The Infidel; or, the Fall of Mexico. Vol. II.
TekstAmong the vast numbers who came crowding from the city over the broken passage, were several who knew, by the cry of the seventh noble, that Malintzin was in his hands; and they rushed forward, to insure his capture. The foremost and fleetest of these was distinguished from the rest by a frame of towering height; and, had there been a Spaniard by to notice him, would have been still more remarkable from the fact, that he uttered all his cries in good, expressive Castilian. He bore a Spanish weapon, too, and his first act, as he flung himself into the ditch where Cortes was drowning, was to strike it through the neck of the uppermost noble. His next was to spurn the other from the breast of the general, whom he raised to his feet, murmuring in his ear,
"Be of good heart, señor! for you are saved."
What more he would have said and done can only be imagined; for, at that moment, the Barba-Roxa rushed out of the ditch, followed close at hand by the hunchback, Bernal Diaz, and others, and seeing his commander, as he thought, in the hands of a foeman, he lifted his good sword once again, and smote him over the head, crying,
"Down, infidel dog! and viva for Spain and our general!"
At this moment, there rushed up a crew of fresh combatants, Spaniards from the rear and infidels from the front. But before they closed upon him entirely, the Barba-Roxa caught sight of the man he had struck down, and beheld, in his pale and quivering aspect, the features of Juan Lerma.
The unhappy wretch, thus beholding the beloved youth, with his own eyes, a leaguer and helpmate of the infidel, and punished to death, as it seemed, by his hand, set up a scream wildly vehement, and broke from the group of Spaniards, who now surrounded Cortes, endeavouring to drag him in safety over the pass. The exile had been seen by others as well as Gaspar, and many a ferocious cry of exultation burst from their lips, as they saw him fall.
Meanwhile, Gaspar, distracted in mind, and dripping with blood, for he had not escaped from the ditch and the fierce embrace of his fourth antagonist, without many severe wounds, endeavoured to retrace his steps to the spot where Juan had fallen. It was occupied by infidels, who drove him into the ditch, where his legs were grasped by a drowning Mexican, who raised himself a little from the water, and displayed, between his neck and shoulder, a yawning chasm, rather than a wound, from which the blood, at every panting expiration of breath, rolled out hideously in froth and foam. It was the Lord of Death, thus struck by Juan Lerma, as he lay upon the breast of Cortes, and now perishing, but still like a warrior of the race of America. He clambered up the body of Gaspar, for it could hardly be said, that he rose upon his feet; and seeing that he grasped a Christian soldier, he strove to utter once more a cry of battle. The blood foamed from his lips, as from his wound; and his voice was lost in a suffocating murmur. Yet, with his last expiring strength, he locked his arms round the neck of the Spaniard, now almost as much spent as himself, and falling backwards, and writhing together as they fell, they rolled off into the deep water, where the salt and troubled flood wrapped them in a winding-sheet, already spread over the bosoms of thousands.
CHAPTER XVI
If it be indeed permitted to disembodied spirits to look back to the world they have left, and to read the hearts they have, in life, mistaken, then should that of Gaspar Olea have seen, that his unlucky blow fell not upon the head of an apostate, and that it had not slain his friend and companion of the wilderness. Even Gaspar's strength failed to pierce entirely through a morion composed of tiger-skins and thickly-padded escaupil; and though the violence of the blow forced Juan to the earth, and left him for a time almost insensible, it had done him no serious injury. It robbed him, to be sure, of the dearly coveted opportunity of escape, which the lucky service he had done the Captain-General would have rendered of still more inestimable value; but it yet served the good purpose, since he did not escape, of removing from the minds of the Mexicans many fierce doubts and suspicions, with which they beheld him rush into the melée.
He was dragged back upon the causeway, and soon found himself in the arms of the king.
"My brother is brave and true," said the young monarch, tearing from his own hair the symbols of military renown, and fastening them to Juan's. "The people have seen his bravery, and now they know him well. Did he not lay his hands upon Malintzin? and was not Malintzin his prisoner, until the red lion with the white and bloody face, struck my brother with his sword? Is this a good deed, men of Mexico?"
"The king's brother is valiant!" exclaimed many nobles, who surrounded the monarch with a guard of honour, eyeing the outcast with reverence.
