Chapter XIII

Day after day had passed in Pizarro’s camp without word of De Soto. On the eighth morning the commander was selecting a party of veterans to march to his relief when a cloud of dust far down the highway announced his return.

Teresa had been dispatched ahead to inform Pizarro that De Soto was accompanied by a royal messenger from the Inca.

The Spaniards made ready to receive him in state. Pizarro drew up his troops in brave array and welcomed the ambassador. He bore a message from Atahualpa and presents for the Spanish commander--a fountain made of stone in the form of a fortress, fine woolen cloth embroidered with gold and silver, and a specimen of native perfume used by the nobles.

Pizarro thanked the ambassador who spoke in most friendly fashion.

“My Lord of the Sun, Atahualpa, sends his greetings to the strangers within his gates, bids them welcome to his country and invites them to visit him at his camp in the mountains.”

Pizarro’s stalwart figure stiffened. It was the first word of greeting from the great monarch of whom he had dreamed for seven years. He answered as the viceroy of Charles V, and his words were chosen with diplomatic care.

“Carry to your royal master my thanks for his message and my appreciation of his presents. Tell him that I have come from a powerful prince far beyond the great waters. I have heard much of the victories of Atahualpa, and have come to pay my respects to his valor. Say that we offer our services to him in his campaigns against his enemies. We will present ourselves at his camp at the earliest possible time and place ourselves at his disposal.”

The answer disarmed the suspicions of the envoy who now expressed the most childlike curiosity in inspecting the strange equipment of the camp and the arms of his soldiers.

The Spaniard was not deceived by the innocence with which the inspection was made. The strength and condition of the invaders was being carefully reckoned.

Pizarro urged that he remain for several days, but the envoy pleaded haste in executing his commission, and his urgent desire to convey to his sovereign as quickly as possible the pleasing message which he had received.

The Spanish commander sent to the Inca as a return courtesy a cap of crimson cloth and shining ornaments of colored glass, which he had brought from Castile, and sent the ambassador on his way with a loud greeting from his soldiers.

Pizarro heard De Soto’s report of his scouting trip with misgivings. There could no longer be a doubt of the power and extent of the empire which they were invading. The facts sobered the indomitable leader. If he only had each soldier armed with a musket, the roar of a volley from a hundred guns might be invincible even before thousands armed only with battle-ax, sling and spear. But he had only four arquebuses in all his troops. True, his two cannon might work wonders if he could use them. But if attacked in a narrow mountain trail, they would be useless.

He lingered two days and sent the articles received from the Inca to the Crown officials at San Miguel. He called their attention particularly to the fine weave of the vicuna wool never seen before, as fine in texture and sheen as the most delicate silk. He gave to Navarro, commander of the fortress, full information of his movements and directions by which he might be reached. He was still praying for reënforcements with better equipment.

Resuming his march, he entered now the narrow and less frequented road that directly crossed the _cordillera_ to Caxamalca. Arrived at the banks of a broad, deep river whose swift current made difficult the crossing, he camped for four days still hoping for reënforcements. When time had passed sufficient to allow a courier to return from San Miguel and none appeared, he determined to cross the river and burn all bridges behind him.

Fearing that his landing might be disputed by the natives on the opposite bank, he sent Hernando Pizarro across, under cover of night, with a small detachment of mounted men who swam the current without mishap.

On reaching the other shore Hernando quickly discovered that no opposition would be offered. At sight of the invaders the natives had fled in every direction. At sunrise he signaled to his brother that all was well, and the little army quickly crossed on rafts.

Hernando had captured a native, put him to torture and he had received precise information as to the Inca’s troops. They lay in three divisions along the way of their dangerous march across the mountains. The Inca knew of every movement of the invaders and was luring them into close quarters that he might have them completely in his power.

The news, if true, was startling, and it contradicted all protestations of friendliness which they had received. A council was called. De Soto suggested that an Indian of unusual intelligence who had accompanied them from San Miguel, and whose loyalty was beyond question, be dispatched at once over the trail which they must follow. He could locate these three divisions of troops and press on to the camp of the Inca as their envoy and spy.

The Indian refused to go as scout and spy but expressed his willingness to go as the fully accredited ambassador of the Spanish commander.

Pizarro accepted the suggestion and gave him instructions.

“You will be accompanied by three swift runners. Dispatch these runners back to our camp with information as to the defenses in the mountains and location of the troops. Inform the Inca that I am moving forward at his invitation to meet him with all speed possible with my equipment. Assure him of our friendship and express the hope that his feelings are the same, but whatever you do--” the Spaniard paused and fixed the Indian with his piercing eye--“whatever you do, learn the location of the troops and the Inca’s real purpose toward us.”

Pizarro now pressed forward in a swift march of three days and reached the first of the stupendous mountain ranges behind which lay the city of Caxamalca. His soldiers lifted their eyes toward the snow-covered glittering peaks with frowns of doubt. They had seen mountains before, but no such wild chaos of magnificence and terrifying grandeur. Across these towering cliffs and through their bottomless canyons and gorges they must march over a narrow trail. A handful of men above their heads could start an avalanche that would overwhelm an army, to say nothing of a small band of adventurers.

To the right of the trail along the base of the mountain ran another splendid, shaded highway to Cuzco, the rich capital of the South. Again, longing eyes were turned to the famous city of palaces and temples.

A group of officers again urged Pizarro to abandon Caxamalca and take Cuzco by a swift march to the south.

But the commander frowned and called his little army before him. He mounted a stone, and his figure seemed colossal as he addressed them in words that burned with passion:

“Soldiers of Spain, we have proclaimed our purpose to visit the Lord of the Sun, the Inca, Atahualpa, in his camp. We have sent our word to the sovereign. To fail now in this undertaking, no matter for what purpose, will stamp us as cowards, and win for us the contempt of Atahualpa. I give to you my orders as your commander. March straight across this mighty barrier to the Inca’s quarters. Leave the rest to me. Take heart and go forward as good soldiers, nothing daunted by the smallness of your numbers. God ever fights for his own. Doubt not that he will humble the pride of the heathen and bring him to the knowledge of the true faith, the end and object of our march of conquest.”

The leader struck the right chord. He lived as the humblest man among them. He thought as they thought, felt as they felt and he knew how to appeal to the best that was in them.

Their answer to his appeal was a steady shout:

“Lead on!”

With high-beating hearts they began the steep ascent.