Munroe Kirk
The White Conquerors: A Tale of Toltec and Aztec

CHAPTER XXVII.
THE CONQUERORS ARE BESIEGED IN THEIR QUARTERS

The brave girl who had risked and lost her life in bringing Alvarado's message to Cortes, was buried that same day, at sunset, amid the drooping cypresses and perfumed flowers of the royal garden of Tezcuco. During the day, Marina, and a few young Tezcucan girls whom she persuaded to venture timidly forth from their homes, lined the grave with a plait of sweet-scented grasses. When Tiata had been laid gently within it, there was erected above it a snow-white cross, the symbol of the Toltec faith, for love of which she died. It was a day of sadness in the deserted city, for the story of the great sorrow that had fallen on both Huetzin and Sandoval was known to every soldier and warrior. At the young Tlascalan leader they cast glances of respectful sympathy, but Sandoval was seen of no man that day. When, on the following morning, he reappeared among them, none dared speak to him of what had happened, for to his face had come that look of sternness that it held to the day of his death, and which caused even the boldest to shrink from incurring his displeasure.

From Tezcuco the army swept around the southern shore of the salt lake, to that same great causeway over which the first triumphal entry had been made into Tenochtitlan. Then, they had barely found room to advance amid the welcoming throngs of spectators with which it was crowded. Now, save for their own heavy tread, it was silent and deserted. Then, the sparkling waters on either side had swarmed with swift canoes filled with eager sight-seers. Now, only an occasional craft was to be seen stealthily regarding their movements from a distance and darting away like a frightened water-fowl when attention appeared to be attracted to it. Even from the far-reaching city, before them came no sound, nor was there sign of life. A death-like stillness brooded over the entire scene, and it filled the hearts of the advancing troops with an ominous dread. To dispel this, Cortes ordered the trumpets to sound a merry blast. Its echoes had hardly died away before they were answered by a glad roar of artillery from the distant fortress, in the heart of the city.

With this evidence that the little garrison still held out, and that the cross was still uplifted in the very shadow of Huitzil's temple, the troops entered Tenochtitlan with lighter hearts and a brisker tread. As they marched through its silent streets, these appeared even more deserted than had those of Tezcuco. The active population of former days had vanished, and the tramp of iron-shod hoofs only awoke melancholy echoes from empty houses. The veterans, who had seen these same streets teeming with eager multitudes, gazed about them in bewilderment, while the levies of Narvaez jeered at them for having, with all their boasted prowess, only conquered a city of the dead.

Finally they came to the Spanish quarters. The great gates behind which their friends had been besieged so long, were flung joyously open, and the new-comers were received with greetings as hearty as they were sincere. To the veterans little seemed changed since their departure. Some traces of the siege, in the shape of fire-blackened buildings and shattered walls, were to be seen here and there, but Montezuma was still a prisoner; military order still prevailed, and, with the advent of this fresh army, there was every reason to believe that the former state of affairs would speedily be restored. Thus Cortes believed, and thus he wrote to the officer whom he had left in command at Vera Cruz.

Only two comparatively unimportant matters gave him any uneasiness. One of these was the escape of Cuitlahua, the king's brother, and thus heir to the Aztec throne, which had been made only a few days before. The other was Montezuma's complaint that Tlalco, his favorite priestly adviser, was no longer permitted to visit him. When Cortes questioned Alvarado concerning this, the latter denied having refused admittance to any person whom the king desired to see. He added that he had noted the absence of this particular priest, but had accounted for it by supposing that he had joined his fellows in inciting the present insurrection. Both Huetzin and Sandoval deeply regretted that they were unable to question Tlalco concerning certain matters. Knowing what they did of his personality, they feared lest it should have been discovered by the chief priest, in which case they knew there was little hope of ever again meeting with the devoted Toltec.

A day or two after his arrival, Cortes, having completed his despatches for Vera Cruz, entrusted them to a messenger who was ordered to proceed to that fort. He set forth; but in less than half an hour, came flying back, terror-stricken and covered with wounds. "The city is in arms!" he cried. "The drawbridges are raised, and no avenue of escape is left!"

