By Right of Conquest; Or, With Cortez in Mexico

The assault was about to commence, when the Spaniards' artillery and musketry poured death into the crowded ranks. The gates were at once thrown open, and Cortez at the head of his cavalry dashed out, followed by the infantry and the Tlascalan allies. Confused by the slaughter made by the firearms, the Aztecs could offer no resistance to the onslaught. The cavalry trampled them underfoot, and mowed them down with sword and lance. The Spanish foot and Tlascalans following close behind carried on the work of destruction, and it seemed to the Spaniards that the fight was already over, when the Aztecs fled before them.

The movement of retreat, however, ceased the moment the Mexicans reached the barricades which they had thrown up across the streets; and forming behind these they made a gallant stand, while those upon the housetops poured showers of arrows, darts, and great stones down upon the advancing Spaniards. In vain the Spanish artillery were brought up, and their fire swept away the barricades; there were still others behind, and at each the desperate fight was renewed.

Coming down from the side streets, the Aztecs fell upon the Spanish flanks; and clouds of missiles were shot from the boats, which crowded the canals everywhere intersecting the streets.

Cortez and his cavaliers continued to make desperate charges through the Aztecs, who, although unable to withstand the weight and impetus of the horses, closed round them, striving to throw the riders from their backs and to stab the horses themselves–throwing away their lives without hesitation, on the chance of getting one blow at the Spaniards. The moment the horsemen drew back, the Aztecs followed them; and although their loss was immense, their ranks were instantly filled up again, while the Spaniards could ill spare the comparatively small number who fell on their side.

At last, after hours of carnage, the Spaniards, exhausted by their exertions and having eaten nothing since the night before, fell back to the palace. Diaz, one of the historians of the events, who was present at the combat, expressed the astonishment felt by the Spaniards at the desperation with which the despised Mexicans had fought.

"The Mexicans," he said; "fought with such ferocity that if we had had the assistance of ten thousand Hectors, and as many Orlandos, we should have made no impression on them. There were several of our troops who had served in the Italian wars; but neither there, nor in the battles with the Turk, have they ever seen anything like the desperation shown by these Indians."

As the Spaniards fell back the Aztecs followed them, pouring in volleys of stones and arrows; and as soon as they had entered the palace encamped around it, showing that their spirit was wholly unbroken. Although–as it was contrary to their custom to fight at night–they did not renew the attack, they shouted insulting threats as to the Spaniards' fate, when they should fall into their hands; and were evidently well satisfied with the events of the day, and looked for victory on the morrow.

Cortez had received a severe wound in the hand during the fight, and he and his companions felt how grievously they had mistaken the character of the Aztecs. They had sallied out that morning, confident in their power to crush out the insurrection. They returned, feeling that their situation was well-nigh desperate, and that henceforth they must fight, not for dominion, but for life.

As soon as day broke the fight was renewed, but this time it was the Aztecs and not the Spaniards who began it. There was no idea of a fresh sortie. All that the garrison could hope was to defend their position. So furiously did the natives attack that, for a time, they forced their way into the entrenchments; but the Spaniards, whose turn it was to fight with the bravery of despair, fell upon them with such fury that none of those who had gained an entry returned.

Cortez now sent to Montezuma, to request him to interpose, as he had done before, between them and his people. The emperor refused to interfere. He had viewed the desperate fighting of the last two days with bitter humiliation. He had seen his brother Cuitlahua leading on his troops, with the greatest gallantry; while he himself, thanks to his own conduct, was a helpless prisoner. He mourned over the terrible losses his people were suffering; and the fact that his kindness to the Spaniards had brought upon him nothing but ill treatment and insult at their hands, had earned him the contempt of his people, and had involved his country in misfortune and ruin, cut him to the heart.

"What have I to do with Malinzin?" he said coldly. "I desire only to die."

When still further urged, he added:

"It is useless. They will neither believe me, nor the false words and promises of Malinzin. You will never leave these walls alive."

