The White Conquerors: A Tale of Toltec and Aztec
TextCHAPTER XXXI.
THE RETREAT FROM TENOCHTITLAN
The way of escape was partially prepared by the filling up of the canals, but who could tell how long it would remain so? At any moment the forces guarding these all-important points might be overcome or driven back and the canals reopened. It was therefore decided, at a council of officers convened late on that fourth day of fighting, that the retreat should be undertaken that very night. Now began busy preparations for evacuating the palace-fortress occupied by the white conquerors for so many months. Litters for the transportation of the wounded were hastily constructed, and Huetzin was called upon to detail a body of warriors to carry and guard these helpless ones. The rich booty of the conquest was drawn from its hiding-places, and much of the gold was packed in stout bags for transportation on horse-back. Still a large portion of it must necessarily be abandoned. As it lay, scattered in shining heaps about the floor, the soldiers looked at it with longing eyes. It seemed to them that the wealth of the New World lay at their feet, waiting to be picked up.
"Take what you will of it!" exclaimed the commander, reading their thoughts in their faces, "but be careful not to overload yourselves. Remember that he travels best, who travels lightest."
With this permission the troops rushed at the glittering spoil like famishing men upon food, while the grim Tlascalans, indifferent to wealth of this description, watched the avaricious scramble with unconcealed contempt. The men of Narvaez, who had heard so much concerning Mexican gold without having thus far acquired any of it, greedily loaded themselves with as much as they could possibly carry, but the veteran followers of Cortes, taking heed to their leader's counsel, helped themselves sparingly, each selecting only a few objects of the greatest value. As for the piles of rich fabrics, jewel-studded weapons, feather mantles of inestimable value, delicate ware, and costly and curious articles of every description, the greater part of them was abandoned with hardly a regret, in the all-absorbing eagerness to escape from that sorrowful prison-house.
While these scenes were being enacted in one part of the palace, a party of workmen was busily engaged in another, constructing a stout portable-bridge. Although the canals intersecting the city streets had been so filled that they could be crossed, there still remained three that cut the causeway of Tlacopan. From there, as well as from the others, the bridges had been removed. As these three openings were of the same size, each being thirty feet in width, a single portable bridge, that could be taken up from the first opening after the army had passed, and carried to the next was deemed sufficient. It was placed in charge of a trusty officer named Margarino, who was given forty picked men, all pledged to defend it with their lives.
The night was intensely dark, and a drizzling rain fell steadily. At midnight all was in readiness for a start, and the great gate of the palace-fortress was swung open for the last time. The order of march had been carefully planned beforehand, and, according to it, Sandoval, mounted on Motilla, and commanding the advance guard was the first to ride forth. At his left hand rode the only mounted native of the New World, Huetzin, the young Toltec; for besides a score of cavaliers, and two hundred foot soldiers, the advance contained two thousand Tlascalan warriors. To these faithful mountaineers had been entrusted the object deemed most precious by the whole army, the covered litter in which was borne Marina, their well-loved interpreter. With the advance also marched Margarino and his forty men, bearing on their sturdy shoulders the heavy timbers of the portable bridge upon which the salvation of the army depended.
In the centre, or main division, were the prisoners, among whom were several of Montezuma's children, Cacama, Prince of Tezcuco, and a number of Aztec nobles held as hostages, the treasure, the baggage, the wounded, and the heavy guns. These were guarded by the veterans who had been with Cortes from the first, and a strong force of Tlascalans.
As these slowly defiled into the great square they were followed by the rear guard under command of Alvarado. It contained the bulk of the Spanish infantry who had been enlisted from the force of Narvaez, and a battery of light artillery in charge of Mesa and his well-tried gunners.
When the last man had passed through the gateway, the commander, who had waited motionless on his gray steed to assure himself that no stragglers were left behind, roused, as from a deep revery, gave a parting glance at the quarters that had been the scene of so stirring a chapter of his life's history, clapped spurs to his horse, and dashed down the long black line of his retreating army.
Although every precaution was taken to move silently, the passage of so large a body of troops through paved streets, could not be accomplished without noise. To the strained ears of the fugitives, expecting each moment to hear the exulting war-cries of their enemies, or to see their dark masses rushing from every cross street and alley, the heavy rumble of their own artillery, the sharp ring of iron-shod hoofs, the measured tramp of infantry, and the unavoidable rattle of weapons, seemed to create a volume of sound that must be heard in the remotest quarters of Tenochtitlan. Still the battle-wearied city slept on, nor did it betray, by a sign, its consciousness that the prey, it had deemed so surely its own, was slipping from its grasp.