Even as he spoke, his words were confirmed by a dark flood of Aztec warriors, sweeping down the great avenue, like some mighty tide that has burst its limits. At the same time the parapeted roofs of neighboring buildings were covered with a multitude of slingers and bowmen, who seemed to spring into existence as though by magic. As the astonished Spaniards gazed on this sudden repopulating of the deserted city with warriors instead of traders, the dread tones of the great serpent drum, thundering forth from Huitzil's temple, proclaimed that the Aztec gods had at length awakened and were about to wage a pitiless, unrelenting war against all followers of the cross.

The ominous booming of the war-drum was instantly answered by the ringing notes of Christian trumpets, summoning every man within the palace-fortress to his post. Their call was so promptly obeyed that ere the tawny Aztec wave reached the wall, every musketeer, cross-bowman, and gunner was in place, and waiting.

A blinding flight of arrows, darts, and stones, from the Aztec front, and a storm of missiles from the house-tops, together with a fierce yell from ten thousand Aztec throats, opened the battle. In reply came a rattling volley from Spanish guns, that mowed down hundreds of the advancing hosts. But they did not falter. Again and again they charged, dashing themselves with impotent fury against the low stone wall separating them from their enemies, and, time after time, the same murderous volley drove them back. Hundreds of them, upborne by hundreds more, scaled the walls, only to fall victims to the Tlascalan maquahuitls, that sprang to meet them from the opposite side. They tried to effect a breach with battering-rams, and to set the quarters on fire with blazing arrows. The woodwork of some of the buildings was soon burning briskly, and a few rods of wall were levelled; but the fire died out without injuring the more substantial portions of the buildings, and a grinning battery lay in wait behind the breach. Like crouched tigers the black guns seemed to leap at the swarming foe, and in a few minutes the breach was choked with lifeless human bodies. Still the battle raged with unabated fury until, with the coming of night, both sides were thankful for a respite.

With earliest sunrise the Spaniards were again under arms and at their posts, but only to see the streets and squares swarming with a more numerous and determined foe than had attacked them on the preceding day. In its approach to military order the hand of the warlike Cuitlahua was visible. Instead of being a disorderly mob, the Aztec force was drawn up in compact bodies, each under its own leader. Above them streamed banners emblazoned with the devices of many cities, while over all soared a golden eagle, bearing in his talons a writhing serpent, the proud cognizance of the Montezumas, and the standard of the Aztec nation. Among the crowded ranks, fierce priests were everywhere to be seen promising the protection of the gods, and inviting their followers to deeds of valor. The gorgeous feather mantles and golden bucklers of the nobles glistened in the morning sun, while above the cotton-armored, or naked ranks of the humbler warriors, a forest of tossing spears reflected his rays from their myriad gleaming points.

As Cortes had determined to take the offensive in this day's fight, he ordered a general discharge of artillery and musketry to be poured into the thickset Aztec ranks before they had made a movement of attack. Under cover of the resulting confusion, the gates were thrown open, and out of the smoke clouds the Spanish cavalry dashed forth in a resistless charge. They were supported by Huetzin with a thousand Tlascalan warriors, and such was the fury of their onslaught that, for several blocks, the Aztecs were swept helplessly before it. Their precipitate flight ended at a barricade of timber and stones, that had been thrown across the great avenue during the night. Here they made so determined a stand that the Spaniards, galled by their hurtling missiles, and an incessant rain of stones from the neighboring house-tops, were compelled to retire.

Two heavy guns, advanced on the run by scores of lusty Tlascalans, soon levelled the barricade. But it had served as a rallying-point for fresh battalions of the enemy, by whom an attempt of the Spaniards to repeat their brilliant charge was doggedly and successfully resisted. Regardless of wounds or death, numbers of them would, at a signal, dart under the horses' bellies and cling to their legs, while others strove to fell the riders from their saddles.

It was fortunate for the bulk of the Spanish army that the efforts of the Aztecs were invariably directed toward the taking of prisoners, rather than to the killing of their enemies; though to the unfortunates thus captured and dragged away for sacrifice, instant death would have been infinitely preferable. Everywhere the Spaniards found barricades erected, and at these points were massed fresh bodies of Aztec troops, impatiently awaiting their turn to plunge into the fray. No matter how often they were repulsed or how many of them were killed, they appeared to the disheartened whites to swarm in undiminished numbers, and with unabated courage.

