Chapter 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.