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diff --git a/18182-8.txt b/18182-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c3e668f --- /dev/null +++ b/18182-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9590 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Heralds of Empire, by Agnes C. Laut + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Heralds of Empire + Being the Story of One Ramsay Stanhope, Lieutenant to Pierre Radisson in the Northern Fur Trade + + +Author: Agnes C. Laut + + + +Release Date: April 15, 2006 [eBook #18182] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERALDS OF EMPIRE*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which + includes the original illustration (Radisson's map). + See 18182-h.htm or 18182-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/1/8/18182/18182-h/18182-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/1/8/18182/18182-h.zip) + + + + + +HERALDS OF EMPIRE + +Being the Story of One Ramsay Stanhope +Lieutenant to Pierre Radisson in the Northern Fur Trade + +by + +A. C. LAUT + +Author of Lords of the North + + + + + + + +Toronto, Canada +William Briggs +1902 +Entered according to Act of the +Parliament of Canada in the year 1902 +By A. C. LAUT +at the Department of Agriculture +All rights reserved + + + + + +DEDICATED + +TO + +THE NEW WORLD NOBILITY + + + + +----Now I learned how the man must have felt when he set about +conquering the elements, subduing land and sea and savagery. And in +that lies the Homeric greatness of this vast fresh New World of ours. +Your Old World victor takes up the unfinished work left by generations +of men. Your New World hero begins at the pristine task. I pray you, +who are born to the nobility of the New World, forget not the glory of +your heritage; for the place which Got hath given you in the history of +the race is one which men must hold in envy when Roman patrician and +Norman conqueror and robber baron are as forgotten as the kingly lines +of old Egypt.---- + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + +Foreword + + +PART I + + I. What are King-Killers? + II. I rescue and am rescued + III. Touching Witchcraft + IV. Rebecca and Jack Battle Conspire + V. M. Radisson Again + + +PART II + + VI. The Roaring Forties + VII. M. de Radisson Acts + VIII. M. de Radisson Comes to his Own + IX. Visitors + X. The Cause of the Firing + XI. More of M. Radisson's Rivals + XII. M. Radisson begins the Game + XIII. The White Darkness + XIV. A Challenge + XV. The Battle not to the Strong + XVI. We seek the Inlanders + XVII. A Bootless Sacrifice + XVIII. Facing the End + XIX. Afterward + XX. Who the Pirates were + XXI. How the Pirates came + XXII. We leave the North Sea + + +PART III + + XXIII. A Change of Partners + XXIV. Under the Aegis of the Court + XXV. Jack Battle again + XXVI. At Oxford + XXVII. Home from the Bay + XXVIII. Rebecca and I fall out + XXIX. The King's Pleasure + + + + +ILLUSTRATION + +Radisson's Map + + + + +HERALDS OF EMPIRE + + +FOREWORD + +I see him yet--swarthy, straight as a lance, keen as steel, in his eyes +the restless fire that leaps to red when sword cuts sword. I see him +yet--beating about the high seas, a lone adventurer, tracking forest +wastes where no man else dare go, pitting his wit against the intrigue +of king and court and empire. Prince of pathfinders, prince of +pioneers, prince of gamesters, he played the game for love of the game, +caring never a rush for the gold which pawns other men's souls. How +much of good was in his ill, how much of ill in his good, let his life +declare! He played fast and loose with truth, I know, till all the +world played fast and loose with him. He juggled with empires as with +puppets, but he died not a groat the richer, which is better record +than greater men can boast. + +Of enemies, Sieur Radisson had a-plenty, for which, methinks, he had +that lying tongue of his to thank. Old France and New France, Old +England and New England, would have paid a price for his head; but +Pierre Radisson's head held afar too much cunning for any hang-dog of +an assassin to try "fall-back, fall-edge" on him. In spite of all the +malice with which his enemies fouled him living and dead, Sieur +Radisson was never the common buccaneer which your cheap pamphleteers +have painted him; though, i' faith, buccaneers stood high enough in my +day, when Prince Rupert himself turned robber and pirate of the high +seas. Pierre Radisson held his title of nobility from the king; so did +all those young noblemen who went with him to the north, as may be seen +from M. Colbert's papers in the records _de la marine_. Nor was the +disembarking of furs at Isle Percée an attempt to steal M. de la +Chesnaye's cargo, as slanderers would have us believe, but a way of +escape from those vampires sucking the life-blood of New France--the +farmers of the revenue. Indeed, His Most Christian Majesty himself +commanded those robber rulers of Quebec to desist from meddling with +the northern adventurers. And if some gentleman who has never been +farther from city cobblestones than to ride afield with the hounds or +take waters at foreign baths, should protest that no maid was ever in +so desolate a case as Mistress Hortense, I answer there are to-day many +in the same region keeping themselves pure as pond-lilies in a brackish +pool, at the forts of their fathers and husbands in the fur-trading +country. [1] + +And as memory looks back to those far days, there is another--a poor, +shambling, mean-spoken, mean-clad fellow, with the scars of convict +gyves on his wrists and the dumb love of a faithful spaniel in his +eyes. Compare these two as I may--Pierre Radisson, the explorer with +fame like a meteor that drops in the dark; Jack Battle, the +wharf-rat--for the life of me I cannot tell which memory grips the more. + +One played the game, the other paid the pawn. Both were misunderstood. +One took no thought but of self; the other, no thought of self at all. +But where the great man won glory that was a target for envy, the poor +sailor lad garnered quiet happiness. + + +[1] In confirmation of which reference may be called to the daughter of +Governor Norton in Prince of Wales Fort, north of Nelson. Hearne +reports that the poor creature died from exposure about the time of her +father's death, which was many years after Mr. Stanhope had written the +last words of this record.--_Author_. + + + + +PART I + + +CHAPTER I + +WHAT ARE KING-KILLERS? + +My father--peace to his soul!--had been of those who thronged London +streets with wine tubs to drink the restored king's health on bended +knee; but he, poor gentleman, departed this life before his monarch +could restore a wasted patrimony. For old Tibbie, the nurse, there was +nothing left but to pawn the family plate and take me, a spoiled lad in +his teens, out to Puritan kin of Boston Town. + +On the night my father died he had spoken remorsefully of the past to +the lord bishop at his bedside. + +"Tush, man, have a heart," cries his lordship. "Thou'lt see pasch and +yule yet forty year, Stanhope. Tush, man, 'tis thy liver, or a touch +of the gout. Take here a smack of port. Sleep sound, man, sleep +sound." + +And my father slept so sound he never wakened more. + +So I came to my Uncle Kirke, whose virtues were of the acid sort that +curdles the milk of human kindness. + +With him, goodness meant gloom. If the sweet joy of living ever sang +to him in his youth, he shut his ears to the sound as to siren +temptings, and sternly set himself to the fierce delight of being +miserable. + +For misery he had reason enough. Having writ a book in which he called +King Charles "a man of blood and everlasting abomination"--whatever +that might mean--Eli Kirke got himself star-chambered. When, in the +language of those times, he was examined "before torture, in torture, +between torture, and after torture"--the torture of the rack and the +thumbkins and the boot--he added to his former testimony that the queen +was a "Babylonish woman, a Potiphar, a Jezebel, a--" + +There his mouth was gagged, head and heels roped to the rack, and a +wrench given the pulleys at each end that nigh dismembered his poor, +torn body. And what words, think you, came quick on top of his first +sharp outcry? + +"Wisdom is justified of her children! The wicked shall he pull down +and the humble shall he exalt!" + +And when you come to think of it, Charles Stuart lost his head on the +block five years from that day. + +When Eli Kirke left jail to take ship for Boston Town both ears had +been cropped. On his forehead the letters S L--seditious libeler--were +branded deep, though not so deep as the bitterness burned into his soul. + + +There comes before me a picture of my landing, showing as clearly as it +were threescore years ago that soft, summer night, the harbour waters +molten gold in a harvest moon, a waiting group of figures grim above +the quay. No firing of muskets and drinking of flagons and ringing of +bells to welcome us, for each ship brought out court minions to whip +Boston into line with the Restoration--as hungry a lot of rascals as +ever gathered to pick fresh bones. + +Old Tibbie had pranked me out in brave finery: the close-cut, +black-velvet waistcoat that young royalists then wore; a scarlet +doublet, flaming enough to set the turkey yard afire; the silken hose +and big shoe-buckles late introduced from France by the king; and a +beaver hat with plumes a-nodding like my lady's fan. My curls, I mind, +tumbled forward thicker than those foppish French perukes. + +"There is thy Uncle Kirke," whispers Nurse Tibbie. "Pay thy best +devoirs, Master Ramsay," and she pushes me to the fore of those +crowding up the docks. + +A thin, pale man with a scarred face silently permitted me to salute +four limp fingers. His eyes swept me with chill disapproval. My hat +clapped on a deal faster than it had come off, for you must know we +unhatted in those days with a grand, slow bow. + +"Thy Aunt Ruth," says Tibbie, nudging me; for had I stood from that day +to this, I was bound that cold man should speak first. + +To my aunt the beaver came off in its grandest flourish. The pressure +of a dutiful kiss touched my forehead, and I minded the passion kisses +of a dead mother. + +Those errant curls blew out in the wind. + +"Ramsay Stanhope," begins my uncle sourly, "what do you with uncropped +hair and the foolish trappings of vanity?" + +As I live, those were the first words he uttered to me. + +"I perceive silken garters," says he, clearing his throat and lowering +his glance down my person. "Many a good man hath exchanged silk for +hemp, my fine gentleman!" + +"An the hemp hold like silk, 'twere a fair exchange, sir," I returned; +though I knew very well he referred to those men who had died for the +cause. + +"Ramsay," says he, pointing one lank fore-finger at me, "Ramsay, draw +your neck out of that collar; for the vanities of the wicked are a yoke +leading captive the foolish!" + +Now, my collar was _point-de-vice_ of prime quality over black velvet. +My uncle's welcome was more than a vain lad could stomach; and what +youth of his first teens hath not a vanity hidden about him somewhere? + +"Thou shalt not put the horse and the ass under the same yoke, sir," +said I, drawing myself up far as ever high heels would lift. + +He looked dazed for a minute. Then he told me that he spake concerning +my spiritual blindness, his compassions being moved to show me the +error of my way. + +At that, old nurse must needs take fire. + +"Lord save a lad from the likes o' sich compassions! Sure, sir, an the +good Lord makes pretty hair grow, 'twere casting pearls before swine to +shave his head like a cannon-ball"--this with a look at my uncle's +crown--"or to dress a proper little gentleman like a ragged +flibbergibbet." + +"Tibbie, hold your tongue!" I order. + +"Silence were fitter for fools and children," says Eli Kirke loftily. + +There comes a time when every life must choose whether to laugh or weep +over trivial pains, and when a cut may be broken on the foil of that +glancing mirth which the good Creator gave mankind to keep our race +from going mad. It came to me on the night of my arrival on the +wharves of Boston Town. + +We lumbered up through the straggling village in one of those clumsy +coaches that had late become the terror of foot-passengers in London +crowds. My aunt pointed with a pride that was colonial to the fine +light which the towns-people had erected on Beacon Hill; and told me +pretty legends of Rattlesnake Hill that fired the desire to explore +those inland dangers. I noticed that the rubble-faced houses showed +lanterns in iron clamps above most of the doorways. My kinsman's house +stood on the verge of the wilds-rough stone below, timbered plaster +above, with a circle of bay windows midway, like an umbrella. High +windows were safer in case of attack from savages, Aunt Ruth explained; +and I mentally set to scaling rope ladders in and out of those windows. + +We drew up before the front garden and entered by a turnstile with +flying arms. Many a ride have little Rebecca Stocking, of the +court-house, and Ben Gillam, the captain's son, and Jack Battle, the +sailor lad, had, perched on that turnstile, while I ran pushing and +jumping on, as the arms flew creaking round. + +The home-coming was not auspicious. Yet I thought no resentment +against my uncle. I realized too well how the bloody revenge of the +royalists was turning the hearts of England to stone. One morning I +recall, when my poor father lay a-bed of the gout and there came a roar +through London streets as of a burst ocean dike. Before Tibbie could +say no, I had snatched up a cap and was off. + +God spare me another such sight! In all my wild wanderings have I +never seen savages do worse. + +Through the streets of London before the shoutings of a rabble rout was +whipped an old, white-haired man. In front of him rumbled a cart; in +the cart, the axeman, laving wet hands; at the axeman's feet, the head +of a regicide--all to intimidate that old, white-haired man, fearlessly +erect, singing a psalm. When they reached the shambles, know you what +they did? Go read the old court records and learn what that sentence +meant when a man's body was cast into fire before his living eyes! All +the while, watching from a window were the princes and their shameless +ones. + +Ah, yes! God wot, I understood Eli Kirke's bitterness! + +But the beginning was not auspicious, and my best intentions presaged +worse. For instance, one morning my uncle was sounding my +convictions--he was ever sounding other people's convictions--"touching +the divine right of kings." Thinking to give strength to contempt for +that doctrine, I applied to it one forcible word I had oft heard used +by gentlemen of the cloth. Had I shot a gun across the table, the +effect could not have been worse. The serving maid fell all of a heap +against the pantry door. Old Tibbie yelped out with laughter, and then +nigh choked. Aunt Ruth glanced from me to Eli Kirke with a timid look +in her eye; but Eli Kirke gazed stolidly into my soul as he would read +whether I scoffed or no. + +Thereafter he nailed up a little box to receive fines for blasphemy. + +"To be plucked as a brand from the burning," I hear him say, fetching a +mighty sigh. But sweet, calm Aunt Ruth, stitching at some spotless +kerchief, intercedes. + +"Let us be thankful the lad hath come to us." + +"Bound fast in cords of vanity," deplores Uncle Kirke. + +"But all things are possible," Aunt Ruth softly interposes. + +"All things are possible," concedes Eli Kirke grudgingly, "but thou +knowest, Ruth, all things are not probable!" + +And I, knowing my uncle loved an argument as dearly as merry gentlemen +love a glass, slip away leg-bail for the docks, where sits Ben Gillam +among the spars spinning sailor yarns to Jack Battle, of the great +north sea, whither his father goes for the fur trade; or of M. +Radisson, the half-wild Frenchman, who married an English kinswoman of +Eli Kirke's and went where never man went and came back with so many +pelts that the Quebec governor wanted to build a fortress of beaver +fur; [1] or of the English squadron, rocking to the harbour tide, fresh +from winning the Dutch of Manhattan, and ready to subdue malcontents of +Boston Town. Then Jack Battle, the sailor lad from no one knows where, +living no one knows how, digs his bare toes into the sand and asks +under his breath if we have heard about king-killers. + +"What are king-killers?" demands young Gillam. + +I discreetly hold my tongue; for a gentleman who supped late with my +uncle one night has strangely disappeared, and the