So the day was spent in a steady succession of petty, but desperate engagements. At its close, although the Spaniards had been everywhere victorious, they were exhausted and filled with gloomy forebodings, while their adversaries seemed more confident and in a better humor for fighting than at the beginning of the struggle.

All night long they gathered outside the Spanish quarters, taunting the invaders with their helplessness, now that the gods were awake. "The altars of Huitzil thirst for your blood!" they cried. "But soon they will be drenched with it, and the wild beasts of the palace shall feast on your carcasses! The knives of sacrifice are sharpened! – and cages for fattening await the lean and hungry Tlascalans!"

CHAPTER XXVIII.
A BATTLE IN MID-AIR

So fierce was the Aztec temper, that, with earliest dawn of the third day of fighting, they were swarming at the walls. So determined was their assault, that, ere they could be driven back, nearly a thousand of them had leaped inside, and gained the courtyard. Although these fought with a desperation that resulted in serious injury to the garrison, most of them were quickly despatched by the Tlascalans, among whom they had appeared. A number, however, escaped, and darted into the numerous buildings of the old palace. Here, though the Tlascalans pursued them like ferrets after rats, they managed to set numerous fires, kill or wound several persons, stab Cortes himself through the hand, and do an immense amount of mischief before being finally hunted down and destroyed. A few more assaults as desperate and successful as this would seal the fate of the besieged, and, even to the bravest, their situation began to appear alarming.

In this strait, Cortes appealed to his royal prisoner and urged him to use his influence with his subjects to bring about a cessation of hostilities. This, Montezuma at first refused to do; but, when assured that the invaders would willingly leave the city if a way were opened to him, he finally consented. Arrayed for the occasion in his most kingly robes, he was escorted to the roof of the central turret of the palace by a brilliant retinue of those Aztec nobles who still shared his fortunes, and a number of Spanish cavaliers.

In the streets below the battle was raging furiously; but, as his subjects recognized their monarch, the din of clashing weapons and fierce war-cries instantly ceased. The tumult of war was succeeded by a stillness as of death. Many of the Aztecs prostrated themselves to the ground; others bowed their heads; but some gazed, unabashed, and even defiantly, at the king, whose weak-minded superstition had lost him his kingdom. More than one of these daring spirits secretly fitted an arrow to his bowstring, and nervously fingered it. In more than one breast a sacrilege was meditated that, though certain to be avenged by the gods, might, after all, be for the best. But first they would hear what this dishonored king had to say.

He was bidding them disperse, and do no further harm to his friends the white men, who, if allowed, would willingly return whence they came.

This would never do! The priests of the war-god were greedy for the victims, who were on the point of surrendering themselves. Should they be balked of their prey by this king, who was already as good as dead? Never! Let him die, and be no longer an impediment to their vengeance! With him out of the way, the destruction of the Christians and their base allies would be an easy matter! Then would the gods rejoice! Then would their favor be restored! and again would Anahuac take her proper place as leader of the nations! Down with Montezuma! Long live Cuitlahua! To the altars with Spaniard and Tlascalan!

So whispered the busy priests, darting from one to another. The whisper grew into a murmur, and it quickly rose to a storm of fierce cries.

Now was the time! An arrow, aimed by a subject at his king, hissed through the air. A cloud of arrows followed it. Spanish bucklers were interposed too late, and, as Montezuma fell, a frenzied yell of triumph arose from the multitude.

Then a reaction set in. What would the gods do? "To the temple!" was the cry. "The priests must plead for us!" The priests themselves spread this shout, exulting, as they did so, in its evidence of their unimpaired power. So the throngs hastened away toward the temples, until, in a short time, not a person remained in the great square fronting the Spanish quarters.

In the meantime, Montezuma, borne tenderly below, and laid on his royal bed still dressed in his robes of state, was dying. The priests of his own race came not near him. They had no use for a dying king! Already were they busy with preparations for crowning another, who would heap their altars with victims, and add to their power, until they should become objects of fear and worship, even as were the gods themselves. Already was Topil, the chief priest, preparing a sacrifice such as had not been known at an Aztec coronation for nearly four centuries. He had a Toltec in reserve for the altar. Not only that, but a Toltec who had masqueraded as an Aztec priest, and had been detected in a vile conspiracy against the gods. Besides, he had a few Spaniards in his dungeons, and when had Christian blood been spilled at an Aztec coronation? Never before!

