So he was warned; but quick the action. First, a blow with a Christian axe: down sank the horse; then a blow upon the helmet, and the wave that swallowed the steed received the rider also.
“Al-a-lala!” shouted the victor.
“The ’tzin, the ’tzin!” answered his people; and forward they sprang, over the canoes, over the bridge of the dead,—forward to get at their hated enemies again.
“Welcome art thou!” said Cortes to Alvarado. “Welcome as from the grave, whither Morla—God rest his soul!—hath gone. Where is Leon?”
“With Morla,” answered the captain.
“And Mesa?”
“Nay, Señor Hernan, if thou stayest here for any of the rear-guard, know that I am the last of them.”
“Bastante! Hear ye, gentlemen?” said Cortes. “Our duty is done. Let us to the land again. Here is my foot, here my hand: mount, captain, and quickly!”
Alvarado took the seat offered behind Cortes, and the party set out in retreat again. Closely, across the third canal, along the causeway to the village of Popotla, the ’tzin kept the pursuit. From the village, and from Tlacopan the city, he drove the bleeding and bewildered fugitives. At last they took possession of a temple, from which, as from a fortress, they successfully defended themselves. Then the ’tzin gave over, and returned to the capital.
And his return was as the savior of his country,—the victorious companies behind him, the great flotillas on his right and left, and the clouds overhead rent by the sounding of conchs and tambours and the singing and shouting of the proud and happy people.