Wine, food, dry clothes--why, they're worth dying, worth hanging, for! Captain, tell me one thing: why aren't all the poor folk foot-pads ?' 'Give it up,' said the captain.
'They must be damned good,' cried Herrick.

'There's something here beyond me.

Think of that calaboose! Suppose we were sent suddenly back.' He shuddered as though stung by a convulsion, and buried his face in his clutching hands.
'Here, what's wrong with you ?' cried the captain.

There was no reply; only Herrick's shoulders heaved, so that the table was shaken.

'Take some more of this.