I am not fond of dwelling on horrors; but I should fail to give a true
picture of warfare and its effects, were I to neglect to describe those
scenes which are its never-failing accompaniments. I tried to sleep;
but at first the blaze of the fire, the voices of those around me, and
the din of the camp, kept me awake; and when that had ceased, all the
soldiers except the sentries, and even the Indian prisoners, having
dropped off asleep, there came up from the depths of the mountain gorge
a sound which, as I suspected its cause, effectually banished repose.
Though rendered faint by distance, it came through the quiet night air
with a distinctness which was truly terrible. I listened with painful
attention. There were the shrieks and groans of human beings in their
mortal agony, and the suppressed roar and hissing snarl of the fierce
puma and the sanguinary ounce, as they disputed over their prey. Many
Indians, I guessed too surely, had crawled, desperately wounded, into
the crevices of the rocks, where they lay concealed as the Spanish
troops passed by, and escaped instant death to suffer a lingering and
more terrible fate at the last. All night long those melancholy sounds
continued, and though they might have been heard by my companions, they
did not appear to disturb their repose. I scarcely knew whether to envy
or commiserate their apathy.
The night at last passed away. The soldiers started to their feet at
the sound of the bugle's call, a hasty meal was taken, baggage mules
were laden, the men fell into their ranks, and the order to march was
given. Pedro and I mounted our faithful little beasts, and rode by the
side of Don Eduardo, who, after he had got the troops into order, called
us to him.
We descended the side of the hill, and took a direction towards the
west, very much to my satisfaction, for I was afraid that we should have
again to pass through the gorge; and my heart sickened at the thought of
the sad spectacle we should there have to witness. There was no road,
and the ground was very uneven; but the men and animals seemed
accustomed to it, and managed to scramble along at the rate of about two
miles-an-hour. We marched for about five hours, when we reached the
bank of a river, where a halt was called, and the men were ordered to
pile arms and cook their dinners, scouts being sent out to give notice
of the approach of any Indians. The river ran through a broad valley,
having on either side high cliffs, and below them grassy land sprinkled
with trees. On the top of the cliffs was a wide belt of forest, beyond
which, stretched out to the south, a vast extent of sandy desert. As we
passed over it, I observed the remains of numerous small canals, which
Pedro informed me served in the days of the Incas to irrigate it, when
what was now a barren plain was covered with fertile fields.
The spot where we had approached the river was at the mouth of a narrow
stream, which wound its way down from the mountains, its course marked
by a line of trees, which it served to nourish. While the troops were
resting, the colonel summoned Pedro and me into his presence, to make
more inquiries about us. I mentioned that he was a very different sort
of person to Don Eduardo. He was a stern, morose man, none of the
kindlier sympathies of human nature finding a place in his bosom. He
was sitting on a rock, under the shade of a tree, with his secretary,
with paper and a pen in his hand, kneeling by his side, and making a
table of the rock, ready to take notes of what we might say. He
questioned us narrowly, and all we said was put down. I gave him the
same account that I had to Don Eduardo.
"And so you have been living among the Indians, and encouraging them in
their rebellion against their rightful sovereign, I doubt not," he
observed, fixing his piercing eyes on us. "Young man, your name is not
unfamiliar to me."
I felt no little alarm on hearing these words, which was increased when
he desired his secretary to turn to some notes he had in his portfolio.
"I thought so," he exclaimed. "You are the son of an Englishman who is
accused of conspiring with the Indians to overthrow the government of
the country. Your father has met with his deserts, for I see that he
and all his family were murdered by the wretched people he had
encouraged to revolt; but you, let me assure you, will not escape the
punishment which is your due. You have been treated with too much
leniency by us; you and your companion are now prisoners. Guard lead
them off, and take care that they do not escape."
