The White Conquerors - A Tale of Toltec and Aztec

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Title: The White Conquerors - A Tale of Toltec and Aztec
Author: Munroe, Kirk
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The White Conquerors - A Tale of Toltec and Aztec" ***

THE WHITE CONQUERORS

[Illustration: I WILL NEVER FORGET.

_Page 16._
]

THE WHITE CONQUERORS

_A TALE OF TOLTEC AND AZTEC_

BY
KIRK MUNROE

AUTHOR OF "WAKULLA," "THE FLAMINGO FEATHER," "DERRICK STERLING,"
"THE GOLDEN DAYS OF '49," THE "MATE" SERIES, ETC.

_ILLUSTRATED BY W. S. STACEY_

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1908

[Illustration]

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. A CAPTIVE WARRIOR, 1

II. "REMEMBER THAT THOU ART A TOLTEC!" 9

III. IN THE MARKET-PLACE OF TENOCHTITLAN, 17

IV. TLAHUICOL'S LAST BATTLE, 25

V. HUETZIN'S MIRACULOUS ESCAPE, 33

VI. TWO SLAVES OF IZTAPALAPAN, 41

VII. LOYALTY OUTWEIGHS GOLD AND FREEDOM, 48

VIII. TRAPPING A KING'S COURIER, 56

IX. WHO ARE THE WHITE CONQUERORS? 64

X. THE SIGN OF THE GOD OF THE FOUR WINDS, 73

XI. HOW THE TLASCALANS FOUGHT, 82

XII. A SON OF THE HOUSE OF TITCALA, 90

XIII. HOW PEACE WAS BROUGHT ABOUT, 99

XIV. A CHALLENGE AND ITS RESULT, 108

XV. MARCHING ON CHOLULA, 116

XVI. A SACRIFICE OF CHILDREN AND WHAT IT PORTENDED, 125

XVII. PUNISHMENT OF THE CONSPIRATORS, 133

XVIII. FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE MEXICAN VALLEY, 141

XIX. MONTEZUMA WELCOMES THE CONQUERORS TO TENOCHTITLAN, 149

XX. HUETZIN IN THE POWER OF THE CHIEF PRIEST, 158

XXI. A SUPERSTITIOUS KING, 166

XXII. SANDOVAL PLIGHTS HIS TROTH, 174

XXIII. IN THE PASSAGES BENEATH THE TEMPLE, 182

XXIV. MONTEZUMA IS MADE PRISONER, 190

XXV. CORTES CAPTURES AND ENLISTS THE ARMY OF HIS RIVAL, 198

XXVI. TIATA'S BRAVE DEATH AND SANDOVAL'S GRIEF, 206

XXVII. THE CONQUERORS ARE BESIEGED IN THEIR QUARTERS, 213

XXVIII. A BATTLE IN MID-AIR, 221

XXIX. THE GLORIOUS TRIUMPH OF TLALCO, 228

XXX. MONTEZUMA'S SUCCESSOR DEFIES THE CONQUERORS, 236

XXXI. THE RETREAT FROM TENOCHTITLAN, 244

XXXII. A NIGHT OF FIGHTING, DESPAIR, AND DEATH, 253

XXXIII. MARINA IS LOST AND SAVED, 261

XXXIV. SORROW TURNED INTO JOY, AND DARKNESS INTO LIGHT, 270

XXXV. THE DESPERATE BATTLE OF OTAMPAN, 278

XXXVI. VICTORY SNATCHED FROM DEFEAT, 286

XXXVII. ONCE MORE IN THE MEXICAN VALLEY, 293

XXXVIII. LAUNCHING THE FIRST AMERICAN WARSHIPS, 302

XXXIX. ALDERETE'S FATAL ERROR, 310

XL. FINAL OVERTHROW OF THE AZTEC GODS, 319

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

I WILL NEVER FORGET, _Frontispiece_

HUETZIN WASTED NO TIME, 62

THE BLIND CHIEFTAIN PLACED HIS HANDS, ETC., 122

THE FIGURE OF TOPIL THE CHIEF PRIEST, 170

SANDOVAL MEETS TIATA, 176

SANDOVAL PULLED UP HIS HEAD, 236

MARINA IS SAVED BY THE TLASCALA SLAVES, 268

THIS THEY DRAGGED FROM ITS PEDESTAL, 310

THE WHITE CONQUERORS:

A TALE OF TOLTEC AND AZTEC

CHAPTER I.

A CAPTIVE WARRIOR

Night had fallen on the island-city of Tenochtitlan, the capital of
Anahuac, and the splendid metropolis of the Western world. The evening
air was heavy with the scent of myriads of flowers which the Aztec
people loved so well, and which their religion bade them cultivate in
lavish profusion. From every quarter came the sounds of feasting, of
laughter, and of music. The numerous canals of salt-water from the
broad lake that washed the foundations of the city on all sides, were
alive with darting canoes filled with gay parties of light-hearted
revellers. In each canoe burned a torch of sweet-scented wood,
that danced and flickered with the motions of the frail craft, its
reflection broken by the ripples from hundreds of dipping paddles. Even
far out on the placid bosom of the lake, amid the fairy-like chinampas,
or tiny floating islands, the twinkling canoe-lights flitted like
gorgeous fire-flies, paling the silver reflection of the stars with
their more ruddy glow.

In the streets of the city the dancing feet of flower-wreathed youths
and maidens tripped noiselessly over the smooth cemented pavements;
while their elders watched them, with approving smiles, from their
curtained doorways, or the flat flower-gardened roofs, of their houses.
Above all these scenes of peaceful merriment rose the gloomy pyramids
of many temples, ever-present reminders of the cruel and bloody
religion with which the whole fair land was cursed.

Before the hideous idols, to which each of these was consecrated, lay
offerings of human hearts, torn from the living bodies of that day's
victims, and from the summit of each streamed the lurid flames of
never-dying altar fires. By night and day they burned, supplied with
fuel by an army of slaves who brought it on their backs over the long
causeways that connected the island-city with the mainland and its
distant forests. These pillars of smoke by day, and ill-omened banners
of flame by night, were regarded with fear and hatred by many a dweller
in the mountains surrounding the Mexican valley. They were the symbols
of a power against which these had struggled in vain, of a tyranny so
oppressive that it not only devoted them to lives of toil, hopeless of
reward, but to deaths of ignominy and torture whenever fresh victims
were demanded for its reeking altars. But while hatred thus burned,
fierce and deep-seated, none dared openly to express it, for the
power of the all-conquering Aztec was supreme. Far across the lofty
mountains, to the great Mexican Gulf on the east, and westward to the
broad Pacific; from the parched deserts of the cliff-dwelling tribes on
the north, to the impenetrable Mayan forests on the south, the Aztec
sway extended, and none might withstand the Aztec arms. If the imperial
city demanded tribute it must be promptly given, though nakedness
and hunger should result. If its priests demanded victims for their
blood-stained altars, these must be yielded without a murmur, that the
lives of whole tribes might not be sacrificed. Only one little mountain
republic still held out, and defied the armies of the Aztec king, but
of it we shall learn more hereafter.

So the mighty city of the lake drew to itself the best of all things
from all quarters of the Western world, and was filled to overflowing
with the wealth of conquered peoples. Hither came all the gold and
silver and precious stones, the richest fabrics, and the first-fruits
of the soil. To its markets were driven long caravans of slaves,
captured from distant provinces, and condemned to perform such menial
tasks as the haughty Aztec disdained to undertake.

During the brilliant reign of the last Montezuma, the royal city
attained the summit of its greatness, and defied the world. Blinded
by the glitter of its conquests, and secure in the protection of its
invincible gods, it feared naught in the future, for what enemy could
harm it?

The evening with which this story opens was one of unusual rejoicing
in Tenochtitlan, for the morrow was to mark one of the most notable
events of Montezuma's reign. The great Aztec calendar stone, the result
of years of ceaseless labor, had at length reached the inner court
of the principal temple. On the following day it was to be bathed in
the blood of victims, and dedicated by the priests. This huge mass of
shining porphyry, weighing more than fifty tons, and quarried from the
distant mountains beyond the lake of Chalco, had been subjected to the
unremitting labors of the most famous astronomers and skilled artisans
for so long, that the king had almost despaired of living to witness
its completion. Finally, polished like a mirror and cunningly engraved
with a countless but orderly array of hieroglyphics, it started on
its journey to the city, drawn by the united efforts of ten thousand
slaves. Inch by inch, slowly and painfully, costing a thousand lives
for every mile of progress, it traversed leagues of rugged country.
Even on the great causeway, when it had nearly reached its destination,
where the iron-wood rollers ran smoothly and all difficulties seemed
at an end, it had broken through a bridge and plunged into the lake,
crushing a score of human beings beneath it. With infinite toil and
human suffering it had been recovered from the waters, and, as the
straining slaves cringed under the biting lashes of their drivers, its
triumphal progress was resumed.

At length the huge stone had reached the end of its weary journey, and
the morrow was to witness the closing scenes of this great national
undertaking. The feasting had already been kept up for a week, or ever
since the mighty monolith entered the city. Scores of victims had
been sacrificed on the temple altars to insure the favor of the gods
during those last days of its progress. But all this was as nothing
compared with what would be witnessed on the morrow. For that day
the bravest warriors taken in battle had been reserved, and the most
beautiful captives. The former would be made to fight against each
other under false promises that the lives of the victors should be
spared. The latter--handsome youths, delicate maidens, and even little
children--would dance a dance of death with wild beasts and deadly
serpents, many cages of which had been brought from distant parts for
the purpose. Oh! it was truly to be a rare and enjoyable festival,
and the hearts of the dwellers in Tenochtitlan thrilled high in
anticipation of its pleasures.

And yet, despite the universal joy that reigned in every quarter of
the crowded city, it contained at least two hearts that were heavy
with the forebodings of sorrow. One was that of its mighty ruler, the
priest-warrior, Montezuma, and the other beat in the breast of one even
more redoubtable as a warrior than the king himself, who, as a captive,
was destined to fight for his life against overwhelming odds on the
morrow.

In all that land of warriors there was none so famed as Tlahuicol.
To all men he was known as the Tlascalan; but ever to himself and
to Huetzin, his son, he whispered that he was Tlahuicol the Toltec.
For years he had been the dreaded war-chief of the dauntless little
mountain republic of Tlascala, which, alone of all those now occupying
the land of Anahuac, had resisted the all-conquering Aztec arms, and
retained its freedom. In spite of this he was not a Tlascalan, but
had joined them in one of their times of sorest need, when it seemed
as though their surrender to the swarming legions of Montezuma was
inevitable. Their army had been defeated, its leaders killed or taken
captive, and another day must have witnessed the overthrow of the
republic. That night Tlahuicol appeared among them, a young warrior
in the first flush of manhood, and addressed them with such fervid
eloquence that their sinking spirits were again inflamed, and they
gathered courage for one more desperate effort.

In the morning the young stranger led them to an attack against the
Aztecs, whose vigilance was relaxed in anticipation of an easy triumph
over their enemies. So marvellous was his strength, so admirable his
skill, and so reckless his bravery, that the signal victory gained
by the Tlascalans that day was afterward said to have been won by
Tlahuicol alone. In their excess of gratitude and admiration his brave,
but superstitious, followers hailed him as a god, declaring that never
in mortal were combined the qualities shown by him that day. From that
time forth the fortunes of this stranger were linked with those of the
Tlascalans, and all the honors at the disposal of the simple republic
were showered upon him. The position of war-chief was accorded to him
without question, and for more than a score of years he led his hardy
mountaineers to victory in every battle that they fought against the
cruel Aztecs. Very early in his new career he was wedded to a beautiful
Tlascalan maiden, an only daughter of the noble house of Titcala, the
chief of which was the acknowledged head of the republic. The fruits of
this marriage were two children: Huetzin, who inherited his father's
indomitable bravery, and Tiata, who, even as a child, gave promise that
all of her mother's great beauty was to be hers.

As the years rolled on Tlahuicol lost none of his popularity with his
troops nor with the people at large; only with the priests was he ever
at enmity. He abhorred their bloody human sacrifices, and strove by
every means in his power to have them abated. In return, the priests
continually strove for his overthrow and to wean the affections of
his soldiers from him. For many years their efforts were in vain, but
finally their subtle craft gained them a few malcontent adherents.
In the very heat of a fierce battle with an Aztec army, commanded by
Montezuma in person, a cowardly blow, struck from behind, stretched
the Tlascalan war-chief senseless on the ground. When he recovered
consciousness he was a prisoner and being hurried toward the Aztec
capital. Thither his devoted wife and her children followed him,
resigning themselves to a willing captivity, that might even result in
death, for the sake of sharing his fortunes.

For more than a year, though every avenue of escape was closely
guarded, the noble prisoner was treated with the utmost consideration,
and every effort was made to induce him to renounce his allegiance
to Tlascala. Honors and riches were promised him if he would devote
his sword to the service of the Aztec monarch; but every offer was
disdainfully refused, and at length Montezuma reluctantly yielded to
the cruel clamor of the priests, and condemned him to sacrifice.

CHAPTER II.

"REMEMBER THAT THOU ART A TOLTEC"

Knowing the cruelty of his Aztec captors as well as he did, Tlahuicol
had hoped for no mercy from the first. He even attempted to hasten
the fate that he foresaw was inevitable, by bitter denunciations of
the Aztec priesthood and their horrid rites. Even Topil, the chief
priest, whom Montezuma sent to the prisoner with the hope that his
awful threats might terrify the bold warrior into an acceptance of his
terms, was treated with such scornful contempt, that when he returned
to his royal master the priest's dark face was livid with rage. Under
penalty of the wrath of the gods, which should be called down upon the
whole nation in case his request was not granted, Topil then and there
demanded that not only the impious warrior, but his family as well,
should be delivered to him for sacrifice.

To this the monarch granted a reluctant consent, only stipulating that
they should be reserved for the greatest and most important feasts of
the year, and that their fate should not be announced to them until the
very hour of sacrifice. Although Topil agreed to these terms, he had
no intention of keeping his word. The opportunity of prolonging his
enemies' sufferings by anticipation was too precious to be neglected.
So he caused the information to be conveyed to Tlahuicol's wife that
her husband was doomed to death by torture. At the same time it was
intimated, with equal secrecy, to the brave warrior himself, that
unless he held himself in readiness to put to death with his own hands
a number of Tlascalan captives then awaiting their doom in the dungeons
of the great temple, and to lead an Aztec army against the mountain
republic, his wife and children should die on the altars of Huitzil.
With these cruel threats hanging over them the several members of this
unfortunate family were kept apart, and no communication was allowed to
pass between them.

Although the stern warrior continued in his defiant attitude, and
refused to be moved by either threats or promises, he fell into a state
of settled melancholy. This was soon afterward deepened by the sad news
that the loving wife, who had shared his captivity as cheerfully as
she had his former triumphs, was dead. Of his children he could learn
nothing. It was of them that he was thinking, with a heart well-nigh
breaking from its weight of sorrow, on the night of rejoicing that
preceded the festival of the great calendar stone.

In pursuance of his policy of kindness, by which he hoped to win
this redoubtable warrior to his own service, Montezuma had caused
Tlahuicol to be lodged in one of the numerous dwellings that formed
part of the royal establishment. These buildings, which were occupied
by Aztec nobles in attendance upon the king, and by royal hostages
from conquered nations, stood with the palace in an immense walled
enclosure, hard by the great temple. They were surrounded by gardens
planted with a wealth of tropical trees, shrubs, and flowers, traversed
by a labyrinth of shaded paths and cool grottoes, watered by canals,
lakes, and fountains, and containing immense aviaries of every bird
known to the kingdom, as well as cages of serpents and wild animals.
Ten large tanks, some filled with salt-water, and others with fresh,
were stocked with every procurable variety of fish and marine animal;
while for the care of these creatures, whose habits the king was never
tired of studying, an army of attendant slaves was maintained. Besides
these features of the royal museum, there was a building containing
every form of warlike weapon and defensive armor known to the Aztecs,
another for rare fabrics, and one for exquisitely wrought vessels of
gold, silver, and the prized pottery of Cholula. There was also an
establishment for dwarfs and other human monstrosities, which the
monarch took pleasure in collecting from all parts of his kingdom.

In this place of beauty, and surrounded by all that royalty could
command of things best calculated to interest and amuse, Tlahuicol
chafed at his captivity, and dreamed of his home in the distant
mountains. If he could but once more lead his trusty troops to battle
against the hated Aztec, how gladly would he pay for the privilege with
his life! He was allowed the freedom of the gardens, though always
under guard, and sometimes he would stroll to the training-field where
the king's sons and other noble youth vied with each other in feats of
arms. As he watched them his lip would curl with scorn at their puny
efforts, and a fierce desire to show them what a mountain warrior could
do with those same weapons would seize upon him. But no weapon was
allowed within his reach, and with an air of disgust he would turn and
walk back to his own quarters, always closely followed by his watchful
guards.

On the evening preceding the day of the great feast, Tlahuicol sat
moodily just outside the door of the house in which he was lodged, and
which, beautiful as it was, still seemed to him the most hateful of
prisons. Two motionless guards, armed with keen-edged maquahuitls, or
Aztec swords, stood close at hand at either side, with their eyes fixed
upon him. Should he escape, or should he even do himself bodily harm,
their lives would be forfeit, and with this knowledge their vigilance
was never relaxed.

Tlahuicol sat with downcast eyes and listened to the sounds of revelry
that came faintly to him from the city. Clearly he understood their
meaning, and wondered if on the morrow he was to meet the doom that he
believed to be in store for him. He thought of the wife who was gone
from him, and of the son and daughter concerning whose fate he had long
been kept in ignorance. From these thoughts he was roused by the sound
of approaching footsteps, and at once rose to his feet. In a moment the
king, followed at a short distance by armed torch-bearers, stood before
him.

Abruptly, and in a tone that proved him to be greatly agitated,
Montezuma said:

"Tlahuicol, I am come to thee once again as a friend. As such I would
serve thee, and as such I claim thy service."

"Thy friendship I reject, O king, and my service thou shalt never
have," returned the other, proudly.

"Hear me to the end," replied the king, calmly; "for many days I have
known what thou hast had no means of learning, but which will interest
thee. An army of strange beings, white-skinned and bearded, but whether
gods or men cannot be determined, have come out of the eastern sea,
and landed on our coast. Since their earliest appearance my spies have
noted their every movement, and brought me hourly word concerning them.
I had hoped they would depart in peace, but was disappointed in the
hope. Even now is word brought me that they have attacked and captured
my city of Cempoalla, destroyed its gods, and are preparing to advance
into the interior. If they be gods my power may not prevail against
them. If they be men, as I hope, then will I fight them until they
are swept from the face of the earth, and their hearts smoke upon the
altars of Huitzil. In such a fight all other feuds should be forgotten,
and all the nations of Anahuac united. It is in this service that I
would have thy aid. With thy word that thou wilt enlist thy Tlascalans
against this common foe, and lead them to battle as of old, both thou
and thy children are free. Refuse it, and thy heart shall lie on
Huitzil's altar ere the setting of the morrow's sun."

In spite of this startling intelligence, in spite of the tempting
offer thus made, and in spite of the terrible threat by which it was
accompanied, Tlahuicol's voice, as he answered the king, was as calm as
though he was discussing some topic of ordinary interest.

"O king," he said, "know what I have told no man ere now, that I am no
Tlascalan, but am a Toltec of the Toltecs. For many generations have
my ancestors dwelt in the country of the Mayas. From there I came to
this land to battle against thy accursed gods. Since the day that I
left the Mayan people have I ever been in communication with them. Thus
did I learn long since of strange and terrible beings, white-skinned
and bearded as thou dost describe, who had landed on the Mayan coast.
I was told much concerning them, and one thing I learned that thou
wouldst give half thy kingdom to know for a certainty."

"Tell it me then, I command thee?" cried the king.

"I will tell it," answered Tlahuicol, "upon condition that thou first
grant me a few minutes private converse with my children."

"Thy daughter is removed from here, but thy son is at hand. In return
for thy secret, I will grant thee a single minute with him, but no
more."

"It is all I ask," replied the prisoner.

The king gave an order to one of the guards and handed him his signet.
The soldier departed. In a few minutes he returned accompanied by a
tall, finely proportioned youth, of noble bearing, just entering upon
manhood. It was Huetzin, who, at sight of his father, whom he had
feared was dead, sprang into Tlahuicol's arms, and was enfolded in a
close embrace. Quickly releasing himself, the elder man said hurriedly,
but in too low a tone for the bystanders to hear:

"Huetzin, my son, by tomorrow's set of sun I may be with thy mother,
therefore do thou take these as my latest words. Remember always that
thou art a Toltec, that the Aztecs and the Aztec gods are mortal
enemies of thy gods and thy people. If thou art spared, as I feel thou
wilt be, devote thy life to their overthrow. The white conquerors, of
whom I have so often spoken to thee, are even now in the land. If thou
canst escape from this den of murderers, make thy way to them, join
thyself to them, and lead them to this place. As for little Tiata, I
trust thee----"

"Thy time is ended!" interrupted the stern voice of the king; "and now
for thy secret?"

There was one more straining embrace between father and son, then the
latter, exclaiming, "I will never forget!" was roughly dragged away and
disappeared in the darkness.

Folding his arms, and turning grandly to the king, Tlahuicol said:
"The secret that thou wouldst hear, O Montezuma, is that the strange
beings who trouble thee are not gods, but men. At the same time they be
men possessed of powers so terrible that they will sweep thee and thy
false gods from the face of the earth, as the breath of the north wind
scattereth chaff. Know, too, that sooner than lift hand to stay their
coming, I will pray for their success with my latest breath."

"Thy prayers will be few and short, then," answered the king, in a tone
of suppressed rage, as he turned away; "for on the morrow thy false
heart shall be torn from thy body, and the wild fowls of the air shall
feast upon thy carcass."

CHAPTER III.

IN THE MARKET-PLACE OF TENOCHTITLAN

On the morning of the last and greatest day of the festival by which
the mighty calendar stone was dedicated, the rising sun shone from an
unclouded sky upon the fair city of Tenochtitlan. All night long a
thousand slaves had been busy sweeping and watering its streets, until
now their smooth pavements of cement fairly shone with cleanliness. As
there were no horses nor other beasts of burden in all the land, as
all heavy traffic of the city was carried on in boats by means of the
numerous intersecting canals, and as water was everywhere abundant, the
cleansing of the ancient city of Tenochtitlan was a much easier task
than is that of Mexico, its modern successor.

From earliest dawn troops of country people had thronged the three
great causeways leading from the mainland, and poured over them into
the city. Fleets of canoes from Tezcuco, on the opposite side of the
lake, and from various smaller cities and villages on its border, were
constantly arriving laden with parties of expectant sight-seers. Thus
the avenues, streets, and squares, as well as the enclosures of the
six hundred teocallis or temples of the city, were filled, soon after
sunrise, by an eager and joyous multitude.

Especially animated was the scene in the tinguez, or great
market-place, of Tlateloco. Here, displaying their wares in its
shaded porticos, under booths of green leaves, or beneath awnings
of gayly-striped cloth, were gathered traders from all parts of the
kingdom, each in the quarter allotted to his particular class of
goods. Among them were the goldsmiths of Azapozalco, the potters of
Cholula, the weavers of Tezcuco, the stone-carvers of Tenojocan,
the hunters of Xilotepec, the fishermen of Cuitlahuac, the mat
and chair makers of Quauhtitlan, the florists of Iztapalapan, the
fruit-dealers of the _tierra templada_, and the skilled artisans in
feather-work of Xochimilco. Here were armorers displaying arrows,
darts, and javelins, headed with an alloy of copper and tin as hard
as steel, and tougher, heavy maquahuitls, resembling somewhat both
a battle-axe and a sword, with keen blades of glistening itztli or
obsidian. Escaupils, or doublets of quilted cotton which no arrow might
penetrate, fierce-looking casques, fashioned like the grinning heads
of wild animals, and shirts of golden mail, which only nobles might
wear. In other places were quantities of meat, poultry, bread of maize,
cakes, pastry, confectionery, smoking bowls of chocolate, flavored
with vanilla, which, with the intoxicating pulque, shared the name
of national beverage. Barber-shops, and booths for the sale of drugs
and herbs abounded. Nor were book-stalls wanting, though the books
displayed in them bore slight resemblance to those of modern times.
They were formed of broad sheets of cotton cloth, parchment, or a paper
made from the leaves of the agave, folded in the shape of fans, and
covered with the minute colored pictures by means of which the Aztecs,
ignorant of letters, reproduced their ideas on paper. Thus all Aztec
writers were artists, and in the education of youth drawing was taught
instead of reading and writing. To name all the commodities offered
for sale in this vast market-place would be a tedious task, for in all
Tenochtitlan were no stores, nor shops, nor places for trade, save
this. The money used was in the shape of quills of gold-dust, small
bags of cacao beans, and rudely stamped bits of tin.

Besides being a market-place, the tinguez was the centre where all news
was exchanged, and to it came all those who wished to hear or tell some
new thing. On this particular day two subjects of intense interest
agitated the multitude who thronged it, to the exclusion of all other
topics. One was the appearance on the coast of the white strangers, who
were invariably spoken of as gods, and the other was the spectacle with
which the great festival was to conclude that afternoon.

"They do say," exclaimed one portly individual, clad in a flowing
tilmatli, or robe of purple cotton cloth, belted at his waist with a
broad yellow sash, to the armorer whose store of obsidian daggers he
was inspecting, "that the white gods are coming this way, and have even
now set forth from Cempoalla."

"So I have heard," replied the other, "but I care not. If the king so
wills, they may come. If he forbids, they may not."

"But," continued he of the purple robe, "they do say that the king has
already forbidden their advance, and that the strangers pay no heed to
his words."

"Then will Huitzil, the all-powerful, awake, and destroy them with a
breath."

"But they do say that some of them are gods mighty and terrible in
themselves, having the forms both of men and beasts greater and more
frightful than ever were seen. And they do say," he almost whispered in
his earnestness, "that they breathe fire and smoke like Popocatepetl
himself, and that their weapons are thunderbolts."

"Aye, and they do say truly," interrupted a book-seller who had
overheard these remarks, "for here it is pictured out in detail, a copy
made from one of the reports sent to the king himself."

With this the new-comer unfolded a fan-like sheet of parchment, on
which were drawn likenesses of white men in armor, some on horseback
and others on foot, of cannon belching forth fire and smoke, and of
many other things so strange and wonderful to Aztec eyes that in a few
moments the trio were surrounded by a gaping crowd, eagerly pushing and
struggling for a glimpse of the marvellous pictures.

Amid the excitement caused by these evidences that the rumors of the
white gods, busily circulated for many months, were only too true, the
armorer remained calm and self-possessed. He even expressed a contempt
for the strange beings who, he declared, were but sea-monsters, after
all.

"Can such creatures harm the children of the sun so long as Huitzil,
the god of gods, watches over them from his seat above the clouds?" he
cried. "Not that he will be called upon to so much as lift a finger;
for is not Montezuma, our lord and the lord of lords, able of his
own might to drive them into the sea, whence they came? Shall he who
overcame Tlahuicol, the greatest warrior of the age, forbid the advance
of men, monsters, fire-breathing beasts, or even of gods, in vain?
Shame on you for thus belittling your own gods and your king! Alas!
that I, in my poverty, am compelled to forge weapons for such as you!"

"They do say," here interposed he of the purple robe, anxious to change
the subject, "that Tlahuicol the Tlascalan, who is doomed to sacrifice
this day, has demanded the privilege of a warrior who has never turned
back to foe, and that the king has granted it."

"Not the battle of despair?" exclaimed the armorer.

"Even so," nodded the other.

"Then will I at once put away my wares, and hasten to secure a place
within the serpent wall, for if he meet with worthy foemen the sight
of this battle will be worth all the other sights of earth, and I
would not miss it, though with my right hand I was forced to pay for
admission within the sacred wall."

It was even so. Tlahuicol was to lend a crowning glory to the great
festival of his enemies by fighting, for their entertainment, the
battle of despair. This was the poor privilege granted to any captive
warrior who had never turned back to foe, of fighting for his life and
liberty, with a single weapon, and with one foot tethered, against any
six who might challenge him, and who might attack him singly or in
couples, as they chose. In all Aztec history no captive had ever gained
his freedom in this manner, and even so famous a warrior as Tlahuicol
was not supposed to have the slightest chance of victory in so unequal
a contest. It was well known that he had been out of practice, and had
taken almost no exercise for a year. Thus it was held by many that he
was now no more than equal to a warrior of ordinary attainments. As
to his overcoming six, selected from the throng of young Aztec nobles
who eagerly sought this opportunity for acquiring fame and the order
of knighthood, which would be conferred upon him who should deal a
fatal blow to the redoubtable Tlascalan, the idea was unworthy of
consideration. Nevertheless all agreed that Tlahuicol would make a
pretty fight, and even to witness the death-struggle of the warrior
whose name had so long been a terror to Aztec ears, was deemed so great
a privilege that, hours before the time set for the battle, every inch
of available space in the amphitheatre adjoining the great temple was
occupied by the eager populace.

This amphitheatre was but a small portion of the vast area reserved in
the heart of the city, and enclosed by a stone wall eight feet high,
called the Coatapantli, or wall of serpents, for the temple of Huitzil,
the war-god. Here were the dwellings of thousands of priests, and
quarters for ten thousand troops, granaries, arsenals, seminaries for
the priestly education of youth of both sexes, and numerous monuments,
the most notable of which was that constructed of one hundred thousand
human skulls of victims sacrificed on Huitzil's altars. In the exact
centre of the whole towered the great temple, a lofty pyramid of
masonry rising in five terraces, which were gained by as many flights
of stairs. Each of these gave access to a single terrace, and they were
so arranged that from the top of one the entire circuit of the pyramid
must be made ere the next flight could be reached.

The top of this mighty pyramid presented a flat surface of nearly
an acre in extent. On it, rising to a height of sixty feet, was a
shrine sheltering a hideous image of the god and its bloody altar,
on which was laid daily offerings of human hearts torn from living
bodies. Outside of the shrine stood another altar, on which burned the
never-dying fire. It was commonly believed that if by any chance this
should be extinguished some dire calamity would overtake the nation.
Near by stood the great war-drum of serpents' skins, which was only
struck in times of emergency, when the awe-inspiring sound of its
hollow boomings could be heard for leagues.

The only other object on the broad level space was a large block
of jasper, slightly convex on its upper side. It was the stone of
sacrifice, across which victims were laid for the greater convenience
of the priests in cutting open their breasts and tearing out the still
palpitating hearts in which the blood-loving god delighted. The whole
place bore the aspect of a shambles, and was pervaded by a sickening
stench. The priests who officiated here, and of whom Topil was the
chief, were blood-besmeared from head to foot, and allowed their
long hair, also clotted with blood, to hang in elf-locks over their
shoulders. Thus their appearance was more savage and terrible than can
well be imagined.

CHAPTER IV.

TLAHUICOL'S LAST BATTLE

The amphitheatre in which Tlahuicol was to make so desperate a
fight for his life was enclosed on three sides by low buildings,
having terraced roofs on which a vast number of spectators could be
accommodated. In its centre was an immense circular stone, like a
gigantic mill-stone, on the flat surface of which were fought all
gladiatorial combats. Late in the afternoon of the day of feasting,
when the thousands of spectators were weary of the brutal games by
which until that time they had been entertained, an expectant murmur
suddenly swept over the vast assemblage, and then broke into a roar
of applause. Six warriors of noble birth, wearing on their heads
golden casques in the likenesses of a dog, a fox, a wolf, a bear, an
ocelot, and a mountain-lion, with a carriage that bespoke their martial
training, had entered the amphitheatre, and were marching slowly around
the outer edge of the great stone. When they reached the point nearest
the pavilion in which, beneath a canopy of royal green, reclined the
king, surrounded by his attendant nobles, the six warriors prostrated
themselves until their foreheads touched the pavement. Then they
continued their measured march until they reached the side of the
amphitheatre opposite that by which they had entered.

Now, to the barbaric music of drums, attabals, and shells, there
entered a single figure between a double file of soldiers, and the
hurricane of applause by which he was greeted would have proclaimed his
identity even had not his name been heard on all sides.

"Tlahuicol the ocelot!" "Tlahuicol the wolf!" "Tlahuicol the
mountain-lion!" "Tlahuicol the terrible!" shouted the spectators, and
the eyes of the great warrior lighted with a momentary gleam of triumph
at these tributes from his enemies. He was conducted directly to the
centre of the great stone, where one of his ankles was tethered by
a short chain to a ring-bolt let into the unyielding rock. Then one
of his guards stripped the tilmatli from his shoulders, disclosing
the fact that he was naked, save for a cloth about his loins, and
unprotected by armor of any kind. At the same moment another soldier
handed the prisoner the maquahuitl with which he was to defend his life.

Tlahuicol balanced it for a moment in his hand, then suddenly snapped
its tough staff in two without apparent effort, and disdainfully flung
the pieces from him. Turning toward the king he cried, in a loud voice:

"It was but a toy! a child's plaything, and yet it was given me for
the defence of my life! Let me, I pray thee, O king, have my own good
sword. Then will I show thee a fight that may prove of interest."

The king nodded his assent. A soldier was despatched for the weapon,
and shortly returned, bearing in both hands a maquahuitl so huge that a
murmur of amazement arose from the spectators, who deemed it impossible
that any man could wield it. But Tlahuicol received it with a smile of
satisfaction, swung it lightly twice or thrice above his head, and then
leaned upon it with an expectant air as though inviting his enemies to
approach. No further invitation was needed, for no Aztec warrior worthy
of the name was ever lacking in bravery. The young noble who wore the
head of a fox sprang forward, and, with guarded movements, approached
the chained but still terrible champion.

Cautiously the fox circled about his adversary seeking an unguarded
point at which to strike. On account of his fettered leg Tlahuicol
could only turn half-way round, but he would then whirl about so
quickly that, in spite of his disadvantage, he presented no opening
for attack for some minutes. At length, wearying of such fruitless
play, he purposely made his movements slower, until the Fox, thinking
his opportunity had come, sprang forward to deliver a deadly blow. In
an instant his sword was struck from his hand. Broken and useless it
was sent spinning to the further side of the arena, and the Fox reeled
backward with the force of the blow. Recovering himself he sprang to a
soldier who stood near, snatched a javelin from his hand, and hurled
it with deadly aim at Tlahuicol's head. Without moving his body, the
Toltec bent his head to one side, caught the hurtling weapon in his
left hand, and, almost with the same motion, flung it back with such
terrible force that it passed completely through the body of the Aztec
and fell to the ground behind him. He staggered, fell, and was borne,
dying, from the scene.

Instantly two of his companions took his vacant place. Filled with rage
they advanced impetuously and somewhat incautiously. As their weapons
were raised to strike, the terrible maquahuitl of Tlahuicol crushed the
skull of one like an egg-shell, and then, with a fierce backward blow,
sent the other reeling a dozen paces away, so severely wounded that it
was doubtful if he might ever recover. Marvellous as this feat was, it
did not wholly save the Toltec from the descending sword of his third
enemy. The keen obsidian blade cut a frightful gash in his side, and he
was instantly bathed in his own blood.

But the wounded warrior had no time to consider his own condition, for,
almost before he realized that he had been struck, two fresh assailants
were upon him. One of these was cleft from casque to shoulders by
Tlahuicol's awful weapon, which seemed to the breathless spectators
like a thunderbolt in the hands of a god. Ere the Toltec could recover
himself, the other rushed in and bore him to the ground, where, falling
uppermost, the Aztec hoped to deal a fatal blow with his dagger. Before
he could accomplish his purpose the champion's arms had enfolded him
in an embrace so deadly that the breath was driven from his body with
a sound that might be heard in all parts of the amphitheatre, and his
ribs were crushed like pipe-stems. Leaping to his feet, amid thunders
of applause from the frenzied spectators, the Toltec flung the lifeless
body from him, and regained his ponderous sword just in time to meet
the onset of his sixth, and most powerful, assailant, he whose casque
was fashioned in the likeness of an ocelot.

Now the breath of the champion came in sobbing gasps, and he was
so weakened by loss of blood that it seemed impossible for him to
withstand the furious onslaught of this fresh adversary. For the space
of two minutes the exchange of blows was so rapid that there was but
one continuous crash of sound. Then the ocelot leaped back beyond
reach of his tethered opponent. The Toltec staggered and seemed about
to fall. Suddenly, rallying his failing strength, he hurled his heavy
weapon so truly, and with such mighty force, that the last of his
assailants was swept over the edge of the platform on which they had
fought, and rolled, to all appearance lifeless, to the base of the
royal pavilion.

For an instant there was a silence as of death in the vast
amphitheatre. Then it was broken by a thrilling cry in the Mayan tongue
of "Father! oh, Father! you have conquered! you are free!"

Tlahuicol, who had fallen to his knees with the force of his last
effort, lifted his drooping head and looked to where Huetzin struggled
in the grasp of two brawny priests. Then, very feebly, with his right
hand, he made a sign such as but two persons in that vast concourse
recognized. He touched his forehead, his breast, and both shoulders. It
was the sign of the God of the Four Winds, the almost forgotten symbol
of the Toltec faith. Huetzin knew it, and so did one of the priests who
held him.

With the making of this sacred symbol of his race, the mighty warrior
fell forward and lay prone on the bloody stone, unmindful of the wild
storm of plaudits by which his unprecedented victory was hailed.

Suddenly, while all was confusion, the fierce figure of Topil, the
chief priest, sprang to the platform, and, snatching the dread knife of
sacrifice from his girdle, bent over the prostrate man. The next moment
he rose, and with a savage cry of triumph held aloft the heart of the
bravest son of Anahuac. The cheering of the multitude sank into a
shuddering cry of horror at this dastardly act. Had another committed
it he would have been rent in pieces, but the person of the chief
priest was sacred.

Even the elements seemed aghast at the dreadful deed; for, though the
sun had not yet set, the sky was darkened by a veil of inky blackness,
and an ominous moaning filled the air.

Paying no heed to these portents, nor to the black looks of those about
him, Topil screamed to his fellows that the son should share the fate
of the father, and that the god was weary of waiting for the offering
of their hearts. Then, bidding them follow him with the prisoner, he
sprang up the steps of the great temple. With shrill cries the obedient
priests forced a passage through the surging multitude, and hurried
Huetzin in the same direction. Even the king had no power to stop them,
for in Tenochtitlan the chief priest was mightier than he.

So the compact body of white-robed priests mounted flight after flight
of steps, and swept around the four sides of the teocal along terrace
above terrace. Finally they gained the summit of the lofty pyramid, and
disappeared from the view of the silent throngs who gazed, as though
fascinated, after them.

Inevitable and awful as was the fate before him, Huetzin had but one
thought as he was dragged up those weary flights, and along those
interminable terraces. It was not for himself, but for his sister
Tiata, the dear one who, with his last words, the dead father had
entrusted to his care. Without father, mother, or brother, what
would be her fate? What would become of her? As they stripped him and
stretched his naked body on the dread stone of sacrifice, he cried
aloud in his agony:

"Tiata! sister! To the god of the Toltecs, our father's god and our
god, I commend thee!"

CHAPTER V.

HUETZIN'S MIRACULOUS ESCAPE

At this supreme moment in the life of Huetzin, the young Toltec, the
scene, of which he formed the central figure, was of such a character
as to inspire a nameless fear in the hearts of all beholders. To the
silent multitude who, with upturned faces, were gathered about the
temple of their most dreaded god, awaiting the wild chant of priests
that should proclaim the sacrifice accomplished, the summit of the
lofty pyramid was lost in the pall-like blackness of the heavens. Only
a fitful gleam of altar-fire formed a point of light on which the eye
could rest. The broad space surmounting the temple was the dramatic
focus of the weird scene. About it moaned the spirits of upper air,
as though with the voices of the innumerable dead who had breathed
their last on that accursed spot. There was an absolute calm, and no
breath of wind disturbed the straight column of altar-flame that cast a
lurid light across the blood-stained platform. In front of the altar,
and clustered in a dark mass about the stone of sacrifice, were the
priests of Huitzil. Their white robes had been thrown aside, and all
the hideous features of their blood-smeared bodies and streaming locks
of matted hair were revealed. In their midst, cruelly outstretched on
the mass of polished jasper, lay the naked body of the beautiful youth
whose death was to close the pagan rites with which the great calendar
stone was dedicated.

Suddenly the dread silence was broken by a single stroke upon the huge
drum of serpent skins. Out through the blackness rolled its booming
echoes, proclaiming to the utmost limits of the city, and far beyond,
that the final act of the drama was about to be consummated. As the
significant sound smote upon the ears of those gathered at the base
of the teocal, a shuddering cry broke from the vast concourse. It was
heard by Topil, the chief priest, who had just sounded the signal,
and now strode, knife in hand, toward his waiting victim; but it only
caused him to smile scornfully. It was but another tribute to his
power, and he exulted in the natural accessories that rendered this
final scene so impressive.

As Topil stood beside his victim, Huetzin gave utterance to the prayer
recorded in the preceding chapter. Then the dread knife, that had
drunk the blood of thousands, was uplifted. Ere it could descend there
came, from out the enveloping blackness, a flash of light so vivid,
and a crash of thunder so awful, that the very earth trembled with the
shock and the mighty pyramid rocked on its foundations. A huge globe
of fire, a veritable thunderbolt of the gods launched with unerring
aim and irresistible force, had fallen on Huitzil's temple. It burst
as it struck the rock-paved summit of the teocal, and for a moment the
whole space was bathed in leaping flames of such dazzling intensity
that no mortal eye might gaze upon them. Many of the stone blocks were
shattered into fragments, the altar on which burned the eternal fire
was overthrown and its sacred flame extinguished. The priests, gathered
about the stone of sacrifice, were flung, stunned and breathless, in
every direction. Some of them, in the madness of their terror, even
leaped from the edge of the trembling platform, and were dashed to the
pavement of the courtyard far below.

An instant of darkness followed this first exhibition of the storm
god's power. While it lasted, cries of terror and lamentation arose
from all parts of the wide-spread city. From every quarter it was seen
that the sacred fire no longer burned, and into every mind flashed
the foreboding of calamity thus portended. Only for a moment was the
wrath of the storm god stayed, and then bolt upon bolt crashed above
the devoted city, their awful din mingled with the wild shriekings of
unfettered winces, and a downpour of rain that seemed like to deluge
the world.

With the first outbreak of the tempest, Huetzin, released by the
terrified priests who had held him, rolled unconscious to the pavement
beside the stone of sacrifice. When he recovered his senses and
staggered to his feet, a furious storm of wind and rain was buffeting
his naked body, while lightning glared and thunder crashed incessantly
about him. But he still lived, and of those who so recently condemned
him to death, not one was to be seen. A sudden hope sprang into his
breast, and he glanced about for a way of escape. There was none. If he
descended the long flights of steps he would certainly be apprehended
in the walled court below. He might seek a temporary refuge in the
shrine at one end of the platform; but at the best, that would only
prolong his existence for a few wretched hours. Last of all, he might
end his misery at once by a leap from the giddy verge of the platform
on which he stood. Yes, that was best. There was no other way. As he
was about to carry out this intention, a human figure rose from beyond
the sacrificial stone, and stepped to where he stood. It was that of a
priest, and, as a flash of lightning betrayed his presence, Huetzin's
impulse to seize him and force him also to take the death-leap was
checked by a sight that filled him with amazement.

A second gleam of lightning revealed the startling fact that this
priest of Huitzil was making the sacred symbol of the Toltec faith,
the sign made by his own father as his dying act, and which he
deemed unknown to any in all Tenochtitlan save himself. As he stood
motionless with amazement, the strange priest cried, in a voice to be
heard above the tumult of the storm:

"Follow me and I will save you, for I, too, know the holy sign of the
Four Winds! I, too, am a Toltec!"

With this he seized the youth's hand, and the latter allowed himself to
be led away. Instead of turning toward the outer stairway, as Huetzin
fancied they would, they entered the foul and evil-smelling shrine of
the Aztec war-god. The monstrous image, with its hideous features, was
dimly revealed by the intermittent flashes of lightning, and Huetzin
shuddered as he stood before it. To him it was the embodiment of that
cruel and cowardly religion with which the fair land of his ancestors
was cursed, and could he have destroyed it at the expense of his own
life, he would gladly have done so.

