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Thus ended the frightful noche triste, or “doleful night.” Cortez led the remnant of his men off the causeway, a feeble, wounded, straggling few, faltering from weariness and loss of blood. Fortunately, the Aztecs, attracted by the rich spoil that strewed the ground, did not pursue, or it is doubtful if a man of the Spaniards, in their worn and wounded state, would have survived. How many perished in that night of dread no one knows. A probable estimate is about five hundred Spaniards and four thousand natives, nearly all the rear-guard having fallen. Of forty-six horses, half had been slain. The baggage, the guns, the ammunition, the muskets, and nearly all the treasure were gone. The only arms left the warriors were their swords and a few damaged cross-bows, while their mail was broken, their garments were tattered, their proud crests and banners gone, their bright arms soiled, and only a miserable and shattered fragment of their proud force was left, these dragging themselves along with pain and difficulty.

AZTEC IDOLS CARVED IN STONE.

Day after day passed as the Spaniards and their allies, the Tlascalans,–inveterate enemies of the Aztecs,–slowly moved away from that blood-stained avenue of death, now little molested by their foes, and gradually recovering from their fatigue. On the seventh morning they reached the mountain height which overlooks the plain of Otumba, a point less than thirty miles from the capital. This plain they were obliged to traverse on their way to Tlascala, their chosen place of retreat.

As they looked down on the broad level below them they saw with shrinking hearts why they had not been as yet molested. A mighty host filled the whole valley from side to side, their arms and standards glistening in the sun, their numbers so great that the stoutest heart among the Spaniards viewed them with dismay, and Cortez, daring and hopeful as he was, felt that his last hour had now surely come.

But this stout leader was not the man to give way to despair. There was nothing to do but to cut their way through this vast array or perish in the attempt. To retreat would have been to invite sure destruction. Fortunately, they had rested for two nights and a day, and men and horses had regained much of their old strength. Without hesitation, Cortez prepared for the onset, giving his force as broad a front as possible, and guarding its flanks with his little body of horse, now twenty in all. Then, with a few words of encouragement, in which he told them of the victories they had won, and with orders to his men to thrust, not strike, with their swords, and to the horsemen on no account to lose their lances, and to strike at the faces of the foe, he gave the word to advance.

At first the natives recoiled from the stern and fierce onset, rolling back till they left a wide lane for the passage of their foes. But they quickly rallied and poured on the little band in their midst, until it seemed lost in the overwhelming mass. A terrible fray followed, the Christians, as one writer says, standing “like an islet against which the breakers, roaring and surging, spend their fury in vain.” The struggle was one of man to man, the Tlascalans and Spaniards alike fighting with obstinate courage, while the little band of horsemen charged deep into the enemy’s ranks, riding over them and cutting them down with thrust and blow, their onset giving fresh spirit to the infantry.

But that so small a force could cut their way through that enormous multitude of armed and valiant enemies seemed impossible. As the minutes lengthened into hours many of the Tlascalans and some of the Spaniards were slain, and not a man among them had escaped wounds. Cortez received a cut on the head, and his horse was hurt so badly that he was forced to dismount and exchange it for a strong animal from the baggage-train. The fight went on thus for several hours, the sun growing hotter as it rose in the sky, and the Christians, weak from their late wounds, gradually losing strength and spirit. The enemy pressed on in ever fresh numbers, forcing the horse back on the foot, and throwing the latter into some disorder. With every minute now the conflict grew more hopeless, and it seemed as if nothing were left but to sell their lives as dearly as possible.