Manco, the Peruvian Chief | Page 3

by seeing a man leap over the wall of the court-yard, and rapidly approach the house.
"Who can he be? What brings him here?" exclaimed my mother, while my father rose to make inquiries on the subject.
Scarcely had she spoken, when the door was thrown open, and the person we had seen rushed into the room. He was a tall man, of well-knit, active frame, and though he looked travel-stained and weary, there was something in his appearance and manner which betokened that he was not an ordinary being. His complexion was dark, though scarcely darker than that of a Spaniard; but the contour of his features and the expression of his countenance showed that he belonged to the Indian race. His dress was simple, consisting of a pair of trowsers, and a shirt of the cotton cloth of the country, of a dark blue colour; a poncho of alpaca wool covered his shoulders, while a sash was fastened round his waist, and his feet were protected by sandals, fastened on by leather thongs. He threw himself on the ground before my father, who went to meet him, and taking his hand, he looked up imploringly in his face.
"Save me, Senor!" he exclaimed in Spanish, "you have the power if you will venture to do it. I am flying from what they call justice--the tyranny of our cruel task-masters. If I am captured, my death is certain. You are noble and generous, and I throw myself on your mercy."
The appeal thus made, with all the energy of despair, was difficult to resist. My father's feelings were enlisted on the side of the fugitive; but he looked round at my mother and us, who now stood grouped about him, and remembered the difficulties to which we might be exposed, should he yield to the promptings of his heart, from the anger of the Spanish authorities. The Indian divined his thoughts.
"You run no danger," he continued. "Far be it from me to cause you to suffer for your charity. No one saw me approach your house; neither did your servants observe me enter it. I was on my way through the mountains to the far interior, but not daring to enter any house for food and rest, I felt that my strength was forsaking me, and that I could not hope to combat with the difficulties of the road. If you cannot shelter me, noble Senor, either I must die from fatigue, or be captured by my enemies."
"Of what crime have you been guilty, that you thus seek to fly from justice?" asked my father.
"Of no crime, Senor, believe me," replied the Indian in a proud tone, rising to his feet as he spoke. "Of no crime in the sight of Heaven, or even of men, if they had regard to justice. I was selected for the hated Meta, I, a descendant of the great Incas, was ordered to work as a slave--a Pongo in the house of a sub-delegado, a man noted for his crimes and cruelty. I refused to perform the disgraceful office--I was dragged there by force--with a thong he endeavoured to frighten me into performing the work he ordered. His rage surpassed all bounds; he struck me again and again. Was I tamely to submit? My dormant spirit was aroused. I at length struck him again; and when he rushed at me in his fury, I felled him to the ground. I attempted to fly, but I was captured ere I could do so, and was borne off to prison, there to await my doom, which would have been death. My name was unknown. They thought I was an humble Indian; but some of my race were at hand, and, aided by them, I effected my escape from prison. My friends could not conceal me, and my only course was instant flight into the mountains."
"Let us shelter him, Henry," exclaimed my mother, in English; "Heaven surely will not allow us to suffer injury from doing what is right."
The Indian at once comprehended by her looks that she was pleading his cause.
"May the blessing of the God of my fathers light on you and yours!" he cried, kneeling at her feet.
My father thought as she did; but he had learned not to give way on a sudden to the impulse of his feelings, and he wished to ascertain that the Indian was not deceiving him before he promised his protection.
"Who are you?" he asked; "though your tale, alas! is too probable to be doubted."
"I am one who would not be guilty of a falsehood to save my life," answered the Indian proudly; "I am the cousin of the Cacique Tupac Amaru, the rightful heir of the last Inca of Peru. You see in me one of the children of the