Chapter XXX: Montezuma's Successor Defies the Conquerors

As Huetzin rose to his feet, after laying gently down the lifeless body of the Toltec martyr, he beheld Sandoval patiently waiting to attract his attention. The young Spaniard stood with one mail-shod foot resting on the neck of a writhing Aztec priest, who strove in vain to free himself from its weight.

"Here is a vermin," spoke Sandoval, "who bears a certain look of familiarity and who, I imagine, must be accounted of some consequence among his own diabolical crew. Yet I cannot place him and have persuaded him to come to thee for recognition. I found him, squatted like a toad in a hole, after yon image was dragged from its pedestal. He seems not to be wounded, nor do I believe he appeared in the fight at all. Now, lift thy head, vermin, that a man may gaze on thy devil's face!"

Thus exclaiming, Sandoval caught at the matted hair of the priest and pulled up his head so that Huetzin had a fair view of the fear-distorted features. As he glanced at them the young Toltec uttered a great cry and sprang forward.

"Aye, well do I know him!" he exclaimed. "He is the murderer of thousands, and thrice have I been in his clutches. From me has he taken father, mother, and sister! There (pointing to the mutilated body of Tlalco) is a specimen of his work. With his own hand did he slay Tlahuicol and Tiata! He is Topil, the chief-priest, the chief curse of Anahuac. Let me at him, that I may hurl him to everlasting damnation! Let me at him, I say! He is mine!"

"Gently, lad, gently!" interposed Sandoval, in a tone whose very softness intimated his rage. "To hurl him over the brink would be a kindness. 'Twould be too sweet a death for him. I have a better plan. Leave him to me, and I promise you thou shalt be satisfied."

With this he again grasped the long hair of Topil's head, and dragged the screaming wretch back into the shrine from which he had brought him. There, lifting him with a quick jerk to his feet, he drove him up the stairway to its top, hastening his movements with many a sword-prick in his bare legs. When Topil emerged on the roof, he was sixty feet above the platform where the combat had raged, and standing on the summit of a wooden tower. Sandoval bound his prisoner's wrists firmly together, behind him, and then fastened one of his ankles, by a copper censer chain that he had found in the temple, to a projecting timber, so that the priest, while allowed a certain freedom of motion, could by no possibility escape. There Sandoval left him, and, descending, closed the only avenue of escape behind him. Seizing a burning brand from an altar, he set fire to the woodwork of the temple in a dozen places. It was like tinder, and in a minute the red flames were greedily licking the slender tower on all sides. The screams of the miscreant, dancing in torment on its summit, attracted the attention of the multitudes below, and they, still trembling from the destruction of their god, were compelled to gaze helplessly upon the awful but well-merited fate of their chief-priest. Even after he was hidden from sight by a towering screen of flame and smoke, his voice could be heard in frantic appeals to the impotent gods.

When Cortes and the slender remnant of his victorious band descended from this memorable battle-field, the Aztec throngs shrunk from them as though they were plague-stricken, and they passed unmolested to their own quarters. That night the Spaniards again sallied forth, and, carrying blazing brands in every direction through the sleeping city, destroyed over three hundred houses.

On the following day, Cortes, thinking that by these reverses and by the overthrow of their principal god, the Aztecs must be sufficiently humbled to submit, called a parley. As the principal nobles and their followers assembled in the great square, he addressed them, through the voice of Marina, from the same turret on which Montezuma had received his death-wound.

"Men of Tenochtitlan," he said, "you have seen your gods trampled in the dust, their priests destroyed, your warriors slain by thousands, and your dwellings burned. All this you have brought upon yourselves. Yet, for the affection I bore the king whom you murdered, I am willing to forgive you, if you lay down your arms, renounce the hideous religion that offers no hope for your salvation, and resume the allegiance to his most Catholic majesty of Spain sworn by your king. If you refuse these things, then will I make your beautiful city a heap of smouldering ruins, as barren of human life as the fire-crowned summit of yon sky-piercing mountain. What say you? Shall it be peace with immunity from further suffering, or shall it be war to the death, and utter ruin?"

Then answered Cuitlahua, the newly crowned king: "It is true, O Malinche, that thou hast destroyed one of our temples, broken the image of a god, and slain many of my people. Many more will doubtless fall beneath thy terrible sword. But we are satisfied so long as for the blood of every hundred, we can shed that of one white man. Look on our roofs and terraces, our streets and squares. They are thronged with Aztec warriors, as far as thine eye can reach. Our numbers are scarcely diminished. Yours are lessening every hour! You are perishing with hunger, and thirst, and sickness! Your provisions are failing! We will see to it that you get no more. You have but little water! You must soon fall into our hands. _The bridges are removed_, and you cannot escape! Truly, O Malinche, is the vengeance of the outraged gods about to descend on thee."

