by G. A. Henty
But now he knew that she had his whole heart. If she died, it seemed of little consequence to him what became of his life. It was for his sake that she had risked everything, had left all—friends and home and country—and he felt that he would gladly die with her.
Morning was breaking before Malinche came into his room.
“She is sensible,” she said, “and my countryman, who is with her, thinks that she will live.”
The relief was so great that Roger burst into tears.
“Come with me,” Malinche said, taking his hand. “We do not think she knows what has happened, but she looks anxiously about the room. She is very, very weak; but the leech thinks that if she sees you, and knows that you are safe and well, it will rouse her and put her in the way of recovery. You must not talk to her, or excite her in any way.”
Roger followed Malinche into her room. Amenche was lying, without a vestige of color on her face, and with her eyes closed and her breathing so faint that Roger, as he looked at her, thought that she was dead.
“Take her hand and kneel down beside her,” Malinche whispered.
Roger took the girl’s hand. As he did so, a slight tremor ran through her, as if she recognized his touch. Then her eyes opened.
“Amenche, my darling, do you know me?” Roger said, as he stooped his face close to hers.
Her face brightened suddenly, and a look of intense happiness came into her eyes.
“O Roger!” she whispered; “I dreamed that they had killed you.”
“I am safe and well, as you see,” he said. “They have hurt you, darling; but you will get better, and we shall be happy together. You must not talk, but I may stay by you, if you will keep quiet.
“Drink this first,” and he handed to her a cup that the Mexican doctor held out to him; and placing his arm under Amenche’s head, raised it and poured the liquid between her lips.
Then he laid her head down again on the pillow and, kneeling beside her, held her hand in his.
She lay looking up into his face, with an expression of quiet happiness, occasionally murmuring, “Dear Roger.”
Presently her eyelids drooped, and in a few minutes her regular breathing showed that she was asleep.
The Mexican doctor placed another cup of medicine within Roger’s reach, and murmured in his ear, “I think that she will do now. Give her this when she awakes. I shall be within call, if I am wanted.”
Amenche slept for some hours, and Roger, overcome by want of sleep, and from the anxiety through which he had passed, dropped off many times into short dozes.
He woke from one of these at a slight movement of Amenche’s hand, and opened his eyes at the moment that she was opening hers.
“What has happened, Roger? And where am I?” she asked, in wonder.
“First drink this medicine, and then I will tell you,” he said. “You remember, dear, we were in the boat together, and we were attacked. An arrow struck you, but I knew nothing about it until I had reached the causeway, and found you senseless, and brought you here to Malinche’s room; and she and one of the doctors of your country dressed your wound, and now you have been sleeping quietly for some hours.”
“Oh yes,” she said, “I remember now. I was struck with an arrow. It was a sharp pain, but I did not cry out; for you had need of all your strength and vigor. I lay there quietly, and heard the din of fighting; and at last, when I knew that you had conquered, I felt a faintness stealing over me, and thought that I was dying; and then I remember nothing more, only it seemed that, in my dreams, you came to me and knelt by the side of me and kissed me; and now I know that that part is true, and I have been having such happy dreams, ever since.
“But why should I lie here? Cannot I get up?”
“No, dear. You are weak from loss of blood, and quiet is necessary. Lie here a minute. I will fetch the leech in, to see how you are.”
The Mexican was sleeping on some mats outside the door. He at once came in and, after examining Amenche, pronounced her decidedly better. Malinche, who had given orders that she was to be informed as soon as the princess was awake, came in a minute or two; and a consultation was held, when it was decided that Amenche should at once be taken from the fort, which was crowded with soldiers, as well as exposed to the din and turmoil of the night attacks.
Malinche went out and soon returned, saying that she had spoken to one of the Tezcucan caziques in alliance with the Spaniards. He had at once offered to receive Amenche at his palace, which was situate but three miles from the end of the causeway.
“I cannot leave Roger again,” the princess said, when she understood what was proposed.
“There is no thought of your leaving him,” Malinche said, kindly. “Roger is to accompany you. He needs rest and peace almost as much as you do. Besides, he has been seriously wounded, though he makes light of it.
“The cazique has sent off a messenger for a party of his people to meet you. A boat will be in readiness to take you across the lake, at sunset. You will be carried in litters from the landing place to his palace.”
This programme was carried out and, by nine o’clock that evening, Roger and Amenche were both settled in luxurious apartments in the cazique’s palace.
Cortez, now recovered from his wounds, prepared for a fresh advance; which was this time to be conducted in a different manner. Against so stubborn and active a foe the advance must be irresistible, steady, and continued. In future, no step backward was to be taken. Every breach, every canal, was to be filled up so firmly and solidly that it could never again be disturbed; and for this purpose every building—whether a private house, temple, or palace—was to be demolished. It was with the greatest reluctance that Cortez arrived at this determination. He would fain have saved the city intact, as the most glorious trophy of his success; but his experience showed him that with every house a fortress, every street cut up by canals, it was hopeless to expect to conquer it.
