And while Cortes was listening to the answer, the streets about the palace filled with companies, and crumbling parapet and solid wall shook under the shock of a new assault.
Then Cortes’ spirit arose.
“Mount, gentlemen!” he cried. “The hounds come scrambling for the scourge; shame on us, if we do not meet them. And hearken! The prisoners report a plague in the city, of which the new king is dying, and hundreds are sick. It is the small-pox.”
“Viva la viruela!” shouted Alvarado.
The shout spread through the palace.
“Where God’s curse is,” continued Cortes, “Christians need not stay. To-night we will go. To clear the way and make this day memorable let us ride. Are ye ready?”
They answered joyously.
Again the gates were opened, and with a goodly following of infantry, into the street they rode. Nothing withstood them; they passed the canals by repairing the bridges or filling up the chasms; they rode the whole length of the street until the causeway clear to Tlacopan was visible. St. James fought at their head; even the Holy Mother stooped from her high place, and threw handfuls of dust in the enemy’s eyes.
In the heat of the struggle suddenly the companies fell back, and made open space around the Christians; then came word that commissioners from king Cuitlahua waited in the palace to treat of peace.
“The heathen is an animal!” said Cortes, unable to repress his exultation. “To cure him of temper and win his love, there is nothing like the scourge. Let us ride back, gentlemen.”