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The Great Republic by the Master Historians
Retreat of Cortes from the City of Mexico
by Bancroft, Hubert H.
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[The first step towards the discovery of Mexico was made by Francisco Fernandez
de Cordova, who, in 1517, explored the northern coast of Yucatan. Instead of
finding naked savages, as in former explorations, he was surprised to discover
well-clad people and large stone edifices. The natives were so bold and warlike
as to drive off the Spaniards, killing many of them, and mortally wounding
Cordova. In the following year, Juan de Grijalva explored a portion of the
southern coast of Mexico, and obtained much treasure by traffic with the
inhabitants. Velasquez, governor of Cuba, who had fitted out this expedition,
now determined to attempt the conquest of the wealthy country that had been
discovered, and prepared an expedition of ten vessels, manned by six hundred and
seventeen men, which he placed under the command of Hernando Cortes, and
adventurous cavalier who had already shown much military ability. He landed in
Mexico on March 4, 1519, where his ships, his horses, and his artillery filled
the natives with wonder and terror and caused them to regard the Spaniards as
divine beings. After several victories over the natives, who were repulsed with
great slaughter, Cortes founded the city of Vera Cruz, burned his vessels to cut
off all thought of retreat from the minds of his soldiers, and commenced his
march towards towards the Mexican capital. He was opposed by the people of
Tlascala, enemies of the Aztecs, but he conquered this warlike republic and
converted its inhabitants into useful auxiliaries. In the city of Cholula, where
an ambuscade had been laid for him, he defeated his enemies with terrible
slaughter. He finally reached the city of Mexico, which was situated on an
island in a lake and connected by causeways with the mainland. Here he took
Montezuma, the Aztec emperor, prisoner, and converted one of his palaces into a
fortress. Velasquez had, meanwhile, sent an expedition under Narvaez to deprive
Cortes of his command. Leaving two hundred men in the city, he marched against
Narvaez, defeated him, and enlisted his men under his own banner. During his
absence the Mexicans attacked the Spanish garrison. Their attacks were continued
after the return of Cortes with such fury that Montezuma was mortally wounded by
his own subjects, and many of the Spaniards were slain. So persistent and
threatening became the Mexican assaults that the invaders found themselves in
imminent peril of being entirely destroyed, and their leader was forced to order
a retreat. There is nothing more exciting in fiction than the story of this
terrible night march, the "noche triste" of Spanish historians. We give it in
Prescott's eloquent description from his "Conquest of Mexico."]
The general's first care was to provide for the safe transportation of the
treasure. Many of the common soldiers had converted their share of the prize, as
we have seen, into gold chains, collars, or other ornaments, which they easily
carried about their persons. But the royal fifth, together with that of Cortes
himself, and much of the rich booty of the principal cavaliers, had been
converted into bars and wedges of solid gold and deposited in one of the strong
apartments of the palace. Cortes delivered the share belonging to the crown to
the royal officers, assigning them one of the strongest horses, and a guard of
Castilian soldiers, to transport it. Still, much of the treasure, belonging both
to the crown and to individuals, was necessarily abandoned, from the want of
adequate means of conveyance. The metal lay scattered in shining heaps along the
floor, exciting the cupidity of the soldiers. "Take what you will of it;" said
Cortes to his men. "Better you should have it, than these Mexican hounds. But be
careful not to overload yourselves. He travels safest in the dark night who
travels lightest." His own more wary followers took heed to his counsel, helping
themselves to a few articles of least bulk, though, it might be, of greatest
value. But the troops of Narvaez, pining for riches of which they had heard so
much and hitherto seen so little, showed no such discretion. To them it seemed
as if the very mines of Mexico were turned up before them, and, rushing on the
treacherous spoil, they greedily loaded themselves with as much of it, not
merely as they could accommodate about their persons, but as they could stow
away in wallets, boxes, or any other means of conveyance at their disposal.
Cortes next arranged the order of march. The van, composed of two hundred
Spanish foot, he placed under the command of the valiant Gonzalo de Sandoval,
supported by Diego de Ordaz, Francisco de Lujo, and about twenty other
cavaliers. The rear-guard, constituting the strength of the infantry, was
intrusted to Pedro de Alvarado and Velasquez de Leon. The general himself took
charge of the "battle," or centre, in which went the baggage, some of the heavy
guns, - most of which, however, remained in the rear, - the treasure, and the
prisoners. These consisted of a son and two daughters of Montezuma, Cacama, the
deposed lord of Tezcuco, and several other nobles, whom Cortes retained as
important pledges in his future negotiations with the enemy. The Tlascalans were
distributed pretty equally among the three divisions; and Cortes had under his
immediate command a hundred picked soldiers, his own veterans most attached to
his service, who, with Cristoval de Olid, Francisco de Morla, Alonso de Avila,
and two or three other cavaliers, formed a select corps, to act wherever
occasion might require.
