It was before this senate that the messengers of Cortés appeared, informing them in the name of the Cempoalan lord of the arrival of powerful gods from the east, who having liberated the Totonacs from Montezuma’s sway, now desired to visit Tlascala in passing through to Mexico, and to offer their friendship and alliance. The messengers recommended an acceptance of the offer, for although few in number the strangers were more than equal to a host. They thereupon depicted their appearance, their swift steeds, their savage dogs, their caged lightning, as well as their gentle faith and manners. The messengers having retired, the senate proceeded to discussion. Prudent Maxixcatzin, lord of the larger and richer industrial district, called attention to the omens and signs which pointed to these visitors, who from all accounts must be more than mortal, and, if so, it would be best to admit them, since resistance must be vain. Xicotencatl, the eldest lord, replied to this that the interpretation of the signs could not be relied on. To him these beings seemed monsters rejected by the sea-foam, greedy of gold and luxuries, whose steeds devoured the very ground. To admit them would be ruinous. Besides, should the invincible Tlascaltecs submit to a mere handful? The gods forbid! It was further argued that the amicable relations of the strangers with Montezuma and his vassals did not accord with their protestations of friendship. This might be one of the many Aztec plots to obtain a footing in the country. Nor did the destruction of idols at Cempoala increase the confidence of a people so jealous of its institutions. The discussion waxing warmer, senator Temilotecatl suggested the middle course of letting the Otomí frontier settlers, who were thoroughly devoted to their Tlascaltec patrons, make an attack on the invaders, aided by their own general Axayacatzin Xicotencatl, son of the old lord, and known by the same name. If successful, they could claim the glory; if not, they might grant the victors the permission they had desired, while casting the blame for the attack on the Otomís. This was agreed to.[286]
As the Spaniards halted before the great wall, speculating on the strength of the people who had erected it, and upon the possible traps it might hide, their late hosts again besought them to take the Cholula route, but Cempoalan counsel prevailed. Waving aloft his banner, Cortés exclaimed: “Behold the cross! Señores, follow it!” And with this he led the way through the semicircular laps of the entrance. The wall was not provided with sentinels, and the army met with no obstacles.[287] Attended by ten horsemen, the general advanced to reconnoitre. After proceeding about four leagues he caught sight of fifteen armed Indians, who were pursued and overtaken. A fight ensued, in which the natives, nerved by despair, fought so fiercely that two horses were killed, and three horses and two riders wounded.[288] Meanwhile a force of Indians came up, estimated at from three to five thousand, and a horseman was at once sent back to hurry forward the infantry, while the rest boldly charged the enemy, riding through their ranks, and killing right and left without being injured themselves. On the approach of the foot-soldiers, and the discharge of a volley, the natives retired with about sixty of their number slain.[289] Shortly afterward two of the Cempoalan messengers returned with some Tlascaltecs, who expressed their sorrow at the attack made by a tribe not belonging to their nation. They offered to pay for the horses killed, and invited the Spaniards in the name of the lords to proceed. The army advanced for a league into more open country, and camped among some abandoned farms, where dogs proved to be the only food left. Thus ended the first day in Tlascalan territory, the first of September, according to Bernal Diaz.
