"
"Nay, I want no moral. Let me do the moralising. The tale's the thing. See,
fill a glass of this Irish cordial. Twill keep off the chill from the night
air. When and where did you get so woefully battered?"
"'Twas six years back when I was with Bovill."
Raleigh whistled. "You were with Robert Bovill' What in Heaven's name did
one of Coffyn blood with Robert? If ever man had a devil, 'twas he. I mind
his sullen black face and his beard in two prongs. I have heard he is
dead--on a Panama gibbet?"
"He is dead; but not as he lived. I was present when he died. He went to
God a good Christian, praying and praising. Next day I was to follow him,
but I broke prison in the night with the help of an Indian, and went down
the coast in a stolen patache to a place where thick forests lined the sea.
There
I lay hid till my wounds healed, and by and by I was picked up by a Bristol
ship that had put in to water."
"But your wounds--how got you them?"
"At the hands of the priests. They would have made a martyr of me, and used
their engines to bend my mind.
Pages:
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254