The morning of the 5th of September dawned cloudless and brilliant upon the two armies encamped upon the high table-lands of the Cordilleras. At an early hour the Spanish bugles roused the sleeping host. The wounded men, even, resumed their place in the ranks, so great was the peril. Cortez addressed a few inspiriting words to the troops, and placed himself at their head. Just as the sun was rising he put his army in motion. Soon they arrived in sight of the Tlascalans. The interminable host filled a vast plain, six miles square, with their thronging multitudes. The native warriors, in bands skillfully posted, were decorated with the highest appliances of barbaric pomp. As the experienced eye of Cortez ranged over their dense ranks, he estimated their numbers at more than one hundred thousand. Their weapons were slings, arrows, javelins, clubs, and rude wooden swords, sharpened with teeth of flint. The moment the Spaniards appeared, the Tlascalans, uttering hideous yells, and filling the air with all the inconceivable clamor of their military bands, rushed upon them like the on-rolling surges of the ocean. The first discharge from the native army of stones, arrows, and darts was so tremendous as to darken the sky like a thick cloud. Notwithstanding the armor worn by the Spaniards was impervious to arrow or javelin, many were wounded. But soon the cannon was unmasked, and opened its terrific roar. Ball and grape-shot swept through the dense ranks of the natives, mowing down, in hideous mutilation, whole platoons at a discharge. The courage displayed by the Tlascalans was amazing. It has never been surpassed. Though hardly able, with their feeble weapons, to injure their adversaries, regardless of death, they filled up the gaps which the cannon opened in their ranks, and all the day long continued the unequal fight. Immense multitudes of the dead now covered the field, and many of the chiefs were slain. Every horse was wounded; seventy Spaniards were severely injured; one was dead, and nearly all were more or less bruised. But the artillery and the musketry were still plied with awful carnage. The commander-in-chief of the native army, finding it in vain to contend against these new and apparently unearthly weapons, at last ordered a retreat. The natives retired in as highly disciplined array as would have been displayed by French or Austrian troops. The victors, exhausted and bleeding, were glad to throw themselves upon the gory grass of the battle-field for repose. The cold wind at night, from the mountain glaciers, swept the bleak plain, and the soldiers shivered in their houseless beds. They did not sleep, however, until, in a body, they had returned thanks to the God of peace and love for their glorious victory. "It truly seemed," said Cortez, devoutly, "that God fought on our side."