CHAPTER XXXVI.
VICTORY SNATCHED FROM DEFEAT
Before answering Sandoval, the White Conqueror, like a stag at bay whotosses his mighty head aloft in search of an opening through which hemay escape ere gathering himself for the death-struggle, raised highin his stirrups and surveyed the field. In all directions, as far ashe could see, tossed the plumes and waved the banners of the Aztechost. The battle raging at his side disturbed but a portion of it. Hisown men were falling fast. The exhaustion of their recent hardships,combined with the present heat and four hours of incessant fighting,was doing more to deplete their numbers than even Aztec weapons. Hehad no reserves to call up, no guns to fall back upon. Of the hundredtrusty knights on whom he could have depended a week since, four scorehad left him on that most sorrowful of _noches triste_. Never againwould they answer the call of the trumpets, nor charge with levelledlances and cheery shouts. "If they cannot rejoin us, we can at leastjoin them!"
With this last sigh of a breaking heart, the leader was sinking backinto his saddle, when his eye was caught by a more dazzling object,a richer gleam than any seen elsewhere in all that bedizened host. Itwas the sunlight reflected from the gold and silver armor, the gorgeousfeather mantle, and the glittering escort of a Cacique, borne in agolden-plated litter. He was the Aztec general, the commander of allthese myriads of warriors. Without his guiding orders the mighty armywould be as helpless as a ship bereft of its rudder. With the gleam ofhis armor a ray of hope flashed into the breast of the Christian leader.
"Yes, gentlemen," he answered, dropping into his saddle and grippinghis ponderous battle-ax with a fiercer clutch. "It pleases me to makeone more charge. One more! Sandoval, Alvavado, Olid, Avila, cavaliersall! One more for victory or death! Forward! and may Christ and St.James go with us!"
Thus crying, the White Conqueror gave spurs to his steed, and, withwhirling battle-ax clearing all obstacles from his pathway, he againplunged into the dense ranks of the Aztec host. At his side rodeSandoval and one other; behind them came three more. Six against tenthousand! But so terrible was the thrust of their lances, the swing oftheir axes, and the whistling sweep of their good swords, so frightfulthe screaming and tearing and crushing of their mail-clad chargers,that while its impetus lasted the death-dealing progress of this littlegroup could no more be checked than that of a bomb-shell just startedon its shrieking flight. The thick-set Aztec ranks reeled before them,and crowded to either side to give them passage. The earth behind themwas cumbered with dead and dying. Their audacity paralyzed resistance,and their mission was accomplished ere its purport was suspected.
Straight as an arrow to a mark, rode Cortes to the spot where the proudAztec leader lay indolently back in his cushioned litter. He was toocertain of the fortunes of that battle to take much further interest init. Already he was planning his triumphal entry into Tenochtitlan, andhoping that Malinche might be taken alive to grace it. All at once hispleasing reflections were interrupted by some unusual commotion near athand.
As he raised himself to learn its cause, shrill screams of terrorgreeted him, and he saw what appeared to his startled vision a mightywar engine, fire-breathing, steel-armored, and death dealing, rushingtoward him. In an instant more it was upon him. There came a crashingblow, a death shriek, and the Aztec leader would dream no more oftriumphant entries into Tenochtitlan. Scattered like chaff were hisbody-guard of gay young nobles; and as they fled, terror-stricken, theyspread on all sides the dread news that the chief had fallen.
Who, now, will give commands? No one. Who would obey them if given?None. Consternation seizes upon the mighty host. A wave of panicsweeps over it. No longer will it fight. To fly is its only thought.The strong trample whom they may; the front ranks flee in terrorfrom those behind, fancying them the enemy. They fling away weapons,banners, everything. They fill the air with their cries of terror. Overall ring out the exultant shouts of Christians and Tlascalans, theirhopeless death-struggle changed in a moment to an amazing, unheard-ofvictory. Forgotten are thirst, wounds, and exhaustion, as they pursuetheir flying enemies, and drink draughts, long and deep, of vengeanceto compensate for _la noche triste_.