On being assured that the Spaniards would willingly depart, and leave the country, if their assailants would open a way to them, he at last consented to address the people. Clothing himself in his richest robes of state, he ascended the central turret of the palace; surrounded by a guard of Spaniards, and accompanied by several Aztec nobles. When he was seen, the din of war ceased as if by magic. A dead silence fell upon the multitude, and they knelt and prostrated themselves before the sovereign they had so long held in the deepest reverence.

But when he addressed them, assuring them that he was a guest, and not a prisoner, of the Spaniards; and ordered them to lay down their arms, and to allow the Spaniards to march to the coast, indignation at his cowardice overpowered their feelings of reverence and respect. They burst into taunts and execrations, and a moment later a storm of missiles were hurled at the man who had betrayed them.

The Spanish guards, seeing the effect his presence had produced, had stood aside, to enable him the better to be seen; and before they could close around him, and cover him with their shields, three missiles struck him; one, a stone hurled from a sling, smiting him on the head with such violence that he fell insensible. When the Aztecs saw him fall, their brief outburst of indignation was succeeded by one of sorrow; and with a cry of grief the whole multitude dispersed, and in a minute or two the crowded square was wholly deserted.

Montezuma was carried to his chamber. When he recovered sensibility, he refused absolutely to allow his wounds to be dressed, and tore off the bandages. Not a word passed his lips. He sat in an attitude of the deepest dejection. His own people despised him, and had raised their hands against him. He had drunk deeply of the cup of humiliation, at the hands of the Spaniards; but this last drop filled it to overflowing. There was nothing for him but to die.

The Spanish leaders tried, but in vain, to persuade him to submit to surgical treatment. He paid no attention to their words, and they were soon called away by fresh danger from without.

The Aztecs had speedily recovered from their emotion at seeing the fall of the emperor, and a body of five or six hundred of them, including many nobles and military leaders of high rank, had taken possession of the great temple; and now from its summit, a hundred and fifty feet high, opened a rain of missiles upon the palace. The Spaniards could not effectually return their fire, for the Aztecs were sheltered by the sanctuaries on the summit of the pyramids.

It was absolutely necessary, for the safety of the defenders, to dislodge them from this position; and Cortez ordered his chamberlain, Don Escobar, with a hundred men, to storm the teocalli and set fire to the sanctuaries. But the little force were three times repulsed, and forced to fall back with considerable loss. Cortez then, though suffering much from the wound in his left hand, determined himself to lead the assault. As he was incapable of holding his shield, he had it strapped to his left arm; and with three hundred picked men, and some thousands of the Tlascalans, sallied out from the palace, and attacked the Aztecs in the temple at the foot of the pyramid.

The Spaniards made their way through these without much difficulty, and then commenced the ascent of the pyramid. This offered great facilities for defense. There were five terraces connected by steps, so placed that those mounting the pyramid had to make the whole circuit, on each terrace, before reaching the steps leading to the next. It was thus necessary to pass round the pyramid four times, or nearly two miles, exposed to the missiles of those upon the summit.

Leaving a strong body of Spaniards and Tlascalans at the bottom, to prevent the natives ascending and attacking him in the rear, Cortez led the way up the staircase, followed closely by his principal officers. In spite of the heavy stones and beams of wood which, with a storm of arrows, were hurled down upon them, the Spaniards won their way from terrace to terrace, supported by the fire of their musketeers below, until at last they reached the great platform on the summit of the pyramid.

Here a terrible conflict commenced. The Aztecs, brought to bay, and fighting not only for life, but in the presence of their country's gods, displayed a valor at least equal to that of the Spaniards. Numbers were slightly in their favor, but this was far more than counter-balanced by the superior arms of the Spaniards; and by the armor, which rendered them almost invulnerable to the comparatively puny weapons of the Mexicans. And yet, for three hours the fight continued. At the end of that time, all the Mexicans, save two or three priests, were killed; while forty-five of the Spaniards had fallen, and almost all the others were wounded.

