ders to his men to thrust, not strike,
with their swords, and to the horsemen on no account to lose their lances,
and to strike at the faces of the foe, he gave the word to advance.

At first the natives recoiled from the stern and fierce onset, rolling
back till they left a wide lane for the passage of their foes. But they
quickly rallied and poured on the little band in their midst, until it
seemed lost in the overwhelming mass. A terrible fray followed, the
Christians, as one writer says, standing "like an islet against which the
breakers, roaring and surging, spend their fury in vain." The struggle was
one of man to man, the Tlascalans and Spaniards alike fighting with
obstinate courage, while the little band of horsemen charged deep into the
enemy's ranks, riding over them and cutting them down with thrust and
blow, their onset giving fresh spirit to the infantry.

But that so small a force could cut their way through that enormous
multitude of armed and valiant enemies seemed impossible. As the minutes
lengthened into hours many of the Tlascalans and some of the Spaniards
were slain, and not a man among them had escaped wounds. Cortez received a
cut on the head, and his horse was hurt so badly that he was forced to
dismount and exchange it for a strong animal from the baggage-train. The
fight went on thus for several hours, the sun growing hotter as it rose in
the sky, and the Christians, weak from their late wounds, gradually losing
strength and spirit. The enemy pressed on in ever fresh numbers, forcing
the horse back on the foot, and throwing the latter into some disorder.
With every minute now the conflict grew more hopeless, and it seemed as if
nothing were left but to sell their lives as dearly as possible.

At this critical juncture a happy chance changed the whole fortune of the
day. Cortez, gazing with eagle eye around the field in search of some
vision of hope, some promise of safety, saw at no great distance in the
midst of the throng a splendidly dressed chief, who was borne in a rich
litter and surrounded by a gayly attired body of young warriors. A
head-dress of beautiful plumes, set in gold and gems, rose above him, and
over this again was a short staff bearing a golden net, the standard of
the Aztecs.

The instant Cortez beheld this person and his emblem his eye lighted with
triumph. He knew him for the commander of the foe, and the golden net as
its rallying standard. Turning to the cavaliers be