he Hudson, but he looked longest at a schooner,
painted a dark color, and very trim in her lines. He saw two men
standing on her decks, and two or three others visible in her rigging.

Evidently she was a neat and speedy craft, but he was not there to
waste his time looking at schooners. The letter of Colonel William
Johnson to Master Nicholas Suydam in Paulus Hook must be delivered,
and, taking up his oars, he rowed vigorously toward the hamlet on the
Jersey shore.

When he was about two-thirds of the way across he paused to look back
again, but the air was so heavy with wintry mists that New York did
not show at all. He was about to resume the oars once more when the
sound of creaking cordage caused him to look northward. Then he
shouted in alarm. The dark schooner was bearing down directly upon
him, and was coming very swiftly. A man on the deck whom he took to be
the captain shouted at him, but when Robert, pulling hard, shot his
boat ahead, it seemed to him that the schooner changed her course
also.

It was the last impression he had of the incident, as the prow of the
schooner struck his boat and clove it in twain. He jumped
instinctively, but his head received a glancing blow, and he did not
remember anything more until he awoke in a very dark and close
place. His head ached abominably, and when he strove to raise a hand
to it he found that he could not do so. He thought at first that it
was due to weakness, a sort of temporary paralysis, coming from the
blow that he dimly remembered, but he realized presently that his
hands were bound, tied tightly to his sides.

He moved his body a little, and it struck against wood on either
side. His feet also were bound, and he became conscious of a swaying
motion. He was in a ship's bunk and he was a prisoner of somebody. He
was filled with a fierce and consuming rage. He had no doubt that he
was on the schooner that had run him down, nor did he doubt either
that he had been run down purposely. Then he lay still and by long
staring was able to make out a low swaying roof above him and very
narrow walls. It was a strait, confined place, and it was certainly
deep down in the schooner's hold. A feeling of horrible despair seized
him. The darkness, his aching head, and his bound hands and feet
filled him with the worst forebodings. Nor did he have any way of
estimating time. He might have been lying in the bunk at least a week,
and he might now be far out at sea.

In mis