it. But here also were some Indian sentinels, who fled in haste on seeing them, rousing the sleeping city with their cries. The priests on the summit of the great temple pyramid were also on the watch, and when the shouts of alarm reached their ears from below, they sounded their shells and beat their huge drum, which was only heard in times of peril or calamity. Instantly the city broke from its slumber, and as the leading Spaniards crossed the bridge a distant sound was heard, which rapidly approached. Soon from every street and lane poured enemies, flinging stones and arrows into the crowded ranks of the Spaniards as they came. On the lake was heard a splashing sound, as of many oars, and the war-cry of a host of combatants broke on the air. A brief interval had sufficed to change the silence into a frightful uproar of sound and the restful peace into the fast growing tumult of furious battle.

The Spaniards pushed steadily along the causeway, fighting only to drive back the assailants who landed from their canoes and rushed in fury upon the marching ranks. The horsemen spurred over them, riding them down; the men on foot cut them down with their swords, or hurled them backward with the butts of their guns; the Indian allies of the Spaniards attacked them fiercely, and the roar of war spread far through the gloom of the night.

Onward marched the Spaniards, horse and foot; onward creaked and rumbled the artillery and the wagons; and the second canal in the causeway was reached while the rear files were not yet across the

first. The Spaniards had made a fatal mistake in bringing with them only one bridge. When the last of the retreating force was across this, a vigorous effort was made to raise it and carry it to the canal in front, but in vain. The weight of men, horses, and cannon had wedged it so firmly in the earth and stones that it could not be moved. Every nerve was strained to lift the heavy mass, until, many of the workmen being killed and all wounded by the torrent of Aztec missiles, they were forced to abandon it.

When the dread tidings that the bridge could not be raised spread through the crowded host, a cry of despair arose that almost drowned the sounds of conflict. All means of retreat were cut off. Before them lay a deep and yawning ditch. Behind them pressed an army of assailants. On each side hundreds of canoes dashed on the causeway, yielding foes who rushed in fury upon their crowded ranks. All hope seemed lost. All discipline was at an end. Every one thought only of saving his own life, without regard to the weak or wounded. leading files, gathered on the brink of the gulf, were pressed forward by the rear. The horsemen in front dashed into the water and swam across, but some of the horses failed to climb the steep and slippery bank, and rolled back with their mail-clad riders headlong into the lake.

The

After them pell mell came the infantry, some seeking to swim, others forced into the water to sink to a muddy death; many of them slain by the

arrows and war-clubs of the Aztecs; others, wounded or stunned, dragged into the canoes and carried away to be sacrificed to the terrible war-god of the pagan foe. Along the whole length of the causeway, from ditch to ditch, the contest raged fearfully. The Aztecs, satisfied that they had now got their detested foes in their power, fought like demons, grappling with the Christians and rolling with them down the sloping way together; seeking to take their enemies alive that they might be kept for the bloody sacrifice.

With the horrid shouts of the combatants, the cries of vengeance and groans of agony, the prayers to the saints and the blessed Virgin, mingled the screams of women, of whom there were several, both Spaniard and Indian, in the Christian ranks. One of these, Maria de Estrada, fought as valiantly as any of the warriors, battling stanchly with broadsword and target in the thickest of the fray, and proving herself as valiant a soldier as the best.

During this terrible contest, Cortez was not at rest. He was everywhere, ordering, fighting, inspiring, seeking to restore the lost discipline to his ranks. Conscious that all was lost unless the fatal ditch could be crossed, and feeling that life must be considered before wealth, he hurried forward everything, heavy guns, ammunition-wagons, baggagevans, and hurled them into the water along with the spoil of the Spaniards, bales of costly goods, chests of solid ingots, everything that would serve to fill the fatal gap. With these were mingled

bodies of men and horses, drowned in that deadly ditch, the whole forming a terrible pathway across which the survivors stumbled and clambered until they reached the other side.

Cortez, riding forward, found a spot in the ditch that was fordable, and here, with the water up to his saddle-girths, he tried to bring order out of confusion, and called his followers to this path to safety. But his voice was lost in the turmoil, and with a few cavaliers who kept with him, he pressed forward to the van, doubly saddened by seeing his favorite page, Juan de Salazar, struck down in death by his

side.

Here he found the valiant Gonzalo de Sandoval, who, with about twenty other cavaliers, had led the van, composed of two hundred Spanish foot-soldiers. They were halted before the third and final breach in the causeway, a ditch as wide and deep as those which had been passed. Fortunately it was not so closely beset by the enemy, who were still engaged with the centre and rear, and the gallant cavaliers plunged without hesitation into the water, followed by the foot, some swimming, some clinging desperately to the manes and tails of the horses, some carried to the bottom by the weight of the fatal gold with which they were heavily laden. On leaving the fortress in which they had so long defended themselves, much of the gold which they had gathered was necessarily abandoned. Cortez told the soldiers to take what they wished of it, but warned them not to overload themselves, say

ing, "He travels safest in the dark night who travels lightest." Many of those who failed to regard this wise counsel paid for their cupidity with their death.

Those who safely passed this final ditch were at the end of their immediate peril. Soon they were off the causeway and on solid ground, where the roar of the battle came more faintly to their ears. But word came to them that the rear-guard was in imminent danger and would be overwhelmed unless relieved. It seemed an act of desperation to return, but the valiant and warm-hearted cavaliers did not hesitate when this cry for aid was heard. Turning their horses, they galloped back, pushed through the pass, swam the canal again, and rode into the thick of the fight on the opposite section of the causeway.

The night was now passing, and the first gray light of day was visible in the east. By its dim illumination the frightful combat could be seen in all its horrid intensity. Everywhere lay dead bodies of Christian or pagan; the dark masses of the warriors could be seen locked in deadly struggle crowding the blood-stained causeway; while the lake, far and near, was crowded with canoes, filled with armed and ardent Aztec warriors, yelling their triumphant war-cry.

Cortez and his companions found Alvarado, who led the rear, unhorsed and wounded, yet fighting like a hero. His noble steed, which had borne him safely through many a hard fight, had fallen under