Sustained by this spirit, the warlike Mexican did not content himself with mere measures of defence. Frequent and desperate sallies were made upon the outposts of the enemy, until it seemed as if the hope of the noble Guatimozin might possibly be realized, that he might slowly and gradually destroy an enemy, whom he could not encounter in a pitched battle. It was not until the last avenue to the surrounding country was cut off, by divisions of the invading army, planted upon all the causeways, supported in all their movements by the thundering brigantines, that the true spirit of the besieged began to show itself. Till then, their tables had been plentifully supplied, and their hopes continually encouraged by the occasional losses of their enemy, whose numbers were too small to admit of much diminution. The priests were unremitting in their appeals to the patriotism of the people, and in promises of peculiar divine blessings on all who should persevere to the last, in defence of their altars and their gods. Guatimozin was ever among his people, encouraging them by kind words, and an example of unyielding defiance to every advance of the foe. He showed that he was not less the father of his people, than their king, suffering the same exposure, and enduring the same fatigues with the boldest and hardiest of his subjects. Such was their confidence of ultimate success in the defence of the capital, that the splendor and gaiety of the court was little diminished, until famine began to stare them in the face. The aqueduct of Chapoltepec had been cut off, and there was no longer any supply of wholesome water in the city. The dark visions of the lovely queen were now renewed. For a brief season, she had been permitted to revel in daylight, with scarcely a cloud to darken the sky above her. Suddenly that light was obscured. All was gloom and darkness around her. War, desolating war hovered once more about the gates of the beloved city. Wan faces, and haggard forms began to take the places of the gay, happy, spirited multitudes, that so recently thronged the palace. The image of her father, insulted by the stranger, murdered by his own people, rose to her view. His melancholy desponding look and tone, as he gave way to the doom which he felt was sealed upon him, his frequent assurances that the white men were "the men of destiny," the heaven appointed proprietors and rulers of the land, and that wo would betide all who should oppose their pretensions, or offer resistance to their invincible arms--all these came up fresh to her thoughts, and filled her with sadness. Her own ill-starred destiny too, marked by every possible sign and presage, as full of darkness and sorrow--the thought was almost overwhelming. Fain would she have severed at once the bond that linked her fate with that of Guatimozin, for she felt that he was only sharing her doom, and on her account was exposed to these terrible shafts of fate.