‘John Blagrove,’ I repeated.
He started, and said feebly, ‘I am he—who calls?’
‘Leonard Lindsay,’ I replied, ‘the Scots mariner, whom you aided to escape from the ship of Montbars.’
‘Lindsay—Lindsay!’ he muttered, ‘I know not that name.’ He paused, and then said loudly and clearly, ‘Death—my voice is for death. He hath most foully betrayed his great trust, and the blood of the saints crieth against him. By what law, sayest thou, shall we put him to death? Even by that which gave Jericho and its people to the sword of Joshua, the son of Nun.’
Listening to this, I saw that the mind of the dying man was running upon the great action of his life, and forbore to disturb him. But presently the delirium fit seemed to pass away, and he stirred restlessly, and muttered that he was athirst. I looked round the cottage, and finding a pitcher of water and a mug, held the latter to his lips; when he had drunk he seemed revived, shut his eyes for a moment, and then, opening them, fixed his gaze upon me, and smiled faintly.
‘I know you now,’ he said; ‘how came you here?’
Feeling that his time was but short, I hurriedly replied, that having arrived at Jamaica from Hispaniola, I had heard that he resided here, and had lost no time in coming to see, and thank him.
‘You will see the last of me, then,’ he murmured; ‘I told you I should rest in the wilderness, and I am fast going to that long home.’
I asked him if he had not had proper medicines and help in his fever.
‘No,’ he replied, ‘none; I did not wish to live. I left myself in the hands of God. He has called my soul, and I obey the summons as firmly as I can.’