While the empire of the Incas was approaching the zenith of its greatness in America, Spain was extending the power and prestige of the House of Austria throughout Europe under the sovereignty of the Emperor Charles V. And the proud dynasty of the Hapsburgs, whose double-headed eagle was destined to obscure the Sun of Tahuantinsuyo and to efface the sacred Rainbow in its shadow, did not represent a more exalted royalty in the Old World than did that of Manco-Ccapac in the New. There are even some points of resemblance between the two monarchies, so remotely separated in origin and traditions. In Peru, as in Spain, the army and the Church were the only occupations worthy of the nobility; in both countries, wars of conquest were fought in the name of religion, with the emblem of salvation in one hand and that of destruction in the other,—the Inca with the golden disk and the catapult, the Spaniard with the Cross and the sword; and both led their armies against the infidel with the determination to destroy his idols and to establish the true worship.

However much we may condemn the method of the Spanish conquerors, their mission was not altogether mercenary in its purpose. It is not strange that the yellow metal dimmed their consciences when it blazed before their eyes on the temples of Mexico and Peru; yet, even then, as Prescott says: “In the motives of action, meaner influences were strangely mingled with the loftier, the temporal with the spiritual.” The hardy and romantic adventurers who followed in the wake of Columbus were not merely sordid gold hunters; they were the descendants of soldiers who had for centuries fought in the holy wars of the Cross against the Crescent, and in their veins flowed the blood of the knight-errant and the crusader. Gold they sought with eagerness and without scruple; but they wanted glory almost as much as they wanted gold, and in the pursuit of both, they carried aloft the banner of the Church, and sought the blessing of its ministers. As soon as a newly discovered land was taken possession of in the name of the King of Spain, the Cross was elevated in token of the triumph of Christianity. Columbus erected the Cross in Hispaniola, and Cortés followed up his victory over the Aztecs with their forcible conversion to the true faith. In Peru, a less pious discoverer than Columbus and a more ruthless invader than Cortés employed the sacred office of the priest to aid him in accomplishing an act of treachery so odious that it dims the glory of his conquest and places him below the standard even of mediæval adventurers.

Francisco Pizarro, a native of Trujillo in Spain, began life under all the disadvantages which are the lot of the illegitimate child, but which, in many instances, school him in a discipline so rigorous that as he grows to manhood he becomes thoroughly inured to hardship and is able to dominate the greatest misfortune and to achieve success in the face of the most discouraging obstacles. Such a discipline is hardly likely to develop the softer virtues; and, as the young Pizarro received no care,—either from his father, who was a distinguished colonel under El Gran Capitan, or from his mother, a humble peasant,—as he was never taught to read or to write, and spent his boyhood tending swine, it is not difficult to imagine what extraordinary influences must have moulded his character, and transformed the swineherd of Trujillo into the fearless soldier of fortune, known to history as the cruel, rapacious, and perfidious, though consummately daring, Conqueror of Peru.

The first news of Pizarro as an adventurer in the New World is found in the record of a disastrous expedition fitted out at Hispaniola for the purpose of colonization; a few years later he is heard from in connection with the more successful undertaking led by Balboa, with whom Pizarro crossed the Isthmus of Panamá, when that celebrated adventurer discovered the Pacific Ocean. Up to that time, Pizarro, who was then fifty years of age, had won neither gold nor glory as a reward for his ambition. In 1522, an expedition, which had been sent southward by the governor of Panamá, returned with wonderful stories of the wealth and grandeur of a kingdom that was supposed to lie behind the great range of the Andes. Pizarro became interested and communicated his enthusiasm to Diego de Almagro, an adventurer like himself, a native of Castile, and a foundling. These two enterprising explorers were joined by a third, named Hernando de Luque, a priest, who furnished most of the funds for the expedition which it was agreed they would undertake, to search for the land of treasure. After great reverses and his desertion by many famished followers on the barren Island of Gallo, Pizarro reached Tumbes, on the southern shore of the Gulf of Guayaquil, where he found a populous settlement, rich in temples and palaces ornamented with gold and silver, and inhabited by a kind and hospitable people. The natives told the Spaniards that a great and powerful prince ruled over all this country, whose capital lay behind the mountains and was a city of far greater wealth and splendor than anything they had yet seen. Could any news be more welcome to the little band of adventurers in search of this very treasure? After cruising southward past the present city of Trujillo, at which they also disembarked for a short stay, and finding everywhere proofs that they had reached the shores of an opulent kingdom, the expedition turned northward again toward Panamá; for Pizarro realized that it would be impossible to attempt the conquest of such a country with a mere dozen of followers. On their way, they called again at Tumbes, where a native boy, named Felipillo, was taken on board to accompany Pizarro to Panamá, so that he might learn the Spanish language and serve as interpreter when the discoverers should return to his country to conquer it.

