to hang raw. I did
not hang; I broke prison and ran. For years I was a slave among the
Spaniards. Years more--in all, twelve--and then I came back with the
little chart for one thing, this to do for another. Who was it gave me
that rogues' march from the stocks to the gallows's foot? It was Hogarth
Leveret, who deals out law in Massachusetts in the king's name, by
the grace of God. It was my whim to capture him and take him on a
journey--such a journey as he would go but once. Blood of my soul, the
dear lad was gone. But there was his child. See this: when I stood
in the pillory a maid one day brought the child to the foot of the
platform, lifted it up in her arms and said: 'Your father put that
villain there.' That woman was sister to one of the dogs we'd set
adrift. The child stared at me hard, and I looked at her, though my
eyes were a little the worse for wear, so that she cried out in great
fright--the sweet innocent! and then the wench took her away. When
she saw my face to-night--to-day--it sent her wild, but she did not
remember." He rubbed his chin in ecstasy and drummed his knee. "Ha! I
cannot have the father--so I'll have the goodly child, and great will
be the ransom. Great will be the ransom, my Frenchman!" And once more he
tapped Radisson with the tiger.

CHAPTER VI

THE KIDNAPPING

The rejoicing had reached its apogee, and was on the wane. The Puritan
had stretched his austereness to the point of levity; the Dutchman had
comfortably sweated his obedience and content; the Cavalier had paced
it with a pretty air of patronage and an eye for matron and maid; the
Indian, come from his far hunting-grounds, bivouacked in the governor's
presence as the pipe of peace went round.

About twilight the governor and his party had gone home. Deep in
ceremonial as he had been, his mind had run upon Bucklaw and the
Spaniards' country. So, when the dusk was growing into night, the hour
came for his visit to the Nell Gwynn. With his two soldier friends and
Councillor Drayton, he started by a roundabout for the point where he
looked to find Bucklaw. Bucklaw was not there: he had other fish to fry,
and the ship's lights were gone. She had changed her anchorage since
afternoon.

"It's a bold scheme," Bucklaw was saying to his fellow-ruffian in the
governor's garden, "and it may fail, yet 'twill go hard, but we'll save
our skins. No pluck, no pence. Once again, here's the trick of it. I'll
go in by the side door I