heads of Spanish men and horses, with a call for help to drive out the invaders by a grand rally of all the tribes. Whatever fear the Spaniards felt at this crisis they kept to themselves; their savage allies, who could so soon be changed into savage enemies, knew nothing of it. Some friendly tribes, being threatened with an attack from the Aztecs, sent to ask help, and it was freely given, though the Spaniards had to be divided to do it.
It was now forty-five days since the siege had begun. Much of the city was already laid waste. Montezuma's house, with its aviaries, museum, magnificent summerhouses and lofty corridors, was a mass of smouldering ruins. The old Spanish quarters, near by, were also torn down, and with the bricks from these and other buildings the Tlascalans had reared barracks for the Spaniards and themselves on the southern causeway.
At a council of war to which the allied chiefs were summoned it was resolved to begin on the outskirts of Mexico and level everything to the dust, filling up the canals as the advance was made. The Aztecs saw this work begin, and seemed to know that the worst had come. They tried to discourage the Tlascalans, who pulled down their houses, crying out to them that they would have their trouble for nothing, for, whichever side conquered, they would have to rebuild the city. But the direful work went on. Even Cortez regretted the destruction of this beautiful city. Seven-eighths of it were now in ruins. The people had been living on roots, the bark of trees and rats, without good water and surrounded by dead bodies. Famine and pestilence added their ravages to the terrible devastation. Women and children wan and haggard with disease and hunger wandered about the ruins. The allies were charged to let the wretches