Passing swiftly to the back of the image, the priest, who had just
proclaimed himself to be of the Toltec race, caused a panel of stone
to slide noiselessly back in polished grooves, and disclosed a place
of utter blackness. Entering this he drew Huetzin after him. Then he
closed the opening, and, bidding the other stand motionless, passed his
hands carefully over the stone floor at their feet. There was a slight
grating sound, and Huetzin knew, by a sudden upflow of damp air, that
some concealed passage-way had been opened.

"Now," whispered his guide, "we are about to descend a secret stairway
known only to the chief priest and myself. Moreover, should he even
suspect that I was possessed of its knowledge, my heart would smoke on
Huitzil's altar. For this reason I claim thy oath, by the immortal God
of the Four Winds, never to reveal this secret, so long as Huitzil sits
upon his throne."

"By the sacred name of the Four Winds I swear never to reveal it,"
answered the youth.

Then they began to descend, carefully closing the opening above them,
and feeling their way with the utmost caution. The air was damp and
chill, the narrow stone steps were slippery with moisture. They formed
a stairway of zigzags, and to Huetzin it seemed as though they must
penetrate below the foundations of the temple, so long was it before
the bottom of the last flight was reached.

At the terminus of the stairway was a closed door, which only those
initiated into its secret might open. It admitted them to a long narrow
passage, from which branched other passages, as Huetzin learned by
coming upon them with his groping hands. His guide took careful note of
the number of these passages, and finally turned into one that led at
right angles to that they had been following. After a while it sloped
upward, and at its end they found themselves in a small room, which at
the same time seemed large and airy as compared with the suffocating
narrowness of the various passages they had just traversed.

Bidding Huetzin remain here for a moment, the priest left him standing
in darkness and silence that were absolute. So long a time elapsed
before his companion returned, that the young Toltec wondered if he
had escaped the altar of sacrifice only to be buried alive in this
mysterious place. While he dwelt with a sinking heart on the awful
possibilities thus presented, a door was noiselessly opened, and a
flood of light poured into the apartment. The priest, bearing a torch
in one hand and a packet in the other, entered. He was followed by a
slave, carrying a basket, at sight of whom Huetzin shrank back in alarm.

"Be not afraid," whispered the priest, noting the movement; "he is
blind and knows naught of thy presence."

As the slave set down his burden, he was dismissed and retired, closing
the door behind him. From the packet that he bore the priest produced
a robe of the coarse cotton (nequen) worn by the lower classes, with
which Huetzin gladly covered his naked body, a pair of grass sandals,
and a dagger of itztli. The basket yielded materials for a bountiful
meal, to which the young man, who had tasted no food since the night
before, sat down with the appetite of one who is famished. His
companion also ate heartily, and as he did so conversed with Huetzin,
principally of his own affairs. Of himself he only said:

"My name is Halco, and like thyself I am of the Toltec race. Why I am
here in this accursed guise, and how I came to know the secrets of
Topil, I cannot now explain. Suffice it that I am one of the bitterest
enemies of Aztec priesthood and Aztec gods. Until the moment of his
death I knew not that thy father, the brave Tlahuicol, was a Toltec, or
I might have saved him; when he made the sign it was too late. Now I
can provide thee with means of escape. Make thy way to the camp of the
white conquerors, of whom thou must have heard, and lead them to this
city. In them lies our only hope for the overthrow of Huitzil and his
bloody priesthood; when thou comest again thou shalt hear from me."

"But Tiata, my sister! I cannot leave her unprotected," interrupted
Huetzin.

"Fear not for her. For the present she is safe, and if she were not
thou couldst do nothing to help her. I will keep watch, and if dangers
beset her while thou art with the white conquerors, thou shalt be
informed. Now that thou hast eaten and regained thy strength, thy
flight must be continued. Already Topil is aware of thy escape, and he
has sworn by all the gods that thy heart shall yet smoke on Huitzil's
altar."

CHAPTER VI.

TWO SLAVES OF IZTAPALAPAN

Following the mysterious priest, who bore the torch that illuminated
their way, Huetzin was conducted through bewildering ranges of
galleries, passages, and halls, until finally Halco paused, saying:

"Farther than this I may not go. It is high time that I showed myself
among the priests, that my absence may not cause suspicion. Follow this
passage to its end, where thy way of escape will be made plain. Now
fare thee well, son of Tlahuicol, and may the god of the Four Winds
guide and protect thee."

With these words, and without waiting for a reply, the priest turned
abruptly away, and in another moment both he and the light of his torch
had disappeared. For a minute or so Huetzin stood motionless where
he had been left, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness,
he imagined that a faint light came from the direction he had been
told to take. Walking cautiously toward it his ear caught the sound
of lapping waters, and in a moment later he stood in the opening of
a low water-gate that looked out on the broad lake of Tezcuco. The
storm had passed and the stars shone brightly. The cool night air was
delightfully refreshing, and Huetzin inhaled it with long breaths. As
he looked out beyond the wall of the gateway, he saw a shadowy form
of a canoe containing a single occupant, who appeared to be waiting.
Believing this to be the means of escape indicated by the priest, he
uttered a slight cough.

Instantly there came a whisper of: "Art thou he who would be set
across?"

To which Huetzin replied, without hesitation: "I am he."

As the canoe moved to where he stood, he stepped in, and it instantly
shot away toward the farther side of the star-flecked waters. Many
boats, with twinkling lights, were seen, but all of them were skilfully
avoided, until the canoe was among a cluster of little floating islands
of artificial construction. Some of these were used as resorts by
pleasure-loving Aztecs, and others as small gardens on which were
raised vegetables and flowers for the near-by city market. As the canoe
which bore Huetzin and his silent companion passed swiftly by one of
these, a stern voice hailed them, demanding to know their business and
whither they were bound. Receiving no reply, the voice commanded them
to halt, in the king's name.

"What shall I do?" asked Huetzin's companion, irresolutely.

"Do as he commands, and when his curiosity is satisfied so that
thou art allowed to depart, come for me to yonder chinampa," replied
Huetzin, in a whisper. As he spoke he pointed to one of the floating
islands dimly outlined not far from them, and at the same time quietly
slipped into the water. He swam noiselessly, but with such powerful
strokes that a dozen of them placed him beside the tiny islet he had
indicated to his companion. He made as though he would land on it, and
then, with a sudden change of plan, the motive of which he could not
have explained even to himself, he slipped back into the water and swam
toward another chinampa that he could barely discern in the distance.
It was well for him that he obeyed the instinct forbidding him to land
on the first island; for, as he drew himself out on the second, and
lay hidden in the tall grasses that fringed its edge, he heard the
quick dip of paddles, and the sound of suppressed, but excited, voices
coming from the direction of the other. He was startled by hearing his
own name coupled with that of his father. It was borne distinctly to
him over the still waters, and gave him a certain intimation that the
bloodhounds of the chief priest were already on his trail.

Without waiting a further confirmation of his fears, Huetzin hastily
crossed to the other side of the island on which he had taken refuge,
almost stumbling against the tiny, grass-thatched hut of its proprietor
as he did so. The man heard him, and shouted to know who was there. As
Huetzin quietly entered the water and swam away, the man emerged from
his hut, keeping up the angry shouting that the young Toltec would so
gladly have silenced. He soon gained another island, fastened to which
he discovered a canoe. Even as he clambered into it and shoved off,
its owner, aroused by the distant shouts, came hurriedly to the place
where it had been. In another moment his outcries were added to the
others, as he discovered his loss. Fortunately the canoe had drifted so
far under the impetus of Huetzin's vigorous shove, that it was hidden
by the darkness from the eyes of its owner, so that he could form no
notion of who had taken it, nor why it had been stolen.

Huetzin lay motionless in the bottom of the frail craft so long as
it continued to move. Then he raised himself cautiously and began to
feel for a paddle. To his dismay there was none. The careful owner
had carried it to his hut, and now the fugitive, though possessed of
a boat, had no means of propelling it. Yes, he had his hands! and,
kneeling in the bottom of the canoe, he began to urge it forward by
paddling with them. It was slow and tedious work. Moreover, it was
accompanied by a certain unavoidable amount of splashing. This sounded
so loud to the strained senses of the poor lad, that he felt convinced
it must reach the ears of his pursuers.

He had made considerable progress and was well-nigh exhausted by
the unaccustomed nature of his efforts, but still hopeful of escape.
Suddenly he heard voices behind him, evidently approaching rapidly,
and his heart failed him as he realized the utter helplessness of his
position. He listened fearfully to the approaching sounds, which were
coming so directly toward him that discovery was inevitable if he
remained in the canoe. All at once his ear detected something which
caused such a sudden revulsion of feeling that he could have shouted
for joy. The voices were those of a man and a woman, who were talking
in the familiar Tlascalan dialect.

"Ho, slaves!" he called in an imperious tone, as the other canoe
approached close to his own.

The paddling ceased and the man's voice, couched in submissive accents,
answered, "Yes, my lord."

"Have you an extra paddle? Mine is broken and I am a King's messenger
on a service that admits of no delay."

"We have but two, both of which are in use. But if your lordship
desires one of them, and will make good its loss to our master----"

"Hand it to me at once," interrupted Huetzin, in as stern a tone as he
could command. "Or better still," he continued as the other craft drew
alongside, "I will come into your canoe, and you shall carry me to the
further side of the lake. In that way I shall get on more quickly, and
you will run no risk of losing your precious paddle."

Thus saying, Huetzin stepped lightly into the other boat, and
peremptorily ordered its occupants to hasten forward with all speed, as
his mission could not longer be delayed.

With an obedience born of long servitude, they resumed their paddles
and labored to fulfil his wishes, without question. For some time they
proceeded in silence. Then Huetzin's curiosity got the better of his
prudence, and he asked the slaves what they were doing on the lake at
so late an hour of the night.

"We carried a load of flowers from our master's garden, near
Iztapalapan, to the market of Tenochtitlan," answered the man, "and
delayed to witness the festivities until overtaken by the storm. When
it abated so that we might put forth, it was near the middle watch.
Since then we have been stopped and examined three different times by
boats of the lake patrol."

"What sought they?" demanded Huetzin.

"An escaped prisoner."

"Heard you his name?"

"They said----," began the woman, timidly.

"No," interrupted her husband, sharply, "we heard it not. Where will my
lord that we should land him?"

"Anywhere," answered Huetzin, carelessly. Then, correcting himself, he
added: "That is, you may land me at the place to which you are going.
I would not that you should incur your master's displeasure by further
delay. You have a hut of your own, I suppose?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Then take me to it, for my garments are wet, and I would dry them
before proceeding on my journey."

Although such a proposition from one who had recently claimed to be in
the greatest haste, struck both the Tlascalans as peculiar, they were
too wise to pass remarks on the actions of a king's messenger, and so
received it in silence.

Guiding their course by the stars, they soon brought the canoe to land,
and led the way to their humble hut of rushes, plastered with lake mud,
that stood not far from the water's edge.

As the three entered it, the woman knelt to blow life into some coals
that smouldered in a bed of ashes, on a rude hearth, while the man
brought a bundle of twigs to throw on them. As a bright blaze sprung
up, both turned to look at the stranger who had so unceremoniously
thrust himself upon their hospitality. The firelight fell full on his
face, and as the man caught sight of it, a startled cry burst from his
lips. It was echoed by the woman.

"It is Huetzin the Tlascalan!" gasped the former.

"The son of Tlahuicol, our war chief!" cried the woman, with a great
sob, and, seizing the young man's hand, she kissed it passionately.

CHAPTER VII.

LOYALTY OUTWEIGHS GOLD AND FREEDOM

The delight of these humble Tlascalan slaves at discovering, and being
permitted to serve, the son of their country's hero, knew no bounds.
They wept with joy, and would have kissed his feet had he allowed it.
The man provided him with dry clothing from his own scanty stock, while
the woman hastened to make some tortillas, the thin cakes of meal and
water, baked on the surface of a flat stone set at an angle before
the fire, that to this day form the staple bread of all Mexico. They
marvelled at the story of his escape from beneath the very knife of
sacrifice, and listened to it with ejaculations of thankfulness and
amazement at every detail. They spoke with bated breath of Tlahuicol's
brave fight, while the man declared proudly that the like had never
been seen even in that land of battles, and that none but a Tlascalan
could have performed such marvels. More than all were they proud that
Huetzin had entrusted them with his life, and they wondered that he
should have dared place himself at the mercy of strangers.

"No Tlascalan is a stranger to the son of Tlahuicol," answered the
young man, simply.

"But how knew you that we were Tlascalans?"

"By the tongues with which you spoke. The voice of the mountaineer no
more resembles that of a dweller in the valleys than the cry of the
eagle is like that of a raven," replied Huetzin, with a smile.

Then they rejoiced that in all their years of slavery they had not
lost their native accent, and recalled with simple pride how they had
striven and helped each other to preserve this token of their birth,
and sole reminder of their happy youth among the distant mountains.
They told him of their captivity, and how they had been surprised, not
far from their own home, by a party of Aztec slave-hunters, against
whom the man's desperate resistance proved of no avail. "Though there
were but few abler warriors than he in all the land," added the old
woman, proudly, with a fond look at her old husband. They also told him
of their only child, the little girl, Cocotin, who had been left behind
and of whose fate they had gained no tidings in all these years. They
told of their present life with all its toil and hardship, and, when
the tale was ended they rejoiced that the gods had led them over the
thorny paths of slavery to the end that they might be of service to the
son of Tlahuicol, their country's hero.

With all this there was no intimation of the fact, that should they be
suspected of aiding the escape of a victim doomed to sacrifice, or of
having sheltered him for an hour, they would be condemned to death by
torture. Huetzin, however, was well aware of this, and so, when he had
eaten of their frugal fare and dried his wet garments, he would have
taken his departure; but to this his entertainers would not listen.

"It is near morning, and with daylight your capture in this place would
be certain," argued the man. "Tarry with us until the coming of another
night, when I will guide you to a place from which you may reach the
road to Tlascala."

"Would my lord snatch from us the great joy of our lives?" asked
the woman, reproachfully, "and needlessly shorten the only hours of
happiness we have known since last we looked on the face of Cocotin,
our little one?"

"But if I am found here your lives will be forfeit," urged Huetzin.

"That is as the gods will," answered the man. "Our poor lives are as
nothing, while the gods have shown that they are reserving yours for
their own good purpose. Nay, my lord, depart not, but honor us with
your presence yet a while longer, and all shall be well."

Thus urged Huetzin yielded, and, more weary than he was aware of, flung
himself down on a mat of sweet grasses in one corner of the room, where
he almost instantly fell asleep. The old people watched him, sitting
hand in hand and conversing in whispers of the wonderful event by which
the hard monotony of their lives had been brightened. Every now and
then the man went outside and listened. At daylight he was obliged to
report for duty in the fields.

When he had gone the woman took a quantity of the maguey fibre, which
it was her daily task to prepare for the cloth-weavers, and, with
it, completely concealed the sleeping youth. So well was he hidden
that even the prying eyes of a female neighbor, who ran in for a few
moments' gossip while her breakfast was cooking, failed to detect his
presence.

"Have you heard," asked the woman, "of the escape of a victim dedicated
to Huitzil yesterday? In some manner--I have not yet learned the
details--he succeeded in killing several of the holy priests, and
escaping from under the very knife of sacrifice. The gods were so
incensed that they extinguished the sacred fire with a breath. Nor will
they be appeased until he is again brought before them, and his heart
lies on the altar; for so say the priests."

"What is he like?" demanded the other, calmly.

"They say," replied the visitor, "that he is young, and as comely to
look upon as Quetzal himself; but that at heart he is a very monster,
and that his only meat is babes or very young children. I should be
frightened to death were I to catch sight of him, though for the sake
of the reward I should be willing to venture it."

"Is there a reward offered for his capture?"

"Yes. Have you not heard? It is proclaimed everywhere, that, to any
free man who shall produce him dead or alive, or tell where he may be
found, shall be given a hundred quills of gold and a royal grant of
land. If any slave shall be the fortunate one, he and his shall be
given their freedom, and twenty quills of gold. Oh! I would my man
might set eyes on him. He is already searching, as are many of the
neighbors, for it is said that the escaped one crossed the lake in
this direction last night, after overturning several boats that were
in pursuit of him, and leaving their occupants to perish in the water.
Besides that, he killed or wounded near a score of chinampa owners, and
set their canoes adrift. I know this to be so, for my man picked up one
of the canoes on the lake shore, not an hour ago, and has informed the
officers."

"Never did I hear of anything so terrible!" cried the Tlascalan woman,
professing an eager sympathy with her neighbor's gossip. "We are all in
danger of our lives."

"Yes," continued the other, "but he must be taken soon, for soldiers
are scouring the country in all directions, and every house is to
be searched. They will not find him in a dwelling, though, for the
penalty is too terrible. The proclamation says that whoever shall
give him a crust of bread, or a sup of water, or a moment's shelter,
shall be burned to death, he and every member of his family. So the
monster will get no aid, I warrant you. Well, I must go. I am glad you
know nothing of him," she added, casting a searching glance around
the interior of the hut, "for I should hate to be compelled to inform
against a neighbor. What a fine lot of fibre you have prepared!"

"Yes," answered the Tlascalan woman, calmly, "and I am just about to
take it out in the sun to bleach."

As the steps of the departing gossip died away, Huetzin, who had been
aroused by her shrill tones, and had overheard all that she said, shook
off his covering of fibre and rose to his feet, looking very pale and
determined.

"I can no longer remain here," he said; "my presence would be
discovered by the first who searched this dwelling, and I should only
have devoted you and your husband to an awful fate. It is better that
you should give me up and claim the reward."

At these words the woman gave him a look so reproachful and full of
entreaty, that he hastened to recall them. "No," he exclaimed, "you
could not! To a Tlascalan such baseness would be impossible! But you
can at least let me depart."

"Yes," said the woman, "you must go, for you can no longer remain here
in safety; but I am minded of another hiding-place in which, for a time
at least, you can remain undiscovered. Come with me, and I will show it
you."

So they left the hut together, Huetzin almost creeping on his hands
and knees through the tall grasses which formed the only shelter from
observation, and the woman bearing a great bundle of maguey fibre. This
answered a fourfold purpose. The pretense of bleaching it gave her an
excuse for going abroad. Its weight would account for the slowness with
which she walked. She carried it so as partly to shield her companion
from sight, and, had anyone approached, she would have dropped it over
him while pretending to rest.

Thus the two proceeded slowly and fearfully until they reached the
ruins of an ancient aqueduct, that had once brought water for the
garden fountains of some long-forgotten Toltec noble. The aqueduct,
which was a sodded dike enclosing a great earthen pipe, had been
gullied by some short-lived but furious torrent, and its pipe was
broken at the place where Huetzin and the Tlascalan woman now halted.
There was an opening just large enough for a man to squeeze through;
but, once inside the pipe, he could neither turn himself about nor
assume any position save that of lying at full length. The bottom
of the pipe was covered thickly with a slimy sediment suggestive of
all manner of creeping and venomous things. It was indeed a dismal
place, but it offered a chance for life which Huetzin accepted. As he
disappeared within its dark recess, the woman resumed her burden of
fibre and retraced her steps to her own dwelling.

Not long after her return to it, she was startled by the approach of a
squad of Aztec soldiers, guided by her husband, with anguish-stricken
face. Entering the hut they searched it carefully, thrusting their
spears into every suspected place, including the heap of maguey fibre
on the floor, which they thoroughly prodded. The Tlascalan was amazed
at his wife's calmness during these proceedings, as well as at the
absence of the fugitive. He had been certain that the latter would be
discovered there, even while he stoutly denied any knowledge of him or
his whereabouts to the soldiers, who had forced him to accompany them
to the search of his own dwelling. When they left to hunt elsewhere
he was compelled to go with them. Thus it was not until nightfall,
when he returned from his day's labor, that he learned of the safety
of their beloved guest, and of the hiding-place found for him by the
quick-witted Tlascalan woman. She had not dared go near him during the
day, and it was not until after their usual hour for retiring, when
all men were supposed to be asleep, that the brave old couple ventured
forth to release the prisoner from his painful position in the ancient
water-pipe.

CHAPTER VIII.

TRAPPING A KING'S COURIER

But for a promise he had given, to remain in his uncomfortable
hiding-place until summoned by his friends, and but for the awful
penalty they must have paid had their connection with him been
discovered, Huetzin would long since have left the old water-pipe. His
position in it was so painfully cramped that, as the long hours dragged
slowly away, it became well-nigh insupportable. When he finally heard
the welcome summons, and issued from the narrow opening, he was so
stiff he could hardly stand. A brisk rubbing of his limbs soon restored
their circulation; and, after partaking of a hearty meal in the cabin
of his humble protectors, he was once more ready to venture forth. A
wallet well filled with tortillas, provided by the woman to whom he
already owed his life, was given him, and, bidding her a loving and
grateful farewell, he followed the lead of the old mountaineer out into
the darkness.

Making many detours to avoid dwellings, and after a narrow escape from
a patrol of soldiers, suddenly encountered, who passed so close to
where they crouched in a thicket by the wayside that they could have
touched them, the fugitives finally reached the fresh-water lake of
Chalco. Here Huetzin alone would have wasted much precious time, but
his guide knew where to find a canoe. This he speedily drew forth from
its hiding-place, and a half-hour of silent paddling set them across
the lake. Although they approached the shore with the utmost caution,
they were hailed from out its shadows, as they were about to land, by a
hoarse challenge that sounded like a voice of doom. As they hesitated,
irresolute, an arrow flew by their heads with a venomous hiss, and the
old man cried out, in a tremulous voice:

"Hold thy hand, my lord, it is only I, a poor slave of Iztapalapan,
seeking to catch a few fish for the morrow's food."

"Come hither, slave, at once, that I may examine thee, ere I drive an
arrow through thy miserable carcass," cried the voice.

Making an awkward splashing with his paddle, under cover of which
Huetzin slid into the water, the old man obeyed. He found but a single
soldier awaiting him, though others, who came running up from either
side, demanding to know the cause for shouting, showed that he formed
but one of a cordon guarding the whole lake shore. These carefully
examined the old man and his canoe. At length, satisfied that he was
alone and bore no resemblance to the one whom they sought, they let
him go, bidding him not to venture near the shore again as he valued
his life. As he humbly thanked them for their forbearance, and slowly
paddled away, they moved up the beach in search of other suspicious
characters.

Huetzin, who had been standing in water up to his neck, where he would
hear every word that passed, now attracted the Tlascalan's attention by
a low hissing sound, grasped his hand in token of farewell, and made
his way to the spot just vacated by the soldiers, correctly assuming
that, for a short time at least, it would be safer than any other.
Cautiously and noiselessly he crept up the bank, nor did he dare to
move at more than a snail's pace until a good quarter of a mile had
been put between him and his enemies. Then he set forth at such speed
that, before morning, he had left the valley of Mexico behind, and was
climbing the rugged slope of the mountains bounding it on the east.

At the coming of daylight the fugitive sought a cave, near which issued
a spring of clear water; and here he passed the day, having no food
save the water-soaked tortillas, already sour and mouldering in his
wallet. When night came he again ventured forth, and found a field,
from which he procured a few ears of half-ripened maize.

Thus for a week he hid by day and travelled by night, rarely daring
to set foot on the highway by which the mountains were traversed, but
scrambling through the dense forests that bordered it, and having
narrow escapes from wild beasts and wilder men. His clothing and skin
were torn by thorns, his feet were cut and bleeding from rude contact
with jagged rocks, his blood was chilled by the biting winds of the
lofty heights to which he climbed, and his body was weakened and
emaciated by starvation. Only an indomitable will, the remembrance of
his father's death, and the thought of Tiata with no one in the world
to care for her save him, urged the young Toltec forward.

Often during the day, from some hiding-place overlooking the public
road, he watched with envy the king's couriers, hurrying east or west
with the swiftness of the wind. Each of these, as he knew, ran at full
speed for two leagues, at the end of which he delivered his despatches
to another who was in waiting at a post-station, and was then allowed
to refresh himself with food, drink, and a bath, before being again
summoned to duty. Such was the swiftness of these trained runners,
and the perfection of the system controlling them, that despatches
were transmitted with incredible rapidity, and on the king's table in
Tenochtitlan fresh fish were daily served, that were taken from the
eastern ocean, two hundred miles away, less than twenty hours before.

Not only did Huetzin, barely existing on the few tunas or acrid wild
figs that he occasionally found, envy the king's couriers the comforts
of the post-stations, to which he dared not venture, and which seemed
so desirable as compared with his own surroundings, but he longed
to know the purport of the despatches that so constantly passed and
repassed. That most of them contained information concerning the
white conquerors, whose movements and intentions he was so anxious to
discover, he felt certain. He knew that the penalty for molesting or
delaying a king's courier was death; but that meant nothing to him, for
the same fate would be his in any case if he should be captured. Thus,
being already outlawed, he would not have hesitated to attack a courier
and strive to capture his despatches, but for the fact that they were
strong, well-fed men, while he was weak from starvation. Moreover, they
were armed, while he was not, even his dagger having been broken off at
the hilt in an attempt to cut for himself a club early in his flight.
At length, however, he contrived a plan that promised success, and
which he at once proceeded to put into execution.

He had saved the broken blade of his dagger, and transformed it into
a rude knife by binding one end with bark. With this he cut a tough,
trailing vine, nearly one hundred feet in length, and, coiling it as
he would a rope, made his way, cautiously, just at dusk, to the edge
of the highway. He had chosen a place from which he could see for some
distance in either direction; and, after making certain that no person
was in sight, he fastened one end of his rope-like vine to the roots
of a small tree. Then, carrying the other across the road, he stretched
it as tightly as possible, and made it fast. The rope, so arranged, was
lifted some six inches above the surface of the road. Having thus set
his trap, Huetzin concealed himself at one side and impatiently awaited
the approach of a victim.

Ere he had waited a half-hour there came a sound of quick foot-falls,
and the heart of the young Toltec beat high with excitement. Now he
could see the dim form of a man speeding forward through the darkness,
and hear the panting breath. Now the flying messenger is abreast of the
place where he crouches. Now he trips over the unseen obstacle, and
plunges headlong with a startled cry and outstretched arms. Huetzin
leaped forward and flung himself bodily upon the prostrate form. He
had anticipated a struggle, and nerved himself for it, but none was
made. The man's forehead had struck on the rocky roadbed, and he lay
as one dead. Huetzin wasted no time in attempting to revive him;
but, unfastening the green girdle that held the precious packet of
despatches, and at the same time distinguished its wearer as being
in the royal service, and securing the bow and arrows with which the
courier was armed, he plunged again into the forest and disappeared.

That night he was so fortunate as to discover a corn-field, for he had
now passed the range of the great volcan, and descended to the fertile
table-land on its eastern side. At daylight he had the further good
fortune to shoot a wild turkey, and though, having no fire nor means of
procuring one, he was forced to eat the meat raw, it greatly refreshed
and strengthened him. By the time he had finished this welcome meal,
and selected a hiding-place for the day, the sun had risen, and he
eagerly opened the packet of despatches.

[Illustration: HUETZIN WASTED NO TIME.]

For an hour he pored over them, and when it was ended the young Toltec
was wiser, concerning some matters of vital importance, than the king
himself. He had not only learned, as well as pictured likenesses could
teach him, what manner of beings the white conquerors were, but a
secret concerning them that might have altered the fate of the kingdom
had Montezuma been aware of it at that moment. It was that the terrible
beings who accompanied the conquerors, and were described as combining
the forms of men and fire-breathing monsters, were in reality two
distinct individuals, a man and an animal, also that they were mortal
and not godlike. These facts were shown by pictures of a dead horse,
and two of the white strangers, also lying on the ground, dead and
transfixed by arrows. Near them stood a number of men, and several
horses without riders, but all pierced by arrows, showing them to be
wounded. It was evidently a representation of a battle-scene between
the white conquerors, and-- Could it be? Yes! There was the white
heron, the emblem of the Tlascalan house of Titcala, the token of his
mother's family! The white conquerors were at war with Tlascala!

This was a startling revelation to the son of Tlahuicol. He knew that
his warrior father had deemed a union of the forces of Tlascala with
those of the powerful strangers the only means by which the Aztec
nation and its terrible priesthood could be overthrown. What could
he do to stop the war now so evidently in progress, and bring about
the desirable alliance? He could at least bear his father's last
message, with all speed, to Tlascala, and he would. It should be heard
by the council of chiefs ere the set of another sun. Thus deciding,
and fastening the green girdle of the courier, the badge of royal
authority, about his waist, Huetzin hastened to the highway, and set
out boldly upon it, with all speed, in the direction of Tlascala.

CHAPTER IX.

WHO ARE THE WHITE CONQUERORS?

Yes, the white strangers were at war with Tlascala; there could be
no doubt of it. The meaning of the pictured despatches was too clear
on that point to be misunderstood. Which side would win in such a
struggle? The pictures seemed to indicate that the strangers had
suffered a defeat. Certainly some of them had been killed, as had at
least three of the mysterious beings who had, until then, been believed
to be gods. With such evidences of the superiority of his countrymen to
reassure him, could the son of a Tlascalan warrior doubt which banner
would be crowned with victory? And yet, if these white strangers should
be destroyed, or driven back whence they came, what would become of his
father's cherished plan for the overthrow of Montezuma and his bloody
priesthood by their aid? Why had Tlahuicol placed such confidence in
their powers? Who, and what, were these white conquerors? Whence had
they come? and what was their object in braving the dangers that must
beset every step of their advance into the land of Anahuac?

With thoughts and queries such as these was the mind of Huetzin filled
as he sped forward on his self-appointed mission. The question of food,
that had absorbed so large a share of his attention on the preceding
days of his flight, no longer gave him any anxiety. The sight of his
green girdle and packet of despatches caused his wants of this nature
to be rapidly supplied from the several post stations, at which he
halted for a moment without entering. To be sure his appearance created
animated discussions after he had departed, but only when it was too
late to make investigation. Thus Huetzin's mind was free to dwell upon
the subject of the white conquerors and their war with his own people.

These "white conquerors," as Tlahuicol had termed them, formed the
little army with which Hernando Cortes set forth from Cuba, in the
spring of 1519, for the exploration and possible subjugation of the
great western kingdom, concerning which fabulous accounts had already
reached Spain. During the twenty-seven years that had elapsed since
Columbus first set foot on an island of the New World, exploration
had been active, and the extent of its eastern coast had been nearly
determined. Sebastian Cabot had skirted it from Labrador to the
peninsula of Florida. Columbus himself had reached the mainland,
without realizing that it was such, and had sailed from Honduras to the
mouth of the mighty Orinoco. Amerigo Vespucci and others had coasted
southward as far as the Rio de la Plata. Balboa, with dauntless
courage, had forced his way through the trackless forests of Darien,
and from the summit of its lofty cordilleras sighted the mighty
Pacific. The West Indian Islands were all known, and only the lands
bordering the Mexican Gulf still remained unexplored.

In 1517 a Spanish slave-hunter, bound from Cuba to the Bahamas, was
driven so far out of his course by a succession of easterly gales that,
at the end of three weeks, he found himself on an unknown coast far
to the westward. It was the land of the Mayas, who, having learned by
rumor of the cruelties practised by the Spaniards in the Caribbean
Islands, greeted these new-comers with an invincible hostility that
resulted in a series of bloody encounters. In most of these the
Spaniards were worsted; some of them were taken prisoners by the
Indians, and so many were killed that all notions of their godlike
nature were destroyed. When the whites questioned those natives with
whom they gained intercourse as to the name of their land, the answer
always given was, "Tec-ta-tan" (I do not understand you), and this,
corrupted into "Yucatan," is the name borne by that portion of the
country to this day.

In spite of their reverses and failure to gain a foothold in this new
country, the Spanish slave-hunters saw enough of its stone buildings,
populous towns, cultivated fields, rich fabrics, and golden ornaments
to convince them that they were on the borders of a powerful and
wealthy empire. Thus, when they returned to Cuba, leaving half their
number behind, either dead or as prisoners, they brought such glowing
accounts of their discoveries that another expedition to extend them,
as well as to procure slaves and gold, was immediately fitted out.
Under the command of Juan de Grijalva, and embarked in four small
vessels, it sailed from Santiago in May, 1518, and was gone six months,
during which time it explored the coast from Yucatan to a point some
distance beyond where the city of Vera Cruz now stands.

On the Mayan coast Grijalva met with the same fierce hostility that
had greeted his predecessor, but among the Aztecs he was received with
a more friendly spirit by a chieftain who had been ordered to make a
careful study of the strangers for the information of the king of that
land. This monarch, who was soon to become the world-famed Montezuma,
also sent costly gifts to the Spaniards, hoping that, satisfied with
them, they would depart and leave his country in peace. They did
so, but only to carry to Cuba such wonderful tales of the wealth of
the countries they had visited that a third expedition was at once
undertaken. It was placed under command of Hernando Cortes, a trained
soldier, about thirty-three years of age. His fleet consisted of eleven
vessels, the largest of which was but of one hundred tons burden.
Three others were from seventy to eighty tons, and the rest were open
caravels. In these were embarked eight hundred and fifty souls, of whom
one hundred and ten were sailors. Five hundred and fifty were soldiers,
but of these only thirteen were armed with muskets, and thirty-two with
crossbows, the rest being provided with swords and pikes. The remainder
of the force consisted of Indian servants.

If this small force of men had been his sole reliance, Cortes would
have accomplished little more than his predecessors; but it was not.
He was well provided with artillery, in the shape of ten heavy guns
and four small brass pieces called falconets, besides a bountiful
supply of ammunition. Better than all, however, he had sixteen horses,
animals up to that time unknown on the American continent, and well
fitted to inspire the simple-minded natives with terror. Cortes was
also fortunate in his selection of officers. Among them were the fierce
Alvarado, who had already been on the coast with Grijalva, and who was
afterward named by the Aztecs "Tonatiah," or the Sunlit, on account of
his golden hair and beard, and Gonzalo de Sandoval, barely twenty-two
years of age and slow of speech, but of such a sturdy frame, good
judgment, and absolute fearlessness that he became the most famous and
trustworthy of all the conqueror's captains. He was also the owner of
the glorious mare Motilla, the pride and pet of the army.

With this force Cortes sailed for the Mexican coast filled with hopes
of conquest and of abolishing forever the cruel religion of the Aztecs,
with its human sacrifices and bloody rites, concerning which the
reports of his predecessors had said so much.

The policy of Cortes was to gain his ends by peaceful means, if
possible, and only to fight when forced to do so. In pursuance of
this plan of action he touched at several places on the Mayan coast,
before proceeding to Mexico, and so won the good-will of those fierce
fighters by his courtesy and a liberal bestowal of presents, that they
not only desisted from hostilities, but delivered to him a Spaniard
whom they had held as prisoner for several years. This man, whose name
was Aguilar, could converse fluently in the Mayan tongue, and was thus
invaluable as an interpreter.

At the mouth of the Tabasco River, on the borders of Aztec territory,
where Grijalva had been so courteously received two years before,
Cortes was greeted in a very different manner. As the Tabascans had
been ordered by the Aztec monarch to treat Grijalva's expedition
kindly and gain from it all possible information concerning the white
strangers, they now received instructions from the same source to
destroy this one. Accordingly a great army had been collected, and in
spite of Cortes's efforts to maintain peaceful relations, his little
force was attacked with the utmost fury as soon as it landed. The
artillery created terrible havoc in the dense ranks of the natives;
but so desperate was their onset that the Spaniards would doubtless
have been defeated had it not been for the opportune arrival of their
cavalry, which was thus used for the first time in a New-World battle.
Before these death-dealing monsters, whose weight bore down all
opposition, and beneath whose iron hoofs they were trampled like blades
of grass, the panic-stricken Indians fled in dismay.

The loss of the Tabascans in this first battle of the conquest of
Mexico was enormous, reaching well into the thousands, while of the
Spaniards a number were killed and some two hundred were wounded. Among
the prisoners taken were several caciques, whom Cortes set at liberty
and sent back to their own people with presents, and the message that
for the sake of peace he was willing to overlook the past provided
they would now acknowledge the authority of his king and abolish human
sacrifices from their religious observances. If they refused these
terms he would put every man, woman, and child to the sword.

This threat, together with the punishment already received, was
effective. On the following day a delegation of head men came in, to
tender their submission to the White Conqueror. They brought many
valuable gifts, among which were twenty female slaves, whom Cortes
caused to be baptized and given Christian names. The most beautiful
of these, and the one who quickly proved herself the most intelligent,
had already passed through a long experience of slavery, though still
but seventeen years of age. Sold, when a child, by a step-mother, in
a distant northern province, she had been carried to the land of the
Mayas, educated there in the household of a noble, and finally captured
by the fierce Tabascans. She was thus able to speak both the Aztec
and the Mayan tongues, and so could interpret the Aztec, through the
Mayan, to Aguilar, who in turn translated her words into Spanish. Thus,
through this young Indian girl, the Spaniards were, for the first time,
placed in direct communication with the dominant race of the country.
The Christian name given her was "Marina," a name destined to become
almost as well known as that of the White Conqueror himself.

From Tabasco Cortes followed the coast to the island of San Juan de
Ulloa, inside which he anchored his fleet. Here, for the first time, he
received an embassy direct from Montezuma, and saw the Aztec artists
busily making sketches of his men and their belongings for the king's
information. Here, too, he landed, and founded the city of Vera Cruz,
to be used as a base of operations while in that country.

The Spaniards spent some months on the coast, and in the _Tierra
Caliente_, or hot lands, immediately adjoining it. They formed an
alliance with the Totonacs, a disaffected people recently conquered by
the Aztecs, regained for them their principal city of Cempoalla, where
they destroyed the Aztec idols, and devoted themselves to a study of
the resources of the country they proposed to conquer and the character
of its people.

In the meantime they received many messages from Montezuma forbidding
their proposed visit to his capital, and commanding them to depart
whence they came. As these messages were always accompanied by
magnificent presents of gold, jewels, and rich fabrics, the Spaniards
were even more tempted to stay and search for the source of this
unbounded wealth, than to leave it undiscovered. So, in spite of
Montezuma's prohibition, Cortes, after first destroying his ships that
they might offer no excuse for a retreat, took up his line of march for
Tenochtitlan, two hundred miles in the interior.

CHAPTER X.

THE SIGN OF THE GOD OF THE FOUR WINDS

It was in August, the height of the rainy season, that the little
Spanish army of four hundred men, only fifteen of whom were mounted,
took up their line of march from Vera Cruz for the Aztec capital.
They carried with them but three heavy guns and the four falconets.
The remainder of the troops, one horse, and seven pieces of heavy
artillery, were left for the defence of their infant city. To drag
their guns and transport their baggage over the mountains they obtained
from Cempoalla the services of a thousand tamanes, or porters. An army
of thirteen hundred Totonac warriors also accompanied them.

Their first day's journey was through the perfumed forest filled with
gorgeous blossoms and brightly plumaged tropic birds of the _Tierra
Caliente_. Then they began to ascend the eastern slope of the Mexican
Cordilleras, above which towers the mighty snow-robed peak of Orizaba.
At the close of the second day they reached the beautifully located
city of Jalapa, standing midway up the long ascent. Two days later they
came to Naulinco, whose inhabitants, being allied to the Totonacs,
received them in the most friendly manner. From here they passed into
the rugged defile now known as the "Bishop's Pass," where, instead of
the tropic heats and sunshine to which they had become accustomed, they
began to experience cold winds, with driving storms of rain, sleet, and
hail, which chilled them to the marrow, and caused the death of many of
the Indian porters. The aspect of the surrounding country was as dreary
as that of its leaden skies. On all sides were granite bowlders rent
into a thousand fantastic shapes, huge masses of lava, beds of volcanic
cinders and scoriæ, bearing no traces of vegetation, while, above all,
towered snow-clad pinnacles and volcanic peaks. After three days of
suffering and the most fatiguing labor amid these desolate scenes they
descended, and emerged through a second pass into a region of exceeding
fertility and a genial climate. They were now on the great table-land
of Puebla, and seven thousand feet above the level of the sea. Here
they rested for several days in the Aztec city of Cocotlan, the
governor of which dared not resist them, as he had received no orders
from his royal master to do so.

From Cocotlan they travelled down a noble, forest-clad valley, watered
by a bold mountain-torrent, and teeming with inhabitants, who collected
in throngs to witness the passing of the mysterious strangers, but made
no offer to molest them. At the fortress of Xalacingo they came to
two roads, one leading to the sacred city of Cholula, famed for its
great pyramid, its temples, and its pottery, and the other leading to
Tlascala. By the advice of their native allies the conquerors decided
to take the latter way, and visit the sturdy little mountain republic
which had maintained a successful warfare against the arrogant Aztec
for more than two centuries, and with which they hoped to form an
alliance. So an embassy of Totonac caciques, bearing an exquisite
Spanish sword as a present, was despatched to explain to the Tlascalan
chiefs the peaceful intentions of the Spaniards, and ask for permission
to pass through their territory.

The Christian army waited several days in vain for the return of these
messengers, and at length, impatient of the delay, determined to push
on at all hazards. Leaving the beautiful plain in which they had
halted, they struck into a more rugged country, and at length paused
before a structure so strange that they gazed at it in wonder. It was
a battlemented stone wall nine feet high, twenty in thickness, six
miles long, and terminating at either end in the precipitous sides
of tall mountains too steep to be scaled. Only in the centre of this
wellnigh impregnable fortress was there a narrow opening, running for
forty paces between overlapping sections of the wall. This remarkable
structure stood on the boundary of Tlascalan territory and, had the
mountain warriors to whom it belonged chosen to defend it upon this
occasion, the white men might have dashed themselves against it as
fruitlessly as the waves of the sea against an iron-bound coast, until
their strength was spent, without effecting a passage to the country
beyond.

For days the great council of Tlascala had been the scene of stormy
debate as to how the strangers applying for admission to their
territory should be received. Some of its members were for making an
immediate alliance with them against the Aztecs. Others claimed that
these unknown adventurers had not yet declared themselves as enemies of
Montezuma, nor had their vaunted powers been tested in battle against
true warriors. "Therefore," said these counsellors, "let us first fight
them, and if they prove able to withstand us, then will it be time to
accept their alliance." This advice finally prevailed, war was decided
upon, and a force was despatched to guard the great fortress. But it
was too late. Cortes and his little army had already passed through its
unguarded opening and gained the soil of the free republic.

After proceeding a few miles the leader, riding at the head of his
horsemen perceived a small body of warriors armed with maquahuitls
and shields, and clad in armor of quilted cotton, advancing rapidly.
These formed the van of those who should have guarded the fortress.
On seeing that the Spaniards had already passed it, they halted; and,
as the latter continued to approach, they turned and fled. Cortes
called upon them to halt, but as they only fled the faster he and his
companions clapped spurs to their steeds and speedily overtook them.
Finding escape impossible the Tlascalans faced about, but instead of
surrendering or showing themselves terror-stricken at the appearance
of their pursuers, they began a furious attack upon them. Handful as
they were, they fought so bravely that they held their ground until
the appearance, a few minutes later, of the main body to which they
belonged. These numbering several thousand, and advancing on the run,
at once gave battle to the little body of Spanish cavaliers. First
discharging a blinding flight of arrows, they rushed, with wild cries,
upon the horsemen, striving to tear their lances from their grasp
and to drag the riders from their saddles. They seemed fully aware
that rider and horse were distinct individuals, in which respect they
differed from any of the natives yet encountered. Fortunately for the
cavaliers the press about them was so great that their assailants found
it almost impossible to wield their weapons, while from their superior
elevation they were enabled to use their swords with telling effect.
Still the Tlascalans succeeded in dragging one rider to the ground and
in wounding him so severely that he soon afterward died. Two horses
were also killed, and this formed by far the most serious loss yet
sustained by the Spaniards.

Scores of the Tlascalans received mortal wounds, but the sight of
their stricken comrades only served to animate the survivors with fresh
courage and an increased fury. From their childhood the Tlascalans were
taught that there was no glory so great as that to be gained by death
on the field of battle, and that the warrior thus dying was at once
transported to the blissful mansions of the sun. Nowhere in the New
World had the Spaniards encountered such warriors as these, and it was
with inexpressible thankfulness that the hard-pressed cavaliers beheld
the rapid advance of their own infantry, and were able to retreat for a
breathing spell behind their sheltering lines. A simultaneous fire of
artillery, muskets, and crossbows so bewildered the Tlascalans, who now
for the first time heard the terrifying sound, and witnessed the deadly
effect, of fire-arms, that they made no further attempt to continue the
battle. They did not fly but withdrew in good order, carrying their
dead with them.

