Sketches of Aboriginal Life Part 9

Nothing was now wanting to complete the arrangements of the invader for laying siege to Tenocht.i.tlan. By the aid of the brigantines, he was able to command the entire lake, sweeping away the frail canoes of the natives, like bubbles on the surface. All the cities and towns on its border had fallen, one after another, into his hands, though not without a desperate defence, and frequent and wasting sallies from the foe. The metropolis, that beautiful and magnificent gem upon the fair bosom of the lake, now stood alone, deserted by all her friends and supporters, the object of the concentrated hostility of the foreign invader, the ancient enemy, and the recent ally.

In that devoted capital, now so closely and fearfully invested, there was a spirit and power fully equal to the awful crisis. As soon as Guatimozin perceived, by the movements of his enemy, that the city was to be a.s.sailed rather by the slow and wasting siege, than by the storm of war, he made every possible preparation to sustain himself at his post. The aged, the infirm, the sick, and, as far as possible, all the helpless among the inhabitants, were sent off among the neighboring towns, and country; while all those who were able to do service in the army, were brought thence into the city. Provisions were collected in great quant.i.ties, and all the resources then left to the empire concentrated upon one point, that of making an obstinate, unyielding defence. In this condition of affairs the siege commenced; a large part of the fighting men of the neighboring cities and towns being in the capital, preparing to defend it against enemies with whom those cities and towns were now in close alliance. Though it thus brought the father against the son, and the son against the father, in many instances, it did not, in any case, disappoint the confidence of Guatimozin, or undermine the loyalty of his troops. There were no deserters from his standard. Through all the horrors of that wasting siege, they stood by their sovereign, and their capital, as if they knew no other home, no other friend.

In vain did the Castilian commander propose terms of accommodation to the beleaguered city. The Emperor would not condescend even to an interview. His chiefs and his people, whenever they had an opportunity to do so, treated every attempt at compromise with utter scorn. They derided Cortez upon his disastrous evacuation of the capital on "the melancholy night," a.s.suring him that, if he should enter its gates now, he would not find a Montezuma on the throne. They taunted their Tlascalan allies as women, who would never have dared to approach the capital, without the protection of the white men.

Sustained by this spirit, the warlike Mexican did not content himself with mere measures of defence. Frequent and desperate sallies were made upon the outposts of the enemy, until it seemed as if the hope of the n.o.ble Guatimozin might possibly be realized, that he might slowly and gradually destroy an enemy, whom he could not encounter in a pitched battle.

It was not until the last avenue to the surrounding country was cut off, by divisions of the invading army, planted upon all the causeways, supported in all their movements by the thundering brigantines, that the true spirit of the besieged began to show itself. Till then, their tables had been plentifully supplied, and their hopes continually encouraged by the occasional losses of their enemy, whose numbers were too small to admit of much diminution. The priests were unremitting in their appeals to the patriotism of the people, and in promises of peculiar divine blessings on all who should persevere to the last, in defence of their altars and their G.o.ds. Guatimozin was ever among his people, encouraging them by kind words, and an example of unyielding defiance to every advance of the foe. He showed that he was not less the father of his people, than their king, suffering the same exposure, and enduring the same fatigues with the boldest and hardiest of his subjects.

Such was their confidence of ultimate success in the defence of the capital, that the splendor and gaiety of the court was little diminished, until famine began to stare them in the face. The aqueduct of Chapoltepec had been cut off, and there was no longer any supply of wholesome water in the city. The dark visions of the lovely queen were now renewed. For a brief season, she had been permitted to revel in daylight, with scarcely a cloud to darken the sky above her. Suddenly that light was obscured. All was gloom and darkness around her. War, desolating war hovered once more about the gates of the beloved city.

Wan faces, and haggard forms began to take the places of the gay, happy, spirited mult.i.tudes, that so recently thronged the palace. The image of her father, insulted by the stranger, murdered by his own people, rose to her view. His melancholy desponding look and tone, as he gave way to the doom which he felt was sealed upon him, his frequent a.s.surances that the white men were "the men of destiny," the heaven appointed proprietors and rulers of the land, and that wo would betide all who should oppose their pretensions, or offer resistance to their invincible arms--all these came up fresh to her thoughts, and filled her with sadness. Her own ill-starred destiny too, marked by every possible sign and presage, as full of darkness and sorrow--the thought was almost overwhelming. Fain would she have severed at once the bond that linked her fate with that of Guatimozin, for she felt that he was only sharing her doom, and on her account was exposed to these terrible shafts of fate. The love of Guatimozin, the faithful devotion of Karee, though they soothed in some measure her troubled spirit, could not wholly re-a.s.sure her, or dissipate the dreadful thought, that all these terrible calamities were come upon the nation only as a part of that dark doom, for which the G.o.ds had marked her out, on her very entrance into life.