The general had already superintended the construction of a portable bridge to
be laid over the open canals in the causeway. This was given in charge to an
officer named Magarino, with forty soldiers under his orders, all pledged to
defend the passage to the last extremity. The bridge was to be taken up when the
entire army had crossed one of the breaches, and transported to the next. There
were three of these openings in the causeway, and most fortunate would it have
been for the expedition if the foresight of the commander had provided the same
number of bridges. But the labor would have been great, and time was short.
At midnight the troops were under arms, in readiness for the march. Mass was
performed by Father Olmedo, who invoked the protection of the Almighty through
the awful perils of the night. The gates were thrown open, and on the 1st of
July, 1520, the Spaniards for the last time sallied forth from the walls of the
ancient fortress, the scene of so much suffering and such indomitable courage.
The night was cloudy, and a drizzling rain, which fell without intermission,
added to the obscurity. The great square before the palace was deserted, as,
indeed, it had been since the fall of Montezuma. Steadily, and as noiselessly as
possible, the Spaniards held their way along the great street of Tlacopan, which
so lately had resounded with the tumult of battle. All was now hushed in
silence; and they were only reminded of the past by the occasional presence of
some solitary corpse, or a dark heap of the slain, which too plainly told where
the strife had been hottest. As they passed along the lanes and alleys which
opened into the great street, or looked down the canals, whose polished surface
gleamed with a sort of ebon lustre through the obscurity of night, they easily
fancied that they discerned the shadowy forms of their foe lurking in ambush and
ready to spring on them. But it was only fancy; and the city slept undisturbed
even by the prolonged echoes of the tramp of the horses and the hoarse rumbling
of the artillery and baggage-trains. At length a lighter space beyond the dusky
line of buildings showed the van of the army that it was emerging on the open
causeway. They might well have congratulated themselves on having thus escaped
the dangers of an assault in the city itself, and that a brief time would place
them in comparative safety on the opposite shore. But the Mexicans were not all
asleep.
As the Spaniards drew near the spot where the street opened on the causeway, and
were preparing to lay the portable bridge across the uncovered breach, which now
met their eyes, several Indian sentinels, who had been stationed at this, as at
the other approaches to the city, took the alarm and fled, rousing their
countrymen by their cries. The priests, keeping their night-watch on the summit
of the teocallis, instantly caught the tidings and sounded their shells, while
the huge drum in the desolate temple of the war-god sent forth those solemn
tones which, heard only in seasons of calamity, vibrated through every corner of
the capital. The Spaniards saw that no time was to be lost. The bridge was
brought forward and fitted with all possible expedition. Sandoval was the first
to try its strength, and, riding across, was followed by his little body of
chivalry, his infantry, and Tlascalan allies, who formed the first division of
the army. Then came Cortes and his squadrons, with the baggage, ammunition-
wagons, and a part of the artillery. But before they had time to defile across
the narrow passage, a gathering sound was heard, like that of a mighty forest
agitated by the winds. It grew louder and louder, while on the dark waters of
the lake was heard a plashing noise, as of many oars. Then came a few stones and
arrows striking at random among the hurrying troops. They fell every moment
faster and more furious, till they thickened into a terrible tempest, while the
very heavens were rent with the yells and war-cries of myriads of combatants,
who seemed all at once to be swarming over land and lake!
The Spaniards pushed steadily on through this arrowy sleet, though the
barbarians, dashing their canoes against the sides of the causeway, clambered up
and broke in upon their ranks. But the Christians, anxious only to make their
escape, declined all combat except for self-preservation. The cavaliers,
spurring forward their steeds, shook off their assailants and rode over their
prostrate bodies, while the men on foot with their good swords or the butts of
their pieces drove them headlong again down the sides of the dike.
But the advance of several thousand men, marching, probably, on a front of not
more than fifteen or twenty abreast, necessarily required much time, and the
leading files had already reached the second breach in the causeway before those
in the rear had entirely traversed the first. Here they halted, as they had no
means of effecting a passage, smarting all the while under unintermitting
volleys from the enemy, who were clustered thick on the waters around this
second opening. Sorely distressed, the vanguard sent repeated messages to the
rear to demand the portable bridge. At length the last of the army had crossed,
and Magarino and his sturdy followers endeavored to raise the ponderous
framework. But it stuck fast in the sides of the dike. In vain they strained
every nerve. The weight of so many men and horses, and above all of the heavy
artillery, had wedged the timbers so firmly in the stones and earth that it was
beyond their power to dislodge them. Still they labored amidst a torrent of
missiles, until, many of them slain, and all wounded, they were obliged to
abandon the attempt.