The information so brutally given me, confirmatory of my worst fears,
almost overcame me, and I believe that I should have sunk to the ground,
had not the soldiers who were ordered to take charge of us supported me
as they led me away. I was far too much absorbed by the dreadful news,
the truth of which I could not doubt, to be able to contemplate the very
dangerous position in which I was placed. I did not attempt to answer
the colonel, nor to exculpate myself; indeed, any appeal to him would
have been of no avail. Pedro and I were marched off, and placed by
ourselves under the shade of a rock, where several men were stationed as
sentries over us. The officers with whom we had before been associating
on friendly terms seemed to regard us with looks of pity, but they dared
not speak to us. When the troops again marched we were guarded by two
soldiers, who rode by our sides with drawn swords, while we were not
allowed to address each other. The time occupied by that journey was
the most miserable portion of my life. Hope had almost deserted me.
All those I loved best on earth were gone; and at the end of it I had
nothing to expect but a long imprisonment in a loathsome dungeon, or
perhaps death. The next evening, when the soldiers halted to bivouac
for the night, as Pedro and I were sitting disconsolately on the ground
at a short distance from each other, with our guards between us, I saw
Don Eduardo approaching. He told the soldiers to withdraw, and sat down
by my side. I saw by his manner that he had undertaken a task which was
not altogether to his taste.
"I have got permission from the colonel to speak to you," he began. "He
considers himself authorised not to act very rigorously with you if you
will accede to his proposals."
"What are they, Don Eduardo?" I asked, at once guessing their tenor.
"Why, he understands you have seen the army of the rebel chief, Tupac
Amaru, and are acquainted with their intentions," he answered.
"I own that I have seen large numbers of Indians collected together, but
I am entirely ignorant of what they were about to do," I said. "But
pray go on, Don Eduardo."
"The proposal is similar to what I made you when we first met," he
replied, the colour rising to his cheeks. "If you can conduct a Spanish
force to where they are to be found, or can contrive to put some of
their chiefs into our power, you and your friend shall forthwith be set
at liberty."
"You, I am sure, Don Eduardo, can expect but one reply from me to such a
question, and you know that it is the only one which, while I remain an
honourable man, I can give."
"I am afraid so," he answered, looking down much grieved. "I am to add,
that if you refuse, as soon as we arrive at the town of San Pablo, you
will be tried and shot as a rebel."
"Before I have been found guilty?" I asked.
"I fear your guilt in our eyes has been too well established by your own
confession," he observed. "Let me advise you to think over the subject
well. It is hard for a youth like you to die."
"Tell me, Don Eduardo, do you believe me guilty?" I asked.
"You have been in communication with the Indians and you wish them
well," he said, avoiding an answer to my question.
"I wish the Spaniards well, and have never instigated the Indians to
rebel by word or deed," said I. "But you have not told me if you think
me guilty."
"I do not. From what I have seen of you I think you incapable of doing
so wrong a thing," he replied, kindly taking my hand. "I wish to save
your life."
"I warmly thank you for what you say, Don Eduardo," I exclaimed; "but I
cannot do what is proposed. If I am not guilty it will be more easy to
die; but I trust that, as an Englishman, the government will not venture
to put me to death unless my guilt is clearly proved."
"In these times no respect is paid to persons," he said. "You must not
trust to such a hope; yet I would take a more satisfactory answer back
to my colonel."
"I can send no other answer than what I have given," I replied; "you
would from your heart despise me if I did."
At this he looked very melancholy. "Well, I fear it must be so, yet I
will do all I can for you," he said, as again pressing my hand in token
of his good-will, he rose to leave me.
Having ordered the sentries to return to their posts, he went to where
my companion in misfortune was sitting. He conversed with him for some
time; and though I had great confidence in Pedro, I was afraid that he
might ultimately be tempted or threatened into compliance with the
colonel's demands. I wronged him; for I afterwards learned that he
remained firm to his honour. The night passed away without any
adventure; and wearied out by bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, though
the hard ground was my couch, I slept till daylight. My conscience was,
at all events, clear of wrong, and I never recollect to have slept so
soundly. I awoke more refreshed than I had been for some time, and with
a lighter heart in my bosom. Even hope revived, though I had little
enough to ground it on. The air was pure and bracing, my nerves felt
well strung, and the face of nature itself wore to my eyes a more
cheerful aspect than it had done for many days. The troops advanced
more rapidly than they had before done, and towards evening the spires
of several churches rising from the plain, the rays of the sun lighting
them brilliantly up, came in sight. They were in the town of San Pablo,
the houses in which soon after appeared. As we approached, a number of
the Spanish inhabitants came out to hear the news, and seemed highly
gratified at the result of the expedition. The unfortunate Indians who
were brought in as prisoners, chiefly attracted their attention; and I
was shocked to hear the abuse they heaped on them. The miserable beings
walked on with sullen and downcast looks, without deigning to reply.
