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 shattered and exhausted and pursued to the last by the triumphant foe.

Alvarado and Sandoval, meanwhile, had united their forces, and had almost reached the market-place, when they heard with sinking hearts the Aztec yells of victory, and the sounds of desperate battle growing fainter in the distance. Their comrades must be retreating! And now their own enemies were reinforced by a strong body of Aztecs—the warriors who had just routed the general's own division. Five bleeding heads were flung before the Spaniards, and with savage glee the Indians shouted, "Thus will we slay you as we have slain Malintzin!" Then at the blast of Guatemozin's horn they made so furious an onslaught that, "though it is now present to my eyes," says Diaz, "I can give but a faint idea to the reader. God alone could have brought us off safe from the perils of that day!"

Was Cortés indeed slain? Sandoval could not rest until he had heard the fate of his beloved leader. Wounded as he was he mounted his good chestnut Motilla, and rode alone to the Camp of the Causeway. He was chased by some of Guatemozin's scouts, but Motilla, the best horse in the army, bore him swiftly onward, and the arrows glanced harmlessly from his steel armour. "The general is safe!" were the first glad words he heard at the camp, but then followed a story of disaster. Sixty-two Spaniards had been captured alive! Many were wounded and many had been killed, but death and wounds were as naught to the horror of capture. 244