When consciousness at length returned, a very different scene met my
sight. I had an idea that something dreadful had occurred, but what it
was I could not tell. My belief was, that I had been dreaming that I
had witnessed a battle, that I had fallen from my horse and hurt myself,
and that I had been lifted up and carried along on men's shoulders to
some distant place. I had an indistinct recollection of a face full of
tenderness often bending over me; but whether it were white or red I
could not tell, the expression only had made any impression on me.
There was, however, so great a want of clearness and reality in what I
have described, that when I once more began to collect my thoughts, I
was unable to determine whether or not I had been dreaming all the time,
and was still half asleep.
At length I opened my eyes, and discovered that I was lying under the
shade of a small hut or wigwam, composed of the boughs of trees, and
thatched carefully over with straw. My couch was on the ground; but it
was a very soft one, for the bed was stuffed with a quantity of the fine
wool of the vicunas, and covered with a delicately woven woollen stuff.
The hut stood in an open space amid a forest of gigantic trees, such as
a tropical clime can alone produce. Beyond were dark and frowning
rocks, above which rose ridges of lofty mountains, one overtopping the
other, till the more distant, covered with a mantle of everlasting snow,
seemed lost in the clouds. The sky overhead was of intense blue; and
through it sailed, with outstretched wings, a mighty condor, carrying in
his talons a kid he had snatched from the valley below to his eyrie on
the summit of the rugged cliffs in the distance. I watched the majestic
bird as it sailed along, forgetful of my own condition, and wondering
whether any one would be able to rescue the poor animal from its
impending fate. On it went, growing smaller and smaller, till it became
a mere speck in the sky, and then disappeared altogether.
This trifling circumstance served to arouse me, and I began to look
about me with some attention. I discovered, at length, that the forest
glade was not tenantless, for the part farthest removed from me was
crowded with dense masses of Indians, who were collected round one who,
by his height, his rich dress, and noble bearing, I conjectured to be a
chief, though I never recollected to have seen him before. Other
Indians kept arriving from all sides through the forest. He stood
elevated above the rest on a mound of earth under a canopy of cloth of
many colours; and I observed that the _borla_, the red fringe worn only
in ancient days by the proud Incas, bound his brow. From this sign I
could have no doubt that he was the well-known chieftain, Tupac Amaru,
the lineal descendant of the Incas, and the elder uncle of my friend
Manco. By the Indians he had been known usually by the name of
Condorcanqui, and by the Spanish as Don Jose Gabriel, Marquis de
Alcalises, a title which had been given to one of his ancestors by the
King of Spain.
He was addressing the multitude in a harangue which, from the distance
he was from me, I could not hear. The people listened with deep
earnestness and silence, till some expression aroused their passions,
when brandishing their weapons, their bows, their clubs and spears, they
uttered shouts of approval, or wild cries of defiance and hatred to
their foe.
I had no doubt that I was in one of the strongholds of the Indians,
among the mountains on the eastern side of the Andes. The Inca, for so
I may call him, continued speaking for an hour or more, when I again
fell off into a sleep or stupor. I had discovered that I was wounded
both in the head and side; and I felt dreadfully weak and ill. The sun
was just gliding behind the mountains when I again opened my eyes. By
my side sat a young and very beautiful woman, her large black eyes and
the tinge of copper in her complexion showing that she was of Indian
birth.
In front of the hut stood a man whose figure I thought I knew. An
exclamation of surprise escaped my lips. He turned his head at the
sound of my voice, and I recognised, to my joy, the chief Manco. He
knelt down by my side.
"Ah! my young friend, I rejoice to hear you speak once again," he said.
"My wife and I have watched over you anxiously, for we thought with
sorrow that you would never recover."
I did not before know that Manco had a wife. "You have been very good
to me; and had it not been for her care, I must have died," I replied.
"I dare say I shall now soon get well; but can you tell me anything of
my parents and my brothers and sisters? Is Ithulpo with you?"
"I can give you no tidings of them," he replied, turning away his head.
"Ithulpo has not come back to us, and I know not where he is."
"My poor father and mother! they will think I have been killed," I
ejaculated. "It will make them grieve very much."
"They will trust in God and hope for the best, as you must, my friend,"
he observed. "But I must not let you talk, or it will bring back the
fever which has been on you. Nita will watch over you, for I have
matters which call me away." As he spoke, his young wife handed me a
cup filled with a cooling draught distilled from herbs, which I drank
eagerly off. "That will do you good," he remarked. "To-morrow, if you
are stronger, I will answer the questions I see you are eager to put.
Now, farewell!" He shook his head when he saw that I was about again to
speak, and went off across the glade.
I next tried to interrogate Nita, speaking in the Quichua language,
supposing she did not understand Spanish; but with a smile she signed to
me not to talk.