They had no hope--they had lost the day, and they knew the fate which
awaited them.
As we marched through the unpaved, dirty streets, the inhabitants came
out of their houses to look at us, and to offer the troops refreshments
and congratulations. We found the town full of people of all colours,
of whom a large number were Indians who had refused to join the revolt.
In the centre of the town was the usual large plaza or square; and on
one side of it was a building which we were told was the prison.
Towards it we were at once conducted. One side of the square was
without buildings, a broad stream running past it, beyond which were
cultivated fields, and gardens divided by walls. In the centre was a
fountain, continually throwing up a jet of crystal water--a refreshing
sight in that climate. The prison fronted the river. On one side was a
church, and on the other the residence of the governor of the town, or
of some other civil functionary. On either side of the buildings I have
mentioned, were long rows of houses of various heights, though mostly of
one story, very similar to those I have already described. Three
streets, running at right angles to each other, led into the square. I
have not without reason been thus particular in my description.
The soldiers who had us in charge, led us across the square, amid the
shouts and jeers of the people. Even the blacks, the half-castes, and
the Indians, came to stare at us with stupid wonder, calling us rebels,
traitors, and robbers. The unfortunate Indians who had been made
prisoners, went before us. The massive gates of the prison were thrown
open, and they were forced within. We came last.
My heart sunk within me as we entered those gloomy walls. The interior
was already crowded with human beings, many of them Indians, found with
arms in their hands, or suspected of an intention of joining the rebels.
We advanced along a low, arched gallery, intersected by several gates;
and having passed two of them, we turned to the left, along a narrower
passage, at the end of which we reached a small door. The gaoler, who
showed the way with a torch, opened it; and, to my dismay, I saw that a
steep flight of steps led down from it to some chambers below the
ground.
"We are to be shut up in a dungeon, I fear," I whispered to Pedro.
"So that I am with you, I care not where I am," he answered.
Four of the soldiers followed us, to prevent our running away, I
suppose; though we should have had but a poor chance of escaping even
had we tried. The rest faced about, and marched back through the
passage. I hesitated on the top of the steps, so narrow and broken and
dark did they look.
"Come along, Senores, come along!" said the gaoler; "but take care how
you tread, for the steps are somewhat worn, and you may chance to break
your necks some days before their time."
Though inclined to make merry at our expense, he held his torch so as to
afford sufficient light for us to see our way. The soldiers laughed
gruffly at his joke, bad as it was; and this made him attempt one or two
others of a similar character.
"The gentlemen have not perhaps been accustomed to live in a palace, but
they will find one here, with plenty of servants to attend on them; so I
must beg to congratulate them," he said, chuckling as he spoke. "They
will have plenty of playmates, though some of them will not remain very
long, I suspect. They have a way here of making a speedy clearance at
times."
We had now reached the bottom of the steps, and another small door,
plated with iron and secured with two stout iron bars, appeared before
us. The gaoler removed the bars, and taking a key from his girdle,
opened the door.
"Go in there, Senores," he said. "It is somewhat dark at present, but
you will get accustomed to it by-and-by."
