of their flag-ship,--an old scow impressed for military service. But
this was later; and when Fog and Waring came scudding into the harbor,
the wild little village existed in all its pristine outlawry, a city
of refuge for the flotsam vagabondage of the lower lakes.

'Perhaps he will not come with us,' suggested Waring.

'I have thought of that, but it need not delay us long,' replied Fog,
'we can kidnap him.'

'Kidnap him?'

'Yes? he is but a small chap,' said the old man, tranquilly.

They fastened their boat to the log-dock, and started ashore. The
houses of the settlement straggled irregularly along the beach and
inland towards the fields where fine crops were raised by the Saints,
who had made here, as is their custom everywhere, a garden in the
wilderness; the only defence was simple but strong,--an earthwork on
one of the white sand-hills back of the village, over whose rampart
peeped two small cannon, commanding the harbor. Once on shore,
however, a foe found only a living rampart of flesh and blood, as
reckless a set of villains as New World history can produce. But this
rampart only came together in times of danger; ordinary visitors,
coming by twos and threes, they welcomed or murdered as they saw fit,
or according to the probable contents of their pockets, each man for
himself and his family. Some of these patriarchal gentlemen glared
from their windows at Fog and Waring as they passed along; but the
worn clothes not promising much, simply invited them to dinner; they
liked to hear the news, when there was nothing else going on. Old Fog