The Indian allies heard his intention with the greatest satisfaction, for there was ever in their mind the dread that, should the white men depart, the Aztecs would take a terrible revenge upon their rebellious subjects. Enormous numbers of men were assembled, and provided with implements for the work. This was steadily carried out, until the whole of the suburbs were leveled, and a wide space round the city left open for the maneuvers of the cavalry and the play of the artillery.
Before making the last attack, Cortez tried once more to persuade the emperor to yield; and sent three Aztec nobles, who had been captured in one of the late fights, to bear a message to him. He told Guatimozin that he and his people had done all that brave men could, and that there remained no hope, no chance, of escape. Their provisions were exhausted. Their communications cut off. Their vassals had deserted them, and the nations of Anahuac were banded against them. He prayed him, therefore, to have compassion on his brave subjects, who were daily perishing before his eyes, and on the fair city now fast crumbling into ruins. He begged him to acknowledge his allegiance to the sovereign of Spain; in which case he should be confirmed in his authority, and the persons, the property, and all the rights of the Aztecs should be respected.
The young monarch would have instantly refused the terms, but he called a council to deliberate upon them. Many would have accepted them, but the priests threw all their influence in the scale against it; reminding the king of the fate of Montezuma, after all his hospitality to the Whites, of the seizure and imprisonment of Cacama, of the massacre of the nobles, of the profanation of the temple, and of the insatiable greed that had stripped the country of its treasures.
The answer to the Spaniards was given in the form of a tremendous sortie along each causeway; but the guns of the Spanish batteries and ships drove the assailants back, and the operations of destruction went on. Day by day the army of workers leveled the houses and filled the canals, although the Mexicans made incessant attacks upon the troops who covered the workmen. For several weeks the work continued, while the wretched inhabitants wer
e fast wasting away with hunger. All the food stored up had long since been consumed, and the population reduced to feed on roots dug up in the gardens, on the bark of trees, leaves, and grass, and on such rats, mice, and lizards as they could capture.
The houses, as the besiegers advanced, were found to be full of dead; while in some lay men, women, and children in the last stage of famine. And yet, weakened and suffering as they were, the Aztecs maintained their resolution, rejecting every overture of Cortez.
At last the division of Alvarado cleared its way into the great square, and a party, mounting the great temple where so many of their comrades had been massacred, defeated the Aztecs who guarded the position, slaughtered the priests, and set fire to the sanctuary; and the next day the division of Cortez won their way to the same spot, and joined that of Alvarado.
Seven-eighths of the city was now destroyed; and with the exception of the king’s palace and a few temples, all the buildings that had, when they first saw it, so excited the admiration of the Spaniards, and had made the city one of the loveliest in the world, had been leveled.
In the portion that remained the whole of the Aztec population were crowded. Their number was still vast, for before the siege began the people from many of the surrounding cities had flocked into the capital. Pestilence was aiding famine in its work; and the Spanish writers say that “as the troops advanced, the bodies lay so thick that it was impossible to walk without treading on them.”
Again and again Cortez endeavored to negotiate with the emperor. Although so reduced by weakness that they could scarce keep their feet, the Aztecs maintained their defiant attitude, and the advance of the allies recommenced. The Aztecs fought as bravely as ever; but they were so weakened that their missiles were no longer dangerous, and their arms could scarce lift their weapons.
It was a dreadful carnage. The confederates, panting with hatred of the race that had subdued and so long humiliated them, showed no pity; and even when Cortez ordered that quarter should be shown to all who asked it, the allies refused to be checked, and the work of slaughter went on until the Spanish trumpets sounded a retreat.
During that day, alone, it was calculated that forty thousand persons had fallen. That night a mournful stillness reigned over the city. In silent despair, and yet with no thought of surrender, the Aztecs awaited their fate.
The next morning, August 15th, 1521, the troops were formed up again; but before ordering the advance Cortez obtained an interview with some of the principal chiefs, and persuaded them to see the emperor, and try to induce him to surrender; but the answer came that Guatimozin was ready to die where he was, and would hold no parley with the Spanish commander. Cortez still postponed the assault for several hours.
Then, finding delay unavailing, he reluctantly gave the order for the attack to recommence. As upon the previous day it was a mere slaughter. Many of the Aztecs sought to fly in canoes, but these were cut off by the fleet.
Presently, however, while the butchery was still going on, the welcome news was brought that Guatimozin himself had been captured by one of the vessels. With him was his wife, the beautiful Princess Tecuichpo, a daughter of Montezuma; and twenty nobles of high rank. The news of his capture spread rapidly through the fleet and city, and the feeble resistance the Aztecs still offered ceased at once.
Guatimozin was brought before Cortez, and behaved with a dignity and calmness that excited the admiration and respect of the general and his followers. The next morning, at the emperor’s request, Cortez gave permission for all the survivors of the siege to leave the town; and issued strict orders, both to the Spaniards and their savage allies, that no insult or injury should be offered to them. For three days sad processions of men, women, and children—worn out with fatigue, wasted with fever and hunger, and in many cases scarred with wounds—made their way along the causeways. The number of men, alone, was variously estimated at from thirty to seventy thousand.
