The outposts were always guarded with the most jealous vigilance, particularly in the later hours of the night, after the rains, which, in this climate, commonly prevail with the greatest violence between the hours of noon and midnight. A guard of forty men, with two pieces of artillery, kept watch until midnight; when, yielding their places to forty more, but not retiring, they threw themselves to sleep upon the damp stones and clay. Two hours before dawn, the post was strengthened by another company of forty, who watched until morning, the others flinging themselves in their cloaks among the first watchmen. Thus, there were ready, before day, one hundred and twenty men, the strongest and boldest of their divisions, who, in case of sudden attack, could preserve the station, until reinforced by the whole strength of the division, from the towers of the gates, which were still the head-quarters of the several divisions. The causeway between the gates and the pickets, was occupied by patrols of horsemen, who watched lest the enemy, coming in canoes, should make a descent behind the advanced post, and thus cut it off.
Two hours after midnight, upon the night in which Juan revealed his purpose of escaping, the second guard on the causeway of Iztapalapan was relieved from watch by the coming of the third; and the soldiers flung themselves, as usual, upon the earth, to prepare for a morning, which, it was known to all, was to witness a general assault, made simultaneously by all the divisions, from their three several quarters.
The watchfires were replenished, and two subalterns, the leaders of the party, advanced a little beyond them, to reconnoitre the condition of the enemy. Three hundred paces in front, the causeway was intersected by the ditch, held by the Mexicans; and beyond it, on a strong rampart, blazed a great fire, in the light of which the pagan sentinels could be seen, squatting upon the mound, or stalking idly about. The gap was bridgeless, as was well-known; but this the Spaniards could not observe with their own eyes, not thinking it prudent to advance within the range of a Mexican arrow.
As they returned, they conversed together in low voices; and it was worthy of remark, as indicating how little their spirits were occupied by the dangers around them, that they bestowed more words upon the ordinary scandal of the camp than upon the horrible conflicts through which they had passed, or in which they were yet to mingle.
"They lay this thing of Camarga entirely to the door of Guzman," said one; "and, in my mind, the imputation were reasonable, could we discover any cause for enmity between them. They say, that Guzman smothered him with pillows of cottontree-down. Wherefore—"
"Pho, Najara," said the other, bluffly; "blame not a man upon these vain fancies; for Camarga was killed by a hard weapon, and by no pillows of cotton-down or feathers. I found him myself."
"Ay," said Najara, for it was the hunchback, whose companion was no other than the worthy historian, Bernal Diaz del Castillo,—"Ay, señor amigo, but he was not dead; and we are speaking of two very different events: to make which palpable to thy historical wits, we must e'en go back to the starting point. It is with a man of ill mind as with a cannonier; who, if he look for the mark of his ball in a forest, must go back to the place whence he shot it, and take the range over again."
"I do not understand thy trope," said Bernal, "nor what thou meanest by an 'ill mind,' not having one myself, but one that harbours animosities against none but Indians. As for Camarga, I found him myself. It was when we marched out of Tezcuco, by the northern road; for I was then with Alvarado, going to Tacuba. I say it, and it is to my honour, not shame, that Cortes, when he left the brigantines, demanded me of Alvarado; 'for,' said he, 'Bernal Diaz is one of my best friends, and a soldier second to none:' which is true, though I say it myself. De Olid was with us, with his men. The story is this: When we passed by the cypress-tree on the hill, I bethought me of a chapter of my book, which I had lost, I knew not where nor when. 'Now,' said I, 'perhaps I left it under this tree;' for what with the sudden coming of Juan Lerma, poor fellow, and the quarrel I had with Gaspar on his account, I departed from that place, without much thought of what might be left behind me. But pondering on this, as we passed, I dropped from the ranks, and hunting about, I saw Camarga lying mangled at the bottom of the hill; and when we came to examine him, it was plain he had been struggling there for many hours,—perhaps, all night. We thought he was dead; but Juan Catalan, the cannonier, who is so good at a fresh wound, said, his heart was yet beating, and he might live. So we sent him back to Tezcuco, then in charge of Guzman, that the Indian doctors might see what could be done for him. And there he died."
"Ay, if we can believe Guzman," said Najara; "and no doubt, he did: but how? Know now, Bernal, for thou art too innocent to look further than thy nose, that this man's death has made a great noise at head-quarters; for, somehow, they have come to associate it with the marvellous disappearance of La Monjonaza; for which there are but two ways of accounting."
"As how?" said Bernal, gravely. "Gil Ortaga told me, he saw her ghost, six nights after, in Iztapalapan, dragging the spirit of Villafana by the hair; which frightened him very much."