Famous Discoverers and Explores of America / Their Voyages, Battles, and Hardships in Traversing and Conquering the Unknown Territories of a New World

by Charles H. L. Johnston

HERNANDO CORTÉS:

CONQUEROR OF MEXICO.

(1485-1547)

TO the brave belong the spoils. To him, who ventures much, sometimes comes a great reward.

Here is the story of a man who determined to conquer an empire with but a handful of followers,—and accomplished his purpose. Although it seems to be a romance, it is a series of facts. Strange, wonderful, almost unbelievable, yet true; for truth, they say, is sometimes stranger than fiction. Listen, then, to this tale of as valiant a soul as ever led fighting men on to victory!

Long, long ago, when fat King Henry the Eighth ruled over Merrie England, and Charles the Fifth was King of Spain, there lived a young Spanish cavalier called Hernando Cortés. He was a wild youth and did not care for books or study. In fact, although his parents wished him to be a lawyer and, when he was fourteen years of age, sent him to an excellent school, he would not learn his lessons and so was asked to leave the institution. Returning home, he greatly annoyed his good father and mother by cutting up and playing all kinds of pranks, so that they were glad to learn he had determined to join an expedition which was setting out for that New World so lately discovered by Columbus.

Shortly after this decision he fell from the top of a high wall, upon which he had been climbing after wild grapes, and hurt himself so grievously that he could not walk. It was therefore impossible for him to join the adventurers who were heading for the New World. The ship set sail without him.

For two years longer, young Cortés remained at home, and then, finding that another expedition was about to set sail, he obtained permission to join this fleet, bound for the West Indies. He was now nineteen years of age and was extremely agile and sinewy. His face was pale, his eyes piercing, and his hair raven black. He was looking for adventure and was determined to bear himself right valiantly in whatever situation he should find himself.

The fleet set sail, and arrived without accident at Hispaniola. Cortés went immediately to see the Governor of the island, whom he had known in Spain.

“You must remain here and become a good citizen,” said the Spanish dignitary to him. “I will therefore present you with a grant of land which I hope that you will cultivate.”

“I came to get gold, not to till the ground like a peasant,” said Cortés. “And I am anxious for adventure.”

The Governor laughed.

“You had better become a farmer,” said he. “There is more money in crops than there is in searching for gold.”

Six years passed, six rather monotonous years for Cortés, although he occasionally joined some expeditions against the natives, where he learned how to endure toil and danger, and became familiar with the tactics of Indian warfare. At length, in 1511, when Diego Velasquez, the Governor’s Lieutenant, undertook the conquest of Cuba, Cortés gladly became one of his followers, and, throughout the expedition, conducted himself right valiantly.

The Spaniards conquered the country; but when, later on, there was distribution of lands and of offices, great discontent arose. Those who believed that they had been ill-used, chose Cortés to journey back to Hispaniola and lay their grievances before the higher authorities. This reached the ears of Velasquez. He ordered that the youthful Cortés should be bound, loaded with fetters, and thrown into prison. The act was humiliating, but it was what those of Spanish blood were accustomed to do to one another. Note, however, how the young man conducted himself!

Cortés soon succeeded in escaping from the irons which encircled him, and, letting himself down from the window of the jail, took refuge in the nearest church, where he claimed that he could not be touched, as he was under the protection of the priests. Velasquez heard of this, was very angry, and stationed a guard near the sanctuary, with orders to seize the youthful Spaniard, should he endeavor to get off. Cortés was careless, wandered, one day, quite far from the church door, and was immediately captured.

Velasquez determined to get rid of the young adventurer, this time, so had him carried on board a ship which was to sail, next day, for Hispaniola. But Cortés was again too clever for him. By great exertion he managed to drag his feet through the rings which fettered him, and, dropping silently over the side of the ship into a little boat, made off in the darkness.

As he neared the shore, the water became so rough that the boat was useless, so he dove overboard and swam the rest of the way. He was tossed up upon the beach in a half-dazed condition; but finally arose, made his way to the church, and hid himself in the sanctuary. Velasquez had no idea where he had disappeared to.

Shortly after this the bold adventurer married a lady named Catalina Xuarez whose family was friendly with the hard-hearted Velasquez. Peace was therefore made with the Governor, and Cortés received a large estate near St. Iago, where he lived for some years and even amassed a considerable sum of money.

Here he was quietly residing when news came of an exploring expedition which had set out in 1518 to find out what lay farther to the west. It had been led by Grijalva, a nephew of Velasquez, and he had touched at various places on the coast of Mexico. This was a land inhabited by Indians called Aztecs who had named their country after “Mexitili”: war god of their race.

These Aztecs, it seems, had originally come down from the north, and, after many wanderings, had halted on the western border of a great lake which lay in a long valley, situated at a height of about 7,500 feet above the sea, so that the air was cool even in the hottest weather. The valley, sixty odd miles in width, was surrounded by towering rocks which were a protection from invasion.

The Aztecs were few in numbers when they first came to the shores of the lake, but they increased rapidly in population and in power. Nearby were other Indian tribes, and, as there was much warfare between them, the Aztecs united themselves with the King of the Tezcucans in order to aid him against a tribe called the Tepanics, who had invaded his territory. The allies won, and, as a result, an agreement was made between the states of Mexico, Tezcuco, and Tlacopan, that they should support one another in the wars and divide all the spoils between them. This alliance remained unbroken for over a hundred years.

Although fond of warfare and cruel in their tortures to prisoners, the Aztecs had many wise laws and institutions, and were, in some respects, highly civilized. They were governed by an Emperor, and, when he died, another one was chosen by four nobles from among his sons or nephews. The one preferred was obliged to have distinguished himself in war, and he was not crowned until he had waged a successful campaign, had captured large numbers of the enemy, and thus provided enough captives to grace his entry into the capital.

The Aztecs worshiped thirteen principal gods, and more than two hundred of less importance, whose temples were everywhere to be seen. At the head of all the gods was the great Huitzilopochtli, whose temples were in every city of the empire, and whose image was always loaded with costly ornaments.

They also had a legend that there had once dwelt upon the earth the great god, Quetzalcoatl, god of the air, under whose sway the Aztec people had flourished and there had been peace and prosperity among all men. He was said to have been tall in stature, with a white skin, long, dark hair, and a flowing beard. He had, in fact, quite resembled a Spaniard, and this led to the success which Cortés had with the Mexicans, as you will presently see.

Quetzalcoatl, it was said, had in some way incurred the wrath of the principal gods, so that he had been forced to leave the country. He had turned towards the Gulf of Mexico, had stopped at the city of Cholula, and had then departed in a magic boat, made of serpent’s skins, to the fabled land of Tlapallan. Tradition had it that as he was leaving, he had turned to the faithful ones who had followed him saying: “Watch and wait for me, I shall come again.” For this reason the Aztecs were ever on the lookout for the great and benevolent god of the white skin and flowing beard.

As horses were not known, communication was held by means of couriers, who, trained from childhood to run, traveled with amazing swiftness. There were relay stations, or post houses, for these couriers, and they would thus carry on their messages for a hundred to two hundred miles in a day. In this manner the Emperor of the Aztecs, as he sat in his palace in the City of Mexico, would feast upon fresh fish, which, twenty-four hours before, had been caught in the Gulf of Mexico, over two hundred miles away. Thus the news was transmitted when war was in progress, and, as the messengers came along the highways, the people knew whether the tidings were good or bad, by the dress which they wore. If bad news, the runners were in black. If good, in gay colors.

The one great object of all expeditions made by the Aztecs was to capture victims to be sacrificed upon their altars. They believed that the soldier who fell in battle was transported at once to the blissful regions of the sun, and consequently they fought with an utter disregard for danger. The dress of the warriors was magnificent. Their bodies were protected by a belt of quilted cotton, impervious to all darts or arrows, and over this the chiefs wore mantles of gorgeous feather-work. Their helmets were made of wood, fashioned so as to resemble the head of some wild animal, and embellished with bits of gold and of silver. Their banners were embroidered with gold and with feather-work.

After the prisoners had been brought from the battle field they were sacrificed to the gods in a most brutal and horrible manner. The poor victim was held by five priests upon a huge, round, sacrificial stone; while a sixth butcher, clothed in a scarlet mantle, plunged a long knife into the breast of the writhing captive, and, cutting out the heart, held it up first to the sun, which they worshiped, and then cast it at the feet of the stone god. The dagger used was as sharp as a razor and made of “itztli,” a volcanic substance as hard as flint. This was not all. The body of the captive thus sacrificed was afterwards given to the warrior who had taken him in battle, who thereupon gave a great banquet and served him up among choice dishes and delicious beverages, for the entertainment of his friends.

The Aztecs called their temples, teocallis, which means, “Houses of God,” and there were several hundred of them in each of the principal cities. They looked like Egyptian pyramids, and were divided into four or five stories, each one smaller than the one below it. The ascent was by a flight of steps. At the top was a broad space on which stood a tower, from forty to fifty feet high, which contained the images of the gods. Before such a tower was the stone of sacrifice and two lofty altars on which the sacred fires burned continually. The floor was dyed crimson from the blood of the helpless victims of the Aztec wars.

These people were unknown to the Spaniards, at this time, since of them Grijalva sent back to Cuba only a few vague reports. It was said, however, that the country was full of gold and of treasure.

When this news reached the ears of Cortés he was immediately fired with a resolve to penetrate into this unknown land and to gain great renown for himself. The Governor of Cuba, likewise, determined to send out ships in order to follow up the discoveries of Grijalva. Who should be put in command? Who was better, indeed, than Hernando Cortés!

The Spanish adventurer, with the utmost energy, at once began to purchase and to fit out ships. He used all the money that he had saved and as much as he could persuade his friends to lend him, so that it was not long before he was in possession of six vessels, while three hundred recruits had signified their intention of sailing with him.

But now the Spanish nature began to assert itself, for a jealousy and distrust of Cortés took possession of the mind of Velasquez and he determined to entrust the fleet to the hands of some one else. This would have put an end to the aspirations of the youthful leader, had it not been whispered to him that Velasquez was about to have him removed from his place. He took care to checkmate the plans of his former enemy. Summoning his officers secretly, he set sail that very night with what supplies he was able to put his hands on, although his ships were neither ready for a voyage, nor properly provisioned.

Morning dawned and Velasquez heard that the fleet was under weigh. He rose hastily, galloped to the ocean, and found Cortés in a small boat drifting near the shore. The commander of the expedition rowed back to within speaking distance.

“This is a courteous way of taking leave of me, truly,” cried the angry Governor.

“Pardon me,” answered the young mariner. “Time presses and there are some things which should be done even before they are thought of. Good-bye, my friend; may you live to see the day when I return a great man.”

With that he paddled to the fleet and ordered all hands to sail away. This was November the 18th., 1518.

Shortly after this the vessels anchored off Trinidad, a town on the southern coast of Cuba. Here Cortés landed, set up his standard, and invited all, who wished to join the expedition, to come on with him. He told them that there was great wealth to be gained and attracted many volunteers to his banner. Finally, in February, he had sufficient reënforcements assembled, so he set sail. He had eleven vessels, one hundred and ten sailors, five hundred and fifty-three soldiers, and two hundred Indians. He likewise had sixteen horses, ten large guns, and four falconets, or light cannon.