The losses during the siege were also placed at varying figures by contemporary writers. The lowest estimate was one hundred and twenty thousand, while some writers place it at double that amount. The higher figures probably approximate most nearly to the truth, for the population of the city, in itself very large, was enormously swelled by the vast number of persons from all the surrounding cities, who took refuge there at the approach of the Spaniards.
The Spanish loss was comparatively small, the larger portion of it being incurred upon the day of the destruction of Alderete’s column. The loss of the allies, however, was very large; as they were not provided, as were the Spaniards, with armor which defied the missiles of the enemy. Of the Tezcucans, alone, it is said that thirty thousand perished.
The amount of booty taken in the city was comparatively small, and the army was bitterly disappointed at the poor reward which it reaped for its labors and sacrifices. There can be no doubt that the Aztec treasures were removed and buried, before the approach of the Spaniards to the city. Indeed, during the siege the Aztecs constantly taunted them with shouts that, even if they ever took the city, they would find no gold there to reward their efforts.
The defense of the city of Mexico has been frequently likened to that of Jerusalem against Titus. In each case a vast population, ignorant of the arts of war, resisted with heroic constancy the efforts of a civilized enemy, and succumbed to hunger and disease rather than to the foe.
The fate of the Aztecs befell them because, while a conquering people, they had enslaved and tyrannized over the nations they subdued; extending to them no rights or privileges, but using them simply as means of supplying the pomp and luxury of the capital, and of providing men for its wars. Even the cities of the valley, the near neighbors of Mexico, were kept in a galling state of dependence; and the result was that the whole of the Aztec Empire broke up at once, and fell upon its oppressors as soon as the coming of the Spaniards afforded them the opportunity for retaliation and revenge. Had it not been for this, it would have needed a force many times as numerous as that of Cortez to conquer an empire so extensive and populous, and composed of peoples so brave and fearless of death.
Terrible as the destruction of life was, in the capture of Mexico, the Spaniards were not open to blame for it; except in the massacre of the nobles, for which conduct Cortez was in no way responsible. The war was not conducted with the cruelty that too often distinguished the warfare of the Spaniards. Cortez had certainly no desire to destroy the beautiful capital of the country he had conquered for Spain. The prisoners taken during the siege, and the people who came out and surrendered, were always treated with kindness, even when the Spaniards were maddened by the sight of the daily sacrifices of their countrymen by the Aztecs. Again and again, during the siege, Cortez endeavored to induce the enemy to come to terms; and after the fighting was over, the whole of the survivors were permitted to depart unharmed.
A fortnight after the fall of Mexico, Amenche and Roger were both convalescent. Amenche’s wound had, after the first day, caused but little anxiety. She had fainted from loss of blood, and from the effects of the long strain which she had undergone, from the time that she had heard that Roger was a captive in the hands of the Mexicans, and destined for sacrifice at the temple. Under the influence, then, of happiness; and of the care and attention she received; she was, in two or three days, well enough to get up and go into the adjoining room, and sit by the couch of Roger; who was prostrated by fever, the result of imprisonment, anxiety, and his wounds. For a time his life was in danger; but after the crisis had passed, he too recovered rapidly.
Malinche came several times to see them, and a warm affection sprang up between her and Amenche.
“What do you mean to do, Roger?” she asked him one day, when she found him alone.
“I mean to marry Amenche, at once,” he said; “and to go back to Europe, if possible, without delay.”
“I have managed that for you,” Malinche said. “I spoke to Cortez yesterday. The city cannot resist many days longer, and after that w
e hope that there will be no more fighting. At any rate, I told him that you were so shaken from what you had gone through, it would be a long time before you would be fit to carry arms again; and that you desired greatly to go to Europe, for a time; and he has consented that you shall go down to the coast with the first convoy of wounded, as soon as the city falls. Of course, he has given consent for your marriage with Amenche; and said, when I asked him, that she had fairly won you. He says that, if you return hither, he will give to Amenche a wide portion of her brother’s dominions. I did not tell him that it was little likely he would ever see you out here, again.”
During the next fortnight, Roger instructed Amenche in the outlines of the Christian faith and, the day before the convoy was to start, three weeks after the fall of Mexico, Father Olmedo received her into the Church, and the marriage ceremony took place. It was attended by Cortez and most of his leaders, and by many of the native nobles.
Among them, Roger was glad to meet Cuitcatl. He was one of the party who had been captured with the emperor; and had been at once released, by Cortez, when the latter was informed by Malinche that he had befriended and released Roger. That evening, the two friends had a long talk together.
“You will be happy,” Cuitcatl said, “and will come, in time, in your home in your own country, to look back at this terrible time as a troubled dream. I do not mourn for Cacama or Maclutha. They are fortunate in escaping the troubles that yet remain, for my unhappy country; for I well foresee that the Spaniards will gradually subdue those who have served them so well in their campaign against us. Their allies will in time become their subjects, until the whole empire of the Aztecs will lie prostrate at their feet.