rats in the attic +have grown boldly loud. + +"What are king-killers?" asks Gillam. + +"Them as sent Charles I to his death," explains Jack. "They do say," +he whispers fearfully, "one o' them is hid hereabouts now! The king's +commission hath ordered to have hounds and Indians run him down." + +"Pah!" says Gillam, making little of what he had not known, "hounds are +only for run-aways," this with a sneering look at odd marks round +Jack's wrists. + +"I am no slave!" vows Jack in crestfallen tones. + +"Who said 'slave'?" laughs Gillam triumphantly. "My father saith he is +a runaway rat from the Barbadoes," adds Ben to me. + +With the fear of a hunted animal under his shaggy brows, little Jack +tries to read how much is guess. + +"I am no slave, Ben Gillam," he flings back at hazard; but his voice is +thin from fright. + +"My father saith some planter hath lost ten pound on thee, little +slavie," continues Ben. + +"Pah! Ten pound for such a scrub! He's not worth six! Look at the +marks on his arms, Ramsay"--catching the sailor roughly by the wrist. +"He can say what he likes. He knows chains." + +Little Jack jerked free and ran along the sands as hard as his bare +feet could carry him. Then I turned to Ben, who had always bullied us +both. Dropping the solemn "thou's" which our elders still used, I let +him have plain "you's." + +"You--you--mean coward! I've a mind to knock you into the sea!" + +"Grow bigger first, little billycock," taunts Ben. + +By the next day I was big enough. + +Mistress Hortense Hillary was down on the beach with M. Picot's +blackamoor, who dogged her heels wherever she went; and presently comes +Rebecca Stocking to shovel sand too. Then Ben must show what a big +fellow he is by kicking over the little maid's cart-load. + +"Stop that!" commands Jack Battle, springing of a sudden from the beach. + +For an instant, Ben was taken aback. + +Then the insolence that provokes its own punishment broke forth. + +"Go play with your equals, jack-pudding! Jailbirds who ape their +betters are strangled up in Quebec," and he kicked down Rebecca's pile +too. + +Rebecca's doll-blue eyes spilled over with tears, but Mistress Hortense +was the high-mettled, high-stepping little dame. She fairly stamped +her wrath, and to Jack's amaze took him by the hand and marched off +with the hauteur of an empress. + +Then Ben must call out something about M. Picot, the French doctor, not +being what he ought, and little Hortense having no mother. + +"Ben," said I quietly, "come out on the pier." The pier ran to deep +water. At the far end I spoke. + +"Not another word against Hortense and Jack! Promise me!" + +His back was to the water, mine to the shore. He would have promised +readily enough, I think, if the other monkeys had not followed--Rebecca +with big tear-drops on both cheeks, Hortense quivering with wrath, Jack +flushed, half shy and half shamed to be championed by a girl. + +"Come, Ben; 'fore I count three, promise----" + +But he lugged at me. I dodged. With a splash that doused us four, Ben +went headlong into the sea. The uplift of the waves caught him. He +threw back his arms with a cry. Then he sank like lead. + +The sailor son of the famous captain could not swim. Rebecca's eyes +nigh jumped from her head with fright. Hortense grew white to the lips +and shouted for that lout of a blackamoor sound asleep on the sand. + +Before I could get my doublet off to dive, Jack Battle was cleaving air +like a leaping fish, and the waters closed over his heels. + +Bethink you, who are not withered into forgetfulness of your own merry +youth, whether our hearts stopped beating then! + +But up comes that water-dog of a Jack gripping Ben by the scruff of the +neck; and when by our united strength we had hauled them both on the +pier, little Mistress Hortense was the one to roll Gillam on his +stomach and bid us "Quick! Stand him on his head and pour the water +out!" + +From that day Hortense was Jack's slave, Jack was mine, and Ben was a +pampered hero because he never told and took the punishment like a man. +But there was never a word more slurring Hortense's unknown origin and +Jack's strange wrist marks. + + +[1] Young Stanhope's informant had evidently mixed tradition with fact. +Radisson was fined for going overland to Hudson Bay without the +governor's permission, the fine to build a fort at Three Rivers. Eli +Kirke's kinswoman was a daughter of Sir John Kirke, of the Hudson's Bay +Fur Company.--_Author_. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +I RESCUE AND AM RESCUED + +So the happy childhood days sped on, a swift stream past flowered +banks. Ben went off to sail the north sea in Captain Gillam's ship. +M. Picot, the French doctor, brought a governess from Paris for +Hortense, so that we saw little of our playmate, and Jack Battle +continued to live like a hunted rat at the docks. + +My uncle and Rebecca's father, who were beginning to dabble in the fur +trade, had jointly hired a peripatetic dominie to give us youngsters +lessons in Bible history and the three R's. At noon hour I initiated +Rebecca into all the thrilling dangers of Indian warfare, and many a +time have we had wild escapes from imaginary savages by scaling a rope +ladder of my own making up to the high nursery window. By-and-bye, +when school was in and the dominie dozed, I would lower that timid +little whiffet of a Puritan maid out through the window to the +turnstile. Then I would ride her round till our heads whirled. If +Jack Battle came along, Rebecca would jump down primly and run in, for +Jack was unknown in the meeting-house, and the meeting-house was +Rebecca's measure of the whole world. + +One day Jack lingered. He was carrying something tenderly in a red +cambric handkerchief. + +"Where is Mistress Hortense?" he asked sheepishly. + +"That silly French woman keeps her caged like a squirrel." + +Little Jack began tittering and giggling. + +"Why--that's what I have here," he explained, slipping a bundle of soft +fur in my hand. + +"It's tame! It's for Hortense," said he. + +"Why don't you take it to her, Jack?" + +"Take it to her?" reiterated he in a daze. "As long as she gets it, +what does it matter who takes it?" + +With that, he was off across the marshy commons, leaving the squirrel +in my hand. + +Forgetting lessons, I ran to M. Picot's house. That governess answered +the knocker. + +"From Jack Battle to Mistress Hortense!" + +And I proffered the squirrel. + +Though she smirked a world of thanks, she would not take it. Then +Hortense came dancing down the hall. + +"Am I not grown tall?" she asked, mischievously shaking her curls. + +"No," said I, looking down to her feet cased in those high slippers +French ladies then wore, "'tis your heels!" + +And we all laughed. Catching sight of the squirrel, Hortense snatched +it up with caresses against her neck, and the French governess +sputtered out something of which I knew only the word "beau." + +"Jack is no beau, mademoiselle," said I loftily. "Pah! He's a wharf +lad." + +I had thought Hortense would die in fits. + +"Mademoiselle means the squirrel, Ramsay," she said, choking, her +handkerchief to her lips. "Tell Jack thanks, with my love," she +called, floating back up the stairs. + +And the governess set to laughing in the pleasant French way that +shakes all over and has no spite. Emboldened, I asked why Hortense +could not play with us any more. Hortense, she explained, was become +too big to prank on the commons. + +"Faith, mademoiselle," said I ruefully, "an she mayn't play war on the +commons, what may she play?" + +"Beau!" teases mademoiselle, perking her lips saucily; and she shut the +door in my face. + +It seemed a silly answer enough, but it put a notion in a lad's head. +I would try it on Rebecca. + +When I re-entered the window, the dominie still slept. Rebecca, the +demure monkey, bent over her lesson book as innocently as though there +were no turnstiles. + +"Rebecca," I whispered, leaning across the bench, "you are big enough +to have a--what? Guess." + +"Go away, Ramsay Stanhope!" snapped Rebecca, grown mighty good of a +sudden, with glance fast on her white stomacher. + +"O-ho! Crosspatch," thought I; and from no other motive than +transgressing the forbidden, I reached across to distract the attentive +goodness of the prim little baggage; but--an iron grip lifted me bodily +from the bench. + +It was Eli Kirke, wry-faced, tight-lipped. He had seen all! This was +the secret of Mistress Rebecca's new-found diligence. No syllable was +uttered, but it was the awfullest silence that ever a lad heard. I was +lifted rather than led upstairs and left a prisoner in locked room with +naught to do but gnaw my conscience and gaze at the woods skirting the +crests of the inland hills. + +Those rats in the attic grew noisier, and presently sounds a mighty +hallooing outside, with a blowing of hunting-horns and baying of +hounds. What ado was this in Boston, where men were only hunters of +souls and chasers of devils? The rats fell to sudden quiet, and from +the yells of the rabble crowd I could make out only "King-killers! +King-killers!" These were no Puritans shouting, but the blackguard +sailors and hirelings of the English squadron set loose to hunt down +the refugees. The shouting became a roar. Then in burst Eli Kirke's +front door. The house was suddenly filled with swearings enough to +cram his blasphemy box to the brim. There was a trampling of feet on +the stairs, followed by the crashing of overturned furniture, and the +rabble had rushed up with neither let nor hindrance and were searching +every room. + +Who had turned informer on my uncle? Was I not the only royalist in +the house? Would suspicion fall on me? But questions were put to +flight by a thunderous rapping on the door. It gave as it had been +cardboard, and in tumbled a dozen ruffians with gold-lace doublets, +cockades and clanking swords. + +Behind peered Eli Kirke, pale with fear, his eyes asking mine if I +knew. True as eyes can speak, mine told him that I knew as well as he. + +"Body o' me! What-a-deuce? Only a little fighting sparrow of a +royalist!" cried a swaggering colt of a fellow in officer's uniform. + +"No one here, lad?" demanded a second. + +And I saw Eli Kirke close his eyes as in prayer. + +"Sir," said I, drawing myself up on my heels, "I don't understand you. +I--am here." + +They bellowed a laugh and were tumbling over one another in their haste +up the attic stairs. Then my blood went cold with fear, for the memory +of that poor old man going to the shambles of London flashed back. + +A window lifted and fell in the attic gable. With a rush I had slammed +the door and was craning out full length from the window-sill. Against +the lattice timber-work of the plastered wall below the attic window +clung a figure in Geneva cloak, with portmanteau under arm. It was the +man who had supped so late with Eli Kirke. + +"Sir," I whispered, fearing to startle him from perilous footing, "let +me hold your portmanteau. Jump to the slant roof below." + +For a second his face went ashy, but he tossed me the bag, gained the +shed roof at a leap, snatched back the case, and with a "Lord bless +thee, child!" was down and away. + +The spurred boots of the searchers clanked on the stairs. A blowing of +horns! They were all to horse and off as fast as the hounds coursed +away. The deep, far baying of the dogs, now loud, now low, as the +trail ran away or the wind blew clear, told where the chase led inland. +If the fugitive but hid till the dogs passed he was safe enough; but of +a sudden came the hoarse, furious barkings that signal hot scent. + +What had happened was plain. + +The poor wretch had crossed the road and given the hounds clew. The +baying came nearer. He had discovered his mistake and was trying to +regain the house. + +Balaam stood saddled to carry Eli Kirke to the docks. 'Twas a wan +hope, but in a twinkling I was riding like wind for the barking behind +the hill. A white-faced man broke from the brush at crazy pace. + +"God ha' mercy, sir," I cried, leaping off; "to horse and away! Ride +up the brook bed to throw the hounds off." + +I saw him in saddle, struck Balaam's flank a blow that set pace for a +gallop, turned, and--for a second time that day was lifted from the +ground. + +"Pardieu! Clean done!" says a low voice. "'Tis a pretty trick!" + +And I felt myself set up before a rider. + +"To save thee from the hounds," says the voice. + +Scarce knowing whether I dreamed, I looked over my shoulder to see one +who was neither royalist nor Puritan--a thin, swarth man, tall and +straight as an Indian, bare-shaven and scarred from war, with long, +wiry hair and black eyes full of sparks. + +The pack came on in a whirl to lose scent at the stream, and my rescuer +headed our horse away from the rabble, doffing his beaver familiarly to +the officers galloping past. + +"Ha!" called one, reining his horse to its haunches, "did that +snivelling knave pass this way?" + +"Do you mean this little gentleman?" + +The officer galloped off. "Keep an eye open, Radisson," he shouted +over his shoulder. + +"'Twere better shut," says M. Radisson softly; and at his name my blood +pricked to a jump. + +Here was he of whom Ben Gillam told, the half-wild Frenchman, who had +married the royalist kinswoman of Eli Kirke; the hero of Spanish fights +and Turkish wars; the bold explorer of the north sea, who brought back +such wealth from an unknown land, governors and merchant princes were +spying his heels like pirates a treasure ship. + +"'Tis more sport hunting than being hunted," he remarked, with an air +of quiet reminiscence. + +His suit was fine-tanned, cream buckskin, garnished with gold braid +like any courtier's, with a deep collar of otter. Unmindful of +manners, I would have turned again to stare, but he bade me guide the +horse back to my home. + +"Lest the hunters ask questions," he explained. "And what," he +demanded, "what doth a little cavalier in a Puritan hotbed?" + +"I am even where God hath been pleased to set me, sir." + +"'Twas a ticklish place he set thee when I came up." + +"By your leave, sir, 'tis a higher place than I ever thought to know." + +M. Radisson laughed a low, mellow laugh, and, vowing I should be a +court gallant, put me down before Eli Kirke's turnstile. + +My uncle came stalking forth, his lips pale with rage. He had blazed +out ere I could explain one word. + +"Have I put bread in thy mouth, Ramsay Stanhope, that thou shouldst +turn traitor? Viper and imp of Satan!" he shouted, shaking his +clinched fist in my face. "Was it not enough that thou wert utterly +bound in iniquity without persecuting the Lord's anointed?" + +I took a breath. + +"Where is Balaam?" he demanded, seizing me roughly. + +"Sir," said I, "for leaving the room without leave, I pray you to flog +me as I deserve. As for the horse, he is safe and I hope far away +under the gentleman I helped down from the attic." + +His face fell a-blank. M. Radisson dismounted laughing. + +"Nay, nay, Eli Kirke, I protest 'twas to the lad's credit. 