3. COUNCIL OF WAR-SPANIARDS EVACUATE THE
CITY-NOCHE TRISTE, OR "THE MELANCHOLY NIGHT"-TERRIBLE SLAUGHTER-HALT
FOR THE NIGHT-AMOUNT OF LOSSES
THERE was no longer any question as to the expediency of
evacuating the capital. The only doubt was as to the time of doing so,
and the route. The Spanish commander called a council of officers to
deliberate on these matters. It was his purpose to retreat on
Tlascala, and in that capital to decide according to circumstances
on his future operations. After some discussion, they agreed on the
causeway of Tlacopan as the avenue by which to leave the city. It
would, indeed, take them back by a circuitous route, considerably
longer than either of those by which they had approached the
capital. But, for that reason, it would be less likely to be
guarded, as least suspected; and the causeway, itself being shorter
than either of the other entrances, would sooner place the army in
comparative security on the main land.
There was some difference of opinion in respect to the hour of
departure. The day-time, it was argued by some, would be preferable,
since it would enable them to see the nature and extent of their
danger, and to provide against it. Darkness would be much more
likely to embarrass their own movements than those of the enemy, who
were familiar with the ground. A thousand impediments would occur in
the night, which might prevent their acting in concert, or obeying, or
even ascertaining, the orders of the commander. But, on the other
hand, it was urged, that the night presented many obvious advantages
in dealing with a foe who rarely carried his hostilities beyond the
day. The late active operations of the Spaniards had thrown the
Mexicans off their guard, and it was improbable they would
anticipate so speedy a departure of their enemies. With celerity and
caution they might succeed, therefore, in making their escape from the
town, possibly over the causeway, before their retreat should be
discovered; and, could they once get beyond that pass of peril, they
felt little apprehension for the rest.
These views were fortified, it is said, by the counsels of a
soldier named Botello, who professed the mysterious science of
judicial astrology. He had gained credit with the army by some
predictions which had been verified by the events; those lucky hits
which make chance pass for calculation with the credulous multitude.
This man recommended to his countrymen by all means to evacuate the
place in the night, as the hour most propitious to them, although he
should perish in it. The event proved the astrologer better acquainted
with his own horoscope than with that of others.
It is possible Botello's predictions had some weight in
determining the opinion of Cortes. Superstition was the feature of the
age, and the Spanish general, as we have seen, had a full measure of
its bigotry. Seasons of gloom, moreover, dispose the mind to a ready
acquiescence in the marvellous. It is, however, quite as probable that
he made use of the astrologer's opinion, finding it coincided with his
own, to influence that of his men, and inspire them with higher
confidence. At all events, it was decided to abandon the city that
very night.
The general's first care was to provide for the safe
transportation of the treasure. Many of the common soldiers had
converted their share of the prize, as we have seen, into gold chains,
collars, or other ornaments, which they easily carried about their
persons. But the royal fifth, together with that of Cortes himself,
and much of the rich booty of the principal cavaliers had been
converted into bars and wedges of solid gold, and deposited in one
of the strong apartments of the palace. Cortes delivered the share
belonging to the crown to the royal officers, assigning them one of
the strongest horses, and a guard of Castilian soldiers to transport
it. Still, much of the treasure belonging both to the crown and to
individuals was necessarily abandoned, from the want of adequate means
of conveyance. The metal lay scattered in shining heaps along the
floor, exciting the cupidity of the soldiers. "Take what you will of
it," said Cortes to his men. "Better you should have it than these
Mexican hounds. But be careful not to overload yourselves. He
travels safest in the dark night who travels lightest." His own more
wary followers took heed to his counsel, helping themselves to a few
articles of least bulk, though, it might be, of greatest value. But
the troops of Narvaez, pining for riches, of which they had heard so
much, and hitherto seen so little, showed no such discretion. To
them it seemed as if the very mines of Mexico were turned up before
them, and, rushing on the treacherous spoil, they greedily loaded
themselves with as much of it, not merely as they could accommodate
about their persons, but as they could stow away in wallets, boxes, or
any other mode of conveyance at their disposal.
