“Who art thou?” asked Cortes.
“Magarino,” the man replied.
“Whom have you?”
“One hundred and fifty Christians, and four hundred Tlascalans.”
“And the bridge?”
“We have it here.”
“As thou lovest life and honor, captain, heed well thine orders. Move on, and join thyself to Sandoval.”
The bridge spoken of was a portable platform of hewn plank bolted to a frame of stout timbers, designed to pass the column over the three canals intersecting the causeway to Tlacopan, which, in the sally of the afternoon, had been found to be bridgeless. If the canals were deep as had been reported, well might Magarino be charged with particular care!
In the order of march next came the centre or main body, Cortes’ immediate command. The baggage was in their charge, also the greater part of the artillery, making of itself a long train, and one of vast interest; for, though in the midst of a confession of failure, the leader did not abate his intention of conquest,—such was a peculiarity of his genius.
“Mexia, Avila, good gentlemen,” he said, halting the royal treasurers, “let me assure myself of what beyond peradventure ye are assured.”