On through the blackness, shrouding the long avenue of Tlacopan, moved the retreat. Here they stumbled over the corpse of some dead Aztec, there they could distinguish the dark heaps of slain marking some fiercely contested point of the recent fighting. To their excited imaginations it seemed as though these must rise up and betray them. The shadowy ruins of fire-scathed buildings seemed again peopled with flitting forms, and, as they crossed one after another of the canals, the ebon water seemed alive with swarming paddles. But they passed on as unmolested by the living as by the dead, until at length a lighter space between the buildings in front of them announced to the van-guard that the causeway was at hand. As they drew aside to allow the men of Margarino room in which to advance and place their bridge, they felt that the worst of the perilous retreat was over, and could hardly restrain the shouts that would have proclaimed their joy.
Suddenly a shrill cry, chilling the blood in their veins, rose from close beside them. There was a sound of flying footsteps, and the alarm was echoing and re-echoing through the wind-swept streets with an ever-increasing clamor. The priests, watching their fires on top of tall teocals, caught the cry of the flying sentinels and spread the alarm with sounding blasts upon their conch-shells. Now, from the desolated heights of Huitzil's temple, the solemn booming of the great serpent drum, only sounded in times of gravest moment, vibrated through the remotest comers of the city and far out over the waters surrounding it. Red beacon flames sprang from the top of every temple, warning the whole valley that the time of the crisis had come.
"Tlacopan! Tlacopan!" was shouted in frenzied tones through every street and into every house of the sleeping city, and this single word named the rallying point.
With desperate haste Margarino and his men laid their bridge. No longer was there need of silence or concealment. Flight, instant and rapid, was the sole animating thought of the whole army. Sandoval, on prancing Motilla, was the first to test its strength, and after him streamed the eager troops. To the vanguard hastening forward without opposition, safety still seemed within reach; but to the rear, impatiently awaiting the movement of those before them, the night was filled with ominous rushings and sounds denoting the gathering of a mighty host. By the fitful glare of the lofty beacons, now streaming through the upper darkness from all parts of the city, they caught glimpses of hurrying forms and glintings of angry weapons. Mesa's grim gunners blew the matches, kept dry beneath their cloaks, into brighter flame and chuckled hoarsely as they thought of the havoc their falconets would make when once turned loose.
The advanced guard had crossed the bridge and the dense squadrons of the centre, with the heavy guns, ammunition wagons, baggage, treasure, prisoners, and wounded, were passing it when the storm broke. First a few stones and arrows rattled on the mail of the cavaliers, or pricked the naked Tlascalans. Then the dark waters of the lake were smitten by the dip of ten thousand angry paddles, as though by the fierce breath of a whirlwind. The sprinkle of stones and arrows increased to a tempest of hissing missiles. The dark lines of on-rushing canoes dashed against the very rocks of the causeway, while their occupants, leaping out, threw themselves, with reckless ferocity, upon the retreating troops. The shrieks of wounded and dying men began to rise from the hurrying column and the despairing cries of others, overthrown and dragged to the canoes. Above all and drowning all, rose the shrill, exultant yell of "Tlacopan! Tlacopan!" made, for the time being, the Aztec war-cry and taken up by a myriad of fresh voices with each passing minute.
From the distant rear came the roar of Mesa's guns. There the cowardly enemy will be checked at any rate! But they are not. No longer do belching cannon nor levelled lances possess any terror for those whom the war-like Cuitlahua leads to battle.
As hundreds were mowed down by the storm of iron balls, thousands leaped into their places. So irresistibly furious was the Aztec advance that ere the deadly falconets could be reloaded, Mesa, his men, and his guns, were overwhelmed, and swept out of sight, as though beneath the overpowering mass of an alpine avalanche. Alvarado and his handful of cavaliers, who had charged again and again into the fiercely swelling tide of foemen, supporting the guns as long as any were left, now turned, and fled across the narrow bridge.
While these events were taking place with frightful rapidity in the rear, the advance had reached, and were halted by, the second opening in the causeway. Galled by the incessant attacks of their swarming adversaries, and with their own swords rendered well-nigh useless by the cramped space into which they were crowded, these sent back message after message imploring Margarino to hasten forward with the bridge. But the bridge would never be brought forward. Its timbers had become so wedged among the stones of the causeway, by the weight of ponderous guns and mail-clad troops, that not all the efforts of Margarino's sturdy men could move them. Desperately they tugged and strained, but in vain. The bridge was as immovable as the causeway itself. Even as they fulfilled their pledge never to move forward without the bridge, the exulting foe leaped upon them. For a few minutes there was a fierce conflict. Then the seething Aztec flood rolled on, sweeping over Margarino and his men, as it had over Mesa and his guns.
