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Updated: June 28, 2025
He climbed dizzily and stumbled on deck, looking about him, uncertain where to go. It must have been past noon, for the sun was on the starboard bow. The Revenge was close-hauled and running southwest on a fresh west wind. Dave Herriot leaned against the weather rail, a short clay pipe in one fist and his bushy brown beard in the other.
Jeremy had been detailed as a sort of errand boy, and as he stood at the Captain's side he heard him speaking to Herriot. "She's British, right enough," he was saying. "I can make out her flag; but how many guns, 'tis harder to tell.
He knew that it was pretence; and yet, because she was pretty, and because he was a man, he could not save her from herself. "It doesn't do to be wiser than other men," he said to himself as he looked round about on the bare hill-side. In the meantime he had altogether lost his way. It was between nine and ten when he reached the Cottage. "Of course you have dined?" said Herriot.
When they were quite close that biggest one, Herriot, stepped up to me and before I could shout he put his hand over my mouth and held me. They gagged me fast and then one of them gave a whistle, long and low. Pretty soon a boat came up to the dock and they grabbed me and put me in, spite of all I could do.
"Fashion seems to be going the other way," said Herriot. "It can be only done by education and conscience. Take men of forty all round, men of our own class, you believe that the married men are happier than the unmarried? I want an answer, you know, just for the sake of the argument." "I think the married men are the happier.
"You can chain the body, but shall not fetter the tongue," responded Herriot, in no way dismayed by the threats of his enraged persecutors, or their preparations to confine and torture his person; "for I will speak, and you shall hear, ye tyrants! Listen then, ye red-handed assassins! The blood of your murdered victim has cried up to God for vengeance.
Sweep them off by bullet and plague! and and" suddenly checking himself, he meekly added, "and save their souls; and this, Lord, is all that in conscience I can ask for them. Amen." Woodburn now gently rapped at the door, which, after a slight pause, was opened, and Herriot, the late prisoner of the royal court, stood before him.
While in one part of the building the officers just named, with other distinguished persons, were engaged in discussing the incidents of the day, in another and more retired apartment, on a pillowed couch, lay the wounded Father Herriot, who, having been stricken down in the last moments of the battle, as before intimated, had been borne hither to complete the willing sacrifice he had made of his life to the cause of his country.
Their minds were both busy planning some way of getting to land when Dave Herriot came up behind them and put a huge hand into the collar of each. "Come along below, lads," he said gruffly. They went, completely mystified, until the big sailing-master thrust them before him into the port gun deck. Then Jeremy understood.
"I'll scatter the deck with the brains of any man who will not fight to the end!" he cried. For a second the issue was in doubt. In another instant the iron spell he held over his men must have won them back. Herriot was already running to his side. But before he reached his chief a louder cheer from the attacking sloops made him turn. The black "Roger" fluttered downward to the deck.
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