The Spaniards were too exhausted to follow up their victory, and were
anxious only to find a safe camping-place for the night. During the
hours of darkness they carefully buried the two horses killed in that
day's fight, hoping that when the Tlascalans found no trace of them
they might still believe them to be supernatural beings. A strong guard
was maintained all night, and those who slept did so in their armor
with their weapons in their hands.

On the following day the Spaniards resumed their march, presenting,
with their Indian allies, quite an imposing array. As on the previous
day the pursuit of a small body of the enemy, who fell back as they
advanced, led them into the presence of another Tlascalan army, headed
by Tlahuicol's nephew and successor, a fiery young warrior named
Xicoten. This army met them in a narrow valley of such broken ground
that the artillery could not be operated within its limits. Here thirty
thousand warriors not only filled the valley with their numbers, but
spread out on the plain beyond, presenting a confused assemblage of
gay banners, glittering weapons, and many-colored plumes tossing above
the white of cotton-quilted armor. Over all floated proudly the heron
device of the great house of Titcala, to which Xicoten, the general,
belonged.

The battle now fought was more stubborn and prolonged than that of
the day before. Another horse was killed, and his mangled remains
were borne off in triumph to be distributed as trophies through every
Tlascalan village. A terrible hand-to-hand struggle took place over
the prostrate form of his rider, who was finally recovered by the
Spaniards, only to die shortly after of his wounds.

While the Christians, protected by their armor, received the showers of
Tlascalan arrows and darts with impunity, their Totonac allies suffered
heavily. All were nearly exhausted before the artillery was dragged
clear of the broken ground and brought into play. Then, as on the
previous day, the Tlascalans sullenly retreated before a deadly fire
which they had no means of returning.

Again the Spaniards, weary with a day of fighting, sought only a
safe place of encampment. This they found on the hill of Zompach, a
rocky eminence crowned by a small temple, which they converted into
a fortress. Here they rested and cared for their wounded during the
succeeding day; but on the next, as provisions were running low,
Cortes, taking with him only his cavalry, made a foray through the
surrounding villages and farms. During this wild ride Sandoval, with
the recklessness of youth, trusting to his good sword and the fleet
Motilla for safety, allowed himself to become separated from the rest.

He was at some distance behind, and galloping furiously through a
narrow street of a deserted village, when Motilla swerved so suddenly
to one side as to almost unseat her rider, and then stood snorting
and quivering with excitement. The object of her terror was the body
of a young man who lay prone on the ground, bleeding profusely from a
sword-cut on the head, evidently just given him by one of those who had
passed on before. As Sandoval gazed at him with an expression of pity,
for the youth was well favored and of about his own age, the latter
lifted his right hand and made a few motions that, feeble as they were,
almost caused the young Spaniard to fall off his horse with amazement.

He gazed for a moment longer, and then, moved by a sudden impulse, he
sprang from Motilla's back, lifted the limp and unconscious form of the
wounded youth to the saddle, remounted behind him, and, with only this
strange prize to show as his share of booty, galloped back to camp.
When the Spanish commander laughingly asked him what he was going to do
with his captive, Sandoval answered:

"I am going to care for him until he recovers sufficiently to tell me
how it came about that, when he thought himself dying, he made the sign
of the cross."

CHAPTER XI.

HOW THE TLASCALANS FOUGHT

Besides the mystery of the sign, which was at that time supposed to
be used only by those of the Christian faith, Sandoval found himself
taking a deep interest in his unconscious prisoner for other reasons.
To begin with, he had saved the life of the unknown youth, which would
be sufficient to arouse a feeling of interest in the breast of any one
who had done a similar deed. With the young cavalier this feeling was
intensified by the fact that, while he had taken so many lives that he
had come to regard the killing of an Indian much as he would that of a
wild beast, this was his first attempt at rescuing one from death.

Then, too, being plain of feature himself, he had an appreciation of
comeliness in others, and never had he seen a more perfect specimen of
youthful manhood than that which lay motionless, but faintly breathing,
on a straw pallet, in the Tlascalan temple, to which he had brought
him. The olive-tinted features, but little darker than his own, were as
delicate as those of a maiden, but clearly cut and noble; the forehead
was broad, the mouth and chin bore the imprint of a firm will, and the
face formed a perfect oval. The youth was taller and of more slender
build than Sandoval, but his well-rounded limbs were of a symmetry only
to be gained by an athletic training and constant exercise. Although he
was thus an embodiment of manly beauty, this fact aroused no envy in
the breast of honest Sandoval, but only increased the interest that he
felt in his captive.

In addition to all this, the youth had worn the green girdle of a
king's courier, and in his wallet was found a pictorial despatch,
evidently relating to the recent battles between Spaniards and
Tlascalans that could only have been intended for Montezuma himself.
This was even now in the hands of the White Conqueror, who with the
aid of Indian interpreters was endeavoring to decipher it. And yet the
youth did not have the appearance of a king's courier, who, as every
one knew, were as well cared for as any of his servants. He was clad in
a single garment of coarse nequen, soiled and ragged. His whole body
was bruised, and his bare feet were cut and swollen. Besides, what
could an undisguised Aztec courier be doing in Tlascala? Neither was it
certain that he was an Aztec. Several of the Tlascalan prisoners, who
were brought in to pronounce upon his nationality started at sight of
him, and exhibited symptoms of deep distress. In explanation of this
they would only say that he bore a striking resemblance to the son of
one of their greatest warriors who, with his family, had been taken
prisoner, and doubtless sacrificed to the Aztec gods, nearly a year
before.

The trooper who had wounded him was found, and said that, as he was
riding close behind the general, this youth had suddenly appeared
and rushed at Cortes, apparently with evil intent, whereupon he--the
trooper--had promptly cut him down and left him for dead. "And why
not?" growled the trooper, who was disgusted at so much fuss over what
he considered so paltry an object. "What matters the life of one, or
even a thousand, of these idolaters?"

"It matters this," thundered Sandoval, angered by the man's insolent
bearing, "that our mission to these Tlascalans is one of peace, and
not of war, and that one of them alive is worth more than the whole
nation dead. Besides, with the sign of the holy cross has this one, at
least, proved himself no idolater, but as good a Christian as thyself.
So then, sirrah! be more careful of thy blows in the future, lest they
strike the steel of a Christian sword instead of the unprotected head
of a weaponless youth."

While Huetzin's identity and the mystery surrounding him were being
thus discussed, the gentle hands of Marina were tenderly bathing and
dressing his wound, which, upon inspection, did not prove so severe
as it had at first appeared. The blow had been a glancing one, rather
than a downright stroke, and the gash, though ugly to look at, was not
deep, nor did it penetrate the bone.

Marina's ministrations at length produced their desired effect, and
Huetzin, opening his eyes, gazed in a bewildered manner about him.
Finally his wandering gaze settled upon the fair face bending over
him. He smiled faintly, whispered the one word, "Tiata," and almost
immediately sank into the deep but healthful sleep of one who is
utterly weary.

For the next twenty hours he remained in a slumber so profound that not
even the tumult of a third great battle, fought within a short distance
of where he lay, served to arouse him. In this battle were engaged, on
the Tlascalan side, no less than fifty thousand warriors, selected from
their own armies, and from those of their fierce allies the Otomies.
The Spaniards were disheartened by the gaining of victories that only
seemed to endue their enemies with fresh determination to destroy them,
and to cause a succession of armies, each larger than its predecessor,
to be brought against them. In the present instance they had ample
cause to fear that they, the conquerors, were at last to become the
conquered; for never had they beheld such an array as witnessed their
defiant march down the hill of Zompach on that beautiful 5th day of
September.

There was the same bewildering gorgeousness of the brilliant feather
mantles, tossing plumes, and snow-white armor of the nobles and higher
classes, the vividly painted bodies of the common soldiers, the
flashing of itztli blades, and the waving banners that had greeted
their eyes on former occasions, only on an infinitely greater scale.
Six square miles of plain were covered by this New-World army, from
which arose a deafening clamor of barbaric music and shrill war-cries.
The weapons with which these hardy warriors were armed were slings,
bows and arrows, darts, maquahuitls or war-clubs bladed with itztli,
and javelins attached by long thongs to the wrists of those who bore
them, so that they might be drawn back and their deadly thrusts
repeated many times. They also bore shields, made of wood or leather,
or more often a light wicker frame covered thick with quilted cotton,
impenetrable to the darts and arrows of their own warfare, but offering
a sorry protection against the musket-balls, steel-headed cross-bolts,
Toledo blades, and lances of the foe whom they were now to encounter.
High above all the glittering array gleamed, in the bright sunlight, a
great golden eagle with outspread wings, the standard of the Tlascalan
republic.

Had there been any chance of honorably avoiding a battle with this
overwhelming force the little band of Spaniards would gladly have
availed themselves of it; but there was not. They could but fight or
die; and with a courage born of despair they awaited the attack. On
their side they had discipline, long experience in civilized warfare,
armor, and weapons of steel, artillery, muskets, and horses, in all of
which their opponents were lacking.

As the opposing forces neared each other the Tlascalans filled the air
with such a hurtling tempest of missiles that the sun was momentarily
darkened as by a passing cloud. In return the Christians delivered, at
close range, a musketry and cross-bow fire, so deadly in its effects
that the front ranks of the Indians were mowed down like grass before
a scythe. For a moment the Tlascalans stood as though paralyzed. Then,
goaded to desperation by their losses, and uttering blood-curdling
cries, they leaped forward and rushed upon the Spaniards with the
impetuosity of some mighty ocean billow whose fury none may withstand.
For a few seconds the iron front of the white conquerors remained
unbroken, and their compact ranks held together, though they were
forced backward for more than a hundred yards. Then came a break in the
front rank. An iron-clad soldier was felled to the ground, and ere the
breach could be closed it was filled with maddened Indians. Instantly
the close order of the Spaniards gave way, and every man found himself
engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with more assailants than he
could count. Gasping, blinded, and overpowered, the white men fought
doggedly, but without hope.

Suddenly, above the din of shrieks, oaths, and clashing weapons there
rose a wild scream, and Motilla, goaded into fury by her wounds,
reared high in the air and leaped over the heads of the combatants
crowding about her. With the ferocity of a wounded tiger she plunged
into the thickest of the dense Tlascalan ranks, tearing at her
tormentors with her teeth, and dealing death-blows on every side with
her iron-shod hoofs. Above her the keen blade of sturdy Sandoval
gleamed like a flame, darting to right and left, and shearing through
armor, flesh, and bone, wherever it touched. The white charger of
Cortes had echoed Motilla's scream, and was quickly battling at her
side with a fury equal to her own. Nor was sorrel Bradamante, bearing
her master, the golden-bearded Alvarado, far behind. Thus, fighting
like demons rather than mortals, these six--three horses and three
men--beat back the mighty Tlascalan wave until those behind them could
reform and charge in turn.

All this while the artillery was thundering on the Tlascalan flanks,
and creating a fearful havoc with its far-reaching missiles. Again and
again did the warriors of the mountain republic charge, but never with
such success as at first. Finally a quarrel among their leaders caused
half their army to be withdrawn from the field, and, after four hours
of desperate, incessant fighting, Xicoten ordered a retreat, and again
left the white conquerors masters of the bloody field.

Nearly fifty of these had been slain, while most of the surviving men
and all of the horses were wounded. Thus, as Sandoval grimly remarked
on his return to camp, one more such victory would seal the fate of the
Christians and consign their hearts to heathen altars.

CHAPTER XII.

A SON OF THE HOUSE OF TITCALA

During the progress of this fierce and sanguinary battle Huetzin slept
peacefully as a child, and not until after the return of the weary,
but victorious, Spaniards to their camp did he wake. In the earlier
hours of the day Marina, from the roof of the temple in which he lay,
watched the progress of the fight with a fearful interest that was yet
divided in its loyalty. She had cast her lot with these strangers, who
had rescued her from slavery, and treated her with courtesy. But for
the shelter of their camps she was homeless, and but for their strong
arms she was without a protector in the world. And yet, those with whom
they now fought were of her own race. The defeat of either side would
fill her with sadness. Would that they might be friends rather than
enemies! Then, indeed, would she rejoice! How might such a happy result
be brought about? What could she do to further it?

In spite of these crowding thoughts, and in spite of the thrilling
interest of the battle raging with varying fortunes below her, the girl
was not so unmindful of her duty but that she descended several times
to look after the welfare of her patients. On one of these occasions,
though the young courier still slept, she found him muttering
incoherently, and, to her amazement his words were spoken in the Mayan
tongue.

When Huetzin awoke, greatly refreshed and possessed of all his
faculties, he lay motionless for a while, bewildered by his
surroundings and striving to account for the strange sights and sounds
about him. Many other wounded men lay on the floor of the room in which
he now found himself, and, ministering to their wants were a number
of women. He could see that while the former were of a strange race,
the women were of Anahuac. Strange weapons, such as he had never seen,
were scattered on all sides, and he heard rough voices speaking in an
unknown tongue. He had thought, or dreamed, that his sister Tiata was
with him, but now he looked for her in vain, and heaved a deep sigh
that it must have been a dream.

Suddenly he realized that the wounded men about him were white and
bearded. It flashed into his mind that they must be of those whom his
father had termed the "White Conquerors." Gradually the past came back
to him. He remembered his own flight from Tenochtitlan, the courier,
and his despatches telling of war between these strangers and the
Tlascalans. He recalled his own determination, and his efforts to
reach Tlascala in time to put an end to fighting before either side
should be conquered. Then came a vision of terrible beings, armed with
gleaming weapons, pursuing a crowd of fleeing natives through the
streets of a Tlascalan village he had just entered. He recalled his
dismay at sight of them, and his resolution in spite of it to intercede
with their leader and beg him to stay the hands of his followers. After
that all was blank.

Huetzin's head throbbed, and he raised his hand to it. He felt that he
had been wounded; but how, or by whom, he knew not. Had he, too, been
fighting? He tried to rise, but fell back, amazed and indignant at his
own weakness. As though the movement had attracted attention, one of
the women hastened to where he lay and knelt beside him. She was young
and beautiful, even more so than Tiata he thought, as he gazed into her
face. She spoke soothingly to him, and, to his surprise, her words were
in the Mayan tongue, which was also that of the Toltecs, and had been
taught him by his father. Then she left him, but soon returned bringing
broth and wine, of which he drank eagerly.

He asked her, in the Mayan language, who she was, and where they were,
receiving for answer that she was Marina, and that they were in the
camp of the Christians, from whom he had naught to fear. Then, saying
that he must talk no more but must again sleep, she left him, and when
he slept he dreamed of one called Marina, who was beautiful, more
beautiful even than Tiata.

When the young Toltec next awoke, another day had come, and his
strength was so far recovered that he sat up, and felt that he might
walk if he were allowed to try. As he sat gazing with eager curiosity
upon those about him, Marina came again, bringing him food, of which
he ate heartily, but still forbidding him to rise. Then they talked
together, and he told her, unreservedly, who he was, of his father's
brave death in Tenochtitlan, of his own escape from a like fate, and
why he had come to Tlascala.

Marina was amazed, and yet rejoiced, at what she heard. It seemed to
her that through the influence of this stranger her own cherished hope
of an alliance between Tlascala and the Spaniards might be brought
about. Filled with this thought the girl spoke little of herself, but
told him of what had taken place since the arrival of the conquerors in
the republic, of the terrible battles already fought and her fears that
more were to follow. Then she begged him to think of some way by which
the fighting might be ended and peace declared.

While they talked a young man entered the place, and came directly to
where they were. At sight of him Marina told Huetzin that it was he
who had saved him from death and brought him to this place. Thereupon
the young Toltec seized the other's hand and kissed it, and said many
grateful things that were not understood. Then Marina, speaking in
Spanish, of which by this time she had acquired a fair command, told
Sandoval the story of Huetzin's escape from the altars of Tenochtitlan
in so vivid a manner that, when she finished, the listener crossed
himself and uttered a pious ejaculation of amazement.

Nor was he less amazed when Huetzin excitedly sprang to his feet and
asked if he too were a Toltec? If not, how came he to know and use the
holy sign of the God of the Four Winds?

When the purport of this question was explained to Sandoval, he
answered that he most certainly was not a Toltec, but was a Spaniard,
and that the sign, just made by him was that of the cross, the sacred
symbol of the Christian religion. Then, in turn, he bade Marina ask
Huetzin whether he were a Christian, and, if not, how it came that he
had made use of that same sign upon the occasion of their first meeting?

Without hesitation the other answered that while he knew not the
meaning of the term Christian, he had made the sign of the cross, which
was also the symbol of the god of his fathers, when he thought himself
dying. He added that his warrior father had made the same sign as his
last conscious act, and that, since it represented the religion of the
white conquerors, both they and he must worship the same gods.

The translation of these words aroused the deepest interest in the mind
of Sandoval, who recalled the ancient stone crosses that the Spaniards
had seen and marvelled at in the land of the Mayas. After some
reflection he bade Marina ask if the gods worshipped by Huetzin were
not also those of the Aztecs? The young man replied, indignantly, that
they were not, adding that the gods of his Toltec fathers abhorred the
bloody rites and human sacrifices of the Aztec priesthood, and demanded
only offerings of fruits, flowers, and on great occasions the blood of
beasts. He also explained that as his father's life had been devoted to
the overthrow of the cruel Aztec gods, so should his own be devoted.

When this was understood by Sandoval, his eyes sparkled with gladness,
and, grasping Huetzin's hand, he exclaimed: "Now I know for what
great purpose I was moved to save thy life! Henceforth shall we be as
brothers! Thy quarrel shall be mine, and mine thine! When thou art
recovered thy full strength I will arm thee as becomes a Christian,
and teach thee to fight as a Christian. In token of this thou shalt
hereafter be called 'Juan,' which was the name of my own brother, now
dwelling with the saints in glory."

Although Huetzin failed at the time to comprehend these words, he read
the sentiment expressed in the other's face, understood the meaning
of the sturdy hand-grasp, and was filled with a great joy. This was
the end of conversation for the present; and, at Marina's suggestion,
Huetzin was again left to rest.

That night the Tlascalans made an attack on the Spanish camp; and when
the defenders returned from repelling it Sandoval was greatly concerned
to learn, from Marina, that his newly adopted brother had disappeared,
leaving no trace of where he had gone. To her news the Indian maiden
added, mysteriously, that she did not believe they had seen the last of
him; but she could not be persuaded to name her reason for so thinking.

By these repeated attacks not only was the Spanish force constantly
weakened, but many of its members were so disheartened that they became
clamorous for Cortes to give over his hopeless attempt to reach the
Aztec capital, and lead them back to the coast. If this petty mountain
republic could offer such determined opposition to their progress,
what might they not expect from the powerful nation whom they had yet
to meet? was the question that even the undaunted leader found it
difficult to answer. At the same time the camp was filled with rumors
of the gathering, for their destruction, of another Tlascalan army,
greater and more formidable than any they had yet encountered. Food was
becoming scarce with them, for they had wasted the neighborhood with
fire and sword, there was much sickness in camp, and even the White
Conqueror himself was ill of a fever, aggravated by anxiety.

The affairs of the Spaniards stood thus for several days: but one
morning, when gloom and despair had wellnigh reached their climax,
the camp was gladdened by the approach of a small but imposing body
of Tlascalan chiefs, wearing white badges, indicative of a peaceful
errand. At their head walked a young man whose noble appearance and
martial bearing attracted admiration even from the Spaniards. Over a
cuirass of golden scales he wore a magnificent feather cloak, in which
were harmoniously blended the most brilliant colors. Boots of tanned
leather, ornamented with gold and jewels, reached to his thighs. On
his head he wore a golden casque, decorated with the graceful plumes
of a white heron. This, and the colors of his cloak, designated him as
belonging to the house of Titcala. His only weapon was a Spanish sword
of the finest Toledo steel, which was recognized to be the one sent as
a present by Cortes to the Tlascalans with his first embassy.

Proudly advancing between the curious but orderly ranks of Spanish
soldiers, to where Cortes stood, surrounded by his captains, and
with Marina near at hand to act as interpreter, the young man made
respectful obeisance by touching the ground with his hand and raising
it to his head. Then he said:

"My Lord Malinche (the native name for Cortes) I am commissioned by the
Great Council of Tlascala to invite you, with your army, to become the
honored guests of their city, and there discuss with them the terms of
a solemn treaty of peace and alliance. Even now Xicoten, the war chief
of all Tlascalan armies, follows me to pledge his friendship, and urge
your acceptance of this invitation."

Then for a moment, forgetful of the dignity of his position, the young
man turned to Sandoval, and lifting that sturdy soldier's hand to his
lips, exclaimed: "My brother, to whom I owe my life, now will we indeed
fight side by side!" to which the astonished captain replied, though in
nowise comprehending the other's words:

"By the holy St. Jago! it is no other than Huetzin, my young Toltec,
the captive of my bow and spear!"

CHAPTER XIII.

HOW PEACE WAS BROUGHT ABOUT

When Huetzin was left alone on the night of the Tlascalan attack, and
knew, by the sounds from outside, that the entire Spanish garrison had
gone to repel it, he conceived the idea of leaving the unguarded camp,
making his way to that of Xicoten, and of endeavoring to persuade that
impetuous war-chief to put an end to fighting. Although still weak, he
felt that his will would carry him through the undertaking. Making his
cautious way to the outer door of the temple, he was there confronted
by Marina, who was just entering. Alarmed at the sight of a patient
thus disobeying her command to rest quietly until he had recovered his
strength, she at once ordered him back to his bed.

Smiling, but resolutely disregarding the stern command of this gentle
mistress, Huetzin led her outside and there unfolded his plan.
Marina replied that while it was a noble one, and met with her full
approbation, he had not yet the strength to carry it out. Whereupon
Huetzin suddenly threw his arms about her, lifted her lightly from the
ground, kissed her full on the lips, and set her gently down again.

Springing to a safe distance, the girl, with burning cheeks and a
well-assumed anger, abused him soundly for so shameful an act, and
indignantly bade him be-gone, with the hope that she might never set
eyes on him again. As he turned to obey her, she added that, if he
ever dared to return, except as an ambassador of peace from Tlascala,
she should certainly refuse to recognize him in any way. Then hurrying
to the top of the temple, where, by the bright moonlight, she could
discern something of what was taking place below, she prayed to the
gods for the safety of the youth whom she had but now so bitterly
denounced.

In the meantime Huetzin, filled with other thoughts than those of
wounds or weakness, hurried down the hillside, on the opposite side
from that on which the fighting was taking place, and, making a great
circuit, gained the camp of the Tlascalans, who had just returned,
filled with sullen rage, from the scene of their fourth defeat. Here he
found it impossible to pass the guards, who, to his plea that he bore a
most important communication for their general, replied that the latter
would see no one that night.

Thus it was not until late on the following day that Huetzin gained
audience of his haughty cousin, who, smarting under his reverses, was
in much the temper of a caged lion recently deprived of its liberty.
Although he recognized the son of Tlahuicol he refused to admit that
he did so. When the latter ventured to speak of the mission on which
he had come, the irate war-chief broke forth in a tirade of abuse, not
only against the Spaniards, who, he declared, he would yet sweep from
the face of the earth, but against all Tlascalan traitors, who, if
they had escaped the sacrifice they so well deserved, should no longer
escape from the just wrath of their patriot countrymen. Then, calling
in the officer of his guard, Xicoten commanded that the young rebel, as
he designated Huetzin, be seized, conveyed to the city, and thrown into
the deepest dungeon of the temple.

As resistance to this cruel mandate would have been worse than useless,
Huetzin suffered himself to be led quietly away by a file of soldiers,
and, on the following morning, was taken to the city of Tlascala. Here,
as he was hurried through the narrow streets, seeking in vain for a
friendly face among the multitudes who thronged them, his heart was
filled with such bitterness that he almost regretted not having turned
traitor to his country and remained to share the fortune or fate of the
white conquerors.

While he was thus sorrowfully reflecting, and walking mechanically
between his stolid guards, there came an obstruction in the street
that compelled them to halt. Looking up Huetzin caught sight of that
which caused his heart to beat with a new hope. A silver-haired old
man, evidently blind, was being borne past in a splendidly appointed
litter. Above it waved a panache of heron's plumes, and its bearers
wore the yellow and white livery of the house of Titcala. It was his
own grandfather, the aged chieftain of Titcala, on his way to a meeting
of the Great Council of the republic.

Freeing himself from his guards with a sudden movement, the young man
sprang to the side of the litter, crying:

"My lord! oh, my lord! I am Huetzin, son of Tlahuicol, and of
thy daughter! I am, moreover, in sore distress! Extend to me thy
protection, I pray thee!"

Thus suddenly aroused from a deep reverie, the old man at first failed
to comprehend what was said or who was speaking; but, on a repetition
of the words, he commanded Huetzin to approach that he might identify
him. This he did by slowly passing his sensitive fingers over the young
man's face, as he had been used to do in former years. Finally he
exclaimed, in trembling tones:

"It is indeed Huetzin, son of my son, and blood of my blood! But how
camest thou here? Did I not hear that thou wert dead? They told me that
thou, and thy noble father, mine own sweet child, and the little Tiata,
had all been sacrificed on the bloody altars of Huitzil. How is it? Do
Tlahuicol and his still live?"

"No, my lord," answered Huetzin. "Both my brave father and my beautiful
mother have departed to the realms of the sun. As for Tiata I know not
if she still lives. I myself have thrice escaped; once from the altars
of Tenochtitlan, once from the camp of the white conquerors, and even
now from the soldiers of Xicoten, who would lead me to a Tlascalan
dungeon. But my story will keep for a later telling. First, I must
deliver the last message of Tlahuicol, which is of vital importance to
the republic for which he gave his life. Is there no place other than
this street where I may entrust it to thy ears?"

"If it concerns the republic," answered the aged chieftain, "then it is
for the senate, who even now await my presence. Come thou with me, and
deliver it directly to those who must judge of its importance."

In that city the will of its most honored councillor was supreme, and
not even the soldiers of Xicoten dared dispute it. Therefore Huetzin's
guard allowed him to accompany his aged grandfather to the senate
chamber, making respectful way for them to pass, but following closely
behind in readiness to prevent any further escape of their prisoner.

The councillors of the republic, assembled to discuss the momentous
question of war or peace with the terrible white conquerors, whose
coming had shaken the nation to its foundations, rose and stood with
bowed heads as their aged president appeared and was led to the seat of
honor. As he passed them, they gazed with surprise at the meanly clad
youth who walked beside him with a bearing as proud as that of any
prince, and marvelled as to who he might be.

When the lord of Titcala faced them with his sightless eyes, and
announced that this same youth was his grandson, the son of Tlahuicol,
and that he had but now escaped from Tenochtitlan, bringing them a
message from his dead father, a murmur of recognition and amazement
swept over the assembly.

Then Huetzin, standing before them in his robe of tattered and
blood-stained nequen, told, in the simple language with which oratory
is made most effective, his story of the past year. He told of
Tlahuicol's unswerving loyalty to his adopted country, despite the
splendid offers of Montezuma to desert her and enter his service. He
repeated his father's last words in a voice that trembled with emotion,
and described with thrilling effect the final battle of the great
Tlascalan war-chief. He told of his own escape, through the direct
interposition of the gods, from the very knife of sacrifice, and of
his experience in the camp of the white conquerors. He described his
leaving it and his reception by Xicoten. Finally, he concluded with so
strong an argument in favor of a Tlascalan alliance with the powerful
strangers, against the hated Aztec, that none who heard him could
resist his eloquence; and, when he finished, he was greeted with such a
storm of applause as had never before swept over that solemn chamber.

As Huetzin stepped back to his grandfather's side the aged chieftain
embraced and blessed him, while tears streamed from his sightless
eyes. Then, declaring that his vote should, now and always, be for
an alliance with the Spaniards, and begging to be excused from the
deliberations of that day, the lord of Titcala retired, taking Huetzin
with him, to his own palace. Here the young man was bathed in perfumed
waters and clad as became his rank, and here he rested, recovering
his strength, during all of that day. In the meantime the news of his
return had spread through the city, and was received with such joy
that, the next morning, when he appeared in the streets, on his way to
the senate chamber, to which he had been summoned, he was greeted with
universal enthusiasm.

By the councillors of the republic the dignity of the command of a
division of the Tlascalan army was conferred upon the young warrior;
also, in consideration of the life services of his father, he was
presented with the most valuable weapon in all Tlascala, the sword of
Toledo steel that Cortes had sent as a gift to the republic. Last and
best of all, the newly made chieftain was commissioned to proceed at
once to the camp of the white conquerors, and invite them, in the name
of the republic, to visit the capital city, there to settle upon the
terms of an everlasting peace and alliance.

Thus was Huetzin's cup of happiness filled to overflowing. There was
but one drop of bitterness mingled with it. He was instructed to visit
his cousin, Xicoten, on his way to the Christian camp, convey to that
arrogant general the command of the senate that there must be no more
fighting, and invite him, as the war-chief, to head, in person, the
embassy to Cortes.

So the son of Tlahuicol, who had entered his native city a despised
prisoner, clad in rags, left it, the next day, an honored chieftain,
robed with the gorgeousness of his rank, and heading the most important
embassy the New World had ever seen.

When he reached Xicoten's camp that hot-headed warrior, while not
daring to openly oppose the messenger of the senate, yet managed to
delay him for a whole day, while he secretly despatched spies to
discover the condition of the Spaniards. If their report should prove
favorable he was resolved on another attack, with the splendid army
he had gathered, in spite of all the senators in Tlascala. Had this
attack been made, the Spaniards, weakened by their previous losses,
would undoubtedly have been destroyed, and all history would have been
changed.

As it was, Cortes detected the spies, cut off their thumbs, and sent
them back to their master with the message, that while the Christians
never slept, and were ready for him at all times, they were also weary
of waiting. Therefore, if he had not tendered his submission inside of
twenty-four hours, they would desolate the land of Tlascala with fire
and sword, until no living thing remained within its borders.

Thus was Xicoten's proud spirit humbled, and though he preferred to
follow, rather than to accompany, Huetzin on his mission, the latter
was no longer hindered from carrying it into effect.

CHAPTER XIV.

A CHALLENGE, AND ITS RESULT

While the embassy of Tlascalans, headed by Huetzin, was being received
with all honor in the camp of the rejoicing Spaniards, another,
consisting of five Aztec nobles, with a retinue of two hundred
servants, bearing presents of great value, arrived from the court of
Montezuma. They were sent by the trembling monarch to congratulate
Cortes on his recent victories over the most redoubtable warriors of
the Plateau, and to warn him against entering into an alliance with
them. In reality the Aztec king, who had watched the movements of the
white conquerors with deepest anxiety, and who had rejoiced when they
took the road to Tlascala, still hoped that they might be destroyed by
the armies of the mountain republic, and would have used any means to
prolong the war just ended. Under pretence of needing time to prepare a
suitable answer to his majesty, Cortes detained these ambassadors for
several days, that they might witness his reception at the Tlascalan
capital.

Preparations were now made for leaving the hill of Zompach, on
which the conquerors had passed three memorable weeks, and its
fortress-temple, the ruins of which are shown to this day as those
of the "Tower of Victory." On the 23d of September, the anniversary
of which is still celebrated by Tlascalans as a day of jubilee, the
Christian army entered the capital of the brave little republic. The
van of the procession consisted of a body of white-robed priests,
chanting and scattering clouds of sweet incense from swaying censers.
Next came Huetzin, proudly leading an escort of a thousand Tlascalan
warriors. These were followed by Cortes and the Aztec envoys. After
them marched the battle-worn Spanish troops, with their rumbling
artillery and prancing cavalry bringing up the rear.

The eager multitude of spectators who thronged the streets and terraced
roofs, and who were kept in check by an efficient body of native
police, greeted the conquerors with acclamations, showering upon them
garlands and wreaths of the choicest flowers. They even hung these
over the necks of the horses, and on the black-muzzled guns. Arches of
green branches, entwined with roses, spanned the streets, and the house
fronts were gay with fragrant festoons.

A great feast was provided in the palace of Titcala for the entire
Spanish army, and at the entrance the aged chieftain waited to welcome
them. When Huetzin escorted Cortes to where the veteran stood, the
latter passed his hands over the conqueror's face, and, tracing its
lines of rugged determination, exclaimed:

"Now, oh, Malinche, do I understand the secret of thy success! Thou
hast the will of a god; and when thy face is set, no mortal power may
turn it to the right or to the left."

After the banquet the Spaniards were conducted to quarters prepared
for them in the court of the temple. The festivities were continued
for a week, during which time feasting was alternated with games and
exhibitions of every description. The Tlascalans never wearied of
witnessing the manœuvres of the Spanish horsemen, nor their displays
of skill with the lance. In these, none so astonished the spectators
as did Sandoval, with a feat that he performed, not only once, but
many times in succession. It was to ride at full speed toward a paper
target, and pierce, with the glittering point of his lance, a painted
circle, no larger than a man's eye. Only one possessed of the steadiest
nerves and keenest eyesight, trained by long practice, could have
accomplished this feat. Even with these qualifications, the rider
was so dependent on the steadiness of his horse, that on the back of
any but his own Motilla, even Sandoval often failed to strike the
tiny circle. With Motilla's aid failure seemed impossible, and of the
plaudits that the feat drew from admiring throngs, it is doubtful if
horse or rider received the most.

Nor was Huetzin at all behind his newly adopted brother in deeds of
warlike skill. Standing at thirty paces from the same target used by
Sandoval, he would hurl javelin after javelin through the tiny mark,
each passing through the opening made by its predecessor without
enlarging it. He could also shoot one, two, or even three arrows at a
time from his bow, with equal precision, and could split the shaft of
one, quivering in a mark, with the keen blade of another. Such feats,
though rare, were not unknown to the Tlascalans; but to the Spaniards
they seemed little short of supernatural, and, on account of them,
Huetzin was treated with a greater respect by the white soldiers than
any other native of the land.

During this time the young Toltec was eagerly acquiring two other
accomplishments. From Marina he took daily lessons in the Spanish
tongue, which she had learned to speak fluently during her six months
of intercourse with the conquerors. From Sandoval he received an
equal amount of instruction in the use of his highly prized sword. So
carefully had he been trained by his warrior father in the handling of
all native weapons, that, after a week of practice, he was nearly as
dexterous with the Spanish blade as with his accustomed maquahuitl,
a weapon that he was now inclined to despise. Something of this kind
being intimated one day, within the hearing of Xicoten, that warrior,
anxious to humiliate his cousin, whom at the same time he regarded
as a rival, and jealous for the reputation of his national weapon,
challenged Huetzin to a trial of skill.

Although the latter had not regained his full strength, and had but
a few days of sword practice to match against the other's years of
familiarity with the maquahuitl, his bold spirit did not permit him to
hesitate a moment in accepting the challenge.

Sandoval was greatly troubled when he learned of the rash engagement
entered into by his pupil. He expressed himself on the subject in
vigorous language, ending with: "That rascally kinsman of thine is
jealous of thee, Don Juan, and, if I mistake not, would gladly seize
this flimsy pretext for putting thee out of the way. Canst thou not
avoid him for the present, or until thou art better fitted to lower his
pride?"

This being translated by Marina, who seconded Sandoval's appeal with a
look from her own beautiful eyes that would have moved Huetzin from any
purpose where his word was not pledged, he answered: "It may not be,
my brother. I have promised to try a turn with him, and that promise
I would redeem with my life, if necessary. But it will not be, I am
convinced. Xicoten meditates no more harm to me than I to him, and the
trial will be but a friendly one."

"Let him look to it that it is!" growled Sandoval, "and remember that I
am to act as thy second."

The following day was set apart for certain games of wrestling,
foot-racing, and other tests of strength or skill, and it was decided
that these should end with the trial of weapons between Huetzin and
Xicoten. There was an immense concourse of spectators to witness the
games, and when at length the two Tlascalan champions stood forth,
they were greeted with tumultuous applause. Each was accompanied by a
second, pledged to see fair play. That of the war chief was a brother
noble of gigantic size, and by Huetzin's side walked Sandoval, with a
face as melancholy as though he were attending an execution.

There were no preliminary formalities. The contestants were placed
two paces apart, Xicoten, armed with his maquahuitl, a tough oaken
staff, some three and a half feet long, set with blades of itztli,
and Huetzin with his sword of Toledo steel. Each bore on his left arm
a tough leathern shield. Behind Xicoten stood his second, also armed
with a maquahuitl, and a little to one side of Huetzin, Sandoval leaned
gloomily on his great two-handed sword.

The contest began with a cautious play of fence, in which the
adversaries displayed an equal skill, and which the spectators greeted
with hearty approval. Soon, however, Xicoten's blows began to fall with
a downright earnestness that boded ill for his slighter antagonist, and
but for Huetzin's superior agility in springing back, and so evading
them, it was evident that he would have come to grief. Several times
was his guard beaten down by sheer force. The face of the young Toltec
grew pale, his breath came in gasps, and it was apparent to all that
his powers of endurance were nearly spent.

Finally blood began to ooze from the recent wound in his head, at sight
of which murmurs arose from the spectators, and cries for the contest
to end. Sandoval, who stood with half-closed eyes and an air of bored
indifference, began to arouse. Huetzin deftly caught a cruel blow from
Xicoten's maquahuitl on his shield; but beneath its force his left arm
dropped as though numbed.

With blazing eyes Sandoval stepped forward and lifted his sword as a
signal for the combat to cease. Disobeying the signal, Xicoten, blinded
by a jealous rage, raised his weapon for yet another blow. Ere it could
be delivered Sandoval's great sword was whirled about his head like a
leaping flame, and in another instant it had shorn through the tough
oak of Xicoten's weapon, as though it had been a reed. So complete was
the severance that one-half fell to the ground behind the Tlascalan,
leaving him to gaze at the other, still remaining in his hand, with
such a bewildered air, that the vast audience broke into shouts of
merriment. For a moment Sandoval glared about him as though seeking an
excuse to repeat his mighty blow. Then, with a glance of contempt at
Xicoten, he turned and stalked from the field.

On the next day, in spite of the protests from Montezuma's ambassadors,
and the warnings of the Tlascalan counsellors, the white conquerors
prepared to resume their march to Tenochtitlan, which they proposed to
reach by way of the sacred city of Cholula.

CHAPTER XV.

MARCHING ON CHOLULA

While the Spanish commander had never swerved from his announced
determination of penetrating to the very heart of Anahuac, and
establishing himself, either by peaceful or warlike means, in its
capital city, he was at all times confused by the contradictory advice
of the natives as to the route by which he should advance. He had
been advised to visit Tlascala, and urged not to do so by those who
feared that, after encountering the unconquered armies of the mountain
republic, he would be so weakened that the Aztecs would easily destroy
him. In this case he had relied solely upon his own judgment, with the
results already known. Up to the moment of his triumphal entry into
the Tlascalan capital, every embassy from Montezuma, while striving
to gain his good-will by lavish and costly gifts, had also endeavored
to dissuade him from his purpose of visiting the royal city. The
Tlascalans, too, protested against their new allies placing themselves
at the mercy of the treacherous Aztec monarch by entering the island
city of Tenochtitlan, where they could easily be cut off from all
communication with the main land by the simple removal of the bridges
on its several causeways. They assured him that the armies of Montezuma
covered the continent, so that, in the event of battle, the Aztec king
could well afford to allow the Spaniards to exhaust themselves with
slaughter, and could then overwhelm them by mere force of numbers.

To this Cortes made the flattering reply, that no one who had been able
to withstand the forces of Tlascala, even for a time, need fear all the
other armies of the New World.

Finding him thus determined to advance to Tenochtitlan, the Tlascalans
still urged him to avoid the perfidious city of Cholula, which, they
said, was filled with a crafty priesthood, who would hesitate at no act
of treachery for his destruction.

At this juncture two new embassies appeared upon the scene. One came
from the Aztec king, bringing an invitation to the white strangers to
visit his capital. He urged them not to enter into an alliance with the
base and barbarous Tlascalans, whom he proposed shortly to exterminate.
He also advised Cortes to travel by the easy and pleasant road leading
through the friendly city of Cholula, where he had ordered a fitting
reception to be prepared for him. The other embassy was composed of the
head men of Cholula itself, and these seconded the king's invitation,
at the same time assuring the Spaniards of a cordial welcome to their
city.

These embassies had hardly delivered their messages, ere some Tlascalan
scouts, returning from the neighborhood of Cholula, reported that a
strong Aztec force was marching toward it, and that the inhabitants
were actively engaged in strengthening the defences of their city.

Perplexed by the conflicting nature of this advice and these reports,
the Spanish leader called a council of his captains; but even they
could not agree upon a course of action. Then Sandoval suggested
that Huetzin, the young Toltec, be admitted to the council, and that
its decision be determined according to his advice. "So far as may
be judged," argued the speaker, "he is a Christian like ourselves,
but with a better cause than any here to hate the Aztecs, and desire
their humiliation. Having lived among them, he must be acquainted with
their method of warfare. He has already shown himself a brave youth,
possessed of a wisdom uncommon among these barbarians, and has proved
his devotion to our interest."

Struck by the force of these words, Cortes agreed to Sandoval's
proposition, and sent for the young warrior as well as for Marina, to
act as interpreter. Huetzin, greatly wondering for what he might be
wanted, promptly obeyed the summons, and listened attentively while the
situation was explained to him.

When his turn came to speak, he said to Marina: "Answer my lord
Malinche, I pray thee, that my warrior father ever considered an enemy
in the rear far more dangerous than one that might be faced. So, in
the present case, I would advise that he pass not by Cholula without a
visit. To do so would not only place him between two enemies, but would
argue a fear of the one left behind. Thus would their confidence in
their own strength be increased, and they would be persuaded to a more
vigorous enmity."

Which speech being translated by Marina, was received with approval by
all the members of the council.

"If I may be permitted to speak further," continued Huetzin, "I would
say that if my lord Malinche will permit the Tlascalan warriors, who,
under my command, have been chosen to accompany him, to encamp outside
the city of Cholula rather than within its walls, I will undertake
that no attack nor attempt against his safety shall be made from any
quarter, without his previous knowledge."

To this Cortes replied: "Not only do I willingly accede to thy
proposal, but such is my confidence in thy prudence and in the fidelity
of thy Tlascalan warriors, that I would readily entrust the safety of
my army to thy watchfulness. Now, then, gentlemen, having listened to
the advice of our well-considered ally of Tlascala, what say you? Shall
we visit this city of Cholula on our way to the capital, or shall we
pass it by?"

"Let us visit it," was the unanimous answer. And thus it was decided.

During the past week Huetzin's time had not been wholly occupied
with the study of Spanish, nor in learning the use of a sword. Upon
the earnest representation of Sandoval, Cortes had requested of the
Tlascalan senate that the son of Tlahuicol might be appointed to the
command of the force they intended to send with him.

They had assigned Xicoten to this expedition, but that general, who
regarded the Spaniards with a bitter hatred, claimed that it would be
beneath the dignity of the war-chief of the republic to be subject to
the orders of a stranger, even the White Conqueror himself, and begged
to be relieved of the duty. So the position was left unfilled until
Cortes made application for it on behalf of Huetzin. In spite of his
youth the young Toltec had been trained for a military life from his
childhood by his father, the greatest warrior ever known in Tlascala,
and was thus well fitted for the position. Of his bravery there was no
question, and, as a son of the house of Titcala, his rank was second to
none. Besides all this, the young man possessed an invaluable knowledge
of the Aztec capital, gained while a prisoner within its walls. In view
of these facts there seemed to be no reason, except his youth and lack
of experience as a commander, against Huetzin's appointment, and these
were overruled by the request of the all-powerful Spaniard.

Thus, to his amazement and great joy, Huetzin found himself placed in
a position, and entrusted with a responsibility, such as most men only
gain by long years of diligent and successful service. Not only would
it permit him to fight side by side with Sandoval, for whom he had
conceived a warm affection, but it clothed him with a power that might
be used for the rescue of Tiata, if, indeed, she were still alive.
There was also a thought of Marina, but this he strove to banish as
being out of keeping with his military duties.