'Twas this +way, kinsman," and he told all, with many a strange-sounding, foreign +expression that must have put the Puritan's nose out of joint, for Eli +Kirke began blowing like a trumpet. + +Then out comes Aunt Ruth to insist that M. Radisson share a haunch of +venison at our noonday meal. + +And how I wish I could tell you of that dinner, and of all that M. +Radisson talked; of captivity among Iroquois and imprisonment in Spain +and wars in Turkey; of his voyage over land and lake to a far north +sea, and of the conspiracy among merchant princes of Quebec to ruin +him. By-and-bye Rebecca Stocking's father came in, and the three sat +talking plans for the northern trade till M. Radisson let drop that the +English commissioners were keen to join the enterprise. Then the two +Puritans would have naught to do with it. + +Long ago, as you know, we dined at midday; but so swiftly had the hour +flown with M. Radisson's tales of daring that Tibbie was already +lighting candles when we rose from the dinner table. + +"And now," cried M. Radisson, lifting a stirrup-cup of home-brewed +October, "health to the little gentleman who saved a life to-day! +Health to mine host! And a cup fathoms deep to his luck when Ramsay +sails yon sea!" + +"He might do worse," said Eli Kirke grimly. + +And the words come back like the echo of a prophecy. + + +I would have escaped my uncle, but he waylaid me in the dark at the +foot of the stairs. + +"Ramsay," said he gently. + +"Sir?" said I, wondering if flint could melt. + +"'The Lord bless thee, and keep thee: the Lord make his face shine upon +thee, and be gracious unto thee: the Lord lift up his countenance upon +thee, and give thee peace!'" + + + + +CHAPTER III + +TOUCHING WITCHCRAFT + +That interrupted lesson with Rebecca finished my schooling. I was set +to learning the mysteries of accounts in Eli Kirke's warehouse. + +"How goes the keeping of accounts, Ramsay?" he questioned soon after I +had been in tutelage. + +I had always intended to try my fortune in the English court when I +came of age, and the air of the counting-house ill suited a royalist's +health. + +"Why, sir," I made answer, picking my words not to trip his +displeasure, "I get as much as I can--and I give as little as I can; +and those be all the accounts that ever I intend to keep." + +Aunt Ruth looked up from her spinning-wheel in a way that had become an +alarm signal. Eli Kirke glanced dubiously to the blasphemy box, as +though my words were actionable. There was no sound but the drone of +the loom till I slipped from the room. Then they both began to talk. +Soon after came transfer from the counting-house to the fur trade. +That took me through the shadowy forests from town to town, and when I +returned my old comrades seemed shot of a sudden from youth to manhood. + +There was Ben Gillam, a giff-gaffing blade home from the north sea, so +topful of spray that salt water spilled over at every word. + +"Split me fore and aft," exclaims Ben, "if I sail not a ship of my own +next year! I'll take the boat without commission. Stocking and my +father have made an offer," he hinted darkly. "I'll go without +commission!" + +"And risk being strangled for't, if the French governor catch you." + +"Body o' me!" flouts Ben, ripping out a peck of oaths that had cost +dear and meant a day in the stocks if the elders heard, "who's going to +inform when my father sails the only other ship in the bay? Devil sink +my soul to the bottom of the sea if I don't take a boat to Hudson Bay +under the French governor's nose!" + +"A boat of your own," I laughed. "What for, Ben?" + +"For the same as your Prince Rupert, Prince Robber, took his. Go out +light as a cork, come back loaded with Spanish gold to the water-line." +Ben paused to take a pinch of snuff and display his new embroidered +waist-coat. + +"Look you at the wealth in the beaver trade," he added. "M. Radisson +went home with George Carteret not worth a curse, formed the Fur +Company, and came back from Hudson Bay with pelts packed to the +quarter-deck. Devil sink me! but they say, after the fur sale, the +gentlemen adventurers had to haul the gold through London streets with +carts! Bread o' grace, Ramsay, have half an eye for your own purse!" +he urged. "There is a life for a man o' spirit! Why don't you join +the beaver trade, Ramsay?" + +Why not, indeed? 'Twas that or turn cut-purse and road-lifter for a +youth of birth without means in those days. + +Of Jack Battle I saw less. He shipped with the fishing boats in the +summer and cruised with any vagrant craft for the winter. When he came +ashore he was as small and eel-like and shy and awkward as ever, with +the same dumb fidelity in his eyes. + +And what a snowy maid had Rebecca become! Sitting behind her +spinning-wheel, with her dainty fingers darting in the sunlight, she +seemed the pink and whitest thing that ever grew, with a look on her +face of apple-blossoms in June; but the sly wench had grown mighty +demure with me. When I laughed over that ending to our last lesson, +she must affect an air of injury. 'Twas neither her fault nor mine, I +declare, coaxing back her good-humour; 'twas the fault of the face. I +wanted to see where the white began and the pink ended. Then Rebecca, +with cheeks a-bloom under the hiding of her bonnet, quickens steps to +the meeting-house; but as a matter of course we walk home together, for +behind march the older folk, staidly discoursing of doctrine. + +"Rebecca," I say, "you did not take your eyes off the preacher for one +minute." + +"How do you know, Ramsay?" retorts Rebecca, turning her face away with +a dimple trembling in her chin, albeit it was the Sabbath. + +"That preacher is too handsome to be sound in his doctrine, Rebecca." + +Then she grows so mighty prim she must ask which heading of the sermon +pleases me best. + +"I liked the last," I declare; and with that, we are at the turnstile. + +Hortense became a vision of something lost, a type of what I had known +when great ladies came to our country hall. M. Picot himself took her +on the grand tour of the Continent. How much we had been hoping to see +more of her I did not realize till she came back and we saw less. + +Once I encountered M. Picot and his ward on the wharf. Her curls were +more wayward than of old and her large eyes more lustrous, full of +deep, new lights, dark like the flash of a black diamond. Her form +appeared slender against the long, flowing mantilla shot with gold like +any grand dame's. She wore a white beaver with plumes sweeping down on +her curls. Indeed, little Hortense seemed altogether such a great lady +that I held back, though she was looking straight towards me. + +"Give you good-e'en, Ramsay," salutes M. Picot, a small, thin man with +pointed beard, eyebrows of a fierce curlicue, and an expression under +half-shut lids like cat's eyes in the dark. "Give you good-e'en! Can +you guess who this is?" + +As if any one could forget Hortense! But I did not say so. Instead, I +begged leave to welcome her back by saluting the tips of her gloved +fingers. She asked me if I minded that drowning of Ben long ago. Then +she wanted to know of Jack. + +"I hear you are fur trading, Ramsay?" remarks M. Picot with the +inflection of a question. + +I told him somewhat of the trade, and he broke out in almost the same +words as Ben Gillam. 'Twas the life for a gentleman of spirit. Why +didn't I join the beaver trade of Hudson Bay? And did I know of any +secret league between Captain Zachariah Gillam and Mr. Stocking to +trade without commission? + +"Ah, Hillary," he sighed, "had we been beaver trading like Radisson +instead of pounding pestles, we might have had little Hortense +restored." + +"Restored!" thought I. And M. Picot must have seen my surprise, for he +drew back to his shell like a pricked snail. Observing that the wind +was chill, he bade me an icy good-night. + +I had no desire to pry into M. Picot's secrets, but I could not help +knowing that he had unbended to me because he was interested in the fur +trade. From that 'twas but a step to the guess that he had come to New +England to amass wealth to restore Mistress Hortense. Restore her to +what? There I pulled up sharp. 'Twas none of my affair; and yet, in +spite of resolves, it daily became more of my affair. Do what I would, +spending part of every day with Rebecca, that image of lustrous eyes +under the white beaver, the plume nodding above the curls, the slender +figure outlined against the gold-shot mantilla, became a haunting +memory. Countless times I blotted out that mental picture with a sweep +of common sense. "She was a pert miss, with her head full of French +nonsense and a nose held too high in air." Then a memory of the eyes +under the beaver, and fancy was at it again spinning cobwebs in +moonshine. + +M. Picot kept more aloof than formerly, and was as heartily hated for +it as the little minds of a little place ever hate those apart. + +Occasionally, in the forest far back from the settlement, I caught a +flying glimpse of Lincoln green; and Hortense went through the woods, +hard as her Irish hunter could gallop, followed by the blackamoor, +churning up and down on a blowing nag. Once I had the good luck to +restore a dropped gauntlet before the blackamoor could come. With eyes +alight she threw me a flashing thanks and was off, a sunbeam through +the forest shades; and something was thumping under a velvet waistcoat +faster than the greyhound's pace. A moment later, back came the hound +in springy stretches, with the riders at full gallop. + +Her whip fell, but this time she did not turn. + +But when I carried the whip to the doctor's house that night, M. Picot +received it with scant grace! + +Whispers--gall-midges among evil tongues--were raising a buzz that +boded ill for the doctor. France had paid spies among the English, +some said. Deliverance Dobbins, a frumpish, fizgig of a maid, ever +complaining of bodily ills though her chuffy cheeks were red as +pippins, reported that one day when she had gone for simples she had +seen strange, dead things in the jars of M. Picot's dispensary. At +this I laughed as Rebecca told it me, and old Tibbie winked behind the +little Puritan maid's head; for my father, like the princes, had known +that love of the new sciences which became a passion among gentlemen. +Had I not noticed the mole on the French doctor's cheek? Rebecca asked. +I had: what of it? + +"The crops have been blighted," says Rebecca; though what connection +that had with M. Picot's mole, I could not see. + +"Deliverance Dobbins oft hath racking pains," says Rebecca, with that +air of injury which became her demure dimples so well. + +"Drat that Deliverance Dobbins for a low-bred mongrel mischief-maker!" +cries old Tibbie from the pantry door. + +"Tibbie," I order, "hold your tongue and drop an angel in the blasphemy +box." + +"'Twas good coin wasted," the old nurse vowed; but I must needs put +some curb on her royalist tongue, which was ever running a-riot in that +Puritan household. + +It was an accident, in the end, that threw me across M. Picot's path. +I had gone to have him bind up a splintered wrist, and he invited me to +stay for a round of piquet. I, having only one hand, must beg Mistress +Hortense to sort the cards for me. + +She sat so near that I could not see her. You may guess I lost every +game. + +"Tut! tut! Hillary dear, 'tis a poor helper Ramsay gained when he +asked your hand. Pish! pish!" he added, seeing our faces crimson; +"come away," and he carried me off to the dispensary, as though his +preserved reptiles would be more interesting than Hortense. + +With an indifference a trifle too marked, he brought me round to the +fur trade and wanted to know whether I would be willing to risk trading +without a license, on shares with a partner. + +"Quick wealth that way, Ramsay, an you have courage to go to the north. +An it were not for Hortense, I'd hire that young rapscallion of a +Gillam to take me north." + +I caught his drift, and had to tell him that I meant to try my fortune +in the English court. + +But he paid small heed to what I said, gazing absently at the creatures +in the jars. + +"'Twould be devilish dangerous for a girl," he muttered, pulling +fiercely at his mustache. + +"Do you mean the court, sir?" I asked. + +"Aye," returned the doctor with a dry laugh that meant the opposite of +his words. "An you incline to the court, learn the tricks o' the +foils, or rogues will slit both purse and throat." + +And all the while he was smiling as though my going to the court were +an odd notion. + +"If I could but find a master," I lamented. + +"Come to me of an evening," says M. Picot. "I'll teach you, and you +can tell me of the fur trade." + +You may be sure I went as often as ever I could. M. Picot took me +upstairs to a sort of hunting room. It had a great many ponderous oak +pieces carved after the Flemish pattern and a few little bandy-legged +chairs and gilded tables with courtly scenes painted on top, which he +said Mistress Hortense had brought back as of the latest French +fashion. The blackamoor drew close the iron shutters; for, though +those in the world must know the ways of the world, worldling practices +were a sad offence to New England. Shoving the furnishings aside, M. +Picot picked from the armory rack two slim foils resembling Spanish +rapiers and prepared to give me my lesson. Carte and tierce, low carte +and flanconnade, he taught me with many a ringing clash of steel till +beads were dripping from our brows like rain-drops. + +"Bravo!" shouted M. Picot in a pause. "Are you son o' the Stanhope +that fought on the king's side?" + +I said that I was. + +"I knew the rascal that got the estate from the king," says M. Picot, +with a curious look from Hortense to me; and he told me of Blood, the +freebooter, who stole the king's crown but won royal favour by his +bravado and entered court service for the doing of deeds that bore not +the light of day. + +Nightly I went to the French doctor's house, and I learned every wicked +trick of thrust and parry that M. Picot knew. Once when I bungled a +foul lunge, which M. Picot said was a habit of the infamous Blood, his +weapon touched my chest, and Mistress Hortense uttered a sharp cry. + +"What--what--what!" exclaims M. Picot, whirling on her. + +"'Twas so real," murmurs Hortense, biting her lip. + +After that she sat still enough. Then the steel was exchanged for +cards; and when I lost too steadily M. Picot broke out: "Pish, boy, +your luck fails here! Hillary, child, go practise thy songs on the +spinet." + +Or: "Hortense, go mull us a smack o' wine!" + +Or: "Ha, ha, little witch! Up yet? Late hours make old ladies." + +And Hortense must go off, so that I never saw her alone but once. +'Twas the night before I was to leave for the trade. + +The blackamoor appeared to say that Deliverance Dobbins was "a-goin' in +fits" on the dispensary floor. + +"Faith, doctor," said I, "she used to have dumps on our turnstile." + +"Yes," laughed Hortense, "small wonder she had dumps on that turnstile! +Ramsay used to tilt her backward." + +M. Picot hastened away, laughing. Hortense was in a great carved +high-back chair with clumsy, wooden cupids floundering all about the +tall head-rest. Her face was alight in soft-hued crimson flaming from +an Arabian cresset stuck in sockets against the Flemish cabinet. + +"A child's trick," began Hortense, catching at the shafts of light. + +"I often think of those old days on the beach." + +"So do I," said Hortense. + +"I wish they could come back." + +"So do I," smiled Hortense. Then, as if to check more: "I suppose, +Ramsay, you would want to drown us all--Ben and Jack and Rebecca and +me." + +"And I suppose you would want to stand us all on our heads," I retorted. + +Then we both laughed, and Hortense demanded if I had as much skill with +the lyre as with the sword. She had heard that I was much given to +chanting vain airs and wanton songs, she said. + +And this is what I sang, with a heart that knocked to the notes of the +old madrigal like the precentor's tuning-fork to a meeting-house psalm: + + "Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting, + Which, clad in damask mantles, deck the arbours, + And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours, + My eyes perplex me with a double doubting, + Whether the roses be your lips, or your lips the roses." + + +Barely had I finished when Mistress Hortense seats herself at the +spinet, and, changing the words to suit her saucy fancy, trills off +that ballad but newly writ by one of our English courtiers: + + "Shall I, wasting in despair, + Die because--_Rebecca's_--fair? + Or make pale my cheeks with care + 'Cause _Rebecca's_ rosier are?" + +"Hortense!" I protested. + + "Be _he_ fairer than the day + Or the _June-field coils of hay_; + If _he_ be not so to me, + What care I how _fine_ he be?" + +There was such merriment in the dark-lashed eyes, I defy Eli Kirke +himself to have taken offence; and so, like many another youth, I was +all too ready to be the pipe on which a dainty lady played her stops. +As the song faded to the last tinkling notes of the spinet her fingers +took to touching low, tuneless melodies like thoughts creeping into +thoughts, or perfume of flowers in the dark. The melting airs slipped +into silence, and Hortense shut her eyes, "to get the memory of it," +she said. I thought she meant some new-fangled tune. + +"This is memory enough for me," said I. + +"Oh?" asked Hortense, and she uncovered all the blaze of the dark +lights hid in those eyes. + +"Faith, Hortense," I answered, like a moth gone giddy in flame, "your +naughty music wakes echoes of what souls must hear in paradise." + +"Then it isn't naughty," said Hortense, beginning to play fiercely, +striking false notes and discords and things. + +"Hortense," said I. + +"No--Ramsay!" cried Hortense, jangling harder than ever. + +"But--yes!--Hortense----" + +And in bustled M. Picot, hastier than need, methought. + +"What, Hillary? Not a-bed yet, child? Ha!--crow's-feet under eyes +to-morrow! Bed, little baggage! Forget not thy prayers! Pish! Pish! +Good-night! Good-night!" + +That is the way an older man takes it. + +"Now, devil fly away with that prying wench of a Deliverance Dobbins!" +ejaculated M. Picot, stamping about. "Oh, I'll cure her fanciful fits! +Pish! Pish! That frump and her fits! Bad blood, Ramsay; low-bred, +low-bred! 