The Diary of Francisco Pizarroby BUS ’10–’11

August 6 – Land ho! We have nearly reached the New World, and the crew is positively giddy with anticipation and scarlet fever. The only thing we love more than the thrill of exploration is the prospect of meeting new friends along the way. We have all shaved our beards so as to appear non-threatening.

August 9 – I have stumbled upon a campground where natives are burning trees to the ground using our gunpowder. Is this some sort of spiritual offering? I plan to return tomorrow with my men so we can begin an open-minded discourse on the comparative merits of our two religions.

August 10 – We returned to the campground today, but the natives refuse to enlighten us with their worldview. Instead, all they do is bow to us and bring us gold. I keep telling them we just want to talk, but they won’t stop chaining themselves together and performing menial labor long enough to listen. Whenever my men and I attempt to free them with our tools, they stubbornly insist that the only tools they need are the Bibles they have already stolen from us and memorized.

August 13 – Our ship is so full of gold that it can barely stay afloat. I don’t know when the natives transported it all, but they must have somehow done it while we were asleep. My only wish is that we had known ahead of time so we could have helped our generous new allies, or at least removed their shackles.

August 16 – Now that they have no more gold to give us, the natives have taken to destroying their homes in frustration, and also building churches. My crew and I have no choice but to bathe in silent protest.

August 20 – The natives keep running up to us, taking our weapons, and using those weapons to kill themselves before we have a chance to stop them. This has happened twelve thousand times.