At the conclusion of this bold speech, which well showed the temper of the newly made king, a flight of arrows compelled the Spaniards hastily to descend from the turret and seek the shelter of their defences.

Cuitlahua's defiance filled the besieged with dismay. Of what use were all their fightings, their sufferings, and their brilliant victories? The enemy was more determined than ever, and a hundred fresh warriors stood ready to take the place of each one who was killed. A contest against such overwhelming odds was hopeless, and the sooner it was abandoned the better. Thus argued the Spanish soldiers, especially the recruits who had come with Narvaez. These, to a man, declared they would fight no longer, unless to preserve themselves in a retreat from the fatal city.

Against such a feeling among his followers, even the bold spirit of the commander was forced to yield. So, after a consultation with his officers, including the young chief of Tlascalans, he announced that preparations would at once be made for leaving Tenochtitlan. It was decided that the retreat should be by the causeway of Tlacopan, which, being but two miles in length, and thus much shorter than the one by which they had entered the city, would soonest lead them to the mainland, where they could fight to advantage.

In the meantime, as in their frequent sorties, the Spaniards had suffered their greatest annoyance through missiles showered down from the housetops, Cortes had designed and caused to be built three wooden towers that he termed _mantas_. These were of two stories, and were mounted on rude wheels by means of which it was proposed to roll them through the streets, with musketeers stationed in the upper stories, who should sweep the housetops of all enemies as they advanced. In each lower story, which was open to the ground, a force of brawny Tlascalans was to push and pull the movable fortress without being exposed to attack. It was now determined to test the efficacy of these rude machines in the sortie about to be made, to discover whether or not the avenue of Tlacopan was open and free from obstructions.

When all was in readiness the great gate of the fortress was thrown open, and, with much creaking, groaning, and rocking the manta issued forth. The Aztecs beheld its stately advance with bewildered astonishment. They could not conceive its purpose, nor understand by what power it was propelled. There was no sign of human agency and its progress filled them with awe. As they gazed in gaping wonder, it slowly crossed the square and entered the avenue of Tlacopan. Suddenly, as it halted before a building, the roof of which was thronged with armed men, a side of the upper story fell outward, and a volley of musketry was delivered with startling effect. A light, but strong, bridge was thrown to the housetop, and the Spaniards, crossing on it, quickly put its remaining occupants to flight with their swords. Then they retreated to their wooden fortress, pulled in the bridge, drew up their protecting shield and the engine of destruction proceeded on its ponderous way. But its purpose was no longer a mystery. The swarming occupants of the housetops withdrew to places of safety on its approach, or hurled down fire brands and coping-stones from such elevations as commanded it. Its utility had begun to appear doubtful when it came to a halt at the first canal. Here the bridge had been destroyed, and it could proceed no farther.

A tall building stood at this point, and from its roof an avalanche of heavy timbers and great stones was poured on the devoted manta, ere its progress could be reversed. One of these formidable missiles crushed in a side of the structure, causing it to sway alarmingly. Several others struck it together, a moment later, and, with a melancholy crash, it toppled to the ground burying its unfortunate defenders in the wreck, killing several of them, and injuring many more. With exulting yells the Aztecs rushed upon the prostrate tower, and, but for the prompt assistance of a troop of cavalry, whose fierce onset quickly cleared the street, not one of its struggling occupants would have escaped.

This experiment proved the uselessness of the mantas, on the construction of which so much time and labor had been expended. It also proved the truth of Cuitlahua's words. The bridges, over which the retreat must be conducted, were indeed removed, and seven open canals lay between the fortress and the causeway. These gaping chasms must be filled at all hazards.

After four days of incessant labor beneath a galling fire of arrows, darts, and stones, incessant fighting, incessant dying and suffering, the task was completed. The labor of tearing down buildings and filling the canals with their débris, devolved on the Tlascalans. The Spanish cavaliers charged up and down the avenue clearing it of the enemy who swarmed in behind them the moment they had passed, while the Spanish infantry guarded each bridge as it was finished. Many and fierce were the hand to hand struggles during those four days; and, at their conclusion, although their way of retreat was opened as far as the causeway, the white conquerors were in as sorry a plight as were ever any conquerors in all the world. But their present misfortunes were as nothing compared with those held in store for them by the immediate future.