'Tis ever the way of her kind to blab of aches and stuffed +stomachs that were well if left empty. An she come prying into my +chemicals, taking fits when she's caught, I'll mix her a pill o' +Deliverance!" And M. Picot laughed heartily at his own joke. + +The next morning I was off to the trade. Though I hardly acknowledged +the reason to myself, any youth can guess why I made excuse to come +back soon. As I rode up, Rebecca stood at our gate. She had no smile. +Had I not been thinking of another, I had noticed the sadness of her +face; but when she moved back a pace, I flung out some foolishness +about a gate being no bar if one had a mind to jump. Then she brought +me sharp to my senses as I sprang to the ground. + +"Ramsay," she exclaimed, "M. Picot and Mistress Hortense are in jail +charged with sorcery! M. Picot is like to be hanged! An they do not +confess, they may be set in the bilboes and whipped. There is talk of +putting Mistress Hortense to the test." + +"The test!" + +'Twas as if a great weight struck away power to think, for the test +meant neither more nor less than torture till confession were wrung +from agony. The night went black and Rebecca's voice came as from some +far place. + +"Ramsay, you are hurting--you are crushing my hands!" + +Poor child, she was crying; and the words I would have said stuck fast +behind sealed lips. She seemed to understand, for she went on: + +"Deliverance Dobbins saw strange things in his house. She went to spy. +He hath crazed her intellectuals. She hath dumb fits." + +Now I understood. This trouble was the result of M. Picot's threat; +but little Rebecca's voice was tinkling on like a bell in a dome. + +"My father hath the key to their ward. My father saith there is like +to be trouble if they do not confess--" + +"Confess!" I broke out. "Confess what? If they confess the lie they +will be burned for witchcraft. And if they refuse to confess, they +will be hanged for not telling the lie. Pretty justice! And your holy +men fined one fellow a hundred pounds for calling their justices a pack +of jackasses----" + +"Sentence is to be pronounced to-morrow after communion," said Rebecca. + +"After communion?" I could say no more. On that of all days for +tyranny's crime! + +God forgive me for despairing of mankind that night. I thought freedom +had been won in the Commonwealth war, but that was only freedom of +body. A greater strife was to wage for freedom of soul. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +REBECCA AND JACK BATTLE CONSPIRE + +'Twas cockcrow when I left pacing the shore where we had so often +played in childhood; and through the darkness came the howl of M. +Picot's hound, scratching outside the prison gate. + +As well reason with maniacs as fanatics, say I, for they hide as much +folly under the mask of conscience as ever court fool wore 'neath +painted face. There was Mr. Stocking, as well-meaning a man as trod +earth, obdurate beyond persuasion against poor M. Picot under his +charge. Might I not speak to the French doctor through the bars of his +window? By no means, Mr. Stocking assured. If once the great door +were unlocked, who could tell what black arts a sorcerer might use? + +"Look you, Ramsay lad," says he, "I've had this brass key made against +his witchcraft, and I do not trust it to the hands of the jailer." + +Then, I fear, I pleaded too keenly; for, suspecting collusion with M. +Picot, the warden of the court-house grew frigid and bade me ask Eli +Kirke's opinion on witchcraft. + +"'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,'" rasped Eli Kirke, his stern +eyes ablaze from an inner fire. "'A man' also, or woman, that hath a +familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death.' +Think you M. Picot burns incense to the serpent in his jars for the +healing of mankind?" he demanded fiercely. + +"Yes," said I, "'tis for the healing of mankind by experimentation with +chemicals. Knowledge of God nor chemicals springs full grown from +man's head, Uncle Eli. Both must be learned. That is all the meaning +of his jars and crucibles. He is only trying to learn what laws God +ordained among materials. And when M. Picot makes mistakes, it is the +same as when the Church makes mistakes and learns wisdom by blunders." + +Eli Kirke blinked his eyes as though my monstrous pleadings dazed him. + +"'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,'" he cried doggedly. "Do the +Scriptures lie, Ramsay Stanhope? Tell me that?" + +"No," said I. "The Scriptures condemn liars, and the man who pretends +witchcraft _is_ a liar. There's no such thing. That is why the +Scriptures command burning." I paused. He made no answer, and I +pleaded on. + +"But M. Picot denies witchcraft, and you would burn him for not lying." + +Never think to gain a stubborn antagonist by partial concession. M. +Radisson used to say if you give an enemy an inch he will claim an ell. +'Twas so with Eli Kirke, for he leaped to his feet in a fine frenzy and +bade me cease juggling Holy Writ. + +"'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,'" he shouted. "'Tis +abomination! It shall utterly be put away from you! Because of this +hidden iniquity the colony hath fallen on evil days. Let it perish +root and branch!" + +But Tibbie breaks in upon his declamation by throwing wide the library +door, and in marches a line of pale-faced ascetics, rigid of jaw, cold +of eye, and exalted with that gloomy fervour which counts burning +life's highest joy. Among them was the famous witch-hanger of after +years, a mere youth then, but about his lips the hard lines of a +spiritual zeal scarce differing from pride. + +"God was awakening the churches by marvellous signs," said one, +extending a lank, cold hand to salute Eli Kirke. + +"Have we not wrestled mightily for signs and wonders?" demanded another +with jaw of steel. And one description of the generation seeking signs +was all but off the tip of my tongue. + +"Some aver there be no witches--so fearfully hath error gone abroad," +lamented young Mather, keen to be heard then, as he always was. +"Brethren, toleration would make a kingdom of chaos, a Sodom, a +Gomorrah, a Babylon!" + +Faith, it needed no horoscope to forecast that young divine's dark +future! + +I stood it as long as I could, with palms itching to knock their solemn +heads together like so many bowling balls; but when one +cadaverous-faced fellow, whose sanctity had gone bilious from lack of +sunshine, whined out against "the saucy miss," meaning thereby Mistress +Hortense, and another prayed Heaven through his nose that his daughter +might "lie in her grave ere she minced her steps with such +dissoluteness of hair and unseemly broideries and bright colours, +showing the lightness of her mind," and a third averred that "a +cucking-stool would teach a maid to walk more shamefacedly," I whirled +upon them in a fury that had disinherited me from Eli Kirke's graces +ere I spake ten words. + +"Sirs," said I, "your slatternly wenches may be dead ere they match +Mistress Hortense! As for wearing light colours, the devil himself is +painted black. Let them who are doing shameful acts to the innocent +walk shamefacedly! For shame, sirs, to cloak malice and jealousy of M. +Picot under religion! New England will remember this blot against you +and curse you for it! An you listen to Deliverance Dobbins's lies, +what hinders any lying wench sending good men to the scaffold?" + +At first they listened agape, but now the hot blood rushed to their +faces. + +"Hold thy tongue, lad!" roared Eli Kirke. Then, as if to atone for +that violence: "The Lord rebuke thee," he added solemnly. + +And I flung from the house dumb with impotent rage. + +My thoughts were as the snatched sleep of a sick man's dreams. Again +the hideous nightmare of the old martyr at the shambles; but now the +shambles were in the New World and the martyr was M. Picot. Something +cold touched my hand through the dark, and there crouched M. Picot's +hound, whining for its master. Automatically I followed across the +commons to the court-house square. It stopped at the prison gate, +sniffing and whining and begging in. Poor dog! What could I do? I +tried to coax it away, but it lay at the wall like a stone. + +Of the long service in the new-built meeting-house I remember very +little. Beat of drums, not bells, called to church in those days, and +the beat was to me as a funeral march. The pale face of the preacher +in the high pulpit overtowering us all was alight with stern zeal. The +elders, sitting in a row below the pulpit facing us, listened to the +fierce diatribe against the dark arts with looks of approbation that +boded ill for M. Picot; and at every fresh fusillade of texts to +bolster his argument, the line of deacons below the elders glanced back +at the preacher approvingly. Rebecca sat on that side of the +congregation assigned to the women with a dumb look of sympathy on the +sweet hooded face. The prisoners were not present. At the end of the +service the preacher paused; and there fell a great hush in which men +scarce breathed, for sentence was to be pronounced. But the preacher +only announced that before handing the case to the civil court of oyer +and terminer for judgment, the elders wished to hold it in meditation +for another day. + +The singing of the dismissal psalm began and a smothered cry seemed to +break from Rebecca's pew. Then the preacher had raised his hands above +bowed heads. The service was over. The people crowded solemnly out, +and I was left alone in the gathering darkness--alone with the ghosts +of youth's illusions mocking from the gloom. Religion, then, did not +always mean right! There were tyrants of souls as well as tyrants of +sword. Prayers were uttered that were fitter for hearing in hell than +in Heaven. Good men could deceive themselves into crime cloaking +spiritual malice, sect jealousy, race hatred with an unctuous text. +Here, in New England, where men had come for freedom, was tyranny +masking in the guise of religion. Preachers as jealous of the power +slipping from their hands as ever was primate of England! A poor +gentleman hounded to his death because he practised the sciences! +Millions of victims all the world over burned for witchcraft, +sacrificed to a Moloch of superstition in the name of a Christ who came +to let in the light of knowledge on all superstition! + +Could I have found a wilderness where was no human face, I think I had +fled to it that night. And, indeed, when you come to think of my +breaking with Eli Kirke, 'twas the witch trial that drove me to the +wilderness. + +There was yet a respite. But the Church still dominated the civil +courts, and a transfer of the case meant that the Church would throw +the onus of executing sentence on those lay figures who were the +puppets of a Pharisaical oligarchy. + +There was no time to appeal to England. There was no chance of sudden +rescue. New England had not the stuff of which mobs are made. + +I thought of appealing to the mercy of the judges; but what mercy had +Eli Kirke received at the hands of royalists that he should be merciful +to them? + +I thought of firing the prison; but the walls were stone, and the night +wet, and the outcome doubtful. + +I thought of the cell window; but if there had been any hope that way, +M. Picot had worked an escape. + +Bowing my head to think--to pray--to imprecate, I lost all sense of +time and place. Some one had slipped quietly into the dark of the +church. I felt rather than saw a nearing presence. But I paid no +heed, for despair blotted out all thought. Whoever it was came feeling +a way down the dark aisle. + +Then hot tears fell upon my hands. In the gloom there paused a +childlike figure. + +"Rebecca!" + +She panted out a wordless cry. Then she came closer and laid a hand on +my arm. She was struggling to subdue sobs. The question came in a +shivering breath. + +"Is Hortense--so dear?" + +"So dear, Rebecca." + +"She must be wondrous happy, Ramsay." A tumult of effort. "If I could +only take her place----" + +"Take her place, Rebecca?" + +"My father hath the key--if--if--if I took her place, she might go +free." + +"Take her place, child! What folly is this--dear, kind Rebecca? Would +'t be any better to send you to the rope than Hortense? No--no--dear +child!" + +At that her agitation abated, and she puzzled as if to say more. + +"Dear Rebecca," said I, comforting her as I would a sister, "dear +child, run home. Forget not little Hortense in thy prayers." + +May the angel of forgiveness spread a broader mantle across our +blunders than our sins, but could I have said worse? + +"I have cooked dainties with my own hands. I have sent her cakes every +day," sobbed Rebecca. + +"Go home now, Rebecca," I begged. + +But she stood silent. + +"Rebecca--what is it?" + +"You have not been to see me for a year, Ramsay." + +I could scarce believe my ears. + +"My father is away to-night. Will you not come?" + +"But, Rebecca----" + +"I have never asked a thing of you before." + +"But, Rebecca----" + +"Will you come for Hortense's sake?" she interrupted, with a little +sharp, hard, falsetto note in her baby voice. + +"Rebecca," I demanded, "what do you mean?" + +But she snapped back like the peevish child that she was: "An you come +not when I ask you, you may stay!" And she had gone. + +What was she trying to say with her dark hints and overnice scruples of +a Puritan conscience? And was not that Jack Battle greeting her +outside in the dark? + +I tore after Rebecca at such speed that I had cannoned into open arms +before I saw a hulking form across the way. + +"Fall-back--fall-edge!" roared Jack, closing his arms about me. "'Tis +Ramsay himself, with a sword like a butcher's cleaver and a wit like a +broadaxe!" + +"Have you not heard, Jack?" + +"Heard! Ship ahoy!" cried Jack. "Split me to the chin like a cod! +Stood I not abaft of you all day long, packed like a herring in a +pickle! 'Twas a pretty kettle of fish in your Noah's ark to-day! 'Tis +all along o' goodness gone stale from too much salt," says Jack. + +I told him of little Rebecca, and asked what he made of it. He said he +made of it that fools didn't love in the right place--which was not to +the point, whatever Jack thought of Rebecca. Linking his arm through +mine, he headed me about. + +"Captain Gillam, Ben's father, sails for England at sunrise," vouched +Jack. + +"What has that to do with Mistress Hortense?" I returned testily. + +"'Tis a swift ship to sail in." + +"To sail in, Jack Battle?"--I caught at the hope. "Out with your plan, +man!" + +"And be hanged for it," snaps Jack, falling silent. + +We were opposite the prison. He pointed to a light behind the bars. + +"They are the only prisoners," he said. "They must be in there." + +"One could pass a note through those bars with a long pole," I +observed, gazing over the yard wall. + +"Or a key," answered Jack. + +He paused before Rebecca's house to the left of the prison. + +"Ramsay," inquired Jack quizzically, "do you happen to have heard who +has the keys?" + +"Rebecca's father is warden." + +"And Rebecca's father is from home to-night," says he, facing me +squarely to the lantern above the door. + +How did he know that? Then I remembered the voices outside the church. + +"Jack--what did Rebecca mean----" + +"Not to be hanged," interrupts Jack. "'Tis all along o' having too +much conscience, Ramsay. They must either lie like a Dutchman and be +damned, or tell the truth and be hanged. Now, ship ahoy," says he, "to +the quarterdeck!" and he flung me forcibly up the steps. + +Rebecca, herself, red-eyed and reserved, threw wide the door. She +motioned me to a bench seat opposite the fireplace and fastened her +gaze above the mantel till mine followed there too. A bunch of keys +hung from an iron rack. + +"What are those, Rebecca?" + +"The largest is for the gate," says she with the panic of conscience +running from fire. "The brass one unlocks the great door, +and--and--the--M. Picot's cell unbolts," she stammered. + +"May I examine them, Rebecca?" + +"I will even draw you a pint of cider," says Rebecca evasively, with +great trepidation, "but come back soon," she called, tripping off to +the wine-cellar door. + +Snatching the keys, I was down the steps at a leap. + +"The large one for the gate, Jack! The brass one for the big door, and +the cell unbolts!" + +"Ease your helm, sonny!" says Jack, catching the bunch from my clasp. +"Fall-back--fall-edge!" he laughed in that awful mockery of the +axeman's block. "Fall-back--fall-edge! If there's any hacking of +necks, mine is thicker than yours! I'll run the risks. Do you wait +here in shadow." + +And he darted away. The gate creaked as it gave. + +Then I waited for what seemed eternity. + +A night-watchman shuffled along with swinging lantern, calling out: +"What ho? What ho?" Townsfolks rode through the streets with a +clatter of the chairmen's feet; but no words were bandied by the +fellows, for a Sabbath hush lay over the night. A great hackney-coach +nigh mired in mud as it lumbered through mid-road. And M. Picot's +hound came sniffing hungrily to me. + +A glare of light shot aslant the dark. Softly the door of Rebecca's +house opened. A frail figure was silhouetted against the light. The +wick above snuffed out. The figure drew in without a single look, +leaving the door ajar. But an hour ago, the iron righteousness of +bigots had filled my soul with revolt. Now the sight of that little +Puritan maid brought prayers to my lips and a Te Deum to my soul. + +The prison gate swung open again with rusty protest. Two hooded +figures slipped through the dark. Jack Battle had locked the gate and +the keys were in my hand. + +"Take them back," he gurgled out with school-lad glee. "'Twill be a +pretty to-do of witchcraft to-morrow when they find a cell empty. Go +hire passage to England in Captain Gillam's boat!" + +"Captain Gillam's boat?" + +"Yes, or Master Ben's pirate-ship of the north, if she's there," and he +had dashed off in the dark. + +When Rebecca appeared above the cellar-way with a flagon that reamed to +a beaded top, the keys were back on the wall. + +"I was overlong," panted Rebecca, with eyes averted as of old to the +folds of her white stomacher. "'Twas a stubborn bung and hard to draw." + +"Dear little cheat! God bless you!