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 with fair-skinned men to possess the land in the fulness of time. Surely, then, the time had come and their god had come again. Here were the fair-skinned men in shining armour marching back to their own again, and Cortes at their head--was he not the god himself? The cross, too, was a Mexican symbol, so Cortes was allowed to put it up in the heathen temples without opposition. The inhabitants of Tlascala--fierce republicans who refused to own the sway of Montezuma--alone offered resistance, and how Cortes fought and defeated them with his handful of men is truly a marvel. It was three months before they reached the goal of all their hopes--even the golden city of Mexico. The hardships and horrors of the march had been unsurpassed, but as the beautiful valley of Mexico unfolded itself before them in the early light of a July morning, the Spaniards shouted with joy: "It is the promised land! Mexico! Mexico!" "Many of us were disposed to doubt the reality of the scene before us and to suspect we were in a dream," says one of the party. "I thought we had been transported by magic to the terrestrial paradise." Water, cultivated plains, shining cities with shadowy hills beyond lay like some gorgeous fairyland before and below them. At every step some new beauty appeared in sight, and the wonderful City of the Waters with its towers and shining palaces arose out of the surrounding mists.