Chapter VII: Part 7

But here the friendly De Luque interposed, and, by the payment of a large sum, was able to buy off this official interference with future explorations. A contract was now drawn up and signed between De Luque, Pizarro and Almagro, whereby the two latter agreed to pursue the undertaking until the treasures of Peru were discovered, and were to divide all the lands, gold, jewels, or treasures equally between the three, in consideration for further sums which De Luque was to furnish for more ships and provisions. Should the expedition fail utterly, De Luque was to be repaid with every bit of property which the two sea-captains might possess. Two large and strong vessels were now engaged, and, procuring a few horses and one hundred and sixty men, the second expedition was started for the fabled land of promise.

There was to be no easy or garland-strewn road to success. One of their ships, under an experienced pilot called Ruiz, sailed on ahead, leaving Pizarro with a number of his men at a place on the sea-coast, which seemed to be healthful, and in an excellent position for defense. A good deal of treasure had been gathered as the adventurers coasted along, and this was sent back to Panama, under the care of Almagro, who was instructed to bring reënforcements. By the exhibition of the gold, which had been discovered, it was hoped to tempt other Spaniards to this hazardous adventure.

Ruiz had a successful voyage. He sailed across the equinoctial line and entered a great bay, called the Bay of St. Matthew, where he found the natives hospitable, and somewhat afraid of these white-skinned strangers, in their curious house, which floated upon the blue water. The people wore robes of a woolen cloth of fine texture, dyed in brilliant colors, and embroidered with figures of birds and of flowers. They had a pair of balances for weighing gold and silver, a utensil never seen before among the natives of South America, and told him that they possessed large flocks of llamas, or Peruvian sheep, from which their wool was obtained, and also, that, in the palaces of their rulers, gold and silver was as common as wood. Ruiz took several of the most intelligent natives on board, in order to teach them Spanish, so that they could act as interpreters, and then sailed back to the place where he had left Pizarro and his men.

He arrived in the very nick of time, because the Spaniards had met with nothing but disaster. They had journeyed into the interior, hoping to find treasure and populous cities, only to become lost in dense forests of gigantic tropical vegetation. Many were waylaid and killed by lurking natives; some died of fever; and all suffered great privation and distress. Hideous snakes and alligators infested the many swamps which they came across; so, discouraged and depressed, they had retreated to the sea-coast, only to be so tormented by swarms of mosquitoes, that they had to bury themselves in the sand, in order to rid themselves of the pests. Harried by fear of starvation, and worn out by suffering, they wished to go no farther; but to sail immediately for Panama. Luckily, at this juncture, Almagro returned with a goodly supply of provisions, and with eighty new adventurers, whose enthusiasm speedily revived the drooping spirits of Pizarro’s men.

Sailing southward, under the pilotage of Ruiz, they again reached the Bay of St. Matthew, and cast anchor opposite the Peruvian town of Tacamez, which was swarming with natives who wore many ornaments of gold and of silver. Nearby flowed a river, called the River of Emeralds, because of the quantities of the gems which were dug from its banks, and, when the Spaniards heard of the vast stores of these gems which the natives had gathered, they were eager to come into possession of them.

With this thought in view, they landed, but were immediately surrounded by nearly ten thousand natives, who were well-armed, and seemed to be hostile. The adventurers were helpless; but, just as they expected to be assaulted, one of their number was thrown from his horse, and this caused a great commotion among the Peruvians.

“See,” they cried, “what was all in one part has divided, so that it is now two portions. Make way for the sorcerers!”

A lane was immediately opened for the Castilians, and down this, with thankful hearts, they retreated to their boats.

Shortly after this, Almagro returned in one of the ships to Panama, for it was plain that they could never gain any treasure from these natives by force, unless they had a greater number of soldiers. Pizarro chose a small island as his headquarters until the return of his comrade; but this decision caused great discontent among his men, and many of them wrote to friends in Panama bewailing their condition, and begging them to use their influence with the Governor to send speedy relief. As Almagro did his best to seize all letters directed to Panama, one of these was hidden in a ball of cotton, and sent as a present to the wife of the Governor. It was signed by several soldiers, who begged that a ship be sent to rescue them from the dismal isle before they should all die of starvation and exposure. This epistle reached its proper destination, and, when the Governor viewed the haggard faces of Almagro’s men, he determined, in his own mind, that the few ill-fated survivors of the expedition were being detained by Pizarro, against their will, and upon a desolate island. He was also angered by the number of lives which had already been lost, and the money which had been spent upon the unsuccessful expedition to the land of the Peruvians. Consequently he refused to help Almagro further, and, instead of this, sent off two ships to bring back every Spanish adventurer who was then with Pizarro. The vessels were commanded by a certain Captain Tafur.

The followers of Pizarro were overjoyed to see two well-provisioned ships come to their assistance, and were quite ready to return to Panama; but Pizarro received letters from both Almagro and the priest, De Luque, begging him to hold fast to his purpose. They furthermore advised him that they would come to his assistance in a very short time.

Now occurred a famous incident in the career of this noted explorer, an incident as famous as the passage of the Rubicon by Julius Cæsar, and of the Alps by the redoubtable Napoleon Bonaparte. Pizarro, indeed, was determined to press on, for he had in him an adventurous soul and the wealth which he had seen at the Bay of St. Matthew had fired his zeal and cupidity.