Saying this, he forced us into the dungeon. I went in first, and
stumbled down a couple of steps, nearly falling on my face. While I was
holding out my hand to save Pedro from doing the same, the door was shut
behind us, and barred and bolted as before. We found ourselves in
almost total darkness, a small aperture near the ceiling alone affording
a dim gleam of light, which served to show us the gloomy horrors of the
place. Two massive pillars supported the low arched roof, which seemed
covered with moisture. The size of the place we could not tell, as the
darkness prevented our seeing the walls at either side. The floor was
unpaved, and composed of damp earth strewed with filth. We stood for
some minutes holding each other's hands, without speaking, and without
moving. We felt bewildered and stupified with the calamity which had
befallen us. Pedro was the first to recover himself.
"They cannot keep us here for ever," he said, breaking the long silence.
"Others have been in worse places, and have escaped. Let us hope,
Senor, for the best." He spoke in a cheerful tone, which had a reviving
effect upon me.
"We will hope for the best, Pedro," I exclaimed. "Something may occur
to deliver us. We must consider, however, what we have to do. I
propose that we first make a tour of inspection round our dominions. It
will give us some occupation, though idleness seems rather encouraged
here."
"I would rather find the way out of our dominions, as you call them,
than become better acquainted with them," said Pedro. "However, I am
ready to set out whenever you please."
"We may possibly find the way out during our inspection," I remarked, as
we began slowly and cautiously to move round the walls of the cell.
It was narrow but long, and extended, as I concluded, along part of one
side of the inner court. We found two other pillars towards the further
end, and we felt several rings secured in the walls, with heavy chains
attached to them. Of their use there could be no doubt; and we
congratulated ourselves that we were still allowed to have our limbs at
liberty. In our walk we stumbled over an iron bar, and our feet knocked
against some other rings attached to stones sunk in the floor.
"So some of the inmates of the mansion have been chained down like
maniacs to the ground," Pedro observed. "We are indeed fortunate in
escaping such treatment."
Though we searched most minutely, we could discover nothing which might
suggest any means of escaping. We had just concluded an examination,
and had returned to our seats, when the door of the dungeon was opened,
and the gaoler appeared, bringing a jar of water and two loaves of brown
bread.
Pedro examined his countenance. "Stop," he exclaimed, as the man was
going away; "Sancho Lopez, I do believe you are an old friend of mine."
"In truth yes, and you saved my life," answered the gaoler. "But I must
not stop--but I must not stop. Be at rest, I do not forget the matter."
Pedro afterwards told me how he had saved the Spanish gaoler's life in a
snow-storm in the mountains, and we agreed that it was a great thing to
have him as our friend.
We had been in the dungeon about a fortnight, and though it was damp and
unwholesome in the extreme, we did not appear to have suffered in
health.
One morning Sancho entered our cell with a cheerful countenance.
"I bring you good news, Senores," he said. "I have just received a
visit from a young officer, who has, it appears, been making interest in
your favour; and he has gained permission for your removal to a more
airy abode. He seemed very anxious about you, and said he pitied you
very much, though he was unable to obtain your liberty, which he wished
to do. I hurried here to tell you this, as I thought it would give you
pleasure. I must now go back to get the chambers ready for you, and
will return with two of the under gaolers to conduct you to it. One
caution I have to give you. Do not mind what I say to you before
others, and never answer any of my remarks."
Without waiting for our reply and thanks, Sancho closed the prison door,
and left us to ourselves.
"We have to thank Don Eduardo for this. I am sure he is the officer
Sancho spoke of," I remarked.
"I think so also," answered Pedro. "I am glad that he has not asked us
to pass our word not to escape."
"So am I," I observed. "While we were on our road here, I often
contemplated the possibility of getting out of prison; but then I did
not expect to be put into a dungeon like this."
For some time we could talk of nothing else but the prospect of making
our escape.
Two hours or more had passed away, and Sancho had not returned. We knew
that he would not willingly have deceived us, but we began to be afraid
that the governor had rescinded his permission for our occupying a room
open to the air, and that we might be doomed to remain in our dungeon
for weeks or months longer. At last we heard footsteps approaching the
cell; the door was opened, and Sancho and his two assistants appeared.
"You are to accompany me, Senores," he said, in the gruff tone he had
used at our entrance. "You are fortunate in coming out of that place
alive; though some I have known would rather have had to remain there
than be obliged to march out into the square yonder."