Their words stung Juan to the soul; for he abhorred his deception, though still urged, by his desire of escaping, to carry it on.
"Why do we stand here idle?" he cried, with affected zeal: "Is not Malintzin yet upon the causeway? My heart is very strong; I will look him in the face again."
At this proof of courage and apparent devotion to their cause, the infidels shouted with approbation. But the king took him by the arm, and withdrawing him a little, said,
"My brother will go now to the palace. – What is this that Azcamatzin says of my brother? He says that my brother pierced the Lord of Death with a sword, and pulled Malintzin out of his hands! This foolish thing of Azcamatzin has made many angry, and they say, 'Let us know; for perhaps the Great Eagle is for Malintzin.' Therefore my brother shall not go from the king, till Azcamatzin thinks better things; for many hurts have made him mad."
"Think not of this," said Juan, eagerly, for every moment the shouts of the Christians were at a greater distance, and he feared that every step of their retreat was one more link taken from his chain of hope.
"My brother," said Guatimozin, interrupting him, "may yet fight the battles of the king, and be the king's friend. It is said to me, by a messenger, that the ships have broken the wall of my garden, and that Spaniards are slaying the women."
"Ha!" cried Juan, his own agitation at this information, contrasting strongly with the frigid placidity of the king.
"Why should the king think of his women – of his wife and his little boy, – when he is taking the Spaniards, like birds in a net? Let my brother think for the king, for the king thinks for his people. My brother's arm is yet strong – he will fight for Zelahualla, and for her sister, the queen."
A thousand contrary emotions tore the breast of Juan, yet his thoughts were fixed upon the garden. He remembered what counsel he had given to the maidens, to sally forth, at any moment, when a trumpet should be heard among the trees; and he conceived the danger in which they would be involved, among a troop of enraged and merciless soldiers. He needed no second exhortation to run to their assistance; and following Techeechee, who remained at his side, he made his way through the multitudes that thronged all the great streets, with a rapidity that, at any other period, would have even surprised himself. He passed the great square of the pyramid, the Wall of Serpents, and the House of Skulls, from which, had he been so minded, he might have looked, at the same moment, upon the three battles raging upon the three several causeways, (for it was here the dikes terminated;) he passed the house of Axajacatl, in which the Spaniards, a year since, had endured those assaults which terminated only in their expulsion from Tenochtitlan; and he trod again upon the vast market square of Tlatelolco, the northern side of which was bounded by the walls of Guatimozin's palace and garden. Upon this square he beheld many infidels, shouting at once with wrath and triumph, a party of whom bore in their arms a Christian prisoner, bound hand and foot, over whom the others seemed to exult, piercing the very heavens with their clamorous cries.
Heart-sick, for well he knew the fate in store for the captive, and struck with foreboding fear, he rushed over the fosse that laved the garden wall, and was now choked up by the falling of a portion of its extent, washed and undermined by the heavy rains, and passed into the pleasant wilderness within. It was a theatre of wild disorder and affright: men were seen rushing to and fro in great numbers, and their cries were re-echoed by the yells of a thousand beasts of prey, famished with hunger, or alarmed by the tumult.
He perceived that the water-wall was rent at one of the chief sally-ports, as if battered by cannon; and he had no doubt, if it were not yet over, that some terrific combat had but lately taken place in the garden.
He came too late to share in it, but as he ran down to the water-side, he beheld four brigantines making their way with oars, for the atmosphere was breathless, towards the dike of Tepejacac, which was itself a scene of furious conflict. The vessels were surrounded by countless canoes and piraguas, some of which seemed to be manned by Tlascalans; for while the brigantines were seen contending with this aquatic army, it was equally manifest that a battle was raging also among the canoes themselves.
He gave but little heed to this spectacle, nor did he scarcely note that among the many human corses which strewed the lower part of the garden, there were several with the visages of Spaniards.
His attention was arrested by a yelping cry; and looking round, he beheld the dog Befo lying upon the ground, with an iron sword-blade, broken off near the hilt, sticking quite through his body. But this painful sight was forgotten, when, having approached, he beheld three or four barbarians raising from the earth what seemed the dead body of Magdalena. There were indeed blood-drops upon her hollow and ghastly cheeks; and when he rushed up among the Indians, they exclaimed,
"The Teuctlis killed her, the men of Malintzin with beards, – they killed the bright-eyed lady, and they killed the daughter of Montezuma!" And then they added their wild lamentations to the mourning cries of Juan.
