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

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The morning I was to set out arrived at last, and I bid farewell to Nita and her little infant, which I kissed over and over again for its mother’s sake; for my heart was full of gratitude for her kindness and compassion. Manco had procured a mule for me—a small but strong animal, with great sagacity. It was very sure-footed, and could climb up the most rugged rocks, and slip down mountain precipices like a goat. It was of the greatest value to me; for, weak as I was, I could not possibly have walked a mile of my journey. We had to descend some way, and then to travel along the side of the mountain range, in order to gain the road which led across the Cordilleras. I speak of the path as a road; but in many spots it was so narrow and difficult that I thought it would be impossible for any mule to get along. Here and there large blocks of stone had been placed, with the intention of facilitating the ascent. My mule sprung up them with such violent jerks that I was at first almost thrown over his head; but when we had to descend, he picked his way with great caution. Manco went before me with a long pole in his hand, ready to assist me if I required it.

After proceeding some way, I observed a large valley spread out at our feet. It was full of people and numerous tents and huts. Manco pointed to it with an expression of pride in his countenance.

“There,” said he, “you see the headquarters of the army which is to liberate our country from the power of the conqueror. The Inca Tupac Amaru himself, and his two young and noble sons, are there. In a few days the whole army will be assembled, when we march upon Cuzco, once more to reinstate our sovereign in the capital of his ancestors.”

Manco’s dark eyes flashed proudly as he spoke; for after the recent success of the Indian arms he had no doubt of victory. I thought differently. Hitherto the Indians had fought among mountains, where discipline was of little avail, and their bows and slings could send their missiles with effect; or they had attacked unfortified and unprepared villages; but in the neighbourhood of Cuzco they would be in an open valley, where the cavalry and artillery of the Spaniards could be brought into play, and I trembled for the consequences. I was unwilling to damp Manco’s ardour; but I endeavoured to point out the dangers I foresaw, and urged him to persuade the chiefs not to be over-confident.

We kept along the ridge of the height forming the side of the valley without descending, and I was thus able to obtain a full view of the Indian army. I was surprised not only at the vast number of people collected, but at the apparent order which prevailed, and at the great state which the Inca and his chief officers maintained. In the centre of the camp, amid a number of banners fluttering in the breeze, was erected a large canopy of gay-coloured cloth, beneath which was a throne, richly ornamented with gold and silver. A flight of steps led to it, along which were ranged a body of guards armed with battle-axes and spears. The Inca sat on his throne, dressed in the ancient costume of his ancestors, which I have before described; and officers of various ranks kept continually coming up to receive orders. As they approached, they bowed reverentially before him, and knelt at his feet while he addressed them. I could scarcely believe that what I saw was a reality, and that I was not dreaming of the accounts I had read of the early history of the country. It did not then occur to me that much valuable time was thus lost to the Indian cause in idle ceremony; and that Tupac Amaru would have had a better chance of success had he at once swept the country from north to south with his forces, before the Spaniards had recovered from their terror and dismay at their first defeat.

After stopping for a few minutes to gaze at the novel and interesting scene, we turned up a path through a ravine, and were quickly again in the solitude of the mountains. We travelled upwards for three days, sleeping at nights at the huts of Indians, where we received a warm welcome from their wives, but the men were in all cases absent. We were now crossing the Puna heights, as the table-lands on the upper part of the Cordilleras are called. We were some fourteen thousand feet above the level of the sea. On either side arose the lofty summits of the Cordilleras, covered with the ice of centuries. Before us stretched out to a great extent the level heights, covered with the dull yellow Puna grass, blending its tint with the greenish hue of the glaciers. It was truly a wild and desolate scene. Herds of vicuñas approached to gaze with wonder at us, and then turning affrighted, fled away with the swiftness of the wind. The Puna stag, with stately step, advanced from his lair in the recesses of the mountains, and gazed on us with his large wondering eyes. Farther off were groups of huancas, looking cautiously at us as we passed, while the rock-rabbits disported nimbly around us. I begged Manco not to shoot them, for we did not require food, and I never liked killing an animal for sport.

The mountain air and exercise had completely restored my strength, when on a sudden an indescribable oppression overcame me. My heart throbbed audibly, and my breathing became short and interrupted, while a weight as if of lead lay on my chest. My lips swelled and burst, blood flowed from my eyelids, and I began to lose my senses. I should have fallen from my mule had not Manco lifted me off. A grey mist floated before my eyes, and I could neither see, hear, nor feel distinctly. Manco sat down, and took my head in his lap; when after a time I began to recover, and I saw that he was anxiously looking at a dense mass of clouds gathering above us.

“Up, up, my friend, and mount if you value your life!” he said. “You are better now. A storm is about to burst, and we must face it boldly.”

Scarcely had he spoken, when, loud peals of thunder were heard, and lightning darted from the skies. Down, too, came the snow in flakes, so heavy that it was impossible to see many yards before us.

“We must push on,” observed Manco. “We have lost much time already, and night will overtake us before we can reach the nearest village.” The snow, however, fell faster, and completely concealed all signs of the path. “When the snow-storm has ceased, I shall easily find the way by the flight of the birds we are certain to see,” he continued. “So, fear not. You are suffering from the keen air of the mountains, and you will quickly recover when we begin to descend to lower ground.”