Presents of wives—the soft, pretty Indian damsels, daughters of the principal chiefs—were made to Cortes and his officers by the Cacique, in gratitude for assistance against a neighbouring tribe, which the Spaniards rendered. They must, however, be baptized first, said Cortes, and the opportunity was taken to enforce the Christian religion upon their allies. Protests and menace followed, but the idols of Cempoalla were torn from their pyramid sanctuaries and hurled to the ground; the foul sacrificial altars cleansed; the image of the Virgin installed there; and a solemn Mass celebrated by Father Olmedo.

Other stirring events crowded rapidly on. A swift ship was despatched to Spain with the wheel of gold; the beautiful feather-work, and the other rare presents of the Aztecs, all given over by the Spaniards as a royal gift to the young Spanish king; together with a voluminous epistle. This was sent with the design of forestalling the machinations of Velasquez; and though the vessel touched at Cuba, it escaped detention, and safely arrived in Spain. But meantime disaffection arose in the new colony, and a conspiracy was formed to seize a vessel and escape to Cuba, by some of the Spaniards who were discontented and fearful of the future. The plot was discovered and the authors seized and executed, and a dramatic sequel to this conspiracy came about. Cortes and some of his advisers resolved to prevent the recurrence of any further danger of this nature; to put it out of the power of any to desert; to place the knowledge of the inevitable before his troops, that the conquest must be undertaken or death found in the attempt. He sank his ships! Yes; the brigantines which had borne them thither, and were their only means of retreat from those savage shores, were dismantled and destroyed.

And now the Spaniards resolutely turn their faces to the mountains. Threats and entreaties are stilled; the colony is established, the base secured, the ships are sunk, save that single white-winged caravel far over the waters of the gulf, prow to the shores of Spain. The Mass is said, the books are closed. "Forward! my comrades," said Cortes; "before us lies a mountain road; and adventure, gold, and glory!"

The traveller of to-day, as he traverses by rail the desert coast zone of the Mexican littoral, and ascends the steep slopes of the eastern Cordillera of the Sierra Madre, to gain access to the Great Plateau or Valley of Mexico beyond it, reposing amid the cushions of his Pullman car, will neither endure the fatigue which the Conquistadores suffered nor be assailed, night and day, with the menace of savage foes on every hand. But the grand and varied setting still remains: the strange and beautiful fairyland of Nature's rapid transformation scenes, the changing landscape and successive climates of this remarkable region. The sandy wastes give place to tropical forests and fertile valleys, with their bright accompaniment of profuse flower- and bird-life. These, in turn, disappear from the changing panorama, and the traveller reaches the appalling escarpments of the Mexican Andes, looking down from time to time from dizzy ridges, where the ascending steel lines of the railroad spiral has brought him, to where distant fertile vales lie in the glimmering haze, thousands of feet below. And then the scene changes, and the dark rocky ribs and bleak plateau show that the summit is reached, ten thousand feet above the level of the ocean's ebb and flow.



But what we shall have accomplished in a day the weary Conquistadores have spent many marches in overcoming. Cortes and his men are halting at the end of a broad valley. What is the cause of the delay? An extraordinary fortification confronts them; a wall, twice as high as a man, made of stone blocks, and of enormous thickness, absolutely closes the passage of the valley, and extends for several miles on either hand to where it abuts upon the rocky ramparts of the Sierra itself. Was this some enchanted castle raised up by magician hand? Certainly not; it was the outer defence of the land of the Tlascalans; the bulwark of the brave and independent mountain republic, which had ever defied the power of the Aztecs.

To reach this point the Spaniards had toiled on day after day, sleeping at night upon their arms. From the tropical lands and climate of the tierra caliente they had reached the frowning fastnesses of the great mountains and lofty peaks, which overhang the crest of the eastern slope of the tableland of Mexico. The rainy season was upon them, and the trails were wet and heavy, and the atmosphere and humour of the tropic lands had been debilitating, as indeed they are to the European of today. The brusque change of climate from heat to cold tried them sorely, although the latter was the more invigorating. Day by day a huge coffin-shaped mountain had overhung the horizon—the Cofre de Perote, an extinct volcano, in whose vicinity the desolating action of old lava-flows startles the traveller's eye. As they reached the summit of the range—the crests of the Eastern Sierra Madre—the rain and snow and bitter winds, the functions of Nature which she ever lets loose upon the head of the traveller who defies her in such inclement regions, assailed the Spaniards, and some of the unfortunate Indians, natives of the tropic lands of the coast, succumbed to the cold. On, on they toiled up this untrodden way—untrodden, that is, by the foot of civilised man before that day, and at length, having crossed the summit, the divortia aquarum of the continent, they began the descent towards the mild climate of the Valley of Mexico.

Upon the confines of this valley was a town surrounded by extensive cultivated fields of maiz. Stone buildings, numerous teocallis, and a large population attested the importance of the place; and when the Spaniards asked if it was tributary to Montezuma the chief replied with another question, asking with surprise if there existed any other lord worthy of tribute. Another chief and tribe some miles beyond, gave a good reception to the Spaniards, and there they gladly halted for some days. The house of the chief was upon a hill, "protected by a better fort than can be found in half Spain," wrote Cortes to his Emperor at Castile. Here it was that the Spaniards received news of the existence of the people of Cholula and Tlascala, who inhabited the regions of their intended line of march. "Go by the road of the Tlascalans," the friendly chief advised; "the Cholulans are a treacherous people." Cortes despatched messengers to the chief of Tlascala, but no reply was received, and after waiting some days the Spaniards continued their march, to where we left them halting before the stone wall across the valley.

And then began the most stirring events of their march. The Tlascalans were a people who had developed a remarkable civilisation and social and military organisation, akin to that of the Aztecs. On the arrival of the messengers of Cortes much dissension had prevailed in their councils, some of the chiefs—the community was ruled by a council of four—maintaining that this was an opportunity for vengeance against their hereditary enemies, the hated Aztecs and their prince, Montezuma. "Let us ally ourselves with these terrible strangers," they urged, "and march against the Mexicans." For the doings of the Spaniards had echoed through the land already, with a tale of smitten tribes and broken idols. But the wily old Xicotencatl thought otherwise. "What do we know of their purpose?" was his counsel; so it was agreed that the army of the Tlascalans and Otomies, who were in force near the frontier, under the command of the fiery young warrior—son of old Xicotencatl, and bearing the same name—should attack them. "If we fail," the old barbarian urged, "we will disavow the act of our general; if we win—"!

The stone fortification at the valley's end had been undefended, and with Cortes at their head the Spaniards entered Tlascalan territory. Skirmishing was followed by a pitched battle between the Christians and the Tlascalans, in which the firearms and lances of the Spaniards wrought terrible havoc on their antagonists. Astounded at the sight of the horses—those extraordinary beings, whether of animal or demoniacal origin they knew not—and appalled by the thundering of the guns, which seemed to have some superhuman source, the Tlascalans at first fell back. But they overcame their fears, fell savagely upon the invaders, and were with difficulty repulsed, having managed to kill two of the horses. Greatly to Cortes's regret was this, for the noble animals were few, and—more serious still—their death removed that semi-superstitious dread regarding them, which the natives held. However, the Spaniards afterwards buried them from sight.

Night fell, a season when the Indians fought not, but on the morrow the messengers which had been sent to the Tlascalans arrived—having escaped—with the news that the enemy was approaching in great force. So indeed it befel, and upon the plain in front of the Spaniards appeared a mighty host, varyingly estimated between thirty and a hundred thousand warriors. The Spaniards with their allies numbered—fearful odds!—about three thousand. "The God of the Christians will bear us through," said the brave and beautiful Marina. A frightful battle now ensued, the issue of which hung in the scale for hours. Charging, volleying, borne this way and that by the flood of the enemy's numbers, the gallant band of the Spaniards snatched victory from almost certain defeat, their superior weapons and cavalry, together with the bad tactics of the Indians, who knew not how to employ their unwieldy army to best advantage, at length decided the day for the Christians, who inflicted terrible punishment upon their foes. The Tlascalans' policy now showed signs of weakening, but further assaults were necessary, and some treachery, under the guise of friendship, having been discovered on the part of the fifty Tlascalan envoys to the Spanish camp, Cortes barbarously cut off the hands of these and sent them back to tell the tale.

The upshot of these engagements was that the Tlascalans capitulated, apologised for their conduct, invited the strangers to take possession of their capital, and assured them that they would now be allies, not enemies, of the white men, who were undoubtedly the representatives of the great and long-expected Quetzalcoatl. The joy in the Spanish camp at this turn of affairs knew no bounds; well did the Spaniards know that the continued opposition of the Indians would have been their ruin, whilst in their alliance was salvation and the key to the Conquest.

