  Produced by Al Haines. [image] Cover art [image] "Quick!" Cristoval whispered, "They are upon us!" (Page 196) THE CRIMSON CONQUEST A Romance of Pizarro and Peru BY CHARLES BRADFORD HUDSON With Frontispiece in full color by CHICAGO Copyright Published October 5, 1907 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England The University Press, Cambridge, U.S.A. CONTENTS Chapter I FOREWORD This tale is to be of days when the green forest-aisles and mountain trails of America saw the glint of the steel of men in armor. It will have to do with times when the aborigine looked upon the sparkle of lance, the flutter of pennon, the gleam of corselet, helm, and morion, and felt his primeval turf tremble beneath the hoofs of steeds in full panoply. It will tell of plumed and plated cavaliers, "In brave pursuit of chivalrous emprise," who found in the wilderness of the New World adventures no less hardy, and near as strange, as any fabled one encountered by knight of old. It is easily half forgotten that our continent has its chronicles which link us with the age of chivalry; that its soil once sustained the march of men armed cap-a-pie, as bold of heart, greedy for renown, and thirsty for blood, as ever a crusader. They came, proof-valiant against all peril; of a fire-eating, eager courage surpassed alone by their truculence and cruelty; of a courage to meet not only dangers real, but a myriad direful ones born of fancy. For they were, withal, men of imagination and fine, wide credulity. They peopled the West with Amazons, giants, dragons, and legions of beings of varied and curious monstrosity. They were prepared in mind not only to fight battles, but to encounter sorcerers, witches, and the Fiend himself; to undergo all manner of spells, charms, enchantments, and kindred grisly experiences and phenomena. They sought earnestly, conscientiously, and with diligence, for golden Manoa and its emperor, El Dorado, and for the Fountain of Perpetual Youth. If they failed to come upon these, and did no preternatural deeds, they were none the less heroes, animated by the spirit of knight-errantry, which with them took its final leave of earth. THE CRIMSON CONQUEST CHAPTER I Booty from Peru Toward the end of a day in the year Fifteen Hundred and Thirty-one, as the air cooled slightly with the sun's decline, the plaza of the little Spanish city of Panama grew languidly animate. The square had blazed, shimmered, and baked all day, shunned in its fervor except by those compelled to cross it in order to avoid the exertion of going round, or by the few straggling natives whose half-naked bodies and sun-tanned hides were proof; but this was the hour of listless awakening, and groups formed at the corners, exchanging gossip—if by a blessing there was gossip to exchange—and awaiting the sole break in the sultry monotony of the day, the evening parade of the garrison with its stimulating bang of the culverin at sunset. The dominant type in these groups was that of the fighting man. Some were sailors, a few were planters; but most of the swarthy faces wore the unmistakable marks of the soldier. The dress and bearing of a small number indicated rank; but all, save a sprinkling of ecclesiastics and civil officers of the Crown, were adventurers, and bore evidence, in their worn apparel, in their scars, and in their bronzed and weatherbeaten features, of severe campaigns and hardship. This particular evening the ceremony of the parade received less than usual attention. Two ships had entered the harbor the day before, bearing news and plunder from Francisco Pizarro's expedition to the coast of South America. The inn at the side of the plaza was full of men. Its wineshop was overflowing, but the rattle of dice, the oaths, and controversy were wanting. In front lounged a crowd, thickening at the door, where swayed lazily a banner displaying a device new to heraldry,—the arms of Pizarro. At the portal stood a halberdier in corselet and morion fresh-burnished, recounting with vaunt and gasconade an alluring tale of rapine, which was heard with varying degrees of interest, credulity, or scepticism. There was no enthusiasm. Some sauntered doubtfully away. A few heeded, and finally entered the door. Within, there was more animation. Behind a table near the rear, leaning comfortably against the wall, his legs sprawled under the board and his hands thrust into his belt, sat a sturdy cavalier. He was listening with some amusement to the excited comments of the men about him as they passed a golden bracelet of barbaric design which he had tendered for their inspection. He was between thirty-five and forty years old—perhaps nearer the latter. His sunbrowned countenance gave the impression of being stern, almost fierce. A close-shorn beard, nearly black, covered a firm, well-formed jaw, and with the trim cut of his hair, suggested a care of person conspicuous among the rough-looking campaigners in the room. The upward twist of his mustachios