CHAPTER XXXV.
THE DESPERATE BATTLE OF OTAMPAN
In the retreat from the temple that had proved such a veritablehaven to the shattered army of the invaders, Marina was borne in herown litter. Another was provided for her mother, but, never havingbeen accustomed to such a luxury, she preferred to walk beside theconveyance of her newly recovered daughter. Guided by Huetzin, witha small body of Tlascalans who formed the vanguard, the little armymade a great circuit among the rugged hills bounding the western andnorthern side of the Mexican Valley. Their progress was slow andpainful, and they were at all times subjected to irritating attacksfrom the clouds of Aztecs who hovered about their line of march. These,constantly recruited from the surrounding country, assaulted them withsudden flights of darts and arrows, or by rolling great stones downamong them.
At night they usually sought shelter in some hamlet, from which theinhabitants invariably carried away all provisions on their approach.Thus the Spaniards were soon brought to the point of starvation. Forseven wretched days they had little to eat but wild cherries, theoccasional unplucked ears of maize which they were so fortunate asto find, and the few rabbits and birds brought down by the darts ofHuetzin and his Tlascalans. Many of the soldiers fell by the waysidefrom sheer exhaustion, while others, who had brought their treasure ofgold through the perils of the _noche triste_ and thus far in safety,now flung it away, as too great a burden to be longer borne. Always theenemy hovered in small parties on their flanks, or followed closely inthe rear, eager to pounce upon stragglers in search of food, or thosewho had fallen from exhaustion.
In all this weary march, Cortes was the life of his fainting troops.With sturdy Sandoval at his side, he was ever at the point of greatestdanger, driving back those adversaries who ventured within reach,helping the stragglers, cheering the wounded, sharing every hardship,refusing the few scant mouthfuls of rabbit-meat reserved for his tableand distributing them among the sick or most feeble of his men. In oneskirmish he was struck in the head by a splinter of rock and severelyinjured; but he made light of the wound, caused it to be bound up, andcontinued as before.
At the end of seven days the army was still less than thirty miles fromTenochtitlan, though owing to their circuitous march they had traversedthrice that distance. From an absolute necessity for rest, the lasttwo nights were spent in the same camp. During the intervening day,while the greater part of the army lay sleeping about its camp-fires,the indefatigable Huetzin led a strong party of his Tlascalans on anextended scout.
Next to the undaunted leader himself, the young Toltec was theencouraging spirit of this weary retreat. Since Marina's return to him,life had assumed its brightest aspect, and not all the sufferings ofthe march could depress him. He animated his own warriors by tellingthem that now was the time to show the white soldiers, by their patientendurance and cheerful bravery, of what stuff Tlascalan mountaineerswere made. In obedience to this suggestion his followers marched, dayafter day, with elastic steps and proud bearing, scouted to right andleft, scattered hovering bands of the enemy with brisk charges, and infact saved their white allies from despair and destruction. At night,whether there was food to be eaten or not, the Tlascalan camp-fireswere centres of merry groups, whose songs and laughter exercised acheering influence upon the whole army.
For the white men Huetzin painted glowing pictures of the welcome theywould receive in the "land of bread" (Tlascala), of the feasting thatshould be theirs, and of the rest and safety to be found behind itsimpregnable mountain walls. It is certain that these pictures lost noneof their attractiveness through the interpretation of Marina. Like himwhose words she translated, she was light-hearted and joyous in spiteof all hardships. And why should she not be? Was not the whole armydevoted to her? Had she not a loving mother, like other girls? Was nother father a Tlascalan warrior, and captain of a hundred men (for soHuetzin had made him)? Above all, though her hero spoke not of love,could she not read his heart through his eyes? What more of happinesscould a maiden of Anahuac ask?
On the day of the army's resting Huetzin extended his scout as far asthe pyramids of Teotihuacan, two colossal monuments erected by hislong-ago Toltec ancestors. They were dedicated to the sun and moon,and were surrounded by a vast number of burial mounds, in which werelaid to rest the most famous men of his race. These were symmetricallyranged beside avenues, all of which led to the pyramids, and the plainin which they stood was known to that day as "Micoatl," or Way of theDead.
From the summit of the taller of the pyramids, on which in former agesstood a gigantic image of the sun, bearing a breast-plate of burnishedgold that reflected the earliest beams of the great luminary, Huetzincaught a glad sight of the blue Tlascalan hills rising on the fartherside of the plain. They promised shelter and plenty; but, between himand them, he saw something else that filled him with dismay.
At several different points of the wide-spread landscape, he coulddistinguish moving bodies of white-armored Aztec troops, allconverging toward a common centre. After an hour of watching, helocated this as being the village of Otampan, situated in the wideplain that must be crossed before the retreating army could reach theTlascalan frontier. Here doubtless was the place selected by Cuitlahuafor their destruction. With this melancholy news, and with but a scantysupply of provisions, Huetzin led his scouting party back to camp.
