Roger the Bold: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico

by F. S. Brereton

The advice given to Juan was undoubtedly good, for as the Spaniard carried out the movement, Roger found that the lashing about his ankles tautened, while the leaning-back attitude made struggling on his part almost out of the question. Still, he resolved to make an effort if the time came, even if a sword were held in his face. By now the troop was galloping at a sharp pace, the leader having selected a long stretch of open ground favourable to horses, and across this he led them at an angle which slightly inclined towards the Mexicans and their allies. It looked as if all his efforts were concentrated in an attempt to fly past them without giving them battle, and at the thought the natives swerved from their course, and raced to cut off the party. Soon they were so close that Roger could hear their voices, and stirred uneasily, till the man who threatened him with his sword placed the point close to his breast.

"Stir so much as a finger's breadth and I thrust the blade home," he growled, while he looked askance at the enemy. "One hand's breadth, remember!"

"Give us our god of air! Halt, and hand him over, when you may go free!" came a ringing voice from the natives.

"Charge! To the left! To the left!"

The captain of the troop, who, to do him but fair justice, was, in spite of his many fears of capture, a good and plucky leader, tugged at his reins, and, standing in his stirrups, directed his troop at the heart of the rushing enemy; in fact, his plan from the first had been to delude them, to make it appear as if he were about to escape to one side, and then at the last moment to turn and plunge through the natives. He relied for success upon the poor weapons which the Mexicans and their allies possessed, and upon their horror of the horses, whose weight ought to be able to burst a way through such footmen. But he counted his success too quickly, for Roger's teaching was to bear excellent fruit. There was a shout of dismay as the natives saw the horses charging down upon them, and many fled for their lives. But suddenly a figure became prominent in their midst, and all came to a stop.

"Shout! Wave your arms and shout! Then throw yourselves on the ground and hack at the horses, or endeavour to seize the legs of the riders. Men with the crossbows to one side, and search their ranks with your shafts. Beware of harming the prisoner. Death to the one who is so reckless."

Had Teotlili had a force of pure Mexicans with him, men who had undergone some training under Roger's orders, the success of his plan would perhaps have been perfect. But he had to deal with allies, men who had heard of the new and wonderful white man and of his methods, but who had not practised the latter. Still, if they had had no practice, they had at least the most abject and absolute faith in his advice, and at the command all came to a stop. Then the men with the crossbows, but six in number, ran to the side and placed shafts in their weapons, while the remainder waited, their eyes fixed on the noble who stood in their midst. And down upon them, lance lowered, or sword ready to deliver thrust or cut, rode the Spaniards, excellent masters of their horses, and with complete confidence in themselves. In fact, the horsemen had never known yet what it was to fail when opposed to the natives in this New Spain, for their weapons were even less terrifying to the Mexicans and their allies than were their horses. For the natives looked upon these strange beasts as little short of gods, the superstition with which their whole systems were permeated leading them to attribute the utmost powers to the steeds ridden by the Spaniards. What wonder, too, when it is recollected that none in the whole country had ever seen such a huge animal before, and that no form of animal labour was known of, the human being undertaking every sort.

"Charge! Through them and then on to the town. Charge!"

It was the Spanish captain's turn now, and he rose to his full height in his stirrups; for he had at last caught a glimpse of the eyes of the natives, an infallible sign that the moment for the crash was at hand. He had waited for it before on many an occasion, and had stood so in his stirrups. Then the crash had come, his sword had whirled this way and that, and the natives had disappeared as if they had sunk into the ground. He selected Teotlili, and rode full at him.

"Shout! Shout and wave your arms!"