Thus was fought and won the desperate battle of Otampan, one ofthe most notable of all the world's battles, when the disparity ofthe engaged forces and the results of its issue are considered. Sothoroughly panic-stricken were the defeated Aztecs, that one Spaniardor Tlascalan could put a hundred of them to headlong flight. Theirlosses were terrible, though they would have been much greater, butthat the victors were too exhausted to push the pursuit. As theyreturned from it, they gathered up the rich spoils of weapons, armor,gold, jewels, and blazoned banners scattered over the field.
Among the first to weary of slaughter was the young Tlascalan chief.When there was no longer a show of resistance, he turned his stepstoward the place in which the helpless ones of the army had been left.For long hours had they noted the varying fortunes of the battle,with straining eyes and sick hearts. From their distance they couldnot distinguish its details. Many times they so completely lost sightof their friends in the white-armored sea surrounding them, that theygave up all for lost, and expected the grim Tlascalan guard to executeits dread instructions. As time passed, and no enemy appeared to molestthem, they gained new courage, and, hoping against hope, watchedeagerly for further indications.
When the amazing rout of the mighty host began, they could not credittheir senses, nor were they convinced that a glorious victory had beenwon by their friends, until Huetzin, blood-stained and dishevelled, butradiant with triumph, appeared among them with the marvellous tidings.As he told the wonderful story, the men, wild with excitement, crowdedabout him craving every word of detail. The women, with over-strainedfeelings finding relief in joyful tears, caressed him, and bathed hiswounds, and questioned one another with their eyes, as to how theycould have doubted that this their hero would be victorious.
After a while he conducted them to the appointed rendezvous, afortified but desolate temple on the outskirts of Otampan. Here thearmy of the white conquerors, now indeed worthy the name, were topass the night of their victory, a night of as profound gratitude andheartfelt joy, as that other had been of defeat, humiliation, andheart-breaking sorrows.
On the following day they passed the rude fortifications marking aboundary of Tlascala, the brave mountain republic, to which, next totheir own indomitable courage and incredible powers of endurance, theChristians owed everything, including their lives. Here at a littlefrontier town they rested, doubtful of the reception to be accordedthem by those who had suffered such losses in their behalf; whileHuetzin, attended by a small body of his own warriors, hastened tothe capital. In this city of his birth the young warrior received thewelcome reserved for victors, and amid joyous acclamations from thepopulace, made his way to where the venerable councillors of the nationawaited him. The disaster in Tenochtitlan, the _noche triste_, and theretreat, were all forgotten for the time being, and only the gloriousvictory of Otampan was remembered. The aged chieftain of Titcala fellon the young man's neck, with grateful tears in his sightless eyes, andblessed him. All voices sounded his praises, and proclaimed unwaveringallegiance to the Christians. Only one was silent, and it was that ofthe envious Xicoten.
The next day, again clad as became his rank, Huetzin returned to theanxious army accompanied by the noble chieftain of his house, and manyof the most prominent citizens of Tlascala. These bore messages andtokens of a generous welcome to Cortes, and offers of the hospitalityof their city, to him and his followers, for as long as they wouldaccept of it.
With a glad gratitude was this offer accepted, and in the hospitablecity the weary army rested until its wounds were healed and itsstrength restored. In the palace of Titcala, Cortes himself, succumbingto his hurts and the mental strain that had been upon him for so long,lay many days in the weakness and delirium of a fever. As soon as theactive brain began again to work, and while he still lay helpless asan infant on his bed of convalescence, the undaunted so
ldier plannedfor the future. Never for a moment had he relinquished his purpose toconquer Tenochtitlan, and supplant its hideous religion with that ofthe Cross.
With his first strength he undertook a brilliant campaign against anumber of Aztec cities, situated within striking distance of Tlascala,whose inhabitants had cut off and sacrificed to their gods smallparties of Spaniards. At the end of four months he had reconquered thewhole of the vast Puebla table-land, had received reinforcements ofmen, horses, guns, and ammunition, and was again ready to march backover the frowning western Cordilleras, which he had already traversedfour times, under extraordinary circumstances.