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. The morning light broke and revealed a ghastly spectacle. More than half the Spaniards and over two thousand Tlaxcalans had perished. Velasquez de Leon, besides others of the bravest leaders, were missing. The most of the survivors were wounded. Artillery, ammunition, baggage, and the treasure they had collected were lost. The night of this horrible slaughter, which occurred July 1, 1520, is known to this day in New Spain as the Night of Sorrow. The first rendezvous was Tacuba but they could not remain there long for the whole country was in arms. The only place offering a secure shelter was Tlaxcala. To reach the road leading there they had to traverse the whole northern half of the Mexican lake, upon the west side of which they found a marshy region, and for several days had to march through an unknown country without the sustenance necessary to relieve their exhausted condition. But there was no other way left open to them. They must either abandon all hope of possible rescue or continue their march. Five days they traversed this apparently endless marsh. Early on the sixth they reached Otumba, and, as they ascended the adjacent heights, they observed the entire great plain covered with countless warriors at sight of whom the stoutest among them, except Cortes, abandoned all hope. Nothing could daunt his courage. His bearing impressed his soldiers with the certainty that they must either conquer or die. With his accustomed composure he rallied his men and led them against the enemy. As the heavy grass is cut by the scythe of the mower, so the enemy was mowed down by the swords of his soldiers. Nothing could withstand their onset and blood and corpses marked their course. But at last they were exhausted. Their arms sank powerless. The enemy hurled themselves upon them from all sides, and their destruction must have followed had not their watchful leader fortunately saved them. He noticed from a distance the Mexican chief carrying their battle flag. He remembered to have heard that Mexicans gave up all for lost if their flag was lost and his decision was instantly made.