The young chieftain entered his new office with the greatest
enthusiasm, and at once set about the selection, from nearly one
hundred thousand volunteers, of the six thousand warriors which Cortes
desired might accompany the Christian army. He believed that a greater
number than this would only embarrass his own movements, while a
force of this size might be subjected to a certain amount of drilling
that would render them more effective than many times their number of
undisciplined troops. In selecting his men Huetzin always chose those
who had fought under his father's command, and who, in consequence,
embraced the service of Tlahuicol's son with gladness.

As fast as enlisted, these were sent to a camp outside the city, where
they were formed into companies of hundreds, each under command of a
proved warrior. These companies were assembled into four bodies, or
regiments, each containing fifteen hundred warriors, and named after
the four great houses or states of the republic. Thus each regiment
was entitled to a separate banner, while all were united under that
of their young leader. The device chosen by Huetzin as his own was a
rock on which stood the white heron of Titcala and a cross typical both
of his Toltec origin and his present service. Marina claimed, and was
gladly accorded, the privilege of making the first standard of the new
alliance. On a blood-red field she embroidered the device in silver
thread, and worked at it with such unflagging industry that, greatly to
Huetzin's satisfaction, it was finished and ready for display on the
morning of the day appointed for departure.

Before daylight on that eventful morning, the young man entered the
city and sought his grandfather, that he might receive his blessing
before setting forth on this first great undertaking of his life. As
the blind chieftain placed his hands on the head of the youth and
blessed him, he added:

[Illustration: THE BLIND CHIEFTAIN PLACED HIS HANDS, ETC.]

"My son, wherever thou goest, bear thyself modestly and be not puffed
up, though thy station appear exalted among men. Remember always that
the greatest is he who commands himself, rather than he who commands
others. In time of battle forget not the bravery of thy father, and
in the hour of victory recall the tender mercy of thy mother. Now, my
son, farewell. Go to thy duty, and may the gods guide thee."

The departure of the army was witnessed by the entire population of
the city, and it was accompanied for several miles by thousands who
had relatives or friends in its ranks. At length the shining walls of
Tlascala disappeared from view, the last of its shouting inhabitants
was left behind, and the eventful march, toward the goal from which
so many of those now pressing eagerly forward would never return, was
begun in earnest. Although the distance from Tlascala to Cholula was
but six leagues, so much of the way was over rough ground that it was
after noon before the army descended into the great plain of Puebla,
and night had fallen ere they camped on the bank of a small stream,
within sight of the lofty pyramid and hundreds of smoking temples of
the ancient Toltec city.

The next morning the Spaniards, leaving Huetzin and his Tlascalans
in camp where they were, marched on amid ever-increasing throngs of
eager sightseers, who, filled with an intense curiosity concerning the
wonderful strangers, poured from the city gates by thousands. As the
conquerors entered the city they, in turn, were filled with admiration
at its cleanliness, the width and regularity of its streets, the
solidity of its buildings, the number of its temples, the intelligent
and civilized aspect of its people, and the richly embroidered mantles
of its higher classes. They were also astonished at the surprising
number of what they supposed were beggars, but who, as they afterward
learned, were, in reality, pilgrims, attracted to this point from every
corner of Anahuac by the fame of Quetzal, a god who was enshrined on
the great pyramid of Cholula.

CHAPTER XVI.

A SACRIFICE OF CHILDREN, AND WHAT IT PORTENDED

As the ancient capital of his father's race, Huetzin regarded the city
of Cholula with an intense interest. It was a source of real sorrow to
him that it, rather than another, should be selected as the sacred city
of the Aztec priests. His eyes blazed with indignation on seeing the
flames of Aztec altars rising from the mighty pyramid erected by his
Toltec ancestors, a thousand years before, in honor of their bloodless
religion.

This most colossal monument of the New World rose to a height of two
hundred feet, and its base covered forty-four acres, an area twice as
great as that occupied by the Egyptian pyramid of Cheops. It was a
venerable pile when the Aztecs took possession of the land and erected
on its summit a magnificent temple, which they dedicated to Quetzal.
With the advent of their cruel religion began those daily human
sacrifices that drenched its altars with blood for two centuries, or
until the coming of the white conquerors. Other temples sprang up about
that of Quetzal, each demanding human victims, until the number of
those annually sacrificed, in Cholula alone, was over six thousand.

No sooner was Huetzin left with his command than he began to put into
practice some of the lessons he had learned from his new friends. His
first care was to establish a chain of sentinels and advanced pickets
about his camp. Then he sent out small scouting parties in various
directions to glean all possible information regarding any other troops
that might be discovered in that neighborhood. Finally, after darkness
had fallen, disguising himself in the coarse and mud-stained garments
of a maker of pottery, whom he had caused to be captured for this
purpose, he made his own way into the city.

Once among the streets he avoided those places in which the Spaniards
were being lavishly entertained by the caciques of Cholula, and
threaded the more distant but populous quarters. He was struck with
the number of people still at work, in spite of the lateness of the
hour. Masons appeared to be repairing house-walls in all directions,
and quantities of stone were being carried to the roofs for their
use. Laborers were making excavations in the streets, apparently
for foundations; woodchoppers were hewing numbers of posts into
sharp-pointed stakes. Many old people, women, and children were also to
be seen, and all of these appeared to be removing household goods.

At length, in the most remote part to which he penetrated, Huetzin
came upon that which caused his blood to boil, and, at the same time,
filled him with horror. Several hundred persons were grouped about the
entrance to a small temple. They were silent, almost to breathlessness,
and were evidently intent upon some scene being enacted within. Every
now and then a stifled cry, apparently that of a child, came from the
interior of the temple.

Determined to discover what was taking place, Huetzin, by patient
and persistent effort, finally forced his way to the very front rank
of the spectators, and in another moment was as anxious to make good
his retreat from this position as he had been to gain it. For fully a
minute he was so tightly wedged in by the eager throng about him that
to move was impossible, and he gazed with a horrible fascination at the
awful scene disclosed through the open doorway by the flickering light
of its lurid altar flames. It was a scene of human sacrifice, though
not one of such every-day occurrence that the spectators were wholly
hardened to it. It was a sacrifice of children; and, as one pitiful
little victim after another was roughly seized by the blood-stained
priests and laid beneath the merciless knife, a suppressed shudder
passed through the gaping throng. Still no manifestation of disapproval
was made, and every eye eagerly followed the motions of an aged
priest, whose scanty white locks were blood-reddened like his body,
and to whom each little heart was handed still palpitating, as it was
torn from a child's breast. He was an augur, and was watched with a
breathless interest as he sought for omens from the dread thing held in
his hand. As each was tossed aside, evidently unpropitious, a murmur of
disappointment arose from the spectators, and more than once Huetzin
heard the remark: "The hour is not yet come."

Finally, sick with horror, and raging with a furious anger, the young
Toltec could bear it no longer. With a stifled cry he burst through
the encircling throng of human wolves, and in spite of angry words and
even blows, forced his way into the open space beyond them. When once
more free he fled, he knew not whither, filled with a tumult of thought
the central idea of which was vengeance. At length he reached his own
camp, heart-sick, and exhausted by the strength of his emotions. Here
he received the reports of his scouting parties, and learned several
things, which, added to his own information, kept him in a state of
wakeful anxiety until morning.

At the earliest possible hour he sought an audience with the Spanish
leader, to whom he imparted his fears that some deep-laid plot for the
destruction of the invaders at this point was in preparation. He told
Cortes of the Aztec army discovered by his scouts hidden in a valley
but a short distance from the city; of the exodus of those too old or
feeble to fight; of the piles of stones secretly accumulated on the
house-tops adjoining certain streets; of the pits dug in those same
streets and artfully concealed, after being lined with sharp-pointed
stakes; of the various chance expressions that he had overheard; and of
the awful, but unusual, sacrifice of children of which he had been an
unwilling eye-witness. At the same time he expressed it as his belief
that the hour had not yet come for springing the trap thus set. It was
evident that the portents were not yet favorable, and everything seemed
to be awaiting further orders, probably from Montezuma himself. From
the nature of the preparations it seemed likely that nothing would
be undertaken until the Spaniards were ready to leave the city and
continue their march.

Marina, who interpreted this communication, added some suspicions
of a similar character, that she had gleaned from certain unguarded
utterances of the wife of a Cholulan cacique, with whom she had formed
an acquaintance.

Although the conqueror was not one to be easily alarmed, yet he was
prudent and ever on the watch for treachery among those surrounding
him. So important did he deem the information just given him, that he
at once doubled his precautions against a surprise. After thanking
the young leader of Tlascalans for his vigilance, he requested him to
return to his own camp, continue his work of acquiring a knowledge of
what was taking place in and about the city, and to hold his warriors
in readiness for instant action.

When Huetzin had departed, Cortes turned his attention to his immediate
surroundings. He ordered that no Spaniard should pass beyond the walls
of the temple enclosure in which they were quartered. Nor should one
lay aside his arms, on any pretext, for a moment. The horses of the
cavaliers were kept saddled and bridled, ready for instant service, and
the artillery was posted beside the three gateways in the temple walls,
in a position to sweep the streets leading to them.

While these preparations were being made, Marina's new acquaintance,
the garrulous wife of the cacique, came to pay her a visit. In a short
time the Indian girl, pretending to be anxious to escape from the
Spaniards, had drawn from her a full account of the conspiracy, which,
she said, originated with Montezuma. The Christians, on attempting to
leave the city, were to be led into the streets prepared with pitfalls,
into which it was expected the cavalry would be precipitated. In the
resulting confusion they were to be attacked from the housetops and by
the Aztec army that was in waiting, when their easy destruction was
deemed a certainty. Even a division of the anticipated captives had
already been made, and, while a certain number were to be retained for
sacrifice on Cholulan altars, the remainder were to be led in triumph
to Tenochtitlan, in the leathern collars, affixed to the ends of stout
poles, that were even then prepared for them.

Having agreed to a plan for taking flight to the house of this
talkative acquaintance that night, Marina dismissed the woman and
hastened to lay the plot before Cortes. The latter, summoning his
captains, disclosed it to them and asked their advice as to what course
should be pursued. Some of them, in despair at the imminence of the
threatened peril, advised an instant return to Tlascala, if not to the
coast. Sandoval, Alvarado, and others of stouter hearts, declaring that
such a retreat would certainly insure their destruction, advised that
in boldly facing the danger, and continuing their onward march at all
hazards, lay their only safety. Cortes agreed with this, and added that
at no time since they entered the land of Anahuac had the thought of
retreat been further from his mind than now.

He then sent for some of the Cholulan caciques and announced his
intention of leaving their city early on the following morning. He
desired that they should furnish him with a thousand porters for the
transport of his artillery and baggage, and should themselves act as
his guides to the limits of their domain. These requests they willingly
promised to grant, and were dismissed.

That night there was little sleep in the Spanish army, and all held
themselves in readiness for an attack. The period of darkness was,
however, passed in peace, and through the night no sound broke
the stillness of the city, save the hoarse voices of the priests
proclaiming the hour from the summit of its lofty teocallis.

CHAPTER XVII.

PUNISHMENT OF THE CONSPIRATORS

Cortes had determined to anticipate the treachery of the Cholulans and
the meditated destruction of his army, by a punishment so terrible that
its effect should be felt throughout all Anahuac. He intended that a
wholesome dread of the white conquerors should be implanted in every
Aztec breast. By earliest dawn he was on horseback, perfecting his
arrangements for the coming tragedy. The musketeers and cross-bowmen
were placed close under the walls of the temple courtyard, and the
pikemen were stationed near the three entrances. Here, too, the
gunners, under command of Mesa, chief of artillery, renewed their
primings and blew their matches into a brighter glow. The cavalry,
headed by Cortes in person, was held in reserve to act as emergencies
should dictate.

At the same time, silent but active preparations were being made in
all parts of the city, though, of course, unseen by the Spaniards,
for their destruction. As every Cholulan to whom the secret was known
fondly hoped, the hour was at hand in which the boasted prowess of
these invaders should come to naught and they should be sacrificed to
the wrath of the Aztec gods. Everywhere the exulting natives swarmed
to the housetops along the designated line of march, and stationed
themselves near the ample stores of missiles already gathered; or
they collected in armed bodies, whispering, but jubilant over the
perfection of their plans, in the side streets, from which they were
to leap, like mountain lions, on their helpless prey. The Aztec army,
secretly prepared for this emergency, entered the city, and so swelled
the number of assailants that no Cholulan doubted for a moment as to
which side should be granted the victory in the coming conflict. So,
impatiently and joyously, they awaited the signal with which their
triumph would begin.

Outside the city Huetzin's grim Tlascalans, each with a fillet of grass
bound about his head to distinguish him from an Aztec or a Cholulan,
awaited the signal that should send them into action with an equal
impatience. They too were without a doubt as to the result of the
battle. Had they not fought against the white conquerors? and did they
not know, from bitter experience, the extent of their terrible powers?
What would avail the puny efforts of the pottery-making Cholulans
against beings before whom even the mountain warriors of Tlascala
could not stand? That they should dare, for a moment, to oppose the
white conquerors, to say nothing of themselves, was a subject for
scornful mirth in the Tlascalan camp. As for Huetzin, he was filled
with the nervous anxiety of a young commander about to engage in his
first battle. Of this, however, he effectually concealed all traces in
the presence of his warriors, to whom he presented a calm and cheerful
countenance. His friend and brother, Sandoval, had urged him to don a
cap of steel, such as were worn by the conquerors themselves; but this,
Huetzin had firmly declined, saying that he would wear no armor that
could not be equally shared by his warriors. Now, therefore, he was
clad as they were, in a doublet of quilted cotton, and wore on his head
a simple fillet of grass. Above it waved the graceful plume of a white
heron, which, with his Spanish sword, formed the distinguishing badges
of his rank.

The sun had hardly risen before the Cholulan Caciques, who were to
guide the Spanish army through the city streets, presented themselves
at the temple and were admitted. They were followed by a thousand or
more of tamanes, who, as the quick eye of Cortes instantly detected,
were all armed with weapons, of one kind or another, thrust into their
girdles. These were halted in the centre of the court, while the
Caciques advanced, with smiling faces and complimentary words, to where
the Spanish commander sat on his gray steed. Their smiles were quickly
exchanged for expressions of consternation; for, with scornful words,
Cortes began to charge them with their treachery, and showed himself
to be acquainted with all the details of their conspiracy. He recalled
the apparent friendliness with which they and their king had invited
him to Cholula, and the mask of hospitality with which they had covered
their base designs. Now he demanded to know what they had to say for
themselves, and whether any form of punishment could be too severe for
such perfidy.

The trembling Caciques were overwhelmed by these terrible words, and
a memory of the supernatural powers credited to these mysterious
strangers, who seemed able to read their most hidden thoughts, came
back to them. They dared not deny the accusation just made, and so made
a full confession of the conspiracy, only striving to lay the entire
blame upon Montezuma, by whose orders they claimed to have acted, and
whom they dared not disobey.

Merely regarding this as a further evidence of Cholulan cowardice, and
declaring that he was now about to make such an example of them as
should cause their false-hearted king to tremble on his throne, Cortes
raised his hand. At the signal every Spanish musket and cross-bow was
levelled, and so deadly a volley of bullets and bolts was poured into
the dense body of natives, huddled together like sheep in the middle of
the court, that they fell by scores. Then the soldiers leaped forward
to complete their work with sword and pike.

In another moment the combined throngs of Cholulans and Aztecs,
gathered outside the walls, hearing the sounds of strife, advanced,
with exulting cries, to an attack upon the Spaniards. As they rushed
forward there came a burst of flame full in their faces, and, with a
thunderous roar, increased tenfold by reverberations from enclosing
buildings, Mesa's guns hurled forth their deadly tempest. Ere the
bewildered natives could comprehend the nature of what had happened,
the cavalry was upon them with sword, lance, and trampling, iron-shod
hoofs. By the onrush of succeeding hosts these were driven back; but
again Mesa's reloaded guns swept the narrow streets. Again and again
were these tactics repeated with frightful losses to the natives and
almost none to their adversaries.

In the mean time, Huetzin's warriors, dashing forward like tigers at
sound of the first volley, fell on the rear of the swarming Aztecs with
such fury that none could withstand them. Dismayed and panic-stricken
the townsmen gave way and took refuge in their houses. Even here the
fierce Tlascalans pursued them, and setting fire to such structures as
were of wood, soon caused whole blocks of buildings to be enveloped in
flames.

Ever in the front, using his keen Toledo blade with deadly effect,
Huetzin cheered on his followers. Suddenly he detected a body of
skulking priests who had come from all the temples of the city to share
in the anticipated victory of their benighted adherents. Now they
were seeking safety in flight. Like a flash of light came a vision of
innocent children torn to death by these human wolves, and, with an
inarticulate cry of rage, the young Toltec darted after them. A number
of his warriors sprang to his side, and, as the priests dashed up the
long flight of steps leading to the summit of the great pyramid, the
Tlascalans were close on their heels. Hardly had the panting fugitives
gained the upper platform, ere others, who had already sought this
place of refuge, rolled great stones down on the heads of their
pursuers.

Many a mountain warrior was swept, lifeless, to the bottom of the vast
pile before the survivors obtained a foothold on its summit; but, once
there, these took ample revenge for the death of their comrades. The
cowardly priests, who had heretofore urged others to fight, but who had
themselves wielded no weapon save the bloody knife of sacrifice, now
fought for their lives, but with no more effect against Huetzin and his
fierce Tlascalans, than if they had been so many carrion crows. The
face of the murdered Tlahuicol rose before his son's vision, and the
despairing cries of thousands of priestly victims rang in the ears of
the young Toltec as he closed with the mob of blood-stained wretches
who sought in vain the protection of their gods. With no thought save
of vengeance, he leaped among them, his sword drinking life blood with
every stroke. Animated by his example, his followers dealt death-blows
on all sides with a fury only excelled by his own.

From the top of the wooden temple in which the image of the god was
enshrined, the Cholulans poured down javelins, stones, and burning
arrows. Snatching a blazing brand from an altar, Huetzin set fire to
the building, and, with the aid of some Spaniards, who now appeared on
the scene, he dragged the great idol from its pedestal, and hurled it,
crashing, down a side of the lofty pyramid, at the base of which it was
shattered into a hundred fragments.

Priest after priest shared the fate of the god, by leaping from the
blazing turrets of the temple, or flung over the parapet by the
Tlascalans. Finally Huetzin, with the fury of battle in his face and
the blazing eyes of a young war god, looked about him in vain for
another victim. None was left, and, for the first time in two centuries
the great temple of his Toltec ancestors was freed from its defilement
of blood-thirsty Aztec gods and their vile priests.

As he realized this, a solemn joy took possession of the young warrior,
and, though he was bleeding from many wounds he felt them not. He
seemed to hear the myriad voices of his forefathers united in praise
and blessing, and for a moment he stood in rapt unconsciousness of his
surroundings. Then, lifting his eyes to the glowing noonday sky, he
reverently and slowly traced the sacred symbol of the God of the Four
Winds.

At this moment he was recalled to earthly things by a mighty
hand-grasp, and the hearty tones of Sandoval's voice, saying, "Thou
hast done nobly, my warrior brother! I came in time to witness the
conclusion of thy fighting, and never saw I a more finished bit of
work. Thou hast indeed smitten the idolater in his stronghold, and
here, on the site of yonder smoking temple, shall thou and I erect a
goodly cross, the holy symbol of thy religion and of mine."

CHAPTER XVIII.

FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE MEXICAN VALLEY

After four hours of fighting and slaughter, Cortes concluded that the
lesson thus given the Cholulans was one that would not be speedily
forgotten. So he withdrew his forces to their own quarters, at the
same time ordering the Tlascalans back to their camp. The mountaineers
bore with them quantities of plunder, mostly things of every-day use
in Cholula, but so rare in the poorer city of Tlascala as to be deemed
luxuries. They also carried off nearly a thousand prisoners whom they
intended to devote to slavery. Through the influence of Huetzin,
who vividly remembered his own sufferings as a prisoner of war, and
recalled the charge given him by the chief of Titcala to be merciful
in the hour of victory, these were ultimately released and allowed to
return to their homes.

The young Toltec, with the permission of Cortes and accompanied by
Sandoval, also visited every temple in the city, and, throwing open the
doors of their cages or dungeons, gave freedom to hundreds of wretched
prisoners who had been doomed to sacrifice. The only service required
of these, in return for their liberty, was that they should bury
the victims of the recent battle. As the dead numbered nearly three
thousand, and as their bodies were exposed to the hot sun in all parts
of the city, their speedy removal was a matter of prime necessity.

In spite of this sad record of fighting, burning, slaughter, and
pillage, no woman or child in all Cholula had been harmed by either
Spaniard or Tlascalan. This fact went so far toward restoring
confidence in the honor and forbearance of the white conquerors that,
when Cortes issued a proclamation inviting all citizens to return to
their homes with an assurance of safety, the invitation was generally
accepted. Thus, within a few days, the city had nearly recovered its
former air of peaceful prosperity. Markets and workshops were reopened,
the streets were filled with a busy population, and only the blackened
ruins lining certain streets remained to tell of the fiery ordeal
through which Cholula had so recently passed.

During this period of peaceful occupation by the conquerors, not only
was no human sacrifice offered to the humbled Aztec gods, but no priest
dared show himself in the presence of Huetzin, the Toltec. From the
hour of his terrible vengeance upon the priests of Quetzal's temple,
he was known through the length and breadth of Anahuac as a bitter
enemy of the Aztec gods and a relentless persecutor of their priests.
He aided in erecting the cross of stone and lime on the summit of the
great teocal, that Sandoval had promised should stand there; and, as he
gazed at it in earliest morning light, or when bathed in the glory of a
setting sun, he felt that the spirits of his ancestors must, indeed, be
regarding his work with approval.

As the news of the punishment inflicted by the white conquerors upon
the treacherous Cholulans spread through the land, numerous embassies
began to pour into the Christian camp, with tenders of allegiance from
provinces and cities, which gladly seized this opportunity for throwing
off the galling Aztec yoke. All brought the same tales of cruelty and
extortion; of oppressive taxation that left them impoverished; of their
young men forced to serve in Montezuma's armies, and of the yearly
tribute of slaves, which they were compelled to furnish from their own
families.

Besides these petty, but always welcome, embassies, there came an
imposing one, laden with presents, from the Aztec king. It brought
assurances of that monarch's distinguished regard for the noble
Spaniards, as well as his regrets for the unfortunate affair of
Cholula. He disclaimed any share in the conspiracy, and rejoiced that
so summary a punishment had been meted out to its authors. He explained
the presence of one of his own armies in the vicinity of the city, on
the ground that it had been sent to protect the Spaniards from any
treachery on the part of their base Tlascalan allies.

Pretending to believe these fair, but false words, Cortes dismissed the
embassy courteously, but without any message to their royal master.
This, he said, he would shortly deliver in person, as he intended to
proceed, without further delay, to Tenochtitlan.

After spending a fortnight in Cholula, and strengthening his position
on all sides, the Spanish commander issued orders for leaving the
sacred city and resuming the march toward the Aztec capital. On a
glorious morning of early November, therefore, the allied forces again
set forth, filled with the high hopes inspired by their recent victory,
and impatient to enter new fields of conquest.

For several leagues their way lay through a smiling country of broad
fields, luxuriant plantations, and thrifty villages, watered by
numerous clear streams pouring down from the adjacent mountains. During
their passage through this pleasant land Huetzin heard frequent rumors
from friendly Indians of trouble that was in store for the invaders in
the mountains that must be crossed before the Mexican valley could be
reached. He faithfully reported these rumors to the commander, and, in
consequence of them, the march was conducted with every precaution that
prudence or military science could suggest. Advance and rear guards of
cavalry were always maintained, while small bodies of Tlascalan scouts
were thrown out on either side.

Although it was thought to be somewhat beneath the dignity of his
rank to do so, Huetzin generally led one of these scouting parties in
person, so anxious was he to prove his vigilance. At length he was
rewarded by the capture of a courier, who was attempting to avoid the
army by taking a wide circuit around it. From this prisoner he gained
the information, that of the two roads crossing the mountains before
them, one had been rendered impassable by orders from Montezuma. On
the other, which was so rugged as to present almost insurmountable
difficulties, an Aztec army was stationed in ambuscade for the
destruction of the invaders.

Hastening to convey this important item of news to Cortes, Huetzin
found the army halted at a place where two roads forked. One of them,
as he had already learned, was filled, farther than the eye could
reach, with great bowlders and the trunks of trees. The other was open,
and at the outset looked to be much the easier and better of the two.
At the moment of the young Toltec's arrival, the Aztec ambassadors who
still remained with Cortes, had nearly persuaded him to take the open
road. They assured him that the other would be found impassable for his
cavalry and artillery, even if it were cleared of its obstructions.

The Aztec nobles were greatly confused when they heard Huetzin's
report to the commander. They attempted a blunt contradiction of his
statements; but Cortes, paying no further attention to them, warmly
thanked his young ally for his timely service, and ordered that the
obstructed road be cleared. To this task Huetzin set a thousand of
his hardy mountaineers. These worked with such willing industry that,
within two hours their task was accomplished, and the highway was open
to the passage of the army. Thus the ambushed Aztecs were allowed to
wait indefinitely for the coming of their expected victims, who, in the
mean time, were proceeding cheerfully on their unmolested way.

The invaders now left the pleasant plateau on which they had lingered
so long, and began the ascent of the bold mountain ranges separating
it from the valley of Mexico. On their left towered the grand peak of
Popocatepetl, clouded with smoke and fire, and lifting his majestic
head nearly eighteen thousand feet above the level of the sea, or more
than two thousand feet higher than Mont Blanc. On their right rose the
vast proportions of snow-robed Iztaccihuatl, the "white woman." Between
the two extended a steep barrier of bare, wind-swept rock, up which
the rough road zigzagged its tedious way. From the snow-peaks came icy
winds, chilling man and beast to the bone, while they were continually
buffeted by fierce snow-squalls or tempests of cutting sleet. Dark
gorges yawned on either side, and from their profound depths came
dismal moanings, as though the storm demons were already lamenting the
anticipated fall of the Aztec gods. Amid these surroundings the little
army toiled painfully on, until darkness shrouded the dreary landscape,
when, utterly exhausted, they clamored for a halt, declaring that human
endurance could hold out no longer.

Again Huetzin came to the rescue with a knowledge of the road gained
from his recent bitter experience as a hunted fugitive, in those same
mountains. He assured them that a cluster of commodious post-houses,
erected for the shelter of Montezuma's own troops and couriers, stood
but a short distance ahead. Thus cheered, the Spaniards struggled on
to the welcome haven so unwittingly provided by their enemy, where, by
the aid of rousing fires, the fuel for which they found already cut and
stored, they passed a night of comparative comfort.

Early on the succeeding day they passed the crest of the divide, and,
feeling that the worst of their trials were now left behind, they
advanced with buoyant steps down the western slope of the sierra.
Suddenly a glad shout from the front woke the mountain echoes, and
startled those who came behind. The leaders had turned an angle, and,
as though by magic, the promised land was outspread before them. The
superb valley of Mexico, unrivalled in the world for the exquisite
beauty of its scenery, lay smiling in unclouded sunshine at their feet.

In an emerald setting of verdant fields, orchards, groves, and stately
forests, blended with areas of yellow maize and blooming gardens, five
lakes of heavenly blue shone like brilliant jewels. Clustered thickly
about them, and even resting on their dimpled bosoms, were scores of
white-walled cities, towns, and hamlets, all distinctly visible through
the rarefied atmosphere. Most conspicuous of all, fairest and most
stately of all, sat the Queen City of the New World. Tenochtitlan, the
royal city of their hopes and dreams, was no longer an elusive mystery,
but a visible reality. Near it rose the dark mass of Chapultepec, home
of Aztec kings, crowned with the same majestic cypresses that shadow it
to this day. It was a sight to repay years of suffering toil, and it is
no wonder that these first white men gazed on it in spellbound silence.

CHAPTER XIX.

MONTEZUMA WELCOMES THE CONQUERORS TO TENOCHTITLAN

As the white conquerors descended by easy stages into this marvellous
valley, making frequent pauses to admire the fertility of its
fields, or the beauty of its white-walled villages nestled in green
nooks, they were everywhere hailed by the people of the country as
deliverers from the harsh tyranny of Montezuma. These received the
all-powerful strangers with shouts and songs of rejoicing, at the same
time showering upon them gifts of food and flowers. Thus, the march
resembled the return of a victorious army rather than one of invasion
and conquest. They were also met by another of Montezuma's numerous
embassies bearing, as usual, gifts of gold, jewels, and rich mantles of
fur or exquisite feather-work. Threats and persuasions having proved
unavailing to check the progress of the conquerors, Montezuma was
reduced to bribery as a last resort. This embassy brought the offer of
two hundred pounds of gold to Cortes, fifty to each of his captains,
and an annual tribute to the Spanish king if the strangers would
return whence they came.

When this offer was refused, as all others had been, and it became
clear that nothing would check the victorious advance of the
Christians, the Aztec monarch shut himself up in his palace, refused
food, and devoted himself to prayer and sacrifice. He saw his mighty
kingdom slipping from him, and, with a fatal superstition that forbade
him to oppose the will of the gods, he refused to make an effort
for its defence. Cuitlahuac, his warlike brother, Guatamotzin, his
impetuous nephew, and others of the bolder spirits among his nobles,
urged him to summon his armies and make at least one heroic effort to
save his tottering throne. Tlalco, the Toltec priest, who had so worked
upon the king's weak nature as to become his chief adviser, said:
"Leave to the gods the honor of annihilating these unbelievers in their
own good time," and the king listened to the voice of the priest.

So Montezuma prepared to send forth his last embassy to the advancing
conquerors, and ordered Cacama, Prince of Tezcuco, with a noble
retinue, to meet and welcome them to Mexico. This meeting took place
amid the beautiful gardens and stately residences of the royal city of
Iztapalapan, situated between the fresh waters of Lake Chalco and the
salt flood of the broad Tezcuco. Here the Spaniards were entertained
with regal splendor, and here they passed the last night before
entering the capital.

Never did nature assume a fairer aspect than when, on the following
morning, the clear-voiced Spanish trumpets set the little army in
motion for the final march of their eventful progress through the land
of Anahuac. A mere handful of men, cut off from all communication
with their own race, they had traversed the breadth of a wealthy and
populous kingdom, overcome its hostile armies, captured one after
another of its strongholds, and were now about to make a triumphant
entry into its capital city. Their record was without a parallel in
the history of the world. Thus it was with swelling hearts and a proud
bearing that they stepped on the superb stone causeway spanning the
waters of the salt lake, at the distant end of which lay the queenly
city of Tenochtitlan.

This causeway was one of the noblest works of New World civilization.
Constructed of huge blocks of stone, it was wide enough for ten
horsemen to ride abreast, and stretched for more than a league, in a
perfectly straight line, across the lake. At several points it was
cut by canals for the passage of boats, and these were crossed by
drawbridges, which, when lifted, barred all communication by land with
the city. Midway of its length stood Xoloc, a stone fort of immense
strength, flanked by towers, and giving passage through a battlemented
gateway.

At this point, as the Spaniards advanced with silken banners streaming
bravely out in the fresh morning air, burnished mail, and glittering
weapons, proudly prancing steeds and rumbling guns, they were met by
immense throngs of spectators, who had poured from the city to witness
the strangest sight ever beheld in Anahuac. Not only did the astonished
natives line both sides of the causeway with dense walls of curious
humanity, but the waters of the lake were alive with thousands of their
canoes. With equal, but restrained, curiosity did the Spaniards gaze on
them; on the wonderful floating islands that, covered with a luxuriant
vegetation, and even with miniature forests, appeared on both sides,
gently undulating with the swell of the waves, and upon the vast extent
of the stately city they were nearing.

As they approached the end of the causeway, and crossed its last
bridge, they perceived the brilliant retinue of the king advancing
to meet them, and halted to receive it. The royal palanquin, plated
with burnished gold, was surrounded by a glittering throng of nobles,
four of whom, barefooted, with downcast eyes and walking with slowly
measured pace, supported it on their shoulders. Four others bore aloft
the royal canopy of brilliant featherwork, powdered with jewels and
fringed with gold. It was preceded by three princes bearing golden
wands, and having robes of the most exquisite plumage thrown over their
golden armor.

When the dazzling train had reached a convenient distance it halted,
and Montezuma, descending from his litter, advanced on foot, leaning
on the lords of Tezcuco and Iztapalapan. He was still shaded by the
feathered canopy, and his golden sandals touched only the rich tapestry
spread down before him by attendant nobles. His thronging subjects
prostrated themselves to the ground as he passed, and no eye dared gaze
on his countenance.

The king was simply clad in a broad embroidered maxtlatl, or waist
sash, and the voluminous tilmatli, or Aztec cloak; but above his head,
held in place by a golden fillet, nodded a panache of green plumes,
such as he alone might wear.

Dismounting from his horse, and tossing his reins to a page, Cortes,
attended by Sandoval and Alvarado, stepped forward to meet the monarch.
As they came face to face these two gazed for a moment, in silence and
with a curious interest, at each other. Then Montezuma welcomed his
guests with a kingly courtesy, and announced that his brother, the
Prince Cuitlahua, would conduct them to the quarters prepared for their
reception.

His words being translated by Marina, Cortes responded with a few
courtly expressions of profound respect, hung about the king's neck a
glistening chain of colored crystals, and the momentous interview came
to an end.

Montezuma, returning through the prostrate ranks of his people,
re-entered his litter and was borne back into the city with the same
state in which he had left it. The Spaniards followed with colors
flying, drums and trumpets arousing the echoes with strains of martial
music, and with the trampling of horses and the rumble of heavy guns
sounding for the first time over the cemented pavements of Tenochtitlan.

As they marched, with heavy tread, up the principal avenue of the city,
the troops gazed with undisguised amazement at the evidences of wealth
and civilization surrounding them. For miles the way was lined with
the residences of nobles. They were built of a handsome red sandstone,
and though generally of but one story in height, each covered a large
area. Although the flat, battlemented roofs of these buildings showed
that they were capable of being converted into so many fortresses, this
military character was softened by the beds of flowers and perfumed
shrubbery with which most of them were covered. Often broad, terraced
gardens appeared between the dwellings, and the straight lines of their
monotonous architecture were broken, here and there, by the pyramidal
bulk of some teocal, lifting its fire-crowned summit high above all
other structures, the fountains and porticos of a square, or the
crossing of a canal.

The profoundest impression was, however, created by the dense
population, who swarmed on the house-tops, in the streets and squares,
and on the canals, in such numbers as the Spaniards had not believed
existed in all Anahuac. These everywhere greeted the white strangers
with cheerful smiles and acclamations, mingled with expressions of
wonder at their horses, weapons, costumes, and beards. But when
the cavalry, infantry, and artillery had passed, the dark ranks
of Tlascalan warriors, who followed, were met with the scowls and
mutterings of an undying hatred. These were not lost upon Huetzin, who,
proudly marching at the head of his mountaineers, returned them with
interest. Whenever he passed a temple he sincerely hoped that some day
he might lead his fierce warriors to its destruction. When he finally
came in sight of the great teocal, where his noble father had died, and
where he had so nearly lost his own life, his eyes glistened with a
light that boded ill to this dwelling of the gods if ever he should be
allowed to have his way with it.

Opposite the western side of the temple stood a vast and commodious
range of buildings surrounded by a stone wall. These had formed the
palace of Montezuma's father, and were now given over to the strangers,
to be their place of abode so long as they should remain in the city.
As they entered these quarters the king himself, surrounded by his
nobles, stood in the courtyard waiting to receive them.

After his departure, Cortes made a careful inspection of the buildings,
which were found to be ample for the accommodation of the entire army,
and assigned to whites and Tlascalans their respective quarters. He
then stationed the artillery so as to command the gateways, posted
sentinels, ordered that no soldier should leave the enclosure without
permission, and in every manner that his prudence dictated, guarded
against attack or surprise. When this had been accomplished, the army
was allowed to partake of the bountiful meal provided for it. Later
in the day Cortes, accompanied by Marina and his captains, visited
the palace of the king, by whom they were granted a long audience,
and presented with costly gifts. At sunset the Spaniards celebrated
their entrance into Tenochtitlan with a simultaneous discharge of
all their artillery. This awe-inspiring sound, and its thunderous
reverberations, combined with the sulphurous fumes of powder, filled
the superstitious Aztecs with dismay, and convinced them that they were
indeed entertaining beings of more than mortal powers.

After this two days were passed quietly, or in the interchange of
ceremonious visits; but on the night of the third Huetzin, tired of
inactivity, and disguising himself in a peasant's robe of nequen,
sallied forth into the city. He had a vague hope of thus learning
something of Tiata, which thus far he had been unable to do. Ever since
sighting the Mexican valley her image had been constantly before him,
and he was strongly impressed with the belief that she was still alive.

The streets were as well filled with people as they had been on the
eve of the festival of the great calendar stone. In the brilliantly
lighted porticos of the squares, in which pulque, chocolatl, or cooling
sherbets were sold, at the corners, before the open doorways, on the
bridges, and at the landing-places of the many canals, were gathered
animated groups discussing the arrival of the white strangers, which
still formed the all-absorbing topic of public interest. There was
little laughter or singing, but much earnest conversation, of which
Huetzin caught such scraps as he could while passing, for he dared not
join himself to any group, for fear of disclosing his identity. For an
hour he wandered aimlessly to and fro, shunning lighted places as much
as possible, and seeking friendly shadows. At the end of this time he
suddenly became filled with the uneasy sense of one who is secretly
observed, and looking about him, he strove to discover if this were the
case.

CHAPTER XX.

HUETZIN IN THE POWER OF THE CHIEF PRIEST

Thus far Huetzin had felt almost certain that he had escaped
recognition in Tenochtitlan. By the Spaniards he was invariably
addressed as Don Juan, while his own followers spoke and thought of him
only as their chieftain, giving him always the title of his office.
Although, under the circumstances of his present appearance in the
city, he did not fear any evil consequences to himself from being
identified with the prisoner who had escaped from Huitzil's altar only
three months before, he thought it best, for Tiata's sake, to remain
unknown as long as possible. Nor did he esteem this a difficult matter.
While the personality of the Spaniards was of great interest in the
court of Montezuma, that of their despised Tlascalan allies was not
deemed worthy of consideration. Who, then, would concern himself as to
the name, title, or previous history, even of their chief? As Huetzin
answered to himself "No one," he forgot that the anger of a baffled
priest never slumbers, forgives, nor forgets. He forgot Topil.

Thus, when the young Toltec finally discovered a shadowy form, that
seemed to move when he moved, and to halt when he halted, though always
at a distance from him, he became interested rather than apprehensive,
and wondered for whom he was mistaken. In his efforts to obtain a
closer view of his shadow, he tried disappearing around corners and
then quickly retracing his steps, hiding in dark angles, and various
other plans, but always without success. At length he lost sight of
the figure, and was beginning to think he must be mistaken in his
suspicions, when he was startled by a whisper in his ear: "If you would
know of Tiata, follow me!" Then a dark form moved swiftly ahead of him.

For a moment the young Toltec stood irresolute. The utterance of his
sister's name showed that he was indeed recognized. He longed above all
things for news concerning her, but should he, for that reason, throw
prudence to the winds and follow the first stranger who bade him do so?
Certainly not. At the same time his curiosity was so aroused that he
determined to overtake the mysterious person, if possible, and force
an explanation from him. The shadow was still in sight, though at some
distance, and, under the impulse of the resolve just made, Huetzin
started swiftly after it. As he ran, so it fled, always almost, but
not quite, within reach. A touch of its fluttering garments led him
to believe that the chase was nearly ended, and in his exultation he
failed to notice that he had passed through a wide gateway. Again, as
he was about to grasp the figure, it darted through an open door; but
here the pursuer paused. He would follow no further.

At that moment there came a shrill scream from within. It was a woman's
voice, and it seemed to cry: "Huetzin! oh, Huetzin!" Impulsively the
young man sprang forward. He had hardly passed the dark portal, when
he was seized by several pairs of strong hands and thrown to the
ground. A minute later he was led away, helplessly bound, through the
darkness. At length he was rudely thrust into a wooden cage, such as
were used for captives destined for sacrifice, and there left to his
own sorrowful reflections.

He could no longer doubt that he had been recognized, his every
movement watched, and his capture devised by means of the simple trap
to which he had fallen so easy a victim. Fortunately for him, Topil,
the chief priest, had that day gone on a secret mission to Tezcuco.
He did not return until near noon of the following day. As soon as he
reached the temple he was informed that the young Tlascalan, upon whom
he had so long desired to lay hands, once more awaited his pleasure.

Topil's eyes lighted with a fierce gleam as he muttered, "Ha! son of
Tlahuicol, and avowed enemy of the holy priesthood, thou shalt not
escape me now!" Then, aloud, he said: "Away with him to the altar of
Huitzil, to which I will shortly follow. With this sacrifice shall
the anger of the gods be averted, and all shall once more go well with
Anahuac."

In obedience to this order, Huetzin was dragged from his cage, to
which no ray of light had penetrated since he was thrust into it, was
blindfolded, and bound to the back of a sturdy tamane, or porter of the
temple. In this manner, and surrounded by a strong guard of priests,
he was borne for a long distance, and, as he could distinguish from
the motion, up many flights of stairs. When he was at length set down,
although the bandage was not removed from his eyes, he felt certain
that he once more stood on the horrible platform crowning the great
teocal of Huitzil.

As he stood there, feeling that now his last hour had indeed come,
he vaguely calculated the chances of a desperate plan for wrenching
himself free, at the last moment, seizing the chief priest, who he was
sure would conduct the sacrifice in person, and leaping with him from
the giddy height. All at once he became conscious of a mighty hum of
voices rising from far below, and gradually swelling into acclamations.
Then, although he could not see him, a priest came running breathlessly
up the stairway that led to the platform. Huetzin did, however, hear
the words, "They are coming here! Away with him! Another time will do
as well! Even his dead body must not be discovered!" Then the prisoner
was seized and dragged into a building, which, by the horrible odor
pervading it, he recognized as the shrine of the god. Here he was
thrust into some sort of a room or closet, and its door was closed
behind him.

In the meantime, Huetzin's former preserver, Tlalco, the Toltec priest,
had been well aware of his arrival in the city, but had not yet found
an opportunity to communicate with him. With all his secret means
of acquiring information, he had not known of the young chieftain's
capture and imminent peril until Topil's return from Tezcuco. Then he
overheard the communication made to the chief priest, and, without
an instant's delay, hastened to the king's palace. Montezuma was not
there, nor were his attendant nobles. They were escorting the Spaniards
on a visit to the places of greatest interest within the city.

Sandoval had been greatly concerned to learn, upon inquiring for his
friend Don Juan, just before setting forth on this excursion, that the
young Tlascalan had not returned to his quarters since leaving them
late on the previous evening. He would have instituted an immediate
search for the missing youth, had not the arrival of the king at that
moment demanded his service. Filled with an ever-increasing uneasiness,
the young Spaniard was compelled to visit, with his commander and the
other cavaliers, the great market-place of Tlateloco, where not even
the thousand strange sights, that so interested the others, could
distract his mind from its one all-absorbing thought. What had become
of the friend whom he had learned to love as a brother? Was he in
danger? If so, what was its nature?

He rejoiced when the tedious inspection of the market-place was ended,
and the Spaniards were conducted toward the great temple, which Cortes
was especially desirous of visiting. They were still some distance from
it, when a page from the palace, mingling unnoticed with the throng,
managed to attract the attention of Marina, who accompanied the party
as interpreter, and delivered to her a whispered message. She turned
pale as she gathered its import, and beckoning Sandoval to the side of
her litter, said, in a low but thrillingly earnest tone:

"I am just told to inform the lord Sandoval that, if he would save
his brother's life, he must make all speed to the summit of the great
temple."

For a moment Sandoval was bewildered. His brother? Then it flashed into
his mind that Huetzin, the missing one, must be meant. He also recalled
the dread fate already escaped once by the young Toltec on the summit
of that same pyramid of horrors. Huetzin had never been very clear in
his account of how he escaped on that occasion, but it was likely that
a similar method was well guarded against this time, if, indeed, he
were in a similar danger.