The assistants laughed as he said this, and we soon had too great a
reason to know to what he alluded. Sancho led the way with a torch in
his hand; and his assistants followed, holding us tightly by the arms,
as if we would have tried to escape from them. I certainly could not
have done so had I tried, for when I came to mount the steps, I found my
knees trembling under me from weakness, arising from being shut up so
long in the damp dungeon, though I had till then thought myself as
strong as ever. We traversed a number of passages, and mounted a second
flight of steps, when we reached a small door plated with iron. Sancho
opened it, and exhibited a room about six feet broad and eight feet
long, with a window strongly barred at the further end. There were two
chairs and a bedstead, with a straw mattress on it.
"Put the youngsters in there," he said gruffly to his assistants. "It
is a room fit for an hidalgo of the first order. They may see and be
seen if they choose to put their noses through the gratings."
On this the gaolers very unceremoniously thrust us in, and Sancho,
without saying a word more, closed the door upon us. It appeared such
an age since we had beheld the blue sky and the smiling face of nature,
that we eagerly rushed to the window to discover what view could be
obtained from it. We found, to our no small satisfaction, that it was
not more than twelve or fifteen feet from the ground, and that it looked
out on the great square I have before described. I have never forgotten
the sensations of delight with which I inhaled the fresh air as it came
through the open bars, and gazed once more on the bright sky, and the
clear water of the river, the fields, and the trees beyond, and the
human beings who were thronging the open space below us. They all
appeared so full of life and activity, and the murmur of their voices
seemed like music to my ears, so long accustomed to the silence of the
dungeon. The bars of the window were very strong, and placed very close
together, so that, as Sancho had observed, we could only just get our
noses through them. We were, however, glad to get them out as far as we
could, and every moment I found the breeze restoring to my limbs their
accustomed strength. My first impulse was to shake the bars to try and
find whether any of them could be moved; but I restrained myself, lest
some one from below should observe us and suspect that we were thinking
of escaping. As we stood there, we heard several voices in piteous
tones asking for alms; and by pressing our faces close to the bars, we
discovered that some of the prisoners in the neighbouring rooms were
letting down hats and baskets by lines at the ends of poles, like
fishing rods, to collect food and money from the passers-by. We were
still eagerly watching the scene, when I felt a hand laid on my
shoulder. I started back, and saw Sancho. We had been so interested
that we had not heard him enter. He placed his finger on his lips to
impose silence.
"I have been so occupied that I could not come before," he whispered.
"I have brought you some white bread, and some meat, and fruit, and
fresh water, and a little brandy to mix with it, which have been ordered
by the friend who has obtained for you the indulgence of this room.
Here are the provisions." He put down in the chair a basket covered
with a cloth. "I cannot remain, for a fresh set of prisoners have
lately arrived, and I am employed in looking after them."
"Who are they?" I asked. "More Indians, I fear."
"Yes, Senor; there are a hundred of them. Poor fellows, I pity them,
for they will certainly be shot in the great square out there before
many days are over. There is a young chief among them. I grieve for
him most, for he is a very fine fellow. He walked along as he came to
prison like a prince, and heeded not the shouts and revilings of the mob
who followed him and his companions. Their misery will soon be over,
for they are to be tried to-morrow, and they have not a chance of
escape."
"Can you tell me his name!" I asked anxiously; for I instantly thought
of Manco.
"No, I cannot," he answered. "I only know that he was taken a few clays
ago in a skirmish with the enemy, who are not many leagues off. It is
feared even that they may attack the town, though we have too many
soldiers here to give them much chance of success."
"I trust they will not," I exclaimed, thinking of the dreadful scenes
which had before occurred. "But can you learn the name of this young
chief? I fear he is a friend of ours."
"Oh, do not acknowledge him, then," said the gaoler, "as you value your
lives. You cannot benefit him, and may run the risk of sharing his
fate."
I saw the mistake I had committed; but still I pressed Sancho to learn
who he was, and he undertook to comply with my wish, provided I followed
his advice. I again asked him to inform us who was the friend who had
interested himself in our favour; but he replied that he was not at
liberty to say, and he then hurried from the room.