When Pizarro arrived in Panamá, he found the governor not at all disposed to help him; but, with the aid of his faithful comrades, Almagro and Father Luque, he was provided with funds to go to Spain and plead his cause with the king, it being understood that if he succeeded in getting the royal authorization and protection, he would secure the office of Adelantado for Almagro and that of Bishop of Tumbes for Father Luque. Pizarro was well received at the Court of Spain, where Cortés had recently arrived to present the empire of Mexico to his royal master. The Council of the Indies, which had charge of all matters relating to Spain’s possessions in the New World, gave him a grant authorizing him to make discoveries and conquests in Peru for two hundred leagues southward from the river Santiago, near the northern border of the present republic of Ecuador. Pizarro received the rank and titles of Governor and Captain-general of the province, and the offices of Adelantado and Chief Magistrate for life with a large salary; he was also made a Knight of Santiago and was given permission to use his father’s coat-of-arms with symbols of his own conquest added. Upon his return to Panamá, he tried to explain to Almagro the reason why he had accepted all the high offices for himself, but his comrade found it hard to forgive what he considered an injury done to him by a friend he had trusted, and an estrangement followed, which was never overcome, especially as Pizarro’s brothers, Hernando and Gonzalo, who accompanied him back from Spain, did everything to widen the breach.

In January, 1531, Pizarro and his followers embarked again for Peru. Before leaving Panamá, the banners of the company and the royal standard of Spain were consecrated in the Cathedral, mass was performed, and the sacrament was administered to every soldier. The expedition consisted of only two hundred men and twenty-seven horses, a small force for so ambitious an undertaking; but the courageous adventurer had come to believe so thoroughly in the destiny which held in store for him the glory of conquering that great kingdom, of whose extent and riches he had already been permitted the first glimpse, that no power on earth could have discouraged him in his enterprise; he was full of eager enthusiasm when his ships sailed out of the harbor, bound for Tumbes, which he considered the gateway to the Peruvian empire. On his way, he made brief landings at various points, including the island of Puná in the Guayaquil River, a few leagues north of the port of Tumbes on the southern shore of the Gulf of Guayaquil. At Puná the soldiers of Spain won a hard-fought battle over the fierce natives, during which, the Spanish chronicler says: “St. Michael was seen to vanquish Satan in mid-air.” Here the expedition awaited reinforcements, which soon afterward arrived in two ships commanded by Hernando de Soto, and consisted of a hundred volunteers as well as a number of cavalry horses; with this added force, Pizarro proceeded southward to Tumbes, though he found that recently flourishing city entirely depopulated and demolished—by their enemies of Puná it was said—and he was obliged to look for another site for his colony. He sent De Soto with troops to explore the foothills of the Andes while he himself marched southward along the plain for about thirty leagues, until he came to a rich valley watered by several streams, which offered such advantages for settlement that he sent for his troops to come on from Tumbes; here he founded the first Spanish colony in Peru, calling it San Miguel in honor of his victory at Puná; the settlement was removed later to the banks of the Piura River, where the foundation of the present flourishing city of Piura took place. During his march, Pizarro had passed thriving Indian settlements, had been hospitably entertained by the natives and had learned that the great ruler, in whose dominions he was travelling, was at that moment only ten days’ journey from Piura. He was told the story of the quarrel between Atahuallpa and Huascar and was informed that Atahuallpa’s army had successfully invaded Cuzco and taken Huascar prisoner; on that very day the victorious Inca was celebrating his triumph in his camp at Cajamarca, whither he had gone to take the baths. From the same source, Pizarro learned that the vanquished brother had been imprisoned at Jauja, where one of the strongest fortresses of the country was located. All this information was welcome to the Spanish invader, who saw that the disunion of the empire was a condition greatly in his favor in the proposed conquest; but he hoped, with all his heart, that reinforcements would come from Panamá, as his army appeared ridiculously small to attempt the subjugation of a rich and powerful monarch, whose bodyguard was composed of the best and bravest of his warriors, and numbered thousands. It is well said by the author of The Conquest of Peru that “if Pizarro had stopped to calculate chances, he must inevitably have failed, as the odds were too great to be combated reason.” But sober reason is very apt to lack the element of faith, which is so powerful an agency in the conquest of empires—whether national, social, or personal. Pizarro believed that he was destined by heaven to accomplish this seemingly impossible task, and he adopted ways and means which cautious reason would have condemned, in view of the almost certain and disastrous consequences. Probably he was inspired by Cortés’s capture of Montezuma when he planned his attack on Atahuallpa; but, to one of his spirit and temperament, the means to the end could hardly have failed, even without the Mexican Conqueror’s example, which, by the way, he did not worthily imitate, as Cortés would have scorned to use the unsoldierly tactics that Pizarro employed in the capture and subsequent murder of the Inca.