It was long before the Emperor and his immediate household, were made aware of the awful pressure of famine within that devoted city. Watchful and observing as he was, the people, with one consent, had contrived to keep him in comparative ignorance of the growing scarcity, in order that they might be permitted to supply his table, as long as possible, with all the necessaries and luxuries of life. So far was this loyal devotion carried, that mult.i.tudes, both of the chiefs and of the common people, were daily in the habit of denying themselves of every thing but what was absolutely necessary to sustain life, and sending to the palace every article of fresh food, or delicate fruit, which they could obtain from their own gardens, or purchase from those of others. This n.o.ble devotion on the part of his people, was discovered and made known to the Emperor by Karee. She was the almoner of the bounty of the queen to mult.i.tudes of the poor and the sick, in different quarters of the city.

On one of her errands of mercy, while she was administering to the comfort of a poor friend, in the last stages of mortal disease, made ten-fold more appalling by the absence of almost every thing that could sustain nature in the final struggle, she overheard the conversation of a father with his child in the adjoining room.

"Nay, my dear father, you must eat it. Your strength is almost gone, and how can you stand among the fighting men, and defend your king and your house, when you have eaten nothing for two whole days?"

"My precious child, I shall find something when I go out. But this morsel is for you, for I know you cannot live till I come home, if you do not eat this. And what will life be worth when you are gone."

"Father, dear father, I cannot eat it. It will do me more good to see you eat it, for then I shall be sure you can live another day at least, and then, who knows but the G.o.ds will send us help."

Karee could listen no longer. Rus.h.i.+ng into the apartment whence these melancholy sounds proceeded, she beheld the shadow of a once beautiful girl leaning on the arm of the pale and wasted figure of a man, endeavoring to draw him towards a table on which lay a single morsel of dried fruit, which he had brought in for her, it being the only food that either of them had seen for two days.

"Take this," said she, offering the sweet child a portion of what she had prepared for the invalid, but which she was too far gone to receive, "and may it give you both strength till the day of our deliverance." And she instantly returned to the death-bed of her friend.

To the famis.h.i.+ng group it was like the apparition of an angel, with a gift from the G.o.ds. The savory mess was readily divided, though the affectionate self-denying child contrived to cheat her father into receiving a little more than his share, while he tried every effort in vain, to persuade her to take the larger half. The wretched pair had not had such a feast for many a long week. "Ah!" exclaimed the daughter, as she wept over the luxurious repast, "if our dear mother could have had such a morsel as this, before she died, to stay her in that last dreadful agony."

"Yes, my beloved child," replied the subdued and bitterly bereaved father, "but she has gone where there is plenty, and no tears mingled with it."

The dried fruit was laid away for the morrow. But the same kind hand that relieved them on that day, was there again on the morrow, and on every succeeding day, till the city was sacked, and the wretched ghosts of its inhabitants given up to an indiscriminate slaughter.

When Guatimozin was made acquainted with this incident, he resolved on making another desperate sally, with the whole force of his wasted army, in the forlorn hope of breaking through the ranks of the enemy, and procuring some subsistence for his famis.h.i.+ng people. Having drawn them up in the great square, his heart sunk within him, when he saw their pale faces and emaciated forms, and contrasted them with the fierce, stout, and seemingly invincible host, whom he had so often led into battle. But the feeling of despondency gave way instantly to that stern fixed purpose, that terrible decision of soul, which is the natural offspring of desperation. With a firm voice, he addressed them.

"My brave soldiers, we must not any longer lie still. The enemy is at our gates, and we are peris.h.i.+ng in our own citadel. Have we not once driven them, with a terrible and almost exterminating slaughter, along those very causeways which they now claim to occupy and to close up? Are they more invincible now than then? Are we less resolute, less fearless?

By our famis.h.i.+ng wives and children, by our desecrated altars and G.o.ds, let us rush upon them and overwhelm them at once."

The monarch had not yet finished his stirring appeal, when a courier rushed in, bringing tidings that the several divisions of the besieging army were moving up the causeways, and approaching the city on every side.

"They come to their own destruction," said the monarch, bitterly, and immediately proceeded to distribute his men, to give them a fitting reception. The larger part of the forces were ordered to occupy several somewhat retired places, amid the great public buildings in the centre of the city, where they should be in readiness to obey the royal signal.

The remainder were to go out, in their several divisions, to meet and skirmish with the advancing foe, doing them as much mischief as possible, yet suffering themselves to be driven before them, till they were decoyed into the heart of the city. The signal would then be given, when every man who could draw a bow, or wield a lance, or throw a stone, would be expected to do his duty.