In the morning the Spaniards met the two other messengers returning from their mission to Tlascala, who told a harrowing story of their seizure for the sacrificial stone, and of their escape by night. It is probable that their detention by the Tlascaltecs for messenger purposes had frightened them into believing that they were destined to be sacrificed, for envoys enjoyed the greatest respect among the Nahuas.[290] Shortly after a body of over one thousand warriors[291] appeared, to whom Cortés, in presence of the notary Godoy, sent three prisoners, with a formal assurance of his friendly intentions. The only reply being showers of arrows, darts, and stones, Cortés gave the “Santiago, and at them!” and charged. The enemy retreated with the face to their pursuers, enticing them toward some broken ground intersected by a creek, where they found themselves surrounded by a large force, some bearing the red and white devices of Xicotencatl. Missiles were showered, while double-pointed spears, swords, and clubs pressed closely upon them, wielded by bolder warriors than those whom the Spaniards had hitherto subdued. Many were the hearts that quaked, and many expected that their last moment had come; “for we certainly were in greater peril than ever before,” says Bernal Diaz. “None of us will escape!” exclaimed Teuch, the Cempoalan chief, but Marina who stood by replied with fearless confidence: “The mighty God of the Christians, who loves them well, will let no harm befall them.”[292] The commander rode back and forth cheering the men, and giving orders to press onward, and to keep well together. Fortunately the pass was not long, and soon the Spaniards emerged into an open field, where the greater part of the enemy awaited them, estimated in all, by different authorities, at from thirty thousand to one hundred thousand.[293]
How long was this to continue, each new armed host being tenfold greater than the last? Yet once again the Spaniards whet their swords, and prepare for instant attack, as determined to fight it out to the death, as Leonidas and his brave Spartans at the pass of Thermopylæ. The cavalry charged with loose reins, and lances fixed on a range with the heads of the enemy, opening a way through the dense columns and spreading a confusion which served the infantry well. Bernal Diaz relates how a body of natives, determined to obtain possession of a horse, surrounded an excellent rider named Pedro de Moron, who was mounted upon Sedeño’s fine racing mare, dragged him from the saddle, and thrust their swords and spears through the animal in all directions. Moron would have been carried off but for the infantry coming to his rescue. In the struggle which ensued ten Spaniards were wounded, while four chiefs bit the dust. Moron was saved only to die on the second day, but the mare was secured by the natives and cut into pieces, which were sent all over the state to afford opportunity for triumphal celebrations. The loss was greatly regretted, since it would divest the horses of their terrifying character. Those previously killed had been secretly buried. The battle continued until late in the afternoon, without enabling the Indians to make any further impression on the Spanish ranks than inflicting a few wounds, while their own were rapidly thinning under the charges of the cavalry and the volleys of artillery and firelocks. The slaughter had been particularly heavy among the chiefs, and this was the main reason for the retreat which the enemy now began, in good order.[294] Their actual loss could not be ascertained, for with humane devotion the wounded and dead were carried off the moment they were stricken; and in this constant self-sacrificing effort the Tlascaltecs lost many lives and advantages. Robertson regards with suspicion the accounts of the great battles fought during the conquest, wherein Indians fell by the score while the Spaniards stood almost unscathed, and Wilson ridicules the whole campaign, reducing the Tlascalan population, for instance, to about ten thousand, with a fighting force of less than one thousand men. Such remarks certainly show a want of familiarity with the subject.[295] We have often seen, in the New World wars, a thousand naked Americans put to flight by ten steel-clad Europeans, and I have clearly given the reasons. When we look at the Indians, with their comparatively poor weapons, their unprotected bodies, their inefficient discipline and tactics, whereby only a small portion of their force could be made available, the other portion serving rather as an obstruction, their custom of carrying off the dead, and other weak points, and when we contrast them with the well armored Spaniards, with their superior swords and lances, their well calculated movements, and their concerted action carried out under strict and practised officers, and above all their terror-inspiring and ravaging fire-arms and horses—how can we doubt that the latter must have readily been able to overcome vast numbers of native warriors? It was soon so understood in Europe. For once when Cortés was in Spain he scoffed at certain of his countrymen for having fled before a superior force of Moors, whereupon one remarked: “This fellow regards our opponents like his, of whom ten horsemen can put to flight twenty-five thousand.” In the retreat of the Ten Thousand, who under Cyrus had invaded Persia, we have an example of the inadequacy of numbers against discipline. Though for every Greek the Persians could bring a hundred men, yet the effeminate Asiatic absolutely refused to meet the hardy European in open conflict. Æschylus was inspired by personal experience in his play of the Persians when he makes the gods intimate to the wondering Atossa, the queen-mother, that free Athenians, unwhipped to battle, could cope successfully with the myriads of despotic Xerxes. The poor Americans had yet to learn their own weakness, and to pay dearly for the knowledge.
