The White Conquerors: A Tale of Toltec and Aztec by Kirk Munroe
CHAPTER XI.
HOW THE TLASCALANS FOUGHT
Besides the mystery of the sign, which was at that time supposed tobe used only by those of the Christian faith, Sandoval found himselftaking a deep interest in his unconscious prisoner for other reasons.To begin with, he had saved the life of the unknown youth, which wouldbe sufficient to arouse a feeling of interest in the breast of any onewho had done a similar deed. With the young cavalier this feeling wasintensified by the fact that, while he had taken so many lives that hehad come to regard the killing of an Indian much as he would that of awild beast, this was his first attempt at rescuing one from death.
Then, too, being plain of feature himself, he had an appreciation ofcomeliness in others, and never had he seen a more perfect specimen ofyouthful manhood than that which lay motionless, but faintly breathing,on a straw pallet, in the Tlascalan temple, to which he had broughthim. The olive-tinted features, but little darker than his own, were asdelicate as those of a maiden, but clearly cut and noble; the foreheadwas broad, the mouth and chin bore the imprint of a firm will, and theface formed a perfect oval. The youth was taller and of more slenderbuild than Sandoval, but his well-rounded limbs were of a symmetry onlyto be gained by an athletic training and constant exercise. Although hewas thus an embodiment of manly beauty, this fact aroused no envy inthe breast of honest Sandoval, but only increased the interest that hefelt in his captive.
In addition to all this, the youth had worn the green girdle of aking's courier, and in his wallet was found a pictorial despatch,evidently relating to the recent battles between Spaniards andTlascalans that could only have been intended for Montezuma himself.This was even now in the hands of the White Conqueror, who with theaid of Indian interpreters was endeavoring to decipher it. And yet theyouth did not have the appearance of a king's courier, who, as everyone knew, were as well cared for as any of his servants. He was clad ina single garment of coarse nequen, soiled and ragged. His whole bodywas bruised, and his bare feet were cut and swollen. Besides, whatcould an undisguised Aztec courier be doing in Tlascala? Neither was itcertain that he was an Aztec. Several of the Tlascalan prisoners, whowere brought in to pronounce upon his nationality started at sight ofhim, and exhibited symptoms of deep distress. In explanation of thisthey would only say that he bore a striking resemblance to the son ofone of their greatest warriors who, with his family, had been takenprisoner, and doubtless sacrificed to the Aztec gods, nearly a yearbefore.
The trooper who had wounded him was found, and said that, as he wasriding close behind the general, this youth had suddenly appearedand rushed at Cortes, apparently with evil intent, whereupon he--thetrooper--had promptly cut him down and left him for dead. "And whynot?" growled the trooper, who was disgusted at so much fuss over whathe considered so paltry an object. "What matters the life of one, oreven a thousand, of these idolaters?"
"It matters this," thundered Sandoval, angered by the man's insolentbearing, "that our mission to these Tlascalans is one of peace, andnot of war, and that one of them alive is worth more than the wholenation dead. Besides, with the sign of the holy cross has this one, atleast, proved himself no idolater, but as good a Christian as thyself.So then, sirrah! be more careful of thy blows in the future, lest theystrike the steel of a Christian sword instead of the unprotected headof a weaponless youth."
While Huetzin's identity and the mystery surrounding him were beingthus discussed, the gentle hands of Marina were tenderly bathing anddressing his wound, which, upon inspection, did not prove so severeas it had at first appeared. The blow had been a glancing one, ratherthan a downright stroke, and the gash, though ugly to look at, was notdeep, nor did it penetrate the bone.
Marina's ministrations at length produced their desired effect, andHuetzin, opening his eyes, gazed in a bewildered manner about him.Finally his wandering gaze settled upon the fair face bending overhim. He smiled faintly, whispered the one word, "Tiata," and almostimmediately sank into the deep but healthful sleep of one who isutterly weary.