"Sleep, stranger, sleep," she said in a sweet musical voice in her
native tongue; "it will strengthen you to undergo the toils which are in
store for you. My husband has promised to tell you more to-morrow. I
must quit you if you persist in talking."
Seeing that she was determined not to answer any of the questions I
longed to ask, I felt that it would be ungrateful not to do as she
desired me, and I once more resigned myself to sleep.
The next day I felt better and stronger, and my wounds were healing
rapidly; but Manco did not return, and Nita told me that he was engaged
in mustering and arming his followers. She would, however, give me no
other information. I felt very sad and solitary, notwithstanding her
kindness; for, whenever I could collect my thoughts, I could not help
fearing that some misfortune had befallen those I best loved on earth.
Fortunately I slept or dozed away the greater part of the day, and this,
I suspect, contributed to the rapidity of my recovery, aided by my good
constitution and the pure air I breathed. At night Nita sent an old
woman to sit by me, who was relieved by a young lad of my own age. I
expected to gain some information from the latter, for he looked very
intelligent; but when I spoke to him he shook his head, and I afterwards
discovered that the poor fellow was deaf and dumb. There were several
huts near mine, one of which I found was occupied by Nita and her
husband.
Three days passed away, and at last, to my great joy, Manco came back.
He seemed in high spirits when he spoke of the prospects of his people.
He told me that the Indians throughout the whole of the mountain
districts of Peru were up in arms, and that whenever they had
encountered the Spaniards the latter had been defeated; though he
confessed, with regret, that many atrocities had been committed by the
enraged natives, and that the white inhabitants of whole villages and
districts, including women and children, had been cruelly massacred, as
had also the negroes and those with any white blood in their veins.
I may as well here pause in my personal narrative to give a short
account of the cause of the disastrous revolt of the Indians of Peru,
from which so many thousand lives were sacrificed. I have already
spoken of the systematic cruelty practised by the Spaniards from their
first occupation of the country, and of the dreadful effects of the
_mita_ (as the parcelling out of the people among the conquerors as
slaves was called, under the pretence of enabling them to learn trades
and to become domestic servants, as also to make them work in the
mines); but another injustice was the immediate cause of the outbreak.
This was the _repartimiento_. It was a law originally made by the
Spanish Government, authorising the _corregidores_ to distribute among
the natives goods imported from Europe at fixed prices, and which they
were compelled to purchase whether they required them or not.
Consequently, all sorts of things damaged and useless were sent out from
Spain to Peru, where they were certain of realising a profit to be
obtained nowhere else. Among them might be found silk stockings,
satins, and velvets--razors for men who never shaved, and spectacles for
those whose eyesight was excellent. I remember especially a consignment
of spectacles arriving to a merchant at Lima. He could nowhere dispose
of them, till he bethought himself of applying to a _corregidor_ of a
neighbouring district, who was his friend, to help him. The latter
threw no difficulty in the way.
"Your goods shall be sold immediately, my friend," he replied; and
forthwith he issued an order that no Indian should appear at church or
at festivals unless adorned with a pair of spectacles, intimating the
place where they were to be sold. The poor people had to come and buy
the spectacles, and to pay a very high price for them into the bargain.
The Spanish Government, when they framed the law, had doubtless no idea
that it would be thus abused; their intention being to civilise the
people by the introduction of European clothing and luxuries, and in
that manner to create a good market for the product of the industry of
the mother country. It is one of the many examples of the folly of
attempting to force the interests of commerce by unjust laws. For a
time a few merchants sold their goods; but the ultimate result,
independent of the bloodshed which it caused, was that the Indians took
a dislike to Spanish manufactures, and the Peruvian market was
ultimately lost for ever to Spain.
The _repartimiento_ had lately been put in force by the _corregidores_
with even more than the usual injustice. The _corregidores_ were, I
must explain, Spanish municipal officers, who had very great authority
in the districts they governed; and as they were the receivers of all
taxes, tributes, and customs, they were able to ensure it with unsparing
rapacity, which they did not fail to do in most instances.
At length, after years of suffering, the Indian population were
thoroughly aroused, and determined to throw off the hated yoke of the
tyrants. Condorcanqui placed himself at their head; and before the
Spaniards were aware of the storm which was gathering, he had collected
a large but undisciplined army. He had two sons, called Andres and
Mariano, and a brother named Diogo, all of whom assumed the title of
Tupac Amaru, which means in the Quichua language, _the highly endowed_.
Several others of his relations also assumed the same title, and took
command of the patriots' forces in other parts of the country. The
Spaniards, despising the Indians, and regardless of any warnings they
might have received, were completely taken by surprise, and defeated in
all directions. The villages in whole districts were totally destroyed,
and several large towns were besieged, many of which were captured and
the inhabitants put to the sword.