“Comrades,” said he to his men, “I understand that many of you would put back from this hazardous enterprise. As for me, I intend to go onward.”

Then, seizing his sword, he drew a line upon the sand from east to west, for all were collected upon the beach.

“On this side,” he continued, pointing to the south, “are toil, hunger, the drenching storm, desertion, and death; on that side, ease and pleasure. Here lies Peru with its riches; there is Panama and its poverty! Choose each man what best becomes a brave Castilian! For my part I go to the south!”

So saying, he stepped across the line and was quickly followed by Ruiz, Pedro de Candia, and eleven other adventurous souls. The remainder made no movement, so Tafur sailed away with them, next day, leaving a goodly portion of his provisions to help out those who determined to cast their fortunes with the danger-loving Pizarro.

Now, constructing a raft, the adventurous Castilian transported his men to an island which lay farther north. There were pheasants and rabbits here, and also swarms of gnats, flies and mosquitoes. The rain fell incessantly, and, although the Spaniards built rude huts in order to keep out the water, they had hard work to be comfortable. For seven months they thus lived, until Almagro arrived from Panama, with only just enough men on board to work the vessel, and with commands from the Governor for Pizarro to report immediately at the Isthmus.

In spite of this mandate, the adventurous Spaniards headed the vessel for the southern coast, soon came in view of a great gulf, the Gulf of Guayaquil, and saw, far above them, the snowy crests of the towering mountains: the Cordilleras. Between these and the sea-coast, lay a narrow strip of land, which was highly cultivated by the natives. Some of these Pizarro persuaded to accompany him, and he left one of his own company, who was fair of complexion and wore a long beard, to learn the language of the Indians, so that he could act as an interpreter upon his return. He also took several of the native sheep, or llamas—“the little camels”—to exhibit to those who would doubt his story at Panama, or in Spain, for he had decided if necessary to seek assistance from the King.

The natives received these fair-skinned navigators with kindness and much curiosity, for the armor, guns, and horses of these so-called “Children of the Sun” greatly interested the gentle Peruvians. Several of the Spaniards penetrated into the interior, and came back with wondrous tales of temples filled with gold and silver ornaments. So Pizarro was determined, upon his return to Panama, to gather a force sufficient to conquer the entire country, for his desire for wealth and the power which this brings, was quite similar to that of those who penetrate the arid wastes of Nevada, at the present day, or search for the precious metal amidst the hemlock-forests of Alaska.

Now, satisfied that a rich and populous kingdom lay before him, Pizarro turned about and sailed northward, and, after an absence of a year and a half, once more talked with the irate Governor of Panama. As he was supposed to have perished with all his men, the representative of the Spanish King was quite considerate in his treatment of him; but, when Pizarro asked for further assistance in his scheme for the conquest of Peru, the Governor seemed to have other use for his money and his soldiers.

“What do I care?” cried the adventurer, in some heat. “I can visit the King of Spain and he will help me, I know. I am determined to succeed.”

This man, you see, had the power of will. Although he had suffered hardship, mental anguish, famine; he was certain that he could become master of the gentle Peruvians, and so was determined to crush any obstacles which came in his path and obstructed this ambition. So far, his conduct had been noble, his treatment of his friends and companions had been just, his own cheerfulness and self control had been commendable. Let us see how he conducted himself, when he had secured that for which he sought?

Taking passage for Spain, he appeared at the Spanish Court with two or three llamas, several natives, and specimens of the woolen cloth and gold and silver ornaments of the Peruvians, to bear witness to his tales of this wonderful country. The King lent a ready ear to his request for assistance; he was empowered to conquer and take possession of Peru in the name of Spain; and was requested to transport many priests along with him, in order to convert the Indians to the Roman Catholic religion. The ignorant swine-herd, in fact, had become a man of some merit and mark, which so greatly pleased his four half-brothers—who possessed the high-sounding names of Hernando, Gonzalo, Juan, and Francisco de Alcantara—that they all desired to follow him to this land of the llama and the snow-capped mountains.

“Hurray for brother Francisco,” said they. “He will make us all rich! Hurray and God be with him!”

Finally, two hundred and fifty men were gathered for the conquest of Peru. The Pizarros set sail for Panama—it was a family party now—and soon all were again upon the shores of the New World. Three ships were speedily loaded with equipment and provisions, and, with one hundred and eighty followers and twenty-seven horses, the Spanish free-booters and adventurers sailed for the Bay of St. Matthew. They landed, and immediately started operations in the usual high-handed and brutal manner of the Spanish conqueror.

The little band of cut-throats went ashore and advanced along the coast, while the three ships drifted along in a parallel line, keeping as close inshore as discretion would permit. When the Castilians reached a town of some importance, they would rush in upon the inhabitants, sword in hand, and would cut down all who opposed them. The poor, frightened natives would run away tumultuously, while the Pizarro brothers, and other Castilian robbers, would collect all the gold and silver ornaments that they could find. Many emeralds were also secured, which were sent to the ships, and back to Panama, in order to impress those who were left behind with the fact that the army was really accomplishing something. It was also done for the effect that it would produce upon the irate and unaccommodating Governor.

