e little
settlement at Vera Cruz, "The Rich Town of the True Cross," on the
seashore as a basis for operations. Although the wealth allured them,
there were many who viewed with dismay the idea of the long and
dangerous march into the heart of a hostile land. After all they were
but a handful of men pitted against a powerful nation. Murmurs arose
which reached the ears of Cortes. He was equal to the occasion and
resolutely burnt all the ships in the harbour save one. Then panic
ensued. Mutiny threatened.

"I have chosen my part!" cried Cortes. "I will remain here while there
is one to bear me company. If there be any so craven as to shrink from
sharing the dangers of our glorious enterprise, let them go home. There
is still one vessel left. Let them take that and return to Cuba. They
can tell there how they have deserted their commander and their
comrades, and patiently wait till we return loaded with the spoils
of Mexico."

He touched the right chord. Visions of future wealth and glory rose
again before them, confidence in their leader revived, and, shouting
bravely, "To Mexico! to Mexico!" the party started off on their
perilous march. It was 16th August 1519 when the little army, "buoyant
with high hopes and lofty plans of conquest," set forth. The first
part of the way lay through beautiful country rich in cochineal and
vanilla, with groves of many-coloured birds and "insects whose
enamelled wings glistened like diamonds in the blazing sun of the
tropics."

Then came the long and tedious ascent of the Cordilleras leading to
the tableland of Mexico. Higher and higher grew the mountains. Heavy
falls of sleet and hail, icy winds, and driving rain drenched the little
Spanish party as they made their way bravely upwards, till at last
they reached the level of seven thousand feet to find the great
tableland rolling out along the crest of the Cordilleras.

Hitherto they had met with no opposition among the natives they had
met. Indeed, as the little army advanced, it was often found that the
inhabitants of the country fled awestruck from before them. Now the
reason was this. The Mexicans believed in a god called the Bird-Serpent,
around whom many a legend had grown up. Temples had been built in his
honour and horrible human sacrifices offered to appease him, for was
he not the Ruler of the Winds, the Lord of the Lightning, the Gatherer
of the Clouds? But the bright god had sailed away one day, saying he
would return