Of their first victory I had been a witness. Condorcanqui had been
_cacique_ of the province of Tungasuca, the _corregidor_ of which was
among the most exacting and rapacious of his class. For a long time the
Indian chief had brooded over the sufferings of his countrymen, till he
resolved to avenge them. He confided his plans to a few other
_caciques_ only, and to his own relatives. They prepared the people by
means of faithful emissaries throughout the country; and arms and
munitions of war were collected with the greatest secrecy and
expedition. At an appointed day the signal of revolt was given; and the
_corregidores_ in many of the provinces, whom they looked upon as their
principal oppressors, were seized and executed.
The _corregidor_ of Tungasuca had been entertaining a party of friends
and some travellers at his house. The feast was over; they had taken
their _siesta_; and other guests had assembled to pass the evening with
music and dancing. His wife and daughters were there, and several
ladies young and lovely. The gay guitar was sounding in the hall, and
happy hearts and light feet were keeping time to the music. The
_corregidor_ was standing apart from the rest in earnest conversation
with a stranger.
"This is my farewell assembly," he observed. "I have now, thank
Providence, amassed a fortune sufficient for my wants; and in a few
weeks' time I shall sail for my beloved Spain. This country is a good
one for making money, but for nothing else."
"It is a fine country, though; and history tells us was once a perfect
paradise," remarked the stranger.
"A paradise it might have been when the fields were better cultivated
and more mines were worked; but the people have chosen to die off, and
those who remain are idle and lazy, and will not work," answered the
_corregidor_, with a scornful laugh.
"They have lately taken to care very little for religion either,"
observed Padre Diogo, the family chaplain, who now joined the speakers.
"When we go among them with the saints to collect offerings, our boxes
come back not a quarter full."
Just then a servant, pale with terror, rushed up to his master.
"What is the matter?" asked the _corregidor_. "Speak, fool, speak!" for
the man could only utter some unintelligible sounds.
"The Indians! the Indians!" cried the man, at length finding his voice.
"The house is surrounded by thousands of them!"
"Impossible!" exclaimed the _corregidor_. "The slaves would not dare--"
Just then an unearthly cry rent the air. The music ceased, and the
strangers hurried to go--the ladies clasping their partners' arms, and
the children clinging to their mothers. Some of the men went to the
windows. What the servant had reported was too true. On each side were
seen, by the beams of the pale moon, dense masses of armed savages,
forming an impenetrable barrier round the house; while others kept
arriving from every direction.
"What means all this?" exclaimed the _corregidor_. "I will go out and
order the slaves to disperse."
"O stay, stay!" cried his wife, clinging to him with an air of despair,
which showed her too true forebodings of evil. "They are exasperated
against you, and may do you harm. Let Padre Diogo go; he has influence
with the people, and may persuade them to depart."
The _corregidor_ was easily persuaded to follow his wife's counsel, for
his conscience told him that the Indians had just cause to hate him.
One of the strangers suggested that efforts should instantly be made to
barricade the house, and prepare for defending it, should the Indians be
assembled with any hostile intention. The _corregidor_ was about to
give orders to that effect, when another loud unearthly shriek paralysed
the nerves of all the inmates.
"Oh, go, Senor Padre, go! save my husband and children!" cried the
terrified wife.
"Save us! save us!" cried the guests, now fully aware of the horrible
danger that threatened them.
Thus urged, Padre Diogo prepared, with many misgivings, to go forth and
appeal to the people. He looked round with a sad countenance on those
he had lately seen so full of life and gaiety.
"May Heaven and the saints protect you, my children," he said solemnly.
Then taking in his hand a crucifix which hung in a little oratory near
the hall, he opened the front door of the house and stepped out among
the crowd. He held the sacred symbol of his faith aloft in his hand.
It served as his safeguard. No one attempted to injure him; but before
he could utter a word, he was surrounded and hurried away from the
house. No one would listen to his prayers and entreaties.
"Mercy, mercy, for the unfortunates in yonder mansion!" he cried.
"Mercy, mercy, Senor Padre! did they ever show mercy to us?" exclaimed a
voice from the crowd.
He looked back; the Indians were pouring into the house. Loud agonised
shrieks of women and children reached his ears. A few shots were heard,
followed by the triumphant shouts of the Indians. Flames were seen
bursting forth from the house. They burned up bright and clear in the
night air. By their light he observed a man dragged along among a crowd
of Indians. They stopped and appeared to be busily at work. In a short
time a gibbet was erected near the burning building.
"You are required to shrive a dying man, Senor Padre," said an Indian
who approached him.
He was led towards the engine of death. There, beneath it, he found,
pale with terror, and trembling in every limb, the _corregidor_, his
patron.
"They tell me, my son, that I am to perform the last offices of religion
for the dying," said Padre Diogo.
"For me, Padre, for me!" exclaimed the _corregidor_ in a voice of agony.
