After a while he conducted them to the appointed rendezvous, a fortified but desolate temple on the outskirts of Otampan. Here the army of the white conquerors, now indeed worthy the name, were to pass the night of their victory, a night of as profound gratitude and heartfelt joy, as that other had been of defeat, humiliation, and heart-breaking sorrows.
On the following day they passed the rude fortifications marking a boundary of Tlascala, the brave mountain republic, to which, next to their own indomitable courage and incredible powers of endurance, the Christians owed everything, including their lives. Here at a little frontier town they rested, doubtful of the reception to be accorded them by those who had suffered such losses in their behalf; while Huetzin, attended by a small body of his own warriors, hastened to the capital. In this city of his birth the young warrior received the welcome reserved for victors, and amid joyous acclamations from the populace, made his way to where the venerable councillors of the nation awaited him. The disaster in Tenochtitlan, the noche triste, and the retreat, were all forgotten for the time being, and only the glorious victory of Otampan was remembered. The aged chieftain of Titcala fell on the young man's neck, with grateful tears in his sightless eyes, and blessed him. All voices sounded his praises, and proclaimed unwavering allegiance to the Christians. Only one was silent, and it was that of the envious Xicoten.
The next day, again clad as became his rank, Huetzin returned to the anxious army accompanied by the noble chieftain of his house, and many of the most prominent citizens of Tlascala. These bore messages and tokens of a generous welcome to Cortes, and offers of the hospitality of their city, to him and his followers, for as long as they would accept of it.
With a glad gratitude was this offer accepted, and in the hospitable city the weary army rested until its wounds were healed and its strength restored. In the palace of Titcala, Cortes himself, succumbing to his hurts and the mental strain that had been upon him for so long, lay many days in the weakness and delirium of a fever. As soon as the active brain began again to work, and while he still lay helpless as an infant on his bed of convalescence, the undaunted soldier planned for the future. Never for a moment had he relinquished his purpose to conquer Tenochtitlan, and supplant its hideous religion with that of the Cross.
With his first strength he undertook a brilliant campaign against a number of Aztec cities, situated within striking distance of Tlascala, whose inhabitants had cut off and sacrificed to their gods small parties of Spaniards. At the end of four months he had reconquered the whole of the vast Puebla table-land, had received reinforcements of men, horses, guns, and ammunition, and was again ready to march back over the frowning western Cordilleras, which he had already traversed four times, under extraordinary circumstances.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
ONCE MORE IN THE MEXICAN VALLEY
During the four months occupied by Cortes in reconquering the eastern half of the Aztec kingdom, so that when he was ready to proceed against its capital city he might leave no enemy behind him, events of importance were taking place elsewhere. One of these was the death of Cuitlahua, Montezuma's brother and successor. He fell before a dread scourge now sweeping over the land, and reaping such a harvest of dead as even that warlike country had never known. It was the small-pox, introduced to the Western World by a negro, the first of his race to set foot on the American continent, who had been one of the followers of Narvaez. Breaking out at Cempoalla, it swept over the land with the virulence of a plague, seizing alike upon hut and palace. In Tlascala, the blind chieftain of Titcala was among its victims. Huetzin, hastily summoned from a distant battle-field, stood at the bedside of his dying grandsire, and as the old man breathed his last under the holy sign of the Cross, the son of Tlahuicol was proclaimed head of the proud house of Titcala, and ruled in his place.
At nearly the same time and in the same city, Marina closed forever the eyes of her parents, who expired within a few minutes of each other, of the same fatal disease. Thus the young chieftain and the orphaned Indian girl became companions in sorrow, as they had been in seasons of rejoicing.