“The warrior kings, whose banners
Flew far as eagles fly;
They are gone where swords avail them not
From the feast of victory.”
HEMANS.
FROM that time Fray Fernando took care that his little charge should enjoy all the sunshine it was in his power to give him. And whether the light and the fresh air, aided perhaps by the child's superstition, really worked a cure, or whether nature, left to herself; simply rallied her well-nigh exhausted powers, it is certain that Jose's health improved, though slowly, and with many variations.
He seemed now as anxious to talk Spanish as he had previously been to avoid it. Fray Fernando gladly encouraged this propensity; the more so as he was now desirous of learning all the child could tell him about his own history.
One day as he sat with him in the sunshine he said to him. “You call yourself Yntip Churi, Child of the Sun. Are you, then, a kinsman of the Inca, Atahualpa, the same the conquistadors slew at Caxamarca?”
But the child's weak frame trembled at the question, which seemed to him an insult. "Oh no; no!" he answered. "Thank Ynty, I am not. Atahualpa was not Inca, he was aucca—how call you it?— coward— traitor. He slew the true Inca, Huascar, the great Huayna Capac's lawful son.”
“But Atahualpa was also the son of Huayna Capac, was he not?" asked the puzzled monk, who could not boast of much acquaintance with the history of the conquered race.
“Yes," eagerly explained the little partizan. "But what did that matter? His mother was not Coya;she was not even a Child of the Sun. She was only a daughter of the King of Quito, whom Huayna Capac Inca conquered. Huayna Capac was brave and gentle; and he was wont to say that he never refused a woman anything. So she made him promise to give the kingdom of his fathers to her son. And having that, he wanted all. Hence the cruel war, and the death of Huascar, the true Inca. Alalau! never did Children of the Sun slay one another until then.”
“And who taught you these things, my child?”
“Mamallay—my mother.”
The Inca's child was no barbarian; he was the heir of a civilization, unique indeed and partial, but genuine. No inconsiderable heritage of high heroic memories had fallen to his lot. And up to the hour when he fell into Don Ramon's hands his education had been carried on with unremitting industry. It is true that the arts of reading and writing were unknown to him; and, unacquainted with figures, he could only perform a few simple calculations by means of knots on a cord. But instead of these more mechanical acquirements, he had the lessons of a passionate-hearted, enthusiastic mother, who filled his young imagination day by day with the spirit-stirring legends of his race. These were to him religion, literature, fairy tales, all in one. No Hebrew boy, "exiled from Zion's rest," could have yearned more fondly towards Jerusalem than he did towards Cuzco, the sacred city, where were the stately palaces of his kindred, the golden temple of the Sun, and the thrones of the beneficent Inca kings, his adored forefathers. No young Italian patriot could have learned to love his country with more passionate ardor than glowed in his heart for Tahuantin Suyu. It was by this name, meaning "the four provinces," that he always called the empire of the Incas: Peru was a word unknown to him; it owed its origin to a blunder of the Spaniards.
The strange sorrows that had fallen upon his young life—his kindred slain; his home in ruins; his mother setting herself free by death; he himself left desolate, a slave to the hated Spaniard—only served so to enamel those pictures of past glory, that the fragile vase upon which they were painted might indeed be shattered, but not a single line or hue of them could ever be effaced.
Fray Fernando was not slow in resuming the conversation. He wished, if possible, to discover in what manner and degree his protégé was connected with the royal family; and how he happened to be found in a place so remote as one of the little isles of verdure that dotted the great desert of the southern coast.
“Are you, then, related to Huascar?" he asked.
“All the Children of the Sun are one family," answered the boy. "But we are not of Huayna Capac's children. We are of Viracocha's ayllu."
"Viracocha? Who was he? I have never heard of him.”
“Never heard of Viracocha the Fair-haired!" exclaimed the child in great astonishment. "Almost the greatest of the Incas! The whole world is filled with his renown. And," he added proudly, after a moment's pause, "I am his son”
“His renown has not reached Spain, however," said Fray Fernando with a smile.
“I will tell you all about him," said Jose, nothing loath to recount a story dear to his heart, and as familiar in all its details to his memory as the simplest Scripture narrative would be to a well-instructed European child of his age." He was the seventh Inca after Manco Capac." And here he paused again with doubtful look; so strange was the ignorance displayed by his benefactor, that he would not now have been astonished if the monk had asked, "And who was Manco Capac?”