Cortes next arranged the order of march. The van, composed of
two hundred Spanish foot, he placed under the command of the valiant
Gonzalo de Sandoval, supported by Diego de Ordaz, Francisco de Lugo,
and about twenty other cavaliers. The rear-guard, constituting the
strength of the infantry, was intrusted to Pedro de Alvarado and
Velasquez de Leon. The general himself took charge of the "battle," or
centre, in which went the baggage, some of the heavy guns, most of
which, however, remained in the rear, the treasure, and the prisoners.
These consisted of a son and two daughters of Montezuma, Cacama, the
deposed lord of Tezcuco, and several other nobles, whom Cortes
retained as important pledges in his future negotiations with the
enemy. The Tlascalans were distributed pretty equally among the
three divisions; and Cortes had under his immediate command a
hundred picked soldiers, his own veterans most attached to his
service, who, with Christoval de Olid, Francisco de Morla, Alonso de
Avila, and two or three other cavaliers, formed a select corps, to act
wherever occasion might require.
The general had already superintended the construction of a
portable bridge to be laid over the open canals in the causeway.
This was given in charge to an officer named Magarino, with forty
soldiers under his orders, all pledged to defend the passage to the
last extremity. The bridge was to be taken up when the entire army had
crossed one of the breaches, and transported to the next. There were
three of these openings in the causeway, and most fortunate would it
have been for the expedition, if the foresight of the commander had
provided the same number of bridges. But the labour would have been
great, and time was short.
At midnight the troops were under arms, in readiness for the
march. Mass was performed by Father Olmedo, who invoked the protection
of the Almighty through the awful perils of the night. The gates
were thrown open, and, on the first of July, 1520, the Spaniards for
the last time sallied forth from the walls of the ancient fortress,
the scene of so much suffering and such indomitable courage.
The night was cloudy, and a drizzling rain, which fell without
intermission, added to the obscurity. The great square before the
palace was deserted, as, indeed, it had been since the fall of
Montezuma. Steadily, and as noiselessly as possible, the Spaniards
held their way along the great street of Tlacopan, which so lately had
resounded to the tumult of battle. All was now hushed in silence;
and they were only reminded of the past by the occasional presence
of some solitary corpse, or a dark heap of the slain, which too
plainly told where the strife had been hottest. As they passed along
the lanes and alleys which opened into the great street, or looked
down the canals, whose polished surface gleamed with a sort of ebon
lustre through the obscurity of night, they easily fancied that they
discerned the shadowy forms of their foe lurking in ambush, and
ready to spring on them. But it was only fancy; and the city slept
undisturbed even by the prolonged echoes of the tramp of the horses,
and the hoarse rumbling of the artillery and baggage trains. At length
a lighter space beyond the dusky line of buildings showed the van of
the army that it was emerging on the open causeway. They might well
have congratulated themselves on having thus escaped the dangers of an
assault in the city itself, and that a brief time would place them
in comparative safety on the opposite shore. But the Mexicans were not
all asleep.
As the Spaniards drew near the spot where the street opened on the
causeway, and were preparing to lay the portable bridge across the
uncovered breach which now met their eyes, several Indian sentinels,
who had been stationed at this, as at the other approaches to the
city, took the alarm, and fled, rousing their countrymen by their
cries. The priests, keeping their night watch on the summit of the
teocallis, instantly caught the tidings and sounded their shells,
while the huge drum in the desolite temple of the war-god sent forth
those solemn tones, which, heard only in seasons of calamity, vibrated
through every corner of the capital. The Spaniards saw that no time
was to be lost. The bridge was brought forward and fitted with all
possible expedition. Sandoval was the first to try its strength,
and, riding across, was followed by his little body of chivalry, his
infantry, and Tlascalan allies, who formed the first division of the
army. Then came Cortes and his squadrons, with the baggage, ammunition
wagons, and a part of the artillery. But before they had time to
defile across the narrow passage, a gathering sound was heard, like
that of a mighty forest agitated by the winds. It grew louder and
louder, while on the dark waters of the lake was heard a splashing
noise, as of many oars. Then came a few stones and arrows striking
at random among the hurrying troops. They fell every moment faster and
more furious, till they thickened into a terrible tempest, while the
very heavens were rent with the yells and war-cries of myriads of
combatants, who seemed all at once to be swarming over land and lake!