Distracted himself, as indeed were all the infidels, he could learn nothing but that the Teuctlis, or Spaniards, had suddenly burst into the garden, and besides slaughtering all that opposed them, in their attempt to reach the palace, had killed, or carried off, as seemed much more probable, the princess Zelahualla.
The misery that took possession of his heart at these evil tidings, he smothered within its secret recesses, or strove to forget it in the contemplation of his sister – for so his heart acknowledged her. He bore her to the palace, and gave her in charge to the maidens, who, whatever was their fright, were not unmindful of the duties of humanity. He then, in much of that sullen despair that had oppressed him in the prison of Tezcuco, returned to the garden and to Befo, whom he had left in suffering, and drawing the sword-blade from his body, he examined it with stern curiosity, as if hoping to penetrate the mystery of the whole unhappy transaction, from such records as it might furnish. His scrutiny was vain: it was a blade without any name, by which he might be enabled to guess at its owner. He snapped it under his foot, and muttered a malediction upon the unknown foe:
"Cursed be he that did this deed," he cried; "for he slew the only protector of a feeble and wretched woman."
He then carried Befo, almost with as much tenderness as he had bestowed upon Magdalena, into the palace, and stanching his wounds as he could, deposited him upon his own couch.
CHAPTER XVII
The effects of this battle upon the Spaniards were disastrous in the extreme. The assault, as has been mentioned, and as was anticipated, was made upon all the causeways at once; and, on all, successfully repelled, though an ambuscade was only attempted upon the dike of Iztapalapan. It seemed as if the Mexicans, thinned as their numbers had been, by so many conflicts, and now the remainder absolutely perishing under want and pestilence, had collected all their energies for one final blow. It was first successful in the quarter attacked by the Captain-General, in consequence of his surprising infatuation; and victory soon after followed in the others. The Spaniards fled, so completely broken and so utterly defeated, that the priests, in the wild hope of completing their destruction at once, even drew the sacred horn from the tabernacle of Mexitli, and added its dreadful uproar to the thunder of the great tymbal. This was always regarded by the Mexicans as the voice of the god himself, and was never sounded without filling them with a delirium of fury, utterly inconceivable. It was not more maddening to the infidels than frightful to the Spaniards; who remembered the horrors of the Noche Triste, augmented, if not altogether caused by its unearthly roar. The Spaniards were driven back to their strong and defensible stations at the gates; the dikes were lost; and had not famine now fought for them, they must have given up the siege in despair. Nearly an hundred Spaniards, and many thousand Indian allies, were killed; the fleets of canoes and piraguas were destroyed, and several brigantines wholly ruined.
But the miseries of the besiegers were not confined to the events of the day. Night opened to them a scene of grief and horror. The whole mass of the pyramid, always a striking object, was suddenly illuminated by a myriad of flambeaux, so that it blazed like a mountain of solid fire. The night was clear, and the peculiarly rarified and transparent atmosphere of Mexico rendering objects distinct at a much greater distance than in other lands, the Spaniards, looking from the towers at the gates, could plainly perceive some of their late fellow-soldiers, stripped naked and their hands bound behind them, driven up the stairs from platform to platform, by the blows and other indignities of their cruel captors. On the summit of the pyramid, they were unbound, their heads adorned with plumes, and great waving penachos placed in their hands, with which they were forced to dance round the ever-burning censers of the gods, in the midst of shouting pagans, until dragged away by the priests and immolated, at a signal blasted from the sacred horn, upon the stone of sacrifice. The station of Alvarado on the dike of Tacuba, was nearer than either of the others; and his men, while they wept and prayed over a spectacle so appalling, even fancied they could distinguish the figures and faces of particular individuals, and hear their cries to heaven. Many were the wretches who had yielded themselves alive into the hands of the foe; and for ten nights in succession, the blazing temple echoed to their groans, and their garrisoned friends were compelled to be the witnesses of their torments.