--and bless you!--and bless you, +Rebecca!" I cried. + +At which the poor child took fright. + +"It--it--it was not all a lie, Ramsay," she stammered. "The bung was +hard--and--and--and I didn't hasten----" + +"Dear comrade--good-bye, forever!" I called from the dark-of the step. + +"Forever?" asked the faint voice of a forlorn figure black in the +doorway. + +Dear, snowy, self-sacrificing spirit--'tis my clearest memory of her +with the thin, grieved voice coming through the dark. + +I ran to the wharf hard as ever heels nerved by fear and joy and +triumph and love could carry me. The passage I easily engaged from the +ship's mate, who dinned into my unlistening ears full account of the +north sea, whither Captain Gillam was to go for the Fur Company, and +whither, too, Master Ben was keen to sail, "a pirateer, along o' his +own risk and gain," explained the mate with a wink, "pirateer or +privateer, call 'em what you will, Mister; the Susan with white sails +in Boston Town, and Le Bon Garçon with sails black as the devil himself +up in Quebec, ha--ha--and I'll give ye odds on it, Mister, the devil +himself don't catch Master Ben! Why, bless you, gentlemen, who's to +jail 'im here for droppin' Spanish gold in his own hold and poachin' +furs on the king's preserve o' the north sea, when Stocking, the +warden, 'imself owns 'alf the Susan and Cap'en Gillam, 'is father, is +master o' the king's ship?" + +"They do say," he babbled on, "now that Radisson, the French +jack-a-boots, hath given the slip to the King's Company, he sails from +Quebec in ship o' his own. If him and Ben and the Capiten meet--oh, +there'll be times! There'll be times!" + +And "times" there were sure enough; but of that I had then small care +and shook the loquacious rascal off so that he left me in peace. + +First came the servants, trundling cart-loads of cases, which passed +unnoticed; for the town bell had tolled the close of Sabbath, and +Monday shipping had begun. + +The cusp of a watery moon faded in the gray dawn streaks of a muffled +sky, and at last came the chairmen, with Jack running alert. + +From the chairs stepped the blackamoor, painted as white as paste. +Then a New Amsterdam gentleman slipped out from the curtains, followed +by his page-boy and servants. + +"Jack," I asked, "where is Hortense?" + +The page glanced from under curls. + +"Dear Jack," she whispered, standing high on her heels nigh as tall as +the sailor lad. And poor Jack Battle, not knowing how to play down, +stood blushing, cap in hand, till she laughed a queer little laugh and, +bidding him good-bye, told him to remember that she had the squirrel +stuffed. + +To me she said no word. Her hand touched mine quick farewell. The +long lashes lifted. + +There was a look on her face. + +I ask no greater joy in Paradise than memory of that look. + + * * * * * * + +One lone, gray star hung over the masthead. The ship careened across +the billows till star and mast-top met. + +Jack fetched a deep sigh. + +"There be work for sailors in England," he said. + +In a flash I thought that I knew what he had meant by fools not loving +in the right place. + +"That were folly, Jack! She hath her station!" + +Jack Battle pointed to the fading steel point above the vanishing +masthead. + +"Doth looking hurt yon star?" asks Jack. + +"Nay; but looking may strain the eyes; and the arrows of longing come +back void." + +He answered nothing, and we lingered heavy hearted till the sun came up +over the pillowed waves turning the tumbling waters to molten gold. + +Between us and the fan-like rays behind the glossy billows--was no ship. + +Hortense was safe! + +There was an end-all to undared hopes. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +M. RADISSON AGAIN + +"Good-bye to you, Ramsay," said Jack abruptly. + +"Where to, Jack?" I asked, bestirring myself. I could no more go back +to Eli Kirke. + +But little Jack Battle was squirming his wooden clogs into the sand as +he used to dig his toes, and he answered not a word. + +"'Tis early yet for the Grand Banks, Jack. Ben Gillam's ship keeled +mast over hull from being ice-logged last spring. The spars were solid +with frozen sleet from the crosstrees to the crow's nest. Your dories +would be ice-logged for a month yet." + +"It--it--it aren't the Grand Banks no more," stammered Jack. + +His manner arrested me. The honest blue eyes were shifting and his +toes at work in the sand. + +"There be gold on the high seas for the taking," vouched Jack. "An +your fine gentlemen grow rich that way, why mayn't I?" + +"Jack," I warned, thinking of Ben Gillam's craft rigged with sails of +as many colours as Joseph's coat, "Jack--is it a pirate-ship?" + +"No," laughed the sailor lad sheepishly, "'tis a pirateer," meaning +thereby a privateer, which was the same thing in those days. + +"Have a care of your pirateers--privateers, Jack," said I, speaking +plain. "A gentleman would be run through the gullet with a clean +rapier, but you--you--would be strangled by sentence of court or sold +to the Barbadoes." + +"Not if the warden o' the court owns half the ship," protested Jack, +smiling queerly under his shaggy brows. + +"Oh--ho!" said I, thinking of Rebecca's father, and beginning to +understand who supplied money for Ben Gillam's ventures. + +"I'm tired o' being a kick-a-toe and fisticuff to everybody. Now, if +I'd been rich and had a ship, I might 'a' sailed for M. Picot." + +"Or Mistress Hortense," I added, which brought red spots to the sailor +lad's cheeks. + +Off he went unanswering, leaving me at gaze across an unbroken sea with +a heart heavy as lead. + +"Poor fellow! He will get over it," said I. + +"Another hath need o' the same medicine," came a voice. + +I wheeled, expecting arrest. + +A tall, wiry man, with coal-black hair and deep-set eyes and a scar +across his swarth skin, smiled pleasantly down at me. + +"Now that you have them safely off," said he, still smiling, "better +begone yourself." + +"I'll thank you for your advice when I ask it, sir," said I, suspicious +of the press-gang infesting that port. Involuntarily I caught at my +empty sword-belt. + +"Permit me," proffered the gentleman, with a broader smile, handing out +his own rapier. + +"Sir," said I, "your pardon, but the press-gang have been busy of late." + +"And the sheriffs may be busy to-day," he laughed. "Black arts don't +open stone walls, Ramsay." + +And he sent the blade clanking home to its scabbard. His surtout +falling open revealed a waistcoat of buckskin. I searched his face. + +"M. de Radisson!" + +"My hero of rescues," and he offered his hand. "And my quondam +nephew," he added, laughing; for his wife was a Kirke of the English +branch, and my aunt was married to Eli. + +"Eli Kirke cannot know you are here, sir--" + +"Eli Kirke _need_ not know," emphasized Radisson dryly. + +And remembering bits of rumour about M. Radisson deserting the English +Fur Company, I hastened to add: "Eli Kirke _shall_ not know!" + +"Your wits jump quick enough sometimes," said he. "Now tell me, whose +is she, and what value do you set on her?" + +I was speechless with surprise. However wild a life M. Radisson led, +his title of nobility was from a king who awarded patents to gentlemen +only. + +"We neither call our women '_she_' nor give them market value," I +retorted. + +Thereupon M. de Radisson falls in such fits of laughter, I had thought +he must split his baldrick. + +"Pardieu!" he laughed, wiping the tears away with a tangled lace thing +fit for a dandy, "Pardieu! 'Tis not your girl-page? 'Tis the ship o' +that hangdog of a New England captain!" + +The thing came in a jiffy. Sieur Radisson, having deserted the English +Fur Company, was setting up for himself. He was spying the strength of +his rivals for the north sea. + +"You praised my wit. I have but given you a sample." + +Then I told him all I knew of the ship, and M. de Radisson laughed +again till he was like to weep. + +"How is she called?" he asked. + +"The Prince Rupert," said I. + +"Ha! Then the same crew of gentlemen's scullions and courtiers' valets +stuffing the lockers full o' trash to trade on their master's account. +A pretty cheat for the Company!" + +The end of it was, M. Radisson invited me to join his ships. "A +beaver-skin for a needle, Ramsay! Twenty otter for an awl! Wealth for +a merchant prince," he urged. + +But no sooner had I grasped at this easy way out of difficulty than the +Frenchman interrupts: "Hold back, man! Do you know the risk?" + +"No--nor care one rush!" + +"Governor Frontenac demands half of the furs for a license to trade, +but M. de la Barre, who comes to take his place, is a friend of La +Chesnaye's, and La Chesnaye owns our ships----" + +"And you go without a license?" + +"And the galleys for life----" + +"If you're caught," said I. + +"Pardieu!" he laughed, "yes--if we're caught!" + +"I'd as lief go to the galleys for fur-trading as the scaffold for +witchcraft," said I. + +With that our bargain was sealed. + + + + +PART II + + + + +Now comes that part of a life which deals with what you will say no one +man could do, yet the things were done; with wonders stranger than +witchcraft, yet were true. But because you have never lived a +sword-length from city pavement, nor seen one man holding his own +against a thousand enemies, I pray you deny not these things. + +Each life is a shut-in valley, says the jonglière; but Manitou, who +strides from peak to peak, knows there is more than one valley, which +had been a maxim among the jonglières long before one Danish gentleman +assured another there were more things in heaven and earth than +philosophy dreamed. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE ROARING FORTIES + +Keen as an arrow from twanging bowstring, Pierre Radisson set sail over +the roaring seas for the northern bay. + +'Twas midsummer before his busy flittings between Acadia and Quebec +brought us to Isle Percée, at the mouth of the St. Lawrence. Here +Chouart Groseillers (his brother-in-law) lay with two of the craziest +craft that ever rocked anchor. I scarce had time to note the bulging +hulls, stout at stem and stern with deep sinking of the waist, before +M. Radisson had climbed the ship's ladder and scattered quick commands +that sent sailors shinning up masts, for all the world like so many +monkeys. The St. Pierre, our ship was called, in honour of Pierre +Radisson; for admiral and captain and trader, all in one, was Sieur +Radisson, himself. Indeed, he could reef a sail as handily as any old +tar. I have seen him take the wheel and hurl Allemand head-foremost +from the pilot-house when that sponge-soaked rascal had imbibed more +gin than was safe for the weathering of rocky coasts. + +Call him gamester, liar, cheat--what you will! He had his faults, +which dogged him down to poverty and ruin; but deeds are proof of the +inner man. And look you that judge Pierre Radisson whether your own +deeds ring as mettle and true. + +The ironwood capstan bars clanked to that seaman's music of running +sailors. A clattering of the pawls--the anchor came away. The St. +Pierre shook out her bellying sails and the white sheets drew to a full +beam wind. Long foam lines crisped away from the prow. Green shores +slipped to haze of distance. With her larboard lipping low and that +long break of swishing waters against her ports which is as a croon to +the seaman's ear, the St. Pierre dipped and rose and sank again to the +swell of the billowing sea. Behind, crowding every stitch of canvas +and staggering not a little as she got under weigh, ploughed the Ste. +Anne. And all about, heaving and falling like the deep breathings of a +slumbering monster, were the wide wastes of the sea. + +And how I wish that I could take you back with me and show you the two +miserable old gallipots which M. de Radisson rode into the roaring +forties! 'Twas as if those gods of chance that had held riotous sway +over all that watery desolation now first discovered one greater than +themselves--a rebel 'mid their warring elements whose will they might +harry but could not crush--Man, the king undaunted, coming to his own! +Children oft get closer to the essences of truth than older folk grown +foolish with too much learning. As a child I used to think what a +wonderful moment that was when Man, the master, first appeared on face +of earth. How did the beasts and the seas and the winds feel about it, +I asked. Did they laugh at this fellow, the most helpless of all +things, setting out to conquer all things? Did the beasts pursue him +till he made bow and arrow and the seas defy him till he rafted their +waters and the winds blow his house down till he dovetailed his +timbers? That was the child's way of asking a very old question--Was +Man the sport of the elements, the plaything of all the cruel, blind +gods of chance? + +Now, the position was reversed. + +Now, I learned how the Man must have felt when he set about conquering +the elements, subduing land and sea and savagery. And in that lies the +Homeric greatness of this vast, fresh, New World of ours. Your Old +World victor takes up the unfinished work left by generations of men. +Your New World hero begins at the pristine task. I pray you, who are +born to the nobility of the New World, forget not the glory of your +heritage; for the place which God hath given you in the history of the +race is one which men must hold in envy when Roman patrician and Norman +conqueror and robber baron are as forgotten as the kingly lines of old +Egypt. + +Fifty ton was our craft, with a crazy pitch to her prow like to take a +man's stomach out and the groaning of infernal fiends in her timbers. +Twelve men, our crew all told, half of them young gentlemen of fortune +from Quebec, with titles as long as a tilting lance and the fighting +blood of a Spanish don and the airs of a king's grand chamberlain. +Their seamanship you may guess. All of them spent the better part of +the first weeks at sea full length below deck. Of a calm day they +lolled disconsolate over the taffrail, with one eye alert for flight +down the companionway when the ship began to heave. + +"What are you doing back there, La Chesnaye?" asks M. de Radisson, with +a quiet wink, not speaking loud enough for fo'castle hands to hear. + +"Cursing myself for ever coming," growls that young gentleman, scarce +turning his head. + +"In that case," smiles Sieur Radisson, "you might be better occupied +learning to take a hand at the helm." + +"Sir," pleads La Chesnaye meekly, "'tis all I can do to ballast the +ship below stairs." + +"'Tis laziness, La Chesnaye," vows Radisson. "Men are thrown overboard +for less!" + +"A quick death were kindness, sir," groans La Chesnaye, scalloping in +blind zigzags for the stair. "May I be shot from that cannon, sir, if +I ever set foot on ship again!" + +M. de Radisson laughs, and the place of the merchant prince is taken by +the marquis with a face the gray shade of old Tibbie's linen +a-bleaching on the green. + +The Ste. Anne, under Groseillers--whom we called Mr. Gooseberry when he +wore his airs too mightily--was better manned, having able-bodied +seamen, who distinguished themselves by a mutiny. + +Of which you shall hear anon. + +But the spirits of our young gentlemen took a prodigious leap upward as +their bodies became used to the crazy pace of our ship, whose gait I +can compare only to the bouncings of loose timber in a heavy sea. +North of Newfoundland we were blanketed in a dirty fog. That gave our +fine gentlemen a chance to right end up. + +"Every man of them a good seaman in calm weather," Sieur Radisson +observed; and he put them through marine drill all that week. La +Chesnaye so far recovered that he sometimes kept me company at the +bowsprit, where we watched the clumsy gambols of the porpoise, racing +and leaping and turning somersets in mid-air about the ship. Once, I +mind the St. Pierre gave a tremor as if her keel had grated a reef; and +a monster silver-stripe heaved up on our lee. 