The fleet set out, touched upon the coast in several places, and then reached the mouth of the Rio de Tabasco. The Spaniards landed and found that the Indians were hostile and were drawn up in great force against them. But Cortés had his cannon put ashore, ordered an attack, and soon had captured both the town of Tabasco and also many of the Indians, who saw the uselessness of further fighting, and consequently came humbly to the Spaniards, bringing presents and slaves. Among the latter was a beautiful Mexican girl called Malinche who had fallen into the hands of the cacique of Tabasco through some traders, to whom she had been sold by her mother. The Spaniards always called her Marina, and, as she quickly learned to speak their language, she was soon of inestimable assistance to them as an interpreter. Cortés made her his secretary and always kept her near him in the exciting days which followed.

By means of his interpreter, Cortés found that these Indians were the subjects of the emperor Montezuma, and were governed by Tenhtlile, one of the great nobles. He determined to send word to the potentate who ruled over this country and to let him know that he and his followers wished to see him.

Upon the day following, Tenhtlile arrived at the Spanish camp, accompanied by a numerous retinue. The Indian chieftain asked about the country of the strangers and the object of their visit.

“We are subjects of a powerful monarch beyond the seas,” replied the leader of the adventurers, “who has heard of the greatness of your Mexican Emperor and has sent me with a present to be delivered to him in person, as a token of his good will. I would be glad, therefore, to go immediately to his capital and trust that you can guide me there.”

This seemed to annoy the Aztec noble, for he replied in a haughty manner:

“How is it that you have been here only two days, and yet demand to see my Emperor? I am surprised to learn that there lives another monarch as powerful as Montezuma, but, if it is true that you are his representative, I will communicate with my Emperor and will forward to him the royal present sent by you. Meanwhile, pray receive the gifts which I have brought for you.”

As he spoke, a number of slaves came forward and deposited ten loads of gorgeous feather-work, and a wicker basket filled with golden ornaments.

Cortés was greatly pleased with this show of friendliness, and ordered his own soldiers to bring forth the presents for Montezuma. These were an armchair richly carved and painted, a crimson cloth cap with a gold medal, and a quantity of collars, bracelets and other ornaments of cut glass, which much surprised the Aztecs, as this was a country where there was no glass, and hence these were more valuable than emeralds or sapphires.

“I see over there a soldier with a shining thing upon his head,” now said Tenhtlile. “I should much like to send that to Montezuma, for it will remind him of the one worn by the god Quetzalcoatl. Can I not have it?”

“Certainly,” replied Cortes, “and I trust that you will ask the Emperor to return it filled with the gold dust of the country, so that I may compare it with that which is in mine own. If you must know it, my kind friend, we Spaniards are troubled with a disease of the heart for which gold is the only sure remedy. I trust, therefore, that you will send us all that you can.”

While he was speaking, Cortés observed that one of the Indians was busy with a pencil, and, on looking at his work, saw that he had made a sketch of the Spaniards, their costumes, and weapons. This was the celebrated picture writing, for which the Aztecs were famous.

“You see,” said Tenhtlile, “the Emperor can thus get an excellent idea of you and your followers.”

“Bring out the cavalry,” cried Cortes, at this. “We will show you our wonderful horses.”

The appearance of the snorting steeds filled the natives with astonishment, and, when the General ordered a cannon to be fired off, the natives ran away in alarm. The painters, however, were very busy, and faithfully recorded everything which the Spaniards possessed, even putting in a picture of the ships as they swung at anchor.

At length the Aztecs departed, with much bowing and scraping. Their chief, Tenhtlile, seemed to be in a good humor and left orders with his people to supply the Spanish general with all that he might require until further instructions from the Emperor Montezuma.

Meanwhile great excitement was taking place in the Mexican capital, for many seemed to think that the great god, Quetzalcoatl, had returned to earth and was about to revisit the scenes of his former life. Montezuma, himself, seemed to be undecided how to act. When the picture writings, showing the Spanish invaders, reached him, he summoned the Kings of Tezcuco and Tlacopan in order to consult with them as to how the strangers should be received. The three differed in their ideas, but finally Montezuma resolved to send a rich present to Cortés which would impress him with a high idea of the Emperor’s wealth and his grandeur. At the same time he determined to forbid him to approach the capital.

Eight days passed away—eight long days for Cortés and his men, as they were suffering greatly from the intense heat—and then the embassy, accompanied by the governor, Tenhtlile, arrived at the camp, and presented Cortés with the magnificent presents sent by Montezuma.

After the usual salute, the slaves unrolled some delicately woven mats and displayed the gifts which the Aztec Emperor had sent. There were shields, helmets, and cuirasses embossed with plates and ornaments of pure gold; with collars and bracelets of the same precious metal. There were also sandals, fans, plumes, and crests of variegated feathers, wrought with gold and silver thread, and sprinkled with pearls and with precious stones. There were golden birds and animals; curtain coverlets and robes of cotton. There were more than thirty loads of cotton cloth, and finally, the helmet which Cortés had sent, loaded to the brim with grains of pure gold.

This rich treasure fired the zeal and ardor of the Spaniards; yet they controlled themselves, and expressed admiration only for two circular plates of gold and of silver as large as carriage wheels. One, representing the sun, was richly carved with plants and with animals, and was worth a fabulous sum of money.

When the voyageurs had received the presents, the ambassadors courteously delivered their message, to the effect that Montezuma had great pleasure in holding communication with such a powerful monarch as the King of Spain; but could grant no personal interview to his soldiers. That the way to the capital was too long and dangerous for the white men to attempt. Therefore the strangers must return to the land from which they had come.

Cortés received this message with coldness, and, turning to his officers, said:

“This is, indeed, a rich and powerful Monarch, and he does well to speak in this manner; but I am determined to visit him in his capital.”

He then bade good-by to the Aztec ambassadors, who shortly withdrew. That night every neighboring hut was deserted by the natives, and the Spaniards were left quite alone in the wilderness. They prepared for an attack, but none came.

The soldiers now became mutinous, saying that it was about time they returned with what treasure they had already collected. Cortés had difficulty in keeping them out of the boats, but now an event occurred which aided him very materially in his design to march to the City of Mexico, a design which he had long ago determined upon.

Five Indians entered the camp who wore rings of gold and bright blue gems in their ears and nostrils. A gold leaf, delicately wrought, was attached to their under lip. These were not Aztecs and explained that they came from Cempoalla, the capital of a tribe called the Totonacs, who had been lately conquered by the Aztecs, and who greatly resented the oppressions of these bloodthirsty tribesmen. The fame of the Spaniards, said they, had reached their leader, who had sent them to request the strangers to visit him, and to aid him in throwing off the domination of the Aztecs.

It can be easily seen that Cortés was delighted to hear this. He saw that discontent in the provinces conquered by Montezuma could be turned to his own advantage, and that, by allying himself to these Totonacs, he might be able to conquer Montezuma himself. He therefore dismissed the tribesmen with many presents, promising that he would soon visit their city.

Not long afterwards, the army set out to march northward, to a place where it had been decided to build a town. The men crossed a river in rafts and broken canoes, which they found on the bank, and soon came to a very different kind of country than that which they had left behind them. There were wide plains covered with green grass and groves of palm trees, among which were deer and flocks of pheasants and wild turkeys. The trees were loaded with fruits and with beautiful clusters of bowers, while gayly plumaged birds fluttered in the branches. There were gardens and orchards on either side of the road. As the Spanish soldiers passed along, they were met by crowds of friendly natives, who mingled fearlessly with the soldiers, and hung garlands of flowers around the neck of the General’s horse.

The cacique, or chief of the Totonacs, received Cortés with great courtesy, and assigned his soldiers to a neighboring temple, where they were well supplied with provisions. Cortés, himself, was presented with several vessels of gold and robes of fine cotton.

Upon the following day the General paid the cacique a visit, and, with the aid of Marina, held a long talk with him. He promised to aid the Totonacs against Montezuma. This pleased the chief greatly, and he promised to assist the Spaniards in every way that he could. Cortés returned to his troops, ordered an advance, and soon reached the town of Chiahuitztla, which stood upon a crag overlooking the valley.

As the Spaniards were halted in the center of the village, five men entered the market place where they were standing. Their dark, glossy hair was tied in a knot upon the top of their heads, and they carried bunches of sweet-smelling flowers in their hands. Their attendants bore wands, or fans, to sweep away the flies and insects from their lordly masters, who, by their disdainful looks, showed that they considered themselves to be superior to all around them. They brushed by the Spaniards, scarcely seeming to notice them, and were immediately joined by the Totonac chiefs, who seemed anxious to gain their favor. Cortés was much astonished, and, turning to Marina, asked what this meant.

“These are Aztec nobles,” the girl replied, “and they are empowered to receive tribute for Montezuma.”

“What are they saying?” asked he.

“They bring word that Montezuma is very angry with the Totonacs for entertaining you and your men without his permission,” Marina replied. “And, as a punishment, he has demanded twenty young men and maidens to be sacrificed to the gods.”

Cortés was much irritated by this and told the Totonacs that they should not only refuse this demand but should seize the Aztec nobles and throw them into prison. This was done, but Cortés had the true Spanish character and now played a part of duplicity which was characteristic of the men from Seville. He had two of the captured Aztecs released, brought them before him, and very cunningly led them to believe that he was sorry to learn that they had been thrown into jail. He told them that he would help them to escape, and begged them to tell Montezuma that the great Emperor was held in high regard by the Spaniards. The two nobles were then hastily dispatched to the port where lay the Spanish vessels. They were taken on board, landed secretly upon the coast, and allowed to depart for the court of Montezuma. The Totonacs were very angry when they found that two of their prisoners had escaped, and determined to sacrifice the remainder; but Cortés interfered, had them taken to his vessels, and soon allowed them to join their companions. In this way he secured the friendship of Montezuma, while still appearing as the friend of the Totonacs.

Messengers were sent to all the other Totonac cities, telling the natives of the defiance that had been shown the Emperor, and bidding them, also, to refuse to pay tribute to Montezuma. The Indians soon came flocking into the town in order to confer with the powerful strangers, and thus Cortes managed to embroil them with the Emperor. At the same time he made them all swear allegiance to the Spanish King.

The Spaniards now busied themselves in building a town, for they had to have some place to store their belongings and also to retreat to in case of disaster. The Indians helped them willingly, so they soon had an excellent little village: the first one in new Spain.

When the Aztec nobles who had been set free reached the city of Mexico, and told Montezuma of the treatment which they had received, the Emperor of the Aztecs felt rather kindly disposed towards the Spaniards, and sent an embassy consisting of two young nephews and four of his chief nobles. They bore a princely gift of gold, richly embroidered cotton mantles, and robes of feather work. On coming before Cortés, the envoys presented Montezuma’s thanks to him for the courtesy he had shown the captive nobles.

“We believe that you are the long-looked-for strangers who are to return with the god Quetzalcoatl,” said the ambassadors, “and are therefore of the same lineage as ourselves. Therefore, out of deference to you, we will spare the Totonacs; but our day of vengeance against them will soon come.”

Nothing was said about not being allowed to journey to the capital, so Cortés gave these Aztecs presents, as usual, and told them that he intended to soon visit Montezuma in the city of Mexico, when all misunderstanding between them would be adjusted. The Totonacs were amazed and awed by the influence which the Spaniards seemed to exert upon the Aztecs, and felt safe from further incursions by the terrible Emperor.