The Spaniards suffered greatly from the heat, for the sun beat upon their iron breastplates and quilted cotton doublets with most uncomfortable fury. In spite of this, they kept on, and, as they advanced, the natives fled before them.

They spent the rainy season upon an island; but, when the weather grew clear again, being reënforced by a hundred volunteers from Panama and more horses, they again crossed to the mainland and resumed their former operations.

They advanced to the town of Tumbez, expecting to find a rich and populous city; but, greatly to their surprise, they saw that this Peruvian stronghold had been burned and abandoned, owing to a recent disagreement between the inhabitants and the followers of the Inca. This ruler, Atahuallpa Capac, had fallen out with his brother, Huascar, and had advanced into his country in order to humiliate him and to become master of all Peru. Pizarro immediately made up his mind to march and capture the Inca Atahuallpa, himself, and to seize all of Peru for the Crown of Spain.

Some years before, the country had been conquered by a native soldier and statesman, named Huayna Capac, who left three sons: Huascar, the heir, and son of the Queen; Manco Capac, a half-brother; and Atahuallpa, a son of the Princess Quito. At the death of Huayna Capac, the kingdom was divided into two parts; Huascar succeeding to the empire of Peru, Atahuallpa to the empire of Quito. The latter was of a warlike disposition; the former was gentle and retiring. They thus did not long remain at peace with one another, for, Atahuallpa coveted the land of his brother, advanced to take it, and, after a great battle, in which he was victorious, overran, with his adherents, all the territory of his rival. This had all happened only a short time before Pizarro had landed, and the ruins of Tumbez bore full witness to the ruthlessness of the Inca’s wrath.

The conqueror, it was said, was but twelve days’ journey inland, so the Castilians struck boldly into the country, where they were everywhere received with hospitality by the natives. The invaders were now careful to give no offense, for they were very few and were surrounded by many thousands, who could quickly annihilate them, should they so wish.

An Indian gave Pizarro a scroll, as they advanced, upon which had been written: “Know, whoever you may be, that may chance to set foot in this country, that it contains more silver and gold than there is iron in Biscay.” This was shown to the soldiers, but they laughed good-humoredly at it, believing that it was only a device of their leader to give them confidence and hope.

Pizarro halted his men, after five days of marching, and told them that the expedition was to be a hazardous one and that those who wished to retire could do so. Nine of the soldiers availed themselves of this opportunity to turn away from what lay in front, and, thus rid of what would undoubtedly be a dangerous element, the daring explorer pressed onward. He reached the foot of the great mountains which tower above the plains of Peru, and, sending forward a cavalier to speak with Atahuallpa, received word from this native ruler that he would be delighted to entertain the Spaniards at his camp in the mountains.

The little army now toiled up the steep slopes of the Cordilleras and came to many fortresses of stone which overhung their path, and where a mere handful of men, with little difficulty, could have barred their way. All was quiet and deserted, for luck was with this adventurer, and finally his band of treasure-seekers reached the summit of the mountains. An Indian messenger appeared from the Inca, who requested that he be informed when the Spaniards would reach Caxamalca, where they were to be entertained by the proud and imperious Atahuallpa. The messenger spoke glowingly of the might of his master; but Pizarro assured him that the King of Spain was the mightiest monarch under the sun, and that his servants would convince the Inca that they bore nothing but messages of good will from their master in far distant Castile.

The Spaniards marched onward for two days, then began to descend the eastern side of the Cordilleras, where they met a second envoy from the Inca. Seven days later the valley of Caxamalca lay before them, and, to the startled eyes of these adventurers, came the vision of several miles of white tents: those of the Inca’s followers. Pizarro put on a bold front, marched towards the encampment, and, sending forward a cavalier with thirty-five horsemen to the Inca’s pavilion, entered the outskirts of the town of Caxamalca. The Peruvian nobility was in the courtyard, so, tramping onward, the Spanish adventurers passed through a long line of nobles to where Atahuallpa himself sat upon a low stool, distinguished by a crimson ribbon bound around his forehead, which he had placed there after the defeat of his brother, Huascar.

Pizarro rode up to the monarch of the Peruvian wilds, and, bowing in a lowly and respectful manner, informed him that he was the subject of the mighty Prince across the ocean, and that, attracted by the report of the warlike prowess of the Inca, he had come to offer him his services and those of his men, and to impart to him the doctrines of true faith, which they professed. He also invited Atahuallpa to visit him in his own encampment.

The Inca seemed to be dazed, and listened with his eyes fixed upon the ground. One of his nobles then said: “It is well.”

“Can you not speak for yourself,” asked Pizarro, turning to the Inca, “and tell me what is your desire?”

At this the proud native smiled faintly, and replied, through an interpreter:

“I am keeping a fast which will end to-morrow morning. I will then visit you. In the meantime, pray occupy the public buildings on the square and no other, until I order what shall be done.”

Pizarro bowed. At that moment one of his soldiers, who was mounted upon a fiery steed, touched it with his spurs and galloped away. Whirling around, he dashed back through the crowd of natives and drew rein before the immobile Atahuallpa, who never, for an instant, lost his composure. Several of his soldiers, however, shrank back in manifest terror as this strange creature passed by, for such a wonderful animal had never been seen before in this country. The Spaniards now left, and, after they had departed, all of those who had shown fear of the galloping horse in the presence of the strangers, were put to death by order of the Inca.

