by V. V. Vide
CHAPTER XI.
STRAITNESS OF THE FAMINE--THE FINAL CONFLICT--FLIGHT AND CAPTURE OF GUATIMOZIN--DESTINY FULFILLED.
~Death opens every door, And sits in every chamber by himself. If what might feed a sparrow should suffice For soldiers' meals, ye have not wherewithal To linger out three days. For corn, there's none; A mouse, imprisoned in your granaries, Were starved to death.~
This shameful defeat was a tremendous blow to the ardent anticipationsof the conqueror. Many of the timid and the discontented in his ownranks availed themselves of the opportunity to create divisions, andwithdraw from the doubtful contest. The Mexicans, strengthened by thespoils of their assailants, and yet more by the new courage which theirlate success infused into every heart among them, immediately commencedrepairing their works, clearing their canals, and making the mostvigorous preparations for maintaining the siege. Their priests,infuriated with the number of sacrifices which they had been enabled tooffer to the gods, from the captives of high and low degree taken in theconflict, declared with authoritative solemnity, that the anger of thegods was now appeased, and that they had promised unequivocally, thespeedy annihilation of their invading foes. This oracular declarationwas, by the order of Guatimozin, published in the hearing of the Indianallies of his adversary. It was a politic stroke, and, if the oracle hadnot imprudently fixed too early a day for the execution of the predictedvengeance, its effect might have been such as to break for ever thebonds of that unnatural alliance, and leave the little handful of whitemen, with all their boasted pretensions to immortality, to perish by thehands of their own friends.
But why dwell longer upon the appalling details of this miserable siege.The day of predicted vengeance arrived, and the Spaniards survived it.Their superstitious terror-stricken allies returned to their allegiance.By a judicious administration of reward and discipline, of promise andthreatening, all disaffection was hushed. New measures of offence wereconcerted, with a determination, on the part of the besiegers, to pressinto the city by degrees, securing every step, as they advanced, bylevelling every building, and filling up every ditch, in their progress,till not one stone should be left upon another in Tenochtitlan. Thisterrible resolution was carried into effect. Every building, whetherpublic or private, palace, temple, or Teocalli, from which they could beannoyed by the indomitable Aztec, was laid waste. The canals were filledup and levelled, so as to give free scope for the movements of thecavalry and artillery. The beautiful suburbs were reduced to a levelplain, a dry arid waste, covered with the ruins of all that was dear andsacred in the eyes of the Aztec. Slowly, but surely, the Spaniardpressed on towards the heart of the city, in which the heroic monarch,with his miserable remnant of starving subjects and skeleton soldierswere pent up, dying by thousands of famine and pestilence, and yet readyto suffer a thousand deaths, rather than yield themselves up to themercy of the foe.
There was now absolutely nothing left, in earth or air, to sustain foranother day the poor remains of life in the camp of the besieged. Everyfoot of ground had been dug over many times, in quest of roots, and evenof worms. The leaves and bark had been stripped from every tree andshrub, till there was not a green thing on all those terraces, whichwere once like the gardens of Elysium. The dead and the dying lay inheaps together, for there was neither life nor spirit in any thatbreathed, to do the last office for the departed. Pestilence was in allthe air, so that many even of the besieging army snuffed it in thebreeze that swept over the city, and fell victims to the very fate whichtheir cruel rapacity was inflicting on the besieged.
Famine, cruel, gnawing famine, was in the palace of the Emperor, as wellas in the hovel of his meanest subject. That noble prince quailed notbefore the fate that awaited himself. Had he stood alone in thatcitadel, with power in his single arm to keep out the foe, he would havestood till death, in whatever form, released him from his post, andspurned every suggestion of compromise or quarter. But the scenes ofutter distress which every where met his eye--the haggard ghosts of hisfriends, flitting restlessly before him, or crawling feebly and withconvulsive moans among the upturned earth, in the forlorn hope offinding another root--the dead--the dying--the more miserable livinglonging for death, and glaring with their horribly prominent, but glazedand expressionless eye-balls on each other--this, this was too much forthe heart of Guatimozin.
"What!" he exclaimed, "shall I submit to see my last friend die beforemy eyes, and my own sweet wife perish of hunger, only to retain foranother hour the empty name of king. No. I will endure it no longer. Iwill go to Malinche, alone, and unaccompanied, and offer my life foryours. He only wants our gold. Let him find that if he can. He willspare _you_, and wreak all his vengeance on my head."
A faint murmur ran through the crowd, and then a feeble expiring "No,never," burst feebly from many lips. One, a little stronger than therest, arose and said--
"Most gracious sovereign, think not of us. We only ask to live and diewith and for you. And the more cruel the death, the more glorious themartyrdom for our country and our gods. Trust not Malinche."
