The Mexicans drew a long breath after the departure of the enemy. It is true their emperor was ignominiously slain, covered with the contempt and scorn of his own subjects. His two sons, whom Cortés carried with him as prisoners, perished in the flight. The streets ran with blood and were strewn with corpses. The beautiful city was defaced, the causeways shattered, the bridges destroyed, and many of the houses burnt down. But it was freed from the odius presence of the stranger, who they imagined would never return. In fact the Aztecs conceived him and his army to be absolutely annihilated. They set about restoring their tumbled down gods to their places, and contemplated appeasing Huitzilopochtli for the indignity with which he had been treated, by a new course of sacrifices.
Cuitlahuatzin, brother of Montezuma, was elected emperor. He had fought valiantly in the struggle, and shown heroic courage in driving Cortés from the capital, which it was his determination to enforce. He began the slow task of gathering the army together, and bringing order out of confusion, but a few days only after the great battle, he was attacked by small-pox. This disease, never before known among the Aztecs, was one of the misfortunes bequeathed to them by the Spaniards. A negro, who had just come up with Cortés, on his return from Vera Cruz, one of his recruits belonging to Narvaez, had the malady, and died of it, spreading contagion in the capital.
Cuahtemoc succeeded, the thirteenth and last king. He was of a different stock, the sons of Axayacatl all being destroyed, of the family of the friendly kings of the little neighboring state of Tlaltelolco. He embraced with enthusiasm the cause of his country, and attacked vigorously the work of restoration. He was but little more than twenty years old.
The tranquillity of the capital was but brief. In less than a week rumors came that the terrible white warrior was not killed, but alive, strong and determined as ever. Many of the Aztecs conceived him to be immortal, and it is scarcely to be wondered at. Cortés had gathered together the little remnant of his army, who crept along a winding route north of the city absolutely ignorant of their way, and what they might encounter. When light came, so that they were observed, stones and arrows were aimed at them by chance natives from above. For several days and nights they slowly advanced, living on the few ears of maize they found; for all provision was carried off from the deserted villages they passed through by the inhabitants as soon as they saw them approach. Cortés was always brave, cheerful, and even encouraging in these dark days. In this toilsome march seven days were passed, and then they came upon the strange pyramid of the sun and moon, at San Juan Teotihuacan, supposed to be the work of the earliest dwellers upon Anahuac, older than the Toltecs. These they make no mention of in their narrative, and we may well suppose they scarcely noticed them, for a sight more impressive and awe-inspiring soon after met their eyes, as they turned the crest of a ridge they had been climbing,—a full-fledged army stretched out before them, filling up the valley of Otumba, and giving it the appearance of being covered with snow, for the warriors were dressed in white cotton mail.
Cuitlahua had lost no time. As soon as he heard of the survival of the invader's army, he wasted not a moment. No puerile fear, no fatalistic paralysis restrained his understanding. Ably seconded by the warriors of the army, now roused to the importance of the occasion, he gathered a noble army. Every chief took the field with his whole force, and in a wonderfully short space of time a large army was collected and marched against the fugitives, having learned their course among the mountains.
PYRAMID AT TEOTIHUACAN
The Spaniards were but a handful, and the few Tlaxcallans who were with them increased the force but little. Gathering themselves together, they dashed directly into the midst of the Aztec army, on their horses, with the intention of cutting themselves a path through the ranks. Flight, and not conquest, was their only thought. They were soon surrounded, but defended themselves desperately. Several hours had passed, when the chief of the army was seen advancing on a litter, richly dressed, with plumes upon his head, a mantle of feather-work, and the banner of Tenochtitlan floating from his shoulders. Around him, to protect his sacred person, were a body of young warriors, richly dressed. It was a shining mark, and Cortés sprang towards it on his charger. Coming down upon the prince, and overturning his bearers, he struck him through with his lance and threw him to the ground. One of his men sprang from the saddle, seized the banner, and gave it to Cortés quick as a flash. It was all over in a moment. A panic ensued. The whole Mexican army fled in confusion, convinced that they fought against odds too great, human skill against the power of the immortals.