But days of rest must have an end. Cortes began preparations for the advance to Mexico with his army and an auxiliary force of six thousand brave Tlaxcalans. While thus engaged, another delegation from Montezuma appeared. They brought costly gifts upon golden platters of beautiful workmanship, and richly embroidered fabrics of linen and feather work. The messengers spoke timidly and hesitatingly. They begged Cortes not to enter into an alliance with the low and barbarous Tlaxcalans, but to go alone with his army to Cholula,[7] as the Emperor had given orders he should be fitly received there and his soldiers properly cared for. The Tlaxcalans regarded this invitation with suspicion. They were sure that Montezuma meditated treachery and begged Cortes not to expose himself to the danger awaiting him at Cholula. Cortes thanked his Indian friends for their solicitude, but assured them that European soldiers were not in the habit of avoiding any danger, however great it might be. He broke camp at once and marched to Cholula.
The reception he met was unusually friendly and respectful. The Tlaxcalan auxiliaries, being sworn enemies of the Cholulans, were not allowed to enter the city and were obliged to occupy a convenient spot outside the walls. They had already learned from their European friends how to intrench themselves, and they at once put their knowledge into practice. After a few days of rest, events gradually occurred which confirmed the suspicions of the Tlaxcalans. Provisions were supplied sparingly, the authorities displayed more coolness, and Montezuma’s representatives had frequent interviews with them. Two Tlaxcalans shortly appeared, who had stolen into the city in disguise and informed Cortes they had seen a multitude of women and children fleeing by night to adjacent places and that they learned from them that six young children had been sacrificed in a principal temple,—a custom always observed when any hostile movement was to be undertaken. They advised him, therefore, to be on his guard against attack. While Cortes was now using the utmost watchfulness to discover the secret purposes of the Cholulans, chance suddenly revealed the whole matter. A prominent Cholulan woman had conceived an unusual attachment for Marina, the interpreter. She was anxious to save her new friend from the universal massacre, which had been planned, and told her confidentially of the bloody designs of her people so that she might escape before it was too late. Marina, who was both shrewd and heartily devoted to the Spaniards, pretended she would follow the warnings of the Indian woman and induced her to disclose the whole plot without reserve. She learned that upon the day fixed for the massacre a force of Mexican soldiers would be concealed in the neighborhood of Cholula, for the purpose of rushing in at the appointed time, obstructing the streets by filling them with holes, lightly covered, into which horses would stumble and fall, and conveying great quantities of stones and other missiles to the roofs of houses and temples to be showered down upon the Spaniards, thus making their destruction inevitable.
Marina hastened to bring the news to her friend Cortes and the latter lost no time in devising means to prevent the disaster which threatened him. His first step was to persuade the Indian woman and two high priests by threats and bribes to make a full confession of the plot. Then he decided to set such an example of revenge that Montezuma and his followers would never again engage in such an undertaking. To effect this, he drew up his people and the Zempoalans in battle order in the courtyard of the large building which had been assigned him as quarters. The Tlaxcalans were instructed to enter the city when they heard the first shot and under various pretences decoy the principal Cholulan leaders to the Spanish quarters where they would be arrested. Everything being arranged, Cortes gave the signal for attack and the massacre began.
The Spaniards and Zempoalans advanced, and the Tlaxcalans at the same time entered the city. Furiously they swept through the streets from all sides and countless corpses marked the course of the destroyers. The native leaders stood as if thunderstruck and hardly dared to raise their trembling hands in defence. The Mexican force advanced to protect them, but it was easily overcome. To escape the sword, they and many of the natives sought shelter in a temple. Cortes led his men there in close ranks and loudly shouted that all who would come out and surrender in good faith should be spared. Only one person availed himself of the offer, the rest preferring apparently to die rather than submit. Cortes then proceeded to the commission of a deed from which we turn our eyes with pity and horror and at which humanity will always shudder. He fired the temple, and the multitude of unfortunates in it were victims of the flames. This horrible massacre went on two whole days—two days of rapine, fire, and slaughter, but women and children were spared by Cortes’ order. At last revenge seemed complete, the lust of plunder was satiated, and the bloody deed ended. The leaders, who had been made prisoners, were released. Cortes upbraided them for their treachery which had made the massacre necessary, and ordered them to recall the fugitive natives and restore the former order. Universal pardon was proclaimed and an idolatrous respect for the Spaniards and fear of their terrible power soon took possession of the Cholulans who had survived. In a few days the devastated city was once more crowded with natives, humbly submissive to the murderers of their kindred and destroyers of their temple.
Fourteen days had hardly passed since the entrance of the Spaniards into Cholula before Cortes decided to resume his march to the capital, without further loss of time. The army set out. Cortes was active at every spot where his presence was necessary, now in the advance, now in the rear, encouraging the weak, urging on the laggards, and striving to inspire each one with the enthusiasm he himself felt. He never failed to make the rounds at night to see if every one was at his post. Upon one occasion his watchfulness came near proving fatal. He came too near a sentinel who did not recognize him in the darkness and aimed his cross-bow at him. His quick outcry of the watchword for the night alone saved him.