CHAPTER XXXII.
A NIGHT OF FIGHTING, DESPAIR, AND DEATH
The dreadful news that the bridge could not be moved, and that with its loss went their chief hope of escape, swept like wild fire from the rear where Alvarado and his gallant band were charging and momentarily holding in check the thronging masses of the enemy. Like a death-knell it sounded through the long line, beset on both lines by a myriad of assailants who seemed to rise from the very waters, to the distant front where Sandoval and his cavaliers fought, as best they might, and fretted at Margarino's delay. Everywhere the fatal message converted the orderly ranks into a panic-stricken mob. All subordination was at an end. Frenzied men flung away their weapons and sought only to save themselves. The wounded were abandoned and trampled under foot. The weak gave way before the strong.
In the very front, snugly nestled among the soft cushions of her litter, and surrounded by her faithful body guard, Marina hardly realized that anything more than a skirmish was taking place. Every now and then she heard the ringing voice of sturdy Sandoval, and more than once Huetzin parted the curtains to assure her that he was close at hand. She liked to see him on horseback, this noble cavalier of her own race, and, as she lay back in the litter, listening to the far-away roar of grim Mesa's final volley, she saw a vision of a battle scene in which her hero led a glorious charge of cavalry, and the gallant horsemen were of her own people.
Suddenly she was startled by a swaying of her litter, as though by the advanced swell of a mighty tide. There came cries of terror and dismay, oaths, prayers, and a great surging to and fro. The panic-stricken fugitives in the rear were pressing tumultuously forward, and her Tlascalan body-guard were fighting savagely, against their own friends, in a desperate effort to stem the swelling flood, and keep from being swept off their narrow footing.
Already Sandoval and his cavaliers were dashing into the dark waters, and struggling to clear a way, in which the infantry might follow, through the close-packed canoes that blocked the passage.
Backward, step by step, were the Tlascalans pressed, until half of them had been forced to take the fatal plunge, and the litter containing the chiefest treasure of the Spanish army, hovered on the very brink of the black chasm. At this juncture the curtains were torn aside, and the terrified girl was lifted from her soft nest in a pair of strong arms. In a moment she found herself on horseback, in front of a cavalier who was saying, in reassuring tones: "Thou shalt yet be saved, dear one." In the next, the steed, bearing this double burden, had taken the leap, and all three were struggling in the cold waters.
Cocotin, though fleet of foot and brave of spirit, had not the body nor strength of Motilla, and quickly gave signs of being overweighted. As he realized this, Huetzin slipped from the saddle, pulled Marina back into its safer seat and swam beside her. The dark waters about them were filled with despairing men, fighting, struggling, and drowning each other in their frenzied efforts to escape the fate of which all seemed doomed. Among them dashed the Aztec canoes, their inmates dealing savage blows to right and left, and only striving to save lives that their gods might have the more victims. From one of these canoes Cocotin was wounded in the head by the blow of a maquahuitl, and unmanageable from pain, swerved toward the open lake. Huetzin let go his hold of the saddle to spring to her head. At that moment his feet were seized by some drowning wretch, and he was dragged beneath the blood-stained waters. It was a full minute before he could release himself from that death-clutch at the bottom of the lake. When with bursting temples, he again breathed the blessed air, the same awful struggle was going on about him, but Cocotin and her precious burden had disappeared.
In the meantime the gaping chasm was rapidly filling with the bodies of men and horses, guns and baggage wagons, ingots of gold that might ransom a prince, bales of rich fabrics, weapons and equipments of every description. It was a seething inferno from which frantic Aztec demons, plying war club and javelin, were reaping a goodly harvest of captives. The awful carnage that now raged along the length of the causeway, was nowhere so great as at this point. Finally, the ghastly opening was filled with the wreck of battle, until over the hideous bridge thus formed those in the rear passed dry-shod to the opposite side.
All this while Cortes, who had discovered, a little to one side, a passage that was fordable, was valiantly holding it with a handful of cavaliers, while vainly urging the troops to gain safety by coming that way. Through the storm-swept darkness, he could not be seen, nor could his voice be heard above the wild uproar. At length, swept onward by the human tide and forced to the opposite bank, he spurred forward to the third and last opening. Here he found Sandoval and a few followers engaged in another fierce conflict with the enemy, who had hurried a strong force to this point in canoes. At this place the exultant Aztecs hoped to complete the destruction of the shattered army, and but for the matchless bravery of Cortes and his cavaliers they would have succeeded.