The bold and resolute Cortés was now determined to march to Mexico City, itself, to oust Montezuma, and to obtain possession of his country and his treasures. But he knew that the Governor of Cuba was his enemy, and also knew that, should he not send news of his discoveries to the King of Spain, he would be seriously interfered with by Velasquez. Consequently he prepared a letter setting forth the extent and magnitude of his discoveries, gave up all his own treasure which he had obtained from the natives, and persuaded his soldiers to do the same. This was placed in the hands of some of his followers who were given a ship, were bidden god-speed, and were told to sail to Spain. Cortés besought the King to make him Governor over all the new territory, so that he could add the great Indian Empire to the possessions of the Spanish crown.

Very soon after the departure of the treasure ship, Cortés discovered that there was a conspiracy among his followers, who had seized one of the ships, had stored provisions and water on board, and were just about to set sail for Cuba. One of the traitors repented of the part he had taken in the plot, betrayed it to Cortés, and thus made evident the extent of the conspiracy. In consequence, the ringleaders were hanged, and the Spanish commander determined to take the bold step of destroying the ships without the knowledge of his army. Accordingly he marched his entire force to Cempoalla, where he told his plan to a few of his devoted adherents, who approved of it. Nine of the ships were sunk; after the sails, masts, iron, and all movable fittings had been brought ashore.

When this act became known, it caused the greatest consternation among the Spaniards. They murmured loudly, and mutiny was threatened. Cortés, however, was equal to the emergency. He managed to reassure them, to persuade them that he had only done what was best for them, and so cleverly told them of the fame and treasure which they were on the eve of gaining, that not one of them accepted the chance of returning to Cuba in the remaining ship.

August the sixteenth, 1519, was a day ushered in by brilliant sunshine, as if the fates were friendly to the daring Spanish adventurer. Cortés was now ready to advance into the interior, for he had obtained from the cacique of Cempoalla, thirteen hundred warriors and a thousand porters to carry his baggage and drag onward the guns. His own force amounted to four hundred foot and fifteen horses, with seven pieces of artillery. Surely a small and insignificant army with which to attempt to conquer this vast and populous land!

The army set out upon its mission of conquest, and, at the close of the second day, reached Xalapa, a mountain town, and from which they looked back upon one of the grandest views which they had ever seen. Around were towering mountains; below lay the flat region, a gay confusion of meadows, streams, and flowering forests, with now and again a tiny Indian village dotting the brilliant landscape. Far, far away, to the eastward, was a faint line of light upon the horizon, which told them that there rolled the ocean which they had lately crossed, and beyond which slumbered their country, which many never expected to see again. To the south a mighty mountain, called “Orizaba,” poked its head into the air, covered with a mantle of snow; while toward the southwest the Sierra Madre, with a dark belt of pine trees waving in the breeze, stretched with a long line of shadowy hills into the distance.

Onward and upward crawled the little army, pushing and jerking the guns over the rocks and crevices, and finally, on the fourth day, arrived at the town of Naulinco. The Indian inhabitants entertained the soldiers with great hospitality, for they were friendly with the Totonacs.

Cortés endeavored to persuade them to give up their savage idol worship, and, through a priest, Father Almedo, had them instructed in the teachings of Christianity and had a cross erected for future worship.

The troops pressed onward, entered a narrow, ragged valley, called “the Bishop’s Pass,” and, as they toiled around a bare, volcanic mountain, a snow-storm descended upon them with great violence. The Indians, who were natives of the flat region, suffered dreadfully, and several of them died by the way. The Spaniards, however, were protected by their thick coats of cotton, and thus bore up well beneath the change of climate.

For three days the little band pressed forward over the rugged mountain trail,—then emerged into an open country with a more genial climate. They had reached the great table-land which spreads out for hundreds of miles along the crests of the mountains, more than seven thousand feet above the level of the sea. Carefully cultivated fields of corn lay around them, and, as they trudged forward, they came upon a populous city made of substantial buildings of stone and of lime.

The army rested here for four or five days and then went on through a broad valley shaded by lofty trees and watered by a splendid river. An unbroken line of Indian dwellings extended for several leagues, and, on a knoll, stood a town of four to five thousand inhabitants, commanded by a fortress with walls and trenches. The army halted here and the troops were met with friendly treatment.

As the soldiers refreshed themselves, Cortés made inquiries concerning the route which he was to follow. The Indians, who were traveling with him, told him to go through Tlascala: a small republic which had always managed to maintain its independence against Mexican arms. The tribesmen had been friendly with the Totonac allies of the Spaniards, and had the reputation of being frank, fearless, and trustworthy.

Cortés decided to attempt to gain their good will, so he dispatched four or five of his principal Cempoallan allies to the Tlascalan capital with a cap of crimson cloth and a sword and cross-bow, as gifts. They were to ask permission to pass through the land and were to express admiration for the valor and the courage of the Tlascalans in resisting the Aztecs for such a long time. Three days after the departure of these envoys, the army resumed its march.

At last they reached the border of the Tlascalan territory, and were much surprised to find a strong fortification in their path. This was a stone wall nine feet high and twenty feet thick, with a parapet a foot and a half broad at the top, for the protection of those who defended the causeway. It had only one opening in the center, made by two semi-circular lines of wall which overlapped each other. As it extended for more than two miles and was built of natural blocks of stone, it could be easily seen, that, had the Tlascalans cared to dispute the passage of the Spanish invaders, not only would they have inflicted great damage upon them, but would undoubtedly have forced them to retire towards the sea-coast.

Fortune favored the Spanish command. No Tlascalans were there to hurl javelins and arrows into their ranks, so they pressed onward towards the capital.

“Tlascala” means the land of bread. The Tlascalans were an agricultural people and their country was very fertile. They had previously lived upon the western shore of Lake Tezcuco, a part of Mexico which was not very productive; but their neighbors had driven them from their original holdings and were now very jealous of their prosperity: so jealous, in fact, that the Tlascalans repeatedly had to defend themselves against their attacks. Montezuma, himself, had endeavored to conquer them, but they had defeated an army sent against them and commanded by the Emperor’s favorite son. This had highly enraged the great ruler and he repeatedly harassed them with his troops, so that they were certainly glad to see some one journey to their land with whom they could ally themselves. They had heard about the Spaniards and their victorious advance, but they had not expected that they would venture their way. They were therefore much embarrassed when they saw the white-skinned strangers at their very gates, and demanding a passage through the fertile agricultural regions which they had so often defended with their lives.

While the Tlascalan chiefs were in the council chamber, trying to make up their minds what to do, Cortés and his men were advancing through their country. As they threaded their way through a steep gorge, they saw before them a small party of Indians armed with swords and bucklers. They fled as the Spaniards approached, but the men from Castile spurred their horses, and overtook them. As they were endeavoring to parley with them, the Indians turned and furiously assaulted those in armor. A stiff fight ensued and the native force would soon have been cut to pieces had not a body of several thousand Indians appeared, who rushed to their rescue. Cortés hastily dispatched a messenger to bring up his infantry and stood off the overwhelming masses of the enemy as best he could. The Indians fought like tigers, dragged to the ground one cavalier, who afterwards died of his wounds, and killed two horses by cutting through their necks with great broadswords. This was a serious loss to the Spaniards, as their steeds were very few, and they needed them, not only for battle, but also for hauling their possessions over the rough mountain trails.

Arrows were whizzing fast around the ears of the horsemen in the advance, when the infantry approached. Hastily falling into position, the soldiers delivered a volley from their crossbows, which not only astonished the enemy, but threw them into great confusion. The natives soon beat a hasty retreat, and the road towards the Tlascalan capital was left open to the adventurers.

This was not the only battle with the Tlascalans. Several other bands of natives were defeated as the Spanish pressed forward, so that, when the daring Cortés sent an embassy to the Tlascalan capital, his men received a most respectful hearing from the dejected natives, A free passage through the Tlascalan possessions was offered to these white gods and they were furnished with food.

Meanwhile, what of Montezuma?

As the terrible strangers advanced towards his capital, news of all of their doings had been faithfully reported to him by his runners, or messengers. He learned, with dismay, that these fair-skinned soldiers were defeating all of the natives that were sent against them. He saw that they were practically invincible, and that, before very long, they would be knocking at the very gates of his capital. With great satisfaction he had heard of their taking the road through the land of the Tlascalans, for he knew these Indians to be fiercely warlike, and he hoped that the white gods (so called) were only mortal men, and would prove to be no match for the natives who had defeated his own best troops. Alas! He now learned that even these gallant warriors had succumbed to the prowess of the strangers.

In his alarm and uncertainty, he dispatched five great nobles of his court, attended by two hundred slaves, to bear to Cortés a gift consisting of three thousand ounces of gold and several hundred robes of cotton and of feather-work.

The Spanish leader received the fawning natives with respectful attention. They laid the gifts at his feet and told him that they had come to offer him Montezuma’s congratulations upon his many victories. They also stated that they wished to express their regret that the Emperor could not receive them at the capital, for his own population was so unruly, that, should they enter the city, he could not answer for their safety. He therefore respectfully requested Cortés to retire to the sea-coast.

“I wish to express my greatest respect for Montezuma,” replied the artful Cortés, “and I wish that I could do as he desires. But I have received commands from my own sovereign to visit the City of Mexico, and it would go ill with me should I disobey the desires of the mighty Monarch of Spain. Tell the great and powerful Montezuma that I will some day repay him for his wonderful presents. And tell him, also, that I will be soon at the gates of Mexico City, where I hope to be received in a style befitting the Monarch whom I represent.”

The Mexican ambassadors withdrew, but they were sadly displeased with the turn which matters were taking. They saw a firm friendship established between the Tlascalans—their mortal enemies—and the dreaded Spaniards. They also saw that nothing could deter the white men from coming forward. So, with gloomy faces and lowered eyes, they departed for the City of Mexico.

The Spanish troops were well treated by the Tlascalans, who feasted and entertained them in the four quarters of their city. But amid all these friendly demonstrations the General never relaxed, for a second, the discipline of the camp, and no soldier was allowed to leave his quarters without special permission.

Montezuma, meanwhile, had received the message from the doughty Spanish invader and was more frightened than even before. Had he exhibited a good fighting spirit, and had he been determined to expel the Spaniards, he could have raised a hundred thousand fighting men to overwhelm them as they advanced upon his capital. But he was lacking in resolution. Deep in his soul he had a suspicion that Cortes was really the god Quetzalcoatl, come back again to Mexico in order to bring peace and prosperity with him. In his heart he feared, that, should he kill the invader, he would be sacrificing one of the gods. And thus he vacillated, hesitated, and, at length, seeing that he could not buy off the invader with money, or frighten him by means of threats, determined to conciliate him. So he sent word that he invited the Spaniards to visit him in his capital, and requested them to take a route through the friendly city of Cholula, where arrangements were being made, by his orders, for their reception. He also besought Cortés to make no alliance with the Tlascalans; whom he called base, treacherous, and barbarous.

But now came startling events, yet events which pleased the daring Cortés greatly, for the conqueror was never so happy as when in the thick of fighting.

After a short consultation among the officers, the Spanish army moved forward on the road to Cholula. It was an ancient and populous place, six leagues to the south of Tlascala. Its inhabitants excelled in the art of working in metals, and in manufacturing cotton cloth and delicate pottery. They were not as bloodthirsty as the surrounding tribes, but were distinguished more for the skill in the arts than for their warlike attainments. Here it is supposed that the god Quetzalcoatl had paused on his way to the coast, many years before, and to his honor a great pyramid had been erected, upon which was a gorgeous temple and a statue of the fair-skinned god, bedecked with gold and with jewels.

