CHAPTER XXXIII.
MARINA IS LOST AND SAVED
As the darkness of the _noche triste_ was dispelled by the rising sun,Cortes led the broken remnant of his army away from the fatal dikeon which all had so nearly laid down their lives. The first march ofthe long anticipated retreat was an accomplished fact; but at what afearful cost! Not a gun remained to the Spaniards, not a musket. Theirbanners and trumpets had disappeared. Of one hundred horses but a scorewere left, and all of these were wounded. There were no ammunitionwagons, there was no baggage-train. Most of the treasure had beenlost. Some of the soldiers had indeed clung to their gold, even whilethrowing away the muskets on which they relied to defend it; but, a fewdays later, even this, for which they had been willing to sacrificeall, became an intolerable burden, that was in turn flung aside.
All the prisoners had been slain in the _mêlée_ by their own friends,and of the fate of the wounded no one dared to speak. Of the retreatingSpaniards nearly one-half had been slain or captured on that two milesof causeway, while of the faithful Tlascalans over two thousand weremissing. About the same time forty-five Spaniards, who had been sentby Cortes two months before to visit some distant mines, were capturedand sacrificed by the Aztecs, at Zaltepec, while on their way back toTenochtitlan, in total ignorance of the existing state of affairs.
Thus there were Christian victims for the altars of every Aztec city,while native nobles were armed with Spanish weapons, and wore oddpieces of Spanish armor. It was owing to the rich spoil abandoned bythe well-nigh helpless survivors, that they owed their present safety.Had the Aztecs followed them as vigorously as they had attacked themon the causeway, not a soul could have escaped. But the victors weretoo busily engaged in gathering up such treasures as had never beforefallen into Indian hands, in securing their prisoners, in makingpreparations for festivals of rejoicing, in cleansing their city andburying their dead, to concern themselves about the forlorn remnantof those who had been termed the "White Conquerors," but who wouldnow quickly perish in the mountains, or be destroyed by the first ofCuitlahua's armies with which they should come into collision.
So the Spaniards, weak, weary, and wounded, disheartened, water-soaked,and ragged, defenceless save for their swords, a score of lances, andas many disabled cross-bows, were allowed to straggle unmolestedthrough the deserted streets of Tlacopan, and make their way intothe open country beyond. Here they were halted by their leader, whoendeavored to reform the shattered battalions, and bring some sort oforder out of their confusion.
Near by rose the hill of Montezuma, crowned by an extensive templethat offered a tempting place of shelter. But, as they could see, itwas already occupied by a force of the enemy, and at that moment thedispirited Spaniards had no mind for further fighting. The cavaliersindeed were ready, but they were so few! and their poor horses werecompletely used up. In this emergency, Huetzin, seizing a javelin fromone of his Tlascalans, sprang up the ascent. His mountain warriorsfollowed so promptly that, as he gained the outer wall of the temple,they were also swarming over it, in face of the shower of darts andarrows let fly by the garrison. Then the defenders, amazed at sofierce an attack from those whom they had deemed incapable of furtherfighting, took to flight, and the place of refuge was secured.
In the temple were found a certain amount of provisions, and an amplesupply of fuel, from which the new occupants built great fires to drytheir clothing and warm their chilled bodies. Wounds were dressed asbest they might be, a hearty meal was eaten, and then the weary troopssought to forget their sorrows in sleep. Not all slept, however.Sentries guarded the outer walls, and several small groups, gatherednear the fires, conversed in low tones. In one of these the leader,planning for the future even in this his darkest hour of defeat, talkedearnestly with Martin Lopez, his master ship-builder. Not far awaySandoval and Huetzin, drawn to a closer brotherhood by the similarityof their sorrows, talked of Marina, and the sturdy cavalier strove tocomfort his stricken comrade with the tenderness that had come recentlyto him through his own irreparable loss.
Although no word of love had passed between Huetzin and Marina, eachhad known the heart of the other ever since those days of illnessand nursing on the hill of Zampach. Many a time since would Huetzinhave declared his passion for the Indian girl, but for a vow, that noword of love should pass his lips so long as an Aztec god reigned inTenochtitlan. To their overthrow was his life devoted, and with theconstancy of a crusading knight he had remained true to his pledge.When the image of the Aztec war-god was hurled from its pedestal, hehad hoped that the period of his vow was nearly at an end; but with theordering of a retreat from the city, he knew that it was indefinitelyextended. Even when he held Marina in his arms as, on Cocotin's back,they plunged together into the lake, he had spoken no word of love,though indeed his tones had interpreted his feelings beyond a doubt ofmisunderstanding. Now that the life of his life was forever lost tohim, he had no reason for concealment, and to his friend he laid openhis heart.
