The Second G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  They took a more northern route than before and, crossing the mountains, held their way on to Tezcuco. Upon their route through the plains the peasantry held aloof, and the greater portion of the population of Tezcuco withdrew before their arrival; and even its new lord, although appointed at the instigation of Cortez, was absent from the city. Dispatches arrived from Alvarado saying that the Mexicans had, for the last fortnight, ceased their attacks; but were blockading him in the palace.

  Cortez marched down the lake shore on the following day, and crossed the causeway to the city. Not a native was to be seen near the line of march, not a boat was visible on the lake, and an air of gloom and solitude hung over everything; showing but too plainly the altered feelings with which the natives regarded the whites. The streets were similarly deserted. When the head of the column reached the palace, the gates were thrown open and the garrison rushed out to greet the newcomers, with joyful shouts.

  Cortez now learned the reason of the rising of the Mexicans. It was the result of a hideous act of treachery, on the part of Alvarado. In the month of May was the great festival of the war god, which was held in his great temple; and the caziques asked permission of Alvarado to use, for the day, that portion which had been handed over to the Spaniards. He agreed to the request, on the condition that the Aztecs should celebrate no human sacrifices, and should come unarmed.

  At least six hundred nobles attended, in their most gorgeous robes, and Alvarado and his soldiers were present as spectators. While the Aztecs were employed in a religious dance, Alvarado gave the signal, his men rushed upon them with their arms, and every one of them was massacred unresistingly, not a single soul escaping.

  Various motives were assigned for this most foul massacre. Some writers have ascribed it solely to the desire for plunder; others to the desire of Alvarado to strike a blow that would intimidate the Mexicans from making any insurrectionary movement. Alvarado himself declared that he had information that the Mexicans intended to rise, but he gave no proofs, whatever, to justify his suspicions. The affair, indeed, seems to have been utterly indefensible, and must ever remain a foul blot upon Spanish honor.

  Cortez was extremely angry at hearing what had taken place and, after listening to Alvarado’s explanation, said:

  “You have done badly. You have been false to your trust! Your conduct has been that of a madman!”

  It was, however, no time for quarrels; and as it was the impolicy of the deed, rather than its treachery, that angered Cortez, he speedily forgave the offender, who was one of the most popular officers in his army.

  The blow Alvarado had struck had a contrary effect to that which he had expected of it. No sooner had the news of the massacre spread through the city than the whole population rose, and at dawn next morning they attacked the palace, with desperate fury. Volumes of missiles were poured upon the defenders. The walls were assaulted, and the works set on fire, and the palace might have been taken had not Montezuma, yielding to the entreaties—and perhaps threats—of the garrison, mounted the walls, and urged the people to desist from the attack, as his own safety would be imperiled did they continue it.

  They obeyed him as usual, and withdrew from the assault; but threw up works round the place, and proceeded to starve the Spaniards out. The latter had considerable stores of food, but suffered severely from thirst until they were fortunate enough to discover a spring, and were thus enabled to hold out until the arrival of Cortez.

  The latter refused to comply with the request of Montezuma to see him. He had some reason to doubt the good faith of the emperor, for he had discovered that the latter had sent envoys to Narvaez; and he had, upon his arrival at Tlascala, been informed that the rising at Mexico had been, to a great extent, prepared beforehand by the orders of Montezuma; and even the assurances of the officers of the garrison, that they owed their safety to the emperor’s intervention, did not pacify him.

  The real reason, no doubt, of his anger was that he found he had overrated the advantages he would gain from Montezuma being in his hands; but for this he himself, and not the emperor, was to blame. At first the capture had all the success that he had expected from it. The people had obeyed their emperor as implicitly, when a captive, as when his power had been supreme. They had sent in their nobles, prisoners and bound, at his orders. They had built ships for these strangers. They had suffered them to go unmolested through the country.

  But there was an end even to Aztec patience. The avarice of the white men had drained the country of its wealth. Their arrogance had humiliated their pride. Their occupation of their holiest temple and the insults to their gods had aroused them to fury; and the massacre, in cold blood, of six hundred of their nobles, while engaged in religious devotions, had been the signal for an explosion. Their emperor, formerly so venerated, they now regarded with contempt as the creature of the Spaniards; as the betrayer of his country; and the thought of his safety no longer restrained their thirst for vengeance.

  Cortez, however, was in no mood to reflect.

  “What have I to do with this dog of a king,” he exclaimed, “who suffers us to starve before his eyes?

  “Go, tell your master and his people,” he said fiercely to the Mexicans, “to open the markets, or we will do it for them, at their cost!”

  The chiefs, who were the bearers of Montezuma’s message, left his presence in deep resentment; and reported to the emperor, and to the people outside, the manner in which Montezuma’s request for an interview had been refused. Cortez, however, thought it politic to release Cuitlahua, Montezuma’s brother, who had been among those imprisoned for taking share in Cacama’s league; and allowed him to go into the city, thinking that he would allay the tumult.

  But Cuitlahua was a man of different spirit from his brother. He was heir presumptive to the throne, and a bold and daring prince. The people welcomed him, at once, as Montezuma’s representative; and chose him to represent the emperor during his confinement. Cuitlahua accepted the post, and immediately set to work to organize the fighting men, and to arrange a plan of attack.

