Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. "Heaven help us!" he exclaimed; "we were mad to neglect the old sailor's advice. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. Do you understand?’ ‘Aye, sir.
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