“It is superfluous, senor, to offer us food in your own habitation when you have already put all that you possess at our command.”

“True, senors:  and my motive for inviting you was, perhaps, somewhat of a selfish one.  I am possessed by a longing to unburthen my heart of a tale which I never yet told to man, and which I fear can give to you nothing but pain; and yet I will entreat you, of your courtesy, to hear of that which you cannot amend, simply in mercy to a man who feels that he must confess to some one, or die as miserable as he has lived.  And I believe my confidence will not be misplaced, when it is bestowed upon you.  I have been a cavalier, even as you are; and, strange as it may seem, that which I have to tell I would sooner impart to the ears of a soldier than of a priest; because it will then sink into souls which can at least sympathize, though they cannot absolve.  And you, cavaliers, I perceive to be noble, from your very looks; to be valiant, by your mere presence in this hostile land; and to be gentle, courteous, and prudent, by your conduct this day to me and to your captives.  Will you, then, hear an old man’s tale?  I am, as you see, full of words; for speech, from long disuse, is difficult to me, and I fear at every sentence lest my stiffened tongue should play the traitor to my worn-out brain:  but if my request seems impertinent, you have only to bid me talk as a host should, of matters which concern his guests, and not himself.”

The three young men, equally surprised and interested by this exordium, could only entreat their host to “use their ears as those of his slaves,” on which, after fresh apologies, he began: 

“Know, then, victorious cavaliers, that I, whom you now see here as a poor hermit, was formerly one of the foremost of that terrible band who went with Pizarro to the conquest of Peru.  Eighty years old am I this day, unless the calendar which I have carved upon yonder tree deceives me; and twenty years old was I when I sailed with that fierce man from Panama, to do that deed with which all earth, and heaven, and hell itself, I fear, has rung.  How we endured, suffered, and triumphed; how, mad with success, and glutted with blood, we turned our swords against each other, I need not tell to you.  For what gentleman of Europe knows not our glory and our shame?”

His hearers bowed assent.

“Yes; you have heard of our prowess:  for glorious we were awhile, in the sight of God and man.  But I will not speak of our glory, for it is tarnished; nor of our wealth, for it was our poison; nor of the sins of my comrades, for they have expiated them; but of my own sins, senors, which are more in number than the hairs of my head, and a burden too great to bear.  Miserere Domine!”

And smiting on his breast, the old warrior went on: