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.