well as for the hope with which their success reinspired them.1
The next day the invaders quitted their encampment on the battle field and hastened towards the territory of their friends, the Tlascalans. The Spaniards now presented themselves to the rulers of their allies in a different guise from that they wore when they first advanced towards Mexico. Fully equipped, mounted, and furnished with ammunition, they had then compelled the
prompt submission of the Tlascalans, and, assuring their alliance, had conquered the Cholulans, and obtained the control even of the capital and person of the Aztec Emperor himself. But now they returned defeated, plundered, unarmed, poor, scarcely clad, and with the loss of a large part of those Indian allies who had accompanied the expedition. There was reason for disheartening fear in the breast of Cortéz, had it been susceptible of such an emotion. But the Lord of Tlascala reassured him, when he declared that their "cause was common against Mexico, and, come weal, come woe, they would prove loyal to the death!"
The Spaniards were glad to find a friendly palace in Tlascala, in which to shelter themselves after the dreadful storms that had recently broken on their head. Yet, in the quiet of their retreat, and in the excitement of their rallying blood, they began to reflect upon the past and the disheartening aspect of the future. Murmurs, which were at first confined to the barrack, at length assumed public significance, and a large body of the men, chiefly the soldiers of Narvaez, presented to Cortéz a petition which was headed by his own secretary, demanding permission to retreat to La Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz. Just at this moment, too, Cuitlahua, who mounted the throne of Mexico on the death of Montezuma, despatched a mission to the Tlascalans, proposing to bury the hatchet, and to unite in sweeping the Spaniards from the realm. The hours which were consumed by the Tlascalans in deliberating on this dread proposal