e bridge. When the
last of the retreating force was across this, a vigorous effort was made
to raise it and carry it to the canal in front, but in vain. The weight of
men, horses, and cannon had wedged it so firmly in the earth and stones
that it could not be moved. Every nerve was strained to lift the heavy
mass, until, many of the workmen being killed and all wounded by the
torrent of Aztec missiles, they were forced to abandon it.

When the dread tidings that the bridge could not be raised spread through
the crowded host, a cry of despair arose that almost drowned the sounds of
conflict. All means of retreat were cut off. Before them lay a deep and
yawning ditch. Behind them pressed an army of assailants. On each side
hundreds of canoes dashed on the causeway, yielding foes who rushed in
fury upon their crowded ranks. All hope seemed lost. All discipline was at
an end. Every one thought only of saving his own life, without regard to
the weak or wounded. The leading files, gathered on the brink of the gulf,
were pressed forward by the rear. The horsemen in front dashed into the
water and swam across, but some of the horses failed to climb the steep
and slippery bank, and rolled back with their mail-clad riders headlong
into the lake.

After them pell mell came the infantry, some seeking to swim, others
forced into the water to sink to a muddy death; many of them slain by the
arrows and war-clubs of the Aztecs; others, wounded or stunned, dragged
into the canoes and carried away to be sacrificed to the terrible war-god
of the pagan foe. Along the whole length of the causeway, from ditch to
ditch, the contest raged fearfully. The Aztecs, satisfied that they had
now got their detested foes in their power, fought like demons, grappling
with the Christians and rolling with them down the sloping way together;
seeking to take their enemies alive that they might be kept for the bloody
sacrifice.

With the horrid shouts of the combatants, the cries of vengeance and
groans of agony, the prayers to the saints and the blessed Virgin, mingled
the screams of women, of whom there were several, both Spaniard and
Indian, in the Christian ranks. One of these, Maria de Estrada, fought as
valiantly as any of the warriors, battling staunchly with broadsword and
target in the thickest of the fray, and proving herself as valiant a
soldier as the best.

During this terrible contest, Cortez was not at rest. He was everywhere,
ordering, fi