The Spaniards pushed steadily on through this arrowy sleet, though
the barbarians, dashing their canoes against the sides of the
causeway, clambered up and broke in upon their ranks. But the
Christians, anxious only to make their escape, declined all combat
except for self-preservation. The cavaliers, spurring forward their
steeds, shook off their assailants, and rode over their prostrate
bodies, while the men on foot with their good swords or the butts of
their pieces drove them headlong again down the sides of the dike.
But the advance of several thousand men, marching, probably, on
a front of not more than fifteen or twenty abreast, necessarily
required much time, and the leading files had already reached the
second breach in the causeway before those in the rear had entirely
traversed the first. Here they halted; as they had no means of
effecting a passage, smarting all the while under unintermitting
volleys from the enemy, who were clustered thick on the waters
around this second opening. Sorely distressed, the vanguard sent
repeated messages to the rear to demand the portable bridge. At length
the last of the army had crossed, and Magarino and his sturdy
followers endeavoured to raise the ponderous framework. But it stuck
fast in the sides of the dike. In vain they strained every nerve.
The weight of so many men and horses, and above all of the heavy
artillery, had wedged the timbers so firmly in the stones and earth,
that it was beyond their power to dislodge them. Still they laboured
amidst a torrent of missiles, until, many of them slain, and all
wounded, they were obliged to abandon the attempt.
The tidings soon spread from man to man, and no sooner was their
dreadful import comprehended, than a cry of despair arose, which for a
moment drowned all the noise of conflict. All means of retreat were
cut off. Scarcely hope was left. The only hope was in such desperate
exertions as each could make for himself. Order and subordination were
at an end. Intense danger produced intense selfishness. Each thought
only of his own life. Pressing forward, he trampled down the weak
and the wounded, heedless whether it were friend or foe. The leading
files, urged on by the rear, were crowded on the brink of the gulf.
Sandoval, Ordaz, and the other cavaliers dashed into the water. Some
succeeded in swimming their horses across; others failed, and some,
who reached the opposite bank, being overturned in the ascent,
rolled headlong with their steeds into the lake. The infantry followed
pellmell, heaped promiscuously on one another, frequently pierced by
the shafts, or struck down by the war-clubs of the Aztecs; while
many an unfortunate victim was dragged half-stunned on board their
canoes, to be reserved for a protracted, but more dreadful death.
The carnage raged fearfully along the length of the causeway.
Its shadowy bulk presented a mark of sufficient distinctness for the
enemy's missiles, which often prostrated their own countrymen in the
blind fury of the tempest. Those nearest the dike, running their
canoes alongside, with a force that shattered them to pieces, leaped
on the land and grappled with the Christians, until both came
rolling down the side of the causeway together. But the Aztec fell
among his friends, while his antagonist was borne away in triumph to
the sacrifice. The struggle was long and deadly. The Mexicans were
recognised by their white cotton tunics, which showed faint through
the darkness. Above the combatants rose a wild and discordant clamour,
in which horrid shouts of vengeance were mingled with groans of agony,
with invocations of the saints and the blessed Virgin, and with the
screams of women; for there were several women, both native and
Spaniards, who had accompanied the Christian camp. Among these, one
named Maria de Estrada is particularly noticed for the courage she
displayed, battling with broadsword and target like the staunchest
of the warriors.