Fray Fernando knew that, however. "I have heard," he said, "that the founder of your monarchy, falsely called a Child of the Sun, taught agriculture and the useful arts to a people whom he found sunk in barbarism.”
“Our Father the Sun pitied the poor ignorant people, and he sent his children to teach them" said Jose, telling the tale as it had been told to him, and as indeed it is still usually told to us. "Manco Capac taught the men to sow and reap and build houses; and Mama Ocella, his wife, taught the women to spin and weave. Moreover, they both taught everyone to be just and gentle, and to keep the five great laws:—’ Do not be idle; Do not lie; Do not steal; Do not commit adultery; Do not kill.' The Incas who reigned after him, his sons and sons' sons, did likewise. They built temples, and schools, and forts; they made good roads and inns, and great water-courses, that the earth might be watered and bring forth fruit, and that every one might have food to eat. And they plowed the land with their own hands, that the poor man might not say the prince bade him do that which he would not do himself. They let no man want; they did justice to all; they were called the friends of the poor. That was the name best loved by the Inca' Friend of the Poor.'”
“But were they not also great warriors and conquerors?" asked Fray Fernando, thinking of the enormous tract of country over which the Inca's sway extended at the time of the Spanish conquest.
“Yes; they spread the dominion of the Sun far and wide—partly because they were brave warriors, partly because men saw that it was good to obey them, for all their subjects had peace and plenty. Often wild tribes would send messengers to the Incas, asking them to rule over them and to teach them. But even to those who fought against them they were kind and gentle; many times offering them pardon and friendship, and sparing them and showing them mercy whenever they could.
“At length there came an Inca called Yahuar, who was not such a brave warrior as his fathers. He was a man sad of heart; always fearing evil. Now it happened that his son, the young Auqui, behaved himself perversely, and the Inca was very wroth with him. He drove him from his palace and his court, and from beautiful Cuzco, the golden city; and he bade him tend the sacred llamas amongst the lonely plains of Chita. But he was a youth of much—silence, thought—how call you it? He used to lie for hours on the green grass beside one of the little seas where the water-fowl dip their white wings, and look up into the far blue sky, thinking—always thinking.
“One midsummer noon he was lying thus. Everything was still and quiet; not a breeze waving the long grass, not a tiny insect's wing stirring the air. Behold! suddenly a bright figure stood before him. His dress was whiter than snow; his hair was like the tears of Ynty; his face was as a morning without clouds. The Auqui stood up upon his feet, and made low obeisance to him. Then the spirit spake, and said that his name was Viracocha; that he also was a Child of the Sun; and that he had come to reveal to his brethren that all the fierce nations round, who hated their mild laws and gentle manners, had banded together to destroy them, to waste their fields, and to lay Cuzco level with the ground. ‘Go,' he said, ‘and tell these things to thy father. But as for thyself, be brave and strong; for I will not forsake thee; and to thee it is given to deliver thy people.'”
“What! Did he become the deliverer—he, the outcast, the evil-doer?" Fray Fernando asked, with a sudden flash of interest.
“He did as he was told," the child answered simply. “He went to Cuzco and gave his message. At first the Inca would not believe him; but too soon he found that his words were true. The barbarous tribes, many as the waves of the sea, fierce as the pumas of the mountain, were sweeping down on the sacred city. Some of them were rebels; some had never yet been tamed or conquered. The old Inca was afraid of them, and fled away weeping towards the desert. But the Auqui stood forth brave and strong in the hour of need. He unfurled the great rainbow banner of the Incas; and he bade all who loved the Children of the Sun follow him to the fight.
“Then there was a battle, fierce and long. Thousands died on the field of blood; ' for so the place has been called ever since. But the Children of the Sun prevailed at last, and put the wild hosts of the league to flight. There was no one who could withstand the conquering Auqui.”
“What did he then with the vanquished?”
“What should he do? Was he not a Child of the Sun? As soon as the fight was over he passed himself throughout all the plain, giving strict command that the dead should be buried, the wounded enemies succored and cared for, the captives set free. And when, afterward, the wives and children of the rebels came to meet him, carrying green branches and imploring his mercy, he said to them, ' It was your husbands and fathers who offended, not you. And since I have already pardoned them, what have you to fear Go in peace.' Then he bade food to be given them, and great care to be taken of the widows and orphans of those who were slain in the battle. As for the chief of the rebels, he restored him to his place and his rule; and those tribes served the Incas loyally from that time forth.”
