The adventures of Hernan Cortes, the conqueror of Mexico

by Francis L. Hawks

Accordingly, on the next day, when the infuriated Mexicans again attacked the Spanish quarters, Montezuma resolved to show himself to them, hoping thereby to calm their fury. Their attack was now tremendous. It seemed impossible for the artillery to drive them back. Some were scaling the walls, and some had actually forced their way into the quarters, and were fighting hand to hand with the Spaniards, when Montezuma, attired in his regal dress, and attended by some of his nobles and a guard of Spanish soldiers, came out upon the battlements. The moment he appeared, all was silence; some fell reverently upon their knees. The King now spoke to them, beseeching them to desist, and declaring that the Spaniards were ready to leave the city if they would only allow them to pass out undisturbed. One of the nobles answered from the crowd, that the war would soon be over, for they had all sworn that no Spaniard should leave the city alive. Montezuma again implored them to lay aside their arms, and used every argument to persuade them. All was in vain. A murmur of discontent spread through the throng, and one of the crowd cried out that the King was a coward. In a moment more, the whole mass cursed and reproached him, and then came showers of stones and arrows upon the ramparts. Before the Spaniards could shelter him, Montezuma fell. A stone had struck him on the head, and he was wounded in his arm and leg. The Mexicans were now horror-stricken at their own deed; their stormy passions gave way to gloom and despair; they fled from the spot in dismay.

The Spaniards bore the unfortunate King within, and Cortes caused his wounds to be carefully dressed, and endeavored to console him. But Montezuma refused all comfort. He seemed now as one waking from a dream. The haughty and fierce spirit of his better days came back, and he heaped heavy reproaches upon the Spanish chief. He felt that he was a king; he knew that he was now degraded and disgraced, and he longed to die. In a phrensy, he tore the bandages from his wounds, and refused to take any nourishment whatever. Cortes, perceiving his end approaching, now besought him to embrace the Christian religion. Alas! that Montezuma had so poor a preacher of our blessed religion! Father Olmedo earnestly implored him to receive Christian baptism, but all to no purpose. Unbending to the last, he had but one fixed desire, and that was to die; and at length, after three days of misery, he breathed his last, in a raving passion, mourning over his fate, cursing the Spaniards, and swearing vengeance against his people. Cortes immediately sent a messenger to Prince Cuitlahuatzin, the successor to the throne, to inform him of the death of Montezuma; and in a little time the body was carried out by six nobles, and taken to a place called Copalco, amid the loud lamentations of the Mexicans.

He now endeavored to make peace with the Mexicans, but all his efforts failed. The Indians whom he sent as messengers with his terms refused to return with any answer; but a distinct answer was soon made known by the conduct of the people. The day after the funeral, they returned to their attack upon the Spanish quarters more furiously than ever. The position of Cortes was now well nigh desperate. Montezuma was dead, and there was nothing to restrain the vengeance of the multitude. All hopes of peace had passed away: his only hope was to escape from the city. Even this, however, seemed cut off by the bold determination of the Indians. They had taken possession of a tower on the principal temple, which commanded a full view of the Spanish quarters. From this point they kept so strict a watch, that it was almost certain death to a Spaniard to move out. They knew the advantage of this post so well, that five hundred of their picked warriors were stationed there. Cortes at once saw that it was idle to hope to make his retreat so long as they kept that station. It was absolutely necessary to dislodge them. Accordingly, he sent Escobar out with a strong force for that purpose. More than one gallant effort was made, but at length, after three several failures, Escobar was forced to retreat to the quarters.

