rming the Spanish commander that he should come with his
warriors fully armed, in the same manner as the Spaniards had come to
his quarters the night preceding. This was not an agreeable intimation
to Pizarro, though he had no reason, probably, to expect the contrary.
But to object might imply distrust, or perhaps disclose, in some
measure, his own designs. He expressed his satisfaction, therefore, at
the intelligence, assuring the Inca that, come as he would, he would be
received by him as a friend and brother.

It was noon before the Indian procession was on its march, when it was
seen occupying the great causeway for a long extent. In front came a
large body of attendants, whose office seemed to be to sweep away every
particle of rubbish from the road. High above the crowd appeared the
Inca, borne on the shoulders of his principal nobles, while others of
the same rank marched by the sides of his litter, displaying such a
dazzling show of ornaments on their persons that, in the language of one
of the conquerors, "they blazed like the sun." But the greater part of
the Inca's forces mustered along the fields that lined the road, and
were spread over the broad meadows as far as the eye could reach.

When the royal procession had arrived within half a mile of the city, it
came to a halt; and Pizarro saw, with surprise, that Atahualpa was
preparing to pitch his tents as if to encamp there. A messenger soon
after arrived, informing the Spaniards that the Inca would occupy his
present station the ensuing night and enter the city on the following
morning.

This intelligence greatly disturbed Pizarro, who had shared in the
general impatience of his men at the tardy movements of the Peruvians.
The troops had been under arms since daylight, the cavalry mounted, and
the infantry at their post, waiting in silence the coming of the Inca. A
profound stillness reigned throughout the town, broken only at intervals
by the cry of the sentinel from the summit of the fortress, as he
proclaimed the movements of the Indian army. Nothing, Pizarro well knew,
was so trying to the soldiers as prolonged suspense in a critical
situation like the present; and he feared lest his ardor might
evaporate, and be succeeded by that nervous feeling natural to the
bravest soul at such a crisis, and which, if not fear, is near akin to
it. He returned an answer, therefore, to Atahualpa, deprecating his
change of purpose, and adding that he had provided eve