But this triumph was the last of the pagans. All supplies of corn from the lake-sides were cut off, and they were known to be famishing; and besides, as if heaven were willing to assist even the arms of rapacity, to subdue a race, all whose institutions were more or less infected by the spirit of blood that brutalized their religion, the rainy season was brought to a close preternaturally early, and they were left without water. The Spaniards recovered their spirits, and collecting again vast bands of confederates, recommenced the siege, advancing with prudence, and destroying every thing as they advanced, and not only regaining all they had lost, but even effecting, despite all resistance, a secure lodgment upon the island, from their several points of attack. The Mexicans still fought; but it was with bodies emaciated and enfeebled, and with hearts subdued by despair. The three divisions of besiegers met upon the great square, blew up the Huitzompan, and all the temples within the circuit of the Wall of Serpents, which they fortified and preserved; and then, still demolishing houses as they advanced, they pushed on until they reached the great market-place of Tlatelolco; and thus hemmed in upon the narrow peninsula the unfortunate king of Mexico, and the few shattered remnants of his army.
Before this crisis had yet arrived, there occurred another incident, in which, as in all others since his return from the South Sea, the virtues of Juan Lerma were made the instruments of still further misfortune. He beheld Magdalena but once, after the adventure of the garden; and she was then raving with delirium, in which she did not know even him. The fate of Zelahualla was still wrapt in obscurity; for such had been the suddenness of the attack in the garden, that none knew of her fate, and Magdalena was incapable of uttering any rational word, to remove the mountain of anxiety from his breast. His scheme to effect the deliverance of the princess had doubtless thrown her into the power of the Spaniards; and the thought of such a captive in such hands, preyed upon him with a bitterness that exceeded death. He fought no more, and indeed he was urged no longer by the king, who was himself reduced to such desperation, that he thought no further of stratagems, but merely of blind and sullen resistance.
On the third day after the battle, he was summoned by Techeechee to attend the king in public; and without questioning for what purpose, he gloomily obeyed, taking with him the Spanish sword with which he had been provided, on the day of his attempted escape.
It was midday: no sound of contention came to his ears, for the besiegers were yet lying in their quarters on the dikes, healing their wounds and lamenting their friends; but the quiet of the garden was broken by the howling of the beasts, and the shrill streams of birds of prey, – of such at least as had not already been slaughtered, to appease the hunger of the wretches, who yet fought for their expiring empire. One circumstance, had Juan noticed it, might have convinced him of the dreadful extent and intensity of the suffering, of which he had been before apprized. The trees of the garden had begun to be robbed of their leaves, but not by summer heat or autumnal drought; – the tender shrubs were stripped of their bark; – the smaller plants had been rooted up, and even the grass, in some places, torn from the earth, and even the earth itself upturned, in the search after edible roots. – All that could be gnawed by the teeth of man had vanished, or did soon after vanish, from the garden. When the Spaniards walked afterwards through their conquest, not a green leaf, as they have recorded, was found in all the city.
He passed through the broken wall, now only defended by rude palisades, strengthened by an abatis of withered shrubs and brambles, and passing the moat, over the ruins of the prostrate wall, found himself on the market-square of Tlatelolco, of which the Spaniards gave such surprising accounts, when they beheld it filled with the merchants and riches of the empire, before the death of Montezuma. It was of very great extent, and contained, at the eastern boundary, a pyramid, on which was the temple of one of the lesser divinities. On the west was a platform, or rather stage, faced and flagged with stone, and devoted to theatrical exhibitions, which, however primitive and barbarous, were yet a chief feature among the amusements of a Mexican festival.
