Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 63, No. 392, June, 1848

"Therein I recognise my ancient comrade!" cried Pizarro, pressing his hand. "Gallant Herrera! stalwart brother! I knew that I might count on thee."

"And I," said another soldier, "would have small objection to do the same; because, d'ye see, it has always struck me that Don Pizarro had the root of the matter in him – "

"Ha, my tall Scot! sayest thou?" cried Pizarro: "wilt thou too cast thy lot with us? I know thee for a hardy blade that loves hard knocks better than oily words. See – I have drawn this line upon the sand: let those come over who will follow fortune and Pizarro!"

"Hooly and fairly!" replied the other, whose high cheek-bones and sandy hair bore unequivocal testimony to his race. "There's some small matters to be settled first; for it seems to me that this is verra like the taking of a new service. Now, we have a proverb in the North that short accounts make long freends; and I would fain speer of your valour, in the event of my biding here, what wad become of the arrearages to whilk I am righteously entitled?"

"Base fellow!" cried Herrera, "wouldst thou barter thy honour for gold?"

"By your leave, sergeant," replied the Scot drily, "maist men barter baith their life and honour for little else. But I cannot allow that this is a case of barter. I hold it to be a distinct contract of service, or rather of location and hire, anent which it is written in the book of Regiam Majestatem, that no new contracts shall be held effectual until all previous conditions are purged and liquidated. Wherefore, touching these arrears, which amount for service of man and horse to nine doubloons, four maravedis, excluding interest and penalty as accords – "

"Hearken!" said Pizarro; "if a man owed thee a handful of dollars, and offered, as the condition of his release, to show thee a mine of diamonds, wouldst thou reject his proposal?"

"Assuredly not," replied the Scot; "I wad indubitably accept of the same, reserving always my right of diligence and recourse, until the furthcoming and valuation of the aforesaid jewellery."

"Well, then, the matter stands thus," continued Pizarro: "Gold have I none to pay thee; but if thou wilt follow me across yonder mountains, I will lead thee to a land richer far than any of your native valleys – "

"That's impossible," interrupted the Scot. "It's clear ye never saw Dalnacardoch!"

"A land which we will win and hold for ourselves and our heirs for ever!"

"Blench, doubtless, or for a mere nominal reddendo," remarked the Scot. "There's some sense in that; and since ye say that the arrears are scantly recoverable, by any form of process, I care not if I sist procedure thereanent, and take service under my freend the sergeant, whose acquaintance with the Pandects is somewhat less than his dexterity in the handling of a halbert."

So saying, the Scot stepped across the line, and was warmly greeted by Herrera. His example, however, was by no means contagious. Gonsalez, though not absolutely popular with his men, had nevertheless commanded their respect, and was well known to be a judicious and experienced leader. His strong opposition to the rash project of Pizarro had materially shaken the confidence of many who would otherwise have been forward in any enterprise which promised a favourable termination. Besides, their position was such, that the hardiest adventurer might well have been excused for hesitating to expose himself to further danger. Only one ship remained, and with the departure of that, all chance of returning to Spain seemed at an end. The aspect of the country was sterile and uninviting. No inhabitants had flocked down to welcome the Europeans to their shore – none of the happy omens which hailed the advent of Columbus had been visible to them. It seemed as if nature, revolting at the cruelties which had already been exercised by the invading Spaniards on the denizens of the infant world, had closed her gates against this marauding band, and absorbed her treasures into her womb. Of the three hundred Spaniards, only twenty-five crossed the boundary line, and declared themselves ready to take part in the desperate fortunes of Pizarro.

"Farewell, then!" said that haughty chieftain, addressing himself to the others. "I need you not; for what is a strong arm without a resolute and determined heart? Farewell! I have pointed out to you the path, and ye will not tread it! – I have held up the banner, and ye will not rally under it! – I have sounded the trumpet, and your ears are deaf to the call! Henceforward there is nothing for us in common. Go, cravens as ye are! back to Spain – work for hire – dig – sweat – labour at the oar! It is your portion, because ye know not what valour and glory are! But for you, gentlemen – who, superior to the vulgar ties of country and of home, have sunk the name of Spaniard in the glorious title of buccaneer – let us be up and doing! Our march may be toilsome, the danger great; but before us lies the new world which it is our glorious destiny to subdue. Mount, gentlemen cavaliers! Herrera, do thou display the standard! One last look at the ocean, and then forward for victory or death!"

"One word, Pizarro, before thou goest," said Gonsalez. "Amidst all thy rashness, I cannot but discern the flashing of a noble spirit. I would fain not part with thee in anger. It may be I have wronged thee, and – "

"Old man, what art thou and thy wronging to me?" replied Pizarro. "But yesterday I was thy subaltern – now, I am a chief. The soul of a conqueror is swelling in my bosom, and thou and such as thou have no power to do me wrong. I have no time to waste. Set on, I say! Another hour has struck in the mighty destiny of the world!"

A few moments afterwards, the watchers on the beach heard the last note of Pizarro's trumpet dying away in the depths of the Peruvian forest.

"A very fair chapter," said I, folding up the MS. "Strong, terse, spirited, and a good deal in the Waverley style. It is a pity I could not manage to foist in the Doctor, but this other sort of character will do remarkably well. Not a word about the Inca as yet. Well – that's the hidalgo's look-out. I wonder what kind of work he will make of the next chapter!"