While thus thinking, the young captain, saluting his commander, and
obtaining leave to take a handful of men and act as an advance guard in
clearing the streets, clapped spurs to Motilla and dashed away with a
haste that occasioned general surprise. It was his impetuous arrival at
the foot of the teocal that had occasioned such consternation on its
summit, and the chief priest was but one flight of stairs ahead of him
as he made his way, with all speed, up the long ascent. He was reckless
of the fact that he had far outstripped his followers and was alone.
Even when he gained the summit and found himself in the presence of a
large body of scowling priests, he had no thought of his own danger.
Drawing his sword, he advanced toward them with such a threatening air
that they instinctively fell back at his approach.

"Where is he? What have you done with him? Answer me, dogs, ere I
loosen thy false tongues with a taste of Spanish steel!" he cried, in
savage tones, forgetting that they could understand no word of what he
said.

As the priests retreated, so that his eyes could take in the whole
of the broad platform, he saw that the object of his search was not
there, nor was there any appearance of blood having been spilled that
morning. Still he was not satisfied, and as his followers joined him,
he led them, careless of the protests of the chief priest, into the
foul shrine, where, in spite of its sickening odor, he searched every
nook and corner, feeling with his sword in all places that he could not
otherwise reach.

When the rest of the visiting party gained the summit of the teocal,
the priest made such bitter complaint, to Montezuma, of the insult thus
offered to their god that, for the first time during his intercourse
with the whites, the king expressed anger at their proceedings, and
declared that he himself must do penance for their sacrilege.

CHAPTER XXI.

A SUPERSTITIOUS KING

While the priests were making their complaints to Montezuma, Cortes and
his companions were gazing with fascinated eyes over the incomparable
scene outspread on all sides of their lofty observatory. At their feet
lay the city, its terraced roofs blooming with flowers, its streets
and shining canals intersecting each other at right angles, and the
four great avenues, three of which connected with as many causeways
leading to the mainland, stretching away in unbroken lines from the
four gates of Huitzil's temple. The avenues, streets, squares, and
canals were filled with a cheerful activity, and thronged with natives
in gay and picturesque costumes. Beyond the clustered buildings of the
wide-spread city sparkled the waters of the lake in which it stood, and
on its distant shores could be seen other cities, nestling villages,
and the white walls of many a tall teocal rising above dark groves. Far
across the broad valley the glorious sweep of view was unbroken until
it rested on the encircling range of mountains that bounded it on all
sides. From these many a frosty peak pierced the blue heavens, and,
high over all trailed the smoke banners of Popocatepetl.

Their enjoyment of this enchanting scene was cut short by the king
advising Cortes of the sacrilege committed by Sandoval and his
followers in ransacking the sacred shrine. He requested that, on
account of it, the Spaniards should at once depart, leaving him and the
priests to win forgiveness of the gods for the offence, if indeed that
were possible. Although Cortes would gladly have seconded Sandoval's
blunt proposal to tumble the stony-eyed god down a side of the pyramid,
and fling the priests after it, he knew that the time for such heroic
measures was not yet come, and so yielded to the request of the king.

The Spaniards, including Sandoval, who was more than ever perplexed and
uneasy concerning the disappearance of his friend, had hardly taken
their departure before the chief priest advanced toward Montezuma with
a smiling face.

"Oh, mighty lord, and lord of lords!" he exclaimed, making a deep
obeisance, "know that I have this day secured a victim for Huitzil's
altar, the sacrifice of whom will not only banish from the mind of
the gods the recent insults of the white zopilotes (vultures), but
will restore their favor to thee and thy people. He is no other than
that son of Tlahuicol, the Tlascalan, who is the avowed enemy of the
gods, and defied their wrath by his sacrilege at Cholula. Ever since
I learned of his coming I have had a score of trusty fellows pledged
to his capture, and even now he is at hand, in a secret chamber of the
shrine, where the prying eyes of the lime-faced strangers failed to
discover him. I fear, however, that, by some mysterious power known
only to themselves, they have gained a knowledge of his capture, and
are secretly in search of him. If it is thy will that he be immediately
sacrificed, and his body given to the sacred flame, then will their
search be in vain, and the manner of his disappearance will never be
known."

"Bring him forth and let him be sacrificed," replied the king. "The
times are urgent, and no means for winning back the favor of the gods
must be left untried. If it be not speedily restored, then shall king
and priest fall together, and the glory of Anahuac pass forever. So
hasten and produce thy victim, for I must shortly return to discover
what new mischief these insolent invaders may be meditating."

Filled with a savage joy that his revenge was about to be gratified,
and pleased to be able to celebrate the coming of the king with so
worthy a sacrifice, Topil hastened to the secure hiding-place in which
he had left Huetzin. So long was he gone that the king, impatient
of waiting, despatched one of the lesser priests to bid him produce
his victim without further delay. This messenger returned with the
startling information that no trace of either the chief priest or his
prisoner was to be found.

With an exclamation of anger, Montezuma himself entered the shrine
and made a personal search of every room, closet, nook, and corner of
its three stories. Finally he was compelled to admit that, in some
mysterious way, and for some unknown reason, Topil had disappeared,
leaving no trace of his presence. As even the king knew of no mode of
exit from the shrine, save its one visible doorway, he could in no way
account for this disappearance. Its mystery filled him with such a
superstitious dread of the place that he made haste to leave it, and
was borne back to his palace a prey to the most gloomy forebodings.

As the king, refusing the attendance of his nobles, entered his private
apartments, he was stupefied with amazement to see, standing before
him, holding a bloody human heart in his hand, the figure of Topil, the
chief priest. For a few seconds he gazed in motionless terror, then
he managed to gasp: "Art thou a spirit or a reality? Speak! I command
thee!"

To this Topil answered: "I know not, O king, whether I am truly the
one or the other. Hear thou my tale and then judge. When I left thee,
but now, on the summit of Huitzil's holy temple, I went to bring forth
a prisoner whom I had in safe keeping. Upon entering the place where
he had been I found naught save traces of unquenchable fire, such as
is used by the gods, and this heart. I was not terror-stricken, nor
even greatly surprised, for I have known of other cases in which the
gods, impatient of delay, have slain impious victims by means of their
own awful weapons. I was only amazed to see that the heart of this
sacrifice was left as fresh and whole as though just torn from the
living body.

"Lifting it, I instantly observed it to be covered with omens so
favorable to thee as have never before been seen in all the years of
thy glorious reign. I was about to hasten to thee with the joyful
tidings, when I was suddenly enveloped in a whirling cloud of dazzling
radiance and borne I know not whither. While in this state I was
granted a vision. It was of the white strangers now within thy walls;
but they were no longer proud, nor were they victorious. They seemed
to be without a leader, and were being driven, like leaves before the
wind, by the warriors of Tenochtitlan.

"This being interpreted, O king, means that if thou canst but deprive
them of their leader, the accursed strangers shall fall beneath thy
sword as falls the brittle chian before the reaper's sickle. Thus,
O Montezuma, shall the immortal gods be vindicated and thy kingdom
established forever.

"When I awoke from this glorious vision, behold, I was standing here,
as thou seest me, with the heart of the son of Tlahuicol in my hand as
a proof that I had not dreamed a dream."

[Illustration: THE FIGURE OF TOPIL THE CHIEF PRIEST.]

Such was the story of Topil, the chief priest, and this was the
flimsy argument by which he persuaded Montezuma to embrace the first
opportunity for the destruction of the Spanish leader. It was a bold
device, and it served to conceal the fact that the son of Tlahuicol
had again escaped from the altar. For fear its falsity should be
discovered, Topil urged immediate action according to his plan; but
Montezuma would only promise that, if possible, it should be carried
out on the following day.

When Huetzin found himself respited from immediate sacrifice and thrust
into another cage, or cell, his first act was to tear the bandage from
his eyes. Although the darkness in which he stood was absolute, and he
could see no more than before, his brain seemed to act more clearly
now that he was no longer blindfolded. With a new hope springing in
his heart, he felt on all sides for traces of a door. If he could only
get out he might hide in some recess of the temple, and ultimately
effect an escape. Of course the chances were a thousand to one against
him, but he would thankfully accept even that poor one. So he felt
carefully round and round the rough stone walls, but nothing yielded,
and there was no trace of an opening. All at once it flashed into his
mind that he had been within the narrow limits of these impenetrable
walls before. He was almost certain that he stood in the pedestal of
Huitzil's image, and just above the narrow stairway down which Tlalco
had conducted him on the occasion of his former escape from the altar
of sacrifice.

If it should be! and if he could only discover the secret of the
opening leading to the stairway, how gladly would he brave the
underground terrors to which it would conduct him, for the sake of
its one slender chance of escape! Kneeling on the floor he passed his
fingers, again and again, over every inch of its cold surface. The
result was the same as had attended his efforts against the walls. He
could find no trace of an opening nor of a projection by means of which
a trap-door might be raised.

Finally, abandoning himself to despair, the young Toltec flung himself
at full length on the floor and beat with his clenched fists upon its
stony surface. As he did so, it seemed to sink beneath him with a
slight grating sound. There was an upward rush of cool, damp air, and,
in an instant, Huetzin was standing at the head of a flight of steps,
while above him the ponderous stone door, that had opened for his
passage, swung noiselessly back into place.

With a wildly beating heart the fugitive began cautiously to descend
the unseen stairway. When midway down the second flight, a sound struck
upon his ears that froze the blood in his veins. It came from above,
and was that of some person rapidly descending behind him. The chief
priest, for it must be he, had discovered his escape and was in hot
pursuit, probably accompanied by others, all well-armed, and thirsting
for his blood.

Thus thinking, Huetzin listened for an instant to the advancing sounds,
and then plunged forward, almost headlong, through the darkness. Down
flight after flight of the interminable steps he dashed with reckless
haste, often slipping, falling, and rolling, but ever keeping in
advance of his pursuers. As he neared the bottom, the horror of the
secret door, there to be encountered, fell on him, and he cried aloud
in his agony. Like a mocking echo, his cry was repeated from above.

When he reached the bottom of the last flight of steps, and could go no
farther, then he would turn and fight to the bitter end. They should
never again lay his breathing body on the hideous stone of sacrifice.

Thus Huetzin determined; but when he came to the door, and the pursuing
footsteps were close upon him, it stood open. Hardly crediting this
wonder, the fugitive sprang through the opening thus miraculously
provided, and slammed the heavy door behind him. Then he again ran
forward through utter darkness. Feeling for the side passages that he
remembered, he at length found and entered one. In this he ran, until
suddenly he brought up against a solid wall, where he fell, panting,
bruised, and almost unconscious, to the ground.

CHAPTER XXII.

SANDOVAL PLIGHTS HIS TROTH

When Sandoval returned with the others to the Spanish quarters, after
leaving the temple, he urged Marina to find out who had sent the
message that had despatched him on so fruitless an errand to Huitzil's
shrine, and, if possible, what it meant. This Marina was only too glad
to undertake; for she, as well as the young Spaniard, was anxious and
unhappy concerning the fate of him who had been her patient in Tlascala.

In the meantime Sandoval, visiting the Tlascalan quarters, found the
fierce warriors very angry, and inclined to quarrel with some one, on
account of the loss of their well-liked young chief. They could form
no idea of what had become of him, but declared that if he were not
restored to them soon, and in safety, the city that had swallowed him
should be made to feel their vengeance. The matter was becoming so
serious that it must be reported to Cortes. Upon hearing of it, the
Spanish leader declared his intention of immediately visiting the king,
and demanding any information he might possess upon the subject. To
this end, he summoned Marina to accompany him as interpreter.

The Indian girl had but just discovered the page who had brought her
the message, and gained from him the information that it had been sent
by one of the court ladies, who was even now walking in the king's
gardens, and to whom he would willingly conduct her. As Marina must
attend the Conqueror in his audience with the king, she turned the page
over to Sandoval, with instructions to lead the young cavalier to the
gardens instead of herself, and point the lady out to him.

Then the same party, that had made a tour of the city that morning,
set forth for Montezuma's palace. After they had entered its grounds,
Sandoval, keeping a tight hold of his page, managed to slip away
unnoticed. He was pleasantly conscious that at length he, like other
young men whom he had known, was setting forth in search of a romantic
adventure. The feeling was an entirely novel one; for the plain-faced
young soldier, though expert in the art of war, was awkward of speech,
and so diffident that, since his childhood, he had hardly exchanged a
dozen words with any woman. Marina was, of course, excepted, but he
regarded her more in the light of a fellow-soldier than as a member of
the dreaded sex.

He wondered if the woman he was about to see would be old or young,
attractive or otherwise. He finally decided that she would be
middle-aged, as dark-skinned as were most of the Indian women he had
seen, and that she was probably the wife of some court noble, who
had let drop a chance expression concerning Don Juan, which she had
misunderstood. While thus cogitating, Sandoval was led through a maze
of shaded alleys and perfumed shrubberies until he was as bewildered as
one without a compass in mid-ocean.

At length, after a long search, he and the page detected the sound of
voices; and, as they emerged from behind a dense thicket of laurel, the
latter pointed, with a triumphant air, to two female figures pacing
slowly along the borders of a miniature lake, and engaged in earnest
conversation. One was dark, middle-aged, and stately. She answered so
well Sandoval's mental picture of the woman he wished to discover, that
he accepted her as such without a question. The other woman appeared to
be younger, but he could not see her face.

[Illustration: SANDOVAL MEETS TIATA.]

Unobserved, they walked toward the two women, and Sandoval had already
lifted his steel bonnet, preparatory to addressing the elder, when the
page, pulling at his arm, pointed to the other, thus intimating that it
was she who had sent the morning's message. At that moment, startled by
the sound of their footsteps, the younger woman turned upon the young
soldier a face more gloriously beautiful than any he had ever seen
or dreamed of. It was that of a girl just entering womanhood, and
was fair almost to whiteness, but with a dash of carmine glowing on
cheeks and lips. The little head bore a wealth of hair that was dark
brown, instead of jetty black, as was the case with most Aztec maidens.
It was poised like that of a princess, but the great brown eyes were
fixed upon Sandoval with a startled, pleading expression that, as he
afterward said, pierced him like the keenest of Toledo blades.

So taken aback was he by this sudden apparition of youthful beauty,
that the steel bonnet, with which he was prepared to make an elaborate
bow, slipped from his hand and fell, with a loud clatter to the marble
pavement. It would have rolled into the water had not the page captured
and returned it to its owner. At this mishap the girl laughed, just a
little rippling laugh, the elder woman bit her lip, and poor Sandoval,
the picture of despairing mortification, looked as though about to hide
his confusion in flight.

At this juncture the girl put some question to the page. At his answer
she became very grave, and again looked appealingly at Sandoval.
He, realizing that the time had come when he must either speak or
ignominiously retreat, and so become a fit subject for mirth throughout
all Mexico, opened his mouth and, after several abortive attempts,
blurted out:

"I----that is, señorita, you----! I believe my brother, Don Juan----!
You have exhibited an interest---- May I ask----? I mean, did you----?"

Here he paused, recalled by the expression of bewilderment on the
girl's face, to the fact that she could not understand a word of what
he was saying. She answered him, for all that, speaking so earnestly
and with such musical accents, that poor Sandoval was completely
bewitched, and, in spite of his ignorance of her meaning, would
willingly have undertaken to listen to that sweet voice forever.

As she ended the words whose melody would linger in the ears of the
embarrassed and shame-faced young soldier to his dying hour, there came
a sound of other and harsher voices. Hearing them, the elder woman
caught her companion by the arm and led her hastily away. Ere they
disappeared, the girl looked back with a ravishing smile that said, as
plainly as words of purest Castilian:

"I do not think you plain or awkward, or ill-favored, for I know you to
be as true and brave a knight as ever plighted his troth to a maiden,"
and, from that moment, in his heart of hearts, was Sandoval's troth
pledged.

Now he looked for the page on whom he relied to lead him from this
enchanted wilderness. The boy had disappeared, and in his place stood
two grinning dwarfs, with huge heads, grotesquely misshapen bodies,
and thin, little legs that seemed illy calculated to support them. As
Sandoval stared at them they returned his stare with interest, at the
same time making diabolical faces and winking maliciously.

When he sternly demanded that they should lead him to the palace, they
broke forth with a harsh cackle of laughter and danced about him like
hobgoblins. Finally, tormented beyond endurance, he drew his sword
as though about to attack them, whereupon they retreated beyond his
reach with the lightness of thistledowns, and a speed that showed how
little chance he had of capturing them. For an hour or so they amused
themselves with impish torments of this young giant. When they at
length disappeared, Sandoval found himself, flushed and breathless,
standing before a cage of solemn-looking apes, whose appearance was so
like that of his recent tormentors, that he could not help laughing in
spite of his disgust. Fortunately, he was here discovered by some of
the king's animal-keepers, who conducted him to a place from which he
could see the Spanish quarters.

While Sandoval was undergoing these various and unique experiences
in the royal gardens, Cortes and his companions were admitted to the
presence of the king. Not having any reason to expect a visit from them
at this hour, he was engaged in giving audience to many distinguished
personages; ambassadors from other countries of the Western World,
princes of tributary provinces or cities, caciques of recently
conquered tribes, generals of his army, and the like, who had petitions
to prefer or business to transact that required his personal attention.

Each of these was conducted into the throne-room by young nobles, who
acted as ushers, and each, no matter how exalted his rank, was obliged
to cover his gorgeous raiment with a robe of coarse nequen, and enter
the presence barefooted. Approaching the king with many obeisances, and
finally making the sign of servitude by touching first the ground and
then his head with his right hand, the petitioner stood with downcast
eyes waiting to be addressed before daring to speak. Each, as he was
dismissed, retreated backward, and continued to make humble obeisances
until he had passed from the room.

After watching this scene for some time with great interest, Cortes
stepped forward, and, through his fair interpreter, abruptly demanded
what had become of his young chief of Tlascalans.

"He is dead," answered Montezuma, simply, at which Marina staggered
as though struck a heavy blow, and was scarcely able to translate the
reply to Cortes.

"By whose hand?" demanded the Spanish leader, hotly.

"By the hand of no man, but by that of the gods."

"Where is his body?"

"No trace of it remains. If it were to be found I would deliver it to
thee. If he had been slain by mortals they should be given to thee for
punishment," replied the king, solemnly.

Nothing more was to be elicited; and, filled with rage, Cortes and his
companions hastily departed, to consult as to what mode of revenge they
should take, and upon whom.

They were followed, a few minutes later, by Sandoval, who, as he neared
the Spanish quarters, was startled by seeing a man running toward him,
hotly pursued by a crowd of priests and citizens brandishing weapons,
and evidently intent upon taking his life. As he gazed curiously on
this scene the young soldier was horror-stricken to recognize, in the
well-nigh exhausted fugitive, his adopted brother, Huetzin the Toltec.
Drawing his sword and springing forward with a loud cry, he succeeded
in checking the pursuit long enough to enable the pursued to dart
through a gateway of the old palace. As the rescuer quickly followed it
was violently closed in the faces of the angry throng, whose prey was
thus snatched from their very grasp.

CHAPTER XXIII.

IN THE PASSAGES BENEATH THE TEMPLE

Although Huetzin felt certain that some secret door or panel must offer
a passage through the wall, against which he had run with such rude
force, he realized, from past experience, the folly of attempting to
discover it. Therefore, when he had somewhat recovered from the shock
just received, he slowly and carefully retraced his way along the
passage, in search of some other opening leading from it.

In the meantime the chief priest, who had discovered no sign of the
fugitive since the door at the foot of the stairway was flung to in
his face, had hastened on out of the underground labyrinth. He posted
guards at all its exits, with the information that an escaped prisoner,
who must be seized the moment he showed himself, was wandering about in
it, and ordered a victim, selected at random from the temple cages, to
be killed and his heart torn out. With this in his hand Topil made his
way, undiscovered, to the private apartments of the king, reaching them
just in time to anticipate the return of the monarch from the temple.

Feeling well satisfied with this portion of his morning's work, and
being also convinced that the prisoner, who had twice eluded him, was
still within his reach, the chief priest, after leaving the palace,
made several calls on powerful nobles well know as being opposed to
the king's present method of treating the invaders of Anahuac. These
he invited to attend a secret meeting, to be held that very day, in a
place well known to all of them, and in every case the invitation was
gladly accepted.

While the priest was thus engaged Huetzin was wandering hopelessly
through the black mazes of the underground passages, stairways, rooms,
and hidden doorways, that he had entered so easily, but from which he
now found it so impossible to escape. Some of the passages that he
followed ended, as the first had done, with blank walls, while others
led into chambers of greater or less size, as he discovered by groping
his way around them. He was faint, weary, and aching in every joint,
tortured by the pangs of hunger and a burning thirst. Above all, it
seemed to the young Toltec that he must be going mad, as the horrors of
his situation crowded thick and fast upon him. In spite of his dread of
being recaptured by the priests, he shouted at the top of his voice,
and the underground echoes jeered at him with hollow mockery.

Finally he found himself in a hall or chamber that seemed much larger
than any he had yet entered, and here he managed to lose touch of
the rough wall, along which he had felt his way until the ends of his
fingers were worn to the quick. As he moved forward with uncertain
steps, seeking to regain it, he stumbled against some large object,
fell, and rolled partly under it. So far as he could tell by the
feeling, it was a stone altar or table, covered with a heavy tapestry
that hung in folds to the floor on all sides.

It was pleasant to encounter something besides cold stone, and instead
of rising at once Huetzin lay still, passing his hands mechanically
over the soft cloth. His thoughts became hazy and he seemed to be
drifting into space. How much better it was to lie there than to wander
aimlessly through those interminable passages as he had been doing for
days--or weeks--which was it? He tried to remember, but could not. At
any rate it was a long time, long enough for one to be dead, buried,
and forgotten in. Perhaps he was dead! Yes, there came the white-robed
torch-bearing priests who were to bury him. How perplexed they would
be if he should hide his body so that the ceremony could not proceed.
Of course he would give himself up after a while. Smiling to himself
at the thought of this trick, Huetzin rolled still farther under the
stone table, until he was completely hidden by its drapery. He lay very
still, and must have fallen into a doze. At least he was not conscious
of what was taking place about him until he was suddenly aroused by the
word "Malinche."

Malinche was the native name for Cortes, and some one was saying,
"Malinche must then be slain as he visits the king on the morrow. It is
so decided. After his death the destruction of his army will be an easy
matter, and Huitzil's altars shall not want for victims. As for the
vile Tlascalans, they will serve to feed the altars of the lesser gods
for many days of rejoicing."

No longer was Huetzin dozing, nor were his thoughts vague and
uncertain. He was, of a sudden, as wide awake as ever in his life, and
as clear-headed. Hunger, thirst, terror, and pain were all forgotten.
He was listening to the details of a plot for the destruction of his
friends and followers, and for the establishment on a firmer basis than
ever of the cruel Aztec religion and its blood-stained priesthood. He
dared not move, nor even to peep from behind his sheltering curtain to
discover who these conspirators were. He hardly dared to breathe, and
wished he could silence the beatings of his heart that seemed to him
distinct above all other sounds.

From a faint glow that came through the tapestry he knew that the
chamber was lighted by torches, and from the sound of footsteps on
the stone floor he judged that a number of persons were implicated in
the conspiracy. At length the glow began to fade and the footsteps to
retreat. The meeting had broken up and its members were departing.
Venturing to peer out Huetzin saw the last torch on the point of
vanishing in the distant blackness, and springing to his feet he ran
noiselessly after it.

He was thus guided along a narrow passage similar to those in which he
had wandered so miserably, and around several corners. All at once he
saw a torch coming directly toward him. A priest had been sent back
for some mislaid article. The young Toltec crouched close beside the
wall. The priest did not discover him until he was within a few paces
of the crouching figure. Then, as he peered uncertainly at it, Huetzin
launched himself forward with a spring like that of an ocelot. In an
instant the priest was borne to the ground, while the torch, flung
far from him, flickered and expired. He attempted to cry out, but a
fierce clutch at his throat changed his cry into a choked gurgle.
His struggles were futile in the iron grasp of this monster of the
darkness, and within a minute he was bound hand, foot, and mouth with
strips torn from his own robes.

Leaving him thus, Huetzin sped noiselessly and swiftly away in the
direction taken by the others. He was so fortunate as to again see
their lights as the last one was passing through a doorway leading
to a flight of steps. He heard a voice say, "Let it remain open for
Amatli," and was content to wait until all had ascended the stairway
and disappeared.

Then the young Toltec crept cautiously up the stone steps, which were
disclosed by a subdued but blessed daylight. From their top he could
see a door opening on to a street. Between him and it were two armed
guards engaged in earnest conversation. Their backs were turned to him,
and stealing breathlessly to where they stood, he bounded past them to
the doorway. They were after him in an instant, with loud cries, but
he had already gained the street. He knew not where he was, and ran
blindly, though with the fleetness of a deer, while an ever-increasing
mob of soldiers, priests, and citizens followed in hot pursuit. Had he
not caught sight of the great temple he must have fallen an easy prey
to this army of pursuers. Even with the hope inspired by this familiar
landmark his strength would have failed to take him to the shelter
of the Spanish wall, had it not been for the opportune appearance of
Sandoval with his flashing sword and gallant war-cry.

Once inside the gate, and realizing that he was again safe from his
fierce pursuers, the unnatural strength that had sustained him so long
gave way, and Huetzin staggered as though about to fall. Numbers of
Spaniards and Tlascalans sprang to his assistance, but Sandoval was the
first to reach him, and lifting the youth in his mighty arms as though
he had been an infant, he bore him to his own quarters. Here, under the
rough but skilful ministrations of the young soldier, Huetzin revived
sufficiently to beg for water and food, neither of which he had tasted
for many hours. These being brought, he ate and drank until, fearful
that he would do himself harm, Sandoval took them from him.

Greatly refreshed and strengthened, Huetzin now asked for Marina, and
when the girl appeared, full of wondering pity at the evidences he
bore of his recent experiences, he requested her to obtain for him
an instant interview with the commander concerning a matter of vital
import. Cortes had just learned of the reappearance in the flesh of one
whom the king had, but an hour before, declared dead, and was coming
to investigate the miraculous resurrection when Marina met him with
Huetzin's request.

The young chieftain had expected to go to the General, and was covered
with confusion when the latter came to where he was, as though he had
sent for him. He would have risen, but the commander insisted that,
by his sufferings, he had won the right to lie still. So, seating
himself beside the pile of mats that formed Sandoval's couch, and on
which Huetzin now lay, Cortes listened with the gravest attention
to an account of all that had happened to the young warrior since
the preceding evening. When the latter came to a description of the
underground meeting of conspirators, the leader's face grew very stern,
and at the conclusion of the recital he exclaimed:

"Thou hast done well, my young lord of Titcala, and even thy recent
sufferings are amply rewarded by the news obtained through them. Thus
forewarned I am of the opinion that we shall find some means for
checkmating these burrowing water-rats. How say you, Don Gonzalo?"

"If not, then shall we well deserve the fate they plot for us,"
answered Sandoval, to whom this question was addressed.

"Art sure that thou hast a heart still beating in thy breast?" suddenly
demanded the General of Huetzin. "I was told, not long since, that a
god had torn it from thy bosom, also that a fair lady of the king's
court was expressing anxiety concerning thee."

"My heart is still in my own keeping, in spite of gods and fair
ladies," replied Huetzin, though with Marina's blush reflected on his
own face; "neither do I know any lady of Montezuma's court, unless
indeed it be my sister Tiata, who is but a child, and is, I fear, no
longer to be found in any earthly court or city."

CHAPTER XXIV.

MONTEZUMA IS MADE PRISONER

That night Cortes convened a council of his captains, whom he told of
the plot to kill him. He proposed to defeat this by being first in the
field and making a prisoner of Montezuma himself. As an excuse for so
high-handed a proceeding, he would bring up an affair, of which he had
learned while at Cholula, but had deemed best to keep to himself until
now. It was nothing less than an attack on the Spanish garrison at Vera
Cruz, by an Aztec cacique named Quapoca, who claimed to have acted by
direct orders from the king. In this engagement, though the Indians
were ultimately defeated, the Spaniards, including Juan Escalante, the
commandant, had been killed.

Armed with this excuse, Cortes, having requested and been granted an
audience with the king, set forth for the palace at an early hour on
the following morning. He was accompanied by Sandoval, Alvarado, and
three other cavaliers in full armor. One of these was Huetzin, clad in
armor provided for the occasion, and differing in no point, that the
eye could detect, from a Spaniard. It was arranged that after Cortes
and his companions were admitted to the king, other Spaniards, to the
number of a score or so, should stroll into the palace, a few at a
time, and remain within supporting distance in case of need. The rest
of the troops, with the exception of a strong patrol on the avenue
leading to the palace, were drawn up, under arms, in the courtyard of
their quarters.

Montezuma received his guests with the utmost composure, and, through
Marina's interpretation, chatted pleasantly with them for half an hour.
At the end of that time Cortes, perceiving that a sufficient number of
his men had assembled just outside the audience chamber, demanded of
the king why he had ordered an attack to be made on Vera Cruz.

Although startled by the suddenness of the accusation, the king denied
that he had done so.

Cortes professed himself willing to believe this, but requested that
the cacique who had led the attacking force be sent for, that he might
be examined.

To this Montezuma consented, and handed his signet to an officer, with
the brief command that Quapoca be brought to Tenochtitlan.

After the officer had departed the Spanish commander proposed that,
in order to prove his sincerity and place himself beyond suspicion of
such an act of treachery against his Spanish friends, the king should
transfer his residence to the palace occupied by them and remain as
their guest until all questions in connection with this unfortunate
affair should be settled.

As he listened to this proposal Montezuma turned deadly pale, and then
his face flushed with indignation. "Do you dare doubt my word? The word
of a king!" he demanded.

"Did not your majesty inform me of the death of my chief of Tlascalans
but yesterday?" asked Cortes.

"If I did, it is because he is dead! A king cannot lie!" was the
passionate answer.

"But he may be mistaken, and if so in one case, possibly in another,"
replied Cortes. At the same time he beckoned to Huetzin to step forward
and unbonnet.

The young man did so, and as the king gazed on his well-remembered
features it seemed for a moment as though he would fall in a fit, so
terrified and horror-stricken was his expression. For a minute he could
not command his voice, then, in a low tone, he said:

"The victory is thine, Malinche! So long as this son of Tlahuicol
lives, the anger of the gods will not be averted from me or my kingdom.
I will go with you."

Cortes immediately issued orders for the royal litter to be brought,
and as the nobles who bore it hesitated to obey the stranger, the king
assured them that it was his pleasure to visit his white friends.
As the royal train, under a strong Spanish escort, passed through
the street, its nobles walking with bowed heads and sad faces, the
news spread like wildfire that the king had been taken prisoner, and
was being carried off by force. On every side armed men seemed to
spring from the ground. Ere they were half-way to their own place, the
Christians were confronted by such a furious mass of humanity that, but
for the intervention of Montezuma himself, they would have been forced
to fight against desperate odds. Actuated either by superstitious
cowardice or policy, the king assured his tumultuous subjects that he
was going, of his own free will, to visit his friends, and ordered them
to retire peaceably to their homes.

Thus, without a drop of bloodshed, was the powerful but superstitious
monarch of the great Aztec nation taken prisoner by a handful of
determined white men, and kept under their guard for months in the very
heart of his own capital. It seems incredible that such could have been
the case, but all historians vouch for its truth.

Montezuma was allowed spacious quarters and every semblance of royal
authority, but was never again given his liberty. Quapoca came, was
tried, condemned, and executed by the Spaniards, but their greater
prisoner was not released. His subjects were granted daily audience
with him, but they were only admitted a few at a time, and must pass
the scrutiny of a strong Spanish guard always maintained in the royal
antechamber.

This new order of things was hardly established before Sandoval began
making inquiries as to the name, rank, and nationality of the beautiful
girl with whom he had held so delightful, and, at the same time, so
unsatisfactory an interview in the royal gardens. To his dismay he
could learn nothing. No one to whom he applied could tell him aught
concerning her, and she seemed to have disappeared as absolutely as
though translated to another sphere. Even the page who had conducted
him to her was not to be found. Sandoval enlisted the services of both
Marina and Huetzin in the search, but they were equally unsuccessful
with himself.

The young Toltec had, by this time, acquired so fair a knowledge of
Spanish that he was able, after a fashion, to converse with his friend
without the aid of an interpreter. Taking advantage of this, Sandoval
would talk with him for hours concerning the object of his incessant
thoughts. He declared his willingness to resign all the treasure he had
acquired since coming to Mexico, if, by so doing, he could gain another
interview with the maiden. This was no mean sum, for, in one way and
another, the Spaniards had collected some six and a half millions of
dollars in gold alone, to say nothing of an immense quantity of silver,
jewels, and costly fabrics.

With all his wealth and bravery, poor Sandoval could discover no means
of accomplishing the desire of his heart, and so sank into such a state
of melancholy as to attract the attention and arouse the anxiety of
Cortes himself. This acute observer, believing hard work to be the best
lightener of a heavy heart, and being in want of a trusty governor for
the important post of Vera Cruz, forthwith appointed the unhappy young
soldier to the position, and despatched him to his new sphere of action.

By this time the entire Aztec kingdom seemed truly to have passed
under the dominion of the white conquerors, and that almost without
a struggle. Not only did Cortes levy tribute and dispense justice in
the name of the king, but he compelled Montezuma to publicly announce
himself a vassal of Spain. Although the Aztec priesthood and religion
were not yet overthrown, the Spaniards had erected a cross on the
summit of the great temple, and here their worship was conducted
by the side of that of the Aztec gods. Two brigantines, or small
sailing vessels, were built and armed, for the command of the Tezcucan
lake, and in no direction was the power of the Spaniards disputed.
Several incipient rebellions had been so promptly reported to the
Conqueror, though in so mysterious a manner that he could not trace his
information to its source, that he was enabled to crush them before
they came to a head. In the name of the king, who was but a passive
tool in his hands, he arrested and held captive several reputed leaders
of these rebellions, and among them Cacama, Prince of Tezcuco.

Some months were passed thus peacefully, and Huetzin, tired of
inactivity, as well as hopeless of discovering the fate of Tiata, whom
he mourned as dead, was about to apply for permission to return to
Tlascala, when one day there came a letter from Sandoval that changed
the whole current of events. It contained the intelligence that a
Spanish hidalgo, named Narvaez, in command of a fleet of eighteen
vessels, and an army of a thousand men, well supplied with horses,
artillery, muskets, and ammunition, had landed on the coast. This
new-comer claimed to have authority from the Governor-General of the
New World to supersede Cortes, and assume supreme control of the
great kingdom he had conquered. By virtue of this authority he had
summoned Sandoval to surrender Vera Cruz, and announced his intention
of immediately marching on Cortes in Tenochtitlan. Upon this Sandoval
had placed his little garrison in the best possible state of defence,
answered Narvaez that he would surrender when he had orders from his
commander to do so, but not before, and now awaited instructions.

In this grave emergency the white conqueror did not hesitate a moment
to consider his course of action. Taking with him two hundred troops,
he set out at once for the coast, where he proposed to at least test
the strength of the new-comer before submitting to his authority. He
left Alvarado, the "Tonatiah" of the Aztecs, behind in command of the
city; with him were also left one hundred and forty Spaniards, Huetzin
with his Tlascalans, and all the artillery.

As Cortes and his little army marched out of the city, Montezuma, in
the royal litter, accompanied him as far as the great causeway. There,
on the spot where they had first met, these two parted, with every mark
of mutual esteem.

CHAPTER XXV.

CORTES CAPTURES AND ENLISTS THE ARMY OF HIS RIVAL

Hastening with all speed back over the road he had learned so well a
few months before, Cortes led his little band across the valley, over
the lofty pass of its mountain wall, to the wide-spread table-land of
Puebla. Traversing this, by way of Cholula and Tlascala, the Conqueror
finally crossed the eastern Cordilleras, and plunged into the sea of
tropic vegetation that revels in the damp heats of the Tierra Caliente.

Narvaez had established himself at Cempoalla, with the intention of
using the Totonac city as a base of operations against Vera Cruz. But
Sandoval realizing that with a force of sixty men, as opposed to a
thousand, discretion was by far the better part of valor, did not wait
to be attacked. He slipped away during a night of stormy darkness, and
when, on the following morning, his empty and echoing barracks were
summoned to surrender, their late occupants were effectually hidden
behind a league or more of the well-nigh impenetrable forest in which
they had disappeared. Making a great circuit, so as to elude pursuit,
carefully avoiding all highways, and suffering incredible hardships in
trackless forests and wild mountain defiles, Sandoval and his handful
of men at length effected a joyful junction with the slender force
under Cortes.

They brought such news of the carelessness with which the camp of
Narvaez was guarded, and concerning the dissatisfaction of his troops
with their leader, that Cortes determined to attack him without delay.
Through the alternate downpours and steaming sunbursts that mark the
rainy season of the tropics, the little army advanced to the bank of
a small river in the vicinity of Cempoalla, without being discovered.
Here, while they lay concealed, they had the satisfaction of seeing
Narvaez sally forth at the head of his troops, march as far as the
opposite bank of the swollen stream, receive a thorough soaking from a
heavy shower, and then, apparently convinced that his rival was nowhere
in that part of the country, march back again to his comfortable
quarters.

That night, in a pelting storm, the veterans of Cortes forded the
stream, bracing themselves against its rushing current with the long
copper-headed chinantla pikes obtained from the Aztecs. Two only
were carried away by the flood, and the rest, advancing swiftly and
stealthily, soon found themselves in the deserted and storm-swept
streets of Cempoalla. Here, ere an alarm was given, they were so
completely masters of the situation that, although Narvaez and his
guard made a brave show of resistance, the moment the former fell,
dangerously wounded, his entire army surrendered.

On the following morning their submission, which was accompanied by the
laying down of their arms, was formally accepted by Cortes. Then the
troops so recently opposed to him were re-enlisted, but this time under
his victorious banner. Not only were their arms and other property
restored to them, but they received liberal presents of the gold he had
won from Aztec treasure-houses. Narvaez and his principal adherents
were sent in chains to Vera Cruz, and his fleet was dismantled of its
sails, rigging, and portable iron-work. Thus Cortes became again,
without question, the supreme ruler of Mexico.

Just as these matters were so happily adjusted, and he was considering
an extensive plan of new exploration and conquest, his attention was
abruptly recalled to Tenochtitlan. Late one night a weary and wayworn
native warrior reached the Christian camp, and, being halted by a
sentry, who was one of Narvaez's men, demanded, in broken Spanish, to
be conducted to the General, for whom he claimed to have an important
communication. The sentry, being extremely suspicious of all Indians,
including those who spoke Spanish, stood stoutly on the defensive,
with levelled pike, and called loudly for the captain of the guard.
This officer, who happened to be Sandoval, came hurrying to the post,
attended by the watch, one of whom bore a lantern. The sentry had only
begun to tell of the treacherous Indian who was seeking admission to
the commander, undoubtedly with designs against his life, when the
lantern light flashed full in the warrior's face. As it did so a cry
of delighted recognition came from the captain of the guard. Springing
forward, he embraced the newly arrived stranger, calling him Don Juan
and his brother, to the intense mystification of the gaping soldiers,
who were witnesses of this unprecedented performance.

Bidding the watch retire, and the sentry resume his beat, Sandoval led
Huetzin to his own quarters, where, after he had partaken of the food
he showed every evidence of needing, the latter inquired:

"Hast thou not heard of the uprising in Tenochtitlan, and the perilous
situation of thy friends?"

"Not a word," replied Sandoval.

"Then were the messengers captured as we feared. Full a dozen were sent
out, but in each case the altar of the great temple was shortly after
drenched with human blood. Two were Spaniards, and the rest warriors of
my own band. We were hemmed in on all sides, nearly all were wounded,
and all were exhausted with fighting and constant alarms. Without
succor we could hold out but a few days longer.

"At length, satisfied that no one of our messengers had escaped from
the city, I sought, and obtained permission from the lord Tonatiah to
make the attempt. It was granted and I ventured forth. I could not
escape by water, as the city is surrounded by an unbroken chain of
canoes, and so was forced to seek the causeway of Iztapalapan. It was
night, and being disguised, even as I now am, to resemble a tamane, I
set forth with strong hopes of escaping unnoticed. They were unfounded;
for before I had gone a hundred paces from the gate I was conscious
of being observed and followed. As far as the end of the causeway was
I allowed to go, but there I was waylaid and overcome by so strong a
force that even had I been armed, resistance would have been in vain.

"As I was being led toward the temple by my captors, who shouted for
joy that Huitzil would not lack for a victim that night, we were met
by a priest, who called on them to halt until he could examine their
prisoner. A light was brought, that exhibited my features without
revealing his. He evidently recognized me, for he said, in a low tone
and in the Mayan tongue: 'If thou canst escape the altar of Huitzil for
this, the third time, O son of Tlahuicol, then will the power of the
blood-loving gods be broken forever. Go, and may the gods of thy Toltec
ancestors go with thee.' Then, with an angry voice he roundly abused my
captors, saying to them that they had made a mistake, and arrested one
who was a patriot like themselves. While he thus held their attention
I slipped away, and now, the causeway being unguarded, I escaped across
it, and have in three days' time made my way to this place."

"But why should an Aztec priest exert himself in thy behalf?" demanded
Sandoval.

"Because," answered Huetzin, "he was Tlalco the Toltec, of whom I have
told thee as aiding my first escape."

"Tlalco," mused the other; "was not that the name of a priest who was
ever about Montezuma, and apparently exercised so great an influence
over him?"

"He is the same."

"Then he is the priest of all priests whom I am most anxious to meet.
I have cause to believe that he can give me information concerning the
lady of my heart, over whose loss I do so grieve that until I find her
again I am unfitted for a soldier."

"From what source gained you this idea?" queried Huetzin.

"I heard, not long since, from him who was a king's page. He is some
kin to the Totonac cacique, and in return for a favor I rendered the
latter, he sent me word that my life's happiness was in the hands
of Tlalco the priest. At first I could make nothing of so ambiguous
a message, but after much consideration I think I have solved its
meaning. Now, therefore, the dearest hope of my life, next to one, is
to meet with this same Tlalco."

"Then!" exclaimed Huetzin, "as he is not to be met short of
Tenochtitlan, let us hasten the meeting as much as we may, by reporting
the present state of affairs at once to my lord Malinche. It grieves me
to think of the hunger and suffering, the weariness and despair of thy
countrymen and my brave Tlascalans, whom I left penned in yonder city
like trapped eagles. Speaking of pages, I heard that in spite of the
strict watch maintained about our quarters a new one gained admittance
in some way, and was taken into the king's service the very day I
left. They said he was one of those handsome youths for whom the king
expresses such a preference."

As Sandoval's impatience to make a start for the Aztec capital was
equal to Huetzin's own, they proceeded to the quarters occupied by
Cortes, and in spite of the lateness of the hour, obtained an audience.
To the commander the young Toltec gave a full and detailed account of
what had taken place in Tenochtitlan since his departure from that
city. According to this Alvarado had been secretly informed that the
Aztec priests, taking advantage of his weakness, had planned his
destruction, and the rescue of Montezuma, by a general uprising, which
was to take place during the feast of the Incensing of Huitzil. As the
day of the feast approached they asked that the king might be permitted
to assist them in their ceremonies. This request was refused, and
Alvarado, recalling the summary vengeance taken by his commander on
the Cholulans for planning his destruction, determined to adopt similar
measures in the present case. He therefore caused the greater part of
the force at his command to gather about the scene of festivities as
though out of curiosity. At a given signal these fell upon the priests,
nobles, and others, engaged in the ceremonial dance, and slew them to
the number of six hundred.

At this the whole city rose in arms, drove the Spaniards to their
quarters, and, in spite of a devastating fire of artillery, made
assault after assault against the walls. Only at command of their king,
whom Alvarado persuaded to appeal to them, did the assailants withdraw.
Then they began a regular siege, burning the Spanish brigantines,
throwing up works about their quarters, cutting off their supplies of
water and provisions, and arresting all who attempted to pass either
in to or out from them. "So desperate is their condition," concluded
Huetzin, "that, unless my lord furnishes speedy relief, there is naught
before them save starvation or the altars of the Great Temple."

For answer, Cortes simply said, "The army marches at daylight, and do
thou, Gonzalo, give instant orders, in my name, to that effect."

CHAPTER XXVI.