Six thousand Tlascalan warriors allied themselves with Cortés in his march towards the capital. As the troops drew near the town of Cholula they were met by swarms of men, women, and children, all eager to catch a glimpse of these wonderful strangers. An immense number of priests, swinging censers, mingled with the crowd, and, as the Spaniards moved onward, they were decorated with garlands of flowers; while musicians filled the air with strange, melodious symphonies. The strangers were given lodgings in the court of one of the many teocallis and were well supplied with provisions.

All seemed to be going well, and the Spaniards were highly pleased with their reception, but soon the scene changed. Messengers arrived from Montezuma, who told Cortés that his approach occasioned much disquietude to their royal master. They hinted that he would not be well received, and then had a separate conference with the Cholulans. When they departed they took one of them off with them. The Cholulans now kept away from the Spanish camp, and, when pressed for an explanation, made many excuses, saying that they were ill. The supply of provisions ran short, and, when asked to bring more corn, the Indians answered that they were unable to do so, as it was very scarce.

The doughty General of the Spanish forces became alarmed at this sudden change. His allies, the Cempoallans, now told him, that, in wandering about the city, they had seen several streets barricaded, and, in some places, they saw where holes had been dug and a sharp stake planted upright in each. Branches had been strewn over these pits in order to conceal them. They also announced that the flat roofs of the houses were being stored with stones and with other missiles.

Cortés prepared for an attack, particularly as his Tlascalan allies announced, that, in a far distant quarter of the town, a number of children had been sacrificed to the war god: the mighty Huitzilopochtli. They reported, too, that numbers of the people had taken their wives and children out of the city, as if to get away from the battle which was imminent.

Shortly after this, Marina made a discovery which proved that the Spaniards were in a most precarious position. The wife of one of the Cholulan caciques had taken a great fancy to the Mexican girl, and had continually urged her to visit her house; hinting, rather carefully and very mysteriously, that she would, in this way, escape a great danger which threatened the Spaniards. Marina appeared to be delighted with this proposal, and pretended to be glad to have a chance of escaping from the white men. She, at length, won the confidence of the Cholulan lady, who revealed the entire plot to her, a plot which had originated with Montezuma, and by which he hoped to get rid of these terrible strangers.

A force of twenty thousand Mexicans, said the wife of the cacique, were already near the city, and were to fall upon the Spaniards and their allies as they left. They were to be assisted by the Cholulans, who had stored great quantities of rocks and arrows to hurl upon the unsuspecting white men as they defiled along the roadway leading to the City of Mexico. After the fair-faced strangers had been captured, some were to be left with the Cholulans for sacrificial victims to their gods; the rest were to be sent in chains to Montezuma.

Marina rushed to the gallant Cortés with the news of this impending disaster to his army. The General at once ordered the cacique’s wife to be seized, and she repeated to him the same story that she had told to Marina. The Spanish leader was not slow to act. Two native priests were immediately summoned into his presence, one of whom was a person of much prominence. By courteous treatment and many presents, he secured from them a complete confirmation of the story which Marina had told him. There was no time to be lost and Cortés was a man of action.

Sending for the more prominent Cholulans, Cortés asked them to supply him with two thousand porters, next morning, as he had determined to move his army away from the town, and would need this many additional men, in order to transport his luggage and the many presents which had been given to him. After some consultation, the chiefs decided to give him this number of men, as it would assist them in their own plan of annihilating the invaders of their country. But Cortés had made up his mind how to act, and intended to annihilate the Cholulans when once he had them in his power. Night fell upon the city and every Spanish soldier lay down fully armed. The sentinels were doubled, but all remained quiet.

When the first streak of dawn reddened the east, next morning, Cortés was ahorse, and was directing the movements of his little band of heroic Spaniards. He placed the greater portion of his small force in the large oblong court in the center of the town. These were lined up in a hollow square, facing the center, all fully armed, with pouches filled with bullets, and quite ready for anything that might occur. A strong guard was placed at each of the three gates leading from the town, and a number of the best soldiers were stationed in charge of the cannon, which were pointed so as to command all the more prominent roads leading to the center of the native stronghold.

Hardly had this disposition of the troops been made than the Cholulan caciques arrived, bringing a much larger body of porters than Cortés had demanded. They were placed within the hollow square formed by the Castilian infantry.

The Spanish leader now took the caciques aside and said in a stern tone:

“Know, O Chiefs, that I have learned of your conspiracy to destroy me and my followers. I am fully aware that you intend to fall upon me and my men when we leave town, and I am determined to deal a just and summary vengeance upon you.”

The Cholulans were thunderstruck, and gazed with awe upon these strangers, who seemed to have the power of reading their inmost thoughts. They made no attempt to deny the accusation, but tried to excuse themselves by throwing the blame upon Montezuma.

“The great Emperor made us do it,” said they.

“I do not care whether he made you do it or not,” answered the irritated leader of these Spanish conquerors. “For daring to think that you could capture and defeat me and my men, I will put you all to death, so that it will teach any others who may have designs upon my person, in the future, to leave me alone. ‘Fire!’”

As he spoke a cannon growled out an ominous roar. It was the signal for which the Spanish soldiers had been anxiously awaiting.

In an instant the muskets and crossbows were leveled at the startled Cholulans, as they stood crowded together in the center of the market place. A crash of firearms,—and many of them lay groaning upon the pavement. Then, with a fierce and vindictive yell, the Spanish soldiers rushed at the natives with their swords, and mowed them down as they stood. The Indians had heard nothing of what was going on, and offered but slight resistance to the armored men of Castile.

Wild shrieks and yells arose above the din of firearms, as the massacre took place, and, attracted by the noise, the Cholulans from outside began a furious assault upon the Spanish soldiers. The heavy cannon opened fire upon them as they approached, and, when they advanced in close formation, many were swept off their feet. The cavalrymen now charged into their midst and hewed a passageway of blood in the lane of human beings. The Tlascalan allies of the Spaniards fell upon the rear of the battling Cholulans. Thus, harassed upon every side, the Cholulan townsfolk could no longer maintain their ground. They fled, some to the buildings nearby, others to the temples of the gods.

Headed by several priests, one strong body of fugitives ran to the largest of all the temples, the great teocalli. As the Spaniards came storming up the steps, these rained down stones, javelins, and burning arrows upon them. In spite of this shower of missiles, the soldiers pressed hard upon the heels of the fugitives, set fire to the wooden tower, and cheered wildly when they saw the natives throw themselves headlong from the parapet.

All was confusion and slaughter in the city of Cholula. The Spaniards and Tlascalans plundered and burned wherever they went, and, as the Tlascalans seemed only to want clothes and provisions, the adventurers under Cortés secured all the gold and jewels that they cared to have. Thus fire, plunder, and murder went on for many hours, until the General yielded to the entreaties of the Cholulan chiefs, who had been saved from the massacre, and, calling off his men, put an end to further violence. By degrees the tumult was appeased. The terrible vengeance of the invaders made a great impression upon the natives, but no one trembled more than did Montezuma on his throne within the mountains.

The Mexican Emperor, in fact, felt his empire melting away from him. His former vassals, on every hand, were sending envoys to the Spanish camp to tender their allegiance to the crown of Castile, and to attempt to secure the favor of the conqueror by rich gifts of gold and of slaves. Montezuma made up his mind to send another embassy to Cortés, the members of which were to impress upon him the fact that the Emperor had nothing to do with the conspiracy at Cholula. The envoys carried splendid presents of golden vessels and ornaments, including artificial birds made in imitation of turkeys with their plumage worked in gold, and also fifteen hundred robes of delicate cotton cloth. When they spoke to Cortés they told him that Montezuma had no knowledge of the plot to attack the Spaniards after they had left the town of Cholula and that the Aztec force had been sent there, not to assist in annihilating the Spaniards, but to quell a disturbance in the neighborhood.

Cortés, who was not fooled by this series of lies by Montezuma, remained quietly in the confines of Cholula. He restored the city again to order, seized upon the great temple, or teocalli, of which all the woodwork had been burned, and built a church out of the stones which remained. He also opened the cages in which hundreds of captives were kept until the day should come when they were to be sacrificed. After this had been done, he called up the chiefs of his Tlascalan allies, told them that the armies would now march toward the City of Mexico, and, upon the day following, set his own troops in motion.

He moved slowly, and soon was met by another embassy from the Emperor, consisting of several Aztec noblemen who brought a rich gift, indeed, and also a message from the trembling Montezuma to the effect that he would give four loads of gold to the General, each year, and one load to each of his Captains, if he would turn back from the city and would leave him alone. Cortés was surprised at this show of weakness and also pleased that the Aztec sovereign did not attack him. He replied that he could not return to the King of Spain without first visiting the Emperor at his capital.

“We Spaniards,” said he, “are advancing in a spirit of peace, and wish to be courteously received. If, after a short stay, you find our visit burdensome, it is very easy for you to notify us that our presence in your beautiful city is no longer desired.”

The ambassador reported this answer to Montezuma, who called a council of his chief advisors to determine what was now to be done. A great difference of opinion arose. Cacama, the Emperor’s nephew, counseled him to receive the Spaniards courteously, as the ambassadors of a foreign prince; while his brother, Cuilahua, urged him to muster all his fighting men and to drive back the invaders, or die in the defense of his capital.

Torn with doubt and distress, the Emperor did not know which way to turn. It would not have been impossible to strike the invaders with his warriors, but Montezuma feared these white-skinned travelers as he had never before feared any enemy.

“Of what avail is resistance,” said he, “when the gods have declared themselves against us? I must face the storm as best I may. I see my empire crumbling to dust before these invaders, and I am prepared to fight only when I see that I cannot rid myself of them by peaceful means.”

Thus, trusting that he would eventually free himself from this menacing band, Montezuma awaited the entry of the Spaniards into the city.

The followers of Cortés, with their Tlascalan allies, now marched along the southern shores of Lake Chalco, through forests of strange-looking trees, such as they had never seen before, and orchards growing with unknown fruits. At length they came to a great dike, or causeway, four or five miles in length, which divided Lake Chalco, from Xochicalco, on the west. It was sufficiently wide, in some parts, for eight horsemen to ride abreast; and was solidly built of stone and of lime. At its narrowest part it was only a lance’s length in breadth.

From the causeway the army descended upon a narrow point which lay between the two lakes, and, quickly crossing over this, reached the royal residence at Iztapalapan, a place governed by Montezuma’s brother. Here Cortés was presented with gifts of gold and costly stuffs, and then the Spaniards were led into the gorgeous halls of the palace, the roof of which was of odorous cedar wood, while the stone walls were hung with brilliant tapestries. Here, also, the army rested for an entire night, ready and prepared for the advance upon the following morning into the sacred precincts ruled over by Montezuma.

Day dawned. As the sharp tones of the bugle woke the echoes in the quaint Aztec village, the Spanish adventurers bestirred themselves, formed in line of march, and followed by the dark horde of Tlascalan warriors, advanced upon the capital. Cortés’ force was not more than seven thousand in all, and of this number less than four hundred were Spaniards. The adventure seemed foolhardy indeed. How could four hundred Spaniards hope to conquer an entire country?

At the distance of half a mile from the capital the invaders encountered a solid fortification, like a great curtain of stone, which was built across the dike. It was twelve feet high, and had a tower on each end; in the center was a battlement-gateway through which the troops passed. This was the fort of Xoloc, and here the Spaniards were met by several hundred Aztec chiefs. After the usual salutations, the march was resumed, and the army reached a wooden drawbridge which crossed an opening in the dike. As the soldiers left it, they realized that they were in the power of Montezuma, for, had he so wished, he could cut them off from communication with the country, and hold them prisoners in his capital.

