said Cortez, "so great was the force of the enemy, and so feeble our own." But after a few inspiriting words from their leader the little band pressed forward as it were into the very jaws of death. The enemy closed about them, attacking them with such violence that the two armies mingled, the Tlascalans being so scattered among their red-skinned brethren that they were entirely lost to sight. The Spaniards defended themselves in little groups of four or five; the mail-clad horsemen dashed about in the crowd in every direction, trampling the Indians under foot and throwing them into confusion, "they being so numerous that they were in each other's way and could neither fight nor fly." The battle lasted nearly all day, and probably would have ended in the total defeat of the Spaniards had not the Indian commander fallen. A great panic followed. "After this," says Cortez, "we were somewhat relieved, although still suffering from hunger, until we reached a small house on the plain, in which, with its surrounding fields, we lodged that night." From this point could be seen the mountains of Tlascala—"a welcome sight which produced not a little joy in our hearts, since we knew it was the land where we were going." Yet a sad, uneasy thought must have forced itself upon the mind of the general when he recollected how few of the brave Tlascalans who a few months before marched with him so willingly to Cholula were now returning to their homes. How could he be certain of a welcome in such circumstances?
It was scarcely daybreak when the army set out for the desired refuge. The enemy still lingered about in such strength and with such shouts and jeers, and something harder and sharper than these, that the Spaniards, although considering themselves victors, were actually