Almost in the centre of the square, and yet so nigh to the garden wall that it could be overlooked by the nearest turrets of the palace, was another platform, perhaps four feet in height, and circular, upon which lay the famous stone Temalacatl, devoted to the purpose of the gladiatorial sacrifice. It now lies in the Plaza Mayor of the modern city, near the walls, and within the enclosure of the great Cathedral, and is one of the few monuments which the conquerors have left of the savage institutions of the Aztec empire. It is a circular block of porphyry, nine or ten feet in diameter, and is sculptured over with the effigies of warriors. The privilege of dying upon this stone was awarded only to captives of the most extraordinary prowess; and as such were never taken alive, unless when conquered by accident, the exhibition of such a sacrifice was as rare as it was agreeable to the fierce tastes of the Mexicans. It was essentially gladiatorial, and it offered a prospect even of life and liberty to the valiant prisoner. A sword and buckler were put into his hands, and he was tied by one leg to the stone; yet, if he succeeded in slaying or defeating six chosen Mexican warriors, he was released and sent back in safety to his own country. The last victim of the Temalacatl was the famous Tlascalan chief, Tlahuicotl, the Orlando of Anahuac, captured by Montezuma not many years before the advent of the Spaniards, who, fighting only to die, (for he refused to accept life, even as the meed of his own heroism,) and fighting till he did die, slew no less than eight different opponents, and disabled twenty others, before his great spirit sank under his exertions. If the gladiator fell, before he had accomplished his task, he was dragged to the neighbouring temple, and there sacrificed, while yet living. The last victim, destined to close the list of those to whom Mexico did honour, was a Spaniard.
A vast multitude of pagans surrounded the platform, except on that side which looked to the temple. Here stood the priests, few in number, yet prepared, at the moment of the victim's fall, to clutch upon him, and bear him to the altar, a space being left for them, as much out of reverence for their sacred character, as to preserve their pathway entirely unobstructed. The side that looked to the palace was also but little encumbered; for here the king of Mexico sat upon a scaffold, attended by his chief nobles.
The grim looks of expectation, with which the assembled multitude surveyed the platform, were heightened in ferocity by the privations that had pinched and hollowed their visages. They looked like winter wolves, gaunt with famine; and one would have thought their appetites were whetting for a repast on the flesh of the victim. There was indeed something horrid in their appearance, as well as in the cause which had assembled them together. It was plain that they waited impatiently for the coming of the prisoner. As they rolled their eyes over the square, they caught sight of Juan, conspicuous by his lofty stature, though he now drooped his head with gloom, and hailed his appearance with such shouts as proved what a change had been made in their feelings, by his presence, in the battle of the ambuscade. The imputations of Azcamatzin were ended, for Azcamatzin perished an hour after uttering them, under a shot from the crossbow of the hunchback: they remembered nothing now, but that the Christian had touched the body of Malintzin, and was struck down while he had him in his hands, and that he was the brother of the king.
It was these acclamations which roused him out of his sullen mood, so that he could exert his mind and imagine the object for which he had been summoned. But no sooner did he perceive the priests near the Temalacatl, than he was seized with horror, and disregarding the command of Guatimozin, who beckoned to him to ascend the platform to his side, he turned to fly.
"Is not my brother a Mexican, and among the sons of the king?" said the infidel; and then added with a look of bitter meaning, "My brother shall see the revenge of the daughter of Montezuma!"
Struck by these words, yet incapable of fathoming their signification, Juan looked up to the young monarch, and would even have ascended the scaffold, had not the sudden appearance of the captive engaged his whole attention. A wild and frantic cry burst from the mob, and looking round, he beheld a body of ten or twelve priests, with their black robes, and long plaited, rope-like hair, leading the prisoner towards the platform. His arms were bound behind him, and his only garment was a coarse cloth wrapped round the loins.
Juan's heart sickened; he would have sunk to the earth, or buried his head in his tilmaltli, to avoid looking upon the spectacle of a Christian and countryman, thus brought forth to be slaughtered. But the fiery spirit displayed by the victim, as soon as he was lifted upon the mound and set upon his feet, drew another shout from the admiring infidels, which caused him to steal one look at the scene; and that look left him without the power of withdrawing his eyes. The captive, as soon as he was on the mound, leaped, of his own accord, upon the stone, as if to testify not only his knowledge of the purpose for which he was brought there, but his willingness to engage in the combat. He then turned his face towards the king, and, at that moment,
Juan Lerma lifting his eyes, beheld the only man he had ever learned to hate – It was Don Francisco de Guzman.
Noble, compassionate, and truly unvindictive, as was Lerma's spirit, he did not make this discovery without a thrill of fierce exultation. There is a touch of the wild beast in the hearts of us all; and so long as man is capable of anger, he will, at some moment, and for some brief space of time, yield to thoughts and wishes, that he himself must, a moment after, esteem diabolic. Religion and moral culture make us the masters of our malign propensities; but man is naturally a vengeful animal.