That night Pizarro perfected his plan for the capture of Atahuallpa. He saw that, should he give battle to the Inca in the open field, it would doubtless end in disastrous defeat for the Spaniards, as the natives far out-numbered this handful of Castilians. His only chance for victory seemed to be to capture the Inca, to hold him prisoner, and to intimidate the vast horde of natives, by threat of death to their ruler, if they attacked the Spanish invaders. He therefore determined to entice the native to the building in which he and his men were lodged, which was built upon a square courtyard. His soldiers were to remain hidden around the central court, and, when Atahuallpa and his retainers should be in the very middle of the square, the Spaniards were to rush in upon him, and, putting the Peruvians to the sword, were to seize the unfortunate native ruler and hold him fast. This was the bold conception of this heartless adventurer, a veritable dare-devil, whose conscience was free from the lofty and proper conceptions of brotherly love.

The night was a quiet one. The Spaniards made a careful inspection of their arms and equipment, loaded all their guns, and stationed themselves at the places designated by their artful leader. At dawn they were ready, but it was late in the day before the Inca approached. He was preceded by a native courier, who informed Pizarro that his master was coming armed, even as the Spaniards had come to him.

“Tell your master,” said the Castilian, “that come as he may, I will receive him as a friend and a brother.”

Shortly afterwards the procession approached. First came a large number of natives, who had brooms in their hands and who swept all rubbish from the roadway. Then came a crowd of Peruvian soldiers. In their center the Inca was carried aloft upon a litter, surrounded by his nobles, who wore quantities of golden ornaments which glittered and gleamed in the sunshine. The Peruvian army followed, and, when they had all arrived within half a mile of the gate to the city, Pizarro was startled to see them halt. They seemed to be preparing to encamp, and a runner came to the courtyard, stating that the Inca had decided to delay his entrance into the city until the following morning.

“Tell your master,” said Pizarro, “that I have provided a feast for his entertainment, and that my followers will be grievously disappointed if he does not come to visit us this day.”

The runner went away, and Pizarro beat his foot upon the floor in anxious solicitude, for, should the Inca not come at this time, he feared that he would not be able to control his own followers, who had been under arms since daylight.

To the delight of the Spanish, a second runner now approached, who announced that the Inca would meet the white men; but would bring into the town with him only a few unarmed warriors. Pizarro breathed easier, and then inspected his followers, finding that all were in their places and eager for the attack.

The day was wearing to a close. Deep shadows from the gabled ends of the ancient buildings fell upon the courtyard, as the Peruvians, chanting their songs of triumph, entered the city gate and unsuspectingly marched onward to their destruction. Atahuallpa was in an open litter, lined with the brilliantly colored plumes of tropical birds and studded with burnished plates of gold and of silver. Around his neck hung a collar of large and brilliant emeralds. His dress was of the richest silk. At this time he was about thirty years of age and had a fine frame, a large and handsome head; but bloodshot eyes, which gave him a fierce and vindictive appearance. His bearing was calm, yet dignified, and he gazed upon the natives about him as one accustomed to command. He was surrounded by nobles, who were clad in blue uniforms studded with gold.

The procession entered the great square of the house which had been assigned to the Spaniard, but not a Castilian soldier was there. Only a priest, Father Valverde, Pizarro’s Chaplain, was to be seen. He came forward, bible in hand, and, walking to the Inca’s litter, began to explain to him the doctrines of the Christian religion.

“The Pope at Rome has commissioned the Emperor of Spain to conquer and to convert the inhabitants of this western world,” said he to the Inca, “and I beseech you, therefore, to embrace the Christian faith and acknowledge yourself a tributary to the Emperor Charles of Spain, who will aid and protect you as a loyal vassal.”

As he spoke, fire flashed from the eyes of Atahuallpa, and he answered: “I will be no man’s tributary. I am far greater than any Prince on earth. Your own Emperor may be a great prince, I do not doubt it when I see that he has sent his subjects so far across the waters, and I am willing to hold him as a brother. As for the Pope of whom you speak, he must certainly be insane to give away countries which do not belong to him. As for my faith, I will not change it. Your own God, you say, was put to death by the very men whom he trusted, but mine”—here he stretched out his hand towards the setting sun—“my God still lives in the heavens and looks down upon his children. By what authority, man of Spain, do you say these things?”

The friar pointed to the well-worn bible which he held in his hand.

The Inca took it, looked at it for an instant, and then threw it violently down, exclaiming: “Tell your comrades that they shall give an account of their doings in my land. I will not go from here until they have given me full satisfaction for all the wrongs which they have committed.”

This startled Valverde, and, rushing to Pizarro, he cried out:

“Do you not see that, while we stand here wasting our breath in talking with this dog—full of pride as he is—the fields behind him are filling up with his Indian allies? Set upon him at once, I absolve you.”

Pizarro smiled, for he saw that the moment to strike had arrived. So he waved a white scarf, a gun was fired as a signal for the attack, and from every opening, the Spaniards poured into the great square, sword in hand, shouting their old battle-cry: “St. Iago and at them!”