  Roger had not been with the party that accompanied Cortez on his expedition against Narvaez; but, with his two companions, remained to form part of the garrison of the palace.

  “You are out of spirits, young fellow,” Juan said, on the day after Cortez had marched away. “You are changed, very much, since you first joined us.”

  “I have much to make me so, Juan,” Roger replied, in his broken Spanish. “You see, I am white by blood, but I have dear friends among the natives. What do I see? As a white, I perceive that our position here is one of the gravest danger, and that destruction may fall upon us all. As a friend of the natives, I see the country plundered, the people trodden down and, sooner or later, the ruin and misery of the whole people.”

  “You mean we are in danger from Narvaez’ people,” Juan said. “I have faith in Cortez. He will either fight them or bring them over. He is a wonderful man, and will find some way out of the difficulty.”

  “I do not mean that, entirely,” Roger replied. “I mean that there is danger from the natives.”

  “Pooh!” the old soldier said, disdainfully. “The natives are no better than so many women.”

  “But even women may be serious opponents, when they are fifty to one, Juan; and you mistake these Mexicans. They have been friendly and submissive, because it has been the order of the emperor; but although physically not strong, they are brave. The Aztec army has spread the dominion of Mexico over a wide extent of country. They have conquered many peoples, and are by no means to be despised. It is true you beat the Tlascalans, but that was not because you were braver than they were, but because of your superior arms and armor, and above all by the terror inspired by your horses—but this will not last. The Mexicans now know that you are but men, like themselves; and when they fight, inspired both by national spirit and the memory of their wrongs, I tell you that you will have hard work to hold your own.”

  “Ah well,” Jua
n grumbled. “If it must come, it must. It will not disturb my appetite.”

  When Roger learned that orders had been given for the massacre at the temple, he determined firmly that he would take no part in the deed, whatever it might cost him to refuse. Fortunately, he found no difficulty in persuading one of the soldiers, told off to act as a guard at the palace during the absence of the rest, to change places with him, as the man wanted to have his share in the expected plunder. Had Cacama been at liberty, Roger would not have hesitated a moment, but would have left the Spaniards and thrown in his lot with the Mexicans; but now it was impossible to do so. The frenzied population would have seized any white man they came upon, outside the walls of the palace, and would have carried him to the altars of their gods. It would be hopeless to endeavor to explain that he was of another race. All white men would be alike, in their eyes.

  He bitterly regretted, now, that he had returned from Tezcuco. Had he, at that time, gone with the queen and princess to the house of his friend Cuitcatl, he could have remained there in quiet; and the natives would have seen that he, at least, had no part or share in this horrible massacre. Now it seemed to him that there was nothing to be done, save to share the lot of the Spaniards, whatever that might be.

  He believed that the Mexicans would storm the palace, and slaughter all within it, long before the return of Cortez; and he by no means shared the confident anticipation of the soldiers, that the general, on his arrival, would very speedily put down any insurrection that might occur; and would, with the assistance of the soldiers of Narvaez, soon bring all Mexico into subjection.

  It had happened that both Juan and Pedro had also been on guard, during the massacre. This was a great satisfaction to him, for he felt he could no longer have remained in intimate communion with them, had their hands been drenched with innocent blood. When, upon their being relieved at their posts, they joined each other in the chamber they shared in common, the old soldier held up his hand and said gruffly:

  “Do you hold your tongue, Sancho. I know what you are thinking, lad, as well as if you said it; and maybe I do not disagree with you; but least said, soonest mended. These rooms without doors are not places for a man to relieve his mind by strong language, if he happens to differ from his superiors. It is a bad business, and a shameful one. At Cholula there was some excuse for it. Here there is none. I am an old soldier, and have taken many a life in my time, but never in cold blood like this. Say nothing, lad, at any rate until you get a chance of being outside this city; or on the lake, where none can get near you—then pour it out, as much as you like.”

  “It is like enough,” Roger said, “that none of us will ever go out of the city alive; and it will serve us thoroughly right. If this is to be a Spaniard and a Catholic, let me be a Mexican and a heathen.”

  “There, there, that is enough,” Juan interrupted. “Now let us have our supper.”

  “I can eat nothing,” Roger said, throwing himself down on the couch, where he remained in silence until a sudden outburst of wild shouts and cries, followed instantly by the trumpet, calling every man to his allotted place on the walls, aroused him.

  “The work of vengeance has begun,” he said gravely, as he put on his thick padded jerkin and helmet, and took up his pike. “I only hope I may see Alvarado, the author of this massacre, killed before I am.”

  Juan shook his head as Roger left the room, and he followed with Pedro.

  “In faith, I do not blame him. He has been brought up among these people.”

  “He is quite right,” the young soldier said. “It is a shameful business. Had I known that we were coming here to be butchers, I would never have taken service under Cortez. What should we have said if, on our first arrival here, when Montezuma entertained Cortez and all the cavaliers, his people had slain them at the feast?”

