Valverde thus gave the first signal of attack; Pizarro then waved a white kerchief and the gun boomed its fateful command from the fortress. In an instant the Spaniards poured into the plaza, yelling their battle-cry, while the guns kept up a deafening noise; the horses plunged into the terror-stricken ranks of the Inca’s attendants, trampling hundreds under their iron hoofs; both infantry and cavalry wrought havoc with their swords, and the plaza—a few minutes before brilliant with the splendor and gaiety of a royal train, come to honor the stranger and accept his proffered hospitality—became a scene of carnage and death, a horrible spectacle, though welcome enough to the treacherous host, whose invitation had been given with this very object in view. It is not strange that panic seized the followers of Atahuallpa when the Spaniards made their murderous onslaught, unaccustomed as the Indians were to the sound and smoke of the cannon, the sight of rearing, prancing steeds, and the glitter of the long, sharp swords, which the bearded “palefaces” used with such deadly effect. The Inca’s nobles pressed closely around the royal litter, sheltering their beloved sovereign until cut down by the assailants, when their places were immediately filled by others. His faithful attendants sought to force back the cavaliers by clinging to their saddles and trying to unhorse them, never loosening their grip until the cruel blade of the Spaniard put an end to their pitiful efforts. So persistently did the brave nobles interpose themselves between the enemy and the sacred person of their sovereign that it seemed impossible for Pizarro’s men to secure their prize; and some of his officers would have taken the Inca’s life to prevent his eluding them, had it not been for Pizarro’s command, “Let no one harm the Inca on peril of his life!” Finally, as the fierce struggle closed in around the royal palanquin, and one after another of those who bore it aloft was slain, it was overturned, the monarch being saved from a fall by Pizarro, who caught him in his arms. What irony of fate! The stranger whom Atahuallpa had permitted to come to the very threshold of his royal palace, without offering any hindrance; who had declared his mission to be one of peace, and had offered the service of his arms against the royal enemies; who had invited the Inca to eat at his table, a courtesy to which the monarch responded in a truly royal spirit by presenting himself unarmed to accept the hospitality;—this stranger had first insulted him through the mouth of his priest; had then attacked the invited guest, who was entirely defenceless; had turned all the force of unfamiliar arms against a panic-stricken multitude and needlessly butchered them; and, finally, had made the monarch his prisoner by catching him in his arms, as a Spaniard’s sword pierced the heart of the monarch’s last faithful protector!