Manco, the Peruvian Chief / Or, An Englishman's Adventures in the Country of the Incas

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“What say you now?” exclaimed the cacique, with a look of triumph. “Do the white faces dream of the mighty host collected to liberate for ever the kingdom of the Incas from their cruel hands?”

“I have heard that it was prophesied that the kingdom of the Incas should be restored by the people of my country. There are none of them there,” I replied.

“It is true,” said the cacique. “But if you and your bold friend were to fight by the side of the Inca, might not the prophecy be thus fulfilled?”

I at once saw the mistake I had made in thus speaking; for I felt that I might be compelled, contrary to the advice my father had given me, to engage actively in a contest in which I had no personal interest.

Before I had time to reply, the signal of advance was given, and the party hurried down the steep to join their comrades in the valley. Far as the eye could reach in either direction, and even up the mountains sides, were extended the vast host of the Inca, drawn up in battle array. From among their dusky lines arose a forest of waving banners, long lances, and battle-axes, tossing to and fro, and glittering in the rays of the noonday sun which shone down upon their heads. At intervals might be seen rich panoplies of feather work and lofty plumes, marking the post of some leading cacique, or Inca noble. Some way to the right, on a rising ground, rose the magnificent canopy under which the Inca Tupac Amaru was to be found, surrounded by his generals and nobles.

As the march was about to commence, our conductors hurried us down the hill past the crowded ranks of the army, towards the spot where the Inca was stationed. When a little distance off, he went forward alone, and prostrating himself before the monarch, announced the arrival of some captives. The Inca immediately ordered us to be brought before him. He was seated under the canopy on a cushioned throne, richly ornamented with gold; and on either side of him were ranged a dense mass of his chiefs and councillors, all dressed in garments similar to those worn by their ancestors. Tupac Amaru himself was habited as tradition has described Atahualpa; and he wore as a crown the crimson borla, or fringe, which hung down as low as the eye-brow, and gave a very peculiar expression to his grave and handsome countenance. I have before mentioned that he was a tall and dignified person; and he looked well worthy in every respect to be the sovereign of the assembled multitude. When he saw us he beckoned us to approach, and made inquiries of our conductor respecting us, not knowing that Pedro and I understood the Quichua language. The cacique simply stated where he had found us, and replied that we could answer for ourselves.

I begged Pedro to act as spokesman, and he gave a short account of our adventures, as well as of my history. The Inca seemed much interested, and assured us of his protection; at the same time inviting us to accompany him in his march to lay siege to Cuzco. Pedro in reply, having expressed our gratitude to the Inca, entreated to be allowed to remain behind, assuring the Inca that he was ready to lay down his life for the benefit of the Indians, but that the Spaniards were his countrymen and he could not fight against them. The nobles who stood round seemed very much offended at this; but the Inca observing that he should consider the subject, turned to Ned and asked him what he would do. I put the question to him in English.

“Tell His Majesty, if it’s to fight the Dons, I’ll help him with all my heart,” he at once replied. “It comes natural like, and it won’t be the first time I’ve been at blows with them. I owe them a grudge, too, for killing as honest a fellow as ever stepped, and that was my late skipper. Tell him all that, mate, and say I’m his man whenever he wants me.”

The Inca appeared much pleased at Ned’s reply, which I interpreted; but he seemed less inclined to treat Pedro and me with favour. My turn came next. I own that I felt great reluctance to refuse fighting, and having no sufficient excuse to offer, was about to answer that I was ready to serve in any capacity the Inca might desire, when a loud shout was raised, and a fresh body of Indians was seen hurrying down the mountain’s side. A chief came at their head, and I looked towards him as the loud shouts of those around me gave him welcome. I could scarcely believe my eyes. It was my friend Manco! I was certain of it; and forgetting the presence of the Inca and his nobles, I rushed forward to meet him.

It was Manco in reality. We clasped each other’s hands, and for a time could scarcely speak. He had thought me dead, or lingering in a Spanish prison, while I till now had been uncertain of his fate. He told me that when he was led out to be shot, it had occurred to him that by keeping his eye on the soldiers he might drop as they fired, and allow the balls to fly over him; and that as he knew a number of Indians were collected on the other side of the river, by swimming across, they might assist him to escape. He never lost his presence of mind, and watching for the moment the soldiers drew their triggers, he fell to the ground, instantly again springing up and flying to the river. Before the smoke from the muskets had cleared away, he had plunged in and was swimming across. Several bullets struck the water close to him, but landing uninjured, he and his friends set off towards the mountains as rapidly as they could proceed. They were pursued by a strong body of Spanish soldiers, who followed them to their retreat. It was several days before they could elude their enemies, and they had then marched through a number of Indian villages to collect recruits, before joining the army.