The speaker fainted and fell, with his fist clenched, and his teeth set,as if he felt that he held the last foe in mortal conflict.
"No, never--trust not Malinche--let us die together," was echoed by manysepulchral voices, that seemed more like the groans of the dead, thanthe remonstrances of the living.
"Trust not Malinche, remember my father," whispered the fond, devoted,faithful, affectionate wife, now the shadow of her former self,beautiful in her queenly sorrow, sublime in her womanly composure.
Guatimozin, the proud, the lofty chief, whose heart had never knownfear, whose soul had never been subdued, bowed his head upon the bosomof his wife, and wept. The strong heart, the lion spirit melted.
"Who, who will care for Tecuichpo? Who will cherish the last daughter ofMontezuma?"
"Think not of me, Guatimozin, think of yourself and your people, I amresigned to my fate. If I may but die with you, it is all I desire--forhow could I live without you. But think not of trusting Malinche. Let usremain as we are. Another day, and we shall all be at rest from oursufferings. And surely it were better to die together by our altars,than to fall into the hands of the treacherous stranger."
"Trust not Malinche," added Karee. "Was it not trust in him that broughtall this evil upon us? Think not of submission. You shall see that womencan die as well as men. Let Malinche come, and take possession of theremains of these mutilated walls and desolated gardens, but let him notclaim one living Aztec, to be his slave, or his subject."
A murmur of approbation followed, and then a long pause ensued. It waslike the silence of death. The whole scene would have made an admirablepicture. At length the silence was broken by the voice of the youngCacique of Tlacopan.
"My sovereign," said he, in a faint voice, but with something of theenergy of despair, "there is yet hope. Let us muster what force we can,of men who are able to stand, and sally out upon the enemy. We cannot dohim much harm. But, while he is occupied with us, you and your family,with a few attendants can escape by a canoe over the lake. As many ofus as have life and strength to do it, will follow you, under cover ofthe coming night. Your old subjects will flock around you there, and wemay yet, when we shall have tasted food, and become men again, make astand somewhere against the foe, and drive him out."
"It is well! it is well!" was the feeble response on every side.
"I cannot leave you," replied the monarch. "What! shall your king fly,like a coward, while his people rush upon the enemy only to cover hisretreat? No, that were worse than death--worse than captivity!"
"It is not flight, my beloved sovereign," responded the Cacique, "it isan honorable stratagem of war, for the good of the nation, not less thanyour own. When _you_ are gone, we have no head, and we fall at once intothe captivity we so much dread. Leave us but the name and person ofGuatimozin to rally around, and it will be a tower of strength, whichcan never fail us."
"Yes, yes, it is right,
" was whispered on every side--"Go, noblemonarch, go at once. It is a voice from heaven to save us."
To this counsel the priests added their earnest advice, and evenTecuichpo ventured to say, "it whispered of hope to her heart."Guatimozin suffered himself to be overruled. The canoes were made readyin the grand canal, which yet remained open on the eastern side. Allthat could be safely taken of treasure, and of convenient apparel, wascarefully stowed. The Queen and other ladies of the court, with herfaithful Karee, all wasted to skeletons, and moving painfully, likephantoms of beauty in a sickly dream, were conveyed to the barges. TheEmperor and his attendants followed, and all was in readiness for thedeparture. At that moment the martial horn was sounded from the greatTeocalli, and the shadowy host of the Aztec army staggered forth tooffer battle to the enemy. It was a fearful sight. It seemed as if thearmies of the dead, the mighty warriors of the past, had risen fromtheir graves, to fight for their desecrated altars, and to defend thosevery graves from profanation. Feebly, but fearfully, with glaring eyesand hideous grin, they rushed upon the serried ranks of the besiegers. Akind of superstitious terror seized them, as if these shapes weresomething more than mortal. For a moment they gave way to panic, andfell back without striking a blow. Roused by the stentorian voice ofCortez, they rallied instantly, and discharging their heavy fire arms,swept away whole ranks of their frenzied assailants. It was a briefconflict. Many of the Aztecs fell by the swords of the Spaniards, andthe spears of their merciless allies. Some fell, faint with their ownexertions, and died without a wound. Some grappled desperately with thefoe, content to die by his hand, if they could first quench theirburning thirst with one drop of his blood.
At length, a long blast from the horn sounded a retreat. The poorremnant turned towards the city, and were suffered to escape unmolestedto their desolate homes.