A few cannon, which they had dragged up the mountain slopes with much stress and difficulty, were turned upon the startled Peruvians, and were discharged. The Indians were unarmed and were taken totally by surprise. Stunned by the noise of the artillery and blinded with smoke, they rushed hither and thither in confusion, as the Spanish free-booters pressed in upon every side.

Fierce and agonizing cries went up from the courtyard, as nobles and Peruvian soldiers were ruthlessly cut down and trampled under the feet of the Spanish horsemen. So great, indeed, was the impact of these writhing Indians when they were pressed back against the wall of clay and stone, which surrounded the courtyard, that they broke through it, and, clambering over the débris, rushed headlong into the open country, hotly pursued in every direction by the Castilian cavalrymen, who cut them down with their sharp broadswords.

Meanwhile, what of the Inca, for the possession of whose body the invaders were making such a desperate effort?

Atahuallpa sat as if stunned. His litter was forced this way and that by the swaying throng, while his native attendants faithfully endeavored to defend him. As fast as one was cut down, another took his place, and, with their dying grasp, they clung to the bridles of the cavaliers in a vain endeavor to keep them away from the body of their sacred master. Fearing that the Inca might escape in the darkness, a few cavaliers now dashed in, in an attempt to end the battle by taking the life of the Peruvian chieftain; but Pizarro saw this action, and cried out: “Let no man who values his life strike at the Inca!”

As he spoke, he stretched out his arm in order to shield him, and received a wound in the hand from one of his own men. This, strange to relate, is said to be the only wound received by any Spaniard during the entire action.

The litter was now overturned, and Atahuallpa would have fallen violently to the ground, had not Pizarro and two of his soldiers caught the now humiliated chieftain in their arms. A soldier immediately snatched the crimson ribbon from his forehead. The helpless Peruvian monarch was taken to the nearest building and was carefully guarded, while his followers ceased their fruitless struggle and ran away as fast as they were able. The Castilian horsemen pursued them, until night fell, and the sound of the trumpet recalled them to the square at Caxamalca. It is recorded that many thousand of the Indians lay dead about the city, while not a single Spaniard had forfeited his life in this sharp but important engagement.

The Spaniards now had the Inca in their possession; but they were very few, in a great country, and surrounded by enemies. Atahuallpa seemed to be resigned to his unfortunate position; but he was determined to gain his freedom, if possible. He saw that gold was what his captors chiefly desired, and decided to try to buy his freedom, for he feared that Huascar might wrest the kingdom from him when he discovered that his brother was in captivity. He therefore promised Pizarro that he would fill the room in which they stood with gold, if he would but set him free.

“I will stuff with gold this chamber in which we stand,” said he. “Not only will I cover the floor with it, but I will pile it up to a line drawn around the walls as high as you can reach.”

Pizarro was dumb-founded, for the room was seventeen feet broad by twenty-two feet long, and the line upon the wall was nine feet high. He was still more affected when the Inca agreed to fill a smaller room, adjoining this one, with silver twice over, if he were given two months’ time.

The Spaniard decided to accept, for, should Atahuallpa really do this, he could even then make way with him and still have possession of the gold.

“Go ahead,” he remarked. “When you have fulfilled your contract, you shall have your freedom.”

Alas for the Inca! He did not know that treachery was the chief trait of all these Spanish adventurers.

The collection of the treasure went rapidly on, while Atahuallpa remained in the Spanish quarters, treated with great consideration, but strictly guarded. He even learned to play chess, and, although closely watched, was allowed to see his subjects freely. His dress was sometimes of vicuña wool, sometimes of bats’ skins which were velvety sleek. He changed this often, but nothing which he had worn could be used by another, and, when he laid a robe aside, it was burned.

Huascar, meanwhile, had heard of Atahuallpa’s capture and this roused in him a hope that he could regain his own kingdom, of which he had been recently despoiled. He sent word, therefore, to Pizarro, that, should the Spaniards wish it, he could pay a far greater ransom than his brother. He would expect to be reinstated to the chief command after this had been done.

News of this came to Atahuallpa, who also learned that Pizarro had said that Huascar should be brought to Caxamalca, so that he, himself, might determine which of the two brothers had a better right to the scepter of the Incas. This aroused in him a furious jealousy, and, fearing that the claims of his brother might be respected, he ordered secretly that Huascar should be put to death by his guards as he approached. He was accordingly drowned in the river Andamapa, as he neared Caxamalca.

“The white men will avenge my murder,” said he, with his dying breath, “and my brother will find that he will not long survive my assassination!”

He was quite correct in this surmise, for the Spaniards grew suspicious of the Inca, and pretended to believe that he was arranging a general uprising among the Peruvians against the white men. When the treasure had nearly all been collected, they demanded that Pizarro should disburse it among them, which was done, after the golden vases and ornaments had been melted down into solid bars. What do you think? It was worth nearly three and a half million pounds sterling, or seventeen million five hundred thousand dollars ($17,500,000.00).

This distribution practically ruined the soldiers. They squandered it recklessly, or lost it over dice and cards. Very few were wise enough to return to Spain in order to enjoy their ill-gotten spoils in their native country, and one, indeed, lost a portion of one of the great golden images of the Sun, taken from the chief temple, in a single night of gaming; whence came the famous Spanish proverb: “He plays away the sun before sunrise!”