Behold the war-worn and hungry Spaniards, lean and tattered from marching and privations in the inclement uplands, now installed in comfort in the centre of the powerful Tlascalan capital. Forth had come to greet them young Xicotencatl, who, to do him justice, took upon himself the responsibility of the war; and as the Spaniards entered the capital the streets were lined with men, women, and children, and decorated with garlands of flowers as for a triumphal procession. The old chief who had urged for opposition now changed his tactics, and as Cortes entered he embraced him, passing his hand over the face of the Spaniard to see what manner of man he was, for the aged Tlascalan was blind, having reached, it has been said—probably with exaggeration—a hundred and forty years of age! "The city is much larger than Granada," wrote Cortes to Carlos V., with a description of its markets, shops, houses, and intelligent and industrious population.

Six weeks the Spaniards sojourned there, recuperating their energies, living on the best the plentiful land afforded—Tlascala signified in the Indian tongue "the land of bread"—taking wives from among the maidens of the chiefs' daughters, and endeavouring, first with the foolish haste of Cortes and then with the slow prudence of Father Olmedo, to instil some tenets of the Christian religion into their hosts. But religious fervour had to give way to material necessities, and the Tlascalan idols remained unsmitten, although their human sacrifices were somewhat stayed.

Rested and mended, the Spaniards now set impatient gaze upon the oak- and fir-clad mountain slopes which bounded the valley. Above them loomed upward the great Malinche, snow-capped queen of the Tlascalan mountain fastnesses; and still the friendly Tlascalans, stern foes but noble allies, loaded them with every favour and bid them tarry. When, however, they would stay no longer they raised a great body of warriors to accompany them, warning Cortez against the wiles of Montezuma. "Beware of his presents and his promises; he is false and seeks your destruction," they urged, and their implacable hatred of the Aztecs showed itself in their words and mien.

Contrary to the advice of their new allies, the Spaniards decided to journey on to Mexico through Cholula, the land of the great pyramid. Embassies had arrived, both from Montezuma and from the Cholulans, the latter inviting the Spaniards to go that way; and the great Aztec monarch, swayed now by the shadow of oncoming destiny, offering the Spaniards a welcome to his capital. "Trust not the Tlascalans, those barbarous foes," was the burden of his message, "but come through friendly Cholula"—words which the Tlascalans heard with sneers and counter-advice. The purpose of the Tlascalans was not a disinterested one. An attack upon Montezuma was their desire, and preliminary to this they hoped to embroil the Spaniards with the perfidious Cholulans. Another embassy—and this was an important event—had waited upon Cortes. It was from the Ixtlilxochitl, one of the rival claimants for the throne of Texcoco, which, it will be remembered, was a powerful and advanced community in confederation with the Aztecs; and Cortes was not slow to fan the flame of disaffection which this indicated, by an encouraging message to the young prince.



A farewell was taken of the staunch Tlascalans, the invariable Mass was celebrated by Father Olmedo, and, accompanied by a large body of Tlascalan warriors, the Spaniards set out for Cholula. What befel in this beautiful and populous place—which, Bernal Diaz wrote, reminded him, from its numerous towers, of Valladolid—was of terrible and ruthless import. Cholula, with its great teocalli, was the Mecca of Anahuac, and was veritably a land flowing with milk and honey. Well-built houses, numerous teocallis, or pyramidal temples, well-dressed people with embroidered cloaks, and numbers of censer-swinging priests formed the ensemble which greeted the Spaniards' eyes, whilst the intense cultivation of the ground and the fields of maguey, maiz, and other products, irrigated by canals from the mountain streams, formed the environment of this advanced community. "Not a palm's-breadth of land that is not cultivated," wrote Cortes in his despatches to Castile, "and the city, as we approached, was more beautiful than the cities of Spain." Beautiful and gay doubtless Cholula was when the Spaniards entered; drenched with the blood of its inhabitants and devastated by fire it lay before they left it! There had been signs of treachery, even on the road thither, work of the Cholulans; but, lodged in the city, the Spaniards discovered, through the agency of the intelligent Marina, a plot to annihilate them later. Taking the Cholulans unawares as they crowded the streets with—at the moment—harmless curiosity, the Spaniards, with cannon, musket, and sabre, mowed down the unfortunate and unprotected natives in one bloody massacre, aided by the ferocious Tlascalans, who fell upon the Cholulans from the rear. The appalling and unnecessary slaughter at Cholula has called down upon the heads of Cortes and the Spaniards the execration of historians. Some have endeavoured to excuse or palliate it, but it remains as one of the indelible stains of the Spanish Conquistadores upon the history they were making. Having accomplished this "punitive" act, an image of the Virgin was set up on the summit of the great pyramidal temple, and some order restored. "They are now your Highness's faithful vassals," wrote Cortes to the king of Spain!

After this the way seemed clear. Far on the horizon loomed the white, snow-capped cones of Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl, beautiful and pure above the deserts, the canyons, and the forests beneath them—the gateway to Mexico. From the foremost, above its snow-cap, there belched forth a great column of smoke, for at that period Popocatepetl was an active volcano. Onwards the Spaniards pressed with buoyant hearts and eager feet, and when they stood upon the summit of the range their eyes beheld the beautiful valley of Mexico, the haven for which they had long toiled and fought, stretched below. There, shimmering in distance, lay the strange, unknown city of the Aztecs, like a gem upon the borders of its lakes: its towers and buildings gleaming white in the brilliant sun of the tropic upland beneath the azure firmament and brought to deceptive nearness by the clear atmosphere of that high environment. There at last was their longed-for goal, the mysterious Tenochtitlan.



CHAPTER V THE FALL OF THE LAKE CITY

The Valley of Mexico—The City and the Causeways—The Conquistadores enter Mexico City—Meeting of Cortes and Montezuma—Greeting of the Aztec emperor to the Spaniards—Tradition of Quetzalcoatl—Splendid reception—The Teocalli—Spanish duplicity—Capture of Montezuma— Spanish gambling—News from Vera Cruz—Forced march to the coast— Cortes defeats Narvaez—Bad news from Mexico—Back to the capital— Alvarado's folly—Barbarous acts of the Spaniards—The fight on the pyramid—Destruction of Aztec idols—Death of Montezuma—Spaniards flee from the city—Frightful struggle on the Causeway—Alvarado's leap—The Noche Triste—Battle of Otumba—Marvellous victory—Spanish recuperation—Cuitlahuac and Guatemoc—Fresh operations against the capital—Building of the brigantines—Aztec tenacity—Expedition to Cuernavaca—Xochimilco—Attack upon the city—Struggles and reverses— Sacrifice of Spaniards—Desertion of the Allies—Return of the Allies— Renewed attacks—Fortitude of the Aztecs—The famous catapult— Sufferings of the Aztecs—Final attack—Appalling slaughter—Ferocious Tlascalans—Fall of Mexico.

The Valley of Mexico is a region of somewhat remarkable topographical character. It consists of a plain or inter-montane basin, enclosed on all sides by ranges of hills, forming a hydrographic entity whose waters have no natural outlet.[15] A group of lakes occupy the central part of this valley, very much reduced, however, in size since the time of the Conquest.

[Footnote 15: See p. 17.]



It was the 8th of November, 1519. Across the southern end of the great Lake Texcoco stretched a singular dyke or causeway, several miles in length and a few yards in width—a road or pathway built up of stone and mortar above the surrounding water, connecting the shores of that inland sea with an island and three other similar causeways. Upon this island arose a beautiful city with streets of strange buildings, above which rose great pyramids with sanctuaries upon their summits; and upon the bosom of the lake numerous canoes were plying, laden with men and merchandise. So rose those towers, and lived and moved the dwellers of this lake city, unknowing and unknown of European man, living their life as if no other world than theirs held sway beneath the firmament of the "unknown God." But the spell is broken. A trumpet sound is ringing through the morning air. Across the causeway comes a troop of strange men-animals—fearful things which snort and tramp, making the causeway rumble, whilst the notes of that strange music echo away among the towers and pyramids of the city, and are borne far over the waters of the lake, to smite the ears of wondering Indians.

Cortes and his Spaniards rode steadily along the causeway, their hearts beating—as well they might—with astonishment, admiration, apprehension, and all those emotions to which their unique and romantic position gave impulse. Guided by the messengers of Montezuma, the white men rode beneath a fortification in mid-causeway, where another similar structure joined it from another shore of the lake, passed the drawbridge and the city walls, and clattered up the stone-paved avenue of Tenochtitlan to where, in pomp and splendour, surrounded by his lords and vassals, the great Aztec chief awaited them, in a royal litter gleaming with polished gold.

Cortes and his men dropped foot to earth, and Montezuma descended from his litter. The Spaniard Conquistador, after the custom of his race, advanced to embrace the chief, "but," wrote Cortes to Charles V., "the two lords in attendance prevented me with their hands that I might not touch him, and both Montezuma and they performed instead their ceremony of kissing the ground."

