The canoes, however, were as numerous here as elsewhere, and their occupants as determined; and the horsemen had the greatest trouble to keep their seats while resisting them. The general, being at the head, suffered most. At one time some Indians seized him by the legs and tried to drag him off. The footing of the horse being so insecure, the attempt would probably have succeeded but for the prompt aid of Antonio de Quiñones, and Texmaxahuitzin, a Tlascaltec, known afterward as Antonio. Olid, who also came to the rescue, was almost overpowered, but managed to free himself by means of backhanded blows from his muscular arm. One of the cavalry, Juan de Salazar, the page of Cortés, then took the lead to clear the way for the rest, only to fall a victim to his zeal. The next moment his master had gained the bank, and thereupon directed the troops by the ford.[830]
Thus in the darkness the wild roar of battle continued, the commingling shouts and strokes of combatants falling on the distant ear as one continuous moan. The canoes now pressed on the fugitives in greater number at the ford than in the channel. Sandoval, with his party, had swum the channel before the Mexicans assembled there in great numbers, and was now leading the van down the causeway, scattering the assailants right and left. Little regular fighting was attempted, the Spaniards being intent on escaping and the Mexicans quickly yielding before the cavalry, taking refuge in and round the canoes. With greater hardihood and success, however, they harassed those on foot. On reaching the next channel, which was the last, the fugitives found with dismay that it was wider and deeper than the others, and with bitter regret they saw their mistake in not bringing three portable bridges. The enemy was here also gathering in ever increasing force, to watch the death trap. Every effort to clear a passage was stubbornly resisted, and, the soldiers growing more irresolute, a rider was sent to bring Cortés. Before he arrived, however, Sandoval had already plunged in with a number of the cavalry, followed by foot-soldiers, who seized the opportunity to fall into the wake, by either holding on to the trappings of the horses or striking out for themselves. The passage was extremely difficult, and more than one horseman reeled and fell, from the united pressure of friends and foes. Those who followed suffered yet more, being pushed down by comrades, struck by clubs and stones, pierced by spears, or, most horrible of all, drawn in by dusky boatmen, who carefully guarded them for the dread stone of sacrifice.
With five horsemen Cortés led a body of one hundred infantry to the mainland. Accompanying this force was a number of carriers with treasures secured by the general and his friends. Leaving the gold in charge of Jaramillo, with orders to hold the entrance of the causeway against assailants from the shore, Cortés returned to the channel where Sandoval had taken a stand to keep clear the bank and protect the passage. Tidings coming that Alvarado was in danger, Cortés proceeded to the rear, beyond the second channel, and found it hotly contested. His opportune arrival infused fresh courage, as with gallant charges he relieved the troops from the terrible pressure. He looked in vain for many comrades who had been placed at this post, and would have gone in search of them had not Alvarado assured him that all the living were there. He was told that the guns reserved for the rear had for a while been directed with sweeping effect against the ever growing masses of warriors around them; but finally a simultaneous attack from the canoe crews on either side, and from the land forces to the rear, impelled by their own volume, had overwhelmed the narrow columns nearest the city, together with their cannon, killing and capturing a large number, and throwing the rest into the panic-stricken condition from which he had just extricated them.
Leaving Alvarado to cover the rear as best he could, Cortés hastened to direct the passage of the middle channel. What a sight was there! Of all the bloody terrors of that dark, sorrowful night, this was the most terrible! A bridge had been wanting, and behold, the bridge was there! With dead and living fugitives the chasm on either side the slippery beam had been filled,[831] and now the soldiers and allies were rushing, heedless of the groans beneath them, across this gory support, still narrow and full of gaps, to be filled by the next tripping fugitive. Scattered pell-mell on the bank lay the baggage and artillery, abandoned by the fleeing carriers, which, proving only an obstruction, Cortés ordered it thrown into the channel in order to widen the crossing.