While this fight had been raging the combat had ceased, elsewhere; the combatants on both sides being absorbed in the struggle taking place at the summit of the temple. They could not, of course, judge how it was going; though they caught sight of the combatants as they neared the edges of the platform, which was unprotected by wall or fence; and many in the course of the struggle fell, or were hurled, over it.

The moment the struggle was over, the Spaniards rushed with exulting shouts into the sanctuary of the Mexican god, reeking with the blood of fresh-killed victims; cast the image from its pedestal; rolled it across the platform to the head of the steps; and then, amid shouts that were echoed by their comrades below, sent it bounding down, while a cry of anguish and dismay rose from the Mexicans.

The image dethroned, fire was applied to the sanctuary; and the smoke and flames, rising up, must have told countless thousands, watching the capital from the housetops of the neighboring cities, that the white men had triumphed over the gods of Mexico; and that, as at Cholula so at the capital, these had proved impotent to protect their votaries from the dread invaders. So dismayed were the Mexicans, at the misfortune, that they offered no resistance to the return of the Spaniards from the temple, and retired to their houses without further fighting.

At night the Spaniards sallied out again, relying upon the habit of the Mexicans to abstain from fighting at night, and burnt several hundred houses.

Believing that the spirit of the Mexicans would be broken now, Cortez, on the following morning, mounted the turret from which Montezuma had addressed them. Malinche was by his side; and when he held up his hands, to show that he wished to address them, a silence fell upon the multitude; and Malinche's voice was heard plainly by them, as she translated the words of Cortez. He told them they must now feel that they could not struggle against the Spaniards. Their gods had been cast down, their dwellings burnt, their warriors slaughtered. And all this they had brought on themselves, by their rebellion. Yet if they would lay down their arms, and return to the obedience of their sovereign, he would stay his hand. If not, he would make their city a heap of ruins, and leave not a soul alive to mourn over it.

But Cortez learned, at once, that the spirit he had roused in the Mexicans was in no way lowered by their reverses. One of the great chiefs answered him that it was true he had hurled down their gods, and massacred their countrymen; but they were content to lose a thousand lives for every one that they took.

"Our streets," he said, "are still thronged with warriors. Our numbers are scarcely diminished. Yours are lessening every day. You are dying with hunger and sickness. Your provisions and water are failing. You must soon fall into our hands. The bridges are broken down, and you cannot escape. There will be too few of you left to satisfy the vengeance of the gods."

When he had finished, a shower of arrows showed that hostilities had recommenced.

The garrison were now completely disheartened. Of what use the tremendous exertions they had made, and the lives that had been lost? They were still, as they had been on the first day of their arrival, hemmed in in their fortress, surrounded by foes thirsting for their blood. Great numbers were wounded, more or less severely. Their provisions were well-nigh gone. The enemy were bolder than ever. They had been promised wealth and honor–they were starving, and death stared them in the face. They loudly exclaimed that they had been deceived, and betrayed.

But the men who had served all along with Cortez stood firm. They had still every confidence in their leader. It was not his fault that they had been brought to this pass, but by the misconduct of others, during his absence. At any rate, as they pointed out to their comrades, the only chance of escape was unity and obedience.

Cortez himself was, as always in a moment of great danger, calm and collected. The thought of having to leave the city, to abandon all the treasures they had taken, was even more painful to him than to the soldiers. It was not the loss of his own share of the booty, but of that of the emperor, that he regretted; for he felt that this, together with the downfall of all his plans, and the loss of the kingdom he had already counted won, would bring upon him the displeasure of his emperor, would give strength to his enemies at court, and would probably ensure his being recalled in disgrace.

Nevertheless, he saw that retreat was necessary, for the position could not be maintained. Every day the defenses became weaker, the men more exhausted by fighting, and there would soon be no longer a morsel of bread to serve out to them. A retreat must therefore be made.

The question was, which route should be chosen? In any case, one of the narrow dikes connecting the island city with the shore must be traversed; and on these causeways the Spaniards would fight under great disadvantage. Finally, he settled upon that leading to Tlacopan, which was much the shortest, being only two miles in length.

