Sketches of Aboriginal Life / American Tableaux, No. 1

by V. V. Vide

Sandoval, one of his bravest and most trusty officers, who led the van, with a few other cavaliers as bold as himself, resolved to push forward at any personal hazard, rather than stand still to perish in one confused mass, dashed their steeds into the water, and made for the other side of the gap. Some succeeded in effecting a landing, while others, with their horses, perished in the attempt, or fell into the hands of the watchful boatmen. The first movement being thus made, an impetus was given to the moving column from behind, that drove the front ranks, nolens volens, into the breach. By far the greater part sank to rise no more, or were picked up by the Aztecs, and hurried away to a far more terrible death. At length the breach was filled up by the bodies of the dead, and the baggage and artillery which occupied the centre, so that the rear had a clear passage over the fatal chasm.

A second and a third breach was yet to be passed. It was accomplished as before, only by making a bridge of the bodies of one half, for the other half to walk upon. Meanwhile the enemy hung upon flank and rear, with unappeasable rage, striking down and picking up vast numbers of victims, until, when the last breach was cleared, and a footing gained upon terra-firma, there was scarce a remnant left of the gallant band that entered upon that fatal causeway. The iron-hearted Cortez was so overcome with the sight of his shattered band, and the absence of so many brave comrades, when the morning light appeared, that he sat down upon a rock that overlooked the scene of desolation, and gave vent to his emotions in a flood of tears.

Had the Mexicans followed up this success by falling upon the broken dispirited remnant of the Castilian army, they would probably have vanquished and destroyed them to a man. They were suffered, however, to proceed unmolested for several days, until their strength and spirits were somewhat recruited. Then, though attacked by immensely superior numbers, they succeeded in putting them to rout.

The new Emperor, Cuitlahua, having signalized his accession to the throne by the almost total destruction of the formidable foe, who had spread the terror of his arms far and wide through all the realms of Anahuac, proceeded to fortify his capital and kingdom against another invasion. The dikes and canals were thoroughly repaired, the walls were strengthened and extended, the army enlarged and improved in discipline by some of the lessons which so able a general, was not slow to learn from the Spaniards. The immense treasures they had drawn from the munificent Montezuma, and which, in the disasters of that melancholy night, they had been compelled to leave behind, were all recovered and expended in these works of defence. Their arms, too, were gathered up, and served to improve and render more effective many of the more primitive weapons of the Aztecs. In the midst of these wise and patriotic efforts to guard against the probable return of the Spaniards, Cuitlahua was seized with a loathsome disease, which in a few days brought him to the grave, after a brief reign of four months.

This was a terrible blow to the nation. It was felt throughout all the borders of Anahuac, as the severest frown of their gods. But partially recovered from the shock occasioned by the death of Montezuma, they were now beginning to feel their hopes renewed, and their courage reviving, under the bold and decided measures, and the signal successes of their new Emperor. He was the idol of the army. His intrepid bravery, his high military talents, his unyielding patriotism, and deadly hatred of the white men, had secured for him the confidence of all the wisest and best men of the realm, so that, with one heart and one voice, they rallied around his standard, assured that, under his energetic sway, the ancient glory and pre-eminence of the Aztec crown would be not only ably asserted, but effectually re-established.

His fall, like a mighty earthquake, shook the empire to its centre. For a moment it seemed as if all was lost—hopelessly, irretrievably lost. The long funereal wail, that swelled up from every dwelling and every heart in that devoted land, seemed like the expiring groan of a world. But it was only for a moment. The first shock past, they found themselves still standing, though among ruins. Their land, their temples, their dwellings, still remained. Their wise and experienced counsellors were all in their midst. Their host of armed men were still at their post, unbroken, undivided, unappalled. The imperial mantle had not fallen to the earth.

As by immediate direction from heaven, all eyes were turned to Guatimozin. He was nephew to the last two monarchs, and though only a young man, had distinguished himself both in the council and in the field. He had uniformly opposed the admission of the Spaniards to the capital. He had been prominent in all the recent attacks upon their quarters, and had especially signalized himself in the terrible overthrow of the disastrous night of their retreat. He had all the coolness and intrepidity of a veteran warrior, with all the fire and impetuosity of youth. He was about twenty-five years of age, of an elegant commanding figure, and so terrible in war that even his followers trembled in his presence.

The young prince felt the extreme difficulty of the crisis, but did not shrink from the arduous and perilous post assigned him. With a prudence and circumspection, only to have been expected from one long accustomed to the cares and perplexities of government, he set himself to fortify every assailable point, and to prepare for the worst that might arise, in the event of another invasion. The works commenced during the brief reign of Cuitlahua were carried forward to their completion. By means of regular couriers and spies, a constant communication was kept up with all parts of the country. The movements of the Spaniards were narrowly watched, and their supposed designs frequently reported to the Emperor. Nothing was omitted which a sagacious and watchful monarch could do or devise, to make ready for a severe and protracted contest, in whatever form it might come.

Thus established on the throne, and strengthened against a sudden surprise, the ardent young monarch repaired to Chapoltepec, where the bereaved household of Montezuma still remained, in sad but peaceful seclusion, and claimed the hand of the fair Princess Tecuichpo. Her retiring disposition would have preferred a humbler and more quiet station. She had seen enough of the agitations and burdens of a crowned head; enough of the gaudy emptiness of life in a palace, and longed to hide herself in some sweet, sequestered spot, away from the noisy parade and anxious bustle of a court, where her own home would be all her world.

“Oh! that that crown had fallen on some other head,” she exclaimed. “Though there is not another in Anahuac so worthy to wear it, not one who would so well sustain its ancient glory, yet I would not that you should bear the heavy burden, or be exposed to that desolating storm that is gathering over our devoted capital and throne.”