and strongly aquiline nose gave his face a pronounced military character, borne out presently, when he straightened up from his lounging attitude, by the erect bearing and squareness of shoulder that belong to the soldierly calling. A closer view dispelled the first notion of fierceness, for from the ruggedly marked brows looked a pair of dark eyes, clear, frank, well lined about with crow's-feet, and enlivened by good humor. While he conversed with those nearest, the bracelet circulated from hand to hand, was scrutinized, bitten, rung upon the tables to test its metal, and was finally handed back by a seedy-looking soldier, who observed: "By my faith, SeÑor Cristoval, that bauble hath the proper color. There is more of yellow in its complexion than I've seen for many a day. Thou mayst set me down. I go to Peru. Hola! camaradas, d'ye hear? I go to Peru. Who will follow?" His example and the lure of the gold had their sure effect. In a moment the officer was busy with his pen, while an eager group leaned over the table to watch as he wrote their names and answers to his brisk questions. Their enthusiasm spread among the loungers outside, and before it subsided a dozen or more enlisted for the expedition. Most of the recruits were half-starved fellows who had idled about the colony for months, unable to secure employment for their swords since the rebellion in Nicaragua had been suppressed, and disdainful of work less honorable. A few were fully equipped, but many had sold, pawned, or gambled away their arms and armor, and had only their rapiers, which they retained as a necessity. During this first day of recruiting, a score had been sent to the temporary quarters, with instructions first to gather up or locate whatever of equipment they could find. Candles had been brought, the room had nearly emptied, and the officer was arranging his papers, when he heard the sound of hoofs and the voice of the halberdier, evidently addressing a rider. "Hola, Pedro! Blessed Faith! Is it thou?" The response was not immediate, and the creaking of the saddle, with sundry grunts and adjurations to the animal, indicated that the newcomer was dismounting. The operation was made difficult by the fact that he had a wooden leg, the left having been taken off at the knee. He puffed as he finally stood, but presently answered the soldier in a voice of much volume and with uncommon blandness and fluency. "It is I,—that is, my solid parts. Of the rest, those volatile are volatilized; those meltable, melted and bedewing the grass along my trail. Thou seest but a parboiled residuum. Wilt hold my mule?" "Hold thy mule!" replied the halberdier, with proper soldierly scorn. "Not I, by the fiend!" "Nay! Keep thy temper, my lusty buck soldier," said the other, with suavity. "I meant no flattery." "Flattery!" "In offering thee the privilege.—Here, boy," he called to a half-breed urchin, "guard my steed. But keep in front of him, for he hath a twofold nature,—tender-hearted to a fault as far as the saddle-girth; behind it, maleficent as the powers of evil." He turned again to the soldier. "Is this thy recruiting office, SeÑor Alabardero?" "Ah!" assented the halberdier. "But, Sacramento! Dost think to enlist, Pedro?" "And why not?" demanded Pedro. "Why, if I can count, thou hast legs too few by half." "Then thou canst not count, for I have three. Two I have with me,—one mine by right of birth, the other by right of purchase, and of as good wood as that of which thy head is made. The third lieth in Italy, four feet under ground, but still mine, nihilo minus,—which is Latin, my friend, and meaneth 'nevertheless.' But dost require more legs in thy recruits, halberdier? If so, it must be a running game, this campaigning in Peru." "Bastante!" growled the soldier. "Thou hast legs enough, and tongue enough, God wot!" "Good! Then I'll enter. Who is the officer?" "Lieutenant Cristoval de Peralta." "I've heard of him," said Pedro, and stumped into the room. Cristoval looked up, to behold a man ten years his senior, slightly corpulent, with a full round face, now reddened by the heat and exertion of riding, which he mopped vigorously as he advanced with sombrero under his arm. Smooth-shaven, somewhat bald, and with gray hair closely cropped, there was a suggestion of the priest or monk in his countenance, further aided by the genial benignancy of his expression. A frock would, indeed, have made him the most jovial-looking of ecclesiastics, and his well-fed and comfortable appearance would have helped the disguise. A large mouth, a nose formidable but well shaped, and eyes with ever a lurking twinkle, made up a face to be warmed to at first glimpse. The precision of his salute left no doubt in Cristoval's mind that the missing leg had been lost on the battle-field, and he surveyed the man with interest. "Let me not interrupt, SeÑor Teniente," said Pedro. "I am in no hurry." "I have finished," replied Cristoval. "How can I serve thee?" "Thou'rt