The Infidel; or, the Fall of Mexico. Vol. II.

by Robert Montgomery Bird

But this triumph was the last of the pagans. All supplies of corn from the lake-sides were cut off, and they were known to be famishing; and besides, as if heaven were willing to assist even the arms of rapacity, to subdue a race, all whose institutions were more or less infected by the spirit of blood that brutalized their religion, the rainy season was brought to a close preternaturally early, and they were left without water. The Spaniards recovered their spirits, and collecting again vast bands of confederates, recommenced the siege, advancing with prudence, and destroying every thing as they advanced, and not only regaining all they had lost, but even effecting, despite all resistance, a secure lodgment upon the island, from their several points of attack. The Mexicans still fought; but it was with bodies emaciated and enfeebled, and with hearts subdued by despair. The three divisions of besiegers met upon the great square, blew up the Huitzompan, and all the temples within the circuit of the Wall of Serpents, which they fortified and preserved; and then, still demolishing houses as they advanced, they pushed on until they reached the great market-place of Tlatelolco; and thus hemmed in upon the narrow peninsula the unfortunate king of Mexico, and the few shattered remnants of his army.

Before this crisis had yet arrived, there occurred another incident, in which, as in all others since his return from the South Sea, the virtues of Juan Lerma were made the instruments of still further misfortune. He beheld Magdalena but once, after the adventure of the garden; and she was then raving with delirium, in which she did not know even him. The fate of Zelahualla was still wrapt in obscurity; for such had been the suddenness of the attack in the garden, that none knew of her fate, and Magdalena was incapable of uttering any rational word, to remove the mountain of anxiety from his breast. His scheme to effect the deliverance of the princess had doubtless thrown her into the power of the Spaniards; and the thought of such a captive in such hands, preyed upon him with a bitterness that exceeded death. He fought no more, and indeed he was urged no longer by the king, who was himself reduced to such desperation, that he thought no further of stratagems, but merely of blind and sullen resistance.

On the third day after the battle, he was summoned by Techeechee to attend the king in public; and without questioning for what purpose, he gloomily obeyed, taking with him the Spanish sword with which he had been provided, on the day of his attempted escape.

It was midday: no sound of contention came to his ears, for the besiegers were yet lying in their quarters on the dikes, healing their wounds and lamenting their friends; but the quiet of the garden was broken by the howling of the beasts, and the shrill streams of birds of prey,—of such at least as had not already been slaughtered, to appease the hunger of the wretches, who yet fought for their expiring empire. One circumstance, had Juan noticed it, might have convinced him of the dreadful extent and intensity of the suffering, of which he had been before apprized. The trees of the garden had begun to be robbed of their leaves, but not by summer heat or autumnal drought;—the tender shrubs were stripped of their bark;—the smaller plants had been rooted up, and even the grass, in some places, torn from the earth, and even the earth itself upturned, in the search after edible roots.—All that could be gnawed by the teeth of man had vanished, or did soon after vanish, from the garden. When the Spaniards walked afterwards through their conquest, not a green leaf, as they have recorded, was found in all the city.

He passed through the broken wall, now only defended by rude palisades, strengthened by an abatis of withered shrubs and brambles, and passing the moat, over the ruins of the prostrate wall, found himself on the market-square of Tlatelolco, of which the Spaniards gave such surprising accounts, when they beheld it filled with the merchants and riches of the empire, before the death of Montezuma. It was of very great extent, and contained, at the eastern boundary, a pyramid, on which was the temple of one of the lesser divinities. On the west was a platform, or rather stage, faced and flagged with stone, and devoted to theatrical exhibitions, which, however primitive and barbarous, were yet a chief feature among the amusements of a Mexican festival.

Almost in the centre of the square, and yet so nigh to the garden wall that it could be overlooked by the nearest turrets of the palace, was another platform, perhaps four feet in height, and circular, upon which lay the famous stone Temalacatl, devoted to the purpose of the gladiatorial sacrifice. It now lies in the Plaza Mayor of the modern city, near the walls, and within the enclosure of the great Cathedral, and is one of the few monuments which the conquerors have left of the savage institutions of the Aztec empire. It is a circular block of porphyry, nine or ten feet in diameter, and is sculptured over with the effigies of warriors. The privilege of dying upon this stone was awarded only to captives of the most extraordinary prowess; and as such were never taken alive, unless when conquered by accident, the exhibition of such a sacrifice was as rare as it was agreeable to the fierce tastes of the Mexicans. It was essentially gladiatorial, and it offered a prospect even of life and liberty to the valiant prisoner. A sword and buckler were put into his hands, and he was tied by one leg to the stone; yet, if he succeeded in slaying or defeating six chosen Mexican warriors, he was released and sent back in safety to his own country. The last victim of the Temalacatl was the famous Tlascalan chief, Tlahuicotl, the Orlando of Anahuac, captured by Montezuma not many years before the advent of the Spaniards, who, fighting only to die, (for he refused to accept life, even as the meed of his own heroism,) and fighting till he did die, slew no less than eight different opponents, and disabled twenty others, before his great spirit sank under his exertions. If the gladiator fell, before he had accomplished his task, he was dragged to the neighbouring temple, and there sacrificed, while yet living. The last victim, destined to close the list of those to whom Mexico did honour, was a Spaniard.

A vast multitude of pagans surrounded the platform, except on that side which looked to the temple. Here stood the priests, few in number, yet prepared, at the moment of the victim's fall, to clutch upon him, and bear him to the altar, a space being left for them, as much out of reverence for their sacred character, as to preserve their pathway entirely unobstructed. The side that looked to the palace was also but little encumbered; for here the king of Mexico sat upon a scaffold, attended by his chief nobles.

The grim looks of expectation, with which the assembled multitude surveyed the platform, were heightened in ferocity by the privations that had pinched and hollowed their visages. They looked like winter wolves, gaunt with famine; and one would have thought their appetites were whetting for a repast on the flesh of the victim. There was indeed something horrid in their appearance, as well as in the cause which had assembled them together. It was plain that they waited impatiently for the coming of the prisoner. As they rolled their eyes over the square, they caught sight of Juan, conspicuous by his lofty stature, though he now drooped his head with gloom, and hailed his appearance with such shouts as proved what a change had been made in their feelings, by his presence, in the battle of the ambuscade. The imputations of Azcamatzin were ended, for Azcamatzin perished an hour after uttering them, under a shot from the crossbow of the hunchback: they remembered nothing now, but that the Christian had touched the body of Malintzin, and was struck down while he had him in his hands, and that he was the brother of the king.

It was these acclamations which roused him out of his sullen mood, so that he could exert his mind and imagine the object for which he had been summoned. But no sooner did he perceive the priests near the Temalacatl, than he was seized with horror, and disregarding the command of Guatimozin, who beckoned to him to ascend the platform to his side, he turned to fly.

"Is not my brother a Mexican, and among the sons of the king?" said the infidel; and then added with a look of bitter meaning, "My brother shall see the revenge of the daughter of Montezuma!"