The opening in the causeway, meanwhile, was filled up with the
wreck of matter which had been forced into it, ammunition wagons,
heavy guns, bales of rich stuffs scattered over the waters, chests
of solid ingots, and bodies of men and horses, till over this dismal
ruin a passage was gradually formed, by which those in the rear were
enabled to clamber to the other side. Cortes, it is said, found a
place that was fordable, where halting with the water up to his
saddle-girths, he endeavoured to check the confusion, and lead his
followers by a safer path to the opposite bank. But his voice was lost
in the wild uproar, and finally, hurrying on with the tide, he pressed
forward with a few trusty cavaliers, who remained near his person,
to the van; but not before he had seen his favourite page, Juan de
Salazar, struck down, a corpse, by his side. Here he found Sandoval
and his companions, halting before the third and last breach,
endeavouring to cheer on their followers to surmount it. But their
resolution faltered. It was wide and deep; though the passage was
not so closely beset by the enemy as the preceding ones. The cavaliers
again set the example by plunging into the water. Horse and foot
followed as they could, some swimming, others with dying grasp
clinging to the manes and tails of the struggling animals. Those fared
best, as the general had predicted, who travelled lightest; and many
were the unfortunate wretches, who, weighed down by the fatal gold
which they loved so well, were buried with it in the salt floods of
the lake. Cortes, with his gallant comrades, Olid, Morla, Sandoval,
and some few others, still kept in the advance, leading his broken
remnant off the fatal causeway. The din of battle lessened in the
distance; when the rumour reached them, that the rear-guard would be
wholly overwhelmed without speedy relief. It seemed almost an act of
desperation; but the generous hearts of the Spanish cavaliers did
not stop to calculate danger when the cry for succour reached them.
Turning their horses' bridles, they galloped back to the theatre of
action, worked their way through the press, swam the canal, and placed
themselves in the thick of the melee on the opposite bank.
The first grey of the morning was now coming over the waters. It
showed the hideous confusion of the scene which had been shrouded in
the obscurity of night. The dark masses of combatants, stretching
along the dike, were seen struggling for mastery, until the very
causeway on which they stood appeared to tremble, and reel to and fro,
as if shaken by an earthquake; while the bosom of the lake, as far
as the eye could reach, was darkened by canoes crowded with
warriors, whose spears and bludgeons, armed with blades of "volcanic
glass," gleamed in the morning light.
The cavaliers found Alvarado unhorsed, and defending himself
with a poor handful of followers against an overwhelming tide of the
enemy. His good steed, which had borne him through many a hard
fight, had fallen under him. He was himself wounded in several places,
and was striving in vain to rally his scattered column, which was
driven to the verge of the canal by the fury of the enemy, then in
possession of the whole rear of the causeway, where they were
reinforced every hour by fresh combatants from the city. The artillery
in the earlier part of the engagement had not been idle, and its
iron shower, sweeping along the dike, had mowed down the assailants by
hundreds. But nothing could resist their impetuosity. The front ranks,
pushed on by those behind, were at length forced up to the pieces,
and, pouring over them like a torrent, overthrew men and guns in one
general ruin. The resolute charge of the Spanish cavaliers, who had
now arrived, created a temporary check, and gave time for their
countrymen to make a feeble rally. But they were speedily borne down
by the returning flood. Cortes and his companions were compelled to
plunge again into the lake,-though all did not escape. Alvarado stood
on the brink for a moment, hesitating what to do. Unhorsed as he
was, to throw himself into the water in the face of the hostile canoes
that now swarmed around the opening, afforded but a desperate chance
of safety. He had but a second for thought. He was a man of powerful
frame, and despair gave him unnatural energy. Setting his long lance
firmly on the wreck which strewed the bottom of the lake, he sprung
forward with all his might, and cleared the wide gap at a leap! Aztecs
and Tlascalans gazed in stupid amazement, exclaiming, as they beheld
the incredible feat, "This is truly the Tonatiuh,-the child of the
Sun!"-The breadth of the opening is not given. But it was so great,
that the valorous Captain Diaz, who well remembered the place, says
the leap was impossible to any man. Other contemporaries, however,
do not discredit the story.
Cortes and his companions now rode forward to the front, where the
troops in a loose, disorderly manner, were marching off the fatal
causeway. A few only of the enemy hung on their rear, or annoyed
them by occasional flights of arrows from the lake. The attention of
the Aztecs was diverted by the rich spoil that strewed the
battle-ground; fortunately for the Spaniards, who, had their enemy
pursued with the same ferocity with which he had fought, would, in
their crippled condition, have been cut off, probably to a man. But
little molested, therefore, they were allowed to defile through the
adjacent village, or suburbs, it might be called, of Popotla.
