tion of the
Almighty through the awful perils of the night. The gates were thrown
open, and, on the first of July, 1520, the Spaniards for the last time
sallied forth from the walls of the ancient fortress, the scene of so
much suffering and such indomitable courage.

The night was cloudy, and a drizzling rain, which fell without
intermission, added to the obscurity. The great square before the palace
was deserted, as, indeed, it had been since the fall of Montezuma.
Steadily, and as noiselessly as possible, the Spaniards held their way
along the great street of Tlacopan, which so lately had resounded to the
tumult of battle. All was now hushed in silence; and they were only
reminded of the past by the occasional presence of some solitary corpse,
or a dark heap of the slain, which too plainly told where the strife had
been hottest. As they passed along the lanes and alleys which opened
into the great street, or looked down the canals, whose polished surface
gleamed with a sort of ebon lustre through the obscurity of the night,
they easily fancied they discerned the shadowy forms of their foe
lurking in ambush, and ready to spring on them. But it was only fancy;
and the city slept undisturbed even by the prolonged echoes of the tramp
of horses, and the hoarse rumbling of the artillery and baggage trains.
At length, a lighter space beyond the dusky line of buildings showed the
van of the army that it was emerging on the open causeway. They might
well have congratulated themselves on having thus escaped the dangers of
assault in the city itself, and that a brief time would place them in
comparative safety on the opposite shore. But the Mexicans were not all
asleep.

As the Spaniards drew near the spot where the street opened on the
causeway, and were preparing to lay the portable bridge across the
uncovered breach which now met their eyes, several Indian sentinels, who
had been stationed at this, as at the other approaches to the city, took
alarm and fled, rousing their countrymen by their cries. The priests,
keeping their night watch on the summit of the _teocallis_, instantly
caught the tidings and sounded their shells, while the huge drum in the
desolate temple of the war-god sent forth those solemn tones, which,
heard only in seasons of calamity, vibrated through every corner of the
capital. The Spaniards saw that no time was to be lost. The bridge was
brought forward and fitted with all possible expedition. Sandoval