particularly to the channels, of which there are three in that causeway. "They are filled," was the answer, made without a thought as to its accuracy, for flushed with the success of the advance, soldiers and cavaliers alike cast prudence to the winds, and disregarding common ditches bend their eyes alone upon the goal. Immediately after comes the doleful sound of the teponastli, and a shrill trumpet blast, the alarm signal of Paynalton, the mythic page of the war-god. Struck on the summit of Tlatelulco temple, the sounds float over the contestants, sending a chill into the heart of the Spaniards and allies as they rush onward filled with visions of success. To the Mexicans, on the other hand, it comes as a magic appeal from Huitzilopochtli, stirring their spirit with fresh energy: a resistless appeal to make a supreme effort for imperilled home, and faith, and liberty.[1]
Cortés also hears the warning, only too deeply impressed since that Sorrowful Night, and with anxious heart he hastens forward to see how matters stand. His anxiety is increased as the jubilant cries of his own men appear to change, while high above them rise the unmistakably triumphant shouts of the Aztecs. Just then he comes to one of the crossings formed by his party at a channel ten to twelve paces wide, and over ten feet deep. It seems insecure, and on looking he finds it constructed of some loosely thrown pieces of wood and reed, covered with a little earth. He at once orders the auxiliaries in his following to rebuild the structure. Scarcely is the order uttered before he sees his forces coming down the causeway in disorderly flight, led by the allies. Cortés makes frantic efforts to stay the current. None heed him. Fears lend wings and drown all appeal. On come the pressing throng, on to the frail bridge, which sinks with its living freight into the deep water. Still onward rush the mass behind, impelled by their mad momentum, tumbling
- ↑ See Native Races, ii. 303; iii. 293 et seq.