The meeting of these two chiefs—one the autocrat of a strange, unknown civilisation there in the heart of the mountains, the other the representative of an equally strange and unknown power from an outside world, both, to the other, undreamt of—is of dramatic memory. But the address of Montezuma was singularly dignified, prophetic, or philosophical. After the presents and greetings were exchanged, and the monarch and the invader sate at their ease, he spake in this wise: "You who have come from the direction of the sunrise, from a great lord of some far regions, shall not lack power here to command, for well we know as to our ancestry that we are not of the aborigines of this land where we now dwell, but of that of a great lord—which must be that you represent—who brought us here in ages past, departed, and promised to return. Rest here, therefore, and rejoice; take what you will, my house is yours; but believe not the slanders of my enemies through whose countries you have journeyed."

So strong was the remarkable tradition of Quetzalcoatl, that it had held this powerful chief and his warlike people in check before the invasion of a band of adventurers from abroad. A word of command from him, and the Spaniards, with all their advantages of firearms and horses, could never have passed the causeway or set foot within that impregnable city of Tenochtitlan—that fatal causeway, as indeed it afterwards became.

Barbaric splendour, blended with the arts and industries of a civilised and practical people, formed the environment of this long-striven-for goal, where the men of Spain now lay at ease. A great pile of low stone buildings gave them commodious quarters. Rich gifts of gold and clothing, and ample food supplies, were given and provided for the white men; and their hearts, whether of the high-mettled and scornful cavaliers, or of the rude boors who formed the common soldiery, were won by the gentle courtesy and the generosity of Montezuma and the respect of the Aztecs who obeyed him. Even the savage and hated Tlascalan allies were lodged and provided for—their detested presence tolerated from consideration for the Spaniards. Here was an unhoped-for and magnificent reception. Here was a way and a time where the civilisation and religion of the Christian world might have been implanted—it would seem—by the philosophy of natural methods, by forbearance, example, and sagacity. So, at least, have thought some of the old chroniclers—so the student of to-day cannot but think.

But it was not to be so. The heart of the thinker bleeds to-day for the things of history which might have been; and the story of Montezuma is strong to give us philosophical regret. Some six days elapsed in this peaceful occupation of the city. Cortes and his Spaniards admired the huge market-place, where products from all quarters of the country were brought together: food, clothing, weapons, manufactured articles of rich material and colour, objects of gold, and a wealth of flowers which the inhabitants loved, stone buildings which lined the streets, the canals and streets which gave access thereto, and, in brief, the whole detail and substance of that remarkable centre of a semi-civilisation which the Spaniards commonly pronounced the equal of anything in their own native land. In company with Montezuma Cortes ascended the great teocalli, or pyramidal temple, and he and his companion, from this high point, beheld with amazement the panorama of the city below—with the lakes, the causeways giving access to the mainland, the towns on the farther side, and the intense cultivation of the valley. "Only the murmur of the people below reached our ears, as we gazed upon this panorama," wrote Bernal Diaz, who was there. To the chiefs who had been ordered to carry Cortes up the fatiguing stairway-ascent of the pyramid, and to the polite inquiries of Montezuma, the Conquistador replied, "that a Spaniard was never weary!" "But this abode of the devil," he said, with less politic words, which somewhat offended Montezuma—indicating the blood-stained sanctuary of the summit where they stood—"should rather be the home of the Cross"; and, indeed, the abominable place might well arouse the indignation of a Christian man: even one of that race and religion which later, in the same place, burned its own brethren at the stake for the good of their souls!

A few days wrought a change. Montezuma became a prisoner in the Spanish camp! In the heart of his own city, surrounded by his powerful chiefs and armies, the Aztec languished in vile, if seemingly voluntary, durance; and, an instrument in the invaders' hands, he governed his realm from their quarters. How was this astonishing transformation brought about? Cortes and his companions were in a singular position. Living in friendly harmony with their powerful host, shielded by his strange, superstitious reverence for a tradition, they yet could not but fear some change of circumstance which might, at any moment, plunge them into insecurity or threaten them with destruction. Moreover, Cortes knew not in what condition he stood with the dreaded powers of Castile. What favour or disfavour had he incurred in Spain for his irregular proceedings?—adverse representation of which, he well knew, would have been made by Velasquez and others, jealous of the conquest. Also—and this was a more poignant consideration than any other—Mexico was not conquered; it was only discovered. Action was necessary—to go or stay. "Listen," said Cortes to his captains, as they held solemn conclave. "This is my plan. We will seize and hold Montezuma. What say you?" It was done. For a pretext for this unworthy act the murder of two Spaniards upon an expedition at Vera Cruz was assigned. Visiting Montezuma's residence under pretence of asking redress for this—which was fully granted by the Aztec king, with absolute proofs of his non-participation in the occurrence—the Spaniards demanded that he should accompany them to their camp and take up his residence there.

This remarkable request was acceded to by the weak Montezuma—let us not say weak, but rather fatalist—and, accompanied by his weeping vassals, he allowed himself to be conducted to the stone fortress which had been assigned to the Spaniards as their habitation. The circumstance is perhaps unique in history.

And then the barbarous abuse of power, so strong a trait in the Spanish character, was exercised by Cortes and his captains. The chiefs who had been responsible for the killing of the two Spaniards arrived in the capital in accordance with Montezuma's summons. The Spaniards seized them, bound them to stakes in the courtyard, and burned them alive, an abominable act and stain upon their name, for which they paid dearly afterwards. Montezuma had been put in chains, the prisoners having confessed, although falsely, it is held, that they had acted in accordance with the Emperor's instructions. Afterwards Montezuma's shackles were taken off, but the indignity remained, although the Spaniards treated him well and endeavoured to render his captivity light, not so much out of regard for him, as that the safe keeping of his person was a valuable hostage for them.

The days went on in the Spanish camp. There was gaming with the huge treasure which, after his captivity, Montezuma gave the Spaniards; a treasure of which the gold, in three great heaps upon the floor of the habitation, was of value so prodigious as to dazzle even them, and of which a fifth was set apart for the Spanish king. Not content with these matters, or, rather, urged by their religious fervour, the Spaniards obtained permission to erect an altar and crucifix in one of the sanctuaries of the great teocalli. There Father Olmedo celebrated Mass, and the Te Deum was chanted by the soldiers, side by side with the sacrificial stone; the abominable war-god's image, and all the attendant machinery of its savage priestcraft.

But a time of change looms up. Six months have elapsed since the Spaniards entered the city. The unnatural condition of these things bears its fruit. The Aztec king has sounded the knell of his own authority and prestige, and the Spaniards' religious work has incurred the hatred of the seething multitude, scarcely held in check by the commands of Montezuma. Cortes and most of his captains at this critical time are called to Vera Cruz by Sandoval, the captain in charge; and go they must, for life or death. For hostile ships, sent by the jealous Velasquez and commanded by one Narvaez, menace the base of operations on the coast. Leaving Alvarado in charge of Montezuma and Spanish prestige in Tenochtitlan, Cortes by forced marches gained the coast, journeying with great speed, and under grave apprehension.

Fortune on this occasion favoured the Conquistador in a remarkable way. With only a third of his small force—140 men had remained in the capital—Cortes, under cover of a fearful storm at night, attacked Narvaez and the Spaniards of his command, routing them and taking the leader prisoner. The defeated soldiers soon enrolled themselves under Cortes's successful banner, stimulated by tales of gold and glory in the interior. But whilst the Conquistadores were resting and congratulating themselves upon the addition of men, horses, and ammunition to their forces, grave tidings came from Mexico. The Indians of Tenochtitlan had arisen, assaulted the fortifications of the Spaniards on all sides, and unless Cortes desired to see all his work undone, his people massacred, and his hard-won prestige ruined, he must make his way as fast as God would let him again to the city on the lakes of Anahuac.

Up, up they went once more. Up through the tropical forests and among the appalling escarpments of the Sierra. Again they descended the valley slopes, approached the lakes—round which an ominous abandonment prevailed—and crossing the long causeway, entered the Spanish camp. The fault of the insurrection, Cortes learned now, lay with the commander in charge—the foolish and cruel Alvarado, whose barbarous acts on other occasions had needlessly embroiled the Spaniards with the natives. A great celebration and religious festival was being held—Cortes learned—and whilst the Aztec nobles and people were occupied, unsuspecting any hostile act of their guests, Alvarado and the Spaniards, armed to the teeth, had mingled with the crowd with their purpose all planned, fallen upon the unarmed worshippers, and perpetrated a frightful massacre—"without pity or Christian mercy, so that the gutters ran with blood as in a rain-storm," say the chroniclers.