recruiting for Pizarro?" Cristoval nodded, thinking of the rabble already enrolled that day, and wondering whether this one-legged veteran purposed offering himself. "Bien!" said Pedro. "I would join the expedition." "But thou'rt maimed, compadre!" "Como asi! Just so!" replied the other, with a wave of the hand. "I'm not all here, as the cannoneer observed when his pieces were scattered over a thousand yards by the explosion of his gun. But there is enough of me for the purpose, seÑor, for I am a cook,—a cantinero. I seek not to enlist, but the privilege of filling a moderate space aboard thy brigantine with myself, my helper, called Pedrillo, and such stores and gear as will fit a canteen." "Draw up a chair," said Cristoval, pleased with the cook's manner. "We will consider it. Thy name?" "Pedro." "So I heard thee called by the halberdier." "Ah!—the rest of my name? H'm! Why, I'll tell thee, seÑor, I have not always been a cook—and—pardon me—" "I see," said Cristoval, with delicacy. "No importa. We'll let it go. Thou'rt Pedro." Pedro bowed. After some conversation the arrangement was made. "Now," said Cristoval, "there are three or four of us from the ship quartered together, and we need a cook. There is Ruiz, the pilot; JosÉ, the principal armorer; and I look for De Soto from Nombre de Dios. He is to command when we sail. Couldst take charge of the rancho whilst we remain in Panama? Couldst begin at once? Good! Then 'tis agreed. I've taken the inn kept by SeÑora Bolio for quarters for the company, but her cooks are all Indios and worthless, and—What aileth thee, man?" At the seÑora's name Pedro opened his mouth, pushed back his chair, and sat looking at the cavalier in manifest disquiet. "Bolio!" he whispered. "Bolio! Dost know her, SeÑor Teniente?" "No. What of her?" demanded Cristoval, remembering that certain of his recruits had heard her name with similar uneasiness. "I saw her only for a moment when we came ashore yesterday. Dost know her, thou?" Pedro turned away with a gesture as if to wave him off. He faced about. "Do I know her! Warily and charily, seÑor—as a pup knoweth the family cat! Ah, Madre! Lieutenant Cristoval, she hath a tongue like a flail—like a red-hot rapier. Thou shouldst hear her storm—at some other man—when she is roused! Nay, smile not! I once heard her berating her servants, and they wilted, withered, shrivelled like spiders on a hot skillet. Ah, stew me! Bolio!" "Thou dost stir mine interest, Pedro," said Cristoval. "Who is the lady?" Pedro laid a broad hand upon the table with suppressed vehemence. "Bolio!" he replied, as if nothing could be added. "I know little save from hearsay, seÑor," he continued; "she was a vivandera with the armies in Italy in her youth. Thou knowest that training. Diablo! I saw her in the Neapolitan campaign against Louis XII." Cristoval interrupted. "What! Didst serve with Gonsalvo?" "With the Great Captain," said Pedro. "Then, by Saint Michael, we were comrades!" Pedro nodded without surprise, and continued quickly: "She had beauty then, seÑor. Poor girl! She was learning, by hard experience, to hold all men her enemies. She hath not forgotten. I heard of her again in the campaign of '22, and again at Pavia, where I left my leg. After that, no more until I found her here at Panama, two years ago. It is said she worked her way hither from Spain, disguised as a common sailor, and I doubt it not, for I have known of another woman who did as much. Por cierto, her eloquence was not gained in camps alone! It hath the savor of the sea as well, and she commandeth the most vigorous that each affordeth, my head upon it! But whatever her youth, SeÑor Cristoval, the saints preserve the man who would turn a soft eye upon her to-day. She weigheth, I should guess, some twelve or fourteen stone. 'T is all hostility!" Cristoval reflectively gathered up his papers. "Well," he said, "we can pray for peace. Let us go." "Whither?" asked Pedro. "To the seÑora's." "Misericordia! I think I had best ride back to my hacienda for the night, SeÑor Teniente." "How far?" asked Cristoval. "Three leagues or less." "Absurd, Pedro! Thou 'rt to begin thy duties in the morning. Come." Accompanied reluctantly by the stout cook leading his mule, and followed by the halberdier, Cristoval led down a narrow, garbage-littered street to a large house built around the usual patio. It had been the residence of some officer of government, and its size made it suitable for the recruiting officer, the poverty of whose levies made it necessary to provide for their keep before sailing to join Pizarro. They entered the suggestively quiet court, and having seen that his recruits had made proper use of the kitchen, Cristoval gave orders concerning quarters for the night, and ascended to the second floor in quest of the seÑora. He found her alone in a dim-lighted, lofty, bare-walled apartment,—the salon of the establishment in its better days. The seÑora was a black-haired, black-eyed woman