So Montezuma, the king who might have been all-powerful, died, because of his superstitious weakness, and the gods did not avenge his death, but allowed Cuitlahua, his brother, to reign in his stead.

The great temple of Huitzil stood so near the ancient palace in which the Spaniards and their allies were quartered, as to overlook it. A quantity of stones and heavy timbers had been conveyed to its summit under cover of darkness, and one morning the Christians were dismayed to find these thundering down on them from the lofty height. At the same time came such flights of arrows, as denoted the presence on this vantage ground of a large body of warriors. In connection with this attack, came another of those furious assaults on their works, of which the enemy seemed never to tire. It was at once realized that if they would escape speedy destruction, the temple must be carried, and Cortes detailed one hundred men, under Escobar, the chamberlain, for the purpose.

Three separate charges did this officer and his brave followers make in their effort to capture the huge teocal; but each time they were repulsed with serious loss. Finally, Escobar returned with but half his men, leaving the others where they had fallen. He, and all of the survivors, were wounded, some of them so severely that they died soon after, and the capture of the temple was reported to be an impossibility.

Cortes declaring that nothing was impossible, that the place must be captured, and that he would either accomplish it or die in the attempt, detailed another storming party of three hundred Spaniards, and two thousand Tlascalan warriors. These last were headed by their young chieftain, while the whole force was led by the General in person. Fifteen minutes of furious fighting forced a passage through the throng of Aztecs occupying the temple court, and placed the assailants at the foot of the first of the five flights of stone steps by which the top was to be reached.

Leaving the Tlascalans and a score of musketeers to repel the Aztecs, who were making constant efforts to regain possession of the court, the leader, closely followed by Sandoval, Huetzin, and the other gallant cavaliers of the storming party, sprang up the first stairway. On each of the terraces above them stood strong bodies of the enemy to dispute their passage. These showered down arrows and darts, together with great stones and massive timbers. Most of the latter bounded harmlessly over the heads of the scaling party, but every now and then one would crash into their ranks, and, sweeping some of the unfortunate Spaniards from their narrow foothold, hurl them lifeless to the bottom. In spite of the terrible odds thus presented, the dauntless conquerors fought their way foot by foot, from terrace to terrace, and from stairway to stairway, ever upward, until at length the lofty summit was attained.

Here, in sight of the whole city the opposing forces closed in furious combat, of such a phenomenal nature, that all other hostilities were suspended by mutual consent, in order that this death-struggle in mid-air might be watched without interruption. The priests of the temple, seeming more like demons than human beings, with their blood-clotted locks and savage aspect, fought like such. They rushed at the Spaniards with incredible fury, and, in many cases, forced them over the awful brink, willing to sacrifice their own lives in the leap to death, if they could only carry the hated Christians with them.

Once, in the midst of the fighting, Huetzin heard his own name called in accents of despair, and saw his brother Sandoval whose sword had snapped off at the hilt, struggling with half a dozen of these fiends, who had forced him to within a few feet of the edge. In a moment the young Toltec had hewed a way to his friend's side, and in another Sandoval was free to snatch the sword of a dying cavalier, and plunge once more into the thickest of the fight. For three dreadful hours did the combat rage. At the end of that time a remnant only of the gallant band of assailants remained masters of the bloody arena. Every Aztec, priest, noble, or warrior, had either been slain, or hurled from the giddy height.

Some of the survivors entered the sanctuary where sat the frightful image of Huitzil, the war-god. Bound to the altar in front of it they discovered a man. His eyes were torn from their sockets; his limbs were broken, and he bore other evidences of the most diabolical tortures. That he still lived, in spite of all, was attested by his feeble moanings. For a moment the victors paused aghast at the sight. Then one from among them sprang forward, and knelt beside this pitiful victim of the most hideous religion known to the New World. He was Huetzin, and in the cruelly mutilated form before him, he still recognized Tlalco the Toltec, the priest who, on three separate occasions, had saved him from a like awful fate.