“A good ending to your story," said the monk, smiling.
“It is not quite the end," Jose answered. "The Auqui came in triumph to the place where his father was. Then the old Inca took from his head the llautu—the sacred crimson fringe—and the black and white wing-feathers of the coraquenque, and he put them on the head of the brave young Auqui; and he bade his captains bear him aloft in the golden chair, and salute him as mighty Inca, Child of the Sun, Friend of the Poor. Thenceforward the Auqui reigned gloriously. He took to himself the name of the bright spirit that appeared to him on the plains of Chita—Viracocha, foam of the sea.' He built a beautiful temple in his honor. The work was long, and took many years to finish; but he saw it finished, for he reigned until his hair was white as the snow of the Andes.
“It is told of him, moreover, that after he was settled in his kingdom, he went forth to do reverence to the Sun, as the Incas used, at the great feast of Raymi. He stood in the court of the temple before all the people, wearing the beautiful uncu of blue wrought with golden threads, and the long mantle glittering with golden beads. But instead of making low obeisance to the glorious Ynty, he held himself erect, and even dared to raise his eyes to the awful burning face of our great Father.
“ ‘O Inca,' said the high priest, 'what you do is not good! You give the people strange thoughts, and cause them to wonder at you.'
“’Is there any one,' asked Viracocha, 'who dares to bid me go whither he will?'
“' How could anyone be so bold?' the priest answered.
But if I bid one of my servants go here or there, will he disobey me asked the Inca again.
“’He will most certainly obey thee, Capac Inca, even unto death,' the priest replied.
‘Then,' said the Inca, ‘I perceive that there must be some greater Lord whom our Father the Sun reveres, and at whose command he travels every day from one end of the heavens to the other.'
“And also the great Viracocha's son, Pacha-cutec the Wise, and other of the Incas, in their hearts adored Pacha-camac, the Maker of the World, the eternally young, who created all things, even our Father the Sun."
Here the boy ended his story, the latter part of which had evidently been taught him word for word, with especial care, as a religious lesson of high importance. Of course, it is not to be supposed that he related it exactly as here set down. He experienced much difficulty in finding suitable Spanish equivalents for the familiar Quechua phrases, and made many verbal blunders in the attempt. He managed, however, not only to make himself intelligible to the monk, but to give him not a little food for thought.
On another occasion Fray Fernando asked the child how his parents came to fix their residence in so remote a spot as an oasis in the wild desert of Achapa. It was night, and they were enjoying the welcome blaze of a cheerful fire in Fray Fernando's cell. The Indian boy, who loved the warmth, was seated close to the fire on his mat of vicuna skin; and his brown face glowed in the ruddy light, as he looked up to answer his benefactor's question. "My father and mother," he said,” with other Inca children who lost their parents in the war, were taken to the desert for safety by the faithful servants of their houses. There they grew up and married; but most of them afterward went away to join our brave Inca Manco in the forests of Vilcapampa.—Manco? Don't you know he was Huascar's brother, and rightful Inca after him? Don't you remember how bravely he fought the Spaniards Our ayllu—that is, Viracocha's—were true to him to a man. In the last great fight at Cuzco, it was my mother's father who defended the strongest of the three forts to the very end against the Spaniard. Long did he stand almost alone upon the wall, and strike down with his club every Spaniard who tried to scale it. But they mounted the wall at last, in many places at once, and sought to surround and take him alive. Then he sprang to the edge of the battlement, wrapped his mantle round his head, and flung himself down the precipice into the Colcampata. He would not live to serve the Spaniard. And he was right.”
Fray Fernando began to feel uneasy. The child's enthusiasm was of a kind that might one day become dangerous. But he was too wise to fan the flame by contradiction. He merely asked, "What became of your father? Did he, when he grew up, join your Inca in his exile?”
“No; but he went forth from our little paucar to see the great world, and to try if anything yet remained which a Child of the Sun might do there. I do not remember his going—it was a long time ago; but I well remember the day Chaqui—that was the servant who went with him—came back alone. Chaqui told my mother that my father had gone to help the men of Chili, who were still fighting bravely against the Spaniards. And there he died in battle. My mother wept, and taught me to weep for him. But we were glad that he died fighting with the cruel Spaniards.”