Sadly enough, the litter in which Marina had been borne, and in whichshe had seemed in so great danger that Huetzin had snatched her fromit, had been brought through in safety by its stout Tlascalan bearers,and now stood drying near the very fire beside which Huetzin andSandoval sat. Until its emptiness was disclosed, the army had notknown of Marina's disappearance; but the moment it was announced allother losses were lessened in comparison with this one, so generallywas the Indian girl beloved. Even the leader, in planning his futureoperations, wondered if they could succeed without the almostindispensable aid of his brave girl interpreter.
To turn from this scene of a defeated Spanish army mourning its lossesand sleeping the sleep of exhaustion in an Aztec temple, to the hut ofa slave of Iztapalapan, is to make an abrupt transition. Still it is anecessary one, if the threads of our story are to be connected. Everafter it was learned that an alliance had been entered into between themountain republic and the white conquerors, the lot of those Tlascalanslaves held by the Aztecs was of unusual hardship. They were everywhereregarded with suspicion and treated with cruelty. Even such faithfulservants of their master as the aged couple who had dealt so kindly byHuetzin did not escape the harsh treatment accorded to their race.Double tasks were imposed, and not even their age, nor efforts toaccomplish all that was required of them, saved them from the bitinglash of the driver. They often dreamed, and even spoke in whispers, ofescape. But how might it be accomplished? Whither should they fly? Notuntil long after the arrival of the Spaniards in Tenochtitlan did thesequestions find even the shadow of an answer.
In that country, and in those days, news, other than that borne byking's couriers, travelled slowly, and rare indeed were the items thatreached the ears of slaves. So, although the aged Tlascalans knewsomething of the coming of the strange white beings, it was long beforethey heard that they were accompanied by a friendly Tlascalan army. Itwas longer still ere they learned that the leader of this army was noneother than that son of Tlahuicol, who had been their guest in the timeof his greatest danger.
With this bewildering news to consider, the aged couple glanced at eachother meaningly, as they sat at night through a long silence, on theopposite sides of a tiny blaze, in their rude fireplace. Finally theold man said:
"If we could only get to him!" and the wife answered:
"He would be to us as an own son, for so he said."
Several nights later the old man asked, "When shall we make theattempt?" and the old woman answered, "Whenever thou art ready to lead,I am ready to follow."
"To be captured means a certain death!"
"But a free death is better than a living slavery."
"Thou art true and brave as always. On the first night of storm-cloudedblackness will we set forth."
"On the first night of storm-clouded blackness," repeated the oldwoman, slowly, as though committing the words to memory.
Thus it happened that the very night selected by the Spaniards fortheir escape from Tenochtitlan was also the one chosen by the agedTlascalan co
uple for their flight from slavery. After dark, and movingwith the utmost caution, the old man secured the canoe in which theyhad been wont, though not for many months, to carry flowers to thecity, and brought it to the beach near their hut. To it he conveyedtheir few poor treasures, some bits of rude pottery fashioned byhimself, a bundle of gay feathers, a battered javelin such as he hadused when a young man and a Tlascalan warrior, and the blanket wovenof rabbit's fur, on which the old woman had spent the scant leisureof years. Then they set forth, guided by the faint altar fires of thedistant city. They knew not how nor where they should find him whomthey sought, but they had a simple faith that, once near him, theywould be safe.
A long time they labored at the paddles, until at length they nearedthe city. Suddenly a startling clamor arose from it. There were shoutsas of a mighty host, the discordant notes of priest-blown shells, and,above all, the dread booming of the great serpent drum. They rested ontheir paddles and listened in frightened bewilderment. Now red beaconflames blazed from every temple, and by this light they perceived amyriad of canoes sweeping past them, all hurrying toward the causewayof Tlacopan. To lessen the chances of being run down, the old manheaded his canoe in the same direction, and drifted with the others.
Then came the sound of fighting, the terrifying roar of guns, theclashing of weapons, and the screams of those who fell; but, above all,they heard a sound that recalled their own youth and their own country,the shrill war-cry of the Tlascalans.
"Let us approach closer," urged the brave old wife. "Some of our ownmay be in the fight, and so sorely pressed that even our feeble aid mayprove of value."
So they approached as close as they dared, to where the uproar wasloudest. As they lingered, terrified but held by an awful fascination,there came a voice, seemingly that of a girl, to their ears.
MARINA IS SAVED BY THE TLASCALA SLAVES.]
"Save me, Huetzin! Save me, son of Tlahuicol!" it cried, shrilly. Then,in softer tones, "Steady, Cocotin! Dear Cocotin! Good Cocotin! If thouwouldst but turn thy poor bleeding head the other way! Oh! HolyMother of the Christians! She is sinking! She is dying, and I am lost!"
Then a dark form struggled out of the blackness beside them; both theold man and the old woman reached out toward it; and in another minuteMarina lay, hysterically sobbing, in the bottom of the canoe.