The tidings soon spread from man to man, and no sooner was their dreadful import
comprehended than a cry of despair arose, which for a moment drowned all the
noise of conflict. All means of retreat were cut off. Scarcely hope was left.
The only hope was in such desperate exertions as each could make for himself.
Order and subordination were at an end. Intense danger produced intense
selfishness. Each thought only of his own life. Pressing forward, he trampled
down the weak and the wounded, heedless whether it were friend or foe. The
leading files, urged on by the rear, were crowded on the brink of the gulf.
Sandoval, Ordaz, and the other cavaliers dashed into the water. Some succeeded
in swimming their horses across. Others failed, and some, who reached the
opposite bank, being overturned in the ascent, rolled headlong with their steeds
into the lake. The infantry followed pell-mell, heaped promiscuously on one
another, frequently pierced by the shafts or struck down by the war-clubs of the
Aztecs; while many an unfortunate victim was dragged half stunned on board their
canoes, to be reserved for a protracted but more dreadful death.
The carnage raged fearfully along the length of the causeway. Its shadowy bulk
presented a mark of sufficient distinctness for the enemy's missiles, which
often prostrated their own countrymen in the blind fury of the tempest. Those
nearest the dike, running their canoes alongside with a force that shattered
them to pieces, leaped on the land, and grappled with the Christians, until both
came rolling down the side of the causeway together. But the Aztec fell among
his friends, while his antagonist was borne away in triumph to the sacrifice.
The struggle was long and deadly. The Mexicans were recognized by their white
cotton tunics, which showed faint through the darkness. Above the combatants
rose a wild and discordant clamor, in which horrid shouts of vengeance were
mingled with groans of agony, with invocations of the saints and the blessed
Virgin, and with the screams of women; for there were several women, both
natives and Spaniards, who had accompanied the Christian camp. Among these, one
named Maria de Estrada is particularly noticed for the courage she displayed,
battling with broadsword and target like the stanchest of the warriors.
The opening in the causeway, meanwhile, was filled up with the wreck of matter
which had been forced into it, - ammunition-wagons, heavy guns, bales of rich
stuffs scattered over the waters, chests of solid ingots, and bodies of men and
horses, till over this dismal ruin a passage was gradually formed, by which
those in the rear were enabled to clamber to the other side. Cortes, it is said,
found a place that was fordable, where, halting, with the water up to his
saddle-girths, he endeavored to check the confusion and lead his followers by a
safer path to the opposite bank. But his voice was lost in the wild uproar, and
finally, hurrying on with the tide, he pressed forward with a few trusty
cavaliers, who remained near his person, to the van; but not before he had seen
his favorite page, Juan de Salazar, struck down, a corpse, by his side. Here he
found Sandoval and his companions, halting before the third and last breach,
endeavoring to cheer on their followers to surmount it. But their resolution
faltered. It was wide and deep; though the passage was not so closely beset by
the enemy as the preceding ones. The cavaliers again set the example by plunging
into the water. Horse and foot followed as they could, some swimming, others
with dying grasp clinging to the manes and tails of the struggling animals.
Those fared best, as the general had predicted, who travelled lightest; and many
were the unfortunate wretches who, weighed down by the fatal gold which they
loved so well, were buried with it in the salt floods of the lake. Cortes, with
his gallant comrades, Olid, Morla, Sandoval, and some few others, still kept in
the advance, leading his broken remnant off the fatal causeway. The din of
battle lessened in the distance; when the rumor reached them that the rear-guard
would be wholly overwhelmed without speedy relief. It seemed almost an act of
desperation; but the generous hearts of the Spanish cavaliers did not stop to
calculate danger when the cry for succor reached them. Turning their horses'
bridles, they galloped back to the theatre of action, worked their way through
the press, swam the canal, and placed themselves in the thick of the melee on
the opposite bank.
The first gray of the morning was now coming over the waters. It showed the
hideous confusion of the scene which had been shrouded in the obscurity of
night. The dark masses of combatants, stretching along the dike, were seen
struggling for mastery, until the very causeway on which they stood appeared to
tremble and reel to and fro, as if shaken by an earthquake, while the bosom of
the lake, as far as the eye could reach, was darkened by canoes crowded with
warriors, whose spears and bludgeons, armed with blades of "volcanic glass,"
gleamed in the morning light.
