The sight of the sorry remnant of the Spanish army was greeted by the native host with triumphant shouts, trumpet blasts, and the clashing of weapons. Nothing should now prevent their escape; they were doomed! Cautiously the Indians advanced to surround them; for though the wounded and bedraggled band was small, it still looked viperish. Like the French in Egypt the Mexicans might have said that the centuries were looking down on them from the mystic towers of Teotihuacan, consecrated to the sacred past. It was natural enough for them to feel glad and proud; surely the invaders had brought them misery enough to justify any return. But let them not forget that there are still strong men, now nerved to desperation. And just beyond the mountain fringe, toward which pointed their holy banner of the cross, was a promised land, 'the land of bread,' and, as they hoped, of trusty friends.
Cortés did not wait for them to advance too near before he made a charge. With head and arm bandaged he led the cavalry, which in parties of five rushed at the enemy, lancing straight at the face, and opening way for the infantry, which followed at a quick pace, thrusting sword and pike as they had been directed.[1] This tactic disconcerted the natives somewhat, and discarding their projectile weapons the front ranks seized on lances, two-handed swords, and heavy clubs, encouraging one another by shouting the names of their towns and districts. After breaking the lines the horsemen turned to open another path in the direction of the infantry, throwing the Indians in a disorderly pressure one against the other, and keeping them in a state of apprehension as to where the mounted avalanche would next roll over them. Again the horsemen turned, dashing close along the flanks of the troops, scattering the intermediate assailants in confusion, and rendering them an easy prey to the
- ↑ Solis clears the way with volleys, but only seven muskets remained and no ammunition.