of generous proportions. She wore, now and generally, an air of stern repression of what Cristoval, after Pedro's account, knew to be the hostility mentioned. Notwithstanding the marring effects of a stormy career on her rather florid face, she was not uncomely. Her eyes were those of her race, which seem always smouldering with the fire of passion, gentle or the reverse as the case may be. She received the cavalier with dignity; heard his explanation of Pedro's status; directed, coldly, that her servants be called upon for assistance, and Cristoval bowed himself away with relief. CHAPTER II The SeÑora Declares a Purpose The next day the whole city crowded to look upon the booty from Peru, on display at the office of the governor, and many an adventurer, after feasting his eyes on the gleaming treasure, went straight to the door beneath the banner of the "Army of the Conquest." Thereafter the recruiting went on rapidly, and the Bolio establishment soon wore the appearance of a barrack. When sufficiently advertised the office was transferred from the square, and now the banner floated over the Bolio gate. The arrival of Hernando de Soto with a small company lent new impetus. The participation of a leader of his reputation gave confidence to many who had hesitated to enlist in an enterprise which had already met serious reverses and was led by one commonly regarded as visionary. Neither Pizarro nor his partner, Diego de Almagro, had been known as other than needy soldiers of fortune, and not even the countenance given by the Crown of Spain had raised them above the derisive scepticism of Panama. It had long been incredulous regarding a rich and civilized empire to the southward, and had been niggardly in its support. The two preceding expeditions had met disaster complete; but the leaders persisted with unconquered resolution, and the matter began to assume moment. There were scoffers still, but many who had held aloof hastened to offer service. Most of the levies were drawn by mere hope of plunder, or driven by sheer necessity. Some were impelled by ambition for the sort of glory won by the conquerors of Mexico. A few were attracted by the audacity and perseverance of the commander, but these qualities were not uncommon enough to give Pizarro preËminence among men of a race then unsurpassed in its soldiery, and of all considerations they weighed the least. Whatever the motives that led recruits to Pizarro's banner, they comprised all sorts and conditions of men, from the noble and hidalgo to the fugitive from the law—younger sons of ancient families bearing historic names; veterans of European wars, free-lances from every country on the northern shores of the Mediterranean. It was a band as mixed as the swarms of pirates infesting the Indies in later years, and hardly less ferocious in hunger for blood and plunder. The days flew quickly, and few remained before the command should embark. Considering the character of the men, the preparations had gone on smoothly. But there had been, it must be said, certain flurries, even small tempests, from another source. These episodes were due to the temperament and powers of SeÑora Bolio. This worthy lady proved to be a slumbering volcano—yet not always slumbering—with potentialities that justified the impressive words of Pedro. She erupted unexpectedly, for causes unforeseen, and spread sudden confusion throughout the establishment. There would be heard from time to time in the patio a quick disturbance, a scurrying of soldiery, and then a tirade in the deep tones of the seÑora, matchless for rapid invective. Perhaps a soldier, a newcomer to Panama, would venture to oppose her eloquence with his own, like in kind, but feeble in comparison. It was only to court defeat and humiliation. To Cristoval, at first amusing, it soon grew monotonous, and as his time became precious, an annoyance and irritation. He appealed, to Pedro, in whom there might lie hope. "In the name of the fiend, Pedro," said he, "canst suppress that woman? If so, do it—in a gentle way if possible; for she is a woman. Those varlets below deserve their flaying, but it groweth wearisome." Pedro shook his head. "I doubt if she could be estopped by anything short of strangulation. However, I'll cast about." But he muttered as he moved away: "Now the saints lend me their protection! This is what cometh of being a cook." Thereafter, when the lady broke out, Pedro, with marvellous patience, would go to the patio, approach her with all deference, and oppose her torrent with an equal flood of apologies, assurances, entreaties, compliments, and cajoleries, with splendid versatility. And however great her rage, the moment would come when Madame would stop to listen—and be undone. The cook would thereupon lead her ceremoniously to her door, bow her across the threshold, and return to his kitchen leaving the lady appeased. But having regained his privacy, Pedro would swear roundly. These repeated softenings