Cortes now felt that everything depended upon himself. His men were doomed to perish, unless something could be done. Though suffering from his wound, he determined upon another effort, and resolved to take the command himself. At the head of his troops, he pressed toward the temple. Barriers were placed in his way, stones and arrows were showered upon him; still he pressed on. Unfortunately, when he reached the court of the temple, he found that the cavalry, upon which he principally relied, could not be used; the horses continually slipped, and fell upon the pavement. The Indians annoyed them in every way. Together with their arrows and darts, they hurled upon them burning beams of wood, which threw them into great confusion. Cortes now dismounted, and ordering his men to bind his shield to his wounded arm, rushed to the attack, calling to them to follow him. His example inspired them. The Spaniards rushed on with resistless force. Gradually working their way up the steps, they at length reached the platform, and drove the Mexicans to the upper area of the temple. Here the battle raged furiously for three hours. The priests were there, calling frantically upon the gods, and screaming to the people, and these contested every inch of the way with the desperate Spaniards. The carnage was awful. The warriors were all killed upon the spot, or destroyed themselves by leaping from the tower. The nobles perished to a man. Cortes at last gained the tower, when there was no living being to defend it. He instantly set fire to it, and then commenced his retreat toward his quarters; but his retreat was one continued battle. New multitudes thronged upon him in the lower area; and when these were passed, he met with a furious attack in every street and from every house. Every inch of ground was contested to and from the temple; still in this retreat he managed, by a desperate effort, to rescue his old friend Andres de Duero, whom the Mexicans had seized, and were dragging away for a sacrifice. At length he reached his quarters, every man being covered with blood, and sinking from exhaustion. An uncounted number of the Tlascalans had fallen, forty-six Spaniards had been killed, and every other Spaniard in the action had been wounded.[12]

As soon as they had rested from this hard struggle, Cortes summoned his officers, to consult as to the time and manner of their retreat. Some advised that they should sally out boldly by day, when they could see their enemies, and mark every danger. Others thought it best to make the attempt under cover of the night, thinking to escape unobserved through the darkness, and trusting to a superstition of the Mexicans, which would not allow them to attack an enemy during the hours of repose. An old soldier now came in, and pretending to be an astrologer, urged that the attempt should be made by night. In a little time, it was settled that they should start out at midnight. As the Mexicans had broken down the bridges of the causeways to prevent their escape, Cortes at once caused a portable bridge to be made, strong enough to allow his army and all the baggage to pass the openings. He then commanded all the treasure that had been collected to be brought forward, and separating the fifth part which belonged to the King, left the rest for his men; at the same time advising them not to load themselves with it, as it might prove burdensome in their perilous retreat. He next ordered the plan of march. The van of his army, consisting of two hundred of his best soldiers, together with twenty horsemen, was placed under the command of Sandoval, aided by Diego de Ordaz and Francisco Lugo. The rear, which contained most of the Spanish troops, was intrusted to Pedro de Alvarado and Velasquez de Leon. Cortes himself, aided by Christoval de Olid and Davila, took charge of the centre, in which were placed the children of Montezuma, and other prisoners of distinction, together with the baggage, artillery, and portable bridge. The Tlascalans, Chempoallans, and Cholulans, amounting to several thousands, were scattered among the three divisions. To aid them at the time of their departure, the night set in densely dark, with a thick fog, and heavy falls of rain. At midnight, the van left the quarters, and the other divisions soon followed. In deep silence they moved toward the causeway of Tacuba, because that was known to be the shortest, and least frequented by the Mexicans. They reached the first breach unmolested, and at once commenced fixing their bridge for a passage.

