He drew his sword and faced the crowd with an exultant look. Stooping, he traced a line in the sand from east to west, and in clear tones called:

“Soldiers of Spain! On the south side of this line are hunger, nakedness, storms, suffering, and death; on the north side lie ease and pleasure, drink and idleness in Panama. Choose! Choose each man what best becomes a brave Castilian! For my part, I go to the south!”

Pizarro stepped across the line to be immediately followed by Ruiz, Pedro de Candia and eleven others of his men. Molina roused from the spell under which the man’s simple eloquence had held him to find himself among the volunteers. Pizarro grasped his hand and pressed it fiercely:

“I am honored, Señor Alonso de Molina, by this act of approval from a brave spirit. But I cannot allow you to remain on this grim watch. You have influence in Panama. Hence I ask you to return with my good pilot and bring back a ship for our enterprise.”

The young cavalier bowed.

“I have taken service under your banner, Francisco Pizarro, and go where you command.”

Again the two men clasped hands. Turning to the group who had pledged anew their lives to his cause, he called aloud each name:

“Bartholome Ruiz, Cristoval de Peralta, Pedro de Candia, Domingo de Sonia Luce, Nicolas de Ribera, Francisco de Cuellor, Alonso de Molina, Pedro Alear, Garcia de Jerez, Anton de Carrion, Alonso Briceno, Martin de Paz, and Juan de la Torre, you have this day written your names on the scroll of fame. I salute you my friends, my comrades!”

He grasped each hand in turn and felt repaid for every hour of pain and hunger, in their loyalty.

Tafur angrily faced the group and demanded that they embark in obedience to the commands of their governor. They laughed at his rage.

“Your act,” he snarled, “is sheer madness involving death of every man among you.”

“Perhaps,” Pizarro answered. “We understand. We have chosen death before desertion. Say this to the governor. We demand only that you leave us one of your ships in which to pursue our voyage.”

“God’s light!” shouted Tafur, “I like your impudence. Leave you a ship? Not a shred of a single sail. Stay here and rot in your damned folly if you will. I’ll have no part in it.”

The only concession Pizarro could wring from him was to land a limited supply of the food which he had brought to their rescue.

And then the adventurer with eleven of his followers stood on the shore and watched the ships spread their wings and disappear beyond the northern horizon. A dozen men, with scant food, without clothing, almost unarmed, with no knowledge of the land to which they were bound, without tools, without shelter, without a vessel for transport, took their place on a lonely island in the ocean--resolved to find and conquer a mighty empire. They might fail; but their failure would be attended by no governor’s rebuke: they would win, or die.

To Pizarro it was the supreme crisis. And he exulted. Had he faltered, compromised, or returned, it would have been the end of his dreams. These dreams had now ceased to be dreams--they had become the living realities of life. There could be no turning back from to-day; every bridge was burnt behind--before lay glory or death.

He immediately decided to abandon the Island of Gallo. Twenty-five leagues to the north lay the little island of Gorgona, but five leagues from the mainland and uninhabited. But it was an advantageous spot. It was high and heavily timbered. The woods abounded in pheasants and the plains with rabbits. With their crossbows the men could get a fair supply of game without loss of powder, and cool streams supplied good water.

By Pizarro’s orders the men constructed a raft on which they managed on a fair day to float with favorable currents to this island. They built rude huts and began the long siege of waiting for Molina’s return. The one horror from which they suffered most was the bite of swarming mosquitoes. So desperate was the pests’ attack that at times it was necessary for the sufferers to bury their bodies completely in the sand until a breeze brought relief.

Through months of desolate waiting, Pizarro’s stout spirit was the inspiration of every follower. Freebooters and adventurers though they were, in this time of trial they watched the stars, tried once more to find the face of God, and in the night winds to hear His voice. Pizarro encouraged them in religious devotions. Without fail they said their morning prayers, and as the twilight deepened, chanted their hymns to the Virgin. And they celebrated punctually each festival of the Church. Pizarro was using every means at his command and every ounce of his indomitable character to make his enterprise a holy crusade under the banners of Castile.