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 Years after, when he was an old man, he wrote the story of all the strange adventures, the hairbreadth escapes, the defeats and the victories which he and his comrades passed through as they followed their fearless captain, to whom toil and danger were as nothing. He wrote that he might keep green the memory of his brave comrades, long since dead. "Where are now my companions? They have fallen in battle, or been devoured by the cannibal, or been thrown to fatten the wild beasts in their cages! They whose remains should rather have been gathered under monuments emblazoned with their achievements, commemorated in letters of gold; for they died in the service of God and of his Majesty . . . and also to acquire that wealth which most men covet."

This vivid narrative, the glowing testimony of an eye-witness, is far more valuable than the courtly and polished history of Gomara and other writers. With Bernal Diaz we live the daily life and share the dangers and toils of the Conquistadores. No mere eulogy of Cortés is this chronicle, for the stout old soldier allows no valiant man to miss his due meed. Truth breathes in every line, even when with simple boastfulness he tells the story of his own achievements. "If we did not speak well of ourselves," says he, "who would? Who else witnessed our exploits and our battles—unless, indeed, the clouds in the sky and the birds flying over our heads?"

From Havana the fleet sailed to Cape St. Antonio, the nearest point to the continent. There Cortés 40