ter, who had continued throughout his adventures the chief reliance of the Spaniards for intercourse with the Indians,—that this conflict should cease at once, for the Aztecs must be convinced that a soldier who destroyed their gods, laid a part of their capital in ruins, and was able to inflict still more direful chastisement, was, indeed, invincible.
But the day of successful threats had passed. The force of the Aztecs was still undiminished; the bridges were destroyed; the numbers of the Spaniards were lessened; hunger and thirst were beginning to do their deadly work on the invaders; "there will be only too few of you left," said they in reply,—"to satisfy the revenge of our gods."
There was no longer time for diplomacy or delay, and, accordingly, Cortéz resolved to quit the city as soon as practicable, and prepared the means to accomplish this desirable retreat; but, on his first attempt he was unable to reach the open country through the easily defended highway of the capital or the enfilading canals and lanes. From house tops and cross streets, innumerable Indians beset his path wherever he turned. Yet it was essential for the salvation of the Spaniards that they should evacuate the city. No other resource remained, and, desperate as it was, the conqueror persevered, unflinchingly, amid the more hazardous assaults of the Mexicans, and all the internal discords of his own band, whom a common danger did not perfectly unite. He packed the treasure, gathered during the days of prosperous adventure, on his stoutest horses, and, with a portable bridge, to be thrown hastily over the canals, he departed from his stronghold on the dark and rainy evening which has become memorable in American history, as the noche triste, or "melancholy night." The Mexicans were not usually alert during the darkness, and Cortéz hoped that he might steal off unperceived in this unwatchful period. But he was mistaken in his calculations. The Aztecs had become acquainted with Spanish tactics and were eager for the arrival of the moment, by day or night, when the expected victims would fall into their hands. As soon as the Spanish band had advanced a short distance along the causeway of Tlacopan, the attack began by land and water; for the Indians assaulted them from their boats, with spears and arrows, or quitting their skiffs, grappled with the retreating soldiers in mortal agony, and rolled them from the causeway into the waters of the lake. The bridge was wedged inextricably between the sides of a dyke, whilst am-
