, suddenly,
there sprang from the intersecting street a multitude
of armed nobles, interposing their bodies between
him and his victim; and his eye, running an instant
down the street, beheld them followed by a myriad
of pagans without end.

“Back to the manta!” cried the general, hastily;
“for these dogs are armed, and the men of the turret
have no aid!—Hark! hear ye not the howls? Rein
round, and back! They are slaying my Tlascalans!”

Before the neophyte could recover from his confusion
of mind, he found himself turned round and
borne along with the mass of galloping horsemen.
The Mexicans uttered a cry, as with one impulse, and
followed furiously after.

In the crowd of thought that distracted him, Don
Amador remembered the words of Botello, and believed
that he was, indeed, labouring under some enchantment,
which made him a misfortune to his
friends. But not long had he leisure for such meditations.
The loud yells of combatants, and the sounds
of arquebuses, in front, increased at each step; and,
quickly turning an angle in the street, he found himself
in the midst of conflict.

An immense herd of men had surrounded the
manta, and were engaged hand to hand with the
Tlascalans who drew it; while the Spaniards on its

top defended themselves, at a disadvantage, from
many Mexicans, stationed on the terrace of a lofty
house, the dwelling of some superb Tlatoani. So near
indeed was the turret to the walls of this edifice, and
so high above it was the latter, that the huge stones
tumbled from the battlements, fell with great certainty
on its roof, crushing the men of the caravel, and
beating down both the wooden parapet and the platform.
At the same time, certain savages, with long
poles, struck at the defenders, and thrusting the points
of their weapons into its breaches, endeavoured to
topple it to the ground. As it rocked thus to and fro,
the violent motion entirely prevented the little garrison
from making use of their arms; and with wild
cries to their friends, to seize the ropes, dropped by
the Tlascalans, and drag the manta from the palace,
they were seen holding by its sides as well as they
could, receiving, without returning, the blows of their
adversaries. The necessity of obeying their prayer
was seen more plainly than the means; for the crowd
of mingled Tlascalans and Mexicans that surrounded
the crazy machine, was impenetrable; and had it been
so, the appearance of the manta, threatening each moment
to fall, would have deterred the boldest from
approaching its dangerous vicinity.

As it was, the cavaliers gave what aid they could.
They thrust their spears into the mass of Indians,
shouting to the Tlascalans to disengage themselves
from the enemy. But these shouts, if the allies did
not indeed receive them rather as encouragement to
fight the more fiercely, dissolved not the bloody melée
into its components of friend and foe; and many a
Tlascalan died, that day, pierced through the heart
by spears, which their bearers thought were thrust
through the breasts of Mexicans.

In the meanwhile, the heavy burro was shaken
still more violently; and Don Amador, looking up,
beheld the master of the caravel alone on the top,
(for his sailors were already slain) grasping despairingly
at a fragment of the parapet; while stones and

darts were showered upon him from the adjoining
terrace, and a heavy pole, aimed by a lusty barbarian,
struck him with merciless severity. His countenance
was pale, his eye haggard, and his honourable scars,
now livid, and almost black, were relieved, like fresh
wounds, on his ghastly brow. His helmet had fallen
to the ground; and the sight of his gray hairs shaking
over his scarred front, as he was tossed up and down,
like one bound hand and foot on the back of a wild
animal, inflamed the neophyte with both rage and
pity.

“Loose thy hold! drop upon the Indians, and take
thy chance among them!” he cried at the top of his
voice. “What ho! friend Gomez! wilt thou lie there,
and perish?”—

It seemed as if the voice of the cavalier had not
passed unheard; for the wretched man was seen to
raise himself on his knees, and look down to the fighting
men below, as if meditating a leap; when suddenly
a great stone fell on the platform with a crashing
noise, and, at the same moment, the manta,
lurching like an ill-ballasted ship before a hurricane,
staggered over its balance, and fell with a tremendous
shock to the ground. The neophyte thought not of
the miserable combatants, crushed in its fall. He
beheld the voyager, at the instant of its destruction,
hurled from the ruin, as if from some mighty balista
of ancient days, clear over the heads of the Indians,
and dashed, a mangled and hideous corse, almost at
his feet.