The wild and reckless Castilians, drunk with gold and sudden power, clamored for the life of the unhappy Inca, for rumors reached them that an immense army was mustering at Quito to attack them. Atahuallpa denied any knowledge of this, but his protestations of innocence did him little good. Pizarro, taking advantage of the absence of some of the cavaliers who would have defended the poor, helpless Indian, ordered him to be brought to instant trial. Several brown-skinned witnesses were produced, who gave testimony which sealed his doom; and, in spite of the fact that a few of the Spaniards staunchly stood up for him, he was found guilty of having assassinated his brother Huascar, of raising an insurrection against the invaders, and was sentenced to be burned alive.

The miserable Inca, when informed of his impending fate, lost, for a moment, his courage, which had heretofore never deserted him.

“What have I or my children done,” said he to Pizarro, “that I should meet such a doom? And, from your hands, too! You who have met with nothing but friendship and kindness from my people, and who have received nothing but benefits from my hands.”

In piteous wails he begged for his life.

“I promise to pay double the ransom already given you, if you will but spare me,” said he.

It was all of no avail. After he had consented to give up his own religion and be baptized, he was executed, as the Spaniards were accustomed to put all their prisoners to death,—by strangulation.

Pizarro had no easy time after this. Although Almagro had arrived with reënforcements, there was serious trouble with all the Indians in the country. Freed of the power which governed them, they broke into fierce excesses, the remote provinces threw off their allegiance to the Incas, the great captains of distant armies set up for themselves, gold and silver acquired a new importance in their eyes; it was eagerly seized and hidden in caves and in forests. All Peru was in an uproar.

Thus it remained for many years until, at last, the Spaniards successfully defeated all the native forces and secured the country to their own dominion. But now they began to fight among themselves for the possession of the fruitful land. Almagro lived to be seventy years of age, after a life of continual battle and adventure. Finally he was put to death by Hernando Pizarro, the brother of Francisco, who had followed him here from Spain. The murderer also dispatched his son, but he himself was imprisoned in Madrid for these acts. He lived for many years after his release, some say to be a hundred. Francisco’s other brother, Gonzalo, was beheaded in Peru for rebelling against the Spanish emperor.

As for Francisco, that swine-herd who had conquered the fair land of Peru and had let no obstacle stand in the way of his chosen purpose, he, himself, came to no peaceful end. Brutal, remorseless, ambitious, greedy, it was only natural, that, when he had acquired power, he should stir up enemies even among his own people. In the lovely month of June, 1541, he was murdered in his own house at Lima by the desperate followers of the young Almagro, or the “Men of Chili,” as they called themselves. Secretly and hastily he was buried by a few faithful servants in an obscure corner of the cathedral, and thus miserably ended the life of this man of adventurous spirit and desperate courage.

One cannot but admire the will-power of this Castilian, his serene calmness in time of danger, and his indifference to physical suffering. But his ruthlessness and cruelty to the Inca, his vindictive lust for riches, his lack of feeling for the inoffensive natives, can give him no such position in the Hall of Fame as is held by a Lincoln, a Gordon, or a George Washington.

Peace to your restless and ambitious soul, Francisco Pizarro!

HERNANDO DE SOTO:

DISCOVERER OF THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.

(1496-1542)

“_Through the muddied lagoon we clambered, through the mire, the
slime, and the muck;_
_O’er hills and valleys we hastened, through the creeks where our
cannon stuck._
_We were stung by the fierce mosquitoes, and were mocked by the
chattering jay;_
_But we hewed and hacked a passage through the grass where the
moccasin lay._
_Fever, and heat, and ague were friends of our ceaseless toil,_
_And many a brave Castilian was interred ’neath the friendless soil._
_We searched for the El Dorado, yet no gilded man found we,_
_Instead, a bed for our numberless dead, near the sob of the
sun-gilded sea._”

SONG OF DE SOTO’S MEN—1541.

HERNANDO DE SOTO:

DISCOVERER OF THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.

(1496-1542)

IN the old Spanish town of Seville, at the time when Pizarro and his numerous brothers were conquering the gentle Peruvians, the streets were often filled with the adventurers who had returned from Mexico, Panama, and South America, laden with the treasures of plundered cities. Among these successful cavaliers, no one had a more gallant bearing, or a more captivating presence, than Hernando de Soto, who had been with the Castilian troops in their battles upon the lofty Peruvian plains.

When the rapacious Spaniards had divided the ransom of the helpless Atahuallpa, which amounted to such a fabulous sum, the ambitious De Soto’s share, it is said, was fully a million dollars of our own money. You see, therefore, that, when he returned to Spain, he could set up a princely establishment and was one of the most important citizens of the country. But, dissatisfied with the humdrum life of the civilized community in which he had hoped to end his days, he longed to go once more to this New World and discover other cities and other mines of treasure. He therefore asked the King to allow him to undertake an expedition at his own expense, for he was so rich in worldly goods that he had no need of financial assistance from the throne, which all the other discoverers and explorers has been seriously in need of. None, in fact, could have succeeded in their hazardous enterprises without the aid of the Castilian gold.