The result of this barbarous act was a vengeance and punishment which cost the Conquistadores dear, and stripped them in a few days of all they had won. For the maddened people, roused by sorrow and hate, and urged on by the priests, assailed the Spanish dwelling with frenzied attack. A rain of darts and missiles descended day after day upon the quarters of the Christians, so numerous that they had to be gathered in heaps and burnt in the courtyard. The main point of attack by the Mexicans was the great teocalli of the war-god, which overlooked the Spaniards' quarters, and so fierce was the hail of arrows and stones from this that a sortie was made. Cortes, with Sandoval and Alvarado, and a number of the Spaniards, led a gallant attack on the pyramid, fought their way up its precipitous steps and terraces, and after a frightful hand-to-hand struggle on its giddy summit, forced the Aztecs and their priests over the edge, and rolled the infernal idol of Huitzilopotchli, the war-god, down among the people in the streets below.

Impressed as they were by the destruction of their temple and god—an event which was rapidly circulated about the country by hieroglyphical paintings—the Aztecs abated nothing of their attack and siege of the hated white men. All superstitious fear had gone, and the true character of these people the Spaniards had now to learn. Day after day the barbarians came on. Sortie after sortie, sometimes with success, sometimes with severe loss, was made by the Christians, Cortes more than once barely escaping with his life, while numerous Spaniards and horses fell. The labyrinth of streets and cross-canals and bridges much hampered the Spaniards' movements, and houses and walls were torn down to fill these fatal ditches. Distress and famine fell upon the garrison, mutiny arose, and some of the Spaniards cursed themselves and their leader as fools for having left their comfortable homes in Cuba to embark on this mad enterprise, whose termination seemed as if it might be—as indeed it was for many of them—the sacrificial stone of the heathen god.

But Cortes, intrepid and serene in the face of disaster, called them to order. The unfortunate Montezuma, who, buried in a profound melancholy, took no part in the struggle, was urged to address his frenzied people from the tower of the fortification. He consented, and the Aztec warriors without the walls gazed with astonishment on their captured chief, and heard with still greater amazement his commands that strife against the white man should cease. But the power of his name and presence was gone; howls and execration arose from the mob; a stone from a sling struck Montezuma upon the forehead, and he sank back into the arms of the Spaniards and was borne to his quarters. For a space, the mob, horror-struck at its sacrilegious act, fled from the place, and not a man was seen within the square that day. Montezuma, sorely stricken, declined rapidly, and refusing the attentions of Father Olmedo, who knelt at his bedside with uplifted crucifix, sank to his end. "Half an hour of life alone remains me; at least I will die in the faith of my forefathers," he said, adding in expiring tones to Cortes, his last words: "To your care and your Emperor's I commend my daughters, my precious jewels. You, for whose sake I have been brought to indignity and death, will not refuse me this last request." So perished the noble Montezuma.[16]

[Footnote 16: It is stated by some historians that the death of Montezuma was really brought about by Cortes and the Spaniards, who, considering the unfortunate monarch an incumbrance, killed him in captivity; and there are grounds for suspecting that this is true.]

The bridges broken, the savages screaming outside the walls, hope of victory gone, there was now no counsel of war for the Spaniards save that of escape. But how? At night and along the great causeway was the only plan. A weird scene it was on the beginning of that Noche Triste—the sorrowful night—which stands forth so unforgetably in the history of the Conquest. Disorder everywhere; piles of gold and valuables upon the floor, each Spaniard, whether cavalier or boor, loading himself with what he thought he could carry. "Pocket what you can," Cortes said, "but recollect that gold is heavy and we have to travel swiftly"—grave advice, the neglect of which cost some their lives upon that awful night.

And then began the retreat along the fatal causeway. It was known that there were three openings in this, and a portable bridge had been made and was borne along to enable passage to be effected. Hurrying on in the hope of passing the breaches before alarm might be given, the Spaniards entered upon the causeway and placed their portable bridge upon the first breach. Was safety to be theirs? No! What was that appalling sound, sonorous and melancholy, which rang over the city and the waters amid the darkness? It was the great drum on the teocalli; the tambor of the war-god, sounded by vigilant priests, calling the people to vengeance and battle. And in their myriads the Aztecs poured forth and fell upon the Christians, raining darts and stones upon them, and making the night hideous with their war-cries. Meanwhile Cortes and the advance guard had passed over, and reached the second breach. "Bring up the bridge!" was, the repeated order, as those behind crowded on. Useless; the bridge was stuck fast in the first breach, wedged down by the weight of guns and horses which had passed over it, and as these dread tidings were heard the mass of men upon the narrow causeway lost their presence of mind. Those behind crowded on those in front; men and horses rolled into the lake; Spaniards and Tlascalans fell victims to the Aztecs, who crowded the water in their canoes and leapt upon the causeway; the shouts of vengeance and triumph of the savages resounded all along the dyke, silencing the muttered oath or prayer of the Christians huddled at the breach. Down went horse and man, artillery and treasure, until with the bodies of Christians and Indians and horses, and bales of merchandise and chests of ammunition the breach was almost filled, and a portion of the fugitives passed over. And now the third breach yawns before them—deep and wide. The morning is dawning upon the fatal scene; the salt waters of the lake have closed over many a gallant Christian head; the frightful causeway is strewn with wreck of man and merchandise. "The rear guard perishes!" and "back and save them!" were the words which rang out then; and Cortes and his remaining cavaliers, who were in the lead, rode back, even in that frightful hour—be it recorded to their honour—and, swimming the breach once more, strove to support their comrades. There stood Alvarado unhorsed and battling, with the savages pressing upon his rear. Escape there seemed none. Canoes and spears teemed on every side, and Cortes and his companions were forced onward. The heroic figure of Alvarado stood up against the grey sky alone—a moment—and then he measured the breach with his eye, whilst—

"Friends and foes in dumb surprise With parted lips and straining eyes Stood gazing,"—

but not "where he sank," for sink he did not.[17] Planting his lance on the wreckage in the waters of the breach, after the manner of a leaping-pole, the heroic Spaniard collected his energies, leapt forward, and passed the chasm at a bound. To this day, in the City of Mexico, the spot exists, and is known as the puente de Alvarado.

[Footnote 17: It is stated that the Aztecs paused in admiration of this feat, whilst "the Son of the Sun," as they termed Alvarado, from his fair hair and rubicund visage, performed this extraordinary leap; considering it miraculous.]

Away off the causeway into the grey dawn of morning passed the remnant of the routed army, wounded, bleeding, starving, their comrades gone, some to death, some to the sacrifice, and annihilation threatening all. Baggage and artillery were gone, not a carbine was left, and Cortes, seating himself upon the steps of a ruined temple on the shore, wept bitter tears of sorrow and vanished fortune. So passed the Noche Triste.

The next great event of this remarkable campaign was the battle of Otumba. The wretched soldiers, having obtained what rest and nourishment were possible, continued their retreat around the northern part of the lake valley; passed beneath the shadow of the pyramids of Teotihuacan—standing ever there ruined and wrapped in the mystery of their prehistoric builders—and seven days after the events of that awful night crossed the summit of the range which bounds the plain of Anahuac. Thence they set their gaze eastwards towards the coast. What was it that greeted their eyes on the plain below? A mighty army of warriors whose hosts absolutely covered the plain with glowing lance and waving plumes—the forces of the warlike Otomies. So numerous were they that, dressed in their armour of white quilted cotton, it "looked as if the land was covered with snow," as the historians put it. There was nothing for it but to face these fearful odds, and, weakened as they were, the remnant of the Spanish force, encouraged by their leader and exhorted by their priest, fell valiantly on. They were soon wrapped in the enfolding masses of the savages, who attacked them with the utmost ferocity. The cavalry fell back; the Spaniards were stricken on every side, and absolute disaster hung over them. "We believed it to be our last day," Cortes wrote to Spain afterwards. But the tide of battle changed miraculously. In a last furious charge Cortes, followed by the few officers who remained, leaped upon the foe, reached the litter of their chief, and, running him through the body with a lance, tore down the standard. This act saved the day. Stricken with panic at the loss of their leader, the Indians fell into disorder, threw down their arms, and turned and fled. Hot upon them, and thirsting for revenge, poured the Spaniards and Tlascalans—it is to be recollected that the Christians had no firearms nor artillery—and utterly routed them. The victory of Otumba is considered one of the most remarkable in the history of the New World.



Their fortunes thus somewhat ameliorated, the Spaniards continued onward to Tlascala, where they were received with the utmost hospitality, and there they recuperated their shattered energies. Further alliance was entered into with these people, despite embassies from the Aztecs. Further operations were successfully conducted against the powerful Tepeacans—allies of the Aztecs—who were beaten, and transferred their allegiance to the men of Castile. These successes were followed by others; the Tlascalans in a severe battle defeated a large force of the Aztecs; numerous other tribes, influenced by these matters, sent to offer their allegiance, and a vast part of the country was soon under the authority of the Spaniards. The intrepid and persistent spirit of Cortes, undismayed by the reverses which the attempted conquest of Mexico had cost him and his followers, now laid his plans for a further campaign against the lake-city of Anahuac. Over Tenochtitlan there had reigned a master-enemy, to whose work had been due the frightful reverses of the "sorrowful night" and the battle of Otumba. This was Cuitlahuac, brother of Montezuma. But having saved his capital from falling before the detested white men, this capable prince expired from smallpox—a disease introduced into the country by the invaders—after a few months' reign. In his stead now arose the famous Guatemoc, Montezuma's nephew, and he also had sworn a deep hatred against the ravishers of his country.

