The gay-coloured cotton hangings of the Mexican manufactures had, in many instances, taken the place of the Spaniards' own rough and ragged tent coverings. All around were squatted groups of the slaves who had accompanied the army from Cuba and the sea-coast--races far inferior to those by whom they were now surrounded, and with very scant ideas as to dress, or any of the other refinements of civilization. Then there were the gentle-spirited, courteous Totonac allies, evidencing their cultured tastes, and advanced instincts, by gathering armfuls of the brilliant wild blossoms about them to adorn their helmets and their shields; whilst regarding them, a short distance off, stood companies of the more warlike, stern-spirited Tlascalans, looking on at their neighbours' doings with a contempt they took no pains to conceal. They were magnificent enough themselves in their warrior's dress, as has been seen; but, under present circumstances, aught having a festal or light-hearted appearance they fairly well judged to betoken effeminacy as much as refinement. For the rest, there was little love lost between the Cempoallans and the poverty-stricken, hardy Republicans, and although united for the time in one camp as allies of one commander, they took care mutually not to have too much to do with each other. As for the Spaniards themselves, who were now but as one to eight of their Indian comrades, they were a lean-cheeked, sallow, hollow-eyed set of tatterdemalions enough by this time. All of them had received more or less wounds in their fierce battles with the Tlascalans, and even Hernando Cortes was only kept up by his indomitable resolution, for what with illness and his doctor, he had been brought to such a state of weakness that he could hardly sit steady on his saddle. Fifty of his poor, overdone soldiers had died since starting from Vera Cruz, and the whole band had at last become more than half doubtful whether any of them would reach Mexico alive. "And really," grumbled Pedro de Alvarado dolefully one evening, "really I don't much care if I do. I'd just as soon lay my bones out here to bleach as within yon mythical city of gold." "Mythical, as to the being built of gold, doubtless," returned Montoro de Diego in a cheering tone. "But as to there being a fine city yonder, that you surely do not doubt. Think how hopeful all of you were a while since, when you saw the magnificence of its Emperor's gifts!" "Ah, well!" sighed poor Pedro restlessly. "I would give him better thanks now for an ounce of good health than for an hundredweight of gold." "Ay indeed, my Captain," groaned Father Juan Diaz. "There you have me with you. I am but just come hither from shriving two poor wretches, who have bid good-bye to this earthly purgatory to go to that which is invisible, and methinks 'twill be not long before you join them there."