It was a stratagem worthy of Guatimozin, and, in its execution, had well nigh overwhelmed the Spaniards, and saved the city. Cortez had appointed with the captains of each division of his army to meet in the great square of the city. Each one being eager to be first at the goal, they followed the retreating Aztecs without consideration, and without making any provision for their own retreat. The watchful agents of Guatimozin were behind as well as before them; and when they had pa.s.sed the gates, and were pressing up, with all the heat and enthusiasm of a victorious army, into the heart of the city, the bridges were taken up in their rear, to cut off, if possible, their retreat. When this was effected, the fatal horn of Guatimozin blew a long loud blast, from the summit of the great Teocalli. In an instant, the retreating Aztecs turned upon their pursuers, like tigers ravening upon their prey; while swarms of fresh warriors poured in from every lane and street and avenue, rus.h.i.+ng so fiercely upon the too confident a.s.sailants, as to bring them to a sudden pause in their triumphant career. At the same moment, the roof of every house and temple, along the whole line of their march, was covered with men, who poured upon them such a shower of stones that it seemed impossible to escape being buried under them. The tide of battle was now turned. The too daring invaders were thrown into confusion, and compelled to retreat. This they soon found, to their bitter cost, was nearly impossible. When it was discovered that the bridges, over which they had so recently pa.s.sed, were removed, the utmost consternation prevailed. The heavy cannon were all on board the brigantines, so that they were unable, as in former times, to mow down the solid ranks of their foes, and break a way for their retreat. Their cavalry was of little service, for they could not leap the wide chasms made by the removal of the bridges. Cut off in front by the solid ma.s.ses of warriors that blocked up every avenue, and in the rear by these yawning chasms, and hemmed in on each side by the ma.s.sive stone walls of the buildings, they could neither protect themselves, nor effectually annoy their enemy. They were in imminent danger of peris.h.i.+ng ign.o.bly in the ditch, without even striking a blow in their own defence.

Fortunately for the invaders, their sagacious and ever-wakeful general had antic.i.p.ated the possibility of such a scene as this, and had taken some measures to forestall it. His officers, however, were too high-spirited and self-confident to condescend to the cowardly drudgery of carrying out his precautionary measures. They thought only of victory, and the spoils of the glorious city, which they now regarded as their own.

In this fearful dilemma, the genius of Cortez did not desert him. When the first shout of battle reached his ears, as he was advancing cautiously along the avenue, he instantly conjectured the cause.

Ordering his own column to halt, and selecting a chosen band of his best cavalry, he wheeled about, dashed furiously down the avenue, and put to flight the unarmed Aztecs, who were doing the work of destruction for him, and had then almost succeeded in tearing away the foundations of the great bridge. Making his way through the deserted streets, with the speed of the wind, he came round into the other avenue, where one division of his army was hemmed in, in the manner above described.

Charging impetuously upon the gathering crowds of Aztecs, he succeeded in forcing his way up to the chasm, where he stood face to face with his own troops on the other side. Here, in the midst of a pitiless tempest of stones, and darts and arrows, he maintained his stand, while his men, with incredible labor, attempted to fill up the chasm.

The work was at length accomplished, though not without the most serious loss to Cortez. Some of his bravest officers fell in that merciless contest with foes who would neither give nor receive quarter. Many were pelted down with the huge stones, that ceased not to rain upon them from all the neighboring house tops. Some were taken by the feet as they labored to maintain a precarious footing on the slippery causeway, and dragged into the ca.n.a.ls, either to be drowned in the desperate struggle there, or carried off in the canoes to captivity or sacrifice. Cortez himself narrowly escaped immolation.

At length, through the indomitable perseverance of the general, the breach was so far filled up as to make a practicable pa.s.sage for the troops. A retreat was sounded, and that gallant band, which, a few hours before had rushed in with flaunting banners, and confident boastings of an easy victory, was glad to escape from the snare into which they had fallen, their numbers greatly reduced, their banners soiled and tattered, and their expectations of ultimate success terribly shaken.

They were pursued through all their march by the exulting Aztecs, and many a broken head and bruised limb attested the truth of Guatimozin's taunting challenge, that the Spaniards, if they entered the capital again, would find as many fortresses as there were houses, as many a.s.sailants as stones in the streets.

