I will now return to my own narrative. I rapidly recovered my strength, and in a few more days was able to leave the hut and walk about without assistance; but my anxiety for the fate of my family was in no way relieved; and though Manco made all the inquiries in his power, he could afford me no consolation. I was sitting one evening in front of the hut, meditating what course to pursue, when Manco came and threw himself on the ground by my side. He took my hand and looked kindly in my face; but I saw that his countenance wore an expression of deep melancholy. With a trembling voice I asked him what news he had to communicate.
“Bad news, bad news, my young friend,” he said; and then stopped, as if afraid of proceeding.
“Of my parents?” I inquired, for I could not bear the agony of suspense. “Speak, Manco; has Ithulpo not arrived?”
“Alas! no,” he answered, sorrowfully shaking his head. “I have too certain evidence of Ithulpo’s death; and, faithful as he was, he would never have deserted your parents. His body has been discovered near a village which has been attacked and burned by my countrymen. There can be no doubt that they had taken refuge within it. Alas that I should say it, who have received such benefits from them! The Indians put to the sword every inhabitant they found there, and among them your parents must have perished.”
At first I was stunned with what he said, though I could not bring myself to believe the horrid tale.
“I will go in search of them,” I at length exclaimed. “I will find them if they are alive; or I must see their bodies, if, as you say, they have been murdered, before I can believe you. The Indians, whom they always loved and pitied, could not have been guilty of such barbarity. If your countrymen have murdered their benefactors, I tell you that they are miserable worthless wretches; and the Spaniards will be justified in sweeping them from the face of the earth.”
As I gave utterance to these exclamations, I felt my spirit maddening within me. I cared not what I said; I felt no fear for the consequences. At first, after I had spoken, a cloud came over Manco’s brow; but it quickly cleared away, and he regarded me with looks of deep commiseration.
“Should I not feel as he does, if all those I loved best on earth had been slaughtered?” he muttered to himself. “I feel for you, my friend, and most deeply grieve,” he said aloud, taking my hand, which I had withdrawn, and watering it with his tears. “Yet you are unjust in thus speaking of my people. They did not kill your parents knowingly. The sin rests with the Spaniards, whom they desired to punish; and the innocent have perished with the guilty. Sure I am that not an Indian would have injured them; and had they been able to come into our camp, they would have been received with honour and reverence.”
I hung down my head, and my bursting heart at length found relief in tears. I was still very weak, or I believe that my feelings would have assumed a fiercer character.
“I have been unjust to you, Manco,” I said, when I could once more give utterance to my thoughts. “I will try not to blame your countrymen for your sake; but I must leave you, to discover whether your dreadful report is true or false.”