The fury and suddenness of the attack bore all before it. The compact little body of horsemen, shouting their battle cry, clove through the ranks of the enemy, making straight for the Indian commander, whose name was Cihuaca. In vain the Mexicans tried to bar the way. In vain, when after a few minutes of tremendous exertion, Cortez reached his goal, the nobles and the bodyguard strove to defend their chief. Cortez, fighting with almost superhuman vigor, clove his way through all opposition; and with his lance ran through the Aztec general, and hurled him to the ground, when one of his followers, leaping from his horse, quickly dispatched him.
The guard, appalled by the suddenness of the attack, broke and fled in all directions, scattering panic among the lately triumphant host. Scarce knowing what had happened, but feeling that some dreadful misfortune had occurred, and all was lost, the Aztecs were seized with a blind terror; and breaking their ranks, thought only of escape.
As if by magic, a victorious army was transformed into a flying mob. The Spaniards and Tlascalans took instant advantage of the change. Fatigue and thirst, wounds and exhaustion were forgotten. With shouts of triumph, and vengeance, they broke their ranks and followed hotly upon the fugitives. These, impeded by their very numbers, and half mad with panic, offered no resistance whatever. Great numbers were overtaken and slain and, when the Spaniards abandoned the pursuit at the summons of their leader's trumpet, and assembled round him, the field was covered with the bodies of their fallen foes.
An hour was spent in gathering the booty from the bodies of the chiefs, of whom great numbers had fallen; and then, after offering up thanks to God for their marvelous deliverance, the army again renewed their march. It was already late in the afternoon, and they halted at sunset at a temple standing on an eminence, which afforded them shelter and a defensive position, should the Aztecs renew the assault.
But of this there was little fear. Their defeat had been utter and complete. There was no chance of their rallying.
The victory of Otompan was one of the most remarkable ever won. The discrepancy of numbers was immense. The Spaniards were unprovided with artillery or firearms, and owed their success to their discipline and bravery, and still more to the extraordinary valor and quick-sightedness of their leader.
[Chapter 20]: At Tlascala.
Roger was sitting in the evening, conversing with Maclutha and Amenche on the probabilities of the battle that was expected to take place on that day, when Cuitcatl suddenly entered. His robe of bright feather work was gone. The panache of floating plumes was shorn from his head. His white garment was stained with blood. He was overcome by exhaustion and grief.
No words were needed to explain what had taken place. Impossible as it had seemed, the Aztec army had been defeated. A cry broke from the two ladies, as he entered.
"The white man's God has triumphed," he said, "and the Aztecs have been defeated. You were right, Roger. Mere handful as they were, the white men have gained the day. Even now, I hardly know how it came about. Never did my countrymen fight more bravely. For hours, the Spaniards stood as a wall which we, in vain, tried to break. Thousands fell on our side, but not for a moment did we waver. Others took their places until, as the hours went on, the Spaniards grew weary, and victory seemed in our grasp. Their horsemen had charged through and through us, but though many chiefs were slain, it mattered little. The ranks closed up, and each time they fell back on their infantry, having achieved nothing. Their horses were weary, and their attacks grew more feeble.