Meanwhile, the little fleet of Guatimozin had put forth upon the lake.The canoes separated, as they left the basin of the canal, takingdifferent directions, the better to escape the observation of thebrigantines. The precaution was a wise one, but unavailing. The watchfuleye of the besieging general was there. The brigantines gave chase tothe fugitives. Bending to their paddles with the utmost strength oftheir feeble emaciated arms, they found their pursuers gaining uponthem. Casting their gold into the lake, Guatimozin directed them tocease their exertions, and wait the approach of the enemy.
"Not without one little effort more, I beseech you," exclaimed Karee."See, my chinampa is close at hand. Let us try to gain that. It has foodon its trees for many days, and I have there a place of concealment,curiously contrived beneath the water, where you and the queen mayremain without fear of detection, till we can effect your escape to theshore."
In an instant the paddles were in the water, and the canoe shot aheadwith unusual speed. The combined energy of hope and despair nerved everyarm, and fired every heart. They neared the beautiful chinampa. Theireyes feasted on its fresh and cooling verdure, and its ripe fruitshanging luxuriantly on every bough. Their ears were ravished with themusic of the birds, who had long since deserted their wonted haunts inthe capital.
While the chase was gaining rapidly upon them, another of those fearfulbrigantines, which had hitherto been concealed by the thick foliage ofthe chinampa, rounded its little promontory, and appeared suddenlybefore them. Instantly, every paddle dropped, every arm was paralyzed.Not a word was spoken. In passive silence each one waited for his doom,which was now inevitable. When the Spaniard had approached withinhailing distance, the Emperor rose in his little shallop, and, wavinghis hand proudly, said, "I am Guatimozin."
The royal prisoners were treated with the utmost deference and respect.Being brought into the presence of Cortez, the monarch, pale, emaciated,the shadow of what he had been, approached with an air of imperialdignity, and said--
"Malinche, I have done what I could to defend myself and protect mypeople. Now I am your prisoner. Do what you will with me, but spare mypoor people, who have shown a fidelity and an endurance worthy of abetter fate."
Cortez, filled with admiration at the proud bearing of the youngmonarch, assured him that not only his family and his people, buthimself should be treated with all respect and tenderness. "Better,"said Guatimozin, laying his hand on the hilt of the general's poignard,"better rid me of life at once, and put an end to my cares andsufferings together."
"No," replied Cortez, "you have defended your capital like a bravewarrior. I respect your patriotism, I honor you valor, and your firmendurance of suffering. You shall be my friend and the friend of mysovereign, and live in honor among your own people."
The keen eye of the monarch flashed with something like indignation,when allusion was made to the king of Castile, and to himself as hisvassal.
"In honor I _cannot_ live," he said proudly, "for I am defeated. A kingI _cannot_ be, for he is no king who is subject to another. I am yourprisoner. The gods have willed it, and I submit."
Renewing his politic assurances of friendship and favor, the conquerorsent for the wife and family of his captive, first ordering a royalbanquet to be prepared for them. Supported by Karee, leaning on the armof the devoted Nahuitla, the lord of Tlacopan, the queen was usheredinto the presence of the conqueror. Her appearance struck the generaland his officers with admiration. Timid as she was by nature, she hadthe air and port of inborn royalty; and, in deference to her husband,she would not have allowed herself to quail before the assembled host ofCastile, dreaded as they were, and had long been. With a becomingcourtesy, she returned the respectful salutations of Malinche and hiscavaliers, and asked no other favor than to share the fate of her lord.
What that fate was, and how the Castilian knight redeemed his pledges tohis unfortunate and noble captives, is matter of historical record. Itis the darkest page in the memoir of that wonderful chief--a foul blotupon the name even of _that_ man, who was capable of requiting thesuperstitious reverence and confidence of a Montezuma, with atreacherous and inglorious captivity in his own palace, and a yet moreinglorious death at the hands of his own subjects. History must needsrecord it, dark and painful as it is. Romance would throw a veil overit.
* * * * *
Years of intense suffering, of harrowing bereavement, of insult,humiliation, and every species of mental and social distress, were yetappointed to the daughter of Montezuma, the bride of Guatimozin. Herpredicted destiny was fulfilled to the letter. She bowed meekly to herfate, sustaining every reverse with a fortitude and composure of soul,that indicated a mind of uncommon resources. It was a long, dark, stormyday, "but in the evening time there was light." It was the light offaith. She abandoned the false gods of her fathers, and found true andlasting peace in the cross of Jesus Christ.
THE FLIGHT
OF
THE KATAHBA CHIEF.
Go now to Greece, Or Rome--to Albion's sea-girt isle--to Gaul, Ancient or modern--to the fiery realm Of Turk or Arab--to the ice-bound holds Of Alaric and Attila--and find, If find thou canst, a nobler race of men-- More firm, more brave, more true--swifter of foot, Or readier in action.