LA NOCHE TRISTE
is lost! Save yourselves!" fought his way with his few surviving followers across the fateful bridge.
Long before this Sandoval and the vanguard had reached the second canal, where they waited impatiently for the coming of the bridge. Here, too, the waters were covered with the canoes of the Aztecs, who sprang on to the causeway to grapple with their foes. "Santiago!" cried the captain to his men, "stand firm. We must hold the canal for Magaririo." But, goaded by the fierce attack, the infantry forced the horsemen to the brink of the yawning gulf, and Sandoval, calling to his cavaliers to follow, dashed into the water and swam his horse across. The infantry were left a writhing, leaderless mass on the other side. Would Magarino never come? Many of the men in despair hurled themselves into the canal, but few reached the bank. Weighed down by armour, they sank beneath the dark waters, or were dragged on board the canoes—victims for the gods!
Cortés, riding up with his guard of horsemen, beheld a scene of hopeless confusion. Not even his presence could restore order now. Swimming his horse across, he strove with his fearless cavaliers to hold the canal until the coming of the bridge. At his side fell his favourite page, but still the general held to his post, praying that Magarino might hasten.
And now the cry arose, "Todo es perdido! The bridge cannot be raised! Magarino will not come!" All chance of escape seemed to vanish, and wilder than ever grew the panic. In front was the bridgeless