“José, I am a Spaniard.”
“No, you are a patre. You are good." And he stroked the monk's hand caressingly. "But," he resumed, “Chaqui told us more. He told us that our brave Inca Manco was dead. Some Spaniards who had run away from their own people took shelter in his wild forest-home at Vilca-pampa. Being Inca, and Friend of the Poor, he was kind to them, and received them, and gave them food. One of them paid his kindness by slaying him. Aucca! After that, Manco's son, Sayri Tupac, had the right of wearing the sacred llautu. But to him the Spaniards sent messengers of his own kindred, who gave him many soft words and fair promises, until at last he agreed to go to their new city in the vale of Rimac, there to give up to the stranger his claim to the throne of Tahuantin Suyu." The boy said this with a bowed head, and in a low sad voice, as one who keenly felt the shame of such a surrender.
He went on,—" Chaqui told us that when the Inca made the black marks that meant to say he gave up the kingdom, he wept, and taking in his hand the velvet cloth that covered the table, he said, 'Behold, the whole of this cloth belonged to my fathers, and now they satisfy me with a thread of the silken fringe!' But when my mother heard that, she was very wroth. She said he was no Child of the Sun, and his tears were worthless. And Chaqui answered her,—' But what could he do?’
‘He could die,' she said. ‘He is dead,' Chaqui told us then. The Spaniards gave him broad lands, and gold and silver, and they allowed him to live in the beautiful valleys where the homes of his fathers were. But nothing could make him happy no, not even the fair palace of Yucay, the loved home of my father Viracocha, with the fruits and flowers of its wondrous gardens, some real, some still more beautiful, wrought out of the tears of Ynty; and its cool baths and fountains, where the water flows from the mouths of great silver llamas and dragons. The Inca pined away and died, for his heart was broken." And Jose ended his tale, and sat in gloomy silence watching the embers, which were dying too.
“Then, I suppose there is no Inca now," was Fray Fernando's not very prudent remark.
“Oh yes," said Jose eagerly "There is always the Inca. There is still Manco's youngest son, Tupac Amaru. And he will take from Spanish hands," Jose continued, with kindling eyes," not one thread of the crimson fringe, not one grain of the golden treasures of his fathers. He lives free in the forests of Vilca-pampa. Him we love, and him we will obey.”
There was another silence. Then Jose said thoughtfully, "When I was a little child I used to think that the Children of the Sun reigned yet at Cuzco, and that as soon as I was a man I should go thither, and see the Inca in his golden chair, and the palaces and temples, and hear the happy songs, and join in the dances at the great feasts. But now I know that the Spaniards have swept everything away, like the great earth-overturning flood. Still, for all that, one day the Inca will reign again." This was said with no outburst of childish feeling, but with a quiet slow gravity, born of intense conviction. That belief was the thing that lay deepest in the young child's heart.
“How know you that?" asked Fray Fernando, a little surprised.
“Yachani—I know," was all Jose would say in reply.
It was not one solitary childish voice alone that whispered, "The Inca will reign again." For long years and years was that fair hope cherished, and held close to the heart of an oppressed people, to keep it from breaking in its helpless misery. The herdsman who tended the llamas on the hills of his fathers for the food of the cruel stranger, the slave who wove their fleeces into beautiful fabrics for his clothing, or dug gold and silver out of the earth to minister to his luxuries, alike consoled themselves under toil and starvation, under stripes and torture, with that sweet whisper of hope, "The Inca will reign again." The Indian mother who sang to her babe, in cradlesongs sadder than requiems,—
“Seeking through the whole world
I should not meet my equal in misery;
Accursed be the night I was born;”
yet taught him, as he grew, to look up to that faint star of promise, the only one that beamed on their darkness,—"The Inca will reign again.”
Nor even, when the long slow years had "rolled into the centuries," was the light of that star extinguished. Still the hearts of the people yearned "with quenchless love profound" after their beneficent Incas,—after the kings who were the friends of the poor. It is not yet one hundred years since men—and women—died cheerfully, in heroic despair, with the word on their lips, "We have no king but our Inca.”
Very beautiful is this tenacity of love, of faith, of hope for the future, born of the memories of the past. Are not such instincts true prophecies, though in a different sense from any of which the poor untaught Indians could dream?