Up, up once more, away over the rocky fastnesses of the sierra, followed by his allies, the flower of the armies of Tlascala, Tepeaca, and Cholula, Cortes and his Spaniards pressed. But his measures this time had been taken with care and forethought. The resources of the country furnished sinews of war. Twelve brigantines were put under construction by the Spanish shipbuilder who was among the forces, timber and pitch being obtained from the mountains near at hand, and the ironwork and rigging of the destroyed navy of Vera Cruz used for their outfitting. This astonishing piece of work was performed by the Tlascalans, and the ships, carried from Tlascala to the shore of Texcoco, were floated thereon by means of a canal dug by these magnificent allies of the Spanish Crown. The building of ships in a forest and carrying them in pieces for sixty miles over mountains and plains to the water, is a feat which may well command our admiration even to-day!

The subjugation of the Aztec city proved to be a protracted and bloody task. The only method by which it could be compassed was that of laying waste the surrounding places on the lake and the holding of the environs of the city in a state of siege. Cortes established his centre of operations in the city of Texcoco, capital of the nation of the same name, on the eastern extremity of the lake, and the young Prince Ixtlilxochitl, whom he installed upon the throne of that kingdom, was his powerful ally. Indeed, it was only the disaffections of the outlying peoples, who generally abhorred the Aztec hegemony, that enabled the Spaniards to carry on their operations, or, indeed, to set foot in the country at all.

A series of severe struggles began then, both by land and water—burning, slaughter, and the destruction of the lake towns. The Aztecs, with their great number, raining darts and stones upon the invaders at every engagement, attacked them with unparalleled ferocity both by forces on shore and their canoes on the lake. The Spaniards took heavy toll of the enemy at every turn, assisted by their allies the Tlascalans, as savage and implacable as the Aztecs, whom they attacked with a singular and persistent spirit of hatred, the result of long years of oppression by the dominant power of Anahuac. Cortes, on every occasion when it seemed that the last chance of success might attend it, offered terms to the Aztec capital, by no means dishonourable, assuring them their liberty and self-government in return for allegiance to the Crown of Spain and the renouncing of their abominable system of sacrificial religion. These advances were invariably met by the most implacable negatives. The Aztecs, far from offering to yield, swore they would sacrifice, when the day was theirs, every Spaniard and Tlascalan on the bloody altars of their gods; and as for entering into any treaty, the last man, woman, and child would resist the hated invaders until the last drop of blood was shed and the last stone of their city thrown down. This vaunt, as regards the latter part, was almost literally carried out, and to some extent as regards the former.

During the earlier part of the siege a welcome addition was made to the Spanish forces. Three vessels from Hispaniola arrived at Vera Cruz, and the two hundred men, artillery, gunpowder, and quantity of horses they brought placed the Spaniards again in possession of superior arms. Previous to this the brigantines had arrived, transported by the Tlascalans, eight thousand bearers loaded with timbers and appliances, "a marvellous sight to see," wrote Cortes to the king. "I assure your Majesty that the train of bearers was six miles long." It is related by a subsequent historian, in 1626, that tallow being scarce for the shipwrights' purposes, it was obtained from the dead bodies of Indians who had fallen in the fights; presumably by boiling them down.[18]

[Footnote 18: This obtaining of sebo humano, or "human tallow," by the Spaniards seems to have been practised in Peru also, according to stories told me by the natives of the Andes, and recorded in my book, "The Andes and the Amazon."]

Plans were then laid for an attack upon the island-city. But before this it was necessary to subjugate some troublesome Indians to the west, and the expedition to Cuernavaca was successfully carried out. A remarkable incident of this was the surprise attack upon the enemy in an impregnable position, by the crossing of a profound chasm by means of two overhanging trees, which were utilised as a natural bridge by some Tlascalans and the Spaniards, who passed the dangerous spot by this method. Return was then made to Xochimilco on the fresh-water lake of that name, adjoining at that time that of Texcoco on the south. The name of this place in the Aztec tongue signifies "The Field of Flowers," for there were numbers of the singular chinampas, or floating-gardens, which were a feature of the aquatic life of the Mexicans, existing upon this lake.

The siege operations were conducted vigorously both by land and water. Again before the eyes of the Spaniards stretched that fatal causeway—path of death amid the salt waters of Texcoco for so many of their brave comrades upon the Noche Triste of their terrible flight from Tenochtitlan. And there loomed once more that dreaded teocalli, whence the war-drum's mournful notes were heard. Guarded now by the capable and persistent Guatemoc, the city refused an offer of treaty, and invited the destruction which was to fall upon it. From the azoteas, or roofs of their buildings and temples, the undaunted Mexicans beheld the white-winged brigantines, armed with those belching engines of thunder and death whose sting they well knew: and saw the ruthless hand of devastation laying waste their fair town of the lake shore, and cutting off their means of life.

But the Spaniards had yet to learn to their cost the lengths of Aztec tenacity and ferocity. It will be recollected that the city was connected to the lake shores by means of four causeways, built above the surface of the water; engineering structures of stone and mortar and earth, which had from the first aroused the admiration of the Spaniards. These causeways, whilst they rendered the city almost impregnable from attack, were a source of weakness in the easy cutting-off of food supplies, which they afforded to the enemy. A simultaneous assault on all these approaches was organised by the Spaniards, under Sandoval, Alvarado, and Cortes himself, respectively, whilst the brigantines, with their raking artillery, were to support the attack by water, aided by the canoes of the Tlascalan and Texcocan allies. A series of attacks was made by this method, and at last the various bodies of Spaniards advanced along the causeways and gained the city walls. But frightful disaster befel them. The comparative ease with which they entered the city aroused Cortes's suspicions; and at that moment, from the summit of the great teocalli, rang out a fearful note—the horn of Guatemoc, calling for vengeance and a concerted attack. The notes of the horn struck some ominous sense of chill in the Spaniards' breasts, and the soldier-penman, Bernal Diaz, who was fighting valiantly there, says that the noise echoed and re-echoed, and rang in his ears for days afterwards. The Spaniards on this, as on other occasions, had foolishly neglected to secure the breaches in the causeways as they passed, or at least the rash Alvarado had not done so with his command, his earlier lesson unheeded; and when the Christians were hurled backwards—for their easy entrance into the great square of the city had been in the nature of a decoy—disaster befel them, which at one moment seemed as if it would be a repetition of that of the Noche Triste. "The moment I reached that fearful bridge," Cortes wrote in his despatches, "I saw the Spaniards returning in full flight." Remaining to hold the breach, if possible, and cover the retreat, the chivalrous Cortes almost lost his life from a furious attack by the barbarians in their canoes, and was only saved by the devotion of his own men and Indian allies, who gave their lives in his rescue. Word, nevertheless, had gone forth among the men that Cortes had fallen; and the savages, throwing before the faces of Alvarado and Sandoval the bloody heads of decapitated Spaniards, cried tauntingly the name "Malintzin," which was that by which Cortes was known among the Mexicans. Men and horses rolled into the lake; dead bodies filled the breaches; the Christians and their allies were beaten back, and "as we were all wounded it was only the help of God which saved us from destruction," wrote Bernal Diaz. Indeed, both Cortes and the Spaniards only escaped, on these and other occasions, from the Aztecs' desire to take them alive for sacrifice.

Once more, after disastrous retreats and heavy loss, the bleeding and discouraged Spaniards lay in their camp, as evening fell. Of dead, wounded, and captured the Spaniards missed more than a hundred and twenty of their comrades, and the Tlascalans a thousand, whilst valuable artillery, guns, and horses were lost. But listen! what is that mournful, penetrating sound which smites the Christians' ears? It is the war-god's drum, and even from where the Spaniards stand there is visible a procession ascending the steps of the teocalli, and, to their horror, the forms of their lost comrades are seen within it: whose hearts are doomed to be torn out living from their breasts to smoke before the shrine of Huitzilopochtli, the war-devil of their enemies. From that high and fearful place their comrades' eyes must be gazing with despairing look towards the impotent Spanish camp, glazing soon in death as the obsidian knives of the priests performed their fiendish work. The disastrous situation of the Spaniards was made worse by the desertion, at this juncture, of the Tlascalan and other allies. Awed by a prophecy sent out confidently by the Aztec priests, that both Christians and allies should be delivered into their hands before eight days had passed (prophecy or doom, which the priests said, was from the mouth of the war-god, appeased by the late victory), the superstitious Indians of Cortes's forces sneaked off in the night.

