He soon understood the position in which he was placed, and, after a few words with his Lieutenant, John Luff, himself repeated the already determined sentence of his crew.
So calm was his voice, so fixed his manner, that the bold Irishman perceived at once that his doom was at hand. Assuming, therefore, his wonted courage, making up his mind to death, he looked the commander in the face, and with the composure of a mind comparatively at ease, said—
“Since I must die, let me die dacently. My choice is made—the hammock for my winding-sheet, the water for my grave, and God forgive you all.”
Not a word more did the brave fellow utter, but stood like a hero, or a martyr, ready for execution.
Now to the credit of Laud be it recorded, that in his soul he admired the intrepidity of the man’s spirit; and murder, base murder of a bold man, never was his intention.
He whispered to his mate, though in a moment after he exclaimed to his crew, “Do your duty.”
Pat was tripped up, rolled up in the hammock, swung upon the chain, heard the whistle, and in an instant found himself, as he thought, descending to the shades below. In fact, however, he was ascending, though consciousness for a time forsook him, and the swoon of anticipated suffocation bereft him of his senses. When he did recover, he found himself at the bottom of a boat, bounding over the billows, and was soon on board a ship. Here he revived, and was treated by the crew with kindness; but after many days he was put ashore on the eastern coast of his own dear isle, with this gentle admonition:—
“Patrick O’Brien, ‘all’s well that ends well.’ Let well alone for the future, and now farewell.”
So ended this spree, which may serve to show the mind and habits of those men with whom Will Laud had to deal.
At times these desperate men would be mutinous, but their common interest kept them together. The persons of several were known along the coast, and farmers found it to their interest to wink at their peccadilloes.