  “Hold your tongue, you young fool!” Juan muttered angrily. “The thing is done, and you cannot undo it. What we have to do now is to fight for our lives. Even if these poor devils have right on their side, it is not a matter to stop and discuss, now. So keep your breath for fighting. I doubt not that we shall soon scatter them like chaff.”

  But this was by no means the case, and it was only the intervention of Montezuma that saved the garrison from destruction.

  The time until the arrival of Cortez had passed slowly. The soldiers, weakened by hunger and thirst, muttered angrily against the officer who had so rashly brought them into this strait. Few of them regretted the deed for its own sake, but simply because it had brought on them peril and misfortune.

  Roger had borne his share of the fighting on the walls. He was defending his life, and although at first he had fought with little ardor, the pain given by two arrows which pierced his cotton armor heated his blood; and he afterwards fought as stoutly as the rest.

  During the period of inaction he had, more than once, tried to obtain an interview with Cacama; but the prisoners were jealously watched, and no one was allowed access to them on any pretext, and two officers always accompanied the men who took in their daily rations. They were regarded as hostages, only less important than Montezuma himself; and as most of them were very rich and powerful caziques, they might offer bribes which might well shake the fidelity of any private soldier.

  When the news arrived that Cortez, with the whole of the army of Narvaez, was at hand, the depression that had reigned gave way to exultation; and the soldiers believed that they would now take the offensive, and without loss of time put an end to the insurrection.

  Marina had accompanied Cortez on his expedition, for she was still necessary to him as an interpreter, and her influence with the natives was great. Roger obtained an interview with her, a few hours after her return. She had evidently been crying passionately.

  “My heart is broken, Roger,” she said. “I had hoped that the white men would have done great things for my country. They know so much, and although I thought there might be trouble at first, for great changes can never be introduced without trouble, I never dreamed of anything like this. Cholula was bad enough, but there the people brought it on themselves; and the Spaniards would have been slain, had they not first begun to kill. But here it is altogether different. It was an unprovoked massacre, and after this, who can hope that the whites and Mexicans can ever be friendly together?

  “I love Cortez. He is great and generous, and had he been here this would have never happened; but many of his people are cruel, and they are all greedy of wealth; and he, general though he is, has to give way to them.

  “I remember that, in the old days at Tabasco, you told me how cruelly the Spaniards had treated the people of the islands; but when I saw them first, I thought that you, being of a different nation, had spoken too hardly of them. I see, now, that you were right. I have, all along, done what I could for my people; and though I am with the invaders, I am sure they recognize this, and that they feel no ill will against me. But now I fear that they will curse me, as they will curse them; and that, through all time, my name will be abhorred in Mexico,” and she again burst into tears.

  “I do not think so, Malinche. At Tezcuco it was always said that you stood between the natives and the whites, and it was owing to you that they were not more harsh than they were.

  “As to this massacre, God forbid that I should say a single word in defense of it! As a white man and a Christian, I feel it is an act of horrible atrocity; but it should not make such an impression upon your people, who make wars solely to obtain victims, whom they may sacrifice at the altars of their gods; and who, every year, slay in cold blood fully twenty-five thousand people who have done them no wrong. By the side of such horrible slaughter as this, the murder of six hundred, the other day, was but a drop in the ocean of blood annually shed here.”

  “Had it been in battle, it would have been nothing,” Malinche said. “Had they offered them up at the altars of the gods, the people would have understood it, for they do it themselves; but this was a foul act of treachery. Who, afte
r this, can believe in the promises of the whites?

  “I know the people. You whites despise them, because they have hitherto allowed themselves to be subdued without resistance; but now that their first awe of the Spaniards has died away, and they have nerved themselves to take up arms, you will find that they are brave. I see nothing but trouble before us. Cortez feels confident that he can easily repulse any attack, and subdue the city and the country round; but I do not think so.”

  “Nor do I, Malinche. No men could have fought more bravely than the Mexicans, the other day. It is true that we were but in small numbers, and that we are now many times stronger, and have Cortez to command us; but on the other hand, the attack was but a hasty one, and the next time we shall have the whole Mexican force upon us.”

  “What will you do, Roger?”

  “I must fight for the Spaniards,” Roger said gloomily. “They are not my countrymen, but they are white men as I am, and surrounded by foes. Besides, I have no option. The Mexicans cannot distinguish between Spaniards and Englishmen, and I should be seized and sacrificed, were I to set foot beyond the walls. Were it not for that I would leave the city, join Amenche, and leave the Spaniards and Mexicans to fight out their quarrel as they might; but now, whichever won, the result would be fatal to me. If the Mexicans were victorious, I, like all other whites, would be sacrificed to their gods. If the Spaniards won, I should be executed as a traitor. Therefore, there is nothing for me to do but to remain with the Spaniards, and share their fate, whatever it may be.”

  The next morning silence reigned over the city. Not a Mexican was to be seen anywhere near the palace, within which the Spaniards were virtually prisoners. Cortez hoped, however, that Cuitlahua would soon persuade the people to return to their usual habits, and to open the markets for provisions; but in any case, he felt so confident of his power to overawe the city, that he sent off a messenger with dispatches to the coast, saying that he had arrived safely, and should soon overcome all opposition.