Chapter 19. The Passage Of The Causeway

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_ On marching out from the city, Roger and his two comrades formed part of a picked band, to whom was entrusted the charge of the prisoners. Roger had been specially selected, as he could translate to them any order given by the officer of the party; and he was ordered to march next to them.

He had once or twice in the past few days been enabled, by the intervention of Marina, to visit the prisoners. Cacama's spirit was in no way shaken by captivity.

"Your general has made a fatal mistake," he said, "in sending Cuitlahua out to pacify the populace. He is of very different stuff from Montezuma, who has become a woman in the hands of the Spanish. You will see that he will never return, but will lead the people on to the attack.

"It matters little to us. I know that we shall never escape. The Spaniards will slay us all, rather than that we should rejoin our people. But for that I care not. One would rather die in battle than be slain as a captive; but in either case we shall be dying for our country, and what can we wish for more? It is the duty of all to risk their lives, whenever they be needed for their country. Some here have fought in fifty battles for Mexico. I am younger, but not too young to have shared in many a battle. I fear death in no way, my friend, and should welcome it, as a change from captivity.

"I am well content, now. I should have grieved to have died, believing that the Mexicans had lost all their ancient spirit and courage, and were content to be slaves beneath the yoke of a handful of strangers; but now I see that they were asleep, and not dead; and that these boasting strangers will find that the despised Mexican is a match for them; I shall die happy."

The news of the wounding of Montezuma, and the desperate fighting in the streets and round the palace, excited the prisoners to the utmost. In their place of confinement they heard the thunder of the guns, the perpetual rattle of the musketry, and the shouts and yells of the combatants; but it was only when Roger visited them that they obtained any details as to the combat that was going on. They were filled with enthusiasm, as they heard how desperately their countrymen were fighting; and their only regret was that they could not join in the struggle, and die leading the assault against the Spaniards.

Roger did not see them, upon the last day, until he took his place by their side, when the column formed up in the courtyard.

"I am to keep near you, Cacama," he said, "in order to translate anything the officer may have to say to you."

"We are going to leave the city?" Cacama asked, eagerly.

"Yes, we are going to cross the causeway."

The officer in charge here came up, and gave an order which Roger interpreted:

"He asks whether you will all give a pledge to remain silent, as we march out. If you will do so, he will accept your promise; but if not, he will be forced to gag you, as the safety of the army depends upon our getting beyond the streets, before our march is discovered."

"I wonder that they are ready to take our promise," Cacama said disdainfully, "after their own treachery. However, an Aztec noble is not like a Spaniard. Our faith may be depended upon. We will give our word to be silent."

The other prisoners also promised, and were allowed to take their places in the column, ungagged.

The alarm was given long before the rear of the column had got out from the street. Cacama gave an exclamation of joy, when he heard the silence broken by loud cries at the end of the street; and immediately afterwards by the shouts of the priests on the lofty temples, by the blowing of horns, and the beating of the great war drum.

"The game has begun," he said. "We shall see how many Spaniards remain alive, when the sun rises. Long before they can get across the causeway, our people will be upon them. We shall not see the triumph, for without defensive armor we shall fall, in the darkness, beneath the missiles of our own people. That matters not. Better to die at the hands of a Mexican, struggling to be free, than at those of these treacherous invaders."

The missiles showered down thickly upon the column, from the houses, till they emerged from the street and made their way out on to the causeway. Then they became exposed to the storm of arrows, darts, and stones from the canoes on the lake. By their officer's orders, the soldiers immediately in charge of the prisoners drew their swords and formed a circle round them; with orders to fall upon and kill them, at once, did they make the slightest movement to escape. Roger translated to the captives the officer's assurance that, although he was most anxious for their safety, he had no resource but to order the soldiers to slay them, at once, if they made any movement to escape.

"We shall not try to escape," Cacama said. "How can we do so, with our hands bound?"

During the long pause that ensued, before the rear of the column passed over the bridge on to the causeway, the impatience among the soldiers was great. Many had already fallen beneath the missiles of the enemy. Scarce one but had received wounds, more or less severe. Several of the prisoners, too, had fallen.

"What is it?" Cacama asked, as the cry of despair went up; when it became known that the bridge was immovable, and that there were no means of crossing the breaks in the causeway, ahead.