The Spanish commander there dismounted from his jaded steed,
and, sitting down on the steps of an Indian temple, gazed mournfully
on the broken files as they passed before him. What a spectacle did
they present! The cavalry, most of them dismounted, were mingled
with the infantry, who dragged their feeble limbs along with
difficulty; their shattered mail and tattered garments dripping with
the salt ooze, showing through their rents many a bruise and ghastly
wound; their bright arms soiled, their proud crests and banners
gone, the baggage, artillery-all, in short, that constitutes the
pride and panoply of glorious war, for ever lost. Cortes, as he looked
wistfully on their thinned and disordered ranks, sought in vain for
many a familiar face, and missed more than one dear companion who
had stood side by side with him through all the perils of the
Conquest. Though accustomed to control his emotions, or, at least,
to conceal them, the sight was too much for him. He covered his face
with his hands, and the tears which trickled down revealed too plainly
the anguish of his soul.
He found some consolation, however, in the sight of several of the
cavaliers on whom he most relied. Alvarado, Sandoval, Olid, Ordaz,
Avila, were yet safe. He had the inexpressible satisfaction, also,
of learning the safety of the Indian interpreter, Marina, so dear to
him, and so important to the army. She had been committed with a
daughter of a Tlascalan chief, to several of that nation. She was
fortunately placed in the van, and her faithful escort had carried her
securely through all the dangers of the night. Aguilar, the other
interpreter, had also escaped; and it was with no less satisfaction
that Cortes learned the safety of the ship-builder, Martin Lopez.
The general's solicitude for the fate of this man, so indispensable,
as he proved, to the success of his subsequent operations, showed that
amidst all his affliction, his indomitable spirit was looking
forward to the hour of vengeance.
Meanwhile, the advancing column had reached the neighbouring
city of Tlacopan (Tacuba), once the capital of an independent
principality. There it halted in the great street, as if bewildered
and altogether uncertain what course to take. Cortes, who had
hastily mounted and rode on to the front again, saw the danger of
remaining in a populous place, where the inhabitants might sorely
annoy the troops from the azoteas, with little risk to themselves.
Pushing forward, therefore, he soon led them into the country. There
he endeavoured to reform his disorganised battalions, and bring them
to something like order.
Hard by, at no great distance on the left, rose an eminence,
looking towards a chain of mountains which fences in the valley on the
west. It was called the Hill of Otoncalpolco, and sometimes the Hill
of Montezuma. It was crowned with an Indian teocalli, with its large
outworks of stone covering an ample space, and by its strong position,
which commanded the neighbouring plain, promised a good place of
refuge for the exhausted troops. But the men, disheartened and
stupefied by their late reverses, seemed for the moment incapable of
further exertion; and the place was held by a body of armed Indians.
Cortes saw the necessity of dislodging them, if he would save the
remains of his army from entire destruction. The event showed he still
held a control over their wills stronger than circumstances
themselves. Cheering them on, and supported by his gallant
cavaliers, he succeeded in infusing into the most sluggish something
of his own intrepid temper, and led them up the ascent in face of
the enemy. But the latter made slight resistance, and after a few
feeble volleys of missiles which did little injury, left the ground to
the assailants.
It was covered by a building of considerable size, and furnished
ample accommodations for the diminished numbers of the Spaniards. They
found there some provisions; and more, it is said, were brought to
them in the course of the day from some friendly Otomie villages in
the neighbourhood. There was, also, a quantity of fuel in the
courts, destined to the uses of the temple. With this they made
fires to dry their drenched garments, and busily employed themselves
in dressing one another's wounds, stiff and extremely painful from
exposure and long exertion. Thus refreshed, the weary soldiers threw
themselves down on the floor and courts of the temple, and soon
found the temporary oblivion which Nature seldom denies even in the
greatest extremity of suffering.
There was one eye in that assembly, however, which we may well
believe did not so speedily close. For what agitating thoughts must
have crowded on the mind of their commander, as he beheld his poor
remnant of followers thus huddled together in this miserable
bivouac! And this was all that survived of the brilliant array with
which but a few weeks since he had entered the capital of Mexico!