Continued reverses, in the face of long-continued action and desire for the attaining a given end, forges in the finer calibre of mind a spirit of unremitting purpose. Blow after blow, which would turn away the ordinary individual from his endeavour, serves to steel the real hero to a dispassionate and persistent patience, and the purpose from its very intensity becomes almost a sacred cause, and seems to obtain from the unseen powers of circumstance success at last. So with Cortes and others of the Spaniards. The period prescribed by the somewhat rash prophecy of the Aztec priests and their infernal oracle having passed without anything remarkable having taken place, the Tlascalan and Texcocan allies, upbraided and warned by the Spaniards' messengers, now sneaked back to resume the attack against the city. The Aztecs had sought to cause disaffection in outlying places by sending round the bloody heads of decapitated Spaniards and horses, but with little effect. Cortes then prepared for a final effort. The plan adopted was to be slower but surer than the former one of simple slaughter. It was determined to raze the city to the ground; to destroy the buildings step by step, fill up the canals, and so lay waste the whole area from the outside, so that unobstructed advance might be maintained.

The execution of this plan was begun. The city ends of the causeways were captured and held; street after street was demolished, and canal after canal filled up amid scenes of incessant fighting and slaughter. Day after day the Spaniards returned to their work; day after day with admirable tenacity the inhabitants of Tenochtitlan disputed the ground inch by inch, watered with the blood of themselves, their women and their children. Their supplies cut off, famine and pestilence wrought more terrible havoc among them—crowded as they gradually became into one quarter of the city—than the arms of the Spaniards and the Tlascalans. At the termination of each day's work the Spanish prepared an ambuscade for the enemy, drawing them on by seeming to retire, and massacring them with the artillery and gun-fire and lances, to say nothing of the weapons of their savage allies. On one of these occasions "the enemy rushed out yelling as if they had gained the greatest victory in the world," Cortes wrote in his despatches, and "more than five hundred, all of the bravest and principal men, were killed in this ambush." He added, and it was a common occurrence, "our allies"—the Indians—"supped well that night, cutting up and eating their captives!" During the days of this terrible siege the famous catapult was made, an extraordinary engine to discharge great stones upon the enemy. This was to enable the Spaniards to husband their powder, which was getting low, and the Aztecs watched the construction of this machine with certain fear. It was completed and set to work, but the builder, a Spanish soldier of inventive faculty, nearly played the part of the engineer hoist with his own petard, for the great stone fired rose, it is true, but went straight up and descended again upon the machine, which was ever afterwards the laughing-stock of the army.

Further severe losses were now inflicted upon the beleaguered inhabitants, as more ammunition had been obtained. Peace had again been offered by the Spaniards, and again refused by the Aztecs. An Aztec chief of high rank had been captured, and then returned to Guatemoc as a peace envoy. The Mexicans' reply was to execute and sacrifice the unfortunate emissary, and then collecting their forces they poured out upon the causeways like a furious tide, which seemed as if it would sweep all before it. But the Spaniards were prepared. The narrow causeways were commanded by the artillery, which poured such a deadly hail upon the enemy's numbers that they returned fleeing to the city.

And soon the end approaches. The division led by Cortes made a fierce assault; and whilst the battle raged the Spaniards observed that the summit of one of the teocallis was in flames. It was the work of Alvarado's men, who had penetrated already to the plaza. Forces were joined, and the inhabitants of the city, driven into one quarter thereof, still made their stubborn and—now—suicidal stand. For the streets were piled up with corpses, the Aztecs refraining from throwing the bodies of their slain into the lake, or outside the city, in order not to show their weakness. Pestilence and famine had made terrible inroads upon the population. Miserable wretches, men, women, and children, were encountered wandering about careless of the enemy, only bent upon finding some roots, bark, or offal which might appease the hunger at their vitals. The salt waters of the lake, which they had been obliged to drink, for the Spaniards had cut the aqueduct which brought the fresh water from Chapultepec, had caused many to sicken and die. Mothers had devoured their dead children; the bodies of the slain had been eaten, and the bark gnawed from the trunks of trees. In their dire extremity some of the chiefs of the beleaguered city called Cortes to the barricade. He went, trusting that capitulation was at hand, for, as both he and his historians record, the slaughter was far from their choosing. "Do but finish your work quickly," was the burden of their parley. "Let us go and rest in the heaven of our war-god; we are weary of life and suffering. How is it that you, a son of the Sun, tarry so long in finishing, when the Sun himself makes circuit of the earth in a day, and so accomplishes his work speedily?"

This remarkable appeal struck renewed pity to the heart of Cortes, and once more he begged them to surrender and avoid further suffering, and the Spaniards drew off their forces for a space. But the inexorable Guatemoc, although he sent an embassy to say he would hold parley, and the Spaniards waited for him, did not fulfil the promise at the last moment. Incensed at this behaviour, the Spaniards and the Tlascalans renewed the attack with overpowering energy on the one part and barbaric savagery on the other. Contrary to the orders of the Spaniards, their savage allies gave no quarter, but murdered men, women, and children in fiendish exultation. The stench of the dead in the beleaguered city was overpowering; the soil was soaked with blood; the gutters ran as in a rain-storm, say the chroniclers, and, wrote Cortes to the King of Spain: "Such slaughter was done that day on land and water that killed and prisoners numbered forty thousand; and such were the shrieks and weeping of women and children that there were none of us whose hearts did not break." He adds that it was impossible to contain the savage killing and torturing by their allies the Tlascalans, who practised such cruelty as had never been seen, and "out of all order of nature."

At nightfall the attacking forces drew off, leaving the remainder of the inhabitants of the stricken city to consider their position. It is stated that the Tlascalans made a great banquet of the flesh of the fallen Aztecs, and that on this and other occasions they fished up the bloated bodies of their enemies from the lake and devoured them! At sunrise on the following day Cortes and a few followers entered the city, hoping to have a supplication for terms from Guatemoc. The army was stationed outside the walls, ready, in the event of a refusal—the signal of which should be a musket-shot—to pour in and strike the final blow. A parley was entered into as before, which lasted several hours. "Do you surrender?" Cortes demanded. The final reply of Guatemoc was, "I will not come: I prefer to die where I am: do your worst."

A musket-shot rang out upon the air; the Spaniards and their allies fell on to merciless slaughter: cannons, muskets, arrows, slings, lances—all told their tale upon the huddled mass of panic-stricken people, who, after presenting a feeble and momentary front, poured forth upon the fatal causeways to escape. Drowned and suffocated in the waters of the lake, mowed down by the fire from the brigantines, and butchered by the brutal Tlascalans, women, children, and men struggled and shrieked among that frightful carnage; upon which it were almost impious to dwell further. Guatemoc, with his wife and children, strove to escape, and the canoe containing them was already out upon the lake, when a brigantine ran it down and captured him. All resistance was at an end. No sign of life or authority remained among the ruined walls; the fair city by the lake was broken and tenantless, its idols fallen, and its people fled. The Homeric struggle was over; the conquest of Mexico was accomplished.



CHAPTER VI MEXICO AND THE VICEROYS

General considerations—Character of Viceroy rule—Spanish civilisation—Administration of Cortes—Torture of Guatemoc—Conquests of Guatemala and Honduras—Murder of Guatemoc—Fall of Cortes—First viceroy Mendoza—His good administration—Misrule of the Audiencias— Slavery and abuse of the Indians—The Philippine islands—Progress under the Viceroys—Plans for draining the Valley of Mexico—British buccaneers—Priestly excesses—Raid of Agramonte—Exploration of California—Spain and England at war—Improvements and progress in the eighteenth century—Waning of Spanish power—Decrepitude of Spain— Summary of Spanish rule—Spanish gifts to Mexico—The rising of Hidalgo—Spanish oppression of the colonists—Oppression by the colonists of the Indians—Republicanism and liberty—Operations and death of Hidalgo—The revolution of Morelos—Mier—The dawn of Independence—The birth of Spanish-American nations.

The history of Mexico, like its topography, shows a series of intense and varied pictures. Indeed, it ever occurs to the student of the Spanish-American past, and observer of Spanish-American hills and valleys, that the diverse physical changes seem to have had some analogy with or to have exercised some influence upon the acts of mankind there. Whether in Mexico, Peru, or other parts of North, Central, and South America, formed by the rugged ranges of the Andes, the accompaniments of prehistoric civilisation, daring conquest, bloody and picturesque revolution, and social turmoil are found. Amid these great mountain peaks and profound valleys strange semi-civilised barbarians raised their temples, and European men, arriving thither in armed bands, have torn both themselves and their predecessors to pieces, as if some dictate of Nature had said, "Fight; for here is no peace."

Yet what was really destined to take place in Mexico was the evolution of a distinct civilisation. Three hundred years of the implanting of the seed of Spanish culture and ideals, and fifty years of drastic revolutionary tilling of the social soil, wrought a nation at length.