He muttered an exclamation of triumph, when Roger repeated to him the news he had just learned.

"That settles it," he said. "Their fate is now sealed. The gods are at last fighting again for Mexico.

"Roger, I am sorry for you, I am sorry for my wife, and for Amenche; but I rejoice for my country. If you should escape this night, Roger--and you have more chance than most, since you speak our language--do all you can for them."

"You may be sure that I shall do that, Cacama; but the chance of any escaping seems, to me, a small one. Still, it may be that some will get over alive. The Spaniards have their faults, Cacama, but they are grand soldiers; and at any rate, now that they see they must win their way or perish, they will perform wonders."

"Ah!" the exclamation was caused by an arrow striking the young prince in the chest.

At this time a terrible fight was raging all around them. The natives had gained a footing on the causeway, and the Spaniards were fighting hand to hand with them.

"I am mortally wounded, Roger," Cacama said. "Most of the others have already fallen. It is better so. I have lived long enough to see vengeance taken on our oppressors.

"Roger, there is one chance for you. Wrap round you one of our mantles. In the darkness, none will see that you are not a Mexican, and they will not shoot at you.

"Listen, there is Cuitcatl's war cry. I know his voice; and doubtless they have discerned our white dresses, in the darkness, and he is trying to rescue us."

The crowd, pressing along the causeway, had swept the guards away from the prisoners--indeed, there were now scarcely any prisoners left to guard. Unprotected by any defensive armor, most of them had fallen very early in the conflict. Roger was supporting Cacama, and another prisoner lay dead at their feet.

Roger stooped and snatched off his mantle; then, lifting Cacama in his arms, forced his way through the press to the edge of the causeway, just as a canoe ran up alongside, and a number of Aztecs sprang ashore.

"Cuitcatl!" Roger shouted, at the top of his voice.

"Here," the young noble exclaimed, as he sprang forward.

"Here is Cacama," Roger cried.

At the same moment, he received a stunning blow on the back of his helmet from one of the Spaniards, who took him for a Mexican; and fell down the side of the causeway, into the water, with his burden in his arms.

When Roger recovered his senses, he was lying in a canoe, which was being paddled rapidly. He had been insensible but a few minutes, for the cries of the combatants still sounded close at hand. Cuitcatl was bending over him.

"How is Cacama?" he asked, as soon as he could speak.

"Alas! He is dead," Cuitcatl replied. "You did your best to save him, Roger.

"He spoke but once, after we had got him into the canoe. He said 'Protect my wife, Cuitcatl; and save our friend.'"

"Where are you taking us?" Roger asked next.

"We will land some distance up the lake. There I will obtain bearers, and carry Cacama home, that he may be buried as one of his rank should be. As to you, we must think what had best be done. None of those with me know who you are; believing, in the darkness, that you are one of ourselves. They are my own men, and I can rely upon them when their blood is cooled; but it were best that, at present, they remained in ignorance. Bathalda is in the bow, and his influence and mine will be sufficient to control them, when we are once out of hearing of the conflict. Nothing, save my duty to Cacama, would have withdrawn me from it; but they must do without me. Not a Spaniard will see tomorrow's sun.

"Are you badly hurt, Roger? It is too dark to see anything."

"Not badly. I have several arrow points sticking in me, in one place or another; but they have not gone deep. My armor kept them out. It was a blow on the head that felled me. There were many Mexicans on the causeway, fighting with the Spaniards; and I was, of course, mistaken for one of them. My helmet broke the blow, and I was stunned rather than injured, I think.

"How came you to be just at that spot?"

"I was on the lookout for the prisoners, being determined to rescue Cacama, if possible; and as I was fighting, farther back, I heard it said that there were several white dresses among the Spaniards ahead. So I made to that point and, just as I was springing ashore, heard your shout; and saw you roll down, you and another. I guessed it might be Cacama, for I knew that you would do your best to save him; and so sprang back again to the water's edge, and found that it was so.

"And found, alas! that Cacama was mortally wounded. How about the other prisoners?"

