The Spaniards were caught upon a narrow pier between the first and second openings. They now sought to raise their bridge and take it to the second, but the weight of the heavy guns had forced it between the stones so closely that they could not get it loose. All their exertions were in vain and they were now so fiercely attacked in front, in the rear, and on both sides that no hope was left, either of victory or escape. The Mexicans fought with desperation, determined either to die themselves or destroy the enemies of their fatherland. The Spaniards strove with all their skill and might to clear the way, but, as often as they secured a passage with the sword, fresh fighters took the place of the slain. They rushed upon them in such dense masses that they could not use their fire-arms. At last their strength was exhausted. They could no longer withstand this constantly increasing multitude. The advance gave away and there was universal confusion. Infantry and cavalry, friends and foes, were huddled together so closely that they fought blindly and without knowing, in the darkness, whether they struck friend or foe.
In the midst of this dreadful slaughter Cortes got together about a hundred men, with whom he made an effort to cut his way through, and finally succeeded in making his way to the mainland. He could not endure the thought of his own rescue, however, while the larger part of his army was still in danger. Selecting those who had not been wounded, he went back to share the fate of his friends. A part of them had succeeded in forcing their way through to him, but his joy at seeing them was turned to grief when he discovered that the Mexicans were carrying off their living captives to be sacrificed to their deities. He tried to save them but was unable to do more than protect the little remnant which had escaped. All were so exhausted that they could not renew the fight. The larger part of his army was either slain or met death by drowning.