Without a moment's hesitation the leader, close followed by Sandoval and the others, plunged into the deadly waters, and, waging a hand-to-hand conflict from canoe to canoe, finally forced the passage. All the foot-soldiers, who were huddled like sheep on the brink of this chasm, at which the dreadful scenes of the other seemed about to be repeated, now cast themselves into the water. Many were drowned by the weight of gold with which they had over-burdened themselves, others grasped the manes or tails of swimming horses and so were helped across. Still others, having cast away muskets, armor, gold, everything that might embarrass their flight, gained the opposite side by their own unaided efforts. When all who were within hearing had scrambled, in one fashion or another, upon the causeway the precipitate flight was continued, though a distant din of battle showed some survivors to be still waging the conflict of despair.
Cortes and the shattered remnant of his army had hardly reached solid earth, when a breathless runner overtook them, with the information that what was left of the rear-guard had won its way to the farther side of the last opening, where they were now battling against such odds that, unless speedily relieved, not a man would be left. Sandoval, utterly exhausted, had thrown himself on the ground beside his dripping steed, as had many of the others. At this despairing cry for help the sturdy young soldier again sprang into his saddle, exclaiming: "I, for one, am ready!" "And I!" "And I!" shouted several more. With a grateful nod, Cortes put spurs to his own horse and galloped back over the fatal causeway followed by a dozen gallant gentlemen, who thus rode into the jaws of death as cheerfully as though to a friendly trial of arms.
For five hours had the battle raged, and in the gray light, now breaking, some of the hideous details of the night's disaster were made visible. As far as the eye could reach, the road of death swarmed with the victorious enemy, while on either side the lake was black with their canoes. The sight was fitted to appal even the stout hearts of the Spanish cavaliers; but near at hand was that which appealed to a feeling stronger than fear. On the opposite bank of the bloody gulf, which was fast filling with the dead, golden-bearded Alvarado, bare-headed, and bleeding from a dozen wounds, still fought with superhuman strength, and so animated his scant handful of troops, that, had they been fresh, instead of well-nigh fainting, their heroism must have been crowned with victory.
With a cheering shout that inspired new hope in the sinking hearts of Alvarado's men, the dozen cavaliers led by Cortes dashed once more into the water, swam to the opposite side, and plunged into the thick of the fray. For a moment the Aztecs fell back before their fierce onslaught, like a receding wave of the sea. In the respite thus afforded all but one of those who had fought with the "Tonatiah," cast themselves into the water, from which most of them emerged on the other side in safety. At that moment Alvarado's horse, the faithful steed that had borne him so nobly amid a thousand dangers, fell, to rise no more, pinning her master to the ground as she did so. A Tlascalan warrior, who was so disfigured by wounds and covered with blood, that the Spanish cavalier had not recognized him, though they had fought side by side for the past hour, sprang to his relief. As he succeeded in disengaging the entangled man, the rescuing party was driven back upon them, with ranks sadly thinned, and unable longer to hold their own against the onrushing foe.
"Mount with me!" shouted Sandoval to his unhorsed comrade, "Motilla can bear us both!"
"I can care for myself! Take thou this youth, to whom I owe my life many times," answered Alvarado. Thus saying, he seized a long Chinantla pike, and planted one end in the wreck at the bottom of the canal. Then, gathering his strength for a prodigious effort, he vaulted clear across, and landed safely on the other side of the yawning chasm. Victors and vanquished, Aztecs, Spaniards, and Tlascalans, stood for a moment spell-bound at the sight of this marvellous feat.
Sandoval was among the first to recover from his amazement, and turning to the youth whom Alvarado had recommended, he bade him mount behind him. They two, on the gallant Motilla were the last to leave; but it was not until the brave mare had borne them to the opposite side, and the young warrior leaped to the ground, that Sandoval recognized him. Then in joyful accents he cried out, "Praised be the blessed saints! Don Juan, that thou hast escaped yon hell in safety, for truly I had given thee up for dead."
"And I would that I were," answered the young Toltec, bitterly, "since I have lost that which, of all life, I held most dear. But I sought death in vain. It could come to all others, but not to me."
"What mean you?" cried Sandoval, bewildered by this strange speech.
"I mean that Marina lies somewhere in yon lake, and if I knew where, my body should lie beside hers."
Thus ended the dreadful night, called for all time the Noche Triste, or night of sadness.