Part 24 (1/2)
As soon as we entered, Ned placed Nita on the ground, and Manco, faint with loss of blood, as well as with fatigue and agitation, sunk down by her side. Taking the infant from him, she handed it to Ned, whose honest countenance had won her confidence. She then placed her husband's head in her lap, and bent over him in silence, expressing her grief neither in tears nor cries.
”Come, don't be cast down, Missus,” said Ned, his kind heart moved by her sorrow. ”Better times may come, and your good man isn't going to slip his cable, I hope. I say, mate, she don't understand my lingo,” he continued, turning to me; ”just you tell her what I say. It'll cheer her up a bit.”
I saw that words could bring no comfort to the poor creature, but that our attention might be more effectually employed in binding up Manco's wounds. Telling Ned this, we set to work in as scientific a way as we were able. Some of the Indians brought us water, and Nita, when she saw what we were about, aroused herself to help us. We had scarcely finished the operation, when a cry from Pedro called us to the a.s.sistance of Don Gomez, who had likewise fainted from the pain of his wound and loss of blood. My attention had, indeed, been so completely occupied with my Indian friend, that I had forgotten that the Spaniard had been hurt. Pedro was kneeling by his side, and supporting him with a look of interest and anxiety, which I at first was at a loss to understand.
”O come, my friend, come and help him, or he will die!” he exclaimed.
Ned, who had seen many a gun-shot wound, and had often a.s.sisted the surgeons to doctor his s.h.i.+pmates, examined the Spaniard's hurts.
”It's a bad job, mate, I'm afraid,” he observed, pointing to his side.
”The ball is in him somewhere, for there's the place it entered, and I can find no hole where it could have got out again. I've been feeling for it all round his back, but there's no sign of it. How he came on so far as this without dropping, I don't know. It was his spirit kept him up, I suppose.”
Finding that we could do nothing else to relieve the unfortunate Don Gomez, we washed and bound up his wound, and then laid him on a bed of some straw and skins, which we found in the cavern. The same care had been taken of Manco. The Indians, meantime, had lighted a fire in the mouth of the cavern, and were seated round it in moody silence, brooding over their defeat and the death of many of their comrades and friends.
We found some brandy among the stores, and after Don Gomez had swallowed a little of it, which we gave him with some water, he revived, and beckoned Pedro to him.
”You were telling me, as we came along, a strange tale of your life, young man,” he said, in a feeble voice. ”It served to sustain me, when otherwise I should have sunk with pain. Can I believe you?”
”Indeed, Senor, I have only told the truth,” replied Pedro. ”I was found by the Indians, when an infant, alone in a wood. My complexion shows that I am Spanish; and see, the crucifix and chain which were around my neck when I was discovered, I have ever since worn.”
”Merciful Providence, what do I behold?” exclaimed the wounded man, starting up and gazing eagerly at the ornament Pedro exhibited. ”It is--it is! Come to my arms, my son, my son! I have found you, alas!
but to quit you too soon again.”
Pedro had thrown himself upon his father's neck, for such there could be no doubt Don Gomez was.
”Oh, do not say so, my father, whom I have so long sought. Do not say that you must quit me!” he cried, in an agony of tears.
”Alas! it is the climax of my destiny,” answered the Spaniard. ”I have longed to discover you, and now that my wishes are fulfilled, death claims me as his own. Such has been my fate through life. I cannot even leave you the wealth I have ama.s.sed, for of that also I have been deprived.”
”O do not think of that!” exclaimed Pedro. ”It is sufficient for me to know that you are my father; and do but recover and I will learn to work for you and support you. Say that you will not die, and I shall be happy.”
I need not further describe the scene. Pedro sat by his father's side, and deep and earnest was their conversation. Ned and I left them alone and joined the Indians at their fire, for we saw that we could render no further a.s.sistance to our patients. The Indians had brought food with them, and as there was a supply of maize and dried meat and cocoa in the cavern, we had no reason to complain of hunger.
Manco had given orders that one of the Indians should at all times be stationed at the bridge I spoke of, leading to the ledge, to give notice of danger; and they regularly relieved each other at the post, though few would have ventured to cross that rocky ledge even in broad daylight, much less at night, uncertain what reception they might meet with at its termination. The night pa.s.sed slowly, though I managed at intervals, as did Ned, to obtain some sleep. I after a time got up and stood at the mouth of the cave, looking up at the dark sky studded with thousands of stars, and then glancing down into the obscure depths below my feet. The air was perfectly still, and I fancied that I could hear the roar of cannon and the rattle of musketry echoing among the mountains.
At length I perceived a ruddy glare extending over the sky. I thought at first that it must be a sign of the rising sun, but, as I watched, it grew brighter and brighter, but did not increase in extent, and then by degrees it faded away before the genial glow of the coming day appeared.
