'I cannot save
them from the altar, and I would not if I could. Let the dogs die
according to the custom of the land, and to you, Teule my brother, I say
presume not too far.'
Alas! the heart of Guatemoc grew ever fiercer as the struggle wore on,
and indeed it was little to be wondered at.
This was the dreadful plan of Cortes: to destroy the city piecemeal as
he advanced towards its heart, and it was carried out without mercy.
So soon as the Spaniards got footing in a quarter, thousands of the
Tlascalans were set to work to fire the houses and burn all in them
alive. Before the siege was done Tenoctitlan, queen of the valley, was
but a heap of blackened ruins. Cortes might have cried over Mexico with
Isaiah the prophet: 'Thy pomp is brought down to the grave, and the
noise of thy viols: the worm is spread under thee and the worms cover
thee. How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!
how art thou cut down to the ground which didst weaken the nations!'
In all these fights I took my part, though it does not become me to
boast my prowess. Still the Spaniards knew me well and they had good
reason. Whenever they saw me they would greet me with revilings, calling
me 'traitor and renegade,' and 'Guatemoc's white dog,' and moreover,
Cortes set a price upon my head, for he knew through his spies that
some of Guatemoc's most successful attacks and stratagems had been of
my devising.
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