Truth may be in this well! since there is a sad want of it on this, as on other parts of the world.
I was introduced to a Spanish renegade, a great many make their escape from the presidios of the North. On getting away from these convict establishments, they adopt the Mahometan religion, are pretty well received by the Maroquines, and generally pass the rest of their days tranquilly among the Moors. I imagine the better sort of them remain Christians at heart, notwithstanding their public assumption of Islamism. This renegade was a stonemason, whom I found at work, and he was not at all distinguishable by strangers from the Moors, being dressed precisely in the same fashion. I had some conversation with him, which was characteristic of conceit, feeling and honour.
Traveller—"How long have you escaped?"
Renegade.—"More than twenty years."
Traveller.—"Do you like this country and the Moors?"
Renegade.—"Better is Marruécos than Spain."
Traveller.—"Shall you ever attempt to return to Spain?"
Renegade.—"Why? here I have all I want. Besides, they would stretch my neck for sending a fellow out of the world without his previously having had an interview with his confessor."
Traveller.—"Are you not conscience-stricken? having committed such a crime, how can you mention it?"
Renegade.—"Pooh, conscience! pooh, corazor!"