I guessed, too truly, that it arose from the burning of the village, which the Spaniards had attacked. I did not, however, inform my companions, for I felt that I should only add to their grief by so doing. The Indians continued sleeping till a late hour. They seemed to have the power of thus steeping their misery in oblivion. A night's rest had somewhat restored Manco, but he was evidently fretting at the thought of the inactivity to which his wound would consign him. ”But what would you do if you were able to move about,” I asked. ”The Inca is a prisoner, and will, I fear, suffer death, for you cannot hope to rescue him.”
”The Inca never dies,” he answered, lifting himself up on his arm, and looking me earnestly in the face. ”The young Andres is still in arms in the south, and may yet be victorious. Should the Spaniards add a deeper dye to the crimes they have committed, by the destruction of the Inca, he will succeed; and should he too be cut off, I and that infant sleeping by my side must succeed to the t.i.tle. Little did the Spanish soldiers dream whom they were yesterday pursuing, when Nita fled from them with our babe in her arms.”
Hope still I saw supported my friend, and I would not deprive him of it, little as I entertained it myself. Don Gomez had not improved. He was feverish and weak, and I fancied that I saw death on his countenance; but he was happy at having his son by his side, and I was unwilling to warn Pedro of his danger. Several days pa.s.sed away without the appearance of an enemy in the neighbourhood; and at length the Indians began to grow uneasy at confinement. We also were anxious to obtain information as to the state of affairs. It was just possible that, as Manco hoped, the Spaniards might have been driven back. And that we were shutting ourselves up for no object. The difficulty was to decide who was the most proper person to go in search of information. An Indian would, to a certainty, have been kept prisoner and publicly executed; Pedro could not leave his father; and when I proposed going, Ned declared that I should be either recognised as having escaped from prison, or treated as a spy.
”For my part I don't mind going myself,” he observed. ”I've no fancy for being cooped up here any longer; and if I'm asked any questions, all I shall say is, that I've got away from the Injuns, and want to get back to my own country.”
Very unwillingly I at last yielded to all the arguments he used to let him go instead of me. I was also afraid that it might have been suspected that he had a.s.sisted us to escape from prison; but he overruled that objection by saying that it was a very long time ago, and that it was not likely any of those who had seen him should be at Cuzco, or remember the circ.u.mstance. To prevent the risk of his falling into the hands of any Indians, Manco ordered one of those with us to accompany him to the neighbourhood of the capital, where he was to be hid till his return, and then to bring him back safe. It was with a heavy heart that I saw Ned set out. Still I was very anxious to commence our journey eastward, and without knowing the state of affairs, I could not quit my friend Manco, nor could we venture to move Don Gomez into the city. I watched Ned as he pa.s.sed under the cliff, and saw him wave his hat as a sign that he, at all events, feared none of the dangers of his expedition.
Meantime the Indians ventured out a short distance across the mountains to hunt for game. Several of them were always stationed on the surrounding pinnacles of rocks, whence they could watch for the approach of danger. Now and then they killed with their arrows a _tarush_, an active and timid little roe which frequents the higher forests which skirt the Andes. At night they used to set snares made of horse hair, at the mouths of holes inhabited by little animals like rabbits. These were called _viscachas_ and _chinchillas_. The skin of the latter supplies the beautiful fur so much prized in Europe. Their colour and form resembles the rabbit, but they have shorter ears and long, rough tails. As, however, we had an abundant supply of _charqui_, which is the name given to dried beef in the Andes, we were not dependent on the success of our huntsmen for food. Pedro employed all his time in reading to and conversing with his father; and I observed that a very satisfactory change had taken place with regard to his state of mind.
He had now learned to bow to the decrees of Providence without repining, and to acknowledge that whatever the great Ruler of the universe orders, is for the good of His creatures. The event I had foreseen was fast approaching. Every day Don Gomez had grown weaker and weaker, and he could no longer raise himself on his bed of straw. One evening he called Manco and me to his side after he had made Pedro aware that his speedy death was inevitable. ”You have both been friends of my son,” he said. ”Most deeply do I thank you, though I have no means of showing my grat.i.tude; indeed, I must call on you still further to befriend him. I found him poor, and may leave him so, unless the power of Spain is re-established in Peru. In either case, you can serve him. In the one, still support and protect him; and in the other, witness that I have acknowledged him as my son, and enable him to regain the property which was mine. There is a certain Father Manuel in Cuzco, who knows my signature, and is cognisant of all the particulars of my history. Let him see the papers I have left, should he have escaped the death which has overtaken so many of my countrymen, and he will a.s.sist him to the utmost of his means in his object. May Heaven help him to obtain what by right is his!”