Two of these chiefs were sent out to invite the people to come back to their homes, and, says Cortez, "the next day the whole city was filled with men, women and children in as much security as if nothing had occurred."
Many a fatherless family there was that sad day as the women and children who had fled for shelter to the mountains came flocking back to their desolate homes. Saddest of all were the black-robed priests who had escaped the general carnage. Now that the fight was over and the dead were buried, the Spanish general began his work of cleansing their temples and converting their flocks to the new religion. What was left of the great teocallis was turned into a Christian church. An immense cross was erected among the smouldering ruins, and, but for the wise counsel of Fathers Olmedo and Diaz, the war for conquest would have been followed by as fierce a crusade for the Church. Yet happy were the captives who were waiting their turn to be sacrificed. Every door of every cage was opened. If there was anything in all that troublous time which satisfied the Indians that Feathered Serpent had come again in the person of Cortez, it was this act of mercy. How strangely were the cruelties of that dark and bloody age in which he lived mingled with the fulfillment of that prophecy of "liberty to the captive and the opening of the prison to them that are bound"!
Another embassy from Mexico showed what a fright events in Cholula had given to the Aztec council. They begged that the white men would not trouble themselves to come any farther, as they inhabited a cold and barren country and the people were poor; they would, however, supply their visitors with such provision as they could
