plumes and golden ornaments, were gathered in front of the common standard of the republic: a golden eagle with expanded wings. To show them that he meant to conquer them fairly by force of arms, Prince Xicotencatl sent the Spaniards a present of three hundred turkeys and two hundred baskets of cakes. Soon after, two thousand of his men dashed so violently upon the Spanish lines that they broke through and penetrated to the centre of the camp.
The Spaniards were not blind to the danger they were to be in that day; all the preceding night they had been confessing their sins to their reverend fathers and preparing for the worst. They found themselves attacked by an enemy of great energy and skill at arms, and armed with pikes, lances, swords, double and triple-pointed darts, as well as bows and arrows. Had it not been for discord among themselves they might that day have conquered, and their nation have been saved from everlasting disgrace. But two of the generals—unworthy to be named in the same breath with Xicotencatl—became offended at the commander-in-chief, and withdrew their forces, remaining idle spectators while their comrades engaged the Spaniards in deadly combat. For hours the battle raged, the brave Tlascallans filling up the terrible gaps made by the artillery in their ranks so quickly as to present a solid front to their foes throughout the fight, and carrying away their dead with such despatch that none remained on the ground to tell the tale of their losses. Fate was against the Tlascallans that day; their republic, like the kingdom of the Aztecs, was divided against itself; the Spaniards conquered, not alone through their indomitable valor, but owing to disaffection in the Tlascallan ranks. Seventy Spaniards, and all the horses, were wounded, one man killed, and all so worn down with fatigue as to be unable to pursue the retiring