'Twas a finback whale, +M. Radisson explained; and he protested against the impudence of +scratching its back on our keel. As we sailed farther north many a +school of rolling finbacks glistened silver in the sun or rose higher +than our masthead, when one took the death-leap to escape its leagued +foes--swordfish and thrasher and shark. And to give you an idea of the +fearful tide breaking through the narrow fiords of that rock-bound +coast, I may tell you that La Chesnaye and I have often seen those +leviathans of the deep swept tail foremost by the driving tide into +some land-locked lagoon and there beached high on naked rock. That was +the sea M. Radisson was navigating with cockle-shell boats unstable of +pace as a vagrant with rickets. + +Even Forêt, the marquis, forgot his dainty-fingered dignity and took a +hand at the fishing of a shark one day. The cook had put out a bait at +the end of a chain fastened to the capstan, when comes a mighty tug; +and the cook shouts out that he has caught a shark. All hands are +hailed to the capstan, and every one of my fine gentlemen grasps an +ironwood bar to hoist the monster home. I wish you had seen their +faces when the shark's great head with six rows of teeth in its gaping +upper jaw came abreast the deck! Half the fellows were for throwing +down the bars and running, but the other half would not show white +feather before the common sailors; and two or three clanking rounds +brought the great shark lashing to deck in a way that sent us scuttling +up the ratlines. But Forêt would not be beaten. He thrust an ironwood +bar across the gaping jaws. The shark tore the wood to splinters. +There was a rip that snapped the cable with the report of a pistol, and +the great fish was over deck and away in the sea. + +By this, you may know, we had all left our landsmen's fears far south +of Belle Isle and were filled with the spirit of that wild, tempestuous +world where the storm never sleeps and the cordage pipes on calmest day +and the beam seas break in the long, low, growling wash that warns the +coming hurricane. + +But if you think we were a Noah's ark of solemn faces 'mid all that +warring desolation, you are much mistaken. I doubt if lamentations +ever did as much to lift mankind to victory as the naughty glee of the +shrieking fife. And of glee, we had a-plenty on all that voyage north. + +La Chesnaye, son of the merchant prince who owned our ships, played +cock-o'-the-walk, took rank next to M. Radisson, and called himself +deputy-governor. Forêt, whose father had a stretch of barren shingle +on The Labrador, and who had himself received letters patent from His +Most Christian Majesty for a marquisate, swore he would be cursed if he +gave the _pas_ to La Chesnaye, or any other commoner. And M. de +Radisson was as great a stickler for fine points as any of the +new-fledged colonials. When he called a conference, he must needs +muster to the quarter-deck by beat of drum, with a tipstaff, having a +silver bauble of a stick, leading the way. This office fell to +Godefroy, the trader, a fellow with the figure of a slat and a scalp +tonsured bare as a billiard-ball by Indian hunting-knife. Spite of +many a thwack from the flat of M. de Radisson's sword, Godefroy would +carry the silver mace to the chant of a "diddle-dee-dee," which he was +always humming in a sand-papered voice wherever he went. At beat of +drum for conference we all came scrambling down the ratlines like +tumbling acrobats of a country fair, Godefroy grasps his silver stick. + +"Fall in line, there, deputy-governor, diddle-dee-dee!" + +La Chesnaye cuffs the fellow's ears. + +"Diddle-dee-dee! Come on, marquis. Does Your High Mightiness give +place to a merchant's son? Heaven help you, gentlemen! Come on! Come +on! Diddle-dee-dee!" + +And we all march to M. de Radisson's cabin and sit down gravely at a +long table. + +"Pot o' beer, tipstaff," orders Radisson; and Godefroy goes off +slapping his buckskins with glee. + +M. Radisson no more takes off his hat than a king's ambassador, but he +waits for La Chesnaye and Forêt to uncover. The merchant strums on the +table and glares at the marquis, and the marquis looks at the skylight, +waiting for the merchant; and the end of it is M. Radisson must give +Godefroy the wink, who knocks both their hats off at once, explaining +that a landsman can ill keep his legs on the sea, and the sea is no +respecter of persons. Once, at the end of his byplay between the two +young fire-eaters, the sea lurched in earnest, a mighty pitch that +threw tipstaff sprawling across the table. And the beer went full in +the face of the marquis. + +"There's a health to you, Forêt!" roared the merchant in whirlwinds of +laughter. + +But the marquis had gone heels over head. He gained his feet as the +ship righted, whipped out his rapier, vowed he would dust somebody's +jacket, and caught up Godefroy on the tip of his sword by the rascal's +belt. + +"Forêt, I protest," cried M. Radisson, scarce speaking for laughter, "I +protest there's nothing spilt but the beer and the dignity! The beer +can be mopped. There's plenty o' dignity in the same barrel. Save +Godefroy! We can ill spare a man!" + +With a quick rip of his own rapier, Radisson had cut Godefroy's belt +and the wretch scuttled up-stairs out of reach. Sailors wiped up the +beer, and all hands braced chairs 'twixt table and wall to await M. +Radisson's pleasure. + +He had dressed with unusual care. Gold braid edged his black doublet, +and fine old Mechlin came back over his sleeves in deep ruffs. And in +his eyes the glancing light of steel striking fire. + +Bidding the sailors take themselves off, M. Radisson drew his blade +from the scabbard and called attention by a sharp rap. + +Quick silence fell, and he laid the naked sword across the table. His +right hand played with the jewelled hilt. Across his breast were +medals and stars of honour given him by many monarchs. I think as we +looked at our leader every man of us would have esteemed it honour to +sail the seas in a tub if Pierre Radisson captained the craft. + +But his left hand was twitching uneasily at his chin, and in his eyes +were the restless lights. + +"Gentlemen," says he, as unconcerned as if he were forecasting weather, +"gentlemen, I seem to have heard that the crew of my kinsman's ship +have mutinied." + +We were nigh a thousand leagues from rescue or help that day! + +"Mutinied!" shrieks La Chesnaye, with his voice all athrill. +"Mutinied? What will my father have to say?" + +And he clapped his tilted chair to floor with a thwack that might have +echoed to the fo'castle. + +"Shall I lend you a trumpet, La Chesnaye, or--or a fife?" asks M. +Radisson, very quiet. + +And I assure you there was no more loud talk in the cabin that day; +only the long, low wash and pound and break of the seas abeam, with the +surly wail that portends storm. I do not believe any of us ever +realized what a frail chip was between life and eternity till we heard +the wrenching and groaning of the timbers in the silence that followed +M. Radisson's words. + +"Gentlemen," continues M. Radisson, softer-spoken than before, "if any +one here is for turning back, I desire him to stand up and say so." + +The St. Pierre shipped a sea with a strain like to tear her asunder, +and waters went sizzling through lee scuppers above with the hiss of a +cataract. M. Radisson inverts a sand-glass and watches the sand +trickle through till the last grain drops. Then he turns to us. + +Two or three faces had gone white as the driving spray, but never a man +opened his lips to counsel return. + +"Gentlemen," says M. Radisson, with the fires agleam in his deep-set +eyes, "am I to understand that every one here is for going forward at +any risk?" + +"Aye--aye, sir!" burst like a clarion from our circle. + +Pierre Radisson smiled quietly. + +"'Tis as well," says he, "for I bade the coward stand up so that I +could run him through to the hilt," and he clanked the sword back to +its scabbard. + +"As I said before," he went on, "the crew on my kinsman's ship have +mutinied. There's another trifle to keep under your caps, +gentlemen--the mutineers have been running up pirate signals to the +crew of this ship----" + +"Pirate signals!" interrupts La Chesnaye, whose temper was ever +crackling off like grains of gunpowder. "May I ask, sir, how you know +the pirate signals?" + +M. de Radisson's face was a study in masks. + +"You may ask, La Chesnaye," says he, rubbing his chin with a wrinkling +smile, "you may ask, but I'm hanged if I answer!" + +And from lips that had whitened with fear but a moment before came +laughter that set the timbers ringing. + +Then Forêt found his tongue. + +"Hang a baker's dozen of the mutineers from the yard-arm!" + +"A baker's dozen is thirteen, Forêt," retorted Radisson, "and the Ste. +Anne's crew numbers fifteen." + +"Hang 'em in effigy as they do in Quebec," persists Forêt. + +Pierre Radisson only pointed over his shoulder to the port astern. +Crowding to the glazed window we saw a dozen scarecrows tossing from +the crosstrees of Groseillers's ship. + +"What does Captain Radisson advise?" asks La Chesnaye. + +"La Chesnaye," says Radisson, "I never advise. I act!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +M. DE RADISSON ACTS + +Quick as tongue could trip off the orders, eyes everywhere, thought and +act jumping together, Pierre Radisson had given each one his part, and +pledged our obedience, though he bade us walk the plank blindfold to +the sea. Two men were set to transferring powder and arms from the +forehold to our captain's cabin. One went hand over fist up the +mainmast and signalled the Ste. Anne to close up. Jackets were torn +from the deck-guns and the guns slued round to sweep from stem to +stern. With a jarring of cranes and shaking of timbers, the two ships +bumped together; and a more surprised looking lot of men than the crew +of the Ste. Anne you never saw. Pierre Radisson had played the rogues +their own game in the matter of signals. They had thought the St. +Pierre in league, else would they not have come into his trap so +readily. Before they had time to protest, the ships were together, the +two captains conferring face to face across the rails, and our sailors +standing at arms ready to shoot down the first rebel. + +At a word, the St. Pierre's crew were scrambling to the Ste. Anne's +decks. A shout through the trumpet of the Ste. Anne's bo'swain and the +mutinous crew of the Ste. Anne were marched aboard the St. Pierre. + +Then M. Radisson's plan became plain. The other ship was the better. +M. de Radisson was determined that at least one crew should reach the +bay. Besides, as he had half-laughingly insinuated, perhaps he knew +better than Chouart Groseillers of the Ste. Anne how to manage mutinous +pirates. Of the St. Pierre's crew, three only remained with Radisson: +Allemand, in the pilot-house; young Jean Groseillers, Chouart's son, on +guard aft; and myself, armed with a musket, to sweep the fo'castle. + +And all the time there was such a rolling sea the two ships were like +to pound their bulwarks to kindling wood. Then the Ste. Anne eased +off, sheered away, and wore ship for open sea. + +Pierre Radisson turned. There faced him that grim, mutinous crew. + +No need to try orders then. 'Twas the cat those men wanted. Before +Pierre Radisson had said one word the mutineers had discovered the deck +cannon pointing amidships. A shout of baffled rage broke from the +ragged group. Quick words passed from man to man. A noisy, shuffling, +indeterminate movement! The crowd swayed forward. There was a sudden +rush from the fo'castle to the waist. They had charged to gain +possession of the powder cabin--Pierre Radisson raised his pistol. For +an instant they held back. Then a barefoot fellow struck at him with a +belaying-pin. + +'Twere better for that man if he had called down the lightnings. + +Quicker than I can tell it, Pierre Radisson had sprung upon him. The +Frenchman's left arm had coiled the fellow round the waist. Our +leader's pistol flashed a circle that drove the rabble back, and the +ringleader went hurling head foremost through the main hatch with force +like to flatten his skull to a gun-wad. There was a mighty scattering +back to the fo'castle then, I promise you. + +Pierre Radisson uttered never a syllable. He pointed to the fore +scuttle. Then he pointed to the men. Down they went under +hatches--rats in a trap! + +"Tramp--bundle--pack!" says he, as the last man bobbed below. + +But with a ping that raised the hair from my head, came a pistol-shot +from the mainmasts. There, perched astride of the crosstrees, was a +rascal mutineer popping at M. Radisson bold as you please. + +Our captain took off his beaver, felt the bullet-hole in the brim, +looked up coolly, and pointed his musket. + +"Drop that pistol!" said he. + +The fellow yelped out fear. Down clattered his weapon to the deck. + +"Now sit there," ordered Radisson, replacing his beaver. "Sit there +till I give you leave to come down!" + +Allemand, the pilot, had lost his head and was steering a course +crooked as a worm fence. Young Jean Groseillers went white as the +sails, and scarce had strength to slue the guns back or jacket their +muzzles. And, instead of curling forward with the crest of the roll, +the spray began to chop off backward in little short waves like a +horse's mane--a bad, bad sign, as any seaman will testify. And I, with +my musket at guard above the fo'scuttle, had a heart thumping harder +than the pounding seas. + +And what do you think M. Radisson said as he wiped the sweat from his +brow? + +"A pretty pickle,[1] indeed, to ground a man's plans on such dashed +impudence! Hazard o' life! As if a man would turn from his course for +them! Spiders o' hell! I'll strike my topmast to Death himself +first--so the devil go with them! The blind gods may crush--they shall +not conquer! They may kill--but I snap my fingers in their faces to +the death! A pretty pickle, indeed! Batten down the hatches, Ramsay. +Lend Jean a hand to get the guns under cover. There's a storm!" + +And "a pretty pickle" it was, with the "porps" floundering bodily from +wave-crest to wave-crest, the winds shrieking through the cordage, and +the storm-fiends brewing a hurricane like to engulf master and crew! + +In the forehold were rebels who would sink us all to the bottom of the +sea if they could. Aft, powder enough to blow us all to eternity! On +deck, one brave man, two chittering lads, and a gin-soaked pilot +steering a crazy course among the fanged reefs of Labrador. + +The wind backed and veered and came again so that a weather-vane could +not have shown which way it blew. At one moment the ship was jumping +from wave to wave before the wind with a single tiny storms'l out. At +another I had thought we must scud under bare poles for open sea. + +The coast sheered vertical like a rampart wall, and up--up--up that +dripping rock clutched the tossing billows like watery arms of sirens. +It needed no seaman to prophecy the fate of a boat caught between that +rock and a nor'easter. + +Then the gale would veer, and out raced a tidal billow of waters like +to take the St. Pierre broadside. + +"Helm hard alee!" shouts Radisson in the teeth of the gale. + +For the fraction of a second we were driving before the oncoming rush. + +Then the sea rose up in a wall on our rear. + +There was a shattering crash. The billows broke in sheets of whipping +spray. The decks swam with a river of waters. One gun wrenched loose, +teetered to the roll, and pitched into the seething deep. Yard-arms +came splintering to the deck. There was a roaring of waters over us, +under