The news he had brought made us very sad, for we could not help
contemplating the scene of bloodshed which was about to occur, which was
of itself sufficiently horrible, even should my suspicions that Manco
was a prisoner not prove correct. We were doomed not to have our
anxiety relieved, for Sancho did not again make his appearance during
the day. He was probably afraid of being observed if he visited us too
frequently. We ate the food Sancho had brought us most thankfully, and
it much contributed to restore our strength; but we had lost all
pleasure in looking out of the window on the square, which was so soon
to be the scene of the slaughter of so many of our fellow-creatures. We
found a bundle of blankets and some clean linen hid away under the
bedding; for the latter, which to us was a great luxury, we had no doubt
we were indebted to Don Eduardo. At night we threw ourselves on the
bed, and tried to sleep; but my rest was very disturbed, and I
constantly dreamed that I heard firing, and saw the unhappy Indians
being shot down before the windows. Towards morning, however, I fell
into a deep slumber; and, probably owing to the change of air and the
improvement in our food, we both slept to a much later hour than usual.
We were awakened by the confused sound of the voices of a concourse of
people, and jumping up, we hurried to the window. From thence we saw a
large crowd collected in the square, who seemed to be eagerly watching
the doors of the prison. We could distinguish the tones of those
nearest to us; and from the words which reached us, we learned that a
sort of trial had taken place the previous evening of the prisoners
lately captured, as well as of those in Tupac Catari's army, and that
they were all condemned to be shot. No one seemed to pity them; but, on
the contrary, all appeared to exult at the prospect of the slaughter
which was about to commence.
"The pretended Inca, Tupac Amaru, has been taken," said one man.
"No; that is a mistake," was the answer. "But another chief has, though
he fought like a lion, it is said."
"Who is he?" asked another.
"A relation of the Inca's: one of the viper's brood," replied the first.
"They say two strangers were made prisoners leading on the rebels,"
observed a third. "They are to be shot also, I hope."
"No doubt of it; but the viceroy has thought it necessary to send to
explain the matter to the English consul at Lima; and his answer has not
arrived," remarked a fourth.
"It is known that it cannot arrive for three or four more days; and care
will be taken to shoot them before that time," said the former speaker.
"Can they allude to us?" I asked of Pedro, feeling my heart sink within
me.
"There is no doubt about it," he replied. "We must be prepared for the
worst; but I do not think they will dare to kill one of your great
nation. They will shoot me though, as I have no friends to help me."
"Nor have I, Pedro; but I would rather say, Let us hope for the best," I
answered. "They would gain nothing by killing either of us, and it
would be very unjust to kill you and let me escape."
"It would be very unjust to kill either of us; but they care little for
justice, and they wish to strike terror into the hearts of their
enemies," he remarked calmly.
"Such cruelty as they are about to perpetrate will only exasperate the
Indians the more," said I. "If they were to treat them well, and let
them go, they would be more likely to put down the rebellion."
The crowd was every moment increasing, as people were coming in from all
directions. Among them were a large number of Indians, mestizos, and
other half-castes, who seemed to look on with the same unconcern as the
Spaniards. My eye had been attracted by a man whose florid complexion
and dress showed that he was a seaman of some northern nation, and I
hoped an Englishman. He shouldered his way through the crowd with a
confident, independent air, as if he felt himself superior to any about
him. At length he came close under our window, and caught my eye
watching him. He stared at me fixedly for some time, and I thought
recognised me to be a countryman by my light hair and fair complexion.
Once he put his hand up to his mouth, as if he was going to hail me, as
he would a man at the masthead; but he again let it drop, having
apparently changed his mind, and, returning his hands to his trousers
pockets, he rolled away with the unmistakeable air of a British seaman.
I longed to call after him to tell who I was; but, afraid of being heard
by others, I restrained myself.
"Is that man a friend of yours?" asked Pedro.
"I never saw him that I know of before," I answered.
