under the royal banners against the Portugueze—frequently against the armies of the savages. Who shall count the number of those our countrymen who have fallen in battle, or in the repeated sieges of Colonia? We, the survivors, still bear about us scars, monuments of our loyalty and courage. To extend the limits of the Spanish domains, to defend them against invaders, has ever been our first desire; nor have we spared our lives in its accomplishment. Would the Catholic King have these our deserts repaid with the most grievous punishments—with the loss of our country, our handsome churches, our houses, fields, and spacious farms? It exceeds belief. But if this be really true, what can we ever deem incredible? In the letters of Philip the Fifth, (which were read to us at his command, from the pulpits of our churches,) we were instructed never to allow the Portugueze to approach our territories—that they and theirs were our bitterest enemies. Now they cry out to us, day and night, that the monarch wills our ceding to the Portugueze those noble, those spacious tracts of land, which nature, which God, which the Spanish sovereign himself had yielded us; and which we have cultivated for upwards of a century with the sweat of our brows. Who shall persuade us that Ferdinand, so dutiful a son, will command what Philip, his excellent father, had so often forbidden? But if, indeed, these enmities be changed into friendship, (for both times and disposition do often change,) and the Spaniards be desirous of gratifying the Portugueze, let them grant them the spacious plains void of inhabitants and of colonies, with our free leave. What! shall we give up our towns to the Portugueze, by whose ancestors so many thousands of our countrymen have been either slain, or forced into cruel slavery in Brazil?—We can neither suffer nor believe it. When, embracing Christianity, we swore allegiance to God and the Catholic King, the priests and royal governours with one voice promised us the friendship and protection of the king: now, though guilty of no crime, and deserving every good return for our services, we are constrained to expatriate, a punishment most grievous, and almost intolerable. What man in his senses will believe the faith of the Spaniards, so versatile in the performance of promises—their friendship so slippery and unsound?" To this effect wrote the Indian chiefs to the royal governour, who, being a well-wisher both to the king and the Indians, when he saw their letter, could hardly refrain from tears; but suppressing pity through military obedience, he never ceased urging the execution of the royal decree to the utmost of his power, and threatening those who refused to obey it with all extremities.