"I think that all had fallen, before he did. You see, they had no protection; and even we who had armor were suffering, terribly, from the missiles poured in among us. I know that two ladies, Montezuma's daughters, were among the first to fall. More than that I cannot say, for I kept close to Cacama, hoping that in some way I might find an opportunity to aid his escape; and had he not been struck, just when he was, I might have done so; for after the news came that the bridge could not be removed, all was confusion, and each man thought only of saving his own life."

After rowing for three hours the canoe, having made a circuit of the city and crossed the lake, reached the shore at a distance of a few miles from Tezcuco. Cacama's body was lifted ashore, then Cuitcatl said to Bathalda:

"Bathalda, you will be glad to know that we have saved Cacama's friend, and mine, Roger Hawkshaw."

The forester gave an exclamation of pleasure.

"I am glad, indeed," he exclaimed. "I wondered what had become of him, in the fight."

Bathalda's exclamation silenced the murmur with which the others had heard that one of the white men had been saved, by them, from the general destruction which, as they believed, had fallen upon their oppressors.

"He is a friend of our people," Cuitcatl went on, "and is of another race to these Spaniards. As you see, men, he speaks our language well, and is like one of ourselves. Cacama held him as a dear friend; and as you know, Cacama hated the Spaniards, and had it not been for treason would have attacked them, long ago.

"Now, form a litter with the paddles and lay Cacama upon it. Morning is breaking, and we have far to go. The new Lord of Tezcuco is a friend of the Spaniards. We must get well away, as soon as we can."

Roger threw aside the Spanish helmet. Cuitcatl took some of the plumes from his own headdress, and bound them round his head and, as soon as the bier was constructed, the little party started. In the afternoon they arrived at Cuitcatl's house, the chief having himself gone forward, to inform the queen of Cacama's fate, and of the near approach of the party, with his body.

It was a mournful scene, when they arrived. The whole of the male and female retainers were assembled outside the house, the women filling the air with cries and lamentations, the men weeping and wailing. The bearers of the bier passed into the house, where Maclutha awaited it.

Roger, unwilling to intrude upon the grief of the unhappy queen, remained without, talking to Bathalda; the natives viewing him with hostility and wonder, being unable to understand how it was that their lord had brought one of the white men to his house.

In a minute or two, however, Amenche's attendant ran down the steps to Roger and, telling him to follow her, led the way to the apartment where the princess was waiting him. She fell, crying, into his arms.

"It is terrible, Roger," she sobbed. "As long as my brother was but a captive, we had hoped that he might be restored to us; and now he is brought home dead--slain, too, by a Mexican arrow."

"Cacama was ready for death, Amenche. I was beside him, from the time he left his prison. He was sure that we should be attacked; and saw that, as he and those with him were unprotected by any armor, they would be the first to fall when the fighting began as, in the darkness, the Mexicans would not be able to distinguish them from their enemies. But he said that he was quite content to die, seeing that the people had now recovered their ancient spirit, and were battling with heroes against their oppressors."

"And they are all destroyed," Amenche exclaimed, passionately.

"We do not know that," Roger replied. "Their position was a terrible one and seemed well-nigh hopeless. I know that Cuitcatl regarded it as quite hopeless, and deems that all have fallen; but I do not think so. The passages to be crossed were of no great width; and though numbers may have fallen, I believe that some will have made their way across. They will have lost their guns, and if the Aztecs continue to press them as hotly as they did upon the causeway, they may slay them all; but if they give them time to rally, they may yet fight their way back to Tlascala."

"And you will stop here with us, Roger. Is it not so?"

"If your people will allow me to do so, I will, Amenche. I ask for nothing better; but remember that even Cacama, himself, felt doubtful whether he could protect me from the power of the priests--and at that time their reason for hating the Spaniards was small to what it now is, and Cacama himself has gone. Cuitcatl, though a powerful cazique, has but small influence in comparison with that which Cacama, as King of Tezcuco and nephew of Montezuma, possessed."

"How is Montezuma? What has become of him? We heard that he was wounded; but it scarce seems possible that his own subjects should raise a hand against him."

"He died yesterday afternoon, and Cortez delivered his body to the people of the city."

The girl uttered an exclamation of horror.

"This is dreadful, indeed," she said, bursting again into tears. "To think of the great emperor being dead! What horrors and misfortunes have befallen us!

