oreover, when Zarco persuaded him to talk in Spanish it was some
while before we could understand more than a word or two here and
there. The man had spent close upon thirty years in captivity, and his
native speech had all but dried up within him. Also he had no longer
any thought of difference between his own country and another: it was
enough to be among Christians again: nor could we for awhile disengage
that which was of moment from the rambling nonsense with which he
wrapped it about. He, poor man! was concerned chiefly with his
own sufferings, while we were listening for our advantage: yet as
Christians we forbore while he muttered on, and when a word or two
fell from him which might be of service, we recalled him to them (I
believe) as gently as we could.

"Well, the chaff being sifted away, the grain came to this: His name
was Morales, his birthplace Cadiz, his calling that of pilot: he had
fallen (as I have said) into the hands of the Moors about thirty years
before: and at Azamor, or a little inland, he had made acquaintance
with a fellow-prisoner, an Englishman, by name Roger Prince, or
Prance. This man had spent the best part of his life in captivity, and
at one time had changed his faith to get better usage: but his first
master dying at a great age, he passed to another, who cruelly
ill-treated him, and under whose abominable punishments he quickly
sank. He lay, indeed, at the point of death when Morales happened upon
him. Upon some small act of kindness such as one slave may do for
another, the two had made friends: and thus Morales came to hear the
poor Englishman's story."

Here I broke off and nodded to the Count, who called for a lamp. And
so for a few minutes we all sat without speech in the twilight, the
room silent save for the cracking of Master d'Arfet's knuckles. When
at length the lamp arrived, Zarco trimmed it carefully, unfolded his
parchment, spread it on the table, and began to read very deliberately
in his rolling voice, pausing and looking up between the sentences
while the man Martin translated--

"_This is the statement made to me by Roger Prance, the Englishman,
Anno MCCCCIX., at various times in the month before he died_.

"He said: My name is Roger Prance. I come from St. Lawrence on the
River Jo,[A] in England. From a boy I followed the sea in the ships
of Master Canynge,[B] of Bristol, sailing always from that port with
cargoes of wool, and mostly to the Baltic, where we fille