"Well, I thought that he recognised you," he observed. "I marked the
expression of his eye, and I should say that he knew you, or mistook you
for some one else."
I eagerly watched the sailor, afraid that he would go away, and that we
should see him no more. I observed, however, that though he dodged
about among the crowd with a careless air, he never got to any great
distance from our window. This circumstance kept alive my hope that he
had come for the purpose of bringing us information, or of helping us to
escape. The crowd had now begun to grow as impatient at the
non-appearance of the prisoners as they would at a bull-fight, had there
been a delay in turning the bull into the circus, when three bodies of
troops were seen marching up from the several streets leading into the
square. They formed on either side of it, making a lane from the prison
gates to the river; while the crowd fell back behind them. I had
observed a number of Indians collecting on the opposite bank of the
river, who now came down close to its edge, watching anxiously the
proceedings of the soldiers. They appeared, however, not to be remarked
by the people in the town. As they were partly concealed by the trees
and the walls dividing the fields, their numbers might not have been
perceived by the people in the square. The bell of the nearest church
began to toll; the crowd looked eagerly towards the prison; the massive
gates were thrown open, and we saw issuing forth a posse of priests and
monks, bearing crucifixes and lighted tapers, who were followed by the
unhappy Indians intended for execution, chained two and two, and each
couple guarded by a soldier with his musket presented at their heads.
I watched them file out with aching eyes, for every moment I expected to
see Manco led forth. I had a painful presentiment that he was among the
victims. The last of the Indians had passed on, and I began to breathe
more freely; but still the crowd began to look towards the gates of the
prison. Alas! I was not mistaken. The mob raised a shout of
exultation, and I saw a man I could too clearly recognise, between two
soldiers, with a priest advancing before him, and reciting the prayers
for the dead. It was the kind, the brave Manco himself. He walked on
with a proud and dignified air, undaunted by the revengeful shouts of
his enemies, thirsting for his blood. His step was firm, and his brow
was unclouded, and his lips were firmly set; but I observed that his
bright dark eyes were every now and then ranging anxiously among the
crowd, as if in search of a friendly glance. His fellow-beings who
formed the mob, looked at him with eager and savage curiosity; but no
one appeared to offer him any sign of recognition. He was closely
followed by a company of soldiers, with arms presented. They formed, I
discovered, the fatal firing party. As they advanced, the other
soldiers formed in the rear, and the mob followed close behind. The
sailor, I observed, went with the rest for a short distance, but when he
found that their attention was entirely occupied with the prisoners, he
disengaged himself from among them, and rolled back with his unconcerned
air towards our window.
"Shipmate, ahoy," he exclaimed in a suppressed tone as he passed.
"Who are you?" I asked eagerly.
"A friend in need," he answered, in the same low tone. "Keep a stout
heart in your body, and if you can manage to rig a line of some sort,
let it down out of your window soon after dark. If it's just strong
enough to haul up another it will do. I'll bring a stout one with me."
"We'll do as you say, friend, and many thanks," I answered.
"That's all right then," said the seaman. "When you hear a cat mew
under your window, let down the line. I shan't be far off. I must now
go along with the crowd to see what's going on. I wish that I could
lend a helping hand to some of those poor fellows; but it won't do, I
must look after you, you know. A countryman in distress has the first
right to my services."
I longed to learn who he was; but before I could ask him, he had
sauntered away among the crowd. Meantime the soldiers had formed three
sides of a hollow square, the river forming the fourth. Close to the
bank there stood a large group of human beings--the victims destined for
execution. Their arms and legs were secured with cords, so that they
could not escape. They uttered no cries or lamentations, but appeared
ready to meet their fate with stoical indifference. The priests, with
their crucifixes and candles, collected round them, exhorting them to
repentance, and uttering prayers which none of them could understand. I
looked anxiously for Manco, but he was not among them, and at last I
discovered him standing apart, under charge of a file of soldiers. With
a refinement of cruelty, it was intended that he should witness the
execution of his friends and countrymen, before he himself was led forth
to be shot. A priest stood by his side, endeavouring to make him listen
to the words of exhortation he was pouring into his ears; but, I judged,
with no effect. His arms were folded, and his eyes were turned towards
the group in the centre. Several officers were riding about the square.