But the end was not yet. Great as had been the woe, it was yet to be increased at the last and wider channel. Here was indeed a yawning abyss, having likewise a single remaining beam, whose narrow slippery surface served rather as a snare than a support.[832] The necessarily slow motion of the train had enabled the Mexicans to come up in swarms, and like sharks surround the chasm. Harassed on every side, and with an avalanche rolling against the rear, the retreating thought only of escaping the new danger, and at once. They threw aside their arms and treasures and plunged in, bearing one another down regardless of any claims of friendship or humanity. And woful to hear were the heart-rending cries from that pit of Acheron. Some begged help of Mary and Santiago; some cursed their fate and him who had brought them to it, while many sank with mute despair into the arms of death; and over all roared the wild cries and insults of the Mexicans. In strong contrast to the panic-stricken men appeared a woman, María de Estrada, who, with shield and sword, faced the enemy like a lioness, standing forth among the men as a leader, and astonishing friend and foe with her prowess.[833]
Cortés did all he could, as became an able commander and valiant soldier, to save his men. He was indefatigable in his efforts, being everywhere present, encouraging, guiding, and protecting. Yet his position was most trying; there were that night so many brave soldiers given over to despair, so many ears deaf to commands and prudent counsel. Unable to do more at the channels, he hastened to look to those who had crossed and were proceeding in straggling bands to join Jaramillo. Heedless of companies or officers, the soldiers had banded in parties of a score or two, and sword in hand, where this had not been thrown away, they were hurrying down the causeway.[834] The assailants fell off somewhat beyond the last channel, and finding the advance comparatively safe, guided by his soldierly impulses Cortés again returned with a few horsemen[835] and foot-soldiers to cover the remnant of the army. The rear, composed chiefly of the Narvaez party, were approaching the last channel, but under the continued onslaught panic had seized them. They made hardly an effort to defend themselves, and like the Indians during the massacre by Alvarado they huddled one against the other, offering their backs as a target for unsparing attack. Among this number was the loyal and noble Velazquez de Leon, who shared with the Tonatiuh the command of this section. How he fell is not known, but he never crossed the last breach.[836]
Alvarado had been wounded and had lost his horse, in common with most of his party. Finding it impossible to control the men, he gathered a small band round him and sought the channel, leaving the rest to look to themselves.[837] On reaching the spot he saw a confused mass of struggling humanity in the water, but the solitary beam which spanned it was vacant, and steadying himself with his lance he sprang swiftly across. Narrow and slippery as was the beam, it was no insignificant feat for a wounded man to cross upon it, but time magnified the performance to something miraculous. When Alvarado came to the channel, it is related, no friendly beam spanned the wide, deep gap. His life turned on brief resolve and instant action. Lithe, strong, and determined, even though wounded, he was not yet ready to yield all. With a searching glance into the troubled pool and across the awful chasm he stepped back for a preparatory spring. Then, rushing forward, he planted the long pike upon the yielding débris and vaulted across, to the wonder of all witnesses. The Indians, says Camargo, prostrated themselves in admiration, and tearing up grass, ate it, with the exclamation, “Truly, this man is the Tonatiuh!” So runs the story, preserved by tradition, and by the name yet given to the spot, ‘El Salto de Alvarado.’[838]
Cortés and his small band of rescuers came up as Alvarado appeared, pike in hand and bleeding, accompanied by a few stragglers.[839] Among these was Juan Tirado, who, in gratitude for his deliverance, erected at this bridge after the conquest a hermitage to San Acacio, known also as De los Mártires—martyrs to avarice, as Torquemada intimates.[840] The badly wounded were now mounted behind the horsemen,[841] and repelling the foes who still pressed on them, Cortés in person covered the remnant of the army in its retreat toward Tlacopan,[842] losing in this final struggle the gallant Captain Morla.[843] The route lay through Popotla village or suburb; and here, according to tradition, Cortés seated himself on a stone to weep over the misfortunes of this Sorrowful Night.[844]
By a similar process of annealing, gold is made soft and iron hard; so by misfortune the wise man is made wiser while the fool is hardened in his folly.