For the next twenty hours he remained in a slumber so profound that noteven the tumult of a third great battle, fought within a short distanceof where he lay, served to arouse him. In this battle were engaged, onthe Tlascalan side, no less than fifty thousand warriors, selected fromtheir own armies, and from those of their fierce allies the Otomies.The Spaniards were disheartened by the gaining of victories that onlyseemed to endue their enemies with fresh determination to destroy them,and to cause a succession of armies, each larger than its predecessor,to be brought against them. In the present instance they had amplecause to fear that they, the conquerors, were at last to become theconquered; for never had they beheld such an array as witnessed theirdefiant march down the hill of Zompach on that beautiful 5th day ofSeptember.
There was the same bewildering gorgeousness of the brilliant feathermantles, tossing plumes, and snow-white armor of the nobles and higherclasses, the vividly painted bodies of the common soldiers, theflashing of itztli blades, and the waving banners that had greetedtheir eyes on former occasions, only on an infinitely greater scale.Six square miles of plain were covered by this New-World army, fromwhich arose a deafening clamor of barbaric music and shrill war-cries.The weapons with which these hardy warriors were armed were slings,bows and arrows, darts, maquahuitls or war-clubs bladed with itztli,and javelins attached by long thongs to the wrists of those who borethem, so that they might be drawn back and their deadly thrustsrepeated many times. They also bore shields, made of wood or leather,or more often a light wicker frame covered thick with quilted cotton,impenetrable to the darts and arrows of their own warfare, but offeringa sorry protection against the musket-balls, steel-headed cross-bolts,Toledo blades, and lances of the foe whom they were now to encounter.High above all the glittering array gleamed, in the bright sunlight, agreat golden eagle with outspread wings, the standard of the Tlascalanrepublic.
Had there been any chance of honorably avoiding a battle with thisoverwhelming force the little band of Spaniards would gladly haveavailed themselves of it; but there was not. They could but fight ordie; and with a courage born of despair they awaited the attack. Ontheir side they had discipline, long experience in civilized warfare,armor, and weapons of steel, artillery, muskets, and horses, in all ofwhich their opponents were lacking.
As the opposing forces neared each other the Tlascalans filled the airwith such a hurtling tempest of missiles that the sun was momentarilydarkened as by a passing cloud. In return the Christians delivered, atclose range, a musketry and cross-bow fire, so deadly in its effectsthat the front ranks of the Indians were mowed down like grass beforea scythe. For a moment the Tlascalans stood as though paralyzed. Then,goaded to desperation by their losses, and uttering blood-curdlingcries, they leaped forward and rushed upon the Spaniards with theimpetuosity of some mighty ocean billow whose fury none may withstand.For a few seconds the iron front of the white conquerors remainedunbroken, and their compact ranks held together, though they wereforced backward for more than a hundred yards. Then came a break in thefront rank. An iron-clad soldier was felled to the ground, and ere thebreach could be closed it was filled with maddened Indians. Instantlythe close order of the Spaniards gave way, and every man found himselfengaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with more assailants than hecould count. Gasping, blinded, and overpowered, the white men foughtdoggedly, but without hope.
Suddenly, above the din of shrieks, oaths, and clashing weapons thererose a wild scream, and Motilla, goaded into fury by her wounds,reared high in the air and leaped over the heads of the combatantscrowding about her. With the ferocity of a wounded tiger she plungedinto the thickest of the dense Tlascalan ranks, tearing at hertormentors with her teeth, and dealing death-blows on every side withher iron-shod hoofs. Above her the keen blade of sturdy Sandovalgleamed like a flame, darting to right and left, and shearing througharmor, flesh, and bone, wherever it touched. The white charger ofCortes had echoed Motilla's scream, and was quickly battling at herside with a fury equal t
All this while the artillery was thundering on the Tlascalan flanks,and creating a fearful havoc with its far-reaching missiles. Again andagain did the warriors of the mountain republic charge, but never withsuch success as at first. Finally a quarrel among their leaders causedhalf their army to be withdrawn from the field, and, after four hoursof desperate, incessant fighting, Xicoten ordered a retreat, and againleft the white conquerors masters of the bloody field.
Nearly fifty of these had been slain, while most of the surviving menand all of the horses were wounded. Thus, as Sandoval grimly remarkedon his return to camp, one more such victory would seal the fate of theChristians and consign their hearts to heathen altars.