us, round us--then M. de Radisson, Jean, and I went slithering +forward like water-rats caught in a whirlpool. My feet struck against +windlass chains. Jean saved himself from washing overboard by +cannoning into me; but before the dripping bowsprit rose again to mount +the swell, M. de Radisson was up, shaking off spray like a water-dog +and muttering to himself: "To be snuffed out like a candle--no--no--no, +my fine fellows! Leap to meet it! Leap to meet it!" + +And he was at the wheel himself. + +The ship gave a long shudder, staggered back, stern foremost, to the +trough of the swell, and lay weltering cataracts from her decks. + +There was a pause of sudden quiet, the quiet of forces gathering +strength for fiercer assault; and in that pause I remembered something +had flung over me in the wash of the breaking sea. I looked to the +crosstrees. The mutineer was gone. + +It was the first and last time that I have ever seen a smoking sea. +The ocean boiled white. Far out in the wake of the tide that had +caught us foam smoked on the track of the ploughing waters. +Waters--did I say? You could not see waters for the spray. + +Then Jean bade me look how the stays'l had been torn to flutters, and +we both set about righting decks. + +For all I could see, M. Radisson was simply holding the wheel; but the +holding of a wheel in stress is mighty fine seamanship. To keep that +old gallipot from shipping seas in the tempest of billows was a more +ticklish task than rope-walking a whirlpool or sacking a city. + +Presently came two sounds--a swish of seas at our stern and the booming +of surf against coast rocks. Then M. de Radisson did the maddest thing +that ever I have seen. Both sounds told of the coming tempest. The +veering wind settled to a driving nor'easter, and M. de Radisson was +steering straight as a bullet to the mark for that rock wall. + +But I did not know that coast. When our ship was but three lengths +from destruction the St. Pierre answered to the helm. Her prow rounded +a sharp rock. Then the wind caught her, whirling her right about; but +in she went, stern foremost, like a fish, between the narrow walls of a +fiord to the quiet shelter of a land-locked lagoon. Pierre Radisson +had taken refuge in what the sailors call "a hole in the wall." + +There we lay close reefed, both anchors out, while the hurricane held +high carnival on the outer sea. + +After we had put the St. Pierre ship-shape, M. Radisson stationed Jean +and me fore and aft with muskets levelled, and bade us shoot any man +but himself who appeared above the hatch. Arming himself with his +short, curved hanger--oh, I warrant there would have been a carving +below decks had any one resisted him that day!--down he went to the +mutineers of the dim-lighted forehold. + +Perhaps the storm had quelled the spirit of rebellion; but up came M. +de Radisson, followed by the entire crew--one fellow's head in white +cotton where it had struck the floor, and every man jumping keen to +answer his captain's word. + +I must not forget a curious thing that happened as we lay at anchor. +The storm had scarce abated when a strange ship poked her jib-boom +across the entrance to the lagoon, followed by queer-rigged black sails. + +"A pirate!" said Jean. + +But Sieur de Radisson only puckered his brows, shifted position so that +the St. Pierre could give a broadside, and said nothing. + +Then came the strangest part of it. Another ship poked her nose across +the other side of the entrance. This was white-rigged. + +"Two ships, and they have us cooped!" exclaimed Jean. + +"One sporting different sails," said M. de Radisson contemptuously. + +"What do you think we should do, sir?" asked Jean. + +"Think?" demanded Radisson. "I have stopped thinking! I act! My +thoughts are acts." + +But all the same his thought at that moment was to let go a broadside +that sent the stranger scudding. Judging it unwise to keep a +half-mutinous crew too near pirate ships, M. Radisson ordered anchor +up. With a deck-mop fastened in defiance to our prow, the St. Pierre +slipped out of the harbour through the half-dark of those northern +summer nights, and gave the heel to any highwayman waiting to attack as +she passed. + +The rest of the voyage was a ploughing through brash ice in the +straits, with an occasional disembarking at the edge of some great +ice-field; but one morning we were all awakened from the heavy sleep of +hard-worked seamen by the screaming of a multitude of birds. The air +was odorous with the crisp smell of woods. When we came on deck, 'twas +to see the St. Pierre anchored in the cove of a river that raced to +meet the bay. + +The screaming gulls knew not what to make of these strange visitors; +for we were at Port Nelson--Fort Bourbon, as the French called it. + +And you must not forget that we were French on _that_ trip! + + +[1] These expressions are M. de Radisson's and not words coined by Mr. +Stanhope, as may be seen by reference to the French explorer's account +of his own travels, written partly in English, where he repeatedly +refers to a "pretty pickle." As for the ships, they seem to have been +something between a modern whaler and old-time brigantine.--_Author_. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +M. DE RADISSON COMES TO HIS OWN + +The sea was touched to silver by the rising sun--not the warm, red sun +of southern climes, nor yet the gold light of the temperate zones, but +the cold, clear steel of that great cold land where all the warring +elements challenge man to combat. Browned by the early frosts, with a +glint of hoar rime on the cobwebs among the grasses, north, south, and +west, as far as eye could see, were boundless reaches of hill and +valley. And over all lay the rich-toned shadows of early dawn. + +The broad river raced not to meet the sea more swiftly than our pulses +leaped at sight of that unclaimed world. 'Twas a kingdom waiting for +its king. And its king had come! Flush with triumph, sniffing the +nutty, autumn air like a war-horse keen for battle, stood M. Radisson +all impatience for the conquest of new realms. His jewelled sword-hilt +glistened in the sun. The fire that always slumbered in the deep-set +eyes flashed to life; and, fetching a deep breath, he said a queer +thing to Jean and me. + +"'Tis good air, lads," says he; "'tis free!" + +And I, who minded that bloody war in which my father lost his all, knew +what the words meant, and drank deep. + +But for the screaming of the birds there was silence of death. And, +indeed, it was death we had come to disenthrone. M. Radisson issued +orders quick on top of one another, and the sailors swarmed from the +hold like bees from a hive. The drum beat a roundelay that set our +blood hopping. There were trumpet-calls back and forth from our ship +to the Ste. Anne. Then, to a whacking of cables through blocks, the +gig-boats touched water, and all hands were racing for the shore. +Godefroy waved a monster flag--lilies of France, gold-wrought on cloth +of silk--and Allemand kept beating--and beating--and beating the drum, +rumbling out a "Vive le Roi!" to every stroke. Before the keel +gravelled on the beach, M. Radisson's foot was on the gunwale, and he +leaped ashore. Godefroy followed, flourishing the French flag and +yelling at the top of his voice for the King of France. Behind, wading +and floundering through the water, came the rest. Godefroy planted the +flag-staff. The two crews sent up a shout that startled those strange, +primeval silences. Then, M. Radisson stepped forward, hat in hand, +whipped out his sword, and held it aloft. + +"In the name of Louis the Great, King of France," he shouted, "in the +name of His Most Christian Majesty, the King of France, I take +possession of all these regions!" + +At that, Chouart Groseillers shivered a bottle of wine against the +flag-pole. Drums beat, fifes shrieked as for battle, and lusty cheers +for the king and Sieur Radisson rang and echoed and re-echoed from our +crews. Three times did Allemand beat his drum and three times did we +cheer. Then Pierre Radisson raised his sword. Every man dropped to +knee. Catholics and Protestants, Calvinists and infidels, and +riff-raff adventurers who had no religion but what they swore by, bowed +their heads to the solemn thanks which Pierre Radisson uttered for safe +deliverance from perilous voyage. [1] + +That was my first experience of the fusion which the New World makes of +Old World divisions. We thought we had taken possession of the land. +No, no, 'twas the land had taken possession of us, as the New World +ever does, fusing ancient hates and rearing a new race, of which--I +wot--no prophet may dare too much! + +"He who twiddles his thumbs may gnaw his gums," M. Radisson was wont to +say; and I assure you there was no twiddling of thumbs that morning. +Bare had M. Radisson finished prayers, when he gave sharp command for +Groseillers, his brother-in-law, to look to the building of the +Habitation--as the French called their forts--while he himself would go +up-stream to seek the Indians for trade. Jean and Godefroy and I were +sent to the ship for a birch canoe, which M. Radisson had brought from +Quebec. + +Our leader took the bow; Godefroy, the stern; Jean and I, the middle. +A poise of the steel-shod steering pole, we grasped our paddles, a +downward dip, quick followed by Godefroy at the stern, and out shot the +canoe, swift, light, lithe, alert, like a racer to the bit, with a +gurgling of waters below the gunwales, the keel athrob to the swirl of +a turbulent current and a trail of eddies dimpling away on each side. +A sharp breeze sprang up abeam, and M. Radisson ordered a blanket sail +hoisted on the steersman's fishing-pole. But if you think that he +permitted idle paddles because a wind would do the work, you know not +the ways of the great explorer. He bade us ply the faster, till the +canoe sped between earth and sky like an arrow shot on the level. The +shore-line became a blur. Clumps of juniper and pine marched abreast, +halted the length of time an eye could rest, and wheeled away. The +swift current raced to meet us. The canoe jumped to mount the glossy +waves raised by the beam wind. An upward tilt of her prow, and we had +skimmed the swell like a winged thing. And all the while M. Radisson's +eyes were everywhere. Chips whirled past. There were beaver, he said. +Was the water suddenly muddied? Deer had flitted at our approach. Did +a fish rise? M. Radisson predicted otter; and where there were otter +and beaver and deer, there should be Indians. + +As for the rest of us, it had gone to our heads. + +We were intoxicated with the wine of the rugged, new, free life. Sky +above; wild woods where never foot had trod; air that drew through the +nostrils in thirst-quenching draughts; blood atingle to the laughing +rhythm of the river--what wonder that youth leaped to a fresh life from +the mummified existence of little, old peoples in little, old lands? + +We laughed aloud from fulness of life. + +Jean laid his paddle athwart, ripped off his buckskin, and smiled back. + +"Ramsay feels as if he had room to stretch himself," said he. + +"Feel! I feel as if I could run a thousand miles and jump off the ends +of the earth--" + +"And dive to the bottom of the sea and harness whales and play +bowling-balls with the spheres, you young rantipoles," added M. +Radisson ironically. + +"The fever of the adventurer," said Jean quietly. "My uncle knows it." + +I laughed again. "I was wondering if Eli Kirke ever felt this way," I +explained. + +"Pardieu," retorted M. de Radisson, loosening his coat, "if people +moved more and moped less, they'd brew small bile! Come, lads! Come, +lads! We waste time!" + +And we were paddling again, in quick, light strokes, silent from zest, +careless of toil, strenuous from love of it. + +Once we came to a bend in the river where the current was so strong +that we had dipped our paddles full five minutes against the mill race +without gaining an inch. The canoe squirmed like a hunter balking a +hedge, and Jean's blade splintered off to the handle. But M. de +Radisson braced back to lighten the bow; the prow rose, a sweep of the +paddles, and on we sped! + +"Hard luck to pull and not gain a boat length," observed Jean. + +"Harder luck not to pull, and to be swept back," corrected M. de +Radisson. + +We left the main river to thread a labyrinthine chain of waterways, +where were portages over brambly shores and slippery rocks, with the +pace set at a run by M. de Radisson. Jean and I followed with the pack +straps across our foreheads and the provisions on our backs. Godefroy +brought up the rear with the bark canoe above his head. + +At one place, where we disembarked, M. de Radisson traced the sand with +the muzzle of his musket. + +"A boot-mark," said he, drawing the faint outlines of a footprint, "and +egad, it's not a man's foot either!" + +"Impossible!" cried Jean. "We are a thousand miles from any white-man." + +"There's nothing impossible on this earth," retorted Radisson +impatiently. "But pardieu, there are neither white women in this +wilderness, nor ghosts wearing women's boots! I'd give my right hand +to know what left that mark!" + +After that his haste grew feverish. We snatched our meals by turns +between paddles. He seemed to grudge the waste of each night, camping +late and launching early; and it was Godefroy's complaint that each +portage was made so swiftly there was no time for that solace of the +common voyageur--the boatman's pipe. For eight days we travelled +without seeing a sign of human presence but that one vague footmark in +the sand. + +"If there are no Indians, how much farther do we go, sir?" asked +Godefroy sulkily on the eighth day. + +"Till we find them," answered M. Radisson. + +And we found them that night. + +A deer broke from the woods edging the sand where we camped and had +almost bounded across our fire when an Indian darted out a hundred +yards behind. Mistaking us for his own people, he whistled the +hunter's signal to head the game back. Then he saw that we were +strangers. Pulling up of a sudden, he threw back his arms, uttered a +cry of surprise, and ran to the hiding of the bush. + +M. Radisson was the first to pursue; but where the sand joined the +thicket he paused and began tracing the point of his rapier round the +outlines of a mark. + +"What do you make of it, Godefroy?" he demanded of the trader. + +The trader looked quizzically at Sieur de Radisson. + +"The toes of that man's moccasin turn out," says Godefroy significantly. + +"Then that man is no Indian," retorted M. Radisson, "and hang me, if +the size is not that of a woman or a boy!" + +And he led back to the beach. + +"Yon ship was a pirate," began Godefroy, "and if buccaneers be +about----" + +"Hold your clack, fool," interrupted M. Radisson, as if the fellow's +prattle had cut into his mental plannings; and he bade us heap such a +fire as could be seen by Indians for a hundred miles. "If once I can +find the Indians," meditated he moodily, "I'll drive out a whole +regiment of scoundrels with one snap o' my thumb!" + +Black clouds rolled in from the distant bay, boding a stormy night; and +Godefroy began to complain that black deeds were done in the dark, and +we were forty leagues away from the protection of our ships. + +"A pretty target that fire will make of us in the dark," whined the +fellow. + +M. Radisson's eyes glistened sparks. + +"I'd as lief be a pirate myself, as be shot down by pirates," grumbled +the trader, giving a hand to hoist the shed of sheet canvas that was to +shield us from the rains now aslant against the seaward horizon. + +At the words M. Radisson turned sharply; but the heedless fellow +gabbled on. + +"Where is a man to take cover, an the buccaneers began shooting from +the bush behind?" demanded Godefroy belligerently. + +M. Radisson reached one arm across the fire. "I'll show you," said he. +Taking Godefroy by the ear, with a prick of the sword he led the lazy +knave quick march to the beach, where lay our canoe bottom up. + +"Crawl under!" M. Radisson lifted the prow. + +From very shame--I think it was--Godefroy balked; but M. Radisson +brought a cutting rap across the rascal's heels that made him hop. The +canoe clapped down, and Godefroy was safe. "Pardieu," mutters +Radisson, "such cowards would turn the marrow o' men's bones to butter!" + +Sitting on a log, with his feet to the fire, he motioned Jean and me to +come into the shelter of the slant canvas; for the clouds were rolling +overhead black as ink and the wind roared up the river-bed with a wall +of pelting rain. M. Radisson gazed absently into the flame. The steel +lights were at play in his eyes, and his lips parted. + +"Storm and cold--man and beast--powers of darkness and devil--knaves +and fools and his own sins--he must fight them all, lads," says M. +Radisson slowly. + +"Who must fight them all?" asks Jean. + +"The victor," answers Radisson, and warm red flashed to the surface of +the cold steel in his eyes. + +"Jean," he began, looking up quickly towards the gathering darkness of +the woods. + +"Sir?" + +"'Tis cold enough for hunters to want a fire." + +"Is the fire not big enough?" + +"Now, where are your wits, lad? If hunters were hiding in that bush, +one could see this fire a long way off. The wind is loud. One could +go close without being heard. Pardieu, I'll wager a good scout could +creep up to a log like this"--touching the pine on which we sat---"and +hear every word we are saying without a soul being the wiser!" + +Jean turned with a start, half-suspecting a spy. Radisson laughed. + +"Must I spell it out? Eh, lad, afraid to go?" + +The taunt bit home. Without a word Jean and I rose. + +"Keep far enough apart so that one of you will escape back with the +news," called Radisson, as we plunged into the woods. + +Of the one who might not escape Pierre Radisson gave small heed, and so +did we. Jean took the river side and I the inland thicket, feeling our +way blindly through the blackness of forest and storm and night. Then +the rain broke--broke in lashing whip-cords with the crackle of fire. +Jean whistled and I signalled back; but there was soon such a pounding +of rains it drowned every sound. For all the help one could give the +other we might have been a thousand miles apart. I looked back. M. +Radisson's fire threw a dull glare into the cavernous upper darkness. +That was guide enough. Jean could keep his course by the river. + +It was plunging into a black nowhere. The trees thinned. I seemed to +be running across the open, the rain driving me forward like a wet +sail, a roar of wind in my ears and the words of M. Radisson ringing +their battle-cry--"Storm and cold--man and beast--powers of darkness +and devil--knaves and fools and his own sins--he must fight them +all!"