Page:The Story of Mexico.djvu/196

164 of the shallow lake, strewed with wrecks of every sort, he-sprang across the chasm to the amazement of the beholders. Several others were there, and above all, Marina was safe in the hands of some Tlaxcallans who had faithfully protected her.

This fearful escape is called universally the Noche triste. The tree under which Cortés sat and wept is a venerable cypress still alive. It has been in perfect health until a few years ago, when a fire was lighted underneath it, by some foolish pic-nic party, which burned into its huge trunk. Since then an iron railing has been put up to protect it. The picturesque old Church of San Esteban stands near it. It is at Popotla, a suburb of the modern city easily attained by tram-cars, through crowded modern streets, where nothing is to be recognized of the calzadas of the Aztecs. The line of houses is broken in one place on the way to Popotla by a space shut in with a low wall and iron grating. Here, says tradition, is the very point in the causeway where Alvarado leaped the breach. As there is no indication nor tradition of the actual width of the chasm, our wonder is without any limit.

Cortés did not allow himself time to repose or despair. As the dawn broke he mounted his horse, and gathering together such stragglers as he could find, he led them out into the country to the Cerro of Otoncalpolco, now the Sanctuary de los Remedios. Here, weary and discouraged as he was, he attacked with his little band the natives who were defending the teocalli there was there, and drove them out. In this shelter he took care of his wounds and those of