It was but the weakness of a moment with Juan Lerma; perhaps, too, it was caused by the thrill of joy at the proof thus rendered, that Guzman, at least, exercised no control over the fate of the princess of Mexico; and if he did not instantly commiserate the condition of an enemy justly abhorred, but now so fallen, so wretched, and about to expiate his evil deeds by a punishment so fearfully retributive, he was able to banish all unworthy elation from his mind, and look on with feelings more becoming a man and Christian.
He could not indeed but admire the fearless intrepidity, or rather audacity, with which Guzman (more oppressed by a sense of humiliation, at being made a spectacle among a crew so despised and abhorred, than by any other feeling,) looked around him upon the pagans, and extended his foot to the ligature, with which it was to be secured to the stone. Whatever were his faults, it could not be denied, that Don Francisco was a man of unflinching courage, which was indeed a constitutional trait. His presence on the stone of battle indicated that he had been captured after a heroic resistance. His resolution was, in this case, kept up by a knowledge of the nature of the ordeal through which he was to pass, and by full confidence in his ability to win all the privileges it conferred upon him. He had some little acquaintance with the Mexican tongue, and was by no means ignorant of the more remarkable institutions of the country. A victory over six awkward and half-starved barbarians, was an exploit not to be despaired of by a well-trained cavalier, even when denied any advantage of weapons, and defensive armour. Yet it was a curious circumstance, that he, who had not often kept faith himself, when his interest called upon him to break it, should rest with such perfect reliance upon the willingness of the Mexicans to liberate him, in the event of his prevailing over their champions. But he knew, that never but once had a tribe of all the broad regions of Anahuac broken its pledged faith to a successful gladiator; and that tribe was, for that reason, ever after held infamous. It was the tribe of Huexotzinco; and Cortes himself placed the circumstance on record.
As soon as his foot was properly secured, his arms were unbound, and a noble, who stood upon the scaffold in the character of a herald, addressed him in the following official terms:
"This is the law of Mexico, and let the people hear: 'The prisoner who is brave, the gods honour. If he kill six strong men upon the stone Temalacatl, he shall be set free.' This is the law."
"This is the law, then," repeated Guzman, in imperfect Mexican, turning his eyes upon Guatimozin, as if he disdained to hold converse with any meaner infidel: "Is it a law that will be remembered, when the prisoner is a Spaniard?"
"He who is a prisoner, has no name and no country," replied the prince. "He is neither Tlascalan nor Castilian, but a man who kills or dies."
"And if I prevail over six of thy soldiers," again cried Guzman, as the attendants strapped upon one arm a light buckler of basket-work, and gave him also a short macana, "dost thou warrant me by thy gods, that I shall be sent back to Don Hernan?"
"Let the prisoner fight," said the king sternly: "Are the warriors of Mexico blades of grass, that they should be blown down by a man's breath, before the sword has struck them?"
"Thou shalt see," replied Guzman, with a grim smile. "What are six warriors to a man fighting for liberty? Give me a Spanish sword, – a weapon of iron, – and let my adversaries be doubled in number."
The boldness of this demand greatly excited the admiration of the warlike spectators, who rewarded it with cheers. But they checked their tumult to hear the words of the king.
"The white man talks with the lips of a boaster," he said. "Had he not a Spanish sword in the king's garden, among the women? How is this? He is a prisoner!"
"Ask thy warriors, – it was not broken off in my hand! How else should they have taken me?" replied Guzman, to the words of scorn; and then added, in Spanish, as if to himself, "So much for striking the accursed hound! I would he and his master were broiling in purgatory; for they have ever brought me bad luck."
Juan Lerma heard not these words, but he remembered the broken blade in Befo's body, and again his heart hardened against his foemen. But matters were now approaching to a crisis. The monarch, disdaining to hold further discourse with the prisoner, waved his hand, and a warrior, darting from the ground at the foot of the scaffold, leaped with a single bound upon the platform, and uttered the yell of battle, which was instantly re-echoed by the shouts of the multitude. He was a tall and powerful savage, though meager of frame, of great activity, as was proved by his ready leap, and of a spirit fully corresponding. His equipments were but little superior to those of the captive; his battle-axe was somewhat longer, his buckler a little broader, and he had some slight defence for his head, in a cap of alligator-skin, that crowned his matted hair.