"It is bad for us, too, Roger. I was one of his favorite nieces, and I thought of going to him and obtaining his permission to marry you, in order that you should be received into the nation. Now that hope is gone.

"But I must leave you for a while, and go to Maclutha. I must not leave her longer, alone in her grief."

Soon afterwards, Cuitcatl entered the room.

"Come, Roger," he said; "a meal has been prepared, and we both sorely need food and rest. Tomorrow we shall have time to talk over the future, and by that time I shall have news whether any of the Spaniards have escaped. If they have, I must hurry off again; for Cuitlahua has sworn that not one shall leave the country, alive, and every man who can bear arms must take the field against them. But it will be an easy task for, at any rate, few can have got off that causeway alive."

Roger was glad, as soon as he had finished his meal, to throw himself down on a couch. He had been on guard, the greater part of the night before the sortie to clear the street leading to the causeway, and had slept but an hour or two, the following evening. He had lost a good deal of blood, from the blow he had received on the head; and from the arrow wounds, of which he had several, although none were serious; and he was now completely done up.

Amenche stole away from Maclutha, for a few minutes' talk with him and Cuitcatl, while they had their meal; and after hearing an outline of the later events of the siege of the palace, and of the fight on the causeway, she had herself insisted that Roger should instantly seek repose.

"I shall be occupied with Maclutha, and there is much to see about, in such times as these. There can be no pomp and ceremonial of burial. That must come when peace is restored, and we carry Cacama's ashes to be laid with his father's, at Tezcuco. Bathalda and some of the slaves have already started to bring in wood for the funeral pile. All will be ready by sunrise, tomorrow."

Roger's wounds were dressed, by one of the slaves who was skilled in all operations connected with wounds; and he slept, without once waking, until Cuitcatl came to him in the morning and bade him arise, as all was ready for the ceremony of Cacama's cremation.

The rule in Mexico was that, on the death of anyone, the body was attired in the garments peculiar to his tutelary deity; but Cacama was dressed, simply, in the robe indicating his rank.

"You see," Amenche said, when Roger joined them; "we have dressed him in a warrior's robes, not in those of a Lord of Tezcuco; for we have none such here. Nor have we attired him in the garments of our god. For Cacama, as you know, worshiped chiefly the great Unknown God, in whom his grandfather believed; who is Lord of all the gods, and of all peoples; and who must be the same, Roger, that you white people worship."

"No doubt He is the same," Roger said; "and I am glad, Amenche, that you and your brother have already come to love Him. He is not Lord of all gods, for He is the only God. There are none others.

"Some day, dear, when you come to England with me, a priest shall instruct you in all we know of Him.

"But I see they are going to light the pile. What are all those pieces of paper that cover his body?"

"They are charms, Roger, against the dangers of the unknown road he has to travel. It is the custom of the country, and we did not think it worth while to depart from it. It is also the custom to sacrifice numbers of slaves, and send them to be his attendants upon the road. But the Unknown God hates all sacrifices of blood; and Cacama, although forced to yield to the power of the priests, would have had none, could he have helped it, in Tezcuco."

Cuitcatl, as the oldest friend of the dead prince, applied a torch to the pile, which was composed for the most part of aromatic wood. Maclutha and Amenche broke into a plaintive hymn, in which their attendants, and the females who had collected, in considerable numbers, from the neighboring villages, joined. Higher and higher rose the flames, the voices rising with them; until the dirge culminated in a loud wailing cry, as the flames reached the corpse, and hid it from view. Then the hymn recommenced, and continued until the pile had been burnt down.

The mourners then re-entered the house, leaving the two or three priests who were present to collect the ashes, and to place them in a large gold vase; of which they would act as guardians, until the time came for its removal, in solemn procession, to Tezcuco.

Cuitcatl took Roger aside.

"I have bad news from Mexico," he said. "You were right, and I was mistaken. A portion of the Spaniards and Tlascalans succeeded in crossing the breaches in the causeway, and gaining the mainland. However, it is said that two-thirds of their number perished. As they have lost the terrible weapons, that committed such destruction, they will be at our mercy. We know now that they are not invincible. Their terror has departed.