Suddenly the air was filled with the loud yells of the Mexicans. They had watched every movement. The priests sounded their horns, calling their countrymen to battle: the lake was covered with a thousand canoes; showers of stones and arrows were poured in upon the Spaniards from the boats, while an immense number eagerly thronged the causeway to oppose them. Unfortunately at this time, the bridge broke down under the heavy weight of the baggage and artillery. Some of the Spaniards who had gained the other side hurried to the second breach, while their poor companions struggled to scramble across the horrid chasm, filled up now with one confused heap of baggage, cannon, armor, and the bodies of the dead and dying. All was confusion. The rain fell in torrents; the horses plunged in every direction; both sides of the causeway were lined with canoes, from which one continual attack was kept up; the Spaniards never before had witnessed anything like it. The bellowing of the horses, and the shrieks of the prisoners hurried away for sacrifice, filled the air: all was an indescribable scene of horror. With fury and desperation, many of the Spaniards fought their way over the dreadful gap, and joined their companions at the second breach; while the largest number were either killed on the spot, made prisoners, or drowned. At the second breach, the conflict was the same. It was impossible to preserve any order; friends and foes, soldiers and officers, horse and infantry, men and women, were all struggling there in one wild scene of carnage and horror. By a desperate exertion, Cortes, with some of his hardiest veterans, forced his way across the remaining breaches, “the bodies of the dead serving to fill up the ditches.” Having reached the firm land, he left his slender force with Sandoval and Olid, who had managed to escape with him, commanding them to keep in perfect order, to resist any fresh attack, and then plunged back into the fight. His heart would not allow him to leave his men in their deplorable condition. He passed and repassed the last breaches more than once, sometimes swimming, sometimes scrambling over the dead: here he would encourage some sinking man still to fight; there he would pull some drowning man to the firm land, and sometimes drag his captive comrades from the very hands of the enemy. His daring struggles are almost incredible. The sufferings of his men roused every energy; he risked every danger, and wonderful is it that he was not added to the number of the slain. In spite of all his efforts, however, the air still rang with the savage yells of the Mexicans, and the piercing shrieks of the poor captives. It was impossible to rescue all; he did all that man could do; he was heart-sick over his own inability. Now he was joined by a small party, which he found belonged to the rear division. These were Alvarado, bleeding freely, and scarcely able to stand, eight Spaniards, and as many Tlascalans, all wounded and covered with blood. Alvarado declared that these were all that remained of the division intrusted to him: all the rest, officers as well as men, and among them Velasquez de Leon, having been killed or made prisoners; that when he came to the third breach, not being able to face the enemy or to swim across, in an effort of despair he struck his lance in the bottom of the ditch, and leaped to the other side. This effort saved him.[13]

The dawn of the next day found the Spaniards at Popotla, near Tacuba, and showed them more fully their misery. They lay scattered around at random, wounded, exhausted, and disheartened. More than half the Spaniards had perished, with four thousand of their allies. All the ammunition, artillery, and baggage was lost, together with most of the horses. No treasure whatever was saved; those soldiers who had foolishly laden themselves with it having perished for their folly. Well nigh all the Mexican prisoners had likewise perished; among them the prince Cacamatzin, a brother, a son, and two daughters of Montezuma. Velasquez de Leon, Francisco Morla, Francisco Sancedo, and Amador de Lariz, with many other Spanish officers, were missing. The gallant De Leon had been placed in command of the extreme detachment of the rear division, and not even one man of his party was now to be found.

The scene touched the heart of Cortes; he who could brave every danger, overcoming every fear, could not now overcome the feelings of a man. As he looked upon the wretched remnant of his army, and thought of his brave companions who were lost, his heart swelled with sorrow; he sat down upon a stone, and the tears rolled down his face. The death of De Leon was more than he could well bear. He was not only a gallant comrade in arms, but a friend whose heart was ever true to Cortes. But greater disasters were possibly before him; and while this thought added to his misery, it taught him also the necessity of rousing his energies. Alvarado, Sandoval, Olid, Ordaz, Davila, and Lugo, were still around him; his faithful friends Doña Marina, Aguilar, and Father Olmedo, were yet alive. These, with the poor soldiers, were looking to him as their leader, and he felt the necessity of action. The country all around was in arms against him; a shelter from their fury was to be found immediately. He gathered his little force, and made a hurried march to Otoncalpolco, a temple nine miles westward from Mexico. Here parties of the enemy attacked him from time to time through the day, but by watchfulness and courage he managed to drive them back. Still his position was dangerous: if a large party should assault him, he could not resist long. He longed to reach Tlascala, as his only safe resting-place; yet it was far distant, and he knew that the Mexicans were watching to waylay him. He was in great anxiety, hesitating what he should do, when a Tlascalan came forward, and offered to conduct him to his own country by a secret pathway.

CHAPTER VIII.