The army advanced vigorously, and the farther it penetrated the country, the more reason Cortes had to expect a successful issue to his undertaking. Everywhere he heard complaints of Montezuma’s tyranny and cruelty. Everywhere he found governors ready to shake off his yoke. The Spaniards soon left the pleasant, level country, their way leading through the mountainous region, which divides the great tablelands of Mexico and Puebla.[8] The higher they ascended, the sharper and more piercing grew the air, and the wind which swept down the frozen mountain sides made the soldiers shiver, even in their thick woollen uniforms, and benumbed the limbs of men and horses. Their road led them between two of the highest mountains of the North American continent, Popocatepetl,[9] or “Smoking Mountain,” and Iztaccihuatl,[10] or the “White Lady.” The natives held the former mountain sacred to their divinities and for this reason had never made an attempt to ascend it, but the mysterious dread with which the place was invested and the unconquerable love of adventure made some of the Spanish knights eager to accomplish a feat which the natives considered impossible and involving the lives of those who attempted it. Cortes encouraged them for he was anxious to convince the Indians that his followers never flinched from any danger. A captain, Ordaz by name, nine Spaniards, and some of the Tlaxcalans, who had plucked up courage by this time, undertook the ascent. After overcoming many obstacles and dangers, they reached the height of thirteen thousand feet. At this point the Indians, alarmed by a strange subterranean rumbling of the volcano, would go no farther. The Europeans, however, advanced to the vicinity of the crater, but the smoke, sparks, and ashes from the burning interior forced them to return.
The army continued its march among hills and through ravines. After great exertions a sight met their eyes which compensated them for their trials and filled them all with delight. A vast and beautiful country lay before them, and in the midst of it a lake, which looked like the sea. Along this lake were many stately cities and towns, and in their midst the queen of them all, the far-away glistening capital, splendid with its many temples and towers.[11] They had reached the valley of Mexico, or Tenochtitlan,[12] as the natives call it. At first view of this magnificent region the astonished Europeans stood as if uncertain whether they were awake or dreaming. All their past dangers disappeared like mists vanishing before the sun, and they were ready now for anything that might happen. Cortes observed their enthusiasm with delight and cautiously advanced along the shore of the lake toward the stately capital.
Suddenly a great crowd of people appeared coming from the capital toward them. There were over a thousand, evidently persons of distinction as they wore elegant cloaks and tufts of feathers. They approached the Spanish army in respectful stillness, and each of them displayed his deepest reverence for the general, as they informed him that Montezuma himself was drawing near. The vanguard of the capital next appeared, two hundred in number, uniformly costumed and decorated with feathers. These came barefooted in pairs, and, as soon as they reached the head of the Spanish army, stationed themselves so as to afford a view of the glistening ranks of court attendants in whose midst Montezuma[13] himself was conspicuous in a golden sedan chair. Four of the leading personages of the Empire bore it upon their shoulders. Others held a beautifully constructed canopy over him, which seemed to be made of some fine material embroidered with silver and adorned with green feathers. In advance of this brilliant procession went three magisterial persons with golden staves which they raised ceremoniously from time to time. At this signal all prostrated themselves and covered their faces as if they were unworthy to look upon the person of their exalted monarch.
As soon as the procession was sufficiently near, Cortes dismounted from his horse and hastened to pay his respects to the monarch. The latter at the same time stepped from his chair and rested, leaning upon the shoulders of two princes, then advanced with slow and stately stride to meet the dreaded stranger, walking upon carpets which his followers laid down so that his feet should not touch the ground. Cortes met him cordially and greeted him with a low bow after the European manner. Montezuma replied to the greeting with an obeisance which in his country was significant of the highest respect. He kissed his own hand and then touched the ground with it. This condescension from the proudest of monarchs, who was accustomed to greet even the images of his divinities with a careless nod of the head, greatly astonished the Mexicans and induced the conviction that these strangers were divine and not human beings. The word “Teules” (gods) was constantly on their lips. Cortes wore over his armor a necklace set with paste stones which he intended to give the Emperor. As soon as the ceremony of greeting was over, he took this false ornament and hung it about the neck of Montezuma. The Emperor appeared pleased at this attention and ordered one of his own costly ornaments to be brought—a necklace of very rare shells, from each of which on both sides depended four golden crabs. He handed this decoration to his guest, which still further increased the astonishment of his people.
Montezuma appeared to be about forty years of age. He was of medium size and rather thin. He had a very majestic appearance, a pleasing countenance, and in color was not so brownish yellow as the rest of the Mexicans. He wore a long cloak of fine woollen stuff which was literally covered with ornaments, pearls, and gems. A golden crown, much resembling a bishop’s mitre, comprised his headdress. His shoes were made of solid gold plates fastened with straps and gold buckles.