- end_line
- 4137
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.591Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4074
- text
- crown might on a king.”
“Aye?”
“You would make a better-looking king than George III.”
“Did you ever see that old granny? Waddles about in farthingales, and
carries a peacock fan, don’t he? Did you ever see him?”
“Was as close to him as I am to you now, Captain. In Kew Gardens it
was, where I worked gravelling the walks. I was all alone with him,
talking for some ten minutes.”
“By Jove, what a chance! Had I but been there! What an opportunity for
kidnapping a British king, and carrying him off in a fast sailing smack
to Boston, a hostage for American freedom. But what did you? Didn’t you
try to do something to him?”
“I had a wicked thought or two, Captain, but I got the better of it.
Besides, the king behaved handsomely towards me; yes, like a true man.
God bless him for it. But it was before that, that I got the better of
the wicked thought.”
“Ah, meant to stick him, I suppose. Glad you didn’t. It would have been
very shabby. Never kill a king, but make him captive. He looks better
as a led horse, than a dead carcass. I propose now, this trip, falling
on the grounds of the Earl of Selkirk, a privy counsellor and
particular private friend of George III. But I won’t hurt a hair of his
head. When I get him on board here, he shall lodge in my best
state-room, which I mean to hang with damask for him. I shall drink
wine with him, and be very friendly; take him to America, and introduce
his lordship into the best circles there; only I shall have him
accompanied on his calls by a sentry or two disguised as valets. For
the Earl’s to be on sale, mind; so much ransom; that is, the nobleman,
Lord Selkirk, shall have a bodily price pinned on his coat-tail, like
any slave up at auction in Charleston. But, my lad with the yellow
mane, you very strangely draw out my secrets. And yet you don’t talk.
Your honesty is a magnet which attracts my sincerity. But I rely on
your fidelity.”
“I shall be a vice to your plans, Captain Paul. I will receive, but I
won’t let go, unless you alone loose the screw.”
“Well said. To bed now; you ought to. I go on deck. Good night,
ace-of-hearts.”
“That is fitter for yourself, Captain Paul, lonely leader of the suit.”
“Lonely? Aye, but number one cannot but be lonely, my trump.”
“Again I give it back. Ace-of-trumps may it prove to you, Captain Paul;
may it be impossible for you ever to be taken. But for me—poor deuce, a
trey, that comes in your wake—any king or knave may take me, as before
now the knaves have.”
“Tut, tut, lad; never be more cheery for another than for yourself. But
a fagged body fags the soul. To hammock, to hammock! while I go on deck
to clap on more sail to your cradle.”
And they separated for that night.
- title
- Chunk 3