While the chase was gaining rapidly upon them, another of those fearful brigantines, which had hitherto been concealed by the thick foliage of the chinampa, rounded its little promontory, and appeared suddenly before them. Instantly, every paddle dropped, every arm was paralyzed. Not a word was spoken. In passive silence each one waited for his doom, which was now inevitable. When the Spaniard had approached within hailing distance, the Emperor rose in his little shallop, and, waving his hand proudly, said, “I am Guatimozin.”
The royal prisoners were treated with the utmost deference and respect. Being brought into the presence of Cortez, the monarch, pale, emaciated, the shadow of what he had been, approached with an air of imperial dignity, and said—
“Malinché, I have done what I could to defend myself and protect my people. Now I am your prisoner. Do what you will with me, but spare my poor people, who have shown a fidelity and an endurance worthy of a better fate.”
Cortez, filled with admiration at the proud bearing of the young monarch, assured him that not only his family and his people, but himself should be treated with all respect and tenderness. “Better,” said Guatimozin, laying his hand on the hilt of the general’s poignard, “better rid me of life at once, and put an end to my cares and sufferings together.”
“No,” replied Cortez, “you have defended your capital like a brave warrior. I respect your patriotism, I honor you valor, and your firm endurance of suffering. You shall be my friend and the friend of my sovereign, and live in honor among your own people.”
The keen eye of the monarch flashed with something like indignation, when allusion was made to the king of Castile, and to himself as his vassal.
“In honor I cannot live,” he said proudly, “for I am defeated. A king I cannot be, for he is no king who is subject to another. I am your prisoner. The gods have willed it, and I submit.”
Renewing his politic assurances of friendship and favor, the conqueror sent for the wife and family of his captive, first ordering a royal banquet to be prepared for them. Supported by Karee, leaning on the arm of the devoted Nahuitla, the lord of Tlacopan, the queen was ushered into the presence of the conqueror. Her appearance struck the general and his officers with admiration. Timid as she was by nature, she had the air and port of inborn royalty; and, in deference to her husband, she would not have allowed herself to quail before the assembled host of Castile, dreaded as they were, and had long been. With a becoming courtesy, she returned the respectful salutations of Malinché and his cavaliers, and asked no other favor than to share the fate of her lord.
What that fate was, and how the Castilian knight redeemed his pledges to his unfortunate and noble captives, is matter of historical record. It is the darkest page in the memoir of that wonderful chief—a foul blot upon the name even of that man, who was capable of requiting the superstitious reverence and confidence of a Montezuma, with a treacherous and inglorious captivity in his own palace, and a yet more inglorious death at the hands of his own subjects. History must needs record it, dark and painful as it is. Romance would throw a veil over it.