Romance is a vast assistance to exploration. Men look towards the unknown, wonder what is there, and, in order to verify their conjectures, go and explore. They bring back many stories. This element was of great aid to the daring Cavalier, for a fanciful legend was then current in Spain to the effect, that, in that far-distant America, was a country so rich in gold, that its King was completely gilded. He was known as El Dorado, the gilded man, and it became generally believed that this Kingdom of the Gilded Man lay somewhere in that vast, unexplored region, then called Florida.

The King of Spain appointed De Soto Governor of this fabled country, and decreed that he should have the power to subdue and to rule it. When it became known that the famous cavalier was about to start for the New World, recruits flocked to his standard, and both high and low-born vied with each other to gain a place in his company of explorers. Men of noble birth even sold their estates in order to properly equip themselves for this expedition, as they expected to duplicate the experiences of the cavaliers in Peru and in Mexico. Many a tradesman, also, parted with his little shop in order to purchase armor, guns, and supplies for the great undertaking. The conquest of Florida was the talk of the hour and was upon every lip. It was a popular enterprise.

One beautifully clear morning in Spring a fleet of white-winged galleons swept from the harbor of Seville. Crowds lined the quays, and, although a faint cheer or two was heard, there were many gloomy faces, for there was a multitude of disappointed aspirants who could not find a vacant place upon the overcrowded ships. Bugles blared a parting salute, the yellow flag of Spain was dipped into the blue Atlantic, and with cries of “Adios! We will find El Dorado!” the cheering followers of this swashbuckling hero of that day, gazed eagerly towards the now well-known passage to the Spanish Main. It was more like a monster picnic party than a serious expedition.

The Spaniards landed at Cuba, where they delayed for nearly a year, and passed their time in a round of balls, tilting-matches and bullfights. After having enjoyed themselves to the full, they again embarked and headed for Florida, landing upon the beach at Tampa, where the American troops who were to wrest Cuba from the Spanish rule, set out for the harbor of Santiago, in the summer of 1898. All were cheerful and happy, eagerly looking forward to the not far distant time when they would find rich and populous cities to be sacked and looted in the same manner that they had despoiled the Peruvian and Mexican strongholds.

Fearing no enemy, about three hundred of them went ashore and encamped near the beach. They christened the bay, The Bay of the Holy Spirit; and yet they were to find no Holy Spirit nestling behind the solemn palm trees which grew almost down to the sand, for, as they lay in fanciful security, suddenly the thicket rang with the wild war-whoops of the native Floridians, and a horde of dusky forms rushed in among them, shooting arrows and striking with sharp, stone tomahawks.

All was now a scene of terror and confusion. A few of the Spaniards ran to the water’s edge, shrilly blowing upon their trumpets in order to attract those left upon the ships. Others cried loudly for help, and, piling into the longboats, their comrades hastened to their assistance, leaped upon the sand, and, with a fierce battle-cry, drove the Indians pell-mell into the sheltering palms. Thereafter the Castilians were most careful to establish a picket-post around their encampments, for they had suffered severely in this first encounter.

The boats were now unloaded, many of the larger vessels were sent back to Cuba, while the smaller craft, or caravels, were kept for the service of the army. A number of men were left on guard at Tampa, while the remainder set off into the forest, heading towards the northeast. They had not gone far before they came upon a white man, who was none other than a lonely survivor of a previous expedition, led by a Spaniard called Narváez. His name was Juan Ortiz. He had been with the Indians for a long time, as he had been very young when captured by the natives. They had spared his life because of the intercession of a chief’s daughter. Since this lucky proceeding, which was quite similar to that of Pocohontas and John Rolfe, he had lived with a neighboring tribe. The Spaniards were delighted to secure his services as a guide and interpreter.

When the followers of Pizarro had reached Peru they had immediately found gold among the natives. You know that this is what they were after and what they seized upon with greedy fingers. Not so in palm-studded Florida. For, as the mail-clad invaders pushed into this barren and sandy country, they found no gold and no splendid cities with temples filled with jeweled images. After marching for hours through interminable pine forests and floundering through dense swamps, where the natives shot at them with poisoned arrows from behind trees, and harassed and slew them as they splashed through the mire and deep water, they found nothing but deserted villages and a few aged Indians who were too decrepit to make their escape.

This naturally angered the adventurers. Those who had sold their property in order to join in this hazardous expedition, began to be sorry that they had ever left the peaceful soil of old Castile. Those who had sacrificed good positions to take a chance in the search of this El Dorado, began to bewail their coming, and to bemoan the fact that they had listened to the sweet strains of romance which had been woven over these expeditions into the unknown.

The fabled El Dorado could be no gilded chieftain, he was a gilded fool. Alas that they ever left the gray cobbled streets of ancient Seville!

Yet on, on, they toiled wearily, ever hoping to find the gold which never came to view. They finally approached a native village which was filled with warriors of mettle, for they were furiously attacked. A shower of arrows fell among them, but, little heeding these missiles, the Spaniards discharged their guns, and, rushing upon the patriotic Indians, easily routed them. Many of the poor redskins took refuge in a pond and swam out so that they could not be reached. The Spaniards immediately surrounded the water and awaited developments. A historian of the period says:

“Nine hundred Indians took to the pond, and, all day long, continued to swim around shouting defiance and mounting on each other’s shoulders in order to shoot their arrows. Night came, and not one had surrendered; midnight, and still not one. At ten o’clock the next day, after twenty-four hours in the water, some two hundred came out, all stiff and cold. Others followed. The last seven would not give up, but were dragged out unconscious by the Spaniards, who swam in after them, when they had been thirty hours in the water, without touching bottom. Then the humane invaders exerted themselves to warm and restore to life these unfortunate people.”

