I was present when he died.

He went to God a good Christian, praying and praising.

Next day I was to follow him, but I broke prison in the night with the help of an Indian, and went down the coast in a stolen patache to a place where thick forests lined the sea.

There I lay hid till my wounds healed, and by and by I was picked up by a Bristol ship that had put in to water." "But your wounds--how got you them ?" "At the hands of the priests.

They would have made a martyr of me, and used their engines to bend my mind.