"Be assured that they will not escape us. They have reached land on the opposite side of the lake, and will have to make a great circuit, which will give us time to collect our forces. Cuitlahua has already dispatched a messenger to every town and village, ordering all to assemble under their chiefs; and to be prepared to march, at a moment's notice, when the rendezvous is settled upon. I would it had all been finished on the causeway, but there can be no doubt as to the result.

"At most there are but four hundred Whites and four thousand Tlascalans, while we shall number over one hundred thousand. They say the white men have lost not only their great guns, but those they carry on their shoulders; and that only twenty or thirty of their strange animals have survived. Therefore, this time, we shall fight with something like equal arms, and shall overwhelm them as the sea overwhelms the rock."

"Your simile is an unfortunate one, Cuitcatl. The sea covers the rock, but when it retires the rock remains. Still, it does seem to me that, however valiantly the Spaniards may fight, they cannot withstand such terrible odds.

"But I cannot rejoice with you. You know that I abhor, as much as you do, the cruel massacre at the temple. My sympathies were with your people, while struggling to throw off the yoke that the Spaniards had imposed upon them; but I am white, like them. I know that many among them are noble men, and that much of the harm they have committed has been done from conscientious motives; just as your people have, from a desire to please the gods, offered up thousands of human victims, every year. Much as they love gold, many of them--and certainly Cortez among them--think more of spreading their religion than they do of personal ambition, or even of gain. I have many acquaintances and some good friends, among them; and I cannot think of their being all destroyed, without regret and horror. I do not say that you are not justified in killing all, for your existence as a nation is at stake; but to me, it is terrible."

"I can understand that, my friend; but nothing can avert their destruction.

"Now, as to yourself. Had it not been for Cacama's death, I should have said it were best that you should marry Amenche, at once; but among us, it would be most unseemly for a sister to think of marrying, when her brother has but just died."

"It is the same with us," Roger said. "A certain time must always pass, after the death of a near relative, before marriage. Besides, the present is no time for thinking of such a thing. My fate is altogether uncertain, and I own that I consider there is small ground for hope that I can escape from the present troubles. If, as seems certain now, the Spaniards are all destroyed, the people will more than ever venerate their gods, and the power of the priests will be almost unlimited.

"It is useless for me to try to deceive myself, Cuitcatl. I know your friendship, but you would not have the power to withstand the decision of the priests. They will never permit a single white man to remain alive in the land. Had Cacama lived, he might possibly have protected me; but I think that even his authority would have been insufficient to do so. If the Spaniards are destroyed, I have but one chance of my life: and that is, to make my way down to the coast, and to sail away with the Spaniards there."

Cuitcatl was silent, for he felt the force of what Roger said.

"If you go, you must not go alone," he replied at last. "Amenche would die, were you to desert her."

"I will assuredly take her, if she will accompany me," Roger said; "but I do not think that there is much chance of my escape, even in that way. The news of the destruction of the Spaniards will be carried, with the speed of the wind, down to the coast; and the tribes there will instantly rise and fall upon the Spaniards. Those who have been the most friendly with them will be the very first to take up arms against them, in order to make their peace with the Aztecs, and to avert their vengeance for the aid they have given the Spaniards. Long before we could reach the coast, the Spaniards there would either be killed, or driven on board their ships."

Cuitcatl could not deny the justice of Roger's reasoning.

"There is nothing to do," the latter went on, "but to wait--at any rate, until this battle has taken place. Impossible as it seems, the Spaniards may yet extricate themselves from the toils; in which case I should join them. If not, and I find my escape by the coast cut off, by the rising of the tribes there, the only thing that I can see is to take to the mountains; and to live there, as I did with Bathalda, on the proceeds of the chase. I might then, perhaps, in time make my way to people in the far north, who have not such reason as they have here for hating a man with a white skin; or I might wait until the Spaniards send another expedition, to carry out what Cortez has failed to accomplish."

Leaving their fires burning, the remains of the Spanish army marched, at midnight, from the temple where they had enjoyed rest, and had recruited their strength and spirits. The sick and wounded were placed in the center, and carried on litters, or on the backs of the porters; while others, who were strong enough to sit upright, rode on the horses behind the mounted soldiers. All night the march continued without disturbance; but in the morning, large parties of natives were seen moving about. Tlacopan lay on the most westerly point of the lake, and the most direct route of the Spaniards would have been to keep along by its margin; but had they done so, they would have been liable to attack from the capital; as the troops could have poured out across the causeway to Tepejacac, and headed them there. They therefore struck off due north, with the intention of passing to the west of Lake Xaltocan.

