beheld before him “a white cloud of pavilions, covering the ground as thick as snow-flakes, for the space apparently of several miles.” In front of the tents were fixed the warriors’ lances; and at night innumerable watch-fires, making the mountain-slope resemble, says an eyewitness, “a very starry heaven,” struck doubt and dismay into the hearts of that little Christian band. “All,” says one of the Conquistadores, “remaining with much fear, because we were so few, and had entered so far into the land, where we could not receive succours.” All, save one, the presiding genius of the venture, who showed himself equal to the emergency, and nobly justified his followers’ confidence. Pizarro saw that retreat was impossible, inaction ruinous, and he resolved to set all upon a cast by executing a project of unparalleled boldness. The Inca, who, very soon assumed a dictatorial tone, had ordered the Spaniards to occupy the buildings on the chief square at Caxamalca, and no others, and had also signified his intention of visiting the strangers so soon as a fast he was keeping should be at an end. The, square, or rather triangle, was of great extent, and consisted of a stone fortress, and of large, low, wide-doored halls, that seemed intended for barracks. Upon this square Pizarro prepared to receive his royal visitor. On the appointed day, Atahuallpa made his appearance, at the head of his numerous army, variously estimated by Pizarro’s secretary and others there present, at from thirty to fifty thousand men. These halted at a short distance from the town; the Inca began to pitch his tents, and sent word to Pizarro that he had postponed his visit to the following morning. The Spanish leader deprecated this change of plan, and said that he fully expected Atahuallpa to sup with him; whereupon the Inca, either from good nature, or lured by the prospect of a feast, entered the town with a comparatively small retinue. “He brought with him,” says Hernando Pizarro, in a manuscript letter, “five or six thousand Indians, unarmed, save with small clubs, and slings, and bags of stones.” In fact, it appears from all accounts that very few of them had any arms at all. Upon a throne of gold, borne on an open litter, by Peruvian nobles in a rich azure livery, the Inca came, and paused in the square. Not a Spaniard was to be seen, save Fray Vicente de Valverde, Pizarro’s chaplain, who, by means of an interpreter, addressed the royal visitor in a homily which, to judge from the multiplicity of subjects it embraced, can have been of no trifling length. Beginning with the creation of the world, he expounded the doctrines of Christianity, talked of St Peter and the Pope, and finally, with singular coolness, requested his astonished hearer to change his religion, and become a tributary of the Emperor. Naturally offended at such presumptuous propositions, Atahuallpa answered with some heat, and threw down a Bible or breviary which he had taken from the friar’s hand.