At a signal from one of them (the colonel who had sent us to prison),
the priests retired; and the firing party, consisting of a hundred men,
fell back to the distance of about twenty paces. There was a death-like
silence; even the savage crowd were awed. I could scarcely breathe, and
a mist came before my eyes.
There was a pause of a minute. Perhaps, I thought, the commanding
officer himself hesitates to give the word which must send so many of
his fellow-creatures to eternity. I was mistaken. "Fire," he shouted,
in a sharp loud voice. A rapid discharge of musketry was heard, and as
the smoke cleared off, a number of the prisoners were seen struggling
and writhing in agony on the ground. Some of them lay still enough, for
they, more fortunate, were shot dead; while the wounded uttered the most
fearful shrieks and cries for mercy. More than two-thirds stood erect,
unharmed by the bullets. The soldiers, loaded as fast as they could,
and again sent forth a deadly fire from their muskets. The number of
prisoners was fearfully thinned. The soldiers fired again and again,
and each time fewer remained alive. At last but two Indians continued
standing side by side, unscathed by the fire. I was in hopes that they
might have been pardoned; but no, the soldiers advancing, presented
their pieces at their breasts and shot them dead, while those who lay
wounded on the ground were likewise put out of their misery.
All eyes were now turned towards the chief Manco. I know not on what
account his limbs were allowed to remain unfettered. Perhaps they
thought that among such a crowd a single man could do no one an injury.
He walked along towards the spot where his murdered countrymen lay in
heaps, with his head erect, and a firm, unfaltering step. The priest
followed him; but he waved him off, as if his services were of no
further avail. Even the officers seemed to feel some respect for him;
and I saw one of them give him a handkerchief, with which to give the
signal for the soldiers to fire. He stood boldly facing them, with his
eye firmly fixed on his executioners, a little way on one side of the
heap of dead men. My heart felt ready to burst; yet painful as it was,
I could not withdraw my sight from him. I anxiously watched for the
fatal moment. He gave a leap upwards it appeared, and threw the
handkerchief in the air. The soldiers fired; but when the smoke cleared
we could not distinguish his body on the ground. The head and shoulders
of a man were, however, seen in the waters of the river, and he was
striking out with powerful strokes towards the opposite shore, where at
the same instant a number of Indians were observed plunging in to meet
him.
"See, Pedro, he has escaped--he has escaped!" I exclaimed. "It is
Manco I am certain; how bravely he swims. They will not be so cruel as
to kill him now. He will reach the opposite shore. Ah! alas, he sinks.
No, he has only dived; see, he comes up some way down the stream."
The firing party advanced to the banks; but they had expended all their
cartridges, I suppose, for they stood watching him in stupid
astonishment; and no one, for a minute or more, thought of ordering any
of the other soldiers to advance and fire. This gave the swimmer a
great advantage; and as the current was strong, he had soon glided some
way down below the square. At last some hundred men advanced to the
edge of the river, and opened a rapid fire on him; but still he
continued his course undaunted. The Indians on the banks set up loud
shouts, as did those who had swam out to meet him. He was quickly among
them, when it became impossible to distinguish him from the rest. Many,
I suspected, lost their lives in their attempt to save their chief. A
number of soldiers jumped into the canoes on the banks of the river, and
attempted to pursue the fugitive; but long before they could have
reached him, the swimmers had landed, and were seen rushing up among the
trees. Whether or not he was among them I could not tell; for the
bodies of those who were killed floated down the stream out of sight. A
rapid fire was kept up at the opposite bank, which the Indians, as they
landed, had to pass through; but they were soon sheltered from its
effects by the trees, and in a few moments not one of them was to be
seen. Carts came to convey the dead away; sand was strewed over the
spot; the crowd, murmuring at the escape of the principal victim,
dispersed; and the square in a short time resumed its usual appearance.