Where now were his dreams of conquest and empire? And what was he
but a luckless adventurer, at whom the finger of scorn would be
uplifted as a madman? Whichever way he turned, the horizon was
almost equally gloomy, with scarcely one light spot to cheer him. He
had still a weary journey before him, through perilous and unknown
paths, with guides of whose fidelity he could not be assured. And
how could he rely on his reception at Tlascala, the place of his
destination; the land of his ancient enemies; where, formerly as a
foe, and now as a friend, he had brought desolation to every family
within its borders?
Yet these agitating and gloomy reflections, which might have
crushed a common mind, had no power over that of Cortes; or rather,
they only served to renew his energies, and quicken his perceptions,
as the war of the elements purifies and gives elasticity to the
atmosphere. He looked with an unblenching eye on his past reverses;
but, confident in his own resources, he saw a light through the
gloom which others could not. Even in the shattered relics which lay
around him, resembling in their haggard aspect and wild attire a horde
of famished outlaws, he discerned the materials out of which to
reconstruct his ruined fortunes. In the very hour of discomfiture
and general despondency, there is no doubt that his heroic spirit
was meditating the plan of operations which he afterwards pursued with
such dauntless constancy.
The loss sustained by the Spaniards on this fatal night, like
every other event in the history of the Conquest, is reported with the
greatest discrepancy. If we believe Cortes' own letter, it did not
exceed one hundred and fifty Spaniards and two thousand Indians. But
the general's bulletins, while they do full justice to the
difficulties to be overcome, and the importance of the results, are
less scrupulous in stating the extent either of his means or of his
losses. Thoan Cano, one of the cavaliers present, estimates the
slain at eleven hundred and seventy Spaniards, and eight thousand
allies. But this is a greater number than we have allowed for the
whole army. Perhaps we may come nearest the truth by taking the
computation of Gomara, the chaplain of Cortes, who had free access
doubtless, not only to the general's papers, but to other authentic
sources of information. According to him, the number of Christians
killed and missing was four hundred and fifty, and that of natives
four thousand. This, with the loss sustained in the conflicts of the
previous week, may have reduced the former to something more than a
third, and the latter to a fourth, or, perhaps, fifth, of the original
force with which they entered the capital. The brunt of the action
fell on the rear-guard, few of whom escaped. It was formed chiefly
of the soldiers of Narvaez, who fell the victims in some measure of
their cupidity. Forty-six of the cavalry were cut off, which with
previous losses reduced the number in this branch of the service to
twenty-three, and some of these in very poor condition. The greater
part of the treasure, the baggage, the general's papers, including his
accounts, and a minute diary of transactions since leaving Cuba-which, to posterity, at least, would have been of more worth than
the gold,-had been swallowed up by the waters. The ammunition, the
beautiful little train of artillery, with which Cortes had entered the
city, were all gone. Not a musket even remained, the men having thrown
them away, eager to disencumber themselves of all that might retard
their escape on that disastrous night. Nothing, in short, of their
military apparatus was left, but their swords, their crippled cavalry,
and a few damaged crossbows, to assert the superiority of the European
over the barbarian.
The prisoners, including, as already noticed, the children of
Montezuma and the cacique of Tezcuco, all perished by the hands of
their ignorant countrymen, it is said, in the indiscriminate fury of
the assault. There were, also, some persons of consideration among the
Spaniards, whose names were inscribed on the same bloody roll of
slaughter. Such was Francisco de Morla, who fell by the side of
Cortes, on returning with him to the rescue. But the greatest loss was
that of Juan Velasquez de Leon, who, with Alvarado, had command of the
rear. It was the post of danger on that night, and he fell, bravely
defending it, at an early part of the retreat. There was no cavalier
in the army, with the exception, perhaps, of Sandoval and Alvarado,
whose loss would have been so deeply deplored by the commander. Such
were the disastrous results of this terrible passage of the
causeway; more disastrous than those occasioned by any other reverse
which has stained the Spanish arms in the New World; and which have
branded the night on which it happened, in the national annals, with
the name of the noche triste, "the sad or melancholy night."