The country was a broken one; and the Mexicans, gathering on the hills, rolled stones down upon them, with volleys of arrows and darts. Sometimes they even ventured to descend into the plain, and fall upon the rear of the column. As often as they did so, however, the little body of cavalry drove them off. The infantry column kept steadily on its way, though greatly harassed by the continued attacks.

Day after day passed in this manner, the Spaniards being reduced to great straits, from want of food; as the natives, in the small towns and villages through which they passed, carried off all provisions and stores; and the only food the soldiers could obtain were wild cherries, and a few ears of corn that had been left by the harvesters. Sometimes a horse fell dead, from exhaustion, and afforded a welcome supply of food.

Many of the soldiers dropped, lifeless from fatigue and famine. Others, unable to keep up the march, fell behind and were captured by the enemy, and carried off to furnish sacrifices for the gods. To lighten themselves, the soldiers threw away the gold, to obtain which they had dared so many dangers, and suffered so many hardships. Life itself was at stake, and the precious metal had ceased to have any value in their eyes.

Through those terrible days Cortez, as usual, set a splendid example to his solders. He was in the front, wherever danger threatened. He bore his full share of the hardships, and by his cheerfulness and calmness kept up the spirits of the soldiers, and cheered them by assuring them they might yet escape from the dangers that menaced them.

The Tlascalans also behaved admirably; and appeared to bear no grudge, whatever, against the Spaniards, for the sufferings which their alliance had brought upon them.

Passing through the town of Quauhtitlan, and round the north of Lake Tzompanco, they at last turned their faces east; and on the seventh day reached the edge of the plateau, and looked down upon the plains of Otompan. They were still but thirty miles, in a direct line, from the capital; but they had traversed fully three times that distance, in their circuitous journey.

During the last day's march, the numbers of the natives who surrounded them had considerably increased; and menacing shouts, of the fate that awaited them, greeted them as they marched along. The nature of the peril was not understood until, on reaching the crest from which they looked down on the valley of Otompan, they saw that it was filled with a mighty army; whose white cotton mail gave it--as one of their historians states--the appearance of being covered with snow. Here were all the levies that Cuitlahua had collected. The whole of the cities of the plains had sent in their quota, and the bright banners of the chiefs and nobles waved gaily over the snowy array of their followers.

The numbers of the Mexicans were put down at varying amounts by the Spanish historians, some of them having them as high as two hundred thousand; but it is probable that at least half that number were assembled, to bar the march of the worn-out little force that surveyed them from the heights. Even the most hopeful and courageous of the Spaniards felt something like dismay, as they viewed the tremendous array before them. Deprived of the weapons on which they had chiefly depended for victory, with their cavalry reduced to a mere handful, the prospect seemed indeed desperate. But there was no room for hesitation. They must cut a way through the enemy, or die.

Cortez addressed the troops in a short speech of encouragement. He reminded them that they had already won victories against enormous odds; and that numbers, indeed, were but of slight consequence, when the arm of God was with them.

"Assuredly He, who had carried them safely through so many perils, would not now abandon them, and His own good cause, to perish by the hand of these infidels."

With steady step and in compact array, the little force descended the hill into the plain; and as soon as they reached the level ground, the Aztec host attacked them, on all sides. The handful of cavalry, consisting almost entirely of the personal friends and officers of Cortez, cleared the way for the head of the column by repeated and desperate charges; while the infantry, with pike and sword, maintained a front that the Aztecs, although fighting with the greatest bravery, were unable to break.

The Tlascalans fought as stoutly as the Spaniards. Their native land lay almost within sight, and the love of home, and the remembrance of many a victory gained over the Aztecs, animated them to rival the steadfastness of their white comrades.

Yet though unbroken, the little force was but as an island in the midst of an ocean. The attacks, although always repulsed, were constantly renewed. The gaps in the ranks of the enemy were filled up with fresh combatants and, as hour after hour went on, even the most hopeful in the Spanish band began to feel that the contest could have but one termination; and that they would be overcome, not so much by the arms of the Aztecs, as by fatigue, thirst and hunger.

