By Right of Conquest; Or, With Cortez in Mexico

by G. A. Henty

Before making the last attack, Cortez tried once more to persuade the emperor to yield; and sent three Aztec nobles, who had been captured in one of the late fights, to bear a message to him. He told Guatimozin that he and his people had done all that brave men could, and that there remained no hope, no chance, of escape. Their provisions were exhausted. Their communications cut off. Their vassals had deserted them, and the nations of Anahuac were banded against them. He prayed him, therefore, to have compassion on his brave subjects, who were daily perishing before his eyes, and on the fair city now fast crumbling into ruins. He begged him to acknowledge his allegiance to the sovereign of Spain; in which case he should be confirmed in his authority, and the persons, the property, and all the rights of the Aztecs should be respected.

The young monarch would have instantly refused the terms, but he called a council to deliberate upon them. Many would have accepted them, but the priests threw all their influence in the scale against it; reminding the king of the fate of Montezuma, after all his hospitality to the Whites, of the seizure and imprisonment of Cacama, of the massacre of the nobles, of the profanation of the temple, and of the insatiable greed that had stripped the country of its treasures.

The answer to the Spaniards was given in the form of a tremendous sortie along each causeway; but the guns of the Spanish batteries and ships drove the assailants back, and the operations of destruction went on. Day by day the army of workers leveled the houses and filled the canals, although the Mexicans made incessant attacks upon the troops who covered the workmen. For several weeks the work continued, while the wretched inhabitants were fast wasting away with hunger. All the food stored up had long since been consumed, and the population reduced to feed on roots dug up in the gardens, on the bark of trees, leaves, and grass, and on such rats, mice, and lizards as they could capture.

The houses, as the besiegers advanced, were found to be full of dead; while in some lay men, women, and children in the last stage of famine. And yet, weakened and suffering as they were, the Aztecs maintained their resolution, rejecting every overture of Cortez.

At last the division of Alvarado cleared its way into the great square, and a party, mounting the great temple where so many of their comrades had been massacred, defeated the Aztecs who guarded the position, slaughtered the priests, and set fire to the sanctuary; and the next day the division of Cortez won their way to the same spot, and joined that of Alvarado.

Seven-eighths of the city was now destroyed; and with the exception of the king's palace and a few temples, all the buildings that had, when they first saw it, so excited the admiration of the Spaniards, and had made the city one of the loveliest in the world, had been leveled.

In the portion that remained the whole of the Aztec population were crowded. Their number was still vast, for before the siege began the people from many of the surrounding cities had flocked into the capital. Pestilence was aiding famine in its work; and the Spanish writers say that "as the troops advanced, the bodies lay so thick that it was impossible to walk without treading on them."

Again and again Cortez endeavored to negotiate with the emperor. Although so reduced by weakness that they could scarce keep their feet, the Aztecs maintained their defiant attitude, and the advance of the allies recommenced. The Aztecs fought as bravely as ever; but they were so weakened that their missiles were no longer dangerous, and their arms could scarce lift their weapons.

It was a dreadful carnage. The confederates, panting with hatred of the race that had subdued and so long humiliated them, showed no pity; and even when Cortez ordered that quarter should be shown to all who asked it, the allies refused to be checked, and the work of slaughter went on until the Spanish trumpets sounded a retreat.

During that day, alone, it was calculated that forty thousand persons had fallen. That night a mournful stillness reigned over the city. In silent despair, and yet with no thought of surrender, the Aztecs awaited their fate.