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 antic.i.p.ations of the conqueror. Many of the timid and the discontented in his own ranks availed themselves of the opportunity to create divisions, and withdraw from the doubtful contest. The Mexicans, strengthened by the spoils of their a.s.sailants, and yet more by the new courage which their late success infused into every heart among them, immediately commenced repairing their works, clearing their ca.n.a.ls, and making the most vigorous preparations for maintaining the siege. Their priests, infuriated with the number of sacrifices which they had been enabled to offer to the G.o.ds, from the captives of high and low degree taken in the conflict, declared with authoritative solemnity, that the anger of the G.o.ds was now appeased, and that they had promised unequivocally, the speedy annihilation of their invading foes. This oracular declaration was, by the order of Guatimozin, published in the hearing of the Indian allies of his adversary. It was a politic stroke, and, if the oracle had not imprudently fixed too early a day for the execution of the predicted vengeance, its effect might have been such as to break for ever the bonds of that unnatural alliance, and leave the little handful of white men, with all their boasted pretensions to immortality, to perish by the hands 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 superst.i.tious terror-stricken allies returned to their allegiance.

By a judicious administration of reward and discipline, of promise and threatening, all disaffection was hushed. New measures of offence were concerted, with a determination, on the part of the besiegers, to press into the city by degrees, securing every step, as they advanced, by levelling every building, and filling up every ditch, in their progress, till not one stone should be left upon another in Tenocht.i.tlan. This terrible resolution was carried into effect. Every building, whether public or private, palace, temple, or Teocalli, from which they could be annoyed by the indomitable Aztec, was laid waste. The ca.n.a.ls were filled up and levelled, so as to give free scope for the movements of the cavalry and artillery. The beautiful suburbs were reduced to a level plain, a dry arid waste, covered with the ruins of all that was dear and sacred in the eyes of the Aztec. Slowly, but surely, the Spaniard pressed on towards the heart of the city, in which the heroic monarch, with his miserable remnant of starving subjects and skeleton soldiers were pent up, dying by thousands of famine and pestilence, and yet ready to suffer a thousand deaths, rather than yield themselves up to the mercy of the foe.

There was now absolutely nothing left, in earth or air, to sustain for another day the poor remains of life in the camp of the besieged. Every foot of ground had been dug over many times, in quest of roots, and even of worms. The leaves and bark had been stripped from every tree and shrub, till there was not a green thing on all those terraces, which were once like the gardens of Elysium. The dead and the dying lay in heaps together, for there was neither life nor spirit in any that breathed, to do the last office for the departed. Pestilence was in all the air, so that many even of the besieging army snuffed it in the breeze that swept over the city, and fell victims to the very fate which their cruel rapacity was inflicting on the besieged.

Famine, cruel, gnawing famine, was in the palace of the Emperor, as well as in the hovel of his meanest subject. That n.o.ble prince quailed not before the fate that awaited himself. Had he stood alone in that citadel, with power in his single arm to keep out the foe, he would have stood till death, in whatever form, released him from his post, and spurned every suggestion of compromise or quarter. But the scenes of utter distress which every where met his eye--the haggard ghosts of his friends, flitting restlessly before him, or crawling feebly and with convulsive moans among the upturned earth, in the forlorn hope of finding another root--the dead--the dying--the more miserable living longing for death, and glaring with their horribly prominent, but glazed and expressionless eye-b.a.l.l.s on each other--this, this was too much for the heart of Guatimozin.

"What!" he exclaimed, "shall I submit to see my last friend die before my eyes, and my own sweet wife perish of hunger, only to retain for another hour the empty name of king. No. I will endure it no longer. I will go to Malinche, alone, and unaccompanied, and offer my life for yours. He only wants our gold. Let him find that if he can. He will spare _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 the rest, arose and said--

"Most gracious sovereign, think not of us. We only ask to live and die with and for you. And the more cruel the death, the more glorious the martyrdom for our country and our G.o.ds. 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 many sepulchral voices, that seemed more like the groans of the dead, than the 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 known fear, whose soul had never been subdued, bowed his head upon the bosom of his wife, and wept. The strong heart, the lion spirit melted.

"Who, who will care for Tecuichpo? Who will cherish the last daughter of Montezuma?"

"Think not of me, Guatimozin, think of yourself and your people, I am resigned to my fate. If I may but die with you, it is all I desire--for how could I live without you. But think not of trusting Malinche. Let us remain as we are. Another day, and we shall all be at rest from our sufferings. 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 brought all this evil upon us? Think not of submission. You shall see that women can die as well as men. Let Malinche come, and take possession of the remains of these mutilated walls and desolated gardens, but let him not claim one living Aztec, to be his slave, or his subject."

A murmur of approbation followed, and then a long pause ensued. It was like the silence of death. The whole scene would have made an admirable picture. At length the silence was broken by the voice of the young Cacique of Tlacopan.

"My sovereign," said he, in a faint voice, but with something of the energy 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 do him 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 of us as have life and strength to do it, will follow you, under cover of the coming night. Your old subjects will flock around you there, and we may yet, when we shall have tasted food, and become men again, make a stand somewhere against the foe, and drive him out."