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Updated: June 1, 2025
I will not believe that the flag of England, the mistress of the seas, is this day destined to dip to the blood and gold flag of Spain. And the end of the fight, I will wager, is not only farther off than this good de Soto suspects, but it will also have a different ending from what he looks forward to, or my name is not Roger Trevose!"
At fifteen years of age I killed a man, and found, in a murder undertaken for very definite reasons, a thrill beyond expectation. It was as though I had drunk at a wayside spring and found an elixir. That incident is unknown; the death of my father's foreman, Job Trevose, has not been understood till now.
The fine headland of Pentire reaches beyond, with its off-lying islet of Newland. Mr. Norway thinks that the stretch of coast visible from Pentire is the finest in all Cornwall, and he speaks with authority. On the west the view extends to Trevose, and embraces the whole of the beautiful Padstow harbour, together with an unlimited ocean of marvellous ever-changing colours.
"Yes," they heard him say, "this arn't by no means the furst taime I was in thaise seas. Good-even to ye, Mr Trevose and Mr Edgwyth! No; I tall 'ee I was 'ere in the zummer of 1582, just after the taime that that there bloody pirate, Jose Leirya, was sailing of these vury seas. 'E was a fiend in 'uman shape, if there ever was one; nobody was zafe in anny of the ships 'e tuk.
He lived at Paul, a village upon the heights nigh Penzance, and his walk to his work took him by the coast-guard track along lofty cliffs. Among the fish-curing sheds one day, unseen, I chanced to hear Trevose speak of my mother to another man and declare that she did evil and dishonoured my father.
"You are very right, Mr Trevose," replied the captain; "you have done well to tell me. There is, indeed, something away there; I can make out the loom of a vessel's sails quite plainly. Now, who or what may she be? Ah! I have it. The flag-ship is sailing at haphazard after all. The pirate has doubled and, putting out all lights, has trusted to his luck to run past the squadron in the darkness.
He glanced up, saw Roger, and shouted: "I have something here, Master Trevose, which will be very valuable to us if it is what I believe it to be." He soon waded out and flung down a small barrel on the sand at his feet. "Why," said Roger, "what is that? It is a barrel of some sort, as, of course, I can see; but what do you suppose its contents to be?"
It was of these stirring deeds and adventures that Roger Trevose of Pentillie Manor, on the river Tamar, in the county of Devon fairest and sweetest of all English counties, was thinking when his friend Harry Edgwyth, who had just arrived upon the scene, put his question: "How now, Roger, my lad; what are you thinking of?" Just think of it, lad!
From that moment I doomed Trevose to death and, some weeks later, after many failures to win the right conditions, caught him alone in a sea fog as he returned homeward. There was not a soul on the cliff path but ourselves; and he was a small man, I a strong, big boy. I walked beside him for fifty paces, then fell behind, leaped at his neck and hurled him over the cliff in an instant.
One yell he gave and dropped six hundred feet. Then I fled over meadows inland and returned home after dark. Neither I nor anybody else was ever associated with the affair, and the death of Job Trevose has always been ascribed to misadventure the easier to believe since he was not a temperate man. From this experience I won, not remorse, but manhood. I rejoiced in what I had done.
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