“It well seems that God was he who fought for us to enable us to get free from such a multitude,” says Cortés. He attempted no pursuit, but hastened to take possession of Tecohuatzinco, a small town on the hill of Tzompachtepetl,[296] where they fortified themselves upon the temple pyramid, and proceeded to celebrate the victory with songs and dances, a performance wherein the allies took the leading part. The following day[297] Cortés sallied forth with the horses, one hundred infantry, and seven hundred allies, partly to forage before the enemy appeared, but also to inflict some damage, and to show that they were as fresh as ever. “I burned five or six small villages,” he says, “each of about one hundred families, and returned with four hundred prisoners.”[298] After being consoled with food and beads, the captives, including fifteen taken during the late battle, were despatched to the camp of Xicotencatl, two leagues off, with a letter to serve as credentials, and a message assuring him of the friendly intentions of the Spaniards, although they had been obliged to resort to severe measures. By no means impressed either with his defeat or with the assurances, Xicotencatl replied that peace would be celebrated at his father’s town with a feast on the Spaniards’ flesh, while their hearts and blood were delighting the gods. They would receive a more decisive answer on the morrow. With this defiant message came the report that the Tlascalan army, largely reinforced, was preparing to march on and overwhelm them. “When we learned this,” says Bernal Diaz, “being men, we feared death, many of us; and all made confession to the Merced father, and the clergyman Juan Diaz, who all night remained present to listen to the penitent; and we commended ourselves to God, praying that we might not be conquered.” Cortés applied himself energetically to supervise preparations and give the enemy a welcome. A fresh supply of arrows, and of Indian shields of plaited cane and cotton, were made, and the arms and accoutrements inspected. He impressed upon the soldiers the necessity of keeping close together, round the banner to be carried well aloft by Alférez Corral, in order that they might not be cut off. As for the cavalry they were to make repeated charges, without losing time in delivering thrusts.
Early in the morning of September 5th the Indian army could be seen extending far over the field, terrible in war-paint, plumed helmets, and gaudy shields, with their double-edged flint swords and many-pointed lances gleaming in the sun, while the air resounded with shrill yells, mingling with the melancholy tones of their drums and the doleful blasts of conchs and trumpets.[299] It was the largest and finest army yet seen by the Spaniards, numbering, according to Gomara, one hundred and fifty thousand men, but according to Bernal Diaz only fifty thousand,[300] in four divisions, representing Tizatlan, Ocotelulco, Quiahuiztlan, and Tepeticpac, each distinguished by its own banner and colors, the latter noticeable also in the war-paint of the common soldier and in the quilted armor of the officers. Far in the rear, indicative of hostile sentiment, rose the standard of the state, bearing a bird with wings extended.[301] Gomara relates that, confident of success, the Tlascaltecs sent messengers to the camp with three hundred turkey-cocks and two hundred baskets of tamales, each of one hundred arrobas, so that they might not be taunted with having fought starved men, or having offered such to the idols.
But this story, adopted by Herrera, Clavigero, Robertson, and nearly every other writer, implies a generosity altogether too impolitic for an enemy who had already suffered two severe defeats. It is probable, however, that Xicotencatl may have sent small presents of food in order to obtain an opportunity for his spies to examine the camp.[302]
The Indians advanced in several columns up the sides of the hill, and, despite the resistance offered, pressed onward into the very camp, but were soon obliged to yield before murderous bullets and cutting blades. Cortés allowed the Indians to become tired and discouraged with repeated charges, and then with a ringing “Santiago!” the Spaniards, followed by the allies, sallied forth,[303] driving them in confusion to the plain, where the cavalry followed up the advantage, leaving bloody paths in all directions. Checked and reinforced by the reserve, the enemy turned with fresh courage on their pursuers. The shock was overwhelming. The tired Castilians yielded; their ranks were broken, and all seemed lost. Even Cortés was seized with a terrible misgiving, but it was only for a moment. Leading the cavalry to the rescue, he raised his voice above the din of battle, and called on all to rally. Nerved by his words and deeds, the men plied lustily their swords, and, driving back the enemy, formed anew. “So ably and valiantly fought the horsemen,” writes Bernal Diaz, “that next to God who protected us, they proved our strength.” Following up their advantage, the Spaniards hewed down the enemy in great numbers.
Victory might yet have turned against them but for a quarrel between Xicotencatl and another captain,[304] one accusing the other of mismanaging the late battle. The latter not only challenged the other, it seems, but withdrew his troops, and induced another division to follow him.[305] Thus left with only half his army, and that shattered and discouraged, Xicotencatl retired before the handful on whom his every effort seemed to have made no impression. He retreated in good order, carrying off most of the dead, for the opponents were too exhausted to pursue. Indeed, all the horses were wounded, and fully sixty men, of whom it appears several must have died soon after, though Cortés admits of no dead, and Bernal Diaz of only one.[306]