For some days a large party of men had been at work constructing movable towers, similar to those used, centuries before, in sieges. They moved on rollers, and were to be dragged by the Tlascalan allies. From their summits the soldiers could shoot down upon the housetops, from which they had been hitherto so annoyed. The towers were also provided with bridges, which could be let down on to the roofs, and so enable the soldiers to meet their opponents hand to hand.

When the structures were completed, the Spaniards again took the offensive. The gates were opened, and the three towers, dragged by the Tlascalans, moved out. The Mexicans, astonished at the sight of these machines, from whose summits a heavy fire of musketry were kept up, fell back for a time. The towers were moved up close to the terraces, and the soldiers, after partly clearing them by their fire, lowered the light bridges and, crossing, engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the Mexicans, and drove them from their positions.

But from the lofty houses of the nobles, the Mexicans still maintained their resistance. The towers were not high enough to overlook these and, as they came up, beams of wood and huge stones were cast down upon them; striking with such force that it soon became evident, to those within them, that the towers would not hold together.

They were dragged on, however, until a canal crossed the road. The bridge had been removed, and both the cavalry and the towers were brought to a standstill. The latter were abandoned, and Cortez ordered his troops to make a road forward, by filling up the canal with stones and wood from the houses near.

While engaged in this operation, they were exposed to an incessant fire from every point of advantage in the neighborhood, and from the opposite bank of the canal. The work was, however, completed; and the cavalry, crossing, drove the Mexicans headlong down the great street; until they came to another canal, where the same work had again to be performed. No less than seven canals crossed the street, and it took two days of constant fighting before the last of these was crossed, and the whole street in their hands.

Just as the last canal had been captured, Cortez, who was ever at the head of his men, received news that the Mexicans desired to open a parley with him, and that some of their nobles had arrived at the palace for that purpose. Delighted at the news, he rode back with his officers. The Mexicans requested that the two priests who had been captured in the great temple should be released, and should be the bearers of his terms, and discuss the negotiations.

Cortez at once consented, and the priests left with the envoys; with instructions that, if the Mexicans would lay down their arms, the past should be forgiven. The mission was, however, a mere trick. The Mexicans were most anxious to rescue the priests, one of whom was the high priest, and therefore most sacred in their eyes. Cortez had scarcely sat down to a meal, which he sorely needed after his fatigues, when the news was brought that the Mexicans had again attacked, with greater fury than ever; and, at three points, had driven off the detachments placed to guard the newly-made causeways across the canal.

Cortez and his companions leaped on their horses and, riding down the great street, again cleared it. But no sooner had he reached the other end than the Mexicans, gathering in the lanes and side streets, poured in again, and overpowered the guard at one of the principal canals.

Swarms of warriors poured in on all sides, and a storm of arrows and other missiles was poured down upon Cortez and his cavaliers. The confusion at the broken bridge was tremendous. The cavalry and infantry struggled fiercely with the crowds of foes, while others strove again to repair the bridge which the Mexicans had again torn down.

Cortez himself performed prodigies of valor in covering the retreat of his men, dashing alone into the midst of the ranks of the enemy, shouting his battle cry, and dealing death with every blow of his sword. So far did he penetrate among his foes, that reports spread that he was killed; and when at last he fought his way back, and leaped his horse over a chasm still remaining in the bridge, his escape was regarded by his troops as absolutely miraculous; and it was said that he had been saved by the national Apostle, Saint James, and the Virgin Mary, who had fought by his side. At night the Mexicans, as usual, drew off; and the Spaniards, dispirited and exhausted, fell back to their citadel.

That evening Montezuma died. He had refused all nourishment, as well as medicine, from the time he had been wounded. Father Olmedo did his best to persuade him to embrace the Christian faith, but Montezuma stoutly refused. Just before he died he sent for Cortez, and recommended his three daughters by his principal wife to his charge; begging him to interest his master, the emperor, on their behalf, and to see that they had some portion of their rightful inheritance.

"Your lord will do this," he said, "if only for the friendly offices I have rendered the Spaniards; and for the love that I have shown them, though it has brought me to this condition; but for this I bear them no ill will."