TIATA'S BRAVE DEATH AND SANDOVAL'S GRIEF

So untiring were the efforts of Sandoval and his associates during the
remainder of that night, that by sunrise the army of rescue had left
Cempoalla. It consisted of about one thousand infantry, of whom nearly
one hundred were armed with muskets, and as many more with cross-bows,
a hundred cavalry, and a well-provisioned train of artillery. In three
days they reached Tlascala; and Huetzin, who had obtained permission to
hasten to this point in advance of the army, rejoined it with a welcome
reinforcement of two thousand Tlascalan warriors, all eager to be led
against their hereditary foe.

While the army halted at Tlascala, the aged chieftain of Titcala
offered to one of the newly arrived cavaliers so great a sum in gold
dust for his horse, a dainty sorrel mare, that the offer was promptly
accepted. This purchase was immediately transferred to Huetzin, of whom
his grandfather was so proud, that he was determined to give the young
warrior an opportunity for making as brave an appearance as any of his
white comrades. Thus Huetzin, raised to a pinnacle of proud happiness
by his new possession, became the first native of the new world to own
and bestride one of those marvellous animals which, but a year before,
had been spoken of throughout all Anahuac as either gods or devils.
He named his mare "Cocotin" (little girl), and, under the skilful
teachings of Sandoval, who was almost as delighted to see him mounted
as he was to be so, he soon became an expert horseman.

From Tlascala the conquerors made all speed over the rugged
Cordilleras, though this time, as a measure of precaution, taking a
more northerly route than that traversed before. On the western brow of
the mountains it presented the broad Mexican valley from an entirely
different point of view. It gave, however, the same exquisite picture
of shimmering lakes with white-walled cities and villas resting on
their bosoms, fire-tipped teocallis, dark groves, blooming fields,
and encircling walls of distant blue, that some of them had gazed on
before. At their feet lay the city of Tezcuco, shaded by cypresses,
while, far across the shining waters, rose the inscrutable walls of
Tenochtitlan, either the prison or the grave of their friends.

Their fears that it was the latter were aroused, as they descended into
the valley, by the coolness and even rudeness of their treatment by its
inhabitants. As they entered the city of Tezcuco, where they proposed
to rest for the night, their reception was even more chilling than any
yet experienced. No one came forth to give them welcome, and, as they
marched through the silent streets, only a furtive face, peering now
and then from a doorway, proved that any living soul still remained
in the city. These things raised uneasy forebodings, not only in the
mind of Cortes, but throughout all his army, as to the fate of Alvarado
and those with him, and they would have given much for news from the
distant city. Not only would it put an end to their suspense, but by it
their future movements could be determined. At a time and in a manner
that they least expected it, the news came.

The night had passed quietly, and Huetzin, who had charge of the
morning watch, stood on the shore of the lake, noting the rosy flush of
morning redden the snow-fields of towering Popocatepetl. A mist hung
over the waters that hid their farther shore and the city in which
he had dared and suffered so much. As he gazed in the direction of
Tenochtitlan, he became aware of moving forms out on the lake, dimly
disclosed through the lifting fog. They were advancing toward him, and
soon resolved themselves into two canoes, one behind the other. In a
moment Huetzin saw that in the first a slight youth was paddling with a
desperate energy, and evidently endeavoring to escape from the other.
In the second a man, clad in the white robe of a priest, was laboring
with an equal effort, and, by his superior strength, was surely
gaining on the other. After them more canoes shot out of the mist, all
coming from the same direction, and all advancing at their utmost speed.

A light craft lay drawn up on the shore, not far from where the young
Toltec stood, and, as a wild cry for aid came quavering across the
waters from the foremost canoe, Huetzin, first giving an alarm to
his own men, sprang into it, and put forth to the assistance of the
hard-pressed fugitive. As he did so, the man robed like a priest, who
led the pursuit, dropped his paddle, seized a bow lying in the bottom
of his boat, and stood up, with a copper-tipped arrow drawn back to its
head. Huetzin uttered a cry of horror as the cruel shaft sped on its
deadly errand, and sank deep in the back of the flying youth, striking
him squarely between the shoulders. As the stricken lad fell forward,
there came an exultant cry across the still waters: "Thus deals Topil
with the enemies of his gods!" Then his canoe was spun around, and
joined those of the other pursuers in an unharmed flight across the
lake, though a dozen bullets were sent whistling after them, by the few
musketeers who had been attracted to the shore.

Although Huetzin heard the priest's words plainly enough, he did not,
at the moment, realize their full meaning. Filled with sorrow for the
young stranger whom he had just seen so cruelly shot down, and who he
felt must be a friend, he drove his own craft rapidly to where the
other lay drifting. Its occupant, who seemed a mere boy, clad in the
picturesque costume of a king's page, lay, face downward in a pool of
his life's blood that was forming in the bottom of the canoe. The arrow
had been sped truly, and with a deadly force.

As Huetzin, stepping into the canoe, lifted the lad to an easier
position, a filmy scarf wound about his head, fell off, and a wealth of
auburn hair tumbled over his shoulders. Then a pair of glorious, brown
eyes were opened, and fixed full on the face of the Tlascalan warrior.
The latter grew rigid, as though from a numbing shock. The very blood
in his veins turned chill. A voice that he had thought never again to
hear, came to his ears. It was very faint, but the words were clear and
distinct:

"Huetzin, my brother! My dear, dear, brother! I knew you would
come, though they said you were dead. You are fighting for the true
faith, for the old faith, are you not, dear? I, too, have done what
I could. Now I am dying for it. Gladly. Help me to make the sign,
Huetzin. The holy sign of the Toltecs. There. Now it--is well.
Huetzin!--Father!--Mother!----" The brown eyes closed gently, like
those of an infant dropping into peaceful slumber. The queenly head
sunk back on the strong arm supporting it; there came a soft sigh,
and, as the rising sun burst in full glory from behind snow-crowned
Popocatepetl, the spirit of Tiata mingled with its flood of brightness.

Like one who dreams, Huetzin sat with the light burden in his arms,
gazing at the calmly beautiful face of his dead sister, but seeming to
see far beyond it. There was that in his expression that caused those
who came to his assistance to respect his silence, though they knew not
that the form, which he held, was other than what it appeared. Very
gently they led his canoe to land, and, when its prow grated on the
beach, he rose and stepped out, still bearing his burden. They offered
to relieve him of it, but he paid no heed. As he lifted it a letter
addressed to the Spanish commander fell to the ground. It was from
Alvarado, and it contained the news, so longed for, that the garrison
still held out. It concluded: "Were it not that I realize the great
importance of this word to you, and that your movements will be guided
by it, I should not strive to send it. Almost certain death awaits any
messenger who attempts to pass the lines that the priests, who are
heading this insurrection, have drawn about us. No ordinary despatch
bearer could cross them. I am sending this by a king's page, a brave
lad, who has volunteered for the service, and will get through the
lines if it be in the power of mortal to do so. I heartily recommend
him to your favor, and pray that no harm may befall him."

While this letter, borne hastily to Cortes, was being read by him,
Huetzin, taking no notice of proffered assistance, and still appearing
like one in a dream, bore his dead to his own quarters, and laid the
slender form on his own bed. He had barely deposited his sorrowful
burden, when Sandoval, who, hearing that something had gone amiss with
his friend, had hastened with ready sympathy to find him, entered the
room.

"What has happened thee, Don Juan, my brother?" he began. Then,
catching sight of the dead girl, lying so peacefully, he stopped as
though struck with an instant dumbness, clutched at his own throat, and
staggered back so that, but for the wall, he must have fallen.

Surprised from his own grief for the moment, Huetzin sprang to his
friend, crying: "What is it? What ails thee, my brother? Art thou
stricken with death?"

With a mighty sob, that sounded like the breaking of a heart, Sandoval
answered: "Thou hast said it, for I am indeed stricken with death.
There lies she who held my life, and if she has taken it not with her,
still it is gone from me, so that none other may ever hold it. I know
not even the name by which she was called, yet did I know her soul as
though it were mine own."

"She was Tiata, my sister," answered Huetzin, in a whisper.

"Then are we indeed brothers, and more than brothers," replied
Sandoval. With these words he left the room, nor was he seen again by
living soul that day.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE CONQUERORS ARE BESIEGED IN THEIR QUARTERS

The brave girl who had risked and lost her life in bringing Alvarado's
message to Cortes, was buried that same day, at sunset, amid the
drooping cypresses and perfumed flowers of the royal garden of Tezcuco.
During the day, Marina, and a few young Tezcucan girls whom she
persuaded to venture timidly forth from their homes, lined the grave
with a plait of sweet-scented grasses. When Tiata had been laid gently
within it, there was erected above it a snow-white cross, the symbol of
the Toltec faith, for love of which she died. It was a day of sadness
in the deserted city, for the story of the great sorrow that had fallen
on both Huetzin and Sandoval was known to every soldier and warrior. At
the young Tlascalan leader they cast glances of respectful sympathy,
but Sandoval was seen of no man that day. When, on the following
morning, he reappeared among them, none dared speak to him of what had
happened, for to his face had come that look of sternness that it held
to the day of his death, and which caused even the boldest to shrink
from incurring his displeasure.

From Tezcuco the army swept around the southern shore of the salt
lake, to that same great causeway over which the first triumphal entry
had been made into Tenochtitlan. Then, they had barely found room
to advance amid the welcoming throngs of spectators with which it
was crowded. Now, save for their own heavy tread, it was silent and
deserted. Then, the sparkling waters on either side had swarmed with
swift canoes filled with eager sight-seers. Now, only an occasional
craft was to be seen stealthily regarding their movements from a
distance and darting away like a frightened water-fowl when attention
appeared to be attracted to it. Even from the far-reaching city, before
them came no sound, nor was there sign of life. A death-like stillness
brooded over the entire scene, and it filled the hearts of the
advancing troops with an ominous dread. To dispel this, Cortes ordered
the trumpets to sound a merry blast. Its echoes had hardly died away
before they were answered by a glad roar of artillery from the distant
fortress, in the heart of the city.

With this evidence that the little garrison still held out, and that
the cross was still uplifted in the very shadow of Huitzil's temple,
the troops entered Tenochtitlan with lighter hearts and a brisker
tread. As they marched through its silent streets, these appeared
even more deserted than had those of Tezcuco. The active population
of former days had vanished, and the tramp of iron-shod hoofs only
awoke melancholy echoes from empty houses. The veterans, who had seen
these same streets teeming with eager multitudes, gazed about them in
bewilderment, while the levies of Narvaez jeered at them for having,
with all their boasted prowess, only conquered a city of the dead.

Finally they came to the Spanish quarters. The great gates behind which
their friends had been besieged so long, were flung joyously open, and
the new-comers were received with greetings as hearty as they were
sincere. To the veterans little seemed changed since their departure.
Some traces of the siege, in the shape of fire-blackened buildings and
shattered walls, were to be seen here and there, but Montezuma was
still a prisoner; military order still prevailed, and, with the advent
of this fresh army, there was every reason to believe that the former
state of affairs would speedily be restored. Thus Cortes believed, and
thus he wrote to the officer whom he had left in command at Vera Cruz.

Only two comparatively unimportant matters gave him any uneasiness.
One of these was the escape of Cuitlahua, the king's brother, and thus
heir to the Aztec throne, which had been made only a few days before.
The other was Montezuma's complaint that Tlalco, his favorite priestly
adviser, was no longer permitted to visit him. When Cortes questioned
Alvarado concerning this, the latter denied having refused admittance
to any person whom the king desired to see. He added that he had
noted the absence of this particular priest, but had accounted for it
by supposing that he had joined his fellows in inciting the present
insurrection. Both Huetzin and Sandoval deeply regretted that they were
unable to question Tlalco concerning certain matters. Knowing what they
did of his personality, they feared lest it should have been discovered
by the chief priest, in which case they knew there was little hope of
ever again meeting with the devoted Toltec.

A day or two after his arrival, Cortes, having completed his despatches
for Vera Cruz, entrusted them to a messenger who was ordered to proceed
to that fort. He set forth; but in less than half an hour, came flying
back, terror-stricken and covered with wounds. "The city is in arms!"
he cried. "The drawbridges are raised, and no avenue of escape is left!"

Even as he spoke, his words were confirmed by a dark flood of Aztec
warriors, sweeping down the great avenue, like some mighty tide
that has burst its limits. At the same time the parapeted roofs of
neighboring buildings were covered with a multitude of slingers and
bowmen, who seemed to spring into existence as though by magic. As
the astonished Spaniards gazed on this sudden repopulating of the
deserted city with warriors instead of traders, the dread tones of the
great serpent drum, thundering forth from Huitzil's temple, proclaimed
that the Aztec gods had at length awakened and were about to wage a
pitiless, unrelenting war against all followers of the cross.

The ominous booming of the war-drum was instantly answered by the
ringing notes of Christian trumpets, summoning every man within the
palace-fortress to his post. Their call was so promptly obeyed that ere
the tawny Aztec wave reached the wall, every musketeer, cross-bowman,
and gunner was in place, and waiting.

A blinding flight of arrows, darts, and stones, from the Aztec front,
and a storm of missiles from the house-tops, together with a fierce
yell from ten thousand Aztec throats, opened the battle. In reply
came a rattling volley from Spanish guns, that mowed down hundreds of
the advancing hosts. But they did not falter. Again and again they
charged, dashing themselves with impotent fury against the low stone
wall separating them from their enemies, and, time after time, the
same murderous volley drove them back. Hundreds of them, upborne by
hundreds more, scaled the walls, only to fall victims to the Tlascalan
maquahuitls, that sprang to meet them from the opposite side. They
tried to effect a breach with battering-rams, and to set the quarters
on fire with blazing arrows. The woodwork of some of the buildings was
soon burning briskly, and a few rods of wall were levelled; but the
fire died out without injuring the more substantial portions of the
buildings, and a grinning battery lay in wait behind the breach. Like
crouched tigers the black guns seemed to leap at the swarming foe, and
in a few minutes the breach was choked with lifeless human bodies.
Still the battle raged with unabated fury until, with the coming of
night, both sides were thankful for a respite.

With earliest sunrise the Spaniards were again under arms and at
their posts, but only to see the streets and squares swarming with
a more numerous and determined foe than had attacked them on the
preceding day. In its approach to military order the hand of the
warlike Cuitlahua was visible. Instead of being a disorderly mob,
the Aztec force was drawn up in compact bodies, each under its own
leader. Above them streamed banners emblazoned with the devices of many
cities, while over all soared a golden eagle, bearing in his talons
a writhing serpent, the proud cognizance of the Montezumas, and the
standard of the Aztec nation. Among the crowded ranks, fierce priests
were everywhere to be seen promising the protection of the gods, and
inviting their followers to deeds of valor. The gorgeous feather
mantles and golden bucklers of the nobles glistened in the morning sun,
while above the cotton-armored, or naked ranks of the humbler warriors,
a forest of tossing spears reflected his rays from their myriad
gleaming points.

As Cortes had determined to take the offensive in this day's fight,
he ordered a general discharge of artillery and musketry to be poured
into the thickset Aztec ranks before they had made a movement of
attack. Under cover of the resulting confusion, the gates were thrown
open, and out of the smoke clouds the Spanish cavalry dashed forth in
a resistless charge. They were supported by Huetzin with a thousand
Tlascalan warriors, and such was the fury of their onslaught that,
for several blocks, the Aztecs were swept helplessly before it.
Their precipitate flight ended at a barricade of timber and stones,
that had been thrown across the great avenue during the night. Here
they made so determined a stand that the Spaniards, galled by their
hurtling missiles, and an incessant rain of stones from the neighboring
house-tops, were compelled to retire.

Two heavy guns, advanced on the run by scores of lusty Tlascalans,
soon levelled the barricade. But it had served as a rallying-point for
fresh battalions of the enemy, by whom an attempt of the Spaniards to
repeat their brilliant charge was doggedly and successfully resisted.
Regardless of wounds or death, numbers of them would, at a signal, dart
under the horses' bellies and cling to their legs, while others strove
to fell the riders from their saddles.

It was fortunate for the bulk of the Spanish army that the efforts
of the Aztecs were invariably directed toward the taking of
prisoners, rather than to the killing of their enemies; though to the
unfortunates thus captured and dragged away for sacrifice, instant
death would have been infinitely preferable. Everywhere the Spaniards
found barricades erected, and at these points were massed fresh bodies
of Aztec troops, impatiently awaiting their turn to plunge into the
fray. No matter how often they were repulsed or how many of them
were killed, they appeared to the disheartened whites to swarm in
undiminished numbers, and with unabated courage.

So the day was spent in a steady succession of petty, but desperate
engagements. At its close, although the Spaniards had been everywhere
victorious, they were exhausted and filled with gloomy forebodings,
while their adversaries seemed more confident and in a better humor for
fighting than at the beginning of the struggle.

All night long they gathered outside the Spanish quarters, taunting the
invaders with their helplessness, now that the gods were awake. "The
altars of Huitzil thirst for your blood!" they cried. "But soon they
will be drenched with it, and the wild beasts of the palace shall feast
on your carcasses! The knives of sacrifice are sharpened!--and cages
for fattening await the lean and hungry Tlascalans!"

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A BATTLE IN MID-AIR

So fierce was the Aztec temper, that, with earliest dawn of the third
day of fighting, they were swarming at the walls. So determined was
their assault, that, ere they could be driven back, nearly a thousand
of them had leaped inside, and gained the courtyard. Although these
fought with a desperation that resulted in serious injury to the
garrison, most of them were quickly despatched by the Tlascalans, among
whom they had appeared. A number, however, escaped, and darted into
the numerous buildings of the old palace. Here, though the Tlascalans
pursued them like ferrets after rats, they managed to set numerous
fires, kill or wound several persons, stab Cortes himself through the
hand, and do an immense amount of mischief before being finally hunted
down and destroyed. A few more assaults as desperate and successful as
this would seal the fate of the besieged, and, even to the bravest,
their situation began to appear alarming.

In this strait, Cortes appealed to his royal prisoner and urged him
to use his influence with his subjects to bring about a cessation of
hostilities. This, Montezuma at first refused to do; but, when assured
that the invaders would willingly leave the city if a way were opened
to him, he finally consented. Arrayed for the occasion in his most
kingly robes, he was escorted to the roof of the central turret of the
palace by a brilliant retinue of those Aztec nobles who still shared
his fortunes, and a number of Spanish cavaliers.

In the streets below the battle was raging furiously; but, as his
subjects recognized their monarch, the din of clashing weapons and
fierce war-cries instantly ceased. The tumult of war was succeeded by a
stillness as of death. Many of the Aztecs prostrated themselves to the
ground; others bowed their heads; but some gazed, unabashed, and even
defiantly, at the king, whose weak-minded superstition had lost him his
kingdom. More than one of these daring spirits secretly fitted an arrow
to his bowstring, and nervously fingered it. In more than one breast a
sacrilege was meditated that, though certain to be avenged by the gods,
might, after all, be for the best. But first they would hear what this
dishonored king had to say.

He was bidding them disperse, and do no further harm to his friends the
white men, who, if allowed, would willingly return whence they came.

This would never do! The priests of the war-god were greedy for the
victims, who were on the point of surrendering themselves. Should they
be balked of their prey by this king, who was already as good as dead?
Never! Let him die, and be no longer an impediment to their vengeance!
With him out of the way, the destruction of the Christians and their
base allies would be an easy matter! Then would the gods rejoice!
Then would their favor be restored! and again would Anahuac take her
proper place as leader of the nations! Down with Montezuma! Long live
Cuitlahua! To the altars with Spaniard and Tlascalan!

So whispered the busy priests, darting from one to another. The whisper
grew into a murmur, and it quickly rose to a storm of fierce cries.

Now was the time! An arrow, aimed by a subject at his king, hissed
through the air. A cloud of arrows followed it. Spanish bucklers were
interposed too late, and, as Montezuma fell, a frenzied yell of triumph
arose from the multitude.

Then a reaction set in. What would the gods do? "To the temple!" was
the cry. "The priests must plead for us!" The priests themselves
spread this shout, exulting, as they did so, in its evidence of their
unimpaired power. So the throngs hastened away toward the temples,
until, in a short time, not a person remained in the great square
fronting the Spanish quarters.

In the meantime, Montezuma, borne tenderly below, and laid on his royal
bed still dressed in his robes of state, was dying. The priests of his
own race came not near him. They had no use for a dying king! Already
were they busy with preparations for crowning another, who would heap
their altars with victims, and add to their power, until they should
become objects of fear and worship, even as were the gods themselves.
Already was Topil, the chief priest, preparing a sacrifice such as
had not been known at an Aztec coronation for nearly four centuries.
He had a Toltec in reserve for the altar. Not only that, but a Toltec
who had masqueraded as an Aztec priest, and had been detected in a
vile conspiracy against the gods. Besides, he had a few Spaniards in
his dungeons, and when had Christian blood been spilled at an Aztec
coronation? Never before!

So Montezuma, the king who might have been all-powerful, died, because
of his superstitious weakness, and the gods did not avenge his death,
but allowed Cuitlahua, his brother, to reign in his stead.

The great temple of Huitzil stood so near the ancient palace in which
the Spaniards and their allies were quartered, as to overlook it. A
quantity of stones and heavy timbers had been conveyed to its summit
under cover of darkness, and one morning the Christians were dismayed
to find these thundering down on them from the lofty height. At the
same time came such flights of arrows, as denoted the presence on this
vantage ground of a large body of warriors. In connection with this
attack, came another of those furious assaults on their works, of which
the enemy seemed never to tire. It was at once realized that if they
would escape speedy destruction, the temple must be carried, and Cortes
detailed one hundred men, under Escobar, the chamberlain, for the
purpose.

Three separate charges did this officer and his brave followers
make in their effort to capture the huge teocal; but each time they
were repulsed with serious loss. Finally, Escobar returned with but
half his men, leaving the others where they had fallen. He, and all
of the survivors, were wounded, some of them so severely that they
died soon after, and the capture of the temple was reported to be an
impossibility.

Cortes declaring that nothing was impossible, that the place must be
captured, and that he would either accomplish it or die in the attempt,
detailed another storming party of three hundred Spaniards, and two
thousand Tlascalan warriors. These last were headed by their young
chieftain, while the whole force was led by the General in person.
Fifteen minutes of furious fighting forced a passage through the throng
of Aztecs occupying the temple court, and placed the assailants at the
foot of the first of the five flights of stone steps by which the top
was to be reached.

Leaving the Tlascalans and a score of musketeers to repel the Aztecs,
who were making constant efforts to regain possession of the court,
the leader, closely followed by Sandoval, Huetzin, and the other
gallant cavaliers of the storming party, sprang up the first stairway.
On each of the terraces above them stood strong bodies of the enemy to
dispute their passage. These showered down arrows and darts, together
with great stones and massive timbers. Most of the latter bounded
harmlessly over the heads of the scaling party, but every now and then
one would crash into their ranks, and, sweeping some of the unfortunate
Spaniards from their narrow foothold, hurl them lifeless to the bottom.
In spite of the terrible odds thus presented, the dauntless conquerors
fought their way foot by foot, from terrace to terrace, and from
stairway to stairway, ever upward, until at length the lofty summit was
attained.

Here, in sight of the whole city the opposing forces closed in furious
combat, of such a phenomenal nature, that all other hostilities
were suspended by mutual consent, in order that this death-struggle
in mid-air might be watched without interruption. The priests of
the temple, seeming more like demons than human beings, with their
blood-clotted locks and savage aspect, fought like such. They rushed
at the Spaniards with incredible fury, and, in many cases, forced them
over the awful brink, willing to sacrifice their own lives in the leap
to death, if they could only carry the hated Christians with them.

Once, in the midst of the fighting, Huetzin heard his own name called
in accents of despair, and saw his brother Sandoval whose sword had
snapped off at the hilt, struggling with half a dozen of these fiends,
who had forced him to within a few feet of the edge. In a moment the
young Toltec had hewed a way to his friend's side, and in another
Sandoval was free to snatch the sword of a dying cavalier, and plunge
once more into the thickest of the fight. For three dreadful hours did
the combat rage. At the end of that time a remnant only of the gallant
band of assailants remained masters of the bloody arena. Every Aztec,
priest, noble, or warrior, had either been slain, or hurled from the
giddy height.

Some of the survivors entered the sanctuary where sat the frightful
image of Huitzil, the war-god. Bound to the altar in front of it they
discovered a man. His eyes were torn from their sockets; his limbs were
broken, and he bore other evidences of the most diabolical tortures.
That he still lived, in spite of all, was attested by his feeble
moanings. For a moment the victors paused aghast at the sight. Then one
from among them sprang forward, and knelt beside this pitiful victim of
the most hideous religion known to the New World. He was Huetzin, and
in the cruelly mutilated form before him, he still recognized Tlalco
the Toltec, the priest who, on three separate occasions, had saved him
from a like awful fate.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE GLORIOUS TRIUMPH OF TLALCO

Tlalco the Toltec, one of the few survivors in Mexico of that
mysterious race to which Huetzin traced his own ancestry, had, like
Tlahuicol, been born in the land of the Mayans. Here he was educated
as a priest of that gentle religion of love and peace, whose gods were
the Four Winds, and other forces of nature, and the symbol of which was
a cross. It had at one time been the faith of all Anahuac; but, with
the coming of the conquering Aztecs, it was supplanted by the cruel
worship of Huitzil, the war-god, whose blood-stained priests demanded
the sacrifice of thousands of human victims every year.

The young Toltec first heard of these abominations with horror, but
not until his only brother, to whom he was passionately attached, was
captured by an Aztec war party and doomed to sacrifice in Tenochtitlan,
did he conceive the idea of devoting his life to conflict with the gods
who exacted them. His first act was to secretly enlist a number of
young men whose enthusiasm in the sacred cause was equal to his own.
Then, like a crusader of the old world, he entered Anahuac at the head
of his little band. Its members were distributed by twos, in various
places, from which they were to maintain a regular correspondence
with him. By this means he gained early information of all important
occurrences throughout the kingdom, and was able to lay his plans
accordingly. He established himself in Tenochtitlan. Here he bearded
the lion in its den, by entering the service of the temple, and
becoming a candidate for the priesthood of Huitzil. While thus engaged
he first heard of Tlahuicol.

Tlalco's nature was to plot and work by hidden means; but he could
rejoice in the downright blows of the warrior, who fought openly
against those of whom he was the secret enemy. Though he did not
meet Tlahuicol, nor even learn that he, too, was a Toltec, until the
very hour of the latter's death, he made himself familiar with every
event of the great warrior's career. He augmented the prestige of
the Tlascalan war-chief by originating, and spreading, the prophecy
that through Tlahuicol should Huitzil fall. It was this prophecy, a
knowledge of which had become general at the time the Tlascalan was
captured by his enemies, that caused Topil, the chief priest, to regard
him with such a bitter hatred, and demand his life of Montezuma.

After the death of Tlahuicol, and the startling discovery that he,
too, was a Toltec, Tlalco determined to protect the children of the
hero so far as lay in his power, and at the same time to use them in
furthering his own life-work. All his hopes of ultimate success now
centred in the mysterious white conquerors, who, bearing a cross as
their symbol of faith, had recently arrived on the coast. Therefore,
after rescuing Huetzin from the knife of sacrifice, he bade him seek
and join himself to them, thus, unwittingly, reiterating the last
instructions of Tlahuicol.

Tiata, he saved from Topil's vengeance, by causing the praises of her
beauty to be so artfully sounded within hearing of Cacama, Prince
of Tezcuco, that the latter demanded her in marriage of Montezuma.
By Tlalco's instructions the girl claimed the privilege of a year's
mourning for her parents, before becoming a bride. This was granted;
but in accordance with established custom, she was compelled to reside
at the Court of Tezcuco, in charge of a noble lady of the prince's
household. From here Tiata, who was now enlisted heart and soul in
the cause of the Toltec, for the overthrow of the hated religion to
which her parents had been sacrificed, constantly furnished Tlalco
with important information. Under the strict watch of her duenna, she
was permitted to visit Tenochtitlan, to witness the first entry of the
white conquerors, and her heart swelled with pride at the sight of her
brother leading his army of Tlascalans. No opportunity was allowed
her for communicating with him, ere he was spirited away through the
efforts of the chief priest.

When Tlalco learned that Huetzin was, for the second time, about to be
led to the altar of sacrifice, he was for a moment at a loss how to
act. Had the message sent to Sandoval been traced to him, his influence
with Montezuma, as an Aztec priest, would have been destroyed. Then he
remembered Tiata's presence in the palace, and sent the message through
her. That very evening, after her strange interview with Sandoval,
the Toltec maiden was compelled to return to Tezcuco, where, for many
weeks, she was so closely watched, that she could gain no intelligence
of her brother's fate.

At length, wearying of Cacama's unwelcome attentions, Tiata found means
of sending an appeal to Tlalco for aid in escaping them. At the same
time she informed him that the Tezcucan prince was secretly raising an
army with which he proposed to destroy the Spaniards, and usurp the
Aztec throne. Tlalco immediately caused this information to be conveyed
to Cortes, who as promptly effected the arrest of Cacama, whom he
afterward held as a captive in the Spanish quarters.

After the departure of Cortes to meet Narvaez, Tlalco found that,
by his constant intercourse with the king, upon whose superstitious
nature he had been able to exert a powerful influence, he was exciting
the jealousy and suspicions of Topil. Therefore, as a measure of
precaution, he suddenly ceased his visits to the captive monarch. At
the same time, in order that he might still be kept informed of all
that was taking place in the palace, he conceived and carried out the
plan of having Tiata, disguised as a youth, installed as a king's page.
Before she found an opportunity of communicating with her brother, she
heard that he was to take the dangerous task of conveying the news of
Alvarado's desperate situation to Cortes, and this was the first bit
of information that she sent to Tlalco. He, knowing only too well what
precautions were taken to prevent the escape of any such messenger, and
the terrible fate already suffered by those previously sent out, for a
moment believed the son of Tlahuicol to be lost. Then a high resolve
filled his breast.

Although not a warrior, he determined on a course of action from which
many a one entitled to the name might well have shrunk. He knew himself
to be an object of such suspicion to Topil, that the spies of the
chief priest were ever on his track, and that his every movement was
instantly reported to his arch enemy. He knew, too, that Topil, having
become superstitious through the prophecy concerning Tlahuicol, and the
two miraculous escapes of Tlahuicol's son from his clutches, thirsted
for the blood of the young Toltec, with an eagerness that would have
given anything short of life itself for his capture. Knowing all this,
Tlalco still watched for Huetzin's departure from the palace, followed
him to the place of his capture, allowed the guards to lead him for
some distance, thus withdrawing themselves from the causeway, and
then effected the prisoner's release by stepping forward, and, in his
capacity of priest, boldly denouncing their stupidity, and holding
their attention by his words, until Huetzin had slipped away and
disappeared.

Five minutes later, Tlalco was seized and dragged before Topil. "Ha,
false priest! Have I discovered thee at last?" cried the latter in a
voice well nigh choked with fury. "Long hast thou deceived me, but mine
eyes are at length opened, and now shalt thou experience the wrath of
the outraged gods, in a manner that will teach thee its possibilities
as thou hast not dreamed of them."

From that moment the body of Tlalco was racked by a system of the most
exquisite tortures that even the practiced ingenuity of Aztec priests
could invent. For two weeks these had been prolonged, until, at the
end of that time, the poor, agonized wreck of humanity lay where
Huetzin discovered it, still conscious, but with the brave spirit just
lingering on the threshold of its mortal home, before departing to the
realms of immortality.

Heart-sick and filled with horror, at thus finding his friend and
thrice preserver, the young Toltec knelt beside the hideous altar, and
said: "Tlalco, my father, dost thou know me?"

The face of the dying man was lit with a glow of recognition, and in a
whisper so feeble as to be barely heard, he answered:

"It is the son of Tlahuicol."

Then they severed the cruel bonds and lifted him tenderly into the open
air, where the sightless face instinctively turned toward the glowing
noonday sun. Here Huetzin moistened his blackened lips and bathed his
face with water that was at the same time mingled with his own scalding
tears of fierce indignation, love, and pity. While he was thus engaged,
his white comrades, filled with a furious rage, tore the grinning
war-god from his blood-soaked throne and rolled the senseless image out
on the broad arena which had but just been the scene of so terrible a
battle.

"The hour of the false God has come!" cried Huetzin in the Toltec
tongue: "The white conquerors are about to hurl him from his loftiest
temple! Now is thy victory gained, O Tlalco! for the power of Aztec
priesthood is broken forever! Oh, that my father could have lived
to see this day! Oh, that Tiata might have seen it! The gods of the
Toltecs, thy gods and my gods, O Tlalco, be praised that thou and I are
permitted to share in this their glorious triumph!"

As he uttered these words in a tongue understood only by the dying man,
the face of the youth was transfigured, the wrath of battle passed from
it and it shone with the light of an all-absorbing enthusiasm.

"Lift me in thy strong arms," whispered Tlalco, "and make for me the
holy sign."

As Huetzin lifted him and gently touched him on forehead, breast, and
each shoulder, there came an exultant shout from the soldiers, a sound
of crashing, splintering, and rending, as the ponderous image of the
god thundered down to the bottom of the vast pyramid and a great cry of
terror and consternation rose from the multitudes below. At the same
moment the tortured features of him whom Huetzin supported, became
radiant with the glory of the immortal gods, to whom his glad spirit
was already winging its triumphant flight.

CHAPTER XXX.

MONTEZUMA'S SUCCESSOR DEFIES THE CONQUERORS

As Huetzin rose to his feet, after laying gently down the lifeless body
of the Toltec martyr, he beheld Sandoval patiently waiting to attract
his attention. The young Spaniard stood with one mail-shod foot resting
on the neck of a writhing Aztec priest, who strove in vain to free
himself from its weight.

"Here is a vermin," spoke Sandoval, "who bears a certain look of
familiarity and who, I imagine, must be accounted of some consequence
among his own diabolical crew. Yet I cannot place him and have
persuaded him to come to thee for recognition. I found him, squatted
like a toad in a hole, after yon image was dragged from its pedestal.
He seems not to be wounded, nor do I believe he appeared in the fight
at all. Now, lift thy head, vermin, that a man may gaze on thy devil's
face!"

Thus exclaiming, Sandoval caught at the matted hair of the priest
and pulled up his head so that Huetzin had a fair view of the
fear-distorted features. As he glanced at them the young Toltec uttered
a great cry and sprang forward.

[Illustration: SANDOVAL PULLED UP HIS HEAD.]

"Aye, well do I know him!" he exclaimed. "He is the murderer of
thousands, and thrice have I been in his clutches. From me has he taken
father, mother, and sister! There (pointing to the mutilated body
of Tlalco) is a specimen of his work. With his own hand did he slay
Tlahuicol and Tiata! He is Topil, the chief-priest, the chief curse of
Anahuac. Let me at him, that I may hurl him to everlasting damnation!
Let me at him, I say! He is mine!"

"Gently, lad, gently!" interposed Sandoval, in a tone whose very
softness intimated his rage. "To hurl him over the brink would be a
kindness. 'Twould be too sweet a death for him. I have a better plan.
Leave him to me, and I promise you thou shalt be satisfied."

With this he again grasped the long hair of Topil's head, and dragged
the screaming wretch back into the shrine from which he had brought
him. There, lifting him with a quick jerk to his feet, he drove him
up the stairway to its top, hastening his movements with many a
sword-prick in his bare legs. When Topil emerged on the roof, he was
sixty feet above the platform where the combat had raged, and standing
on the summit of a wooden tower. Sandoval bound his prisoner's wrists
firmly together, behind him, and then fastened one of his ankles, by a
copper censer chain that he had found in the temple, to a projecting
timber, so that the priest, while allowed a certain freedom of
motion, could by no possibility escape. There Sandoval left him, and,
descending, closed the only avenue of escape behind him. Seizing a
burning brand from an altar, he set fire to the woodwork of the temple
in a dozen places. It was like tinder, and in a minute the red flames
were greedily licking the slender tower on all sides. The screams
of the miscreant, dancing in torment on its summit, attracted the
attention of the multitudes below, and they, still trembling from the
destruction of their god, were compelled to gaze helplessly upon the
awful but well-merited fate of their chief-priest. Even after he was
hidden from sight by a towering screen of flame and smoke, his voice
could be heard in frantic appeals to the impotent gods.

When Cortes and the slender remnant of his victorious band descended
from this memorable battle-field, the Aztec throngs shrunk from them
as though they were plague-stricken, and they passed unmolested to
their own quarters. That night the Spaniards again sallied forth, and,
carrying blazing brands in every direction through the sleeping city,
destroyed over three hundred houses.

On the following day, Cortes, thinking that by these reverses and by
the overthrow of their principal god, the Aztecs must be sufficiently
humbled to submit, called a parley. As the principal nobles and their
followers assembled in the great square, he addressed them, through the
voice of Marina, from the same turret on which Montezuma had received
his death-wound.

"Men of Tenochtitlan," he said, "you have seen your gods trampled in
the dust, their priests destroyed, your warriors slain by thousands,
and your dwellings burned. All this you have brought upon yourselves.
Yet, for the affection I bore the king whom you murdered, I am willing
to forgive you, if you lay down your arms, renounce the hideous
religion that offers no hope for your salvation, and resume the
allegiance to his most Catholic majesty of Spain sworn by your king. If
you refuse these things, then will I make your beautiful city a heap of
smouldering ruins, as barren of human life as the fire-crowned summit
of yon sky-piercing mountain. What say you? Shall it be peace with
immunity from further suffering, or shall it be war to the death, and
utter ruin?"

Then answered Cuitlahua, the newly crowned king: "It is true, O
Malinche, that thou hast destroyed one of our temples, broken the image
of a god, and slain many of my people. Many more will doubtless fall
beneath thy terrible sword. But we are satisfied so long as for the
blood of every hundred, we can shed that of one white man. Look on our
roofs and terraces, our streets and squares. They are thronged with
Aztec warriors, as far as thine eye can reach. Our numbers are scarcely
diminished. Yours are lessening every hour! You are perishing with
hunger, and thirst, and sickness! Your provisions are failing! We will
see to it that you get no more. You have but little water! You must
soon fall into our hands. _The bridges are removed_, and you cannot
escape! Truly, O Malinche, is the vengeance of the outraged gods about
to descend on thee."

At the conclusion of this bold speech, which well showed the temper of
the newly made king, a flight of arrows compelled the Spaniards hastily
to descend from the turret and seek the shelter of their defences.

Cuitlahua's defiance filled the besieged with dismay. Of what use were
all their fightings, their sufferings, and their brilliant victories?
The enemy was more determined than ever, and a hundred fresh warriors
stood ready to take the place of each one who was killed. A contest
against such overwhelming odds was hopeless, and the sooner it was
abandoned the better. Thus argued the Spanish soldiers, especially the
recruits who had come with Narvaez. These, to a man, declared they
would fight no longer, unless to preserve themselves in a retreat from
the fatal city.

Against such a feeling among his followers, even the bold spirit of
the commander was forced to yield. So, after a consultation with his
officers, including the young chief of Tlascalans, he announced that
preparations would at once be made for leaving Tenochtitlan. It was
decided that the retreat should be by the causeway of Tlacopan,
which, being but two miles in length, and thus much shorter than the
one by which they had entered the city, would soonest lead them to the
mainland, where they could fight to advantage.

In the meantime, as in their frequent sorties, the Spaniards had
suffered their greatest annoyance through missiles showered down from
the housetops, Cortes had designed and caused to be built three wooden
towers that he termed _mantas_. These were of two stories, and were
mounted on rude wheels by means of which it was proposed to roll them
through the streets, with musketeers stationed in the upper stories,
who should sweep the housetops of all enemies as they advanced. In each
lower story, which was open to the ground, a force of brawny Tlascalans
was to push and pull the movable fortress without being exposed to
attack. It was now determined to test the efficacy of these rude
machines in the sortie about to be made, to discover whether or not the
avenue of Tlacopan was open and free from obstructions.

When all was in readiness the great gate of the fortress was thrown
open, and, with much creaking, groaning, and rocking the manta
issued forth. The Aztecs beheld its stately advance with bewildered
astonishment. They could not conceive its purpose, nor understand by
what power it was propelled. There was no sign of human agency and its
progress filled them with awe. As they gazed in gaping wonder, it
slowly crossed the square and entered the avenue of Tlacopan. Suddenly,
as it halted before a building, the roof of which was thronged with
armed men, a side of the upper story fell outward, and a volley of
musketry was delivered with startling effect. A light, but strong,
bridge was thrown to the housetop, and the Spaniards, crossing on it,
quickly put its remaining occupants to flight with their swords. Then
they retreated to their wooden fortress, pulled in the bridge, drew
up their protecting shield and the engine of destruction proceeded
on its ponderous way. But its purpose was no longer a mystery. The
swarming occupants of the housetops withdrew to places of safety on
its approach, or hurled down fire brands and coping-stones from such
elevations as commanded it. Its utility had begun to appear doubtful
when it came to a halt at the first canal. Here the bridge had been
destroyed, and it could proceed no farther.

A tall building stood at this point, and from its roof an avalanche of
heavy timbers and great stones was poured on the devoted manta, ere its
progress could be reversed. One of these formidable missiles crushed in
a side of the structure, causing it to sway alarmingly. Several others
struck it together, a moment later, and, with a melancholy crash, it
toppled to the ground burying its unfortunate defenders in the wreck,
killing several of them, and injuring many more. With exulting yells
the Aztecs rushed upon the prostrate tower, and, but for the prompt
assistance of a troop of cavalry, whose fierce onset quickly cleared
the street, not one of its struggling occupants would have escaped.

This experiment proved the uselessness of the mantas, on the
construction of which so much time and labor had been expended. It also
proved the truth of Cuitlahua's words. The bridges, over which the
retreat must be conducted, were indeed removed, and seven open canals
lay between the fortress and the causeway. These gaping chasms must be
filled at all hazards.

After four days of incessant labor beneath a galling fire of arrows,
darts, and stones, incessant fighting, incessant dying and suffering,
the task was completed. The labor of tearing down buildings and filling
the canals with their débris, devolved on the Tlascalans. The Spanish
cavaliers charged up and down the avenue clearing it of the enemy who
swarmed in behind them the moment they had passed, while the Spanish
infantry guarded each bridge as it was finished. Many and fierce were
the hand to hand struggles during those four days; and, at their
conclusion, although their way of retreat was opened as far as the
causeway, the white conquerors were in as sorry a plight as were ever
any conquerors in all the world. But their present misfortunes were as
nothing compared with those held in store for them by the immediate
future.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE RETREAT FROM TENOCHTITLAN

The way of escape was partially prepared by the filling up of the
canals, but who could tell how long it would remain so? At any moment
the forces guarding these all-important points might be overcome or
driven back and the canals reopened. It was therefore decided, at a
council of officers convened late on that fourth day of fighting,
that the retreat should be undertaken that very night. Now began busy
preparations for evacuating the palace-fortress occupied by the white
conquerors for so many months. Litters for the transportation of the
wounded were hastily constructed, and Huetzin was called upon to detail
a body of warriors to carry and guard these helpless ones. The rich
booty of the conquest was drawn from its hiding-places, and much of
the gold was packed in stout bags for transportation on horse-back.
Still a large portion of it must necessarily be abandoned. As it lay,
scattered in shining heaps about the floor, the soldiers looked at it
with longing eyes. It seemed to them that the wealth of the New World
lay at their feet, waiting to be picked up.

"Take what you will of it!" exclaimed the commander, reading their
thoughts in their faces, "but be careful not to overload yourselves.
Remember that he travels best, who travels lightest."

With this permission the troops rushed at the glittering spoil like
famishing men upon food, while the grim Tlascalans, indifferent to
wealth of this description, watched the avaricious scramble with
unconcealed contempt. The men of Narvaez, who had heard so much
concerning Mexican gold without having thus far acquired any of it,
greedily loaded themselves with as much as they could possibly carry,
but the veteran followers of Cortes, taking heed to their leader's
counsel, helped themselves sparingly, each selecting only a few objects
of the greatest value. As for the piles of rich fabrics, jewel-studded
weapons, feather mantles of inestimable value, delicate ware, and
costly and curious articles of every description, the greater part of
them was abandoned with hardly a regret, in the all-absorbing eagerness
to escape from that sorrowful prison-house.