CHAPTER III

THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN

"Oneiza!"

"My love – my lord!"

"Look upon me with thy lustrous eyes till I see my image dancing in them. O my beautiful, my beloved! Tell me, Oneiza! when the song of the nightingale warbles across the lake, what dost thou think of then?"

"Of thee – of thee, my adored one!"

"And when the stars are glittering in heaven like sapphires in thine ebon hair – what then, Oneiza?"

"Of thee – still of thee!"

"When the humming-bird is stooping o'er the chalice of the flower, – when the sweet azalea blossom bursts brightly from the bower, – when the very breeze is loaded with odour and perfume, and the murmur of the hidden brook comes singing through the gloom, – when the fire-flies light the thicket like spangles struck from gold, – when all the buds that love the morn their tiny cups unfold, – when the dew is falling warmest on blade, and leaf, and tree – where is thy soul, Oneiza?"

"With thee, my love! with thee!"

Never, surely, since the first blight fell upon Eden, did the virgin moon look down upon a lovelier or a more innocent pair!! Manco Capl was of the race of the Incas, whom tradition asserted to be the direct offspring of the sun. But a shrewd physiological observer would have had no difficulty in recognising the traces of a descent more human but not less illustrious. The clustering curls, the dark eye, the aquiline nose, and the full underlip, of the young Inca, bore a striking resemblance to that ideal of beauty which far transcends the product of the Grecian chisel. They were the features of a prince of the Captivity – of a leader of the most ancient race that ever issued from the defiles of the Caucasus. For it is not to Assyria, or even to Thibet, that we must look for a solution of the great mystery attendant upon the departure of the Ten Tribes; They were not destined to remain by the streams of Babylon, hewers of wood and drawers of water in an unkind and alien country. The Israelitish spirit, which in former times had expanded to the strength of a Sampson, would not brook such a degradation, and the second mighty pilgrimage of the nation was even more prolonged than the first. At length they reached a land of rest and refuge; – Dan took possession of Mexico, and Zebulon was located in Peru.

Manco Capl had long loved Oneiza, the daughter of the Peruvian high-priest, with that ardour and entire devotion which is unknown to the callous nations of the north, whose affections are as cold as the climate in which they shiver and exist. She, in return, had surrendered to him that treasure than which the world contains nothing of more estimable and priceless value – a perfect trusting heart. Child of a paradise in which the trail of the serpent was hardly visible, she knew none of the coy arts which are practised by European maidens for the sake of concealing those emotions which, in reality, constitute the highest excellence of our being. She loved – warmly, keenly, passionately; and she felt that to conceal the expression of that love, was to defraud her betrothed of his due. Oh! if women only knew what they sacrifice through fictitious delicacy – if they had but once experienced the delight of an unrestricted communion of soul – they would throw restraint to the winds, and worship with the ardour of Herodias!

"Oneiza, dearest!"

"Say on, my soul hears thee!"

"Look up, love, into the starry firmament. See'st thou that glittering zone, light as the girdle beneath which beats the heart of my Oneiza? Is it not very beautiful?"

"It is – it is!"

"Would'st thou think there was danger there?"

"How! thou makest me tremble."

"Little shrinking one! did I say that it boded danger to thee? Am not I here to ward away any thunderbolt that might threaten the breast of my Oneiza?"

"Oh, peace! tell me of the stars. Canst thou read them, then, my Manco?"

"Listen, dearest. Thou knowest the traditions of our race. Long, long ago, before the seed from which these hoary trees are sprung had ripened, – before a stone of yonder pyramid was hewn from its native rock – our fathers dwelt in a land that was named Chaldea. It is far away from this, Oneiza, across the salt and briny sea; and I know not how they had power to traverse the wilderness of waters. It was a land, too, not like ours, sweet and pleasant, but very, very dreary; with no placid pools and running streams, but a huge tract of sand, which the sun always glared upon in his wrath."

"Oh Manco – that is terrible! But the stars?"

"Ay – the stars – the stars, Oneiza! They, too, were there, large and lustrous as thine own eyes; and our fathers, as they lay at night by the margin of some lonely well, watched them in their courses, until they learned to read the mysterious symbol-book of heaven, and drew strange knowledge front the aspect of the sidereal junctions."

"And thou, too, hast this knowledge Manco?"

"Little foolish one! Wouldst thou have me more ignorant than my ancestry? It was taught me by one who had watched the heavens for a whole year from the flaming top of Atlpacaca; and long ago he foretold that danger for Peru which I now see depending in the midst of yonder constellation."

"Danger for Peru? Oh Manco!"

"Ay, love, but not for thee. Look a little lower. See that star, sometimes hidden for a moment by the waving branch of the cactus. How mild and clear it is, like the eye of a happy spirit! Mark how bright it sparkles, in the ether far; that, my own Oneiza, is thy natal star!"

"And which is thine, dearest?"

"The stars," replied Manco, proudly, "have no influence over the destiny of the children of the sun! He that would read our fate, must gaze steadfastly upon the orb of the great luminary of the heavens, and not shrink, although the rays pierce hot and dazzlingly through his brain. But enough of this, beloved! Let us to our rest. The dew is falling heavily upon my plume, and thy tresses too are damp."

"Oh Manco! – I would fain tell thee something – "

"Speak, darling."

"I had a dream last night, and yet – wouldst thou believe it? – it was not of thee!"