Transplanted from the Old World, the methods and character of Spanish life, with all its virtues and defects, rapidly took root in Mexico. The long rule of the Viceroys is steeped in an atmosphere often brilliant and attractive, often dark and sinister, always romantic and impressive. The grandees of Spain came out to rule this new country, and gave it of their best, nor disdained to spend their years therein, and a stream of capable legislators and erudite professors and devout ecclesiastics hurried to the new field which lay open to their services and powers. The patriotism and fervency of their work, whatever defects they showed from time to time, cannot fail to arouse the applause of the student of those times. The colonial regime gave solid and enduring character to the Mexican people. It gave them traditions, history, refinement, which are a priceless heritage for them, and it builded beautiful cities and raised up valuable institutions which are the substratum of their civilisation. The wonderful vitality and extent of Spanish influence and character which flowed from these centres—Mexico, Peru, and others—over thousands of miles of rugged Cordillera and through impassable forests, was, in some respects, the most notable condition within the shores of all the New World. The stamp of the great civilisation which Spain, herself the result of a human blend of undying character, implanted within these continents is great and imperishable, and holds something for the world at large which is, as yet, scarcely suspected.

But, to return to history. In 1522 Cortes was appointed Governor and Captain-General of the great territory which Spain acquired as a result of the Conquest, and to which the name of "New Spain" was given—a designation, however, which was never able to usurp its ancient and natural one of "Mexico." The charges which had been brought against Cortes by his jealous enemies had been inquired into by an impartial group of statesmen appointed by the young King of Spain, Charles V., and set aside; and thus began the rule of Spain in Mexico. The Conquistador thus reached the summit of fame and power—the reward of his indomitable spirit of persistence in the path and project which his imagination had fired.

The regime of Cortes was not without benefit to the colony. A fine city arose upon the ruins of Tenochtitlan. Settlement of the country was carried on; valuable products of the Old World—among them the sugar-cane and orange and grape-vines—were introduced and cultivated; exploration of the country was pushed on a considerable scale, resulting in the discovery of the Pacific coast of Mexico. The conquest of Guatemala was carried out by Pedro de Alvarado, sent thither by Cortes, and that of Honduras by Olid. Cortes personally carried an expedition to Honduras, but disturbances in Mexico obliged him to return.

Guatemoc, the brave young Aztec defender of Tenochtitlan, fared ill at the hands of the Spaniards. To their shame it is that, after the fall of the city, they tortured him—by permission of Cortes—in order to extract information as to the whereabouts of the Aztec treasure; for the invaders had obtained disappointingly little gold. In company with one of his chiefs the Spaniards roasted the feet of Guatemoc before a fire: "Think you that I am upon some bed of delight?" was the reply of the stoic Aztec to his groaning companion in torture, who asked if he did not suffer. Guatemoc remained crippled for life by this barbarous act, but he accompanied Cortes to Honduras, and upon this expedition it was that the Spaniards executed—or murdered—him. He was accused of treachery in having endeavoured to incite a rebellion against the Spaniards, and they hanged him head downwards from a tree. "Ah! Malintzin,"[19] the unfortunate Aztec said to Cortes after his mock trial, "vain I ever knew it to trust in your promises!"

[Footnote 19: The Aztec name for Cortes.]

And now the time arrives when the star of the Conquistador is to wane and set. The execution of Guatemoc had brought about a reprimand from Spain; for it is to be recollected that the Spanish sovereigns never sought the actual destruction of the American princes, and Pizarro, also, was reprimanded after his murder of Atahualpa, in Peru. Cortes, upon his return to Mexico from the Honduras expedition, found that Spain was not pleased with his administration. Enemies had been at work, and gratitude for his great services was easily set aside in the fickle favour of the monarch. A special commissioner, in the person of the licentiate Ponce de Leon, was awaiting him, appointed by Carlos V. to impeach him, as a result of grave charges of maladministration—true or untrue—which had been brought against him in Spain. In this connection it is to be recollected that Cortes, faithful to his country, had twice refused to be made King of Mexico by his own followers. Cortes, finding his enemies too strong, went to Spain to lay his case before the Emperor personally, but was denied the civil governorship of Mexico, although military control was given him, and the title of Marques del Valle. But although he returned to Mexico, he was no longer in the dominant position of former years. Cortes returned to Spain in 1540 from Mexico, once more to lay the plaint of his unjust treatment before Carlos V., a result of his disputes with the first viceroy, Mendoza. He was treated with indifference and coldness; his life terminated in disappointment and regrets, and he died in Spain in December, 1547. So pass the actors in the drama of the Conquest. As to Guatemoc, his memory is perpetuated in the handsome statue in the paseo de Colon of modern Mexico, whilst—strange sentiment of the race which Cortes founded—no monument to the bold Conquistador exists throughout the land.

From the time of the fall of the fortunes of Cortes in 1535 to the first cry for independence by Hidalgo in 1810, New Spain was administered by viceroys and Audiencias—the latter being a species of administrative councils consisting of a president and four members, nominated by royal decree. The first viceroy, Mendoza, and many of the subsequent officials of this rank governed Mexico for a period, and were transferred thence to the viceregency of Peru, which latter country had been brought into Spain's colonial possessions by the conquest under Pizarro, in 1532. Indeed, Pizarro a short time after that date had made his second entry into Cuzco, the Inca capital of Peru, wearing an ermine robe which Cortes had sent him. During Mendoza's period, printing was first introduced into Mexico—or, indeed, into the New World—the Mint and the University were founded, and exploration of the northern part of the country was undertaken. The rule of the first viceroy, Mendoza, was good; he was upright and capable, and his methods were in marked contrast to the excesses and cruelties practised by the first Audiencia, which had preceded his and the second Audiencia's regime. Bishops and priests took active part in the affairs of Mexico from the beginning, and the first Audiencia had been involved in grave conflict with the clergy. One of the main features of the period was the system of repartmientos and encomiendas under which the Indians were portioned out as serfs to the Spanish colonists. Exceeding brutality marked this system of slavery; and at an early date it became necessary to abolish the practice of branding the unfortunate serfs with hot irons, like cattle! Thus began the system of cruelty and abuse of the natives under Spanish rule—not from Spain, however, but by the colonists—whose counterpart was enacted in the South American countries contemporaneously. It is to the credit of Churchmen that they often took the part of the Indians; and a venerated name to this day among the natives of Michoacan is that of Quiroga, the first Bishop of that province, who penetrated there to endeavour to counteract the effect of the marked abuses of Guzman, president of the first Audiencia, who in 1527 burned to death their chief, because he would not, or could not, give up his gold. Velasquez, the second viceroy, succeeding Mendoza, also had grave questions with the Audiencia. He also was an upright man, and his death was hastened by these matters. Indeed, the Audiencias were singularly unfortunate in their proceedings, and their rule was almost always marked by a mistaken policy exaggerated by acts of cruelty and oppression. During the time of Velasco an expedition sent by him sailed from Mexico westward, and took possession in 1564 of the Philippine Islands, which were so named after the reigning King of Spain, Philip II.

Viceroy succeeded viceroy then in the history of Mexico, and tyranny and benevolence followed each other alternately in the governing of the people. Under the cruel Munoz, a member of the Audiencia, the son of Cortes was tortured, and gaols were filled and blood was freely shed on political and other charges. In 1571 another sinister event took place—the establishing of the Inquisition. A few years later the foundation of the Cathedral of Mexico was laid, the beautiful structure which to-day dominates the capital. A matter which was early forced upon the attention of the viceroys and city councils was the occurrence of flooding of the city and attendant epidemics and disaster; for the peculiar hydrographic conditions of the Valley of Mexico rendered it liable to floods, the first of which had occurred 1553. In 1580 plans were formulated for drainage by means of a canal which should give outlet through the surrounding hills. In 1603 this project was again brought forward and again abandoned; and in 1607 work was actually begun, with a force of nearly half a million Indians, upon the great cut of Nochistongo, which still exists and lies open to the view of the traveller upon the Mexican railway to-day.

Towards the close of the sixteenth century the ports of New Spain, especially Vera Cruz, were visited by those enterprising and unscrupulous sea-rovers of Britain, Drake, Cavendish, Hawkins, and others, who took toll of coast towns and plate-ships throughout the regions which Spain claimed as her own, but which pretensions were not respected by others of the maritime nations of Europe. A memorable period was this in the history of the New World, as of the Old, for this flood-tide of staunch buccaneers from Britain and Holland did but swell onward and culminate in the defeat of the Invincible Armada off the Elizabethan coast, 1588. The student of the history of Spanish America at this period will not spare much sympathy for Spain and Spanish misrule. Under Philip II. a constant drain of treasure from Mexico and Peru for the needy Mother Country had given rise to serious abuses in the mines, and silver was extracted to fabulous values and sent to Spain under the system of forced labour.