While these scenes were being enacted in one part of the palace, a
party of workmen was busily engaged in another, constructing a stout
portable-bridge. Although the canals intersecting the city streets had
been so filled that they could be crossed, there still remained three
that cut the causeway of Tlacopan. From there, as well as from the
others, the bridges had been removed. As these three openings were
of the same size, each being thirty feet in width, a single portable
bridge, that could be taken up from the first opening after the army
had passed, and carried to the next was deemed sufficient. It was
placed in charge of a trusty officer named Margarino, who was given
forty picked men, all pledged to defend it with their lives.

The night was intensely dark, and a drizzling rain fell steadily. At
midnight all was in readiness for a start, and the great gate of the
palace-fortress was swung open for the last time. The order of march
had been carefully planned beforehand, and, according to it, Sandoval,
mounted on Motilla, and commanding the advance guard was the first to
ride forth. At his left hand rode the only mounted native of the New
World, Huetzin, the young Toltec; for besides a score of cavaliers, and
two hundred foot soldiers, the advance contained two thousand Tlascalan
warriors. To these faithful mountaineers had been entrusted the object
deemed most precious by the whole army, the covered litter in which
was borne Marina, their well-loved interpreter. With the advance also
marched Margarino and his forty men, bearing on their sturdy shoulders
the heavy timbers of the portable bridge upon which the salvation of
the army depended.

In the centre, or main division, were the prisoners, among whom were
several of Montezuma's children, Cacama, Prince of Tezcuco, and a
number of Aztec nobles held as hostages, the treasure, the baggage, the
wounded, and the heavy guns. These were guarded by the veterans who had
been with Cortes from the first, and a strong force of Tlascalans.

As these slowly defiled into the great square they were followed by
the rear guard under command of Alvarado. It contained the bulk of the
Spanish infantry who had been enlisted from the force of Narvaez, and a
battery of light artillery in charge of Mesa and his well-tried gunners.

When the last man had passed through the gateway, the commander, who
had waited motionless on his gray steed to assure himself that no
stragglers were left behind, roused, as from a deep revery, gave a
parting glance at the quarters that had been the scene of so stirring a
chapter of his life's history, clapped spurs to his horse, and dashed
down the long black line of his retreating army.

Although every precaution was taken to move silently, the passage of so
large a body of troops through paved streets, could not be accomplished
without noise. To the strained ears of the fugitives, expecting each
moment to hear the exulting war-cries of their enemies, or to see their
dark masses rushing from every cross street and alley, the heavy rumble
of their own artillery, the sharp ring of iron-shod hoofs, the measured
tramp of infantry, and the unavoidable rattle of weapons, seemed to
create a volume of sound that must be heard in the remotest quarters
of Tenochtitlan. Still the battle-wearied city slept on, nor did it
betray, by a sign, its consciousness that the prey, it had deemed so
surely its own, was slipping from its grasp.

On through the blackness, shrouding the long avenue of Tlacopan, moved
the retreat. Here they stumbled over the corpse of some dead Aztec,
there they could distinguish the dark heaps of slain marking some
fiercely contested point of the recent fighting. To their excited
imaginations it seemed as though these must rise up and betray them.
The shadowy ruins of fire-scathed buildings seemed again peopled with
flitting forms, and, as they crossed one after another of the canals,
the ebon water seemed alive with swarming paddles. But they passed on
as unmolested by the living as by the dead, until at length a lighter
space between the buildings in front of them announced to the van-guard
that the causeway was at hand. As they drew aside to allow the men of
Margarino room in which to advance and place their bridge, they felt
that the worst of the perilous retreat was over, and could hardly
restrain the shouts that would have proclaimed their joy.

Suddenly a shrill cry, chilling the blood in their veins, rose from
close beside them. There was a sound of flying footsteps, and the
alarm was echoing and re-echoing through the wind-swept streets with
an ever-increasing clamor. The priests, watching their fires on top
of tall teocals, caught the cry of the flying sentinels and spread
the alarm with sounding blasts upon their conch-shells. Now, from the
desolated heights of Huitzil's temple, the solemn booming of the great
serpent drum, only sounded in times of gravest moment, vibrated through
the remotest comers of the city and far out over the waters surrounding
it. Red beacon flames sprang from the top of every temple, warning the
whole valley that the time of the crisis had come.

"Tlacopan! Tlacopan!" was shouted in frenzied tones through every
street and into every house of the sleeping city, and this single word
named the rallying point.

With desperate haste Margarino and his men laid their bridge. No longer
was there need of silence or concealment. Flight, instant and rapid,
was the sole animating thought of the whole army. Sandoval, on prancing
Motilla, was the first to test its strength, and after him streamed the
eager troops. To the vanguard hastening forward without opposition,
safety still seemed within reach; but to the rear, impatiently awaiting
the movement of those before them, the night was filled with ominous
rushings and sounds denoting the gathering of a mighty host. By the
fitful glare of the lofty beacons, now streaming through the upper
darkness from all parts of the city, they caught glimpses of hurrying
forms and glintings of angry weapons. Mesa's grim gunners blew the
matches, kept dry beneath their cloaks, into brighter flame and
chuckled hoarsely as they thought of the havoc their falconets would
make when once turned loose.

The advanced guard had crossed the bridge and the dense squadrons of
the centre, with the heavy guns, ammunition wagons, baggage, treasure,
prisoners, and wounded, were passing it when the storm broke. First a
few stones and arrows rattled on the mail of the cavaliers, or pricked
the naked Tlascalans. Then the dark waters of the lake were smitten
by the dip of ten thousand angry paddles, as though by the fierce
breath of a whirlwind. The sprinkle of stones and arrows increased to a
tempest of hissing missiles. The dark lines of on-rushing canoes dashed
against the very rocks of the causeway, while their occupants, leaping
out, threw themselves, with reckless ferocity, upon the retreating
troops. The shrieks of wounded and dying men began to rise from the
hurrying column and the despairing cries of others, overthrown and
dragged to the canoes. Above all and drowning all, rose the shrill,
exultant yell of "Tlacopan! Tlacopan!" made, for the time being, the
Aztec war-cry and taken up by a myriad of fresh voices with each
passing minute.

From the distant rear came the roar of Mesa's guns. There the cowardly
enemy will be checked at any rate! But they are not. No longer do
belching cannon nor levelled lances possess any terror for those whom
the war-like Cuitlahua leads to battle.

As hundreds were mowed down by the storm of iron balls, thousands
leaped into their places. So irresistibly furious was the Aztec advance
that ere the deadly falconets could be reloaded, Mesa, his men, and his
guns, were overwhelmed, and swept out of sight, as though beneath the
overpowering mass of an alpine avalanche. Alvarado and his handful of
cavaliers, who had charged again and again into the fiercely swelling
tide of foemen, supporting the guns as long as any were left, now
turned, and fled across the narrow bridge.

While these events were taking place with frightful rapidity in the
rear, the advance had reached, and were halted by, the second opening
in the causeway. Galled by the incessant attacks of their swarming
adversaries, and with their own swords rendered well-nigh useless by
the cramped space into which they were crowded, these sent back message
after message imploring Margarino to hasten forward with the bridge.
But the bridge would never be brought forward. Its timbers had become
so wedged among the stones of the causeway, by the weight of ponderous
guns and mail-clad troops, that not all the efforts of Margarino's
sturdy men could move them. Desperately they tugged and strained, but
in vain. The bridge was as immovable as the causeway itself. Even as
they fulfilled their pledge never to move forward without the bridge,
the exulting foe leaped upon them. For a few minutes there was a fierce
conflict. Then the seething Aztec flood rolled on, sweeping over
Margarino and his men, as it had over Mesa and his guns.

CHAPTER XXXII.

A NIGHT OF FIGHTING, DESPAIR, AND DEATH

The dreadful news that the bridge could not be moved, and that with its
loss went their chief hope of escape, swept like wild fire from the
rear where Alvarado and his gallant band were charging and momentarily
holding in check the thronging masses of the enemy. Like a death-knell
it sounded through the long line, beset on both lines by a myriad of
assailants who seemed to rise from the very waters, to the distant
front where Sandoval and his cavaliers fought, as best they might, and
fretted at Margarino's delay. Everywhere the fatal message converted
the orderly ranks into a panic-stricken mob. All subordination was at
an end. Frenzied men flung away their weapons and sought only to save
themselves. The wounded were abandoned and trampled under foot. The
weak gave way before the strong.

In the very front, snugly nestled among the soft cushions of her
litter, and surrounded by her faithful body guard, Marina hardly
realized that anything more than a skirmish was taking place. Every
now and then she heard the ringing voice of sturdy Sandoval, and more
than once Huetzin parted the curtains to assure her that he was close
at hand. She liked to see him on horseback, this noble cavalier of her
own race, and, as she lay back in the litter, listening to the far-away
roar of grim Mesa's final volley, she saw a vision of a battle scene
in which her hero led a glorious charge of cavalry, and the gallant
horsemen were of her own people.

Suddenly she was startled by a swaying of her litter, as though by the
advanced swell of a mighty tide. There came cries of terror and dismay,
oaths, prayers, and a great surging to and fro. The panic-stricken
fugitives in the rear were pressing tumultuously forward, and her
Tlascalan body-guard were fighting savagely, against their own friends,
in a desperate effort to stem the swelling flood, and keep from being
swept off their narrow footing.

Already Sandoval and his cavaliers were dashing into the dark waters,
and struggling to clear a way, in which the infantry might follow,
through the close-packed canoes that blocked the passage.

Backward, step by step, were the Tlascalans pressed, until half of them
had been forced to take the fatal plunge, and the litter containing the
chiefest treasure of the Spanish army, hovered on the very brink of the
black chasm. At this juncture the curtains were torn aside, and the
terrified girl was lifted from her soft nest in a pair of strong arms.
In a moment she found herself on horseback, in front of a cavalier who
was saying, in reassuring tones: "Thou shalt yet be saved, dear one."
In the next, the steed, bearing this double burden, had taken the leap,
and all three were struggling in the cold waters.

Cocotin, though fleet of foot and brave of spirit, had not the body nor
strength of Motilla, and quickly gave signs of being overweighted. As
he realized this, Huetzin slipped from the saddle, pulled Marina back
into its safer seat and swam beside her. The dark waters about them
were filled with despairing men, fighting, struggling, and drowning
each other in their frenzied efforts to escape the fate of which all
seemed doomed. Among them dashed the Aztec canoes, their inmates
dealing savage blows to right and left, and only striving to save
lives that their gods might have the more victims. From one of these
canoes Cocotin was wounded in the head by the blow of a maquahuitl,
and unmanageable from pain, swerved toward the open lake. Huetzin let
go his hold of the saddle to spring to her head. At that moment his
feet were seized by some drowning wretch, and he was dragged beneath
the blood-stained waters. It was a full minute before he could release
himself from that death-clutch at the bottom of the lake. When with
bursting temples, he again breathed the blessed air, the same awful
struggle was going on about him, but Cocotin and her precious burden
had disappeared.

In the meantime the gaping chasm was rapidly filling with the bodies
of men and horses, guns and baggage wagons, ingots of gold that might
ransom a prince, bales of rich fabrics, weapons and equipments of every
description. It was a seething inferno from which frantic Aztec demons,
plying war club and javelin, were reaping a goodly harvest of captives.
The awful carnage that now raged along the length of the causeway, was
nowhere so great as at this point. Finally, the ghastly opening was
filled with the wreck of battle, until over the hideous bridge thus
formed those in the rear passed dry-shod to the opposite side.

All this while Cortes, who had discovered, a little to one side, a
passage that was fordable, was valiantly holding it with a handful of
cavaliers, while vainly urging the troops to gain safety by coming that
way. Through the storm-swept darkness, he could not be seen, nor could
his voice be heard above the wild uproar. At length, swept onward by
the human tide and forced to the opposite bank, he spurred forward to
the third and last opening. Here he found Sandoval and a few followers
engaged in another fierce conflict with the enemy, who had hurried a
strong force to this point in canoes. At this place the exultant Aztecs
hoped to complete the destruction of the shattered army, and but for
the matchless bravery of Cortes and his cavaliers they would have
succeeded.

Without a moment's hesitation the leader, close followed by Sandoval
and the others, plunged into the deadly waters, and, waging a
hand-to-hand conflict from canoe to canoe, finally forced the passage.
All the foot-soldiers, who were huddled like sheep on the brink of
this chasm, at which the dreadful scenes of the other seemed about to
be repeated, now cast themselves into the water. Many were drowned
by the weight of gold with which they had over-burdened themselves,
others grasped the manes or tails of swimming horses and so were helped
across. Still others, having cast away muskets, armor, gold, everything
that might embarrass their flight, gained the opposite side by their
own unaided efforts. When all who were within hearing had scrambled, in
one fashion or another, upon the causeway the precipitate flight was
continued, though a distant din of battle showed some survivors to be
still waging the conflict of despair.

Cortes and the shattered remnant of his army had hardly reached solid
earth, when a breathless runner overtook them, with the information
that what was left of the rear-guard had won its way to the farther
side of the last opening, where they were now battling against such
odds that, unless speedily relieved, not a man would be left. Sandoval,
utterly exhausted, had thrown himself on the ground beside his dripping
steed, as had many of the others. At this despairing cry for help the
sturdy young soldier again sprang into his saddle, exclaiming: "I,
for one, am ready!" "And I!" "And I!" shouted several more. With a
grateful nod, Cortes put spurs to his own horse and galloped back over
the fatal causeway followed by a dozen gallant gentlemen, who thus rode
into the jaws of death as cheerfully as though to a friendly trial of
arms.

For five hours had the battle raged, and in the gray light, now
breaking, some of the hideous details of the night's disaster were
made visible. As far as the eye could reach, the road of death swarmed
with the victorious enemy, while on either side the lake was black
with their canoes. The sight was fitted to appal even the stout hearts
of the Spanish cavaliers; but near at hand was that which appealed
to a feeling stronger than fear. On the opposite bank of the bloody
gulf, which was fast filling with the dead, golden-bearded Alvarado,
bare-headed, and bleeding from a dozen wounds, still fought with
superhuman strength, and so animated his scant handful of troops, that,
had they been fresh, instead of well-nigh fainting, their heroism must
have been crowned with victory.

With a cheering shout that inspired new hope in the sinking hearts of
Alvarado's men, the dozen cavaliers led by Cortes dashed once more into
the water, swam to the opposite side, and plunged into the thick of the
fray. For a moment the Aztecs fell back before their fierce onslaught,
like a receding wave of the sea. In the respite thus afforded all but
one of those who had fought with the "Tonatiah," cast themselves into
the water, from which most of them emerged on the other side in safety.
At that moment Alvarado's horse, the faithful steed that had borne him
so nobly amid a thousand dangers, fell, to rise no more, pinning her
master to the ground as she did so. A Tlascalan warrior, who was so
disfigured by wounds and covered with blood, that the Spanish cavalier
had not recognized him, though they had fought side by side for the
past hour, sprang to his relief. As he succeeded in disengaging the
entangled man, the rescuing party was driven back upon them, with
ranks sadly thinned, and unable longer to hold their own against the
onrushing foe.

"Mount with me!" shouted Sandoval to his unhorsed comrade, "Motilla can
bear us both!"

"I can care for myself! Take thou this youth, to whom I owe my life
many times," answered Alvarado. Thus saying, he seized a long Chinantla
pike, and planted one end in the wreck at the bottom of the canal.
Then, gathering his strength for a prodigious effort, he vaulted clear
across, and landed safely on the other side of the yawning chasm.
Victors and vanquished, Aztecs, Spaniards, and Tlascalans, stood for a
moment spell-bound at the sight of this marvellous feat.

Sandoval was among the first to recover from his amazement, and turning
to the youth whom Alvarado had recommended, he bade him mount behind
him. They two, on the gallant Motilla were the last to leave; but it
was not until the brave mare had borne them to the opposite side, and
the young warrior leaped to the ground, that Sandoval recognized him.
Then in joyful accents he cried out, "Praised be the blessed saints!
Don Juan, that thou hast escaped yon hell in safety, for truly I had
given thee up for dead."

"And I would that I were," answered the young Toltec, bitterly, "since
I have lost that which, of all life, I held most dear. But I sought
death in vain. It could come to all others, but not to me."

"What mean you?" cried Sandoval, bewildered by this strange speech.

"I mean that Marina lies somewhere in yon lake, and if I knew where, my
body should lie beside hers."

Thus ended the dreadful night, called for all time the _Noche Triste_,
or night of sadness.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

MARINA IS LOST AND SAVED

As the darkness of the _noche triste_ was dispelled by the rising sun,
Cortes led the broken remnant of his army away from the fatal dike
on which all had so nearly laid down their lives. The first march of
the long anticipated retreat was an accomplished fact; but at what a
fearful cost! Not a gun remained to the Spaniards, not a musket. Their
banners and trumpets had disappeared. Of one hundred horses but a score
were left, and all of these were wounded. There were no ammunition
wagons, there was no baggage-train. Most of the treasure had been
lost. Some of the soldiers had indeed clung to their gold, even while
throwing away the muskets on which they relied to defend it; but, a few
days later, even this, for which they had been willing to sacrifice
all, became an intolerable burden, that was in turn flung aside.

All the prisoners had been slain in the _mêlée_ by their own friends,
and of the fate of the wounded no one dared to speak. Of the retreating
Spaniards nearly one-half had been slain or captured on that two miles
of causeway, while of the faithful Tlascalans over two thousand were
missing. About the same time forty-five Spaniards, who had been sent
by Cortes two months before to visit some distant mines, were captured
and sacrificed by the Aztecs, at Zaltepec, while on their way back to
Tenochtitlan, in total ignorance of the existing state of affairs.

Thus there were Christian victims for the altars of every Aztec city,
while native nobles were armed with Spanish weapons, and wore odd
pieces of Spanish armor. It was owing to the rich spoil abandoned by
the well-nigh helpless survivors, that they owed their present safety.
Had the Aztecs followed them as vigorously as they had attacked them
on the causeway, not a soul could have escaped. But the victors were
too busily engaged in gathering up such treasures as had never before
fallen into Indian hands, in securing their prisoners, in making
preparations for festivals of rejoicing, in cleansing their city and
burying their dead, to concern themselves about the forlorn remnant
of those who had been termed the "White Conquerors," but who would
now quickly perish in the mountains, or be destroyed by the first of
Cuitlahua's armies with which they should come into collision.

So the Spaniards, weak, weary, and wounded, disheartened, water-soaked,
and ragged, defenceless save for their swords, a score of lances, and
as many disabled cross-bows, were allowed to straggle unmolested
through the deserted streets of Tlacopan, and make their way into
the open country beyond. Here they were halted by their leader, who
endeavored to reform the shattered battalions, and bring some sort of
order out of their confusion.

Near by rose the hill of Montezuma, crowned by an extensive temple
that offered a tempting place of shelter. But, as they could see, it
was already occupied by a force of the enemy, and at that moment the
dispirited Spaniards had no mind for further fighting. The cavaliers
indeed were ready, but they were so few! and their poor horses were
completely used up. In this emergency, Huetzin, seizing a javelin from
one of his Tlascalans, sprang up the ascent. His mountain warriors
followed so promptly that, as he gained the outer wall of the temple,
they were also swarming over it, in face of the shower of darts and
arrows let fly by the garrison. Then the defenders, amazed at so
fierce an attack from those whom they had deemed incapable of further
fighting, took to flight, and the place of refuge was secured.

In the temple were found a certain amount of provisions, and an ample
supply of fuel, from which the new occupants built great fires to dry
their clothing and warm their chilled bodies. Wounds were dressed as
best they might be, a hearty meal was eaten, and then the weary troops
sought to forget their sorrows in sleep. Not all slept, however.
Sentries guarded the outer walls, and several small groups, gathered
near the fires, conversed in low tones. In one of these the leader,
planning for the future even in this his darkest hour of defeat, talked
earnestly with Martin Lopez, his master ship-builder. Not far away
Sandoval and Huetzin, drawn to a closer brotherhood by the similarity
of their sorrows, talked of Marina, and the sturdy cavalier strove to
comfort his stricken comrade with the tenderness that had come recently
to him through his own irreparable loss.

Although no word of love had passed between Huetzin and Marina, each
had known the heart of the other ever since those days of illness
and nursing on the hill of Zampach. Many a time since would Huetzin
have declared his passion for the Indian girl, but for a vow, that no
word of love should pass his lips so long as an Aztec god reigned in
Tenochtitlan. To their overthrow was his life devoted, and with the
constancy of a crusading knight he had remained true to his pledge.
When the image of the Aztec war-god was hurled from its pedestal, he
had hoped that the period of his vow was nearly at an end; but with the
ordering of a retreat from the city, he knew that it was indefinitely
extended. Even when he held Marina in his arms as, on Cocotin's back,
they plunged together into the lake, he had spoken no word of love,
though indeed his tones had interpreted his feelings beyond a doubt of
misunderstanding. Now that the life of his life was forever lost to
him, he had no reason for concealment, and to his friend he laid open
his heart.

Sadly enough, the litter in which Marina had been borne, and in which
she had seemed in so great danger that Huetzin had snatched her from
it, had been brought through in safety by its stout Tlascalan bearers,
and now stood drying near the very fire beside which Huetzin and
Sandoval sat. Until its emptiness was disclosed, the army had not
known of Marina's disappearance; but the moment it was announced all
other losses were lessened in comparison with this one, so generally
was the Indian girl beloved. Even the leader, in planning his future
operations, wondered if they could succeed without the almost
indispensable aid of his brave girl interpreter.

To turn from this scene of a defeated Spanish army mourning its losses
and sleeping the sleep of exhaustion in an Aztec temple, to the hut of
a slave of Iztapalapan, is to make an abrupt transition. Still it is a
necessary one, if the threads of our story are to be connected. Ever
after it was learned that an alliance had been entered into between the
mountain republic and the white conquerors, the lot of those Tlascalan
slaves held by the Aztecs was of unusual hardship. They were everywhere
regarded with suspicion and treated with cruelty. Even such faithful
servants of their master as the aged couple who had dealt so kindly by
Huetzin did not escape the harsh treatment accorded to their race.
Double tasks were imposed, and not even their age, nor efforts to
accomplish all that was required of them, saved them from the biting
lash of the driver. They often dreamed, and even spoke in whispers, of
escape. But how might it be accomplished? Whither should they fly? Not
until long after the arrival of the Spaniards in Tenochtitlan did these
questions find even the shadow of an answer.

In that country, and in those days, news, other than that borne by
king's couriers, travelled slowly, and rare indeed were the items that
reached the ears of slaves. So, although the aged Tlascalans knew
something of the coming of the strange white beings, it was long before
they heard that they were accompanied by a friendly Tlascalan army. It
was longer still ere they learned that the leader of this army was none
other than that son of Tlahuicol, who had been their guest in the time
of his greatest danger.

With this bewildering news to consider, the aged couple glanced at each
other meaningly, as they sat at night through a long silence, on the
opposite sides of a tiny blaze, in their rude fireplace. Finally the
old man said:

"If we could only get to him!" and the wife answered:

"He would be to us as an own son, for so he said."

Several nights later the old man asked, "When shall we make the
attempt?" and the old woman answered, "Whenever thou art ready to lead,
I am ready to follow."

"To be captured means a certain death!"

"But a free death is better than a living slavery."

"Thou art true and brave as always. On the first night of storm-clouded
blackness will we set forth."

"On the first night of storm-clouded blackness," repeated the old
woman, slowly, as though committing the words to memory.

Thus it happened that the very night selected by the Spaniards for
their escape from Tenochtitlan was also the one chosen by the aged
Tlascalan couple for their flight from slavery. After dark, and moving
with the utmost caution, the old man secured the canoe in which they
had been wont, though not for many months, to carry flowers to the
city, and brought it to the beach near their hut. To it he conveyed
their few poor treasures, some bits of rude pottery fashioned by
himself, a bundle of gay feathers, a battered javelin such as he had
used when a young man and a Tlascalan warrior, and the blanket woven
of rabbit's fur, on which the old woman had spent the scant leisure
of years. Then they set forth, guided by the faint altar fires of the
distant city. They knew not how nor where they should find him whom
they sought, but they had a simple faith that, once near him, they
would be safe.

A long time they labored at the paddles, until at length they neared
the city. Suddenly a startling clamor arose from it. There were shouts
as of a mighty host, the discordant notes of priest-blown shells, and,
above all, the dread booming of the great serpent drum. They rested on
their paddles and listened in frightened bewilderment. Now red beacon
flames blazed from every temple, and by this light they perceived a
myriad of canoes sweeping past them, all hurrying toward the causeway
of Tlacopan. To lessen the chances of being run down, the old man
headed his canoe in the same direction, and drifted with the others.

Then came the sound of fighting, the terrifying roar of guns, the
clashing of weapons, and the screams of those who fell; but, above all,
they heard a sound that recalled their own youth and their own country,
the shrill war-cry of the Tlascalans.

"Let us approach closer," urged the brave old wife. "Some of our own
may be in the fight, and so sorely pressed that even our feeble aid may
prove of value."

So they approached as close as they dared, to where the uproar was
loudest. As they lingered, terrified but held by an awful fascination,
there came a voice, seemingly that of a girl, to their ears.

[Illustration: MARINA IS SAVED BY THE TLASCALA SLAVES.]

"Save me, Huetzin! Save me, son of Tlahuicol!" it cried, shrilly. Then,
in softer tones, "Steady, Cocotin! Dear Cocotin! Good Cocotin! If thou
wouldst but turn thy poor bleeding head the other way! Oh! Holy
Mother of the Christians! She is sinking! She is dying, and I am lost!"

Then a dark form struggled out of the blackness beside them; both the
old man and the old woman reached out toward it; and in another minute
Marina lay, hysterically sobbing, in the bottom of the canoe.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

SORROW TURNED INTO JOY, AND DARKNESS INTO LIGHT

The first impulse of Marina's preservers was to escape as quickly as
possible from their awful surroundings. The spell that had held them in
that vicinity was broken. They had snatched one victim from the jaws
of death, and now they must remove her beyond reach of further danger.
Instinctively they headed their canoe in the direction of the little
hut, on the opposite side of the lake, that had for so long been their
home. They had not gone far when, as though moved by a single impulse,
both stopped paddling at the same instant.

"It is no longer possible that we should go back," said the old man.

"For we should be taking another into slavery," continued the old woman.

"Nor would we return to slavery for ourselves, even if there were no
other."

"It is certain that we would not," agreed the wife.

"But whither shall we fly?" asked the old man, irresolutely.

"Ask the child; since she called on the son of Tlahuicol for aid she
must be of our friends, and also she must be possessed of wisdom."

Marina, who had ceased to sob, and now lay quietly beneath the warm
rabbit-hair blanket that the old woman had spread over her, listened to
this conversation. Who could these people be? They did not talk like
enemies bearing her to the altar of sacrifice. At any rate, a question
could do no harm.

"Whither are you taking me?" she asked.

"Whither you would go," replied the gentle voice of the old woman.

"I would go to my friends. To Huetzin, and Sandoval, and Malinche, and
the daughters of the king, who are captives."

"Where are they?"

"I know not, but I fear me they are dead. Who are you? You are not
Aztecs."

"We are Tlascalans, and friends of the son of Tlahuicol, whom we seek,"
was the proud answer.

"I thought you were Tlascalans from your speech!" cried the girl,
joyfully. "As such you must be my friends, and as friends of Huetzin
you must be doubly my friends."

"Is he thy brother?" queried the old man, remembering that Huetzin had
spoken of a sister.

"No."

"Thy husband?"

"No."

"What then----?"

"Hush, thou stupid!" exclaimed the old woman, "and waste not time in
idle questionings. We be escaped Tlascalan slaves," she continued,
speaking to Marina, "seeking the son of Tlahuicol, who has some
knowledge of us, and who we trusted would aid us to freedom. Now we
know not which way to turn, and would ask thy counsel."

"Will you in truth do as I advise?" asked Marina, who could scarcely
credit her good fortune in falling into such friendly hands.

"In truth we will."

"Then," said the Indian girl. "I would advise that you seek no land
before daybreak, but avoid all canoes. With daylight, if the fight be
over, as ere then it must be, make thy way to Tlacopan, where we are
almost certain to discover our friends--thy friends and my friends."

This advice was considered so sensible that it was acted upon, and the
canoe lay motionless. After they had sat awhile in silence, listening
to the distant din of battle, the old woman asked: "Were you not
talking to some person, whom you called by name, just before we found
you?"

"Yes," replied Marina, sadly. "I was speaking to poor, brave Cocotin,
but she was not a person. She was a horse belonging to the son of
Tlahuicol, and deeply will he grieve at her loss."

As these simple folk had never before heard of a horse, Marina found
much difficulty in explaining its nature to them. When they finally
comprehended, after a fashion, they returned to the name, Cocotin.

"It was the name of our little one," explained the old woman.

"Was she a babe but a year old, and left behind when you both were
captured by the Aztecs?" inquired the Indian girl, with interest.

"Yes. But how knew you that?"

"Huetzin has told me of it, and his horse was named for that child;
and you must be the brave Tlascalans who assisted his escape from the
priests of Tenochtitlan!"

"That honor and joy were indeed ours," answered the old man; "but our
part in his escape was so slight that he might readily have forgotten
it."

"Indeed he has not!" cried Marina, "and his joy will be great when he
again sets eyes on you, for his gratitude to you is like the love of an
own son."

All this time Marina had not the least doubt of her hero's safety, for
it did not occur to her that serious harm could come to one who had
escaped so often, and was so brave and skilful a warrior. Therefore,
while he mourned her as dead, she was looking forward with confidence
to the joyful meeting that would take place as soon as daylight
permitted. Nor could she realize in the slightest what a terrible
disaster had overtaken the army of the white conquerors. She had never
known it as aught but victorious, and its defeat was something she did
not for a moment consider possible. Thus, instead of being a prey to
the feverish anxiety that would have absorbed every thought had she
known the true state of affairs on the causeway, she entertained her
new friends with an account of her own life up to that moment. Her
auditors listened with eager interest, though saying but little in
return. After awhile the girl also grew silent, and then fell asleep
wrapped in her rabbit-fur blanket.

The old people were careful not to disturb her, and only occasionally
moved their light craft when other canoes threatened to approach
so close that there was danger of being discovered. This, however,
happened infrequently, so great was the attraction at the causeway.
Once the old woman said, musingly:

"Our own Cocotin would have been about her age."

"And by birth she is Tlascalan," replied the man, which showed that
their thoughts tended in the same direction.

At length the night passed, and daylight came. By it they earnestly
studied the features of the sleeping girl.

"She is the image of what thou wast when first I knew thee!" exclaimed
the old man, in trembling tones.

"We will question her more closely when she wakes," answered the other,
calmly, but with an intense longing in her voice. "Now let us to
Tlacopan; the way looks open."

So they made for the town, and, as the canoe grated on the beach,
the girl awoke. She was at first bewildered by her surroundings, but
reassured by the kindly words of the old people, quickly recovered her
usual presence of mind, and exclaimed, with decision, "Now must we find
our friends!"

The old man gathered up their scanty property, and they entered one
of the deserted streets. Most of the inhabitants had been drawn to
Tenochtitlan. Stopping at a humble hut to ask for food and information,
they found it empty. Entering without further ceremony, they found
food, of which they did not hesitate to partake, and a fire by which
the girl's wet clothing could be dried. Leaving the two women here, the
old man went out to seek for information.

He was gone the best part of an hour, and when he returned his wife
greeted him with tearful but joyous face. In trembling tones she
exclaimed, "Husband, she is indeed our own Cocotin, lost to us these
many years and now restored to our old age by the gods! The marks are
unmistakable." And then Marina, also tearful with her new-found joy,
threw her arms about his neck and called him "father."

There was so much to tell and explain and wonder at, that the day was
well advanced ere they set out to follow the Spanish army. This, as the
old man had learned, was camped, at no great distance, on the hill of
Montezuma. He had also heard rumors of the strong Aztec force already
gathering to descend on them and complete their destruction at that
place. To this news Marina listened with eager attention and all of her
wonted alertness.

"Let us hasten!" she cried, when he had finished, "for it may be that
this information will prove of the greatest importance."

So they set forth, the childless woman who had so marvellously
recovered a daughter, and the motherless girl who had found that she
was still possessed of the greatest of earthly blessings, walking hand
in hand.

With all their haste they made such slow progress, on account of
their anxiety to avoid undesirable meetings, that the sun was in the
western sky ere they climbed the hill of Montezuma, and received the
challenge of a Spanish sentinel, from a wall of the temple. He was
one of Cortes's veterans, and could hardly credit his senses when the
challenge was answered in his own tongue, and in the voice of the girl
whom all the army knew, loved, and was even now mourning as dead.

To Huetzin, roused out of a heavy sleep, she appeared like a vision
from heaven, and her restoration to him like a miracle of the
all-powerful gods. So overpowering was his happiness that it could find
no expression in words, and he was as dumb, in the presence of her
whom he worshipped, as might have been Sandoval himself.

To the White Conqueror this joyful coming again of her whom he had
named his "right hand" seemed to render all things possible, and again
the future glowed with the sunrise of hope. He and the others gathered
in eager welcome, listened intently to her story, and, for her sake,
the aged Tlascalans, whom she proudly claimed as father and mother,
were treated with the courtesy due to princes.

When she told Cortes of the Aztec army gathering for the assault of his
place of refuge, he exclaimed: "They shall have it and welcome, if they
have the courage to take it; but, ere then, I trust we shall be far
hence."

So, at midnight, the Spanish army, refreshed by its rest, and filled
with a new hope inspired by Marina's restoration to them, marched
silently away from the temple, to continue its retreat; but leaving
behind them watch-fires that would burn until morning, for the
misleading of the enemy.

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE DESPERATE BATTLE OF OTAMPAN

In the retreat from the temple that had proved such a veritable
haven to the shattered army of the invaders, Marina was borne in her
own litter. Another was provided for her mother, but, never having
been accustomed to such a luxury, she preferred to walk beside the
conveyance of her newly recovered daughter. Guided by Huetzin, with
a small body of Tlascalans who formed the vanguard, the little army
made a great circuit among the rugged hills bounding the western and
northern side of the Mexican Valley. Their progress was slow and
painful, and they were at all times subjected to irritating attacks
from the clouds of Aztecs who hovered about their line of march. These,
constantly recruited from the surrounding country, assaulted them with
sudden flights of darts and arrows, or by rolling great stones down
among them.

At night they usually sought shelter in some hamlet, from which the
inhabitants invariably carried away all provisions on their approach.
Thus the Spaniards were soon brought to the point of starvation. For
seven wretched days they had little to eat but wild cherries, the
occasional unplucked ears of maize which they were so fortunate as
to find, and the few rabbits and birds brought down by the darts of
Huetzin and his Tlascalans. Many of the soldiers fell by the wayside
from sheer exhaustion, while others, who had brought their treasure of
gold through the perils of the _noche triste_ and thus far in safety,
now flung it away, as too great a burden to be longer borne. Always the
enemy hovered in small parties on their flanks, or followed closely in
the rear, eager to pounce upon stragglers in search of food, or those
who had fallen from exhaustion.

In all this weary march, Cortes was the life of his fainting troops.
With sturdy Sandoval at his side, he was ever at the point of greatest
danger, driving back those adversaries who ventured within reach,
helping the stragglers, cheering the wounded, sharing every hardship,
refusing the few scant mouthfuls of rabbit-meat reserved for his table
and distributing them among the sick or most feeble of his men. In one
skirmish he was struck in the head by a splinter of rock and severely
injured; but he made light of the wound, caused it to be bound up, and
continued as before.

At the end of seven days the army was still less than thirty miles from
Tenochtitlan, though owing to their circuitous march they had traversed
thrice that distance. From an absolute necessity for rest, the last
two nights were spent in the same camp. During the intervening day,
while the greater part of the army lay sleeping about its camp-fires,
the indefatigable Huetzin led a strong party of his Tlascalans on an
extended scout.

Next to the undaunted leader himself, the young Toltec was the
encouraging spirit of this weary retreat. Since Marina's return to him,
life had assumed its brightest aspect, and not all the sufferings of
the march could depress him. He animated his own warriors by telling
them that now was the time to show the white soldiers, by their patient
endurance and cheerful bravery, of what stuff Tlascalan mountaineers
were made. In obedience to this suggestion his followers marched, day
after day, with elastic steps and proud bearing, scouted to right and
left, scattered hovering bands of the enemy with brisk charges, and in
fact saved their white allies from despair and destruction. At night,
whether there was food to be eaten or not, the Tlascalan camp-fires
were centres of merry groups, whose songs and laughter exercised a
cheering influence upon the whole army.

For the white men Huetzin painted glowing pictures of the welcome they
would receive in the "land of bread" (Tlascala), of the feasting that
should be theirs, and of the rest and safety to be found behind its
impregnable mountain walls. It is certain that these pictures lost none
of their attractiveness through the interpretation of Marina. Like him
whose words she translated, she was light-hearted and joyous in spite
of all hardships. And why should she not be? Was not the whole army
devoted to her? Had she not a loving mother, like other girls? Was not
her father a Tlascalan warrior, and captain of a hundred men (for so
Huetzin had made him)? Above all, though her hero spoke not of love,
could she not read his heart through his eyes? What more of happiness
could a maiden of Anahuac ask?

On the day of the army's resting Huetzin extended his scout as far as
the pyramids of Teotihuacan, two colossal monuments erected by his
long-ago Toltec ancestors. They were dedicated to the sun and moon,
and were surrounded by a vast number of burial mounds, in which were
laid to rest the most famous men of his race. These were symmetrically
ranged beside avenues, all of which led to the pyramids, and the plain
in which they stood was known to that day as "Micoatl," or Way of the
Dead.

From the summit of the taller of the pyramids, on which in former ages
stood a gigantic image of the sun, bearing a breast-plate of burnished
gold that reflected the earliest beams of the great luminary, Huetzin
caught a glad sight of the blue Tlascalan hills rising on the farther
side of the plain. They promised shelter and plenty; but, between him
and them, he saw something else that filled him with dismay.

At several different points of the wide-spread landscape, he could
distinguish moving bodies of white-armored Aztec troops, all
converging toward a common centre. After an hour of watching, he
located this as being the village of Otampan, situated in the wide
plain that must be crossed before the retreating army could reach the
Tlascalan frontier. Here doubtless was the place selected by Cuitlahua
for their destruction. With this melancholy news, and with but a scanty
supply of provisions, Huetzin led his scouting party back to camp.

That night was one of deepest gloom and despondency. Even the Tlascalan
warriors no longer maintained their show of cheerfulness. Many times
during its hours of darkness mysterious voices came to them from the
surrounding hill-tops, crying:

"Hasten on, ye enemies of the gods! You will soon find yourselves where
you can no longer escape their awful vengeance!"

In the morning there was naught to do but move on. Save in Tlascala
alone, there was no place in which they might hope for safety. As the
feeble army gained the crest of the intervening sierra, and gazed past
the Toltec pyramids into the vale of Otampan, they were greeted by
such a sight as assured them that their last hour had indeed come. As
far as the eye could reach, the plain was so covered with the white of
cotton-mailed warriors, that it was like a vast field of snow. By order
of Montezuma's successor the full war strength of the Aztec nation was
there assembled for the final overthrow of the invaders. From the
mighty host came a volume of sound like the murmur of a wind-swept sea,
while the morning sunlight was reflected from acres of shining bucklers
and a forest of tossing spears.

Even the stout heart of the Conqueror failed him in the presence of
this multitude of enemies. Noting this, sturdy Sandoval said: "We can
die but once, and 'twill be much pleasanter for us, though not so
amusing for them, if we die as soldiers rather than as sacrifices.
Besides, it is not wholly certain that our time for dying has yet come.
We have fought against odds before."

"Never such odds as these," replied the Commander. At the same time,
the cool bravery of his young captain gave him new heart; and, as
he formed his little army in order of battle, he strengthened the
determination to fight as became brave men that he read in their faces,
with stout words.

The women, the sick, and wounded were left behind in charge of the
old Tlascalan and a half-dozen of warriors, instructed, in case of
disaster, to kill them all rather than allow them to fall into priestly
hands. From each of the grim warriors, Huetzin personally exacted the
promise that these instructions should be implicitly obeyed. Thus, when
he bade Marina a lingering farewell, it was with the hope of a speedy
reunion, either on the field of an earthly victory or in the blissful
realms of the sun.

So the scanty force of Spaniards and their Tlascalan allies, having
neither artillery nor muskets, and supported by but a score of cavalry,
of which half was posted on either flank, descended steadily to the
plain to meet the on-rushing hosts of their enemies.

The air was rent with the fierce war-cries of the exultant Aztecs,
and darkened by the tempest of missiles that they let fly the moment
they came within range. The Spanish infantry received the shock on
their levelled pikes, against which the human wave dashed itself as
fruitlessly as those of the sea against some rocky pinnacle rising
from a waste of waters. With lowered lances the cavalry charged in
turn, opening broad lanes through the thick-set ranks. Into these
sprang Huetzin's trained warriors, following close on the heels of
the horsemen, and widening the lanes on either side, with javelin and
maquahuitl. So stoutly did these and their white allies ply their
deadly weapons, that the foremost ranks of the Aztecs, broken and
dismayed, attempted to fly. The attempt was a vain one, for they
were instantly overwhelmed by the crowding myriads behind them, who,
sweeping forward with the irresistible power of uncounted numbers,
completely surrounded the Christian army, making it the vortex of a
seething maëlstrom of fiercely struggling humanity.

Bravely did the cavaliers fight that day, charging in parties of four
or six, deep into the Indian ranks. Sandoval seemed to be on all sides
at once, fighting with the practised skill and deadly fury of a young
war-god; while mail-fronted Motilla, screaming with the rage of battle,
crashed through the Aztec files like a thunderbolt.

Deeper and deeper did the Christian force work its way into this
interminable host, ever meeting with fresh battalions and ever growing
weaker from losses. Hundreds of the Tlascalans and scores of the
Spaniards had fallen. All were wounded, including the gallant leader,
who had received another cut on the head. The noon-day sun beat
pitilessly and with a fierce fervor on the steel-capped soldiers. Dying
of heat, thirst, and wounds, panting, praying, and cursing, their blows
falling slower and more feebly with each moment. What hope was there
for them but that death would put an end to their sufferings as quickly
as might be? Like a horrid vision, the faces of fresh foes ever danced
before them. A score would fall, and a score of others, so similar that
they appeared the same, were instantly in their places.

"Holy Mother!" cried Sandoval, reining in Motilla beside the steed of
Cortes, "is there no end to these infidels? I have killed until I can
kill no more, and their legions are as at the beginning! Methinks,
General, the end of all things has come for us. Our brave troops can
hold out no longer. They have fought as never mortals fought before;
but now they are giving way on all sides. Does it please you that we
make one more charge and die as becomes Christian soldiers, with our
lances in our hands?"

CHAPTER XXXVI.

VICTORY SNATCHED FROM DEFEAT

Before answering Sandoval, the White Conqueror, like a stag at bay who
tosses his mighty head aloft in search of an opening through which he
may escape ere gathering himself for the death-struggle, raised high
in his stirrups and surveyed the field. In all directions, as far as
he could see, tossed the plumes and waved the banners of the Aztec
host. The battle raging at his side disturbed but a portion of it. His
own men were falling fast. The exhaustion of their recent hardships,
combined with the present heat and four hours of incessant fighting,
was doing more to deplete their numbers than even Aztec weapons. He
had no reserves to call up, no guns to fall back upon. Of the hundred
trusty knights on whom he could have depended a week since, four score
had left him on that most sorrowful of _noches triste_. Never again
would they answer the call of the trumpets, nor charge with levelled
lances and cheery shouts. "If they cannot rejoin us, we can at least
join them!"

With this last sigh of a breaking heart, the leader was sinking back
into his saddle, when his eye was caught by a more dazzling object,
a richer gleam than any seen elsewhere in all that bedizened host. It
was the sunlight reflected from the gold and silver armor, the gorgeous
feather mantle, and the glittering escort of a Cacique, borne in a
golden-plated litter. He was the Aztec general, the commander of all
these myriads of warriors. Without his guiding orders the mighty army
would be as helpless as a ship bereft of its rudder. With the gleam of
his armor a ray of hope flashed into the breast of the Christian leader.

"Yes, gentlemen," he answered, dropping into his saddle and gripping
his ponderous battle-ax with a fiercer clutch. "It pleases me to make
one more charge. One more! Sandoval, Alvavado, Olid, Avila, cavaliers
all! One more for victory or death! Forward! and may Christ and St.
James go with us!"