were not without their effect upon the seÑora. This effect was cumulative. As the days went by it grew apparent that in her hostility toward mankind she made the suave cantinero an exception. This he noticed at first with natural complacency. Later, when her attitude became one of tolerant friendliness, he blessed his stars, vowing privately that his circumspection should be without a flaw. Still later, as a consequence, the seÑora's amiability grew more pronounced, expressed by small favors, and even by occasional invitations to sup. The good Pedro's serenity increased, and its influence seemed to spread over the establishment. Alas for his tranquillity, for its life was short! The seÑora had speaking eyes, and as they looked with growing favor upon the gracious cook, they softened in a measure that could never have escaped one less unsuspecting than he. Pedro went his placid way, unconscious of the growing tenderness, until a glance awoke him to his peril. There was no doubt, no need of words to interpret. It was only a glance in passing, but Pedro looked after the lady in consternation. As she passed he crossed himself, stood a moment, then deserted his task and stumped with precipitation to the first refuge—to Cristoval. The cavalier looked up as the cook entered. Pedro sank into a chair. "Ho! Pedro, what is to do?" demanded the cavalier, surveying his agitation with concern. "What hath happened?" Pedro stared at him in silence, with parted lips, and in abstraction. He seemed not to have heard the question, nor to see his questioner, in the absorption of contemplating the tacit revelation of a moment before, with the possible complexities to follow. SeÑora Bolio's avowal was unspoken, but how long would the silence be preserved? And with the ardor of that impetuous nature turned to tender passion, with her boundless powers of utterance directed against him as its object!—ah, Dios! what would become of him? Again Cristoval demanded, more than half alarmed: "What is it, Pedro? Name of a saint! Why dost stare in that ghastly way? Come! Speak, man! Hast lost thy tongue?" Pedro, still speechless, gathered up his apron and wiped his forehead; placed a fist upon either knee, and glowered at the floor. Cristoval leaned back in astonishment. Never before had Pedro's language failed. Once more the cook passed his apron across his brow, glanced again at Cristoval, arose abruptly, and went as far as the door. Here he paused, hesitated, then turning back, whispered hoarsely, "SeÑor Cristoval, by the gods of heathens, I've—I've overdone it!" "Overdone it! Overdone what, thou mysterious cook?" But Pedro had gone. He regained his kitchen by stealth, moving by short dashes, with many a halt to reconnoitre. His boy-helper, Pedrillo, was there, and approaching, Pedro clutched him by the arm. "Pedrillo," he said solemnly: "Pedrillo, have I been good to thee?" Pedrillo looked up with wide-open eyes. "Why—bodkins!—of a surety, Master! Who saith not?" "No one hath said. But hear me, Pedrillo!—as thou hopest some day to be a cook, stay by me! Stay by me! Dost understand? Until we are safe aboard ship, leave me not for a minute!—not a minute!" "Cielo!" exclaimed the astonished boy. "What is wrong, seÑor? Do—do you have fits?" "It will be worse than fits, Pedrillo," replied Pedro, seriously, "if thou failest me an instant. Promise!" Pedrillo promised, swore to it, and for the rest of the day watched his patron in mystification. Thereafter the cook slept with his heavy furniture piled against the door. Pedrillo kept his word as far as possible; but vigilance cannot be eternal, and sometimes Pedro was alone. On one of these occasions the worst befell. The seÑora entered. That she came with fell purpose Pedro divined at a glance. He saw flashes of soft lightning in her eyes, more dreaded now than the blaze of her ire. Instinctively he placed himself with the table between. The lady looked quickly about, and approaching, said in a tone he had not heard her use before, "Pedro, I have a word for thee." "Oh, the fiend, seÑora!" he interrupted, paling slightly and looking for Pedrillo. "Say it to some one else—now do! There's a good woman! I—stew me!—I am a busy man. I have a roast on the point of burning, I swear it! Come, now, I—" "It is for thee, Pedro," she said with resolution, but Pedro noted with relief that she spoke slowly. He had expected a storm of tender protestations without prelude, as vehement as her upbraidings of the men. "It is for thee," she said again, and Pedro quailed. "Nay, SeÑora Bolio," he pleaded. "Be discreet, I pray thee! Talk of it first to—to Father Gregorio, now. Thou'rt young, and—" The seÑora blushed, and Pedro cursed the slip. Said she: "I will talk to Father Gregorio later, Pedro; but first to thee." Pedro groaned, and swore under his breath. "Hold, seÑora!" he cried. "Thou 'rt making a mistake. Say it not to me—to some other man. To Peralta—to De Soto! They are good men both; but I—" "And