In 1622 acute questions arose between the Court and ecclesiastical authorities, as ever inevitably took place in Spain's colonial dominions. Bishops excommunicated viceroys, and viceroys fulminated banishment against bishops: riotings and beheadings followed, and royal interpositions were constantly necessary to uphold or condemn the action of one or the other side. In 1629 an appalling inundation of the City of Mexico took place, following a similar occurrence in 1622, due to the discontinuance of the drainage works which had earlier been begun; and it is stated that thirty thousand of the poor inhabitants of the valley perished as a result. Two years later acute dissatisfaction began to arise at the great acquisition of wealth and power by the clergy, and a memorial sent to Philip IV. by the municipality of Mexico begged that no more religious institutions or communities might be established, asserting that more than half the wealth of the country was in the hands of these, and that there were more than six thousand priests—most of them idle—in the country.

From the middle to the close of the seventeenth century the social life of the people developed but slowly. The main events were the conspiracy of the Irishman Lampart to secure independence for the country, the dedication of the cathedral of Mexico, the founding of the town of Albuquerque in the territory of New Mexico—to-day part of the United States, the enactment against the violation of private correspondence, the fortification of the ports on the Gulf coast against the operations of sea-rovers—among them the famous British buccaneer Morgan, the eruption of Popocatepetl (1665), the sacking of the town of Campeche by British ships (1680), the insurrection and murders by the Indians of Chihuahua and New Mexico, the piratical exploit of Agramonte and his band, who disembarked at and looted the port of Vera Cruz, imprisoning the greater part of the population in a church, the exploration of California, and the operations against the French and English settlers upon the Mexican Gulf coast. The last years of the century were disturbed by serious rioting and tumult in the capital, due to scarcity of food and the inundation of the city.

The first years of 1700 opened with some alarm for the Spaniards of Mexico, for England and Spain were at war, and it was feared that British naval operations might be undertaken against the country. The loss of a plate-ship's treasure, due to the war, caused heavier taxes to fall upon the colonists, for continued exactions marked this century, from Spain, for treasure for the prosecution of her wars. The Gulf coast was placed in a position of defence against the British, who, however, after the capture of Habana, in 1762, concluded peace with Spain in the following year. Previous to that the English Admiral Anson had captured a galleon on its way from Acapulco to Manilla, with two and a half million dollars on board. The main events of this century, in addition to the foregoing, were the explorations of the Jesuits in California (1700), the severe earthquake of 1711, the distress among the common people, due to famine and oppression, which the Viceroy, the Duke of Linares, strove to remedy. In 1734 the first creole Viceroy, the Marquis of Casa Fuerte, born in Lima, was appointed, and during his regime the first Mexican newspaper was published. During the war between England and Spain the Viceroy Figueroa, Marquis of Gracia Real, was almost captured by the British, who gave chase to the ship in which he came from Spain. Further events were the singular phenomenon of the forming of the volcano of Jorullo in Michoacan in 1759, the celebration of peace between England and Spain in 1763, the suppression of the Jesuits and their expulsion from the country in 1767, under the Marquis de Croix; the continued exactions of the Council of the Indies for treasure from the colonists, the clearing of the Gulf of Mexico of buccaneers in 1785, the reorganisation and improvement of the city of Mexico under Padilla, Count of Revillagigedo (1789-94); the encouragement of agriculture, mining, manufacturing, road-building, exploration, improvement of sanitary conditions, and amelioration of those concerning the administration of justice, which this good viceroy carried out. But at the close of the century, under his effete successor, Branciforte (1799), a conspiracy was inaugurated, but frustrated, for the massacre of Spaniards, and the establishing of the independence of the country.

At the beginning of the great nineteenth century, the long array of viceroys, governors, and priests nears its close. The imperial authority of the Spanish sovereign, unquestioned since Cortes won the country for it, reached its natural waning, urged on and influenced by world-happenings in European lands reacting upon these remote shores of New Spain. Not only was this the case in Mexico. The decrepitude of the Mother Country, the old age and infirmity which had been creeping upon Castile through the excesses of her rulers, who learnt nothing from time or circumstance, was laid bare to the people of America throughout the vast regions held by Spain. Mexico, Peru, Chile, Colombia, Argentina—for the voice of Bolivar was ringing through the Andes—all in the first and second decades of the progressive nineteenth century were bent upon one stern task, the throwing off of the yoke of Spain and the establishing of native administrations. The flower of the earth, the vast and rich tropics and sub-tropics of North and South America, from California, Texas, and the Rocky Mountains, Mexico, Central America, down through the great Andes of Peru and Chile to Cape Horn, was in the hands of Spain, and it slipped from the grasp of a foolish and moribund nation.

But before entering upon these events let us take a final glance and draw a summary of the three long centuries—1521 to 1821—of this great array of Imperial Governors and their rule. Since that day of August 13, 1521, when Cortes unfurled the standard of Spain over the castle of Montezuma: to the consummation of Mexican independence, the entry of Iturbide into the city of Mexico on September 27, 1821: five Governors, two Audiencias, or Royal Commissions, and sixty-two Viceroys had guided the destiny of colonial Mexico. Many of the names of these authorities stand out in lustre as good and humane, tolerant and energetic for the advancement of the colony; merciful to the Indian population, and worthy of the approbation of the history of their time. Others were rapacious and cruel, using their power for their own ends, and showing that ruthless cruelty and indifference to bloodshed and suffering—holding the lives of natives as cheap as that of animals—which has been characteristic of Spaniards of all time. Counts, marquises, Churchmen—all have passed upon the scroll of those three hundred years; some left indelible marks for good, some for evil; whilst others, effete and useless, are buried in forgetfulness. The Spanish character, architecture, institutions, and class distinctions were now indelibly stamped upon the people of Mexico. The Aztec regime had passed for ever; the Indian race was outclassed and subordinate; and the mestizos, the people of mixed native and Hispanic blood, were rapidly becoming the most numerous part of the civilised population of the country. Whatever of good had existed in the Aztec semi-civilisation—and there was much of use in their land laws and other social measures—was entirely stamped out, and the sentiment and practice of European civilisation established. It is to be recollected that Spain adopted nothing, whether in Mexico or in Peru, of the ancient civilisation. Both the Aztecs and Incas lived under a set of laws which in some cases were superior to those of the conquerors, especially those relating to landholding and the payment of taxes and distribution of wealth. Under these primitive civilisations of America poverty or starvation was impossible, as every citizen was provided for. The Spaniards, however, would have none of it, and the land and the Indians, body and soul, were the property of their taskmasters. They might starve or not, as circumstances might dictate, after the fashion of European and American civilisation even of to-day, which denies any inherent right to ownership and enjoyment of the land and its resources on the part of its citizens. But Spain stamped many institutions in Mexico with the beauty and utility of her own civilisation. She endowed it with traditions and culture; she gave it the spirit of Western ambition which bids every citizen assert his right. The Mexican of to-day owes all he has—law, literature, art, and social system, and refinement and religion—to Spain.

But let us now take our stand with Hidalgo, the warrior-priest of Mexico. The hand of Spain is still pressing on the country. The year 1810 has arrived and the father of Mexico's independence is uttering his famous cry, "Viva America! viva religion! death to bad government!" After the native place of Hidalgo this message—for such it rapidly became—was known as el grito de Dolores—"the call of Dolores." The time was ripe for the assertion of independence. Spain was invaded by Napoleon; the King had abdicated. Who was the authority who should carry on the government—or misgovernment—of the colony? asked the city Council of Mexico as they urged the Viceroy to retain his authority against all comers. Unfortunately, the Spaniards, residents of the capital, precipitated lawlessness by rising and seizing the persons of the Viceroy Iturrigaray and high ecclesiastics, and some political murders followed. But the predisposing causes for the assertion of independence were nearer home. The British colonies, away to the north-east on the same continent, had severed the link which bound them to the Mother Country. The embryo of the great republic of the United States—poor and weak then—was established, and the spirit of independence was in the air. Most poignant of all, however, was the feeling caused by Spain's treatment of the Mexicans. Instead of fomenting the industries and trade of her colonies, Spain established amazing monopolies and unjust measures of repression. The trade which had grown between Mexico and China, and the great galleons which came and went from Acapulco—a more important seaport then than now even—was considered detrimental to Spain's own commerce. It was prohibited! The culture of grapes in Mexico, where they had been introduced and flourished exceedingly well, seemed antagonistic to the wine-making industry of Iberia; Hidalgo's vineyard, upon which he had lavished enterprise and care, was forthwith destroyed by the Spanish authorities! Thus industry and commerce were purposely stunted in Mexico, as they had been in Peru, by Imperial policy, and this went hand in hand with the restriction or denial of any political rights, and the oppression of the native population in the mines and plantations. "Learn to be silent and to obey, for which you were born, and not to discuss politics or have opinions," ran the proclamation of a viceroy in the latter half of the eighteenth century, addressed to the Mexicans! Other contributory causes to the revolution were the sentiments of the great French philosophers of the eighteenth century, which had sunk into the Mexican character.