“God pity thee!” he cried, with a shudder; “thy
words are made good, thy wager is won,—and the
saints that died for the faith, take thee to paradise!”

“Do ye hear! Ho! to your lances, and back upon
the wolves that are behind us!” cried the trumpet-voice
of Don Hernan. The neophyte turned, and
clapping spurs to Fogoso, charged, with the cavaliers,
upon those squadrons which had pursued them;—
but, like his companions, he checked his horse with
surprise, and no little consternation, when he beheld

in what manner the infidels were prepared to receive
them. The street was packed with their bodies, as
far as the eye could see; and darts and swords of
obsidian were seen flashing above the heads of the
most distant multitude; but he perceived that those
combatants who stood in front, stretching from wall
to wall, were armed with long spears, mostly, indeed,
with wooden points, sharpened, and fire-hardened,
though some few were seen with copper blades, full
a yard in length, which they handled with singular
and menacing address. Thus, no sooner did the cavaliers
approach them, than those of the first rank, dropping,
like trained soldiers, to their knees, planted the
buts of their weapons on the ground, while those
held by others behind, were thrust over the shoulders
of the kneelers, and presented, together, such a wall
of bristling spines, as caused the bravest to hesitate.

“Have we Ottomies of the hills here!” cried Don
Hernan, aghast. “Or are these weapons, and this
mode of using them, the teaching of the traitor Moor?”

A loud shout, mingled with laughs of fierce derision,
testified the triumph of the barbarians; and Cortes,
stung with fury, though hesitating to attack, called
for his musketeers, to break the line of opponents.

“Our musketeers are in heaven! carried up in the
fiend of a burro!” cried Alvarado, waving his sword,
and eyeing the vaunting herd. “Before the days of
saltpetre, true men were wont to shoot their foes
without it.—All that is to be done, is to conceive we
are hunting foxes, and leaping over a farmer's wall.
Soho! Saladin, mouse! And all that are brave gentlemen,
follow me! Hah!”—

As he concluded, the madcap soldier spurred his
steed Saladin, and, uttering a war-cry, dashed fearlessly
on the spearmen. Before he had yet parted
from his companions, Don Amador de Leste, fired,
in spite of his melancholy, by the boldness of the
exploit, and unwilling to be outdone by a cavalier of
the islands, brushed up to his side, and spurring Fogoso

at the same moment, the two hidalgos straightway
vaulted among the barbarians.

The show of resolution maintained by the exulting
spearmen, while the Christians stood yet at a distance,
vanished when they beheld those animals, which they
always regarded with a superstitious awe, rushing
upon them with eyes of fury, and feet of thunder. To
this faltering, perhaps, it was owing, that the two
Dons were not instantly slain; for, though the heavy
armour that guarded the chests and loins of the
steeds, could repel the thrust of a wooden spear as
well as the corslets of their riders, no such protection
sheathed their bellies; and had they been there pierced,
their masters must instantly have perished. As it was,
however, the front rank recoiled, and when it closed
again, the cavaliers were seen wielding their swords,
(for in such a melée their spears were useless,) and
striking valiantly about them, but entirely surrounded.

“Shall we be thus shamed, my masters?” cried
Don Hernan, sharply. “Methinks there are two
more such cavaliers in this company?—Santiago, and
at them!”

Thus saying, and, with a word, inflaming their
pride, he leaped against the foe, followed by all the
horsemen.

The two leaders in this desperate assault had
vanished,—swallowed up, as it were, in the vortex
of contention; and it was not until his friends heard
the voice of Alvarado exclaiming, wildly, as if in
extremity, “Help me, De Leste, true friend! for I am
unhorsed! Help me, or the hell-hounds will have me
to the temple!”—that they were convinced the young
men were living.

“Be of good heart!” cried Don Amador, (for he
was at his side,) drawing his sabre, with a dexterous
sleight, over the sinewy arms that clutched his companion,
and releasing, without doing him harm. “If
thou art disarmed, draw my dagger from the sheath
and use it; and fear not that I will leave thee, till
rescued by others.”