Thus crying, the White Conqueror gave spurs to his steed, and, with
whirling battle-ax clearing all obstacles from his pathway, he again
plunged into the dense ranks of the Aztec host. At his side rode
Sandoval and one other; behind them came three more. Six against ten
thousand! But so terrible was the thrust of their lances, the swing of
their axes, and the whistling sweep of their good swords, so frightful
the screaming and tearing and crushing of their mail-clad chargers,
that while its impetus lasted the death-dealing progress of this little
group could no more be checked than that of a bomb-shell just started
on its shrieking flight. The thick-set Aztec ranks reeled before them,
and crowded to either side to give them passage. The earth behind them
was cumbered with dead and dying. Their audacity paralyzed resistance,
and their mission was accomplished ere its purport was suspected.

Straight as an arrow to a mark, rode Cortes to the spot where the proud
Aztec leader lay indolently back in his cushioned litter. He was too
certain of the fortunes of that battle to take much further interest in
it. Already he was planning his triumphal entry into Tenochtitlan, and
hoping that Malinche might be taken alive to grace it. All at once his
pleasing reflections were interrupted by some unusual commotion near at
hand.

As he raised himself to learn its cause, shrill screams of terror
greeted him, and he saw what appeared to his startled vision a mighty
war engine, fire-breathing, steel-armored, and death dealing, rushing
toward him. In an instant more it was upon him. There came a crashing
blow, a death shriek, and the Aztec leader would dream no more of
triumphant entries into Tenochtitlan. Scattered like chaff were his
body-guard of gay young nobles; and as they fled, terror-stricken, they
spread on all sides the dread news that the chief had fallen.

Who, now, will give commands? No one. Who would obey them if given?
None. Consternation seizes upon the mighty host. A wave of panic
sweeps over it. No longer will it fight. To fly is its only thought.
The strong trample whom they may; the front ranks flee in terror
from those behind, fancying them the enemy. They fling away weapons,
banners, everything. They fill the air with their cries of terror. Over
all ring out the exultant shouts of Christians and Tlascalans, their
hopeless death-struggle changed in a moment to an amazing, unheard-of
victory. Forgotten are thirst, wounds, and exhaustion, as they pursue
their flying enemies, and drink draughts, long and deep, of vengeance
to compensate for _la noche triste_.

Thus was fought and won the desperate battle of Otampan, one of
the most notable of all the world's battles, when the disparity of
the engaged forces and the results of its issue are considered. So
thoroughly panic-stricken were the defeated Aztecs, that one Spaniard
or Tlascalan could put a hundred of them to headlong flight. Their
losses were terrible, though they would have been much greater, but
that the victors were too exhausted to push the pursuit. As they
returned from it, they gathered up the rich spoils of weapons, armor,
gold, jewels, and blazoned banners scattered over the field.

Among the first to weary of slaughter was the young Tlascalan chief.
When there was no longer a show of resistance, he turned his steps
toward the place in which the helpless ones of the army had been left.
For long hours had they noted the varying fortunes of the battle,
with straining eyes and sick hearts. From their distance they could
not distinguish its details. Many times they so completely lost sight
of their friends in the white-armored sea surrounding them, that they
gave up all for lost, and expected the grim Tlascalan guard to execute
its dread instructions. As time passed, and no enemy appeared to molest
them, they gained new courage, and, hoping against hope, watched
eagerly for further indications.

When the amazing rout of the mighty host began, they could not credit
their senses, nor were they convinced that a glorious victory had been
won by their friends, until Huetzin, blood-stained and dishevelled, but
radiant with triumph, appeared among them with the marvellous tidings.
As he told the wonderful story, the men, wild with excitement, crowded
about him craving every word of detail. The women, with over-strained
feelings finding relief in joyful tears, caressed him, and bathed his
wounds, and questioned one another with their eyes, as to how they
could have doubted that this their hero would be victorious.

After a while he conducted them to the appointed rendezvous, a
fortified but desolate temple on the outskirts of Otampan. Here the
army of the white conquerors, now indeed worthy the name, were to
pass the night of their victory, a night of as profound gratitude and
heartfelt joy, as that other had been of defeat, humiliation, and
heart-breaking sorrows.

On the following day they passed the rude fortifications marking a
boundary of Tlascala, the brave mountain republic, to which, next to
their own indomitable courage and incredible powers of endurance, the
Christians owed everything, including their lives. Here at a little
frontier town they rested, doubtful of the reception to be accorded
them by those who had suffered such losses in their behalf; while
Huetzin, attended by a small body of his own warriors, hastened to
the capital. In this city of his birth the young warrior received the
welcome reserved for victors, and amid joyous acclamations from the
populace, made his way to where the venerable councillors of the nation
awaited him. The disaster in Tenochtitlan, the _noche triste_, and the
retreat, were all forgotten for the time being, and only the glorious
victory of Otampan was remembered. The aged chieftain of Titcala fell
on the young man's neck, with grateful tears in his sightless eyes, and
blessed him. All voices sounded his praises, and proclaimed unwavering
allegiance to the Christians. Only one was silent, and it was that of
the envious Xicoten.

The next day, again clad as became his rank, Huetzin returned to the
anxious army accompanied by the noble chieftain of his house, and many
of the most prominent citizens of Tlascala. These bore messages and
tokens of a generous welcome to Cortes, and offers of the hospitality
of their city, to him and his followers, for as long as they would
accept of it.

With a glad gratitude was this offer accepted, and in the hospitable
city the weary army rested until its wounds were healed and its
strength restored. In the palace of Titcala, Cortes himself, succumbing
to his hurts and the mental strain that had been upon him for so long,
lay many days in the weakness and delirium of a fever. As soon as the
active brain began again to work, and while he still lay helpless as
an infant on his bed of convalescence, the undaunted soldier planned
for the future. Never for a moment had he relinquished his purpose to
conquer Tenochtitlan, and supplant its hideous religion with that of
the Cross.

With his first strength he undertook a brilliant campaign against a
number of Aztec cities, situated within striking distance of Tlascala,
whose inhabitants had cut off and sacrificed to their gods small
parties of Spaniards. At the end of four months he had reconquered the
whole of the vast Puebla table-land, had received reinforcements of
men, horses, guns, and ammunition, and was again ready to march back
over the frowning western Cordilleras, which he had already traversed
four times, under extraordinary circumstances.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

ONCE MORE IN THE MEXICAN VALLEY

During the four months occupied by Cortes in reconquering the eastern
half of the Aztec kingdom, so that when he was ready to proceed
against its capital city he might leave no enemy behind him, events of
importance were taking place elsewhere. One of these was the death of
Cuitlahua, Montezuma's brother and successor. He fell before a dread
scourge now sweeping over the land, and reaping such a harvest of dead
as even that warlike country had never known. It was the small-pox,
introduced to the Western World by a negro, the first of his race to
set foot on the American continent, who had been one of the followers
of Narvaez. Breaking out at Cempoalla, it swept over the land with the
virulence of a plague, seizing alike upon hut and palace. In Tlascala,
the blind chieftain of Titcala was among its victims. Huetzin, hastily
summoned from a distant battle-field, stood at the bedside of his dying
grandsire, and as the old man breathed his last under the holy sign of
the Cross, the son of Tlahuicol was proclaimed head of the proud house
of Titcala, and ruled in his place.

At nearly the same time and in the same city, Marina closed forever the
eyes of her parents, who expired within a few minutes of each other,
of the same fatal disease. Thus the young chieftain and the orphaned
Indian girl became companions in sorrow, as they had been in seasons of
rejoicing.

In the proud city of Tenochtitlan the dead king was succeeded by his
nephew, Guatamotzin, a young man of twenty-five, well instructed in the
art of native warfare, fierce, energetic, and shrewd, hating the white
men and their religion with a bitter hatred, fanatically devoted to the
bloodthirsty gods of his own land, and influenced in all his actions by
their priests. In him the white conquerors were to encounter their most
formidable opponent.

But they were not to encounter him unprepared, and their most important
preparation was in progress during the four months of their military
activity. All that time Martin Lopez, the ship-builder, aided by a
few Spanish carpenters and a great force of natives, was hewing down
timber in the forests of Tlascala, and converting it into a fleet of
thirteen brigantines. These were to be completely set up and launched
for trial on a small lake near the city. Then they were to be taken to
pieces, transported on the shoulders of tamanes across the mountains
to Tezcuco, where they were to be again put together, and finally
launched on the great salt lake washing Tenochtitlan. Their rigging,
sails, iron-work, and anchors were transported on the backs of tamanes
from the distant port of Vera Cruz, where this material had been stored
ever since the destruction of the ships that had brought the conquerors
to the country.

When Cortes returned to Tlascala from the subjugation of the
neighboring provinces, he found this fleet well on its way toward
completion. Several of the brigantines with which he proposed to
conquer the distant island city were already floating bravely on the
tiny lake, beside which they were built, to the wonder and delight of
all Tlascala.

As the Christian leader and his companions entered the city, they
completely won the hearts of its inhabitants, by wearing badges of
deep mourning in honor of the late chieftain of Titcala. After causing
a solemn mass to be performed in memory of the dead, Cortes, in the
presence of the whole city, conferred the degree of knighthood upon the
aged chieftain's successor, who, with the accolade, formally received
the christian name of "Juan." Thus, for his own noble qualities and
unswerving loyalty to the faith of his fathers, even to the point of
death, Huetzin, the son of Tlahuicol, became a Knight of Castile, and
the first native of the New World to receive that honor.

By the Christmas of 1520, all preparations for again advancing on
Tenochtitlan were completed, and on the following day the Spanish army,
together with an allied force of ten thousand warriors under command of
Huetzin, marched forth from the friendly city of Tlascala. As on former
occasions, it was accompanied for miles by half the population, who
mingled their acclamations with tears and prayers to the gods for its
safety and success. Besides the Tlascalans, the present army contained
nearly six hundred Spaniards, forty of whom were cavaliers, and eighty
bore muskets. The rest were armed with swords and Chinantla pikes. In
addition to all this, Cortes had nine small cannon, and a fair supply
of powder, manufactured by himself with sulphur obtained at fearful
risk from the smoking crater of lofty Popocatepetl.

In two days this army had scaled the western Cordilleras, and were
again gazing, with mingled feelings and memories, into the fair valley
of Mexico that, bathed in its golden sunshine, lay outspread at their
feet.

In spite of the ominous beacon flames streaming from the tower-like
temples of every city in the valley, they marched at once to the city
of Tezcuco, from which the Prince, who had succeeded Cacama, and many
of the inhabitants fled at their approach. They entered the city, the
name of which is interpreted to mean "place of rest," on the last day
of the year that had been so filled with stirring events, and in which
defeat and victory, disaster and triumph, had succeeded each other with
such rapidity.

From Tezcuco as a base of operations, Cortes proposed to reduce, in
succession, every city of the valley, before proceeding to the attack
of Tenochtitlan. Many of these, and conspicuous among them Chalco,
on the fresh-water lake of the same name, he found heartily ready to
throw off the hated Aztec yoke, and enter into an alliance with the
whites. Others, such as the royal city of Iztapalapan, he assaulted and
captured.

Wishing to test the temper of the new king, and to avoid further
bloodshed if possible, Cortes liberated several Aztec nobles made
prisoners in Iztapalapan, and sent them with a message to the capital.
They were instructed to say that, if the city would return to the
allegiance sworn to by Montezuma, and renounce human sacrifices to its
gods, the authority of Guatamotzin should be confirmed, and the persons
and property of his subjects respected by the Christians.

To this message no direct answer was received, but a royal proclamation
was made, commanding that every Spaniard or Tlascalan captured within
the kingdom should be immediately sent to Tenochtitlan for sacrifice.
It also offered tempting rewards for every one thus taken, or for his
dead body.

Then Cortes knew that the war must be fought out to its bitter end, and
immediately set forth with another expedition for the reduction of the
surrounding country. This time he advanced as far as Tlacopan, where,
in his mind and in those of his veterans, sad memories of the terrible
night, the _noche triste_, were revived. Two well-fought battles were
necessary for the reduction of this city, and after its capture Cortes
occupied it for several days, during which he made sorties into the
neighborhood.

In one of these he, with a small body of troops, pursued a flying party
of Aztecs out over the fatal causeway. The enemy fled as far as the
first bridge, and there, suddenly opening to either side, displayed
to the astonished Spaniard a large and well-appointed force advancing
rapidly toward them. At the same time a great fleet of canoes appeared,
and directly Cortes found himself engaged in another desperate struggle
on this sadly remembered battle-ground. Ere they could make good their
retreat, a dozen of the Spaniards and twice that number of Tlascalans
had been killed or borne off to a more horrible fate in the canoes, and
all were more or less wounded. It was a severe lesson in the tactics of
Guatamotzin, and the Conqueror meditated it deeply, as he led his force
back to Tezcuco.

At this place he received word from Tlascala that his brigantines were
finished and ready for transportation across the mountains. Thereupon,
he immediately despatched Sandoval and Huetzin, with two hundred
Spanish foot, fifteen horsemen, and two thousand Tlascalan warriors,
to convoy them to the scene of their intended usefulness. On their way
these passed through the little town of Zaltepec, the place in which
the five-and-forty Spanish explorers had been treacherously captured
and sacrificed.

The inhabitants fled at Sandoval's approach; but in their deserted
temples he found many traces of his unfortunate countrymen. Not only
were their armor and clothing hung about the walls as trophies, but
their heads were found embalmed and suspended before the altars. Here,
too, were the skins of their horses, so skilfully mounted that for a
moment the Spaniards stared at them in amazement, thinking them live
animals. As a punishment for this crime Sandoval ordered that the town
be destroyed by fire, and that such of its inhabitants as might be
captured should be branded as slaves.

From Zaltepec, Sandoval and Huetzin rapidly crossed the mountains; but
before they reached Tlascala they met the advanced guard of an immense
army, headed by Xicoten, and threading its sinuous way through the
narrow defiles of the sierra. Old Martin Lopez, having finished his
vessels, tested them, and taken them to pieces again, was impatient
to see them in action. So he persuaded the Tlascalan councillors to
furnish him with a convoy to Tezcuco. Xicoten, the war-chief, refused
to march at the head of less than fifty thousand men. Consequently
this number of warriors had to be gathered and placed under his
command. His instructions were to join his forces with those already at
Tezcuco, and place them at the disposal of Cortes, for the capture of
Tenochtitlan.

Sandoval, knowing that it would be almost impossible to feed such an
army at Tezcuco, kindly but firmly dismissed two-thirds of Xicoten's
force as soon as he met it; the remainder, still under Xicoten's lead,
he allowed to act as a vanguard. With his Spaniards he protected the
flanks of the army of Cortes bearing the precious brigantines, and to
Huetzin he entrusted the responsibility of the rear.

For twenty leagues was this inland-built fleet of war-ships thus
transported over rugged mountains. The thousands of tamanes bearing
its timbers, spars, sails, rigging, anchors, and, in fact, its entire
equipment, formed a compact line of over six miles in length; and as,
on the fifth day after leaving Tlascala, this unique procession filed
into the streets of Tezcuco, joyfully welcomed by Cortes and his entire
army, it occupied six hours in passing a given point. On this great
occasion Sandoval had insisted that to Huetzin and his tried warriors
should be accorded the honor of heading the brilliant train. This so
filled Xicoten with mortification and jealous rage, that from that
moment he plotted, not only the overthrow of his rival, but of the
Christian army.

That very night he caused Huetzin to be seized in his own quarters and
hurried away toward the mountains. At the same time he ordered the
secret departure of the entire Tlascalan army. In the morning he was
the first to report to Cortes this defection of the allied force. He
attributed it to Huetzin, who, he declared he had reason to know, had
deserted to the enemy.

To his confusion, even while he was making this statement, the young
Toltec, who by the aid of some of his own faithful followers, had
succeeded in making his escape, returned and confronted the Tlascalan
war-chief. Greatly incensed at this baseness, and at the same time
desirous of making an example that should impress his allies as well as
his enemies, Cortes caused Xicoten to be tried by court-martial. By it
he was without hesitation condemned to death, and that same evening he
was publicly executed, in the presence of the entire army.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

LAUNCHING THE FIRST AMERICAN WARSHIPS

There was no harbor at Tezcuco where vessels the size of the
brigantines, which had been so skilfully brought thus far over leagues
of rugged mountain trails, could be put together and launched. Indeed,
the only place fitted for such work was half a league distant from the
lake shore. Here, therefore, was the shipyard located, and while the
vessels were being rebuilt, a force of eight thousand laborers were
set to work to construct a canal from it to the deep waters of the
lake. This canal, which when finished was twelve feet deep and twenty
wide, was provided with gates, and had its banks strengthened by wooden
palisades or, as was in some places necessary, by walls of masonry. The
labor of constructing it was so great that, even with the immense force
of workmen engaged, it occupied two months.

During this time, Cortes, with three hundred Spaniards and Huetzin's
entire force of Tlascalans, swept entirely around the valley, and even
penetrated into the mountains on the southeast, dispersing Aztec armies
and capturing or conciliating Aztec cities, until only the capital
remained unsubdued.

While thus engaged in cutting off the enemy's sources of supply, not a
day passed without its fighting or deeds of heroism. One of the last
cities to be thus attacked was Zochimilco, on the border of the salt
lake. After a stout resistance the enemy gave way and fled through the
city streets, pursued by almost the entire force of Christians and
their allies. Cortes, being weary, remained with but two servants near
the principal gate, to which the troops had been ordered to return.

Huetzin, who, as usual, tired of slaughter long before the vengeance
of his fierce followers was satisfied, was the first to make his way
back to the place of rendezvous. As he approached it, he was dismayed
to see a fresh body of Aztecs rush out of a neighboring lane and make a
furious attack upon the general. He defended himself valiantly, but was
quickly overpowered by numbers. His horse was thrown down, and Cortes
himself received a severe blow on the head. Ere he could rise, he was
seized by his exulting foes. As they were dragging him away Huetzin
reached the spot and sprang at them with the fury of a tiger. Almost
before the astonished Aztecs knew they were attacked, three of their
number lay dead, pierced or cut down by the young Knight's good Toledo
blade. With this timely aid, and that of his servants, the general
regained his feet, tore loose from those who still held him, vaulted
again into the saddle, and, in less time than it takes to write it,
was scattering the foes who had so nearly dragged him to the altar of
sacrifice. It was the narrowest escape of the Conqueror's career up
to that moment; and, had the Aztecs been content to kill him instead
of being fanatically determined to deliver him to their priests,
Guatamotzin might have reigned for years undisturbed.

When next the General and Huetzin met, the former dismounted to greet
the young Knight, and grasping his hand, said, earnestly:

"I am well aware of my indebtedness to thee Don Juan, and to my dying
day will I not forget it. Still, see thou to it that thy vigilance
makes me not over-confident. With such quick blades as that of thine
and of trusty Sandoval ever at hand, I am apt to lose sight of all need
for care."

At the end of this expedition, during which there was enough of
desperate fighting, hair-breadth escapes and rescues, sacking of
cities, and romantic adventures, to fill a volume of knight-errantry,
Cortes led his spoil-laden troops once more into Tezcuco, where he
heard, at once, three items of good news. His brigantines were ready
for launching; the canal was finished; and strong reinforcements, for
which he had sent to Hispaniola six months before, had arrived.

As, to his mind, the launching of his little navy would mark the
beginning of the end, he determined to inaugurate the event with due
pomp. Accordingly, on the 28th day of April, 1521, after attending the
celebration of high mass, the entire army, with sounding trumpets,
rolling drums, and waving banners, marched to the shipyard. Here the
thirteen vessels, with masts stepped, sails bent, and colors flying,
sat on their well-greased ways, awaiting the signal that should consign
them to the element for which they were intended.

At the firing of a cannon the first slid gracefully into the water.
Then came another gun and another launch; and so on, until, with the
thirteenth gun, the thirteenth brigantine entered the water, and the
first American-built navy was afloat. Now, amid a roar of artillery and
musketry, the acclamations of tens of thousands of dusky spectators,
and the sound of martial music, with the banner of Castile flying from
every mast-head, and their own guns answering the glad salute from the
shore, the fleet dropped down the canal, and spreading its white wings
to a brisk breeze, stood proudly out over the broad waters of the lake.

It was a novel spectacle to the simple natives, and a glad one to
the white conquerors; for, with the combined forces of an army and a
navy opposed to it, they felt assured that the bloody priesthood of
Tenochtitlan was destined to a speedy overthrow. So inspired were they
by these feelings, that, led by their commander, the entire Christian
army raised its voice in a grand Te Deum.

At this time, exclusive of their allies, the besieging army consisted
of eight hundred and eighteen foot soldiers, and eighty-seven cavalry.
For weapons they had one hundred and eighteen muskets and crossbows,
three heavy iron guns, and fifteen falconets of brass, half a ton
of powder, fifty thousand copper-headed arrows, and a thousand long
Chinantla pikes, besides their swords and the lances of the cavaliers.
To each of the brigantines was allotted a falconet, and three hundred
of the troops were detailed to man the fleet. The remainder of the
Spaniards, together with one hundred thousand warriors from Tlascala
and other allied cities, all eager for the downfall of Tenochtitlan,
the stronghold of the oppressor, were divided into three armies,
commanded by Sandoval, Alvarado, and Olid.

By the end of May, everything being in readiness, these armies were
dispatched to their stations at the ends of the three great causeways
leading to the city, while Cortes took temporary command of the fleet.
He set sail from Tezcuco; but before he reached Istapalapan the breeze
failed, and his vessels lay becalmed. While thus helpless, they were
approached by an immense flotilla of Aztec canoes and periaguas, sent
out by Guatamotzin for their destruction. These came on boldly until
within pistol shot of the drifting fleet, and then halted, irresolute
as to how they should attack such monsters.

Just then, a light air springing up, the brigantines bore directly
down on the gathered canoes, which greeted them with a dense, but
ineffective, flight of arrows and stones. Gathering headway as they
advanced, the vessels crashed into the massed flotilla with frightful
effect, at the same time letting fly their falconets to right and
left. The rippling waters were instantly covered with the wreckage of
shattered canoes and struggling human forms. The few survivors fled,
with all speed, back to their city, and thus ended the first naval
engagement in American waters.

Continuing his way to the great dike, by which he had made his first
entry into Tenochtitlan, Cortes assaulted and captured the fort of
Xoloc, by which it was defended, midway between the mainland and the
city. Here he planted his heavy guns, and this place he made his
headquarters during the siege.

In the meantime Alvarado had succeeded, after a stubborn battle,
in cutting the aqueduct by which fresh water reached the city from
Chapultepec. He next attempted to gain possession of the fatal causeway
of Tlacopan, but was driven back, with heavy losses, after several
hours of fighting.

After a week spent in the comparative inactivity of perfecting the
blockade, the Commander resolved upon a general assault on the city
by the three armies. As Huetzin had no longer a separate command,
he asked and obtained permission to devote himself to the especial
destruction of the Aztec gods. For this purpose he carefully selected
one hundred of his most valiant warriors, and attached himself to the
division led by the General over the causeway of Iztapalapan.

Its several openings were guarded by strong barricades, behind which
the enemy made resolute stands. By the aid of the brigantines, which
attacked them on each side, these were successfully carried, one after
another, and at length the conquerors trod once more the familiar
streets of the city.

How different now was this reception from that of their first entry!
Then, myriads of eager and welcoming spectators, men, women, and
children, were gathered on the flower-roofed houses. Now, most of the
women and children had been sent from the city, and the house-tops were
thronged only with grim warriors, who showered down a continuous storm
of arrows, darts, and great stones, that stretched many a bold Spaniard
and swarthy Tlascalan in the dust.

At every canal in place of a bridge was a rampart, that must be
battered down by the heavy guns. Still, doggedly fighting, the
besiegers made their slow way to the square, on one side of which stood
the quarters they had evacuated on the _noche triste_, and on the other
the great temple of Huitzil. As the Spaniards cleared the courtyard of
the temple, Huetzin and his agile followers dashed up the long flights
of steps to its top. Here they found only a few frantic priests, whom
they pitched headlong from the lofty platform. In the shrine was a new
image of the war-god, more hideous and more lavishly covered with gold
than its predecessor. This they dragged from its pedestal, and, with
an exulting heart, the young Toltec saw it, too, go thundering and
crashing to the base of the great teocal.

Outraged and infuriated by this sacrilege, the Aztec warriors gathered
about the temple in such overwhelming numbers, that the besiegers were
forced back, down the avenue up which they had come; and only by the
most determined fighting did Huetzin and his followers escape from
being cut off, and rejoin their friends.

Although on this occasion the besiegers were driven from the city on
all sides, Huetzin at least felt that the day's fighting and losses
had not been in vain. He knew that his time for triumph was at hand,
and that, with this overthrow of their war-god, the power of the Aztec
priests had received a blow from which it would never recover.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

ALDERETE'S FATAL ERROR

The next day another assault was made that penetrated, as before, to
the square of the temple. On this occasion the Spaniards, filled with
hatred against the ancient palace in which they had suffered so much,
set fire to it in a hundred places, and soon had the satisfaction of
seeing it in ruins. As on the previous occasion, the retreat to their
own camp was so bitterly assailed that few reached it without bearing
on their bodies smarting tokens of the fight. These assaults were
continued for many days, though with but slight results; for, wherever
the besiegers filled canal openings during the day, the Aztecs cleared
them out again at night. They also, contrary to their usual custom,
made constant night attacks upon the Christian camps, so that the
Spaniards were allowed no rest.

[Illustration: THIS THEY DRAGGED FROM ITS PEDESTAL.]

At this stage of the siege, Guatamotzin succeeded in capturing and
destroying two of the brigantines, by luring them into a trap of stout
stakes, driven just below the surface of the water. Thus, with varying
fortunes did the days and weeks of the siege pass, until July came,
and still the city made no sign of surrender. Famine was beginning to
stalk through its streets, and its hardy defenders were sickening of
the brackish water with which they eked out the scanty supplies nightly
smuggled to them in canoes from the mainland; but the priests still
promised ultimate victory, and were still believed.

At length another concerted attack was planned, by which two armies
should advance from opposite sides of the city, and endeavor to
force their way to a meeting in the great market-place of Tlateloco.
Alderete, the royal treasurer, one of the late arrivals, was
particularly anxious to have the market-place captured and occupied as
a base of operations against the rest of the city. Reluctantly yielding
to his importunities, Cortes ordered the assault to be made. From one
side were to advance the combined forces of Sandoval and Alvarado,
and from the other his own troops were to make their way, in three
divisions, up three parallel streets, all of which led to the tinguez.
One of these divisions was entrusted to Alderete, one to a younger
Alvarado, while Cortes himself commanded the third. With this division
went Huetzin, in command of the Tlascalans.

To each commander the General's last and most implicit instruction
was, to be sure and fill the canal openings as he advanced, so as to
provide a way of retreat. Then, dismounting and advancing on foot,
he led his own division to the assault. The Aztecs fell back after
offering less resistance than usual, and the division carried barricade
after barricade with comparative ease, carefully filling each canal
with rubbish ere they left it. On either side of the street, Huetzin
and his active warriors scaled the house-tops, engaging in hand-to-hand
conflict with the defenders, and ever driving them from their
positions. Nor did the young Toltec neglect the teocallis, several of
which were encountered on the way. In every case these were deserted of
their priests, and Huetzin caused them to be quickly deserted of their
gods as well. From one of these tall observatories he descended with
the information that the other divisions were so far in advance of that
led by Cortes, that they were actually entering the great market-place
while he was still but half way to it.

"Then," exclaimed the commander, "they cannot have stopped to fill the
canals, and I fear me greatly are being decoyed into some trap!"

Halting his own division, he ordered Quinones, the captain of his
guard, to maintain it in that place at all hazards, until hearing from
him. Then, accompanied by Huetzin, Olea, and several other cavaliers,
Cortes hastened through a narrow street connecting with the broad
avenue up which Alderete had passed. The roadway of this was bordered
by canals on either side, so that the Spaniards had been able to bring
a fleet of canoes with them. In these they had been ferried across a
wide gap, connecting the two canals, from which the bridge had been
removed. In the exciting rivalry and ease of their advance, they forgot
the commander's instructions, and neglected to fill this gap. Thus they
pressed exultingly forward, without a thought of disaster or of making
provision for a hurried retreat.

Cortes had hardly reached the avenue before he discovered this yawning
chasm in the roadway, and realized the deadly error committed by
Alderete. He and those with him attempted to remedy it by casting in
rubbish with their own hands. They had scarcely begun, when the distant
roar of conflict grew louder, and in another minute a torrent of
panic-stricken humanity came rolling back, down the avenue to where the
fatal opening awaited its victims.

Alderete had made his way to the market-place with such ease as to
inspire him with a contempt for his adversaries, and fill him with the
idea that he was about to conquer the city at a blow.

Suddenly, from the lofty summit of a neighboring temple sounded, loud
and clear, the thrilling tones of the horn of Guatamotzin. It was a
summons rarely issued, and, as the Spaniards had learned to their cost,
was invariably followed by a struggle to the death. On this occasion
its long-drawn, piercing notes had not died away, when the Aztecs, who
had fled before the advance of Alderete, turned on him with the utmost
fury. At the same moment swarms of ambushed warriors poured out from
every cross street and lane, rending the air with their savage cries,
and springing upon the flanks of his straggling column.

Bewildered and staggered by the force and unexpected nature of the
onset, the Spaniards paused, listened in vain for the accustomed
rallying-cry of their great leader, wavered, and broke into a mad
flight back over the way they had just come. In the frenzied rush
friends and foes, Spaniards, Tlascalans, and Aztecs, were mingled in
inextricable confusion; so that many of the terrified fugitives were
struck down by those beside them, and snatched into waiting canoes by
unseen hands.

Blinded by terror, the fierce human wave rolled on toward the gulf, on
the opposite side of which Cortes and half a dozen companions shuddered
at the impending horror. There was no pause at the awful brink. The
leading files were forced to the leap by those pressing from behind,
and in a moment the most hideous feature of the _noche triste_ was
being re-enacted. In this case there were no horses nor guns to plunge
with wretched humanity into the chasm, nor did darkness multiply the
confusion. Still it was a fearful sight, and Cortes, extending helping
hands to whom he could, groaned aloud to behold his soldiers disappear
by scores beneath the choking waters, or dragged into waiting Aztec
canoes.

As he thus stood in the edge of the water, striving to save some
victims of this terrible disaster, a large canoe containing six
athletic Aztec warriors dashed up to him, and with wild yells of
"Malinche! Malinche!" its occupants made a determined effort to drag
him into their boat. A spear-thrust in the leg partially disabled him,
and though he struggled with the almost superhuman strength supplied
by a vision of the sacrificial altar, his assailants would have
accomplished their purpose had not Olea on one side, and Huetzin on the
other, sprung to his rescue with flashing swords. After killing two of
the Aztecs, Olea fell mortally wounded. Another cavalier named Lerma
was instantly in his vacant place, and for several minutes he and the
Tlascalan Knight, bestriding the prostrate body of their leader, held
the whole swarming mob of assailants in check. The cool bravery and
expert skill of the two were a match for the reckless ferocity of an
untrained score.

Meantime the report carried to the General's own division that he was
slain, spread such dismay through the ranks that, but for the prompt
action of the captain of the guard and a few others, they would have
joined in the senseless flight of Alderete's men. Those who prevented
this, refusing to believe that their leader was dead, rushed to his
rescue, and with a fierce charge pulled him from the very edge of the
water, into which the Aztecs, despite the efforts of Huetzin and
Lerma, had succeeded in dragging him.

The body of brave Olea was borne away in triumph by the enemy, as was
that of a page, pierced through the neck by a javelin, as he came up
with the General's horse. As the lifeless hand of the page dropped from
the bridle this was instantly seized by Guzman, the chamberlain; but
ere Cortes gained his saddle, this faithful attendant was also snatched
away and dragged into an Aztec canoe, vainly screaming for help.

The continued retreat along the canal-bordered roadway was marked by
death and disaster to its very end. The Aztec attack was bold and
incessant, while the press was so great that many an unfortunate was
forced from his footing and slipped into the fatal waters. From these
he was only rescued by Aztec canoes, that would bear him to a fate far
worse than instant death.

The dismay and terror of the fugitives was heightened by the display,
on the uplifted ends of Aztec spears, of two bloody Spanish heads.
This dismal spectacle was accompanied by savage cries of "Sandoval!
Sandoval! Tonatiah! Tonatiah!" intimating that the other army had
also been routed, and its leaders slain. At the same time that army,
barely holding its own against a most determined attack, was horrified
at seeing a bloody Spanish head tossed, with wildest glee, from hand
to hand of their assailants, who greeted it with exulting shouts of
"Malinche! Malinche!" thus striving to convey the idea that the great
leader had fallen.

The disastrous retreat of Alderete and his men was not stayed until
they reached a place where the light battery and a body of cavalry,
sent to their succor, could operate. Even then the Aztecs did not
give way, until, in return for the losses inflicted upon them by the
artillery, they had captured several troopers and killed their horses.

Next to the _noche triste_, this affair was more disastrous to the
whites than any in which they had been engaged since entering that land
of battle and death. Besides their long list of killed and wounded,
sixty-two Spanish and a multitude of Tlascalan prisoners had been
captured by the triumphant Aztecs. These had also killed seven horses,
and gained possession of two pieces of artillery.

As the sun was setting that evening, the penetrating vibration of
the great serpent drum, from the lofty but dismantled temple of the
war-god, attracted all eyes in that direction. A long procession of
priests wound slowly up and around the sides of the vast teocal. As
it reached the summit, the Spaniards recognized with horror, in the
figures of several men stripped to their waists, the white skins of
their compatriots. These, urged on by cruel blows, were compelled
to dance in front of the altar, before submitting to the itzitli
blade of sacrifice. For eighteen successive evenings was this awful
scene repeated, and on the last of them, Guzman, the General's
devoted attendant, met the cruel fate that had already overtaken his
companions, whose number he had seen dwindle, day by day, until he
alone was left.

The Aztec priests caused it to be proclaimed throughout the valley,
that within eight days from the date of their terrible defeat, every
Spaniard would be either dead or a prisoner, for so the gods had
decreed. At the same time they warned all allies of the Spaniards, who
did not wish to share their fate, to desert the Christian cause, and
retire to their own places.

This prophecy had such an effect upon the allies, that by thousands and
ten of thousands they left the camps of the besiegers, until only a
few hundred faithful Tlascalans remained. But when the eight days were
passed, and, in spite of repeated attacks from the city, the white men
still held their ground, their shame-faced allies began to return in
such numbers that the besieging army was soon as strong as before.

CHAPTER XL.

FINAL OVERTHROW OF THE AZTEC GODS

The siege of Tenochtitlan had now been going on for nearly three
months. Still the besieged, animated by the heroism of their young
king, and the fatal superstition that caused them to believe in the
promises and tremble at the threats of their false priests, held out.
Famine, sickness, and death stalked abroad through the city; but it
would not surrender, nor would it so long as every house was a fortress
and every canal a barricade. Guatamotzin steadily refused to treat
with embassies, or grant a personal interview to the Christian leader.
Scores of Spaniards and hundreds of Huetzin's brave warriors had been
sacrificed by priestly knives, and their blood cried out for vengeance.
In view of these facts, Cortes came reluctantly to the conclusion that
the beautiful city must be destroyed, its buildings levelled to the
earth to afford a clear sweep for his guns, and its canals, filled with
their débris, converted into solid ground for the unimpeded movements
of his cavalry.

So the fatal order was given, and a hundred thousand natives of
Anahuac, who had suffered too bitterly from the oppression of the Aztec
to feel pity for him in the hour of his distress, seized their heavy
_coas_ (picks), and sprang cheerfully to the work of destruction.
First, the openings in the causeways were so solidly filled that they
were never again opened. Then the frail tenements of the suburbs
were demolished, and a broad belt, encircling the more substantially
built portions of the city, was presented for the movement of the
troops. The defenders of Tenochtitlan did not view these measures with
indifference; but, sallying forth on all sides, maintained an incessant
warfare with the besiegers.

At this stage of the proceedings a message was sent to Guatamotzin,
offering honorable terms of peace, and he called a great council to
consider it. His nobles advised its acceptance, but the priests,
foreseeing their own downfall if its terms were agreed to, forbade
him to submit. Their councils prevailed; and thus, in obedience to
priestly selfishness, was this queenly city of the New World doomed to
annihilation.

For two days the besiegers quietly awaited an answer to their message.
At length it came in the shape of a furious sortie, from every city
street, of host after host of desperate Aztecs. Like swollen mountain
torrents bursting their confining flood-gates, they swept in wave
after wave, across the causeways, to the very entrenchments of their
enemy, threatening to overwhelm him by sheer force of numbers. But
the besiegers were too strongly fortified, and too well armed, to be
dislodged. Into the very faces of the dense Aztec ranks was poured
a withering fire from the land batteries, while their flanks were
enfiladed by the guns of the fleet. Finally, hidden beneath clouds of
sulphurous smoke, their shattered columns wavered, and then rolled
slowly back into the city. It was their last great effort, and from
this time on, the proud city seemed to await its doom in sullen apathy.

Now the work of destruction was pressed with the utmost vigor. Day
after day witnessed the demolition of dwellings, palaces, and temples,
the filling of canals, and the penetrating of the besiegers, from
two sides at once, further and further toward the heart of the Aztec
capital. Fiercely did its starving defenders contest each foot of
progress, fighting from house to house, darting out in small parties
from side streets to slay a score or so of workmen, and then as
suddenly disappearing, charging after the retreating forces at each
nightfall, and at all times battling with the ferocity of despair.

From the six hundred temples of the city Huetzin and his band of picked
warriors hurled the idols, one after another, until at length, in all
Tenochtitlan, only one abiding-place remained to the Aztec gods. This
was the lofty teocal overlooking the market-place of Tlateloco, which
was second only in size and importance to the mighty structure from
which the war-god had long since been driven.

Three-fourths of the beautiful city, including the stately palace of
its king, lay in ruins, when near the close of a day of destruction,
the two attacking armies, doggedly fighting their way through the still
innumerable host of Aztecs, came in sight of each other on opposite
sides of the market-place. Suddenly, from the teocal overlooking it,
a bright blaze shot high in the air, reddening the eastern sky with a
glow like that of the western sunset. So ominous was the signal, that
for a moment all combatants paused to regard it. As they gazed upward,
a small body of men appeared on the verge of the lofty platform, and
the next instant a huge, shapeless mass, came crashing and thundering
down the steep declivity. During the momentary silence that followed, a
single figure stood boldly outlined, on the point from which the image
had come, and, in the ringing tones of Huetzin the Toltec, were heard
the words:

"Thus perishes the last of the Aztec gods!"

Then, making in mid-air the holy sign of his faith, he disappeared.

With joyous shouts the Christian soldiers sprang forward to complete
their victory; but it was completed. Guatamotzin was already a
fugitive, and, without king or gods, the Aztecs would fight no more.

That very evening Sandoval, who had been made admiral of the fleet,
chased with his swiftest vessel a large periagua that was endeavoring
to escape from the city. As he drew near to it, and was about to open
fire, a stately figure sprang up, and proclaimed:

"I am the king! Slay me if you will, but spare these helpless ones."

On hearing this, Sandoval ordered his men to lower their weapons, and
received Guatamotzin with courtesy and honor on board his vessel.

Thus ended the bitter siege of Tenochtitlan, a siege unsurpassed in the
annals of war for the heroic fortitude, bravery, and persistence shown
on both sides.

That night the fall of the Aztec capital, and the overthrow of its
gods, was signalized by one of the most fearful storms ever known in
the Mexican valley. For hours the rain descended in torrents, the
heavens were rent by incessant flashes of blinding lightning, and the
continuous crash of thunder shook the encircling mountain-walls to
their foundation. It was a fitting requiem over the death of a brave
and powerful, but at the same time cruel and superstitious, nation.

On the following morning began an exodus, from the devastated city, of
its remaining inhabitants; and so great was the number who had survived
the horrors of battle, pestilence, and famine, that the sorrowful
processions occupied three days in defiling across the causeways to the
mainland. As they had for many days been unable to bury their dead, the
deserted city was now but a vast charnel-house in which no human being
could exist. As soon after this as was practicable, Cortes set to work,
with the aid of the conquered citizens and immense levies drawn from
the surrounding country, to rebuild what he had destroyed. The first
building to be erected was a magnificent Christian cathedral, which,
dedicated to St. Francis, was made to occupy the very site on which
formerly stood the temple of the Aztec war-god. So actively was the
work of reconstruction pushed, that in less than four years' time the
new city of Mexico, in many respects more splendid than its predecessor
on the same site, had arisen from the ashes of Tenochtitlan.

With the fall of the Aztec capital, and the final overthrow of its
cruel gods, Huetzin, the Knight of Castile and head chief of the free
republic of Tlascala, was absolved from his vow. Thus the moment
his military duties would permit, he sought the brave and beautiful
Indian girl, to win whom had for so long been the hope of his life.
He found her in the royal gardens of Tezcuco; where, above the grave
of Tiata, he declared to Marina the love which had been hers, and had
been reciprocated by her, from the time of their first meeting. A few
days later they were married by the good Father Olmedo, the Christian
priest who had accompanied the white conquerors through all their weary
marches and battles.

Thus when the Lord of Titcala returned to his mountain home, at
the head of his army of victorious warriors, all other causes for
happiness seemed to him insignificant as compared with that of taking
with him, as his wife, the maiden whose services as interpreter to the
white conquerors were no longer needed.

The fall of Tenochtitlan occurred in August, 1521, and for seven years
longer did Cortes remain in Mexico, founding new cities, rebuilding
many of those that had been destroyed, extending the dominion of the
Spanish king, and in all ways perfecting his glorious conquest. At the
end of that time, or in the early summer of 1528, two fine ships, laden
with the rarest products of Anahuac, sailed from Vera Cruz, and, after
a prosperous voyage across the Atlantic, entered the port of Palos, in
Spain. On the deck of one of them, eagerly gazing at the land which
some of them had not seen in many years, and others were now viewing
for the first time, stood a group, most of whom would be recognized
by those familiar with the Mexico of that day. Chief among them was
Hernando Cortes, the leader. Beside him stood Gonzalo de Sandoval, his
beloved and well-tried Captain, and several other cavaliers, all heroes
of the Mexican wars. Near at hand were Huetzin, Lord of Titcala, his
beautiful wife, a son of Montezuma, and a number of other Tlascalan and
Aztec nobles.

Immediately on their arrival these repaired to the convent of La
Rabida, long since inseparably connected with the immortal name of
Columbus, to offer up thanks for their safe voyage.

Here, on the threshold of his native land, sturdy Sandoval took sick
of a mysterious malady, which, it was quickly evident, was about to
terminate his earthly career of glory and usefulness.

About the dying bed of the soldier were gathered his commander and his
best-loved friends. With the same composure and undaunted courage with
which he had faced death on a hundred battle-fields, he faced it now.
With a lingering hand-clasp to each, he bade farewell to the comrades
who had fought those battles beside him.

"To thy gentle care, Marina, I commend Motilla. From thee, Juan, my
brother, I will bear a message to Tiata."

Very faint were these words, but with the mention of her name, to whom
his loyal troth had been plighted years before in the royal gardens
of fair Tenochtitlan, a smile of ineffable glory illumined his rugged
features. In another moment his soldier spirit was answering the glad
trumpet-call of the Immortals, while above its earthly habitation,
Huetzin the Toltec was making the holy sign of the peace-loving but
all-powerful God of the Four Winds.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

This book uses dialect. To retain the intended flavor of the book,
spelling and punctuation in dialect text have not been altered.

Spelling of non-dialect wording in the text was made consistent when
a predominant preference was found in this book; if no predominant
preference was found, or if there is only one occurrence of the word,
spelling was not changed.

Hyphenation irregularities in non-dialect text were retained as found.
Occasional spaces following dashes were retained as found.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained. If other
occurrences of the word were found, end-of-line broken words were
hyphenated to match the most prevalent.

Punctuation has been standardized to modern usage for better
readability.

Punctuation in chapter titles and illustration captions was made
consistent.

Page 287--The name "Alvavado" was used. Elsewhere the name "Alvarado"
was used. With no definitive evidence that all referred to the same
character, both spellings were retained as found.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The White Conquerors - A Tale of Toltec and Aztec" ***

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