The Rover of the Andes: A Tale of Adventure on South America, R. M. Ballantyne [world of reading .txt] 📗
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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The negro shut his eyes, expanded his mouth to its utmost in a silent laugh, and nodded his head acquiescently.
“Well, then, you must know,” said Pedro, “that in days of old—about the time that William the Conqueror invaded England—a certain Manco Capac founded the dynasty of the Incas. According to an old legend this Manco was the son of a white man who was shipwrecked on the coast of Peru. He married the daughter of an Indian chief, and taught the people agriculture, architecture, and other arts. He must have been a man of great power, from the influence he exerted over the natives, who styled him the ‘blooming stranger.’ His hair was of a golden colour, and this gave rise to the story that he was a child of the sun, who had been sent to rule over the Indians and found an empire. Another tradition says that Manco Capac was accompanied by a wife named Mama Oello Huaco, who taught the Indian women the mysteries of spinning and weaving, while her husband taught the arts of civilisation to the men.
“Whatever truth there may be in these legends, certain it is that Manco Capac did become the first of a race of Incas—or kings or chiefs—and, it is said, laid the foundations of the city of Cuzco, the remains of which at the present day show the power, splendour, and wealth to which Manco Capac and his successors attained. The government of the Incas was despotic, but of a benignant and patriarchal type, which gained the affections of those over whom they ruled, and enabled them to extend their sway far and wide over the land, so that, at the time of the invasion by the Spaniards under Pizarro, the Peruvians were found to have reached a high degree of civilisation, as was seen by their public works—roads, bridges, terrace-gardens, fortifications, and magnificent buildings, and so forth. It is said by those who have studied the matter, that this civilisation existed long before the coming of the Incas. On this point I can say nothing, but no doubt or uncertainty rests on the later history of this race. Cuzco, on Lake Titicaca, became the capital city of a great and flourishing monarchy, and possessed many splendid buildings in spacious squares and streets. It also became the Holy City and great temple of the Sun, to which pilgrims came from all parts of the country. It was defended by a fortress and walls built of stone, some blocks of which were above thirty feet long by eighteen broad and six thick. Many towns sprang up in the land. Under good government the people flourished and became rich. They had plenty of gold and silver, which they used extensively in the adornment of their temples and palaces. But evil followed in the train of wealth. By degrees their simplicity departed from them. Their prosperity led to the desire for conquest. Then two sons of one of the Incas disputed with each other for supremacy, and fought. One was conquered and taken prisoner by the other, who is reported to have been guilty of excessive cruelties to his relations, and caused his brother to be put to death. Finally, in 1532, the Spaniards came and accomplished the conquest of Peru—from which date not much of peace or prosperity has fallen to the lot of this unhappy land.
“Yes,” said the guide in conclusion, “the Incas were, and some of their descendants still are, a very fine race. Many of the men are what I call nature’s gentlemen, having thoughts—ay, and manners too, that would grace any society. Some of their women, also, are worthy to—”
“Pedro!” interrupted Lawrence eagerly, laying his hand on the guide’s arm, for a sudden idea had flashed into his mind. (He was rather subject to the flashing of sudden ideas!) “Pedro! she is a daughter of a chief of the Incas—is she not? a princess of the Incas! Have I not guessed rightly?”
He said this in a half whisper, and pointed as he spoke to the screen behind which Manuela lay.
Pedro smiled slightly and tipped the ash from the end of his cigarette, but made no answer.
“Nay, I will not pry into other people’s affairs,” said Lawrence, in his usual tone, “but you once told me she is the daughter of a chief, and assuredly no lady in this land could equal her in grace or dignity of carriage and manner, to say nothing of modesty, which is the invariable evidence.”
“Not of high rank?” interrupted the guide, with a quick and slightly sarcastic glance.
“No, but of nobility of mind and heart,” replied the youth, with much enthusiasm. In which feeling he was earnestly backed up by Quashy, who, with eyes that absolutely glowed, said—
“You’s right, massa—sure an’ sartin! Modesty am de grandest t’ing I knows. Once I knowed a young nigger gal what libbed near your fadder’s mill—Sooz’n dey calls ’er—an’ she’s so modest, so—oh! I not kin ’splain rightly—but I say to ’er one day, when I’d got my courage screwed up, ‘Sooz’n,’ ses I. ‘Well,’ ses she. ‘I—I lub you,’ ses I, ‘more nor myself, ’cause I t’ink so well ob you. Eberybody t’inks well ob you, Sooz’n. What—what—’ (I was gitten out o’ bref by dis time from ’citement, and not knowin’ what more to say, so I ses) ‘what—what you t’ink ob you’self Sooz’n?’
“‘Nuffin’,’ ses she! Now, wasn’t dat modest?”
“It certainly was, Quashy. Couldn’t have been more so,” said Pedro. “And after that we couldn’t, I think, do better than turn in.”