The cavaliers found Alvarado unhorsed, and defending himself with a poor handful
of followers against an over-whelming tide of the enemy. His good steed, which
had borne him through many a hard fight, had fallen under him. He was himself
wounded in several places, and was striving in vain to rally his scattered
column, which was driven to the verge of the canal by the fury of the enemy,
then in possession of the whole rear of the causeway, where they were reinforced
every hour by fresh combatants from the city. The artillery in the earlier part
of the engagement had not been idle, and its iron shower, sweeping along the
dike, had mowed down the assailants by hundreds. But nothing could resist their
impetuosity. The front ranks, pushed on by those behind, were at length forced
up to the pieces, and, pouring over them like a torrent, overthrew men and guns
in one general ruin. The resolute charge of the Spanish cavaliers, who had now
arrived, created a temporary check, and gave time for their countrymen to make a
feeble rally. But they were speedily borne down by the returning flood. Cortes
and his companions were compelled to plunge again into the lake, - though all
did not escape. Alvarado stood on the brink for a moment hesitating what to do.
Unhorsed as he was, to throw himself into the water in the face of the hostile
canoes that now swarmed around the opening afforded but a desperate chance of
safety. He had but a second for thought. He was a man of powerful frame, and
despair gave him unnatural energy. Setting his long lance firmly on the wreck
which strewed the bottom of the lake, he sprung forward with all his might, and
cleared the wide gap at a leap! Aztecs and Tlascalans gazed in stupid amazement,
exclaiming, as they beheld the incredible feat, "This is truly the Tonatiuh, -
the child of the Sun!" The breadth of the opening is not given. But it was so
great that the valorous captain, Diaz, who well remembered the place, says the
leap was impossible to any man. Other contemporaries, however, do not discredit
the story. It was, beyond doubt, matter of popular belief at the time; it is to
this day familiarly known to every inhabitant of the capital; and the name of
the Salto de Alvarado, "Alvarado's Leap," given to the spot, still commemorates
an exploit which rivalled those of the demi-gods of Grecian fable.
Cortes and his companions now rode forward to the front, where the troops, in a
loose, disorderly manner, were marching off the fatal causeway. A few only of
the enemy hung on their rear, or annoyed them by occasional flights of arrows
from the lake. The attention of the Aztecs was diverted by the rich spoil that
strewed the battle-ground; fortunately for the Spaniards, who, had their enemy
pursued with the same ferocity with which he had fought, would, in their
crippled condition, have been cut off, probably, to a man. But little molested,
therefore, they were allowed to defile through the adjacent village, or suburbs,
it might be called, of Popotla.
The Spanish commander there dismounted from his jaded steed, and, sitting down
on the steps of an Indian temple, gazed mournfully on the broken files as they
passed before him. What a spectacle did they present! The cavalry, most of them
dismounted, were mingled with the infantry, who dragged their feeble limbs along
with difficulty; their shattered mail and tattered garments dripping with the
salt ooze, showing through their rents many a bruise and ghastly would; their
bright arms soiled, their proud crests and banners gone, the baggage, artillery,
all, in short, that constitutes the pride and panoply of glorious war, forever
lost. Cortes, as he looked wistfully on their thin and disordered ranks, sought
in vain for many a familiar face, and missed more than one dear companion who
had stood side by side with him through all the perils of the Conquest. Though
accustomed to control his emotions, or, at least, to conceal them, the sight was
too much for him. He covered his face with his hands, and the tears which
trickled down revealed too plainly the anguish of his soul.
[The story of the conquest of Mexico may be briefly concluded. Cortes, in his
retreat, found himself opposed by a vastly outnumbering army, filling a valley
through which he was forced to pass. A desperate conflict ensued, in which the
Spaniards were in imminent danger of annihilation, when Cortes, followed by his
bravest cavaliers, spurred to the point where the great Aztec standard rose in
the center of the army, cut down the general, and seized the imperial banner. On
seeing their standard fall, the army at once broke into a panic and fled in all
directions, leaving free passage to the remnant of the Spanish force. Cortes
proceeded to the coast, where he received reinforcements, and returned to
besiege the city. It was defended with desperate determination, and yielded only
after a siege of several months, when the city was nearly levelled with the
ground, and after the inhabitants had endured the extremities of famine. The
submission of the city was that of the empire, and the Aztecs experienced the
fate which had been visited upon the natives in the other Spanish colonies.]
William H. Prescott
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