In spite of this kind treatment, the men from Castile put irons on many of these natives, and took them along with them, so that they would have slaves to transport their baggage, pound their corn, and serve them when in camp. A soldier, who has written of this journey, says that, upon one occasion, the enslaved prisoners rose against their masters and tried to massacre them, but the Spaniards crushed this attempt, brought the helpless Indians to the village square, and caused them to be hacked to pieces by their halberdiers, or swordsmen. You can readily see that these invaders were making no happy impression upon simple-minded Americans.

The Spaniards were now in the country of Apalachee, which was then, as it is to-day, a land of agriculture, with well-tilled fields of corn, of pumpkins and beans, and with a farm-loving population of red men. The Castilians seized all the provisions which they needed for their journey, and, when the Indians objected, slew them mercilessly, but not without the loss of many of their own people.

Although the majority of the party were much dissatisfied with the fact that they had not discovered gold, De Soto seemed to be satisfied with the outlook. A few men were sent to the south in order to find the ocean, and came back with the report that they had run upon a magnificent harbor: the Bay of Pensacola. They had also seen the skulls of horses on the beach, these being the remains of those killed by the Spanish explorer, Narváez, who had fed the flesh to his men while engaged in building boats for their departure from this country. De Soto ordered a vessel to set sail for Cuba, stating that he had met with great success, was much pleased with the outlook, and wished more men and horses.

This was all very well for the provisional Governor, but still no gold had been found, and the soldiers were discouraged and disgusted with this lack of success. Eagerly they listened to the tales of two Indian boys who undertook to guide them to a region where they would find gold in abundance; the land of the Cofachiqui. It was towards the northeast, said the lads, so the Spaniards set out in that direction, expecting to find a city similar to Tumbez in Peru, and also El Dorado, the golden man, sitting upon a throne of solid golden ingots. Accordingly, they set out to cross the territory which is now the State of Georgia. It was a pleasant, fruitful land, inhabited by a peaceable and kindly people, who entertained them hospitably in their villages, and furnished them generously with food. The Spaniards had no need of resorting to their usual cruel methods, and the chiefs gave them guides and porters so that they could more easily pass on.

But see how crafty and keen these old Indians were!

A certain chieftain offered to furnish the travelers with guides and with porters. The Castilians eagerly accepted the offer, but so many armed warriors assembled in order to go with them, that the Spaniards suspected them of meditating treachery, and thus watched them very closely. The Indians seemed to travel along peacefully enough; but, when the village of Cofachiqui was reached, and the Spanish soldiers had gone to sleep, their redskinned guides and porters fell upon the unsuspecting natives, who lived there, and massacred all upon whom they could lay their hands. This, indeed, had been a war-party in disguise, which had taken a clever method of invading the territory of a tribe which was hostile to them, and which heretofore they had been afraid to attack. The affair took place at a distance of between thirty or forty miles below the present city of Augusta, Georgia.

Still the travelers kept on and on. Ever were their thoughts upon gold, and yet no gold seemed to appear, nor did the natives seem to possess any of the precious metal. After they had crossed a broad river, they found a well-to-do race of natives in a well-tilled country, governed by a young woman who received them with great kindness and gave them corn, pork, and sweet potatoes. She also presented them with pearls, of which she had a great quantity, as they were found in the shell-fish in the streams. De Soto saw little value in these stones, and, although he was invited to carry away all that he could, he refused to take more than fifty pounds, as a sample to show to the Cubans when he should return. He was also presented with a herd of hogs, which he drove off before him towards the west.

The climate was not unhealthy, and so the Castilians had an easy time of it. They wandered through upper Georgia, across the mountains into lower Tennessee, and then into the present State of Alabama. As vessels from Cuba were expected to meet them with re-enforcements and supplies, they now headed for Pensacola Bay.

At a place called Choctaw Bluff, not far from the present city of Mobile, they came to an Indian town presided over by a fierce chieftain by the name of Tuscaloosa, which means Black Warrior. This village had the sweet-sounding name of Mauvila. It was surrounded by a high palisade, which was chinked and plastered with mud, and, besides this, there were slits in the sides of the walls, so that those who defended it could shoot through at an attacking party.

De Soto rode ahead of the main body of Castilians with about a hundred horsemen. They were clad in doublets and trousers, with steel caps, breast plates and greaves upon their legs. As it was warm, most of this armor was slung to their saddles with cords, while the cavaliers trotted along joyously, chanting many an old Spanish song, and laughing and jesting with one another, for they were having a pleasant journey, even though no gold had been discovered. Reaching the sleepy little village of these southern Indians, they were met by the chief, Tuscaloosa, who appeared to be most friendly and asked them to enter and have a feast. Fearing nothing, and remembering the pleasant reception which they had received while marching through Georgia, they trotted gayly forward, while De Soto chatted with the chief by means of a native interpreter.