“Who gets my sword, takes the arm along with
it!” cried Alvarado, grasping again his chained weapon,
and dealing fierce blows, as he spoke. “I will
remember the act—Ho! false friends! forsworn soldiers!
condemned Christians! why leave ye us unsupported?”

“Courage, and strike well! we are near,” answered
Don Hernan. “Press on, friends; trample the curs
to death! Join we our true cavaliers; and then sweep
back for victory!”—

“Where goest thou, now, mad Amador?” they
heard the voice of Alvarado exclaiming; “Return:
thy horse is shoed with piraguas; but mine sticks fast
in this bog of flesh. Return; for, by heaven, I can
follow thee no further!”

“Come on, as thou art a true man; for I am sore
beset, and wounded!” These words, from the lips
of the neophyte, came yet through the din of yells;
but it seemed to those who listened, that there was
feebleness in the voice that uttered them.

“Onward!” cried Cortes, with a voice of thunder,
and urging his dun steed furiously over the trampled
barbarians; “the young man shall not perish!”

A wolf-hound, weary and spent with the chase,
suddenly surrounded by a whole pack of the destroyers
he has been tracking, and falling under the fangs
of his quarry, may figure the condition of Don Amador
de Leste, surrounded and seized upon by the
enemy. Nothing but the vigour of powerful and
fiery-spirited steeds could have carried the two cavaliers
so far into a crowd of warriors almost compacted.
While the neophyte gave assistance to his
friend, a dozen blows of the maquahuitl were rained
upon his body; and so closely was he invested immediately
after, (when, as Alvarado reined in his steed
to await the rest, the two cavaliers were separated,)
that he thought no longer of warding off blows; but
giving himself up to smiting, he trusted to the strength
of his mail for protection. But the heavy bludgeons
bruised where they could not wound; and his armour

being, at last, broken by the fury of the blows,
the sharp glass penetrated to his flesh, and he began
to bleed. He cast his eye over his shoulder, for his
strength was failing; but the plume of Don Pedro
waved at a distance behind, and the shouts of Cortes
seemed to come from afar. He turned his horse's
head, to retreat; but half a dozen savages, emboldened
by this symptom of defeat, clutched upon the
bridle; and the hand he raised to smite at them, was
seized by as many others. It was at this moment
that he called out to his companion, in the words we
have recorded; but the answer, if answer were made,
was drowned in the savage yells of exultation, with
which his foes beheld him in their power. He collected
all his energies, struggled violently, and striking
the rowels deep, and animating Fogoso with his
voice, hoped, by one bound, to spring clear of his
capturers. The gallant steed vaulted on high, but
fell again to the earth, under the weight of the
many that clung to him: and a dozen new hands
were added to those that already throttled the rider.

“Rescue me, if ye be men!” he cried, with a voice
that prevailed over the uproar.—The cry was echoed
by twenty Christian voices hard by, and a gleam of
hope entered into his heart. Another furious struggle,
another plunge of Fogoso, and he thought that the
hands of his enemies were at last unclenching. A
bright weapon flashed before his eyes—It was steel,
and therefore the falchion of a friend!—It fell upon
his helmet with irresistible weight; his brain spun,
his eyes darkened, and he fell, or rather was dragged,
like a dead man, from his horse. But ere his eyes
had yet closed, their last glance was fixed on the
visage of the striker; and the sting of benefits forgotten
was added to the bitterness of death, when,
in this, he perceived the features of Abdalla, the
Moor.

In an instant more, the barbarians parted in terror
before the great Teuctli.

“Where art thou, De Leste?” he cried. “We are
here, to rescue thee!”

As he spoke, there sprang, with a fierce bound,
from among the Mexicans, the well-known bay, Fogoso,
his foamy sides streaked with gore, the stirrups
rattling against his armed flanks, the reins flying in
the air,—but no rider on the saddle.

“By heaven, false friends! craven gentlemen! you
have lost the bravest of your supporters!” cried Don
Hernan. “On! for he may yet live: on! for we will
avenge him!”

The band, resolute now in their wrath, plunged
fiercely through the mob. They struck down many
enemies,—they trampled upon many corses; but,
among them, they found not the body of De Leste.