--"Who?"--"The victor!" + +Of a sudden the dripping thicket gave back a glint. Had I run in a +circle and come again on M. Radisson's fire? Behind, a dim glare still +shone against the sky. + +Another glint from the rain drip, and I dropped like a deer hit on the +run. Not a gunshot away was a hunter's fire. Against the fire were +three figures. One stood with his face towards me, an Indian dressed +in buckskin, the man who had pursued the deer. The second was hid by +an intervening tree; and as I watched, the third faded into the +phaseless dark. Who were these night-watchers? I liked not that +business of spying--though you may call it scouting, if you will, but I +must either report nothing to M. Radisson, or find out more. + +I turned to skirt the group. A pistol-shot rang through the wood. A +sword flashed to light. Before I had time to think, but not--thanks to +M. Picot's lessons long ago--not before I had my own rapier out, an +assassin blade would have taken me unawares. + +I was on guard. Steel struck fire in red spots as it clashed against +steel. One thrust, I know, touched home; for the pistol went whirling +out of my adversary's hand, and his sword came through the dark with +the hiss of a serpent. Again I seemed to be in Boston Town; but the +hunting room had become a northland forest, M. Picot, a bearded man +with his back to the fire and his face in the dark, and our slim foils, +naked swords that pressed and parried and thrust in many a foul such as +the French doctor had taught me was a trick of the infamous Blood! +Indeed, I could have sworn that a woman's voice cried out through the +dark; but the rain was in my face and a sword striking red against my +own. Thanks, yes, thanks a thousand times to M. Picot's lessons; for +again and yet again I foiled that lunge of the unscrupulous swordsman +till I heard my adversary swearing, between clinched teeth. He +retreated. I followed. By a dexterous spring he put himself under +cover of the woods, leaving me in the open. My only practice in +swordsmanship had been with M. Picot, and it was not till long years +after that I minded how those lessons seemed to forestall and counter +the moves of that ambushed assassin. But the baffling thing was that +my enemy's moves countered mine in the very same way. + +He had not seen my face, for my back was turned when he came up, and my +face in the shade when I whirled. But I stood between the dark and the +fire. Every motion of mine he could forecast, while I could but parry +and retreat, striving in vain to lure him out, to get into the dark, to +strike what I could not see, pushed back and back till I felt the rush +that aims not to disarm but to slay. + +Our weapons rang with a glint of green lightnings. A piece of steel +flew up. My rapier had snapped short at the hilt. A cold point was at +my throat pressing me down and back as the foil had caught me that +night in M. Picot's house. To right, to left, I swerved, the last +blind rushes of the fugitive man. . . . + +"Storm and cold--man and beast--powers of darkness and devil--he must +fight them all----" + +The memory of those words spurred like a battle-cry. Beaten? Not yet! +"Leap to meet it! Leap to meet it!" + +I caught the blade at my throat with a naked hand. Hot floods drenched +my face. The earth swam. We were both in the light now, a bearded man +pushing his sword through my hand, and I falling down. Then my +antagonist leaped back with a shivering cry of horror, flung the weapon +to the ground and fled into the dark. + +And when I sat up my right hand held the hilt of a broken rapier, the +left was gashed across the palm, and a sword as like my own as two peas +lay at my feet. + +The fire was there. But I was alone. + + +[1] Reference to M. Radisson's journal corroborates Mr. Stanhope in +this observance, which was never neglected by M. Radisson after season +of peril. It is to be noted that he made his prayers after not at the +season of peril. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +VISITORS + +The fire had every appearance of a night bivouac, but there was remnant +of neither camp nor hunt. Somewhere on my left lay the river. By that +the way led back to M. Radisson's rendezvous. It was risky +enough--that threading of the pathless woods through the pitchy dark; +but he who pauses to measure the risk at each tread is ill fitted to +pioneer wild lands. + +Who the assassin was and why he had so suddenly desisted, I knew no +more than you do! That he had attacked was natural enough; for whoever +took first possession of no-man's-land in those days either murdered +his rivals or sold them to slavery. But why had he flung his sword +down at the moment of victory? + +The pelting of the rain softened to a leafy patter, the patter to a +drip, and a watery moon came glimmering through the clouds. With my +enemy's rapier in hand I began cutting a course through the thicket. +Radisson's fire no longer shone. Indeed, I became mighty uncertain +which direction to take, for the rush of the river merged with the +beating of the wind. The ground sloped precipitously; and I was +holding back by the underbrush lest the bank led to water when an +indistinct sound, a smothery murmur like the gurgle of a subterranean +pool, came from below. + +The wind fell. The swirl of the flowing river sounded far from the +rear. I had become confused and was travelling away from the true +course. But what was that sound? + +I threw a stick forward. It struck hard stone. At the same instant +was a sibilant, human--distinctly human--"Hss-h," and the sound had +ceased. + +That was no laving of inland pond against pebbles. Make of it what you +will--there were voices, smothered but talking. "No-no-no" . . . then +the warning . . . "Hush!" . . . then the wind and the river and . . . +"No--no!" with words like oaths. . . . "No--I say, no! Having come so +far, no!--not if it were my own brother!" . . . then the low +"Hush!" . . . and pleadings . . . then--"Send Le Borgne!" + +And an Indian had rushed past me in the dark with a pine fagot in his +hand. + +Rising, I stole after him. 'Twas the fellow who had been at the fire +with that unknown assailant. He paused over the smouldering embers, +searching the ground, found the hilt of the broken sword, lifted the +severed blade, kicked leaves over all traces of conflict, and +extinguishing the fire, carried off the broken weapon. An Indian can +pick his way over known ground without a torch. What was this fellow +doing with a torch? Had he been sent for me? I drew back in shadow to +let him pass. Then I ran with all speed to the river. + +Gray dawn came over the trees as I reached the swollen waters, and the +sun was high in mid-heaven when I came to the gravel patch where M. de +Radisson had camped. Round a sharp bend in the river a strange sight +unfolded. + +A score of crested savages with painted bodies sat on the ground. In +the centre, clad like a king, with purple doublet and plumed hat and +velvet waistcoat ablaze with medals of honour--was M. Radisson. One +hand deftly held his scabbard forward so that the jewelled hilt shone +against the velvet, and the other was raised impressively above the +savages. How had he made the savages come to him? How are some men +born to draw all others as the sea draws the streams? + +The poor creatures had piled their robes at his feet as offerings to a +god. + +"What did he give for the pelts, Godefroy?" I asked. + +"Words!" says Godefroy, with a grin, "gab and a drop o' rum diluted in +a pot o' water!" + +"What is he saying to them now?" + +Godefroy shrugged his shoulders. "That the gods have sent him a +messenger to them; that the fire he brings "--he was handing a musket +to the chief--"will smite the Indians' enemy from the earth; that the +bullet is magic to outrace the fleetest runner"--this as M. Radisson +fired a shot into mid-air that sent the Indians into ecstasies of +childish wonder--"that the bottle in his hands contains death, and if +the Indians bring their hunt to the white-man, the white-man will never +take the cork out except to let death fly at the Indians' enemy"--he +lifted a little phial of poison as he spoke--"that the Indian need +never feel cold nor thirst, now that the white-man has brought +fire-water!" + +At this came a harsh laugh from a taciturn Indian standing on the outer +rim of the crowd. It was the fellow who had run through the forest +with the torch. + +"Who is that, Godefroy?" + +"Le Borgne." + +"Le Borgne need not laugh," retorted M. de Radisson sharply. "Le +Borgne knows the taste of fire-water! Le Borgne has been with the +white-man at the south, and knows what the white-man says is true." + +But Le Borgne only laughed the harder, deep, guttural, contemptuous +"huh-huh's!"--a fitting rebuke, methought, for the ignoble deception +implied in M. Radisson's words. + +Indeed, I would fain suppress this part of M. Radisson's record, for he +juggled with truth so oft, when he thought the end justified the means, +he finally got a knack of juggling so much with truth that the means +would never justify any end. I would fain repress the ignoble faults +of a noble leader, but I must even set down the facts as they are, so +you may see why a man who was the greatest leader and trader and +explorer of his times reaped only an aftermath of universal distrust. +He lied his way through thick and thin--as we traders used to say--till +that lying habit of his sewed him up in a net of his own weaving like a +grub in a cocoon. + +Godefroy was giving a hand to bind up my gashed palm when something +grunted a "huff-huff" beside us. Le Borgne was there with a queer look +on his inscrutable face. + +"Le Borgne, you rascal, you know who gave me this," I began, taking +careful scrutiny of the Indian. + +One eye was glazed and sightless, the other yellow like a fox's; but +the fellow was straight, supple, and clean-timbered as a fresh-hewn +mast. With a "huh-huh," he gabbled back some answer. + +"What does he say, Godefroy?" + +"He says he doesn't understand the white-man's tongue--which is a lie," +added Godefroy of his own account. "Le Borgne was interpreter for the +Fur Company at the south of the bay the year that M. Radisson left the +English." + +Were my assailants, then, Hudson's Bay Company men come up from the +south end of James Bay? Certainly, the voice had spoken English. I +would have drawn Godefroy aside to inform him of my adventure, but Le +Borgne stuck to us like a burr. Jean was busy helping M. de Radisson +at the trade, or what was called "trade," when white men gave an awl +for forty beaver-skins. + +"Godefroy," I said, "keep an eye on this Indian till I speak to M. de +Radisson." And I turned to the group. 'Twas as pretty a bit of colour +as I have ever seen. The sea, like silver, on one side; the +autumn-tinted woods, brown and yellow and gold, on the other; M. de +Radisson in his gay dress surrounded by a score of savages with their +faces and naked chests painted a gaudy red, headgear of swans' down, +eagle quills depending from their backs, and buckskin trousers fringed +with the scalp-locks of the slain. + +Drawing M. de Radisson aside, I gave him hurried account of the night's +adventures. + +"Ha!" says he. "Not Hudson's Bay Company men, or you would be in +irons, lad! Not French, for they spoke English. Pardieu! Poachers +and thieves--we shall see! Where is that vagabond Cree? These people +are southern Indians and know nothing of him.--Godefroy," he called. + +Godefroy came running up. "Le Borgne's gone," said Godefroy +breathlessly. + +"Gone?" repeated Radisson. + +"He left word for Master Stanhope from one who wishes him well--" + +"One who wishes him well," repeated M. Radisson, looking askance at me. + +"For Master Stanhope not to be bitten twice by the same dog!" + +Our amazement you may guess: M. de Radisson, suspicious of treachery +and private trade and piracy on my part; I as surprised to learn that I +had a well-wisher as I had been to discover an unknown foe; and +Godefroy, all cock-a-whoop with his news, as is the way of the vulgar. + +"Ramsay," said M. Radisson, speaking very low and tense, "As you hope +to live and without a lie, what--does--this--mean?" + +"Sir, as I hope to live--I--do--not--know!" + +He continued to search me with doubting looks. I raised my wounded +hand. + +"Will you do me the honour to satisfy yourself that wound is genuine?" + +"Pish!" says he. + +He studied the ground. "There's nothing impossible on this earth. +Facts are hard dogs to down.--Jean," he called, "gather up the pelts! +It takes a man to trade well, but any fool can make fools drink! +Godefroy--give the knaves the rum--but mind yourselves," he warned, +"three parts rain-water!" Then facing me, "Take me to that bank!" + +He followed without comment. + +At the place of the camp-fire were marks of the struggle. + +"The same boot-prints as on the sand! A small man," observed Radisson. + +But when we came to the sloping bank, where the land fell sheer away to +a dry, pebbly reach, M. Radisson pulled a puzzled brow. + +"They must have taken shelter from the rain. They must have been under +your feet." + +"But where are their foot-marks?" I asked. + +"Washed out by the rain," said he; but that was one of the untruths +with which a man who is ever telling untruths sometimes deceives +himself; for if the bank sheltered the intruders from the rain, it also +sheltered their foot-marks, and there was not a trace. + +"All the same," said M. de Radisson, "we shall make these Indians our +friends by taking them back to the fort with us." + +"Ramsay," he remarked on the way, "there's a game to play." + +"So it seems." + +"Hold yourself in," said he sententiously. + +I walked on listening. + +"One plays as your friend, the other as your foe! Show neither friend +nor foe your hand! Let the game tell! 'Twas the reined-in horse won +King Charles's stakes at Newmarket last year! Hold yourself in, I say!" + +"In," I repeated, wondering at this homily. + +"And hold yourself up," he continued. "That coxcomb of a marquis +always trailing his dignity in the dust of mid-road to worry with a +common dog like La Chesnaye--pish! Hold your self-respect in the chest +of your jacket, man! 'Tis the slouching nag that loses the race! Hold +yourself up!" + +His words seemed hard sense plain spoken. + +"And let your feet travel on," he added. + +"In and up and on!" I repeated. + +"In and up and on--there's mettle for you, lad!" + +And with that terse text--which, I think, comprehended the whole of M. +Radisson's philosophy--we