The cavalry had performed prodigies of valor. Breaking up into knots of threes and fours, they had charged into the dense crowd of the enemy; clearing a way for themselves with lance and sword, and by the weight of the horses and armor. But such charges could have but little effect on the fortunes of the day. The numbers of those they slew counted for nothing, in such a host; and the lanes they made closed behind them, until, after making a circuit, they again joined the main body.

For hours the fight raged. The Spanish battle cry, "Saint James and Our Lady!" still rose sternly, in answer to the triumphant yells of the Aztecs. Their front was still unbroken, but all felt that nothing, short of a miracle, could save them. Not one but was wounded in many places by the Aztec missiles. Their arms were weary with striking. The sun blazed down upon them with scorching heat. Their throats were parched with thirst. They were enfeebled by hunger.

The Aztecs, seeing that their foes were becoming faint and wearied, that the horses of the cavaliers could scarce carry them, and that the end was approaching, redoubled their shouts; and pressed more heartily and eagerly than ever upon the Spaniards, driving the cavalry back, by sheer weight, into the ranks of the infantry.

Cortez, at this supreme moment, still maintained his calmness. He saw that all was lost, unless a change was made, and that speedily. Another hour at latest, and the resistance would be over, and the brave men who had followed him be either dead, or prisoners reserved for sacrifice.

Throughout the day he had ordered his cavaliers to strike ever at the chiefs, knowing well that undisciplined bodies of men become lost, without leaders. Raising himself in his stirrups, he looked round over the seething mass of the foe; and at some distance beheld a small body of officers, whose gay and glittering attire showed them to belong to the highest rank of nobles; gathered round a litter on which was a chief, gorgeously attired with a lofty plume of feathers floating above his head; rising above which was a short staff, bearing a golden net.

Cortez knew that this was the symbol carried by the Aztec commanders in chief. He called to his comrades--Sandoval, Olid, Alvarado, Avila, and the other cavaliers--and pointing to the chief, cried:

"There is our mark! Follow, and support me."

Then he spurred his wearied horse forward, and dashed into the throng, followed by his cavaliers.

The fury and suddenness of the attack bore all before it. The compact little body of horsemen, shouting their battle cry, clove through the ranks of the enemy, making straight for the Indian commander, whose name was Cihuaca. In vain the Mexicans tried to bar the way. In vain, when after a few minutes of tremendous exertion, Cortez reached his goal, the nobles and the bodyguard strove to defend their chief. Cortez, fighting with almost superhuman vigor, clove his way through all opposition; and with his lance ran through the Aztec general, and hurled him to the ground, when one of his followers, leaping from his horse, quickly dispatched him.

The guard, appalled by the suddenness of the attack, broke and fled in all directions, scattering panic among the lately triumphant host. Scarce knowing what had happened, but feeling that some dreadful misfortune had occurred, and all was lost, the Aztecs were seized with a blind terror; and breaking their ranks, thought only of escape.

As if by magic, a victorious army was transformed into a flying mob. The Spaniards and Tlascalans took instant advantage of the change. Fatigue and thirst, wounds and exhaustion were forgotten. With shouts of triumph, and vengeance, they broke their ranks and followed hotly upon the fugitives. These, impeded by their very numbers, and half mad with panic, offered no resistance whatever. Great numbers were overtaken and slain and, when the Spaniards abandoned the pursuit at the summons of their leader's trumpet, and assembled round him, the field was covered with the bodies of their fallen foes.

An hour was spent in gathering the booty from the bodies of the chiefs, of whom great numbers had fallen; and then, after offering up thanks to God for their marvelous deliverance, the army again renewed their march. It was already late in the afternoon, and they halted at sunset at a temple standing on an eminence, which afforded them shelter and a defensive position, should the Aztecs renew the assault.

But of this there was little fear. Their defeat had been utter and complete. There was no chance of their rallying.

The victory of Otompan was one of the most remarkable ever won. The discrepancy of numbers was immense. The Spaniards were unprovided with artillery or firearms, and owed their success to their discipline and bravery, and still more to the extraordinary valor and quick-sightedness of their leader. _

Read next: Chapter 20. At Tlascala

Read previous: Chapter 18. The Rising In Mexico

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