But now the Emperor Montezuma, himself, approached. A crowd of Indian nobles surrounded him, and he was preceded by his officers of state, bearing golden wands. Reclining upon the royal palanquin, blazing with burnished gold, he was borne aloft by four attendants, who were barefooted, and who walked with a slow, measured pace, their eyes bent upon the ground. Montezuma wore a square cloak of the finest cotton, on his feet were sandals with soles of gold, and both cloak and sandals were sprinkled with pearls and with precious stones. On his head was a plume of royal green feathers, the badge of his military rank. He was at this time about forty years of age, was tall and thin, and lighter in color than most of his countrymen.

The Emperor received Cortés with princely courtesy, and appointed his brother to conduct the Spaniards to their quarters. The adventurers followed their guide, and, with colors flying and with music playing, entered the southern portion of the Aztec capital. As they proceeded, they crossed many bridges which spanned the canals, and at length halted in a wide, open space, near the center of the city and close to the temple of the war god. Here were a number of low, stone buildings, once a palace belonging to the Emperor’s father, but now to become the lodging of the Spaniards.

After a rapid survey the General assigned the troops to their respective quarters. He planted his cannon so as to command the approaches to the palace, stationed sentinels along the walls, and ordered that no soldier should leave his quarters under pain of death. When all these precautions had been taken, he allowed his men to enjoy the banquet prepared for them.

Not long after this, Montezuma came to visit the fair-skinned strangers, and was received with great courtesy by Cortés, who had the faithful Marina to interpret for him. The Emperor made many inquiries concerning the country of the Spaniards, and particularly asked why Cortés and his men had visited Mexico.

“We have desired to see you,” answered the General, “and to declare to you the true faith which we, as Christians, believe. We think that your own worship is most pernicious, and we do not approve of the many human sacrifices which you are continually making to your gods. We therefore pray that you give up the worship of idols, adopt the faith of Jesus Christ, and cease to tear out the hearts of poor human beings as a sacrifice in your temples.”

The Emperor smiled at the reference to the ancient customs of the Aztecs, and made many inquiries concerning the rank of the cavaliers in their own country and their positions in the army. He then commanded a gift of cotton robes to be distributed among the Spaniards and their Tlascalan allies, and returned to his own palace. When he had departed, Cortés ordered a general discharge of his artillery, so as to impress the natives with his power. The noise of the guns and the smoke filled the Aztecs with alarm and dismay, and put them in great fear of these strangers from another country.

Cortés had several other audiences with the Aztec ruler, who seemed to wish to treat these adventurers with kindness and consideration; but the Spanish general was harassed by many doubts. He was in the heart of a great capital, with dikes and drawbridges on every side, which might be converted into serious obstacles against him and his men, should the Aztecs determine to crush the small Spanish army. At a nod from the mighty Montezuma all communication with the rest of the country would be cut off, and the whole population would be immediately hurled upon him and his handful of followers. Against such odds, of what avail would be his armor, his muskets, and his cannon? Montezuma had a thousand warriors to his one. His best policy, therefore, seemed to be to keep up the superstitious reverence in which he seemed to be held by both the Emperor and his people, and to find out all that he could about the city and its inhabitants. Then, should the opportunity occur, he would seize the chief power for himself.

Next day the General asked the Emperor’s permission to visit the principal public buildings and received a willing assent. Putting himself at the head of his cavalry, and, followed by nearly all of his foot soldiers, he set out, under the guidance of several caciques, to view more closely what he had only seen at a distance. He was led to the great teocalli of the god of war, Huitzilopochtli, which stood in an open court surrounded by a wall of stone and lime, about eight feet high, and ornamented by raised figures of serpents, so that it was called the “wall of serpents.” It was pierced by huge gateways, opening upon the four principal streets of the city, and over each gate was an arsenal filled with arms and other warlike gear.

The Spanish visitors climbed up the flights of steps and reached the great paved space at the summit, where was a huge, round stone upon which the victims were stretched before their hearts were cut out to propitiate the feelings of the great god. At the other end of the platform stood two towers, each three stories in height, in which were the images of the gods.

Montezuma came forward to receive Cortés and conducted him into the first tower, at the end of which, in a huge recess, stood a colossal stone image of Huitzilopochtli, the god of war. In his right hand he held a bow: in his left a bunch of golden arrows. The second sanctuary was dedicated to Tezcatlepoco, who was believed to have created the earth and to watch over it. He was represented as a young man, although his image was made of polished, black stone, garnished with gold plates and with ornaments. A shield, burnished like a mirror, was upon one arm; and in this was supposed to be reflected the doings of the world.

On descending again to the courtyard, the cavaliers took a careful look at the other buildings in the inclosure, and saw, to their horror, a great mound with a timber framework upon its summit, along which were strung hundreds of thousands of skulls: those of the many victims which had been sacrificed. The rest of the space was filled with schools, granaries and gardens. Several fountains, spouting crystal streams of water, played gracefully in the clear air. It was a combination of barbarism and civilization which was quite characteristic of the Mexican people.

Upon the day following, the Spaniards asked permission to convert one of the halls in their palace into a chapel where they could hold the services of their church, and Montezuma readily granted their request. While the work was in progress, a young cavalier discovered what seemed to be a door which had only recently been plastered over. There was a rumor that Montezuma kept the treasures of his father in this place, so, to satisfy their eager curiosity, the plaster was knocked away. Sure enough, a doorway was beyond the plaster, and, pushing this aside, a great hall was disclosed, filled with all manner of rich and beautiful stuffs. There were also much gold and silver in bars, and many jewels of inestimable value. Some thought that all the riches in the world were in that room. Afraid to touch it, then, by command of the General, the wall was again built up, and strict orders were given that the discovery must be kept a profound secret.

Time was passing and Cortés grew somewhat worried over his position. Some of his officers were for an immediate retreat. Some, and these were in the majority, were well satisfied with the plan which their General now disclosed to them, which was: to march to the royal palace, and by persuasion, or force, to induce Montezuma to take up his abode in the Spanish quarters. When they had taken possession of his person, it would be easy to rule in his name, until they had made their position secure. Then, too, reënforcements might reach them at any time.

An excuse soon offered itself, for two of the Spaniards were treacherously murdered by the Aztecs, when upon a journey to Vera Cruz, and this was sufficient pretext to seize the person of the Emperor. Having asked for an audience with Montezuma, which was granted, the Spanish adventurer immediately made the necessary arrangements for this hazardous enterprise. The principal part of his force was drawn up in the courtyard, next day, but one detachment was stationed in the avenue leading to the palace, so that no rescue could be attempted by the citizens. Twenty-five or thirty soldiers were ordered to drop into the palace by twos and by threes, as if accidentally, and Cortés was accompanied by five cavaliers upon whose courage and coolness he could perfectly rely. All were in full mail and were armed to the teeth.

Montezuma seemed to be in great good spirits when the Spaniards arrived, and paid Cortés the compliment of offering him one of his daughters in marriage; an honor which the general most respectfully declined, because of the fact that he already had one wife. Not long after this he saw that all of his soldiers were ready, and, turning to Montezuma, asked him why the Aztecs had murdered his two soldiers at Vera Cruz. The Emperor listened to him with great surprise, and said that such an act had never been by his direction.

“I care not whether you ordered this massacre or not,” replied Cortés, “this native chief, Quanhpopoca, whose men killed my soldiers, must be sent for at once, so that I may deal with him as he deserves.”

Montezuma agreed to this, and, taking his royal signet ring from his finger, gave it to one of his nobles, with orders to show it to the Aztec governor and require his immediate presence in the capital. In case he resisted, the bearer was to call in the aid of the neighboring towns and their fighting men.

The messenger had soon disappeared, and Cortés assured the smiling Montezuma that he was now perfectly convinced of his innocence in the matter, but that it was quite necessary that his own sovereign should be assured of it. Nothing could therefore be better than that Montezuma should transfer his residence to the palace occupied by the Spaniards, as this would show a personal regard for the Spanish monarch which would free him from all suspicion.

To this proposal Montezuma listened with the greatest amazement, and then exclaimed, with resentment and offended dignity:

“When was it that a great prince like myself willingly left his own palace to become a prisoner in the hands of strangers?”

“You will not go as a prisoner,” replied the artful Cortés, “but will simply be changing your residence.”

“If I should consent to such a degradation,” cried Montezuma, wrathfully, “my subjects never would.”

But Cortés was obdurate and insisted that the Aztec should go, in spite of the fact that the Emperor offered him one of his sons and two of his daughters as hostages, so that he might be spared this disgrace. Thus two hours passed by in a fruitless discussion.

Finally Velasquez de Leon, one of the cavaliers, who was impatient at the long delay, cried out in loud tones:

“Why do we waste words on this barbarian? Let us seize him, and, if he resists, let us plunge our swords into his body!”

The fierce tones of the man in armor, coupled with his menacing gesture, alarmed Montezuma, who asked Marina what the angry Spaniard had remarked. The Mexican girl explained, as gently as she could, what had been said, then besought him to accompany the white men, who would surely treat him with respect and kindness.

“If you refuse,” she whispered, “you will, perhaps, be killed.”

As she said this, the Emperor shuddered, and, looking around for some sympathetic glance, saw only the stern faces and mail-clad forms of the Spaniards. He felt that, should he refuse, he would be immediately dispatched.

“I will go with you, Malinche,” said he, in a scarcely audible voice. “Bring forward the royal litter!”

As the Aztec retinue marched dejectedly down the avenue to the Spanish quarters, the people crowded together, crying out that Montezuma had been carried off by force.

“Disperse, subjects!” cried the Emperor. “I am visiting my friends of my own accord.”

The crowd remained quiet, and, on reaching the Spanish quarters, Montezuma sent out his nobles to the mob with similar assurances, and bade them all return to their homes.

The Spaniards received him with great respect and allowed him to choose his own apartments, which were speedily furnished with tapestry, feather-work, and all other Indian luxuries. Yet it was only too clear to the Aztecs themselves that their honored Emperor was a prisoner, as by day and night the palace was guarded by sixty sentinels, both in the front and in the rear, while yet another body was stationed in the royal antechamber.

In a day or two, the native chief, Quanhpopoca, arrived from the coast. He was asked by Cortés why he had made an attack upon his soldiers, and, as he could make no satisfactory reply, was immediately condemned to be burned to death. Montezuma made no objection to this, so a funeral pile was erected in the courtyard before the palace, and upon this the chief and his attendants were burned. Just before the execution took place, Cortés entered the Emperor’s apartment, followed by a soldier bearing fetters in his hands. The Spanish general accused Montezuma of having been the instigator of this treacherous deed, and said that a crime which merited death in a subject, must be likewise atoned for by a king. With this, he ordered the soldier to fasten the fetters upon Montezuma’s ankles, and, after coolly waiting until this was done, turned his back upon the outraged Aztec Emperor, and quitted the room.

After the execution was over Cortés came in and unclasped the irons with his own hands. Montezuma thanked him as if he had received some great and unmerited favor.

Not long after this the Spanish commander told Montezuma that he could return to his own quarters. But the Emperor declined to go back, for, realizing how his conduct must be viewed by the great nobles of his Empire, he decided that his life was safer with the Spaniards than with them. Although he had thus resigned himself, without a fight, to a life of captivity, some of his kinsmen were determined to rescue their Emperor from the clutches of these fair-skinned invaders. His nephew, Cacama, lord of the Tezcuco, was especially incensed at the method by which Montezuma had been stolen, and tried to stir up the Aztecs to make an attack upon the Spanish robbers. Actuated by jealousy, the other nobles refused to join Cacama, declaring themselves unwilling to do anything without the Emperor’s sanction.