This Cortez promised and, after the conquest, took the three ladies into his own family. They were instructed in the doctrines of Christianity, and were married to Spanish nobles, and handsome dowries assigned to them.

The news of Montezuma's death was received with real grief by the Spaniards, to whom his generosity, and constant kindness, and gentleness of manner had endeared him. There can be but little doubt that, in spite of the accusations against him of meditating treachery, Montezuma was, from the time they entered the capital, sincere in his goodwill towards the Spaniards. He was devoted to his own gods, and believed implicitly in the prophecy that Quetzalcoatl, or his descendants, would return to rule Mexico. Their superior science and attainments confirmed him in his belief that the Spaniards fulfilled the prophecy, and he was willing to resign alike his power, his possessions, and himself to their hands. In his early days he had shown great personal bravery; and the cowardice he displayed, throughout the whole of his dealing with the Spaniards, was the result of superstition, and not that of personal fear.

Cortez paid all respect to the remains of his late unhappy captive. The body was arrayed in royal robes, and laid on a bier; and was carried, by the nobles who had remained faithful to him during his imprisonment, into the city. It is uncertain where Montezuma was finally buried.

With the death of the emperor, the last hope of the Spaniards of making terms with their assailants vanished. There was nothing, now, but retreat. After some debate, it was settled that this should take place at night, when they would find the Mexicans unprepared. The difficulties of passage would be greater; but these would, it was thought, be counterbalanced by the advantage of being able to make at least a portion of their retreat unobserved.

It was determined that no time should be lost. The Mexicans would doubtless be mourning over the body of Montezuma, and would be unprepared for such prompt action on the part of the Spaniards.

The first question was the disposal of the treasure. The soldiers had, for the most part, converted their share of the gold into chains; which they wore round their necks. But there was a vast amount in bars and ornaments, constituting the one-fifth which had been set aside for the crown, the one-fifth for Cortez himself, and the shares of his principal officers.

One of the strongest horses was laden with the richest portion of the crown treasure, but all the rest was abandoned. The gold lay in great heaps.

"Take what you like of it!" Cortez said to his men, "but be careful not to overload yourselves. 'He travels safest, in the dark, who travels lightest.'"

His own veterans took his advice, and contented themselves with picking out a few of the most valuable ornaments; but the soldiers of Narvaez could not bring themselves to leave such treasures behind them, and loaded themselves up with as much gold as they could carry.

Cortez now arranged the order of march. The van was composed of two hundred Spanish foot, and twenty horsemen, under the orders of Gonzalo de Sandoval. The rearguard, with the main body of the infantry and the greater portion of the guns, was commanded by Alvarado and Velasquez de Leon. Cortez himself led the center, which was in charge of the baggage, some of the heavy guns, and the prisoners; among whom were a son and two daughters of Montezuma, Cacama, and the other nobles who had been in prison with him. The Tlascalans were divided among the three corps.

A portable bridge had been prepared for crossing the canals which intersected the causeway; the intention being that it should be laid across a canal, that the army should pass over it, and that it should then be carried forward to the next gap in the causeway. This was a most faulty arrangement, necessitating frequent and long delays, and entailing almost certain disaster. Had three such portable bridges been constructed, the column could have crossed the causeway with comparatively little risk; and there was no reason why these bridges should not have been constructed, as they could have been carried, without difficulty, by the Tlascalans.

At midnight the troops were in readiness for the march. Mass was performed by Father Olmedo; and at one o'clock on July 1st, 1520, the Spaniards sallied out from the fortress that they had so stoutly defended.

Silence reigned in the city. As noiselessly as possible, the troops made their way down the broad street, expecting every moment to be attacked; but even the tramping of the horses, and the rumbling of the baggage wagons and artillery did not awake the sleeping Mexicans, and the head of the column arrived at the head of the causeway before they were discovered. Then, as the advanced guard were preparing to lay the portable bridge across the first opening, some Aztec sentinels gave the alarm.