so art thou!" she said hastily, "though once I did think thee a knave, like the rest." "Ah! So I am! So I am!" cried Pedro with impetuosity. "That and worse, my word for it! I am a very Turk—a basilisk! SeÑora, thou knowest not the depth of mine iniquities—and moreover, I have but one leg. Consider that! Peralta hath two good ones. I am incomplete—a cripple—a—" "Oh, Pedro, thou 'rt the only man I ever knew!" interrupted the lady, with fervor; then, rapidly: "Thou 'rt a good man, Pedro, and hast a kindly heart. Not once beneath this roof hast thou used an unbecoming word to me. Whilst these scapins of soldiers have tried my patience with their insolence, thou hast spoken only with gentleness—and 'tis rare enough to me—rare enough, God knoweth!" She brushed away a coming tear. "But I have come to tell thee, Pedro—" "Do not say it! Do not say it!" shouted Pedro in desperation. "I tell thee, seÑora—" "But I will say it," she said with a sudden return of firmness. "And why not? I've come to tell thee—I am going to Peru. Why should I not say it?" Pedro staggered. "Is that all?" he exploded. "Is that all? Naught else?" "Numskull!" retorted the lady. "Is it not enough? What more wouldst have me say?" "Nothing more, by the Sacrament! 'Tis enough! Why didst not say it in the beginning?" and Pedro's good knee grew suddenly weak, as if he had been snatched from death. The seÑora regarded him kindly for a moment, and went on: "I am going to Peru—not now, for De Soto hath denied me passage—but later. I'll find thee, good Pedro. We shall meet again." Pedro's jaw set, but he said nothing. She took a step forward and said gently, "Pedro—" Pedrillo entered, almost embraced by his master, who at once became feverishly occupied in a variety of duties. The seÑora tarried a moment and withdrew, with a smile to Pedro, who sank into a chair and used his apron on his forehead with industry, pausing at intervals with his hands on his knee to glower at the floor. The seÑora was going to Peru! De Soto took command a few days later, and the force marched to the Cathedral, where solemn High Mass was celebrated and the sacrament partaken of by every soldier. The two brigantines for the expedition rode at anchor off the town; before midday they were standing out to sea. You may learn, Reader, from history, how Pizarro, strengthened by De Soto's reËnforcement, descended upon the Peruvian city of Tumbez, and how he found it in ruins, the result of a civil war between the two heirs of the Inca Huayna Capac. The old monarch had left his domain to be divided between the princes Atahualpa and Huascar, fatuously hoping that either would be content with less than the whole. For five short years the brother kings had reigned in peace. Atahualpa, younger of the two, was son to a princess of Quito, a kingdom conquered by his grandfather. He was an ambitious and warlike ruler, and to him fell Quito as Huayna Capac's bequest. To the elder brother, Huascar, fell Cuzco, the ancient capital, and the southern part of the empire. Huascar was the son of the legitimate wife of Huayna Capac, a woman of the Inca blood; and although a wise and generous king, he was inferior to Atahualpa in aggressive energy. Causes were not long wanting for war. Huascar was vanquished, and when Pizarro landed at Tumbez, was prisoner in the fortress of Xauxa. Thus much, briefly, Pizarro learned concerning the country he was invading, and that Atahualpa with his victorious army lay at the interior town of Caxamalca, some three hundred miles to the southward. You may read, furthermore, how the Spaniard, tarrying not long at ruined Tumbez, marched down along the coast, peaceably for the most part, by rigid restraint of his men, and was hospitably welcomed by the wondering natives. Three weeks he marched, proclaiming the temporal sovereignty of the King of Spain, the spiritual sovereignty of the Pope of Rome, unfolding his banners, and formally recording as acknowledgment of vassalage the acquiescence of the Peruvians to manifestoes of whose sense they had no inkling. Fine hardihood! With a handful of men—fewer than two hundred and fifty—Pizarro was invading an empire of whose civilization and warlike character there was ample evidence. He was calmly laying claim to the realm of a prince whose power he could not guess! Toward the end of May he halted in the fertile vale of Tangarala, near the sea, and announced his purpose to build a town. And build a town he did! He pressed the natives into service, and they quarried the stone and hewed the timber for buildings as solid as his own intrepidity. He named the place San Miguel. Four months were consumed in establishing this base. On the twenty-fourth of September the Army of the Conquest took up its march to meet the legions of the Inca. The command, reduced by the number left at San Miguel, mustered seventy horse, one hundred infantry, and two small pieces of artillery. |
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