Cortés heard of this, and wished to march at once upon Tezcuco, in order to stamp out the spark of rebellion, but Montezuma persuaded him to get hold of Cacama personally, and to make away with him. Cacama was enticed into a villa overhanging the lake, where he was overpowered, forced into a boat, and speedily brought to Mexico City. Here he was fettered and imprisoned. His kingdom was given to his brother,—a mere boy,—to reign in his stead.

Now Cortés felt himself powerful enough to demand that Montezuma and all his nobles should formally swear allegiance to the King and Queen of Spain. He accordingly requested the Emperor to call together his principal caciques, and, when they were gathered together, Montezuma addressed them as follows:

“You all know, O caciques, our ancient tradition, how the Great Being who once ruled over the land, declared that he would one day return and reign again. That time has now arrived. The white men have come from the land beyond the sea, sent by their master to reclaim the obedience of his ancient subjects. I am ready, for my part, to acknowledge his authority. You have been faithful vassals of mine all through the years that I have sat upon the throne of my father; I now expect that you will show me a last act of obedience, by acknowledging the great King beyond the waters to be your lord also, and that you will pay him tribute as you have hitherto done to me.”

As he spoke, the tears fell fast down his cheeks, and his nobles were deeply affected by the sight of his distress. Many of these fierce fighting-men had come from a great distance, and had no idea of what was going on in the capital. Hence they were filled with astonishment at seeing the voluntary submission of their master to this mere handful of Spanish soldiers. They had always reverenced him as their all powerful lord, and, therefore, were willing to obey him and to swear allegiance to the white men’s sovereign. Accordingly the oaths were administered, with due solemnity, and a full record of these proceedings was drawn up by the royal notary to be sent to Spain.

The Spanish explorer had now gained the greatest object of the expedition, but in the conversion of the natives to Christianity he seemed to have made little progress, and the horrible sacrifices, where human hearts were torn from the breasts of captives, were occurring every day. What could be done? With the blatant disregard for the sentiments of the natives that had always characterized his actions, Cortés determined to hold the services of the church in the temple of the great god, Huitzilopochtli, and notified Montezuma to this effect. The Emperor listened in great consternation.

“Malinche,” said he, “why will you push matters to an extremity that will surely bring down the vengeance of our gods and stir up an insurrection amongst my people? They will never endure this profanation of their temple. Do not attempt to destroy their gods, for, if you do so, you will be driven from the land by the enfuriated populace.”

In spite of what the weak-minded ruler had said, Cortés decided to hold the services of the church in one of the sanctuaries of the famous temple, which was dedicated to the fearful god of war. Consequently, the whole army moved, one day, in a solemn procession up the winding ascent to the pyramid, and mass was celebrated by Father Almedo. The Aztecs crowded around in order to view this ceremony, and looked on with repugnance plainly showing in their dark faces.

As Montezuma had prophesied, the Mexican people were greatly outraged by this profanation of their temple, and many conferences now took place between the Emperor and the nobles. After several weeks, Cortés received a summons to appear before the Aztec chief, who said, in rather apologetic tones:

“What I told you in connection with the insult to our gods has come to pass. The gods are offended and they threaten to forsake our city if you and your men are not driven from it. If you regard your safety, you will leave the country without delay. I have only to lift my finger and every Aztec in the land will rise against you.”

“I shall greatly regret to say good-bye to your capital,” Cortés answered. “I cannot leave your country, for I have no ships in which to sail. Besides, if I am driven out, I shall have to take you with me.”

Montezuma, although troubled with this last suggestion, offered to send workmen to the coast to assist the Spaniards in building ships. In the interim he assured the populace that the white men would leave in a very few weeks. Cortés, meanwhile, sent word to delay the construction of ships as long as possible, for he hoped, in the meantime, to receive reënforcements from Spain, so that he could hold his ground. The Spaniards were now thoroughly frightened, for they were surrounded by hundreds of thousands of the enemy, and, should these break loose upon them, they knew that they should have to fight for their lives.

This was the state of affairs, in May, 1520, after the Spaniards had been six months in the country of Mexico. Then came an unexpected thunderclap, for Cortés received word from the coast that the jealous Governor of Cuba, hearing of his great success, was forwarding an expedition to attack him. Think of it! To attack the one who had accomplished that which he had been sent to accomplish!

The commander of this second expedition, Narváez, sent several of his most trusted adherents to Villa Rica, where Cortés had left a body of men under one Sandoval, to demand his capitulation. But, Sandoval would hear nothing of this, and, binding the emissaries to the backs of several sturdy porters, like bales of cotton, he sent them, under guard, to Mexico City, where Cortés received them courteously. He learned that the principal object of Narváez was the finding of gold, and that the soldiers of this interloper had no particular regard for their leader, as he was arrogant and by no means liberal.

The General decided that the only thing to do was to march against this man, to defeat him, and to unite the new forces with his own. This he did. The newcomer was captured, his troops willingly joined with the followers of Cortés, and the bold Spaniard returned to Mexico City, where he had left his Lieutenant Alvarado in command. But he found that matters had gone very ill since his departure, and that insurrection and bloodshed were rampant in the once quiet capital.

The General eagerly inquired what had transpired during his absence, and found that Alvarado had acted in a manner that was not only undiplomatic but also bloodthirsty. A few days after Cortés had marched towards the coast, the Aztec festival of “The Incensing of Huitzilopochtli” was celebrated, and, having asked permission to use the teocalli, the Aztecs assembled to the number of at least six hundred. The natives wore their magnificent gala attire, with mantles of feather-work sprinkled with precious stones, and collars, bracelets, and ornaments of gold. Alvarado and his men, fully armed, attended as spectators, and, as the natives were engaged in one of their ceremonial dances, fell upon them suddenly,—sword in hand. A great and dreadful slaughter now followed, the Aztecs being hewn down without resistance. Those who attempted to escape by climbing the wall of serpents, were cut down to a man, until not a single one remained alive. The tidings of this awful massacre flew instantly through the capital, and the city rose in arms against these terrible invaders, who would do such a dastardly deed.

The Spaniards made themselves secure in their citadel, but they were attacked with the greatest fury. The works were undermined, and some of the more courageous assailants set fire to the walls. Montezuma was entreated to interfere, and, mounting the battlement, requested the howling mob of Aztecs to desist from storming the fortress, out of regard for his own safety. This they did, although a regular blockade was begun, and high walls were thrown up around the citadel in order to prevent the egress of the Spaniards. The Aztec warriors chanted defiance at Alvarado and his men, while sullenly awaiting the time when the Spaniards would be starved into submission.

Cortés was angered and ashamed at the action which his Lieutenant had taken, and, calling him to him, roundly upbraided him for attacking the natives in this brutal fashion. As an explanation for his atrocious act, Alvarado declared that he had struck this blow in order to intimidate the natives and crush an uprising which he had learned was about to occur.

“You have done badly!” cried Cortés. “You have been false to your trust and your conduct has been that of a madman!”

The Spanish commander lost his self-control for the first time, and allowed his disgust and irritation to be plainly seen. He bitterly regretted that he had entrusted so important a command to one who had such a rash and cruel nature. But the deed was done. The Aztecs were now in open revolt, and the Spaniards had to battle for their very lives. The whole city was in arms, the drawbridges were raised, and the enemy was collecting from every quarter.

As Cortés directed the troops within the citadel, to which he had had to fight his way after the destruction of Narváez, he heard a long, hoarse, sullen roar from the streets of the city. It became louder and louder, until, as he stood upon the parapet and looked into the distance, he could see dark masses of warriors rolling towards the citadel in a confused tide, while the flat roofs of the houses nearby were covered with swarms of menacing figures, who brandished their weapons, and cried out with shrill voices: “Death to the invaders! Death to the enemies of our gods! Death to the dogs from Spain!” The great war drum upon the teocalli rolled out a mournful and doleful sound of battle, while gay banners fluttered from the serried ranks of the approaching army.

On, on, came the wild Aztecs, their shrill yells sounding high above the rolling of their rude drums, and, as they came within sight of the Spanish quarters, they let loose a perfect tempest of stones, darts, and arrows. At the same time those upon the roofs let drive a blinding volley. The men under Cortés waited until the enemy were within a hundred yards of the ancient palace, in which they had barricaded themselves, and then thundered a return volley from their cannon and guns. The first few ranks of the Aztec warriors were swept to the ground, but, leaping over the prostrate bodies of the slain, the great horde of fighting men came on. Soon some of the bolder warriors succeeded in getting close enough to the wall to be sheltered by it from the fire of the Spaniards, so they made a gallant yet futile effort to scale the parapet. As soon as their heads appeared above the ramparts, they were shot down, one after another, and fell to the street below. Great piles of the slain lay heaped before the ancient palace of the Montezumas.

Burning arrows were now shot upon the buildings in the courtyard, and several of them took fire. So severe was the conflagration that a part of the wall had to be thrown down, thus laying open a formidable breach, which the Aztecs endeavored to storm. But cannon were pointed at the spot, and a file of arquebusiers kept up an incessant volley-fire through the opening, so that those who attempted to get through were killed as fast as they reached the portal. All day long the fight raged with fury, and, when night came, the Spaniards could get no sleep, for they were in hourly expectation of a new attack.

Next morning the mournful war-drum again groaned out its call to the battle, and again the serried ranks of the enfuriated Aztec warriors came on to the attack. Showers of burning arrows, darts, and heavy stones fell against the Spanish battlement, and the mass of warriors struggled with renewed fury to gain possession of the breach. Cortés ordered a sortie, hoping to drive this body of invaders away, but, when the gates were thrown open and he dashed forward with the cavalry, assisted by a large force of Tlascalans, the natives retreated behind a barricade. Heavy guns were ordered up, and the barriers were demolished; but, as he pressed the Aztecs backwards, so many came in upon the flanks that he was forced to retreat. As the Spaniards reëntered their fortress, pursued by a shower of darts and arrows, the Indians once more closed around it, with menacing cries and insults.

“The gods have delivered you into our hands at last!” they called. “Huitzilopochtli has long been crying for his victims, and the stone of sacrifice is ever ready. Our knives are sharpened. The wild beasts in the palace are roaring for their feast.”

Yet they cried piteously for Montezuma and entreated the Spaniards to deliver him up to them.

“Oh, give us back our Emperor!” said they. “You have willfully and falsely detained and imprisoned him!”

At this, Cortés determined to induce Montezuma to exert his authority, in order to allay the tumult. So he requested the captive Emperor to speak to the howling mob. Montezuma had soon arrayed himself in his finest robes, and with a guard of Spaniards around him, and preceded by an Aztec carrying a golden wand (the symbol of sovereignty) the Indian monarch ascended the central turret of the palace.

A marvelous and magical change now came over the scene. The fierce and vindictive war cries of the Aztec warriors ceased. Great rows of Indians prostrated themselves on the ground, while all eyes were turned upon the monarch whom they had been taught to venerate with slavish awe. The Spaniards were startled at the homage which was given to the cowardly Emperor, and Montezuma, himself, saw his advantage. He felt himself once again a king, and addressed the multitude with all of his former authority and confidence.

“Why do I see my people here in arms against the palace of my father?” said he. “Is it that you think your sovereign a prisoner and wish to release him? If so, you have done well; but you are mistaken. I am no prisoner. These strangers are my guests. I remain with them only by choice and I can leave them when I will. Have you come to drive them from the city? That is unnecessary; they will depart of their own accord, if you will open a way for them. Return to your homes! Lay down your arms! Show your obedience to me, whose right it is. The white men shall go back to their land, and all shall be well again within the walls of Mexico.”