The fire had by that time burned low, and the gale was still raging around them, driving the snowdrift wildly against the hut, and sometimes giving the door so violent a shake as to startle poor Quashy out of sweet memories of Sooz’n into awful thoughts of the ghost that had not yet been laid.
Each man appropriated a vacant corner of the hut in which to spread his simple couch, the negro taking care to secure that furthest from the door.
Lawrence Armstrong thought much over his supposed discovery before falling asleep that night, and the more he thought the more he felt convinced that the Indian girl was indeed a princess, and owed her good looks, sweet disposition, graceful form and noble carriage to her descent from a race which had at one period been highly civilised when all around them were savage. It was a curious subject of contemplation. The colour of his waking thoughts naturally projected itself into the young man’s dreams. He was engaged in an interesting anthropological study. He found himself in the ancient capital of the Incas. He beheld a princess of great beauty surrounded by courtiers, but she was brown! He thought what an overwhelming pity it was that she was not white! Then he experienced a feeling of intense disappointment that he himself had not been born brown. By degrees his thoughts became more confused and less decided in colour—whitey-brown, in fact,—and presented a series of complicated regrets and perplexing impossibilities, in a vain effort to disentangle which he dropped asleep.
It was bright day when our travellers awoke, but only a dim light penetrated into their dungeon-like dormitory, for, besides being very small, the three windows, or loop-holes, had been so filled up with snow as to shut out much of the light that would naturally have entered.
That the gale still raged outside was evident enough to the sense of hearing, and sometimes the gusts were so sudden and strong that the little building trembled, stout though it was. Indeed, Lawrence at first thought they must be experiencing the shocks of an earthquake, a mistake not unnatural in one who, besides having had but little experience in regard to such catastrophes, knew well that he was at the time almost in the centre of a region celebrated for earthquakes.
It was with mingled feelings of interest, anxiety, and solemnity that he surveyed the scene outside through a hole in the door. It seemed as if an Arctic winter had suddenly descended on them. Snow completely covered hill and gorge as far as the vision could range but they could not see far, for at every fresh burst of the furious wind the restless wreaths were gathered up and whirled madly to the sky, or swept wildly down the valleys, or dashed with fury against black precipices and beetling cliffs, to which they would sometimes cling for a few seconds, then, falling away, would be caught up again by the tormenting gale, and driven along in some new direction with intensified violence.
“No prospect of quitting the hut to-day,” observed Lawrence, turning away from the bewildering scene.
“None,” said Pedro, stretching himself, and rising sleepily on one elbow, as men are wont to do when unwilling to get up.
“Nebber mind, massa; lots o’ grub!” cried Quashy, awaking at that moment, leaping up like an acrobat, and instantly setting about the kindling of the fire.
Having, as Quashy truly said, lots of grub, possessing a superabundance of animal vigour, and being gifted with untried as well as unknown depths of intellectual power, also with inexhaustible stores of youthful hope, our travellers had no difficulty in passing that day in considerable enjoyment, despite adverse circumstances; but when they awoke on the second morning and found the gale still howling, and the snow still madly whirling, all except Pedro began to express in word and countenance feelings of despondency. Manuela did not speak much, it is true, but she naturally looked somewhat anxious. Lawrence began to recall the fate of previous travellers in that very hut, and his countenance became unusually grave, whereupon Quashy—whose nature it was to conform to the lead of those whom he loved, and, in conforming, outrageously to overdo his part—looked in his young master’s face and assumed such an aspect of woeful depression that his visage became distinctly oval, though naturally round.
Observing this, Lawrence could not restrain a short laugh, whereupon, true as the compass to the Pole, the facile Quashy went right round; his chin came up, his cheeks went out, his eyes opened with hopeful sheen, and his thick lips expanded into a placid grin.
“There is no cause for alarm,” observed Pedro, who had risen to assist in preparing breakfast. “No doubt it is the worst storm I ever met with, or even heard of, at this season of the year, but it cannot last much longer; and whatever happens, it can’t run into winter just now.”
As if to justify the guide’s words, the hurricane began to diminish in violence, and the pauses between blasts were more frequent and prolonged. When breakfast was over, appearances became much more hopeful, and before noon the storm had ceased to rage.
Taking advantage of the change, without delay they loaded the pack-mules, saddled, mounted, and set forth.
To many travellers it would have been death to have ventured out on such a trackless waste, but Pedro knew the road and the landmarks so thoroughly that he advanced with his wonted confidence. At first the snow was very deep, and, despite their utmost care, they once or twice strayed from the road, and were not far from destruction. As they descended, however, the intense cold abated; and when they came out upon occasional table-lands, they found that the snow-fall there had been much less than in the higher regions, also that it had drifted off the road so much that travelling became more easy.
That night they came to a second hut-of-refuge, and next day had descended into a distinctly warmer region on the eastern slopes of the great range, over which they travelled from day to day with ever increasing comfort. Sometimes they put up at outlying mountain farms, and were always hospitably received; sometimes
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