"Alas! it is cruel mockery. They have murdered my wife and children,
my guests and servants--all, all are dead! and now they will murder me."
"I will plead for you; I will try to save your life," said the padre.
"But they cannot have been so cruel--they cannot have murdered those
innocents!"
"Alas! I speak true. Before my eyes they slew all I love on earth, and
they only preserved me to make me endure longer suffering," said the
wretched man.
"You are delaying to perform your duty," cried a voice from among the
crowd of Indians.
"Mercy, mercy, for him, my children!" ejaculated the padre.
"He showed us none," answered a hundred voices in return. "Proceed,
proceed, or he must die without shrift."
The padre felt there was no hope; but he attempted to make another
appeal. He was answered in the same strain.
"My son, you must prepare your soul for another world," he whispered
into the ear of the _corregidor_.
The unhappy man saw that indeed there was no hope for him, but still he
clung to life. He dared not die. At that moment all his deeds of
cruelty, all his tyranny, came crowding to his memory in a light they
had never before worn. Of what use now was to him the wealth he had
thus unjustly acquired? Oh! if men would at all times and seasons
remember that they must one day die, and give an account of their deeds
on earth, would it not restrain them from committing acts of injustice
and wrong? The _corregidor_ attempted to enumerate his misdeeds. They
were too many for him to recollect.
"I have offended--I have miserably offended!" he exclaimed in his agony.
"God is full of mercy. He rejoices in pardoning the repentant sinner,"
answered the padre.
But his words brought no hope to a doubting mind. He felt that his
crimes were too great for pardon; though till that moment he had not
considered them as crimes.
The priest then proceeded to administer to him the last sacrament of the
Roman Catholic Church. He had scarcely concluded, when the Indians, who
had stood around in reverential silence, raised a loud clamour for the
instant execution of the culprit; but Padre Diogo was a brave man.
"My children," he cried, "you have already committed a great sin in
murdering the innocents who this night have fallen by your hands. Their
blood will cry to Heaven for vengeance. Preserve this man's life,
repent, and pray for mercy."
A _cacique_ now stepped forward from among the crowd.
"Senor Padre," he said, "we listen to your words with reverence, for you
are a priest, and have ever proved our friend; but this man was placed
in authority over us, and most cruelly did he abuse that authority. He
has been tried and found guilty. As his ancestors murdered our last
Inca, the great Atahualpa, so he must die. He has but one minute more
to live. We have already shown him more mercy than he deserves."
The tone, as much as the words of the speaker, convinced the padre that
his penitent must die. To the last he stood by his side, whispering
such words of consolation as he could offer. Several Indians, appointed
as executioners, advanced; and in an instant the miserable man was
hurried into eternity.
"For this man's death, the vengeance of his countrymen will fall
terribly on your heads, my children," exclaimed the padre; for the proud
spirit of the Spaniard was aroused within his bosom, and he did not fear
what they might do to him. Too truly were his words afterwards
verified. No one seemed to heed what he said; and he was led away from
the spot by a party of Indians, in whose charge he was given by the
chief Tupac Amaru. To his horror, he found that every man, woman, and
child among the white inhabitants of the village had fallen victims to
the exasperated fury of the Indians.
This account was given me some time afterwards by Padre Diogo himself;
though I thought the present a proper opportunity of introducing it.
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."
He took my hand again, and pressed it within his own. It was night
before I was tolerably composed; and as I threw myself on my couch
within the hut, I wept bitterly as a child, till sleep came to relieve
my misery. I must not dwell on the anguish I felt on waking--the utter
wretchedness of the next day. I was too ill to move, though I prayed
for strength to enable me to prosecute my search. Strength and health
came again at last; and in four days after I had heard the account given
by Manco, I insisted that I was able to undergo the fatigue to which I
must be exposed. Nothing that Manco or his wife could say had power to
deter me.
"You will be taken by the cruel Spaniards, and executed as a spy," said
Nita, the tears dropping from her eyes as she spoke.
"No Indian on whom you can rely will be able to accompany you, and you
cannot find your way alone," observed Manco. "Besides, in these unhappy
times robbers and desperadoes of every sort are ranging through the
country; and if you escape other dangers, they will murder you."
"My kind friends," I answered, taking both their hands, "I feel your
regard for me; but I fear neither Spaniards nor Indians, nor robbers nor
wild beasts, nor deserts nor storms, nor heat nor cold, nor hunger nor
thirst. I have a holy duty to perform, and I should be unworthy of the
name I bear if I shrunk from encountering the danger which may be before
me."
"If go you must, and I see that there is no use in attempting to
dissuade you, I will give you every assistance in my power," said Manco.
And thus it was arranged that I was to set out on my perilous
undertaking the next day but one, by which time he would be able to
accompany me to the foot of the mountains, though he would not be absent
long from his important duty in the patriots' army.