In the dim light of the torches I could see the outlines of men sitting and lying on the seats and floor, showing signs of both dejection and despair. The battle of Sedgemoor had been fought and lost and five hundred of us had been locked in a tiny church. Up and down the aisles I heard the iron-shod heels of the sentries ringing on the stone floor. Most of us lay silent, some moaned from the pain of their wounds; some were praying; one was raving, half mad with fear.

We had good cause to fear, as our captor was none other than the infamous Feversham, a Royalist general. His way of dealing with rebels was to hang or shoot them without any ado, and he awaited only daybreak to begin the work he enjoyed most. Only a few of us were able to control our fear. I sat with one in the shadow of the pulpit steps. We had both been conspicuous in the battle, and we knew full well that we would die with the coming of dawn.

My companion, John Barrett was about thirty-five, with a powerful thickset frame and strong rugged features, a bad man to have against you, one might say.

I am David Murchison, some six or eight years younger, a little taller and lighter. Some say I am fastest runner in the West of England, perhaps in the whole country. We were both natives of Axbridge, but until the battle we had never met.

We sat silent. Barrett pulled out a short black pipe, filled and lit it, and smoked tranquilly.

Sitting there I got to thinking of my Mary and took her portrait from my pocket, she was a beautiful girl. I took a long look at her lovely face, and as I looked I said my farewell.

Barrett was watching me. In the dim light he could not see the face in the portrait, but he guessed how I was feeling.

“Poor fellow!” said Barrett, showing more understanding than I would have expected from his hard face.

After a moment, he said more to himself, than to me.

“I was in love, I am in love, God help me! I have her portrait in my pouch, what I would give if I could look at it as you can look at yours?”

I looked at him with interest. “What!” I said, “Do you too have a girl who will go mad with grief when she hears of what’s happened to you?”