The prospect of getting reinforcements from Panamá appeared less and less hopeful as the months passed, until finally Pizarro decided to start on his daring enterprise with only the limited force then at his command. Leaving fifty soldiers to guard the colony, he set out with one hundred and eighty men, including sixty-seven cavalry troops, to attempt a conquest which a more cautious commander would have undertaken only at the head of a large army.

After journeying for several days without coming within sight of Cajamarca, Pizarro sent Hernando de Soto to reconnoitre, and, a week later, was delighted to see his comrade approaching the camp in company with a personage of evident rank, who was attended by a considerable retinue, and whom De Soto presented as an ambassador from the Inca Atahuallpa. This distinguished messenger had come with his royal master’s greeting to the strangers, and an invitation for them to visit the Emperor’s camp at Cajamarca. Pizarro, through his interpreter, Felipillo, made known to the ambassador his appreciation of the Inca’s fine courtesy; at the same time, he gave strict orders that as long as the ambassador remained in the Spanish camp he was to be treated with all the respect due to the representative of a great and powerful sovereign. When the Peruvian departed, he was charged to convey the compliments of Pizarro to his royal master and to tell him that the Spaniards were the subjects of a powerful prince, who ruled beyond the sea; that they had heard of Atahuallpa’s prowess and had come to pay their respects to His Majesty and to offer the service of their army against the Inca’s enemies; and that they would wait upon the great monarch with the least possible delay.

Having dismissed the Inca’s messenger, Pizarro resumed his march, choosing the route which he had been advised to take in order to reach Cajamarca as soon as possible. Embassies from the Inca continued to arrive with presents of gold, silver and rich vicuña cloths, the Spaniards sending in return ornaments of glass and other articles brought from Europe for the purpose. As they ascended the slopes of the great Andes, they observed that, instead of buildings of sun-dried bricks, such as were seen in the coast valleys, the temples and palaces were constructed of huge stones, taken from the solid rock, and so wonderfully adjusted that not a knife blade could be inserted between them, though no mortar was used in setting them.

In order to reach Cajamarca, it was necessary for Pizarro and his men to cross the cumbre, or summit of the great Andean range, that rose before them like an impassable barrier. They had to march through treacherous defiles, where a mere handful of men in ambush could destroy a whole army, and the experience was one to be remembered long afterward; the sudden appearance of a huge fortress high up on the mountain side, strong enough to defy a regiment and large enough to shelter an army—the precipices that yawned in front of them at every turn—the intense cold and rarity of the atmosphere in the high altitude—were sources of constant fear and discomfort. But the Inca permitted the invaders to advance without opposition; indeed, he continued to send embassies to them every time they encamped on the way. Was it an exaggerated idea of their exalted origin and power, or absolute confidence in his own strength, or because the very audacity of Pizarro was incredible, that Atahuallpa permitted the Spaniards to advance on his encampment, when a small force could have prevented their crossing the cumbre? Perhaps Atahuallpa yielded to curiosity and permitted the Spaniard to visit his royal stronghold in order that he and his nobles might study the rara avis, intending to capture the invaders later, by surrounding them with his legions. The conquerors afterward expressed the opinion that the Inca probably wished to find out all about them, to have them explain the use of their weapons, etc., so that he might profit the more by their capture. One authority says: “Atahuallpa was very wise and discreet, and, although without enlightenment, yet a friend of knowledge, and possessing a subtle mind.”

