Calavar; or, The Knight of The Conquest, A Romance of Mexico

by Robert Montgomery Bird

When the bearers and the body were alike concealed from their view, the Mexicans rose, and turning towards the palace, brandished their weapons with fierce gestures, and many exclamations of hatred, against the destroyers of their king. For a moment, Cortes doubted if his expedient had not served rather to increase, than to divert, the fury of his opponents; and he beckoned from his stand on the terrace, to the cannoniers, to prepare their matches. But an instant after, he revoked the command: the Mexicans were retiring; a great army was suddenly converted into a funeral train, and thus they departed from the square, after the body of their ruler, without striking a blow at the invader.

This circumstance reassured the garrison; and the prospect of speedy release from intolerable suffering and from destruction, wrought such a change over all, that visages, emaciated by famine, and haggard from despair, were lit up with smiles; and songs and laughter re-echoed through chambers, which, but the night before, had resounded with prayers, groans, and curses. Nothing was now thought of but the bread and fruits of Tlascala, the mines and fandangos of Cuba; and many a sedate and sullen veteran clapped his hands with a sudden joy, as he bethought him of the urchins sporting in the limpid Estero, or climbing the palm that grew at his cabin door. Escape from the miseries which had environed them, and the privilege to discourse for life of the marvels of Tenochtitlan,—of the beauty of its valleys, the magnificence of its cities, the wealth of its rulers, the ferocious valour of its citizens,—to wondering listeners, were the only offsets thought of to the many labours, sufferings, and risks of the campaign. The little property amassed by each—the share of Montezuma's presents, and the spoils stripped from the dead, were stored, along with such trifles as might add the interest of locality to legends of battle, in the sacks of the soldiers. All made their preparations, and all made them in hope.

The only melancholy men in the palace, that day, were Cortes and Don Amador de Leste. The latter remembered his knight, falling ingloriously and alone on the causeway; and the general pondered over the griefs of defeated ambition.

But whatever were the pangs of Don Hernan, he forgot not the duties of a general. Besides other precautions, he caused his carpenters to construct a portable bridge of sufficient strength to support the weight of his heaviest artillery, and yet, not so ponderous but that it might be carried on the shoulders of some half a hundred strong men. This he provided, fearing lest the barbarians had destroyed the bridges not only of the great dike of Iztapalapan, but of that of Tacuba, on which it was his determination to attempt his flight, and which, running westward from the island, was, as has been intimated, but two miles in length.

In accordance with the advice of the necromancer, the hour of departing was put off until midnight,—a period of time which had the double advantage of being recommended by Botello, and of ensuring the least molestation. Each individual, therefore, made his preparations, and looked forward to that hour.

The melancholy that oppressed the spirits of the neophyte, was so great, that he betrayed little curiosity either to acquaint himself with the events which had occurred during his captivity, or even to inquire further into the mysterious knowledge and acts of the page. But, however indisposed to conversation, he could not resist the attentions of De Morla. From him he learned the imputation he had cast on the valour and gratitude of Alvarado; a charge which the novice removed, by magnanimously confessing, that his own indiscretion had carried him beyond the reach of Don Pedro, who should be in no wise held accountable for his misfortune. He heard with more interest, and even smiled with good-natured approbation, at the story of Fabueno's fortune; but a frown darkened on his visage, when De Morla pictured the anger and domineering fury of the Tonatiuh; and this was not diminished, when his friend confessed himself the champion of the secretary, announced that Cortes had sanctioned the quarrel, and claimed of him the offices of a friend.

"If blood must be shed in this quarrel," he said, "it must be apparent to you, my very noble and generous friend, (for, surely, your kindness to Lorenzo merits this distinction,)—it must be apparent, I say, that I am he who is called upon to shed it. The youth is my own follower; for which reason, I am bound to give him protection, and support him in all his just rights, whereof one, I think, is to love any woman who may think fit to give him her affections, whether she be a princess or peasant. I must, therefore, after repeating to thee my thanks for thy very distinguished generosity, require thee to yield up thy right to do battle with Don Pedro, if battle must, indeed, be done,—though I have hopes that his good sense will enforce him to surrender the maid, without the necessity of bloodshed."

"I cannot yield to thee, hermano mio," said De Morla, quickly; "for there is deadly feud betwixt the Tonatiuh and myself; and were he to fight thee a dozen times over, still should he, of a necessity, measure weapons with me."

"It doth not appear to me, how this difference can call for more than one combat; and, as I have told thee, I think it can be composed, provided thou allowest me to assume thy place, entirely without conflict."

"Know thou, my friend," said De Morla, "that I have already, in the matter of thy fall and capture, at the fight of the manta, charged Alvarado with many terms of opprobrium and insult; for which reason, a duello has become very inevitable."