That night was one of deepest gloom and despondency. Even the Tlascalanwarriors no longer maintained their show of cheerfulness. Many timesduring its hours of darkness mysterious voices came to them from thesurrounding hill-tops, crying:
"Hasten on, ye enemies of the gods! You will soon find yourselves whereyou can no longer escape their awful vengeance!"
In the morning there was naught to do but move on. Save in Tlascalaalone, there was no place in which they might hope for safety. As thefeeble army gained the crest of the intervening sierra, and gazed pastthe Toltec pyramids into the vale of Otampan, they were greeted bysuch a sight as assured them that their last hour had indeed come. Asfar as the eye could reach, the plain was so covered with the white ofcotton-mailed warriors, that it was like a vast field of snow. By orderof Montezuma's successor the full war strength of the Aztec nation wasthere assembled for the final overthrow of the invaders. From themighty host came a volume of sound like the murmur of a wind-swept sea,while the morning sunlight was reflected from acres of shining bucklersand a forest of tossing spears.
Even the stout heart of the Conqueror failed him in the presence ofthis multitude of enemies. Noting this, sturdy Sandoval said: "We candie but once, and 'twill be much pleasanter for us, though not soamusing for them, if we die as soldiers rather than as sacrifices.Besides, it is not wholly certain that our time for dying has yet come.We have fought against odds before."
"Never such odds as these," replied the Commander. At the same time,the cool bravery of his young captain gave him new heart; and, ashe formed his little army in order of battle, he strengthened thedetermination to fight as became brave men that he read in their faces,with stout words.
The women, the sick, and wounded were left behind in charge of theold Tlascalan and a half-dozen of warriors, instructed, in case ofdisaster, to kill them all rather than allow them to fall into priestlyhands. From each of the grim warriors, Huetzin personally exacted thepromise that these instructions should be implicitly obeyed. Thus, whenhe bade Marina a lingering farewell, it was with the hope of a speedyreunion, either on the field of an earthly victory or in the blissfulrealms of the sun.
So the scanty force of Spaniards and their Tlascalan allies, havingneither artillery nor muskets, and supported by but a score of cavalry,of which half was posted on either flank, descended steadily to theplain to meet the on-rushing hosts of their enemies.
The air was rent with the fierce war-cries of the exultant Aztecs,and darkened by the tempest of missiles that they let fly the momentthey came within range. The Spanish infantry received the shock ontheir levelled pikes, against which the human wave dashed itself asfruitlessly as
those of the sea against some rocky pinnacle risingfrom a waste of waters. With lowered lances the cavalry charged inturn, opening broad lanes through the thick-set ranks. Into thesesprang Huetzin's trained warriors, following close on the heels ofthe horsemen, and widening the lanes on either side, with javelin andmaquahuitl. So stoutly did these and their white allies ply theirdeadly weapons, that the foremost ranks of the Aztecs, broken anddismayed, attempted to fly. The attempt was a vain one, for theywere instantly overwhelmed by the crowding myriads behind them, who,sweeping forward with the irresistible power of uncounted numbers,completely surrounded the Christian army, making it the vortex of aseething maëlstrom of fiercely struggling humanity.
Bravely did the cavaliers fight that day, charging in parties of fouror six, deep into the Indian ranks. Sandoval seemed to be on all sidesat once, fighting with the practised skill and deadly fury of a youngwar-god; while mail-fronted Motilla, screaming with the rage of battle,crashed through the Aztec files like a thunderbolt.
Deeper and deeper did the Christian force work its way into thisinterminable host, ever meeting with fresh battalions and ever growingweaker from losses. Hundreds of the Tlascalans and scores of theSpaniards had fallen. All were wounded, including the gallant leader,who had received another cut on the head. The noon-day sun beatpitilessly and with a fierce fervor on the steel-capped soldiers. Dyingof heat, thirst, and wounds, panting, praying, and cursing, their blowsfalling slower and more feebly with each moment. What hope was therefor them but that death would put an end to their sufferings as quicklyas might be? Like a horrid vision, the faces of fresh foes ever dancedbefore them. A score would fall, and a score of others, so similar thatthey appeared the same, were instantly in their places.
"Holy Mother!" cried Sandoval, reining in Motilla beside the steed ofCortes, "is there no end to these infidels? I have killed until I cankill no more, and their legions are as at the beginning! Methinks,General, the end of all things has come for us. Our brave troops canhold out no longer. They have fought as never mortals fought before;but now they are giving way on all sides. Does it please you that wemake one more charge and die as becomes Christian soldiers, with ourlances in our hands?"