One of the severest tests of the courage of Pizarro came when he led his little band out of the last defile of the mountains and saw, from the eminence on which they stood, the beautiful valley of Cajamarca spread before his gaze, radiant in the flush of summer time, with broad fields showing the fruits of industrious husbandry, a prosperous little city nestling just below, and farther away, at the other side of the valley, on the sloping hillsides, the encampment of the Inca, apparently sheltering a mighty host. A member of that bold little company naïvely relates: “With a courageous countenance, after having thoroughly surveyed the scene, we descended to the valley, and entered Cajamarca.” One can easily imagine that behind the “courageous countenance” there was much sinking of the heart, as the invaders made their way down the mountain side! While they were descending, the sky became overcast, and the sunlit valley took on a gloomy aspect. Ominous clouds obscured the surrounding summits, which a few hours before had glistened like steel-armored sentinels under the rays of the sun. It was as if the breath of an unholy ambition had already poisoned the air and the approaching spectre of crime had thrown its awful shadow across the place of tragedy.

Pizarro and his band entered Cajamarca on the afternoon of November 15, 1532. They found themselves in a city of considerable size, apparently the home of about ten thousand people, though, as the Spaniards rode through its streets, no one came out to welcome them, and they discovered that it had been entirely deserted by the inhabitants, “in order to give better accommodation to the distinguished visitors of the Inca,” as his messengers explained.

Impatient to know the nature of the reception he might expect from Atahuallpa, Pizarro had no sooner entered Cajamarca than he sent Hernando de Soto and his brother, Hernando Pizarro, to salute the Inca and to invite him to dine on the following day, at the same time begging that his majesty would let them know where they were to make their headquarters. The Spanish envoys were accompanied by a bodyguard of cavalry and made their appearance at the Inca’s camp in a sumptuous manner, dressed in splendid armor and carrying themselves with the arrogance and grace characteristic of the Castilian. They found the sovereign in the courtyard of his royal quarters, where he received them with such absence of demonstration that they were disconcerted and at a loss to understand his extraordinary attitude. They rode up slowly until within a few feet of the Inca, when, after making a respectful salute, Hernando Pizarro repeated his brother’s message. Atahuallpa heard it without giving the least sign of interest, without even a change of expression; the only response came from one of his nobles, in the single word “Ari,” which signified “It is well.” It was an embarrassing moment and left Pizarro’s ambassadors totally ignorant of the Inca’s intentions; but Hernando Pizarro was not of a disposition to accept such a situation as final, and he again addressed the Indian sovereign, requesting him to speak to them himself, explaining that he was Pizarro’s brother and had come to learn from the Inca’s own lips what was his royal pleasure. At this, Atahuallpa deigned to answer, with a smile, that he was keeping a fast, which would end the following morning, when he would be pleased to visit Pizarro; that, in the meantime, his guests were to occupy the royal tambo, or inn, in the great square of the city, “except the Hall of the Serpent, in the midst,” which he reserved for his own use.

During their interview with Atahuallpa, the Spaniards had an excellent opportunity to observe the Inca, who was seated on a cushion in the midst of his nobles and the princesses of the royal household. The monarch, who was thirty years of age, was of grave and kingly bearing, and had handsome, well-cut features; he wore a simpler costume than his courtiers, who were gorgeous in gayly ornamented attire; his crown was the crimson masca paicha, which he had assumed with the sovereignty of Cuzco, after his brother Huascar’s defeat. The appearance of the Inca, his splendid court, his troops numbering fifty thousand men, the evidences of great wealth, seen even in the large golden vessels from which the Spaniards were invited to drink the chicha offered by Atahuallpa’s order—everything impressed Pizarro’s envoys with the hopelessness of their scheme of conquest, and they returned to their chief with gloomy faces.

But Pizarro refused to see, think or hear of anything but success, and he trampled down every rising fear by the sheer force of his own confidence and determination; that very night he unfolded his bold plan of action—to make a sudden attack and seize the Inca in the midst of his troops. Once in possession of the monarch, Pizarro knew that he could dictate his own terms, for he had not been slow to recognize the sacred character of the worship rendered by the Indians to their emperor of celestial origin. Perhaps he had even calculated on the paralyzing effect such an audacious and sacrilegious act as the seizure of the Inca would have on a people completely held under the spell of their sovereign’s great and transcendent glory. But it is hardly to be supposed that he could have foreseen their utter prostration in the face of the calamity he was preparing to visit upon them!