The scene was so grandiose that Dick and Maria-Teresa could not restrain a movement of admiration. There could be no doubt of it: the Sun god still had his true worshipers, as in the tragic days of Atahualpa. To know it, one had only to look at this trembling mass of men, who had kept their language and their traditions through so many centuries. They had been vanquished, but not conquered. Perhaps it was true after all that back there in the mountains, in some city unknown to all but themselves, guarded by the rampart of the Andes and the eternal snows, there lived priests who passed their lives feeding the sacred fires.
After their salutation to the Sun, the Indians resumed their kneeling posture, many, strangely enough, making the sign of the cross as they bent to the ground. Where did that sign come from? Was it only another instance of the extraordinary mingling of cults and creeds so often seen, or did it go even further back? Historians there are who say that the conquerors found it already used by the Incas. Did some early Christian adventurers, then, found the twin empires of the Americas? While Uncle Francis dreamed on, lost in such conjectures, the priest in the red poncho, took up the broken thread of his narration:
“Pizarro and his men, armed for battle, were hiding in the halls of the vast palace surrounding the square. There the monk who had spoken to Atahualpa rejoined the Stranger, and said to him: ‘Do you not see that we wrestle in vain with this dog’s pride? His troops are coming up by the thousand. Strike while it is not too late!”’
The silence became, if possible, more intense. The man in red, about to tell of what he called the Crime of the Stranger, straightened himself on his pedestal till he dominated the whole assembly.
“‘St. James and at them!’ With that accursed battle-cry, Pizarro’s men hurled themselves on the Inca and his guard. Horse and foot charged out of the palace in which they had been hidden, smashing in the indian ranks. A terrible panic seized Atahut and his followers, who fled in all directions. Nobles and servants, princes and guards, fled before the terrible horsemen, who trampled down all before them.
“They made no resistance. They could not, for they were unarmed. Nor could they flee, for all the doors and streets were barred by the corpses of those trampled to death in a vain effort to escape. So terrible was the press, the whirling swords driving our people ever further back, that one wall of the square fell. Hundreds fled through this opening and scattered in all directions, the Spanish horse in pursuit.
“Atahualpa’s throne, borne hither and thither in the crowd, was finally reached by the Spaniards. He would have been killed there and then had not Pizarro intervened. In doing so, he was wounded in the hand by one of his own men. The nobles carrying the royal litter were cut down, and the Inca was seized by Pizarro. A soldier named Estete tore the borla from his forehead, and the captured monarch was conducted to a hall near by.
“With the capture of the Inca, all resistance ceased. The news spread through the country like wildfire, and all thought of real resistance was gone. Even the thousands of soldiers encamped round the city took fright, and scattered.
“The only being which might have kept the Indians united was cut.
“That night, the Inca supped with Pizarro. He showed surprising courage, and remained impassible throughout the meal.