A murmur of contempt ran through the multitude. Rage and desire for revenge made the Aztec warriors forget their reverence for their former beloved Emperor, and they now turned against the very man whose word had once been their law.

“Base Aztec!” they cried out in loud tones. “You are a woman and a coward! The white men have made you a female, fit only to weave and to spin! Begone! Back to your needlework and to your Spanish brothers!”

Immediately the Emperor was assailed by a cloud of rocks and arrows. A stone struck the miserable man in the head, with a sickening thud, and knocked him to the ground. A chief of high rank hurled his javelin at him, but it just missed him as he fell. The Mexicans were shocked at their own act of sacrilege and set up a dismal cry. They dispersed, panic-stricken, and not one remained in the great square before the palace.

With care and gentleness the Spaniards carried the body of Montezuma to his own apartments. As soon as he recovered from his insensibility, the full misery of his situation broke upon him. He, the once great and powerful Montezuma, had been reviled and rejected by his own people. Utterly crushed in spirit, he refused all food or assistance, even tearing off the bandages which the Spaniards applied to his wounds. He sat motionless, with eyes cast upon the ground, perpetually brooding over his humiliation, and gradually grew so weak that he could scarcely sit upright.

A body of Mexicans now took possession of the famous temple to the war god, Huitzilopochtli, which was opposite the Spanish palace, and rose to a height of nearly a hundred and fifty feet. From this vantage point the Aztecs discharged such a volley of arrows upon the garrison, that it was impossible for any soldier to show himself for an instant outside the wall of the palace, without being immediately struck. The Mexicans, meanwhile, were completely sheltered. As it was absolutely necessary that they be driven from this point of vantage, Cortés intrusted the task to his chamberlain, Escobar, giving him a hundred men for the purpose. Three desperate attempts were made, but being repulsed with considerable loss, this officer returned, and Cortés determined to lead the storming party himself. A wound in his left hand had almost disabled it, but he strapped his shield to the injured member and thus sallied forth.

Several thousand of the Tlascalan allies were with him, and, at the head of three hundred chosen cavaliers, he now dashed from the palace. In the courtyard of the temple, a body of Mexicans was drawn up to dispute his passage, but he charged them briskly, and, although the horses could not stand up and had to be returned to the Spanish quarters, the Aztecs were dispersed. The cavaliers and their Indian allies now pressed up to the flight of stone steps which led into the teocalli. The warriors were drawn up on every terrace, as well as on the topmost platform, and showered down heavy stones, beams, and burning rafters. The Spaniards kept on, in spite of the fact that many of them were badly wounded by the falling beams and arrows, and, aided by a brisk fire from the muskateers below, soon drove the Aztecs to the broad summit of the teocalli. Here a desperate hand-to-hand fight took place.

As the edge of the platform was unprotected by either battlement or parapet, many of the combatants, as they struggled together, rolled off, locked in a deadly deathgrip. Two powerful Aztecs seized upon Cortés, at one stage of the battle, and were dragging him violently toward the side of the pyramid, when, by sheer strength, he tore himself from their grasp and hurled one of them over the edge.

At the beginning of the fight for the possession of this temple, the priests ran to and fro among the contestants, with their long hair streaming out behind them. With wild gestures they encouraged and urged on the Indians, until they were all either killed or captured by the onrushing Spanish cavaliers.

One by one the Indian warriors fell dead upon the blood-drenched pavement, or were hurled from the dizzy height to the pavement below, until, at last, none were left to oppose the white men. The Spaniards, with yells of victory, now rushed into the sanctuaries. In one was the hideous image of Huitzilopochtli with an offering of human hearts before him. Possibly these were those of their own countrymen! With loud shouts of triumph the Spaniards tore the hideous idol from its niche, and, as the Aztecs watched, hurled it down the long steps of the teocalli. Then the sanctuaries were set on fire, and, descending joyfully to the courtyard, the soldiers set up a great song of thanksgiving for their victory.

Cortés now hoped that the natives were sufficiently subdued to be willing to come to terms with him, so he invited them to a parley, and addressed the principal chiefs. He talked to them from the turret previously occupied by Montezuma, and, as usual, had Marina to interpret for him.

“You have brought all this slaughter upon yourselves by your rebellion,” he said. “Yet, for the sake of the affection felt for you by the sovereign whom you have treated so unworthily, I would willingly stay my hand if you will lay down your arms and return once more to obedience to me. If you do not do this, I will make your city a heap of ruins, and will leave not a single soul alive to mourn over it.”

The Aztecs replied in a manner which was quite unexpected.

“It is quite true that you have destroyed our gods, massacred our countrymen, and broken our temple to pieces. But look out upon our streets and terraces. You see them thronged with warriors as far as your eyes can reach,” said the Indian who had been chosen spokesman. “Our numbers are scarcely diminished by our losses. Yours, on the contrary, are lessened every hour. Your provisions and your water are failing; you are perishing from hunger and from sickness; you must soon fall into our hands. The bridges are broken down and you cannot escape! There will be few of you left to glut the vengeance of our gods.”

With this tart reply, they discharged a volley of arrows, which compelled the Spaniards to beat a speedy retreat.

To retreat was hazardous, indeed, and it was mortifying to abandon the city; but, with his men daily diminishing in strength and in numbers, and with his stock of provisions so nearly exhausted that one small daily ration of bread was all that the soldiers had, there was nothing else for Cortés to do. Montezuma had lingered feebly along, after the day in which he had been struck by a stone, and now passed to another world. “The tidings of this,” says an old historian, “were received with real grief by every cavalier and soldier in the army who had access to his person, for we all loved him as a father.” The Emperor’s death was a misfortune for the Spaniards, because, while he lived, there was a slight possibility of using his influence with the natives. Now that hope had disappeared.

A council was called to decide as speedily as possible the all-important question of the retreat. It was agreed that they should leave at once, and at night, so that darkness would cloak their movements. The safe conveyance of the treasure was quite a problem, but the soldiers had converted their share into gold chains, or collars, which could be easily carried about their persons. The royal fifth, however, was in bars and wedges of solid gold. It could be carried only by horse, and a special guard had to be provided for it. But much treasure had to be abandoned, and it lay in shining heaps upon the floor of the palace.

The soldiers who had come with Cortés, being old campaigners, did not load themselves down with more than they could safely transport. The soldiers of Narváez, however, being keen for the accumulation of treasure, loaded themselves down with all that they could possibly carry off with them.

As the retreat was to be over the causeway and dykes, a portable bridge was constructed which could be laid across the open canals. This was entrusted to the care of an officer named Magarino and forty men. Cortés arranged the order of march. First was to go two hundred Spanish foot soldiers, commanded by a Captain Sandoval, with twenty other cavaliers. The rear guard was formed of infantry under Alvarado and De Leon, while the center was in charge of Cortés, himself, with some heavy guns, the baggage and the treasure. There were also the prisoners, among whom were a son and two daughters of Montezuma, Cacama, and several nobles. The Indian allies, the Tlascalans, were divided up among the three divisions. There were several thousand of these.

Midnight came and all was ready for the journey. A solemn mass was celebrated by Father Almedo, and, keeping as quiet as they possibly could, the Spaniards sallied forth from the ancient palace of the Aztecs, which had been the scene of so much suffering and fighting. The night was a dark one, and a fine, misty rain fell steadily upon the serried columns of Spanish cavaliers and brown-skinned natives.

The vast square before the palace was deserted. Through some superstitious dread, the natives had not frequented the plaza since the death of their Emperor, Montezuma, and the Spaniards crossed it as noiselessly as possible, entering the great street of Tlacopan. They peered anxiously into the gloom, expecting to be attacked at any moment by a swarm of Aztecs, but all went well with them until the first files of soldiers drew near the spot where the street opened upon the causeway, which led by the side of the lake. Here there were Mexican sentinels at their posts, and, as the bridge was being adjusted across the uncovered breach, the Aztecs fled, crying out in loud tones that the hated white men were leaving the city.

Immediately there was a commotion. The priests heard the shouting from the summits of their teocalli and beat upon the peculiar shells which were used for rousing the people. The huge drum upon the temple of the god of war was struck and gave forth a hollow, moaning roar which vibrated through every corner of the capital. The Spaniards were alarmed and worked with desperate fury to place their bridge across the causeway so that the army could escape. But, as the soldiers labored valorously, a sound was heard like a stormy wind as it rises in a forest. Nearer and nearer it came, and, from the dark waters of the lake came the splashing of many paddles. A few stones and arrows fell among the hurrying troops. More and more followed in rapid succession until they became a veritable blinding storm. Yells and shrill war-cries rent the air, and, before the Spaniards well realized their position, they found themselves surrounded by myriads of the enemy, who were swarming over land and lake.

The Aztecs ran their canoes along the sides of the causeway, climbed up, and charged the ranks of the Spaniards, with their Tlascalan allies. The soldiers shook them off as best they could, rode over them with their horses, and, with their pikes and their swords, drove them headlong down the sides of the dike. They halted and waited for the bridge to be brought up; but a terrible calamity had occurred, for the bridge had been so borne down by the weight of the artillery passing over it, that it had jammed firmly into the sides of the dike and was immovable.

The tidings spread rapidly from man to man and a cry of despair arose, for all means of advance were cut off, and the Spaniards were caught in a trap. Those behind pressed forward, trampling the weak and the wounded under foot, and forcing those in front over the gulf. Some of the cavaliers succeeded in swimming their horses across, but many rolled back into the lake when attempting to ascend the opposite bank. The infantry followed in a panic, and many of the men were pierced by the Aztec arrows, or struck down by war clubs. Some were dragged into the canoes to be later sacrificed to the great and awful stone god. Fierce battle cries rose above the tumult of war, and these were mingled with the cries of despair of the drowning Spaniards.

By degrees the opening in the causeway was filled up by the wreck of the wagons, guns, rich bales of stuffs, chests of solid ingots, and bodies of men and horses. Walking on top of this dismal ruin, those in the rear were able to reach the other side.

As the attention of the Aztec warriors now fell upon the rich spoil that strewed the ground, the pursuit of the Spaniards ceased. The troops pressed forward through the village of Popotla, where Cortés dismounted from his weary war-horse, and, sitting down upon the steps of an Indian temple, looked mournfully at his broken army, as the thin and disordered ranks filed past. It was a heartrending spectacle. He knew, however, that this was no time to give away to vain regrets, so he speedily mounted, and led his men through Tlacopan.

The broken army, disorganized and half starved, moved slowly toward the sea coast. On the seventh day it reached the mountain range which overlooks the plains of Otumba, and the scouts, climbing the steep hillside, reported that a mighty host of warriors was in the valley, ready to dispute their passage. Every chief of importance had taken the field, and, as far as the eye could reach, extended a moving mass of glittering shields and spears, mingled with the banners and the bright feather-mail of the caciques.

Cortés disposed his army to the best advantage, and prepared to cut his way through the enemy. He gave his force as broad a front as possible, protecting it on either flank by his cavalry, now reduced to but twenty horsemen. His directions to his infantrymen was that they were to thrust, not strike, with their swords, and were to make for the leaders of the enemy, whom they were to dispatch as soon as met with. After a few brave words of encouragement, the little band began to descend the hill. The enemy set up fierce war cries, as they approached, and met the Spaniards with a storm of stones and arrows.

Now occurred a bitter fight. The Spaniards, at first, beat through the crowd of natives, but, as the battle progressed, they were surrounded on every side by a swarm of warriors. Cortés received a wound in the head and his horse was killed beneath him, so that he was obliged to mount one taken from the baggage train. His men became exhausted beneath the fiery rays of the sun and began to give way. The enemy, on the other hand, was constantly being reënforced from the rear, and pressed on with redoubled fury.

Matters were critical for the Spaniards, when Cortés did a deed of daring which was quite worthy of the Chevalier Bayard, or Murat, the famous Napoleonic leader of horse. With his keen eye he discovered in the distance a chief, who, from his dress and surroundings, he knew to be the leader of the Aztec forces. Turning to his favorite henchmen, the brave Spaniard cried out, while pointing his finger at the chief:

“There is our mark! Follow and support me!”

Then, shouting his war cry, he plunged into the thickest of the press and bore towards the noble Aztec.

The enemy was taken completely by surprise and fell back. Many could not dodge aside and were trampled down by the war-horse, or pierced by the long lance which Cortés wielded with all the skill of a trained fencer. The cavalier companions of the gallant Spaniard followed him closely, and, in a few moments, they had come within striking distance of the Aztec chieftain. Cortés rode speedily at him, and, thrusting with his lance, brought him to earth, where he was stabbed to death by a young Spaniard called Juan de Salamanca. Tearing his banner from his clinched fist, the Castilian presented it to Cortés, who waved it triumphantly above his head. The caciques’ guard, surprised by this sudden onset, fled precipitously, while the panic spread to the other Indians. The Spaniards pursued them for several miles, then returned to secure the rich booty which they had left behind them. Truly the battle had been won by the daring and personal initiative of the brave Spanish leader.

The adventurers were now safely out of their grave peril. They reached Tlascala in a few days, and, with the assistance of their native allies, at once prepared to revenge themselves upon the Aztecs. Several Spaniards were at Vera Cruz and these joined them. But there was much need of gunpowder, and there was no way of getting sulphur for its manufacture, unless it was obtained from one of the many volcanoes in the neighborhood. How was this to be done?

A cavalier, named Francio Montaño, was equal to the emergency and suggested that he be allowed to descend into the terrible volcano of Popocatepetl, where sulphur, in a crude form, hung to the side of the crater. Cortés was only too willing to allow him to make the attempt, so accompanied by several others, he set out. After great hardship, and, after passing through a region of perpetual snow, the explorers reached the mouth of the fierce volcano, and, crawling cautiously to the very edge, they peered down into its gloomy depths. At the bottom of the dark abyss a lurid flame was burning, and, every now and again, arose a sulphurous stream, which, cooling as it came upward, fell again in showers upon the side of the cavity. It was necessary to descend into this crater, with the boiling lava below, in order to scrape some of the sulphur from the sides.

Montaño himself drew the longest stem of grass, when the Spaniards had prepared lots to see who should descend, and, clinging to a basket and rope, was soon four hundred feet within the horrible chasm. As he hung there, he scraped the sulphur from the sides of the crater, descending again and again, until he had procured enough for the wants of the army. Then, with great elation, the adventurous sulphur hunters returned to Tlascala, where their arrival was greeted with shouts of joy.

Cortés was fully prepared to march again to the Mexican capital and to wreak vengeance upon the Aztecs, who were now governed by Guatemozin, a young prince who had married one of Montezuma’s daughters.

The Spanish army consisted of about six hundred men, of which forty were cavalry, and eighty were arquebusiers and cross-bowmen. There were nine cannon. The men were armed with swords and with long copper-headed pikes, which had been specially constructed under the direction of the General. There were, also, the Tlascalan allies, who were still anxious and willing to fight their hated enemies, the Aztecs. Numerous other bands of Indians also flocked to the Spanish standard.

Cortés determined to march to Tezcuco, establish his headquarters upon the side of the great lake which was near the Mexican capital, and to begin a blockade of the city of the Aztecs, until some ships, which he was having constructed, could be brought to him. Then he could transport his troops to the edge of the city and begin a direct assault.

Everything went well with both ships and men. The vessels reached the lake in good order, were launched, and were filled with soldiers. The plan of action against the city was to send the cavalier, Sandoval, with one division, to take possession of Iztapalapan at the southern end of the lake, while Alvarado and Olid were to secure Tlacopan and Chapultepec upon the western shore, destroy the aqueduct, and thus cut off the city’s supply of fresh water. This was successfully done and soon the Spaniards had penetrated into the city as far as the great teocalli. The natives were driven before them, while the Tlascalans in the rear filled up the gaps and brought up the cannon.

As you remember, it was at the great teocalli that the most serious fighting occurred when the Spaniards were previously driven from the city. Now still fiercer battling took place and the Spaniards again captured this temple of the war-god. Some of them rushed to the top and there found a fresh image to Huitzilopochtli. Tearing off the gold and jewels with which it was bedecked, they hurled it, with its attendant priests, over the side, with a mighty yell of defiance. Then they hastened below to the assistance of their comrades, who were being furiously assailed by the Aztecs.

Things were going ill with the Spaniards and they were being driven down the great street of the city in hopeless confusion and panic. Luck was with them, however, for a small force of cavalry now arrived, charged into the mass of yelping Indians, and drove them back again to the teocalli. Here Cortés attacked by the flank and the natives retired in confusion and dismay. Evening was now coming on, so the Spanish troops retreated in good order, their Tlascalan allies pulling down many of the houses as they departed. The palace of Montezuma was set afire, and this sight so maddened the Aztecs, that they redoubled their efforts to head off the disappearing white men. It was of no avail. The attacking Spaniards soon reached Xoloc, where they learned that many of the native tribes, seeing the Mexicans unable to hold the city, would join with the men from Castile.

After months of siege the Aztecs still defied the conquerors and fiercely rejected all overtures of peace, although the banner of Castile floated undisturbed from the smoldering remains of the sanctuary on the teocalli of the war-god. Hundreds of famishing wretches died every day and lay where they fell, with no one to bury them. In the midst of all this brutality and misery, Guatemozin remained calm and courageous, and was as firmly resolved as ever not to capitulate.

An assault was ordered, and, although the Mexicans fought valiantly, they were weakened by starvation and could not struggle as before. After a bloody battle, the Spanish commander withdrew to his quarters, leaving behind him forty thousand corpses and a smoldering ruin. This blow seemed to utterly stun the Aztecs.

CAPTURE BY CORTÉS OF THE CITY OF MEXICO

Cortés now determined to secure the person of Guatemozin, so, upon the following day, August 13th., 1521, the Spaniards again advanced into the town and were soon battling fiercely with the Aztecs. While this was going on several canoes pushed off across the lake. The Spanish ships gave chase and sunk most of them, but a few succeeded in getting into open water. Two or three large canoes, close together, attracted the attention of a soldier, named Garci Holguin, who instantly gave chase, and, with a favorable wind, soon overtook the fugitives, although they rowed with great energy. The Spaniards leveled their guns at the Indians, when one rose, saying:

“I am Guatemozin. Lead me to Malinche. I am his prisoner. But let no harm come to my wife and to my followers.”

The Emperor was taken on board one of the ships and was ordered to call upon his people to surrender.

“There is no need of this,” he answered sadly, “for they will fight no longer when they see that their Emperor has been captured.”

He had spoken correctly, for, when the news of his capture reached the shore, the Mexicans at once ceased to defend themselves. They had put up a hard battle in order to give their Sovereign an opportunity to escape.

Cortés had been watching the affair from the flat roof of one of the houses and now sent word that Guatemozin should be brought before him. He came, escorted by Sandoval and Holguin, both of whom claimed the honor of having captured him. The Spanish conqueror came forward with dignified courtesy to receive the noble prisoner.

“I have done all that I could to defend myself and my people,” said Guatemozin. “I am now reduced to this awful state. Deal with me, Malinche, as you will.” Then, laying his hand upon a dagger which hung from the belt of the Spanish invader, he added: “Better dispatch me at once with this, and rid me of life.”

Cortés smiled.

“Fear not,” said he. “You will be treated with honor. You have defended your capital like a brave warrior, and a Spaniard knows how to respect valor, even in an enemy.”

In spite of these remarks he treated him with great cruelty, for, when the city was entered and less treasure was found there than had been expected, Cortés caused poor Guatemozin to be tortured. Fire and cord could not, however, wring the secret of the treasure from this illustrious Prince. Later on he was hanged, upon the pretense that he had conspired against the Spaniards.

The Aztec dead were now collected and burned in huge bonfires. Those who were still alive were allowed to leave the city, and for three days a mournful train of men, women, and children straggled feebly across the causeways, sick and wounded, wasted with famine and with misery. Again and again they turned to take one more look at the spot which had once been their home. When they were gone, the Spanish conquerors took possession of the place and purified it as speedily as possible, burying those who were not burned in the bonfires.

The treasures of gold and of jewels which were found fell far short of the expectations of the conquerors, for the Aztecs, no doubt, had buried their hoards, or sunk them in the lake on purpose to disappoint the avarice of their enemies.

Thus, after three months of continued fighting, the renowned capital of the Aztecs fell before Cortés and his men. The Mexicans had put up a courageous fight and had suffered much, but they had been no match for the soldiers from Cuba and from Spain.

The Aztecs would not have thus gone down to ruin, had they not ruthlessly made war upon the neighboring states, which caused them to be hated. Their human sacrifices had angered their weaker neighbors, and thus Cortés had secured the aid of the Tlascalans, without whose assistance he could never have won the fight.

Cortés and his Spaniards were now masters of Mexico. A brave man with equally brave followers had conquered an entire empire!

And what of the future days of this bold-hearted explorer? Alas! These were similar to those which came to Columbus, the Navigator. Poor, forsaken by the King of Spain, surrounded by persons who were jealous of his position and his fame, the once rich and prosperous adventurer died miserably at Castilleja, Spain, on December second, 1547, at the age of sixty-two. With him was his devoted son, Martin, a youth of fifteen.

Cortés was entombed in the land of his birth, but this was not to be his last resting place, for his remains were taken across the sea to the country which he had conquered. He was buried for the second time in the Franciscan monastery at Tezcuco; then, for a third time, in the church of St. Francis in the City of Mexico. On this occasion, which was sixty-seven years after the first entombment, all the dignitaries of Mexico marched in procession through the streets of the city. Still again, in 1794, there was another removal of the General’s moldering dust to the hospital of Jesus, where a monument of bronze was erected to his fame and glory.

In 1823 there was yet another disturbance of what remained of our hero. The previous removals of his ashes had been inspired by regard, but now a revolutionary mob of frenzied Mexicans, in order to show its hatred and detestation of the Spanish conquerors, endeavored to desecrate the tomb. To prevent this, the casket, in the dead of night, was secretly carried away by the Duke of Monteleone, a descendant of Cortés on the female line, and for more than seventy years remained in a place of safety. Monteleone, himself, was killed in one of the many Mexican revolutions, and all knowledge was lost of the spot where he had hidden the ashes of the conqueror. Yet, within a few years, the remains have been discovered and a movement has been started to have them placed in the national pantheon, a temple in the City of Mexico, erected to all those who have made great names in the history of this turbulent republic.

So at last, perhaps, the valiant Cortés will receive the honor that is due him.

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FERDINAND MAGELLAN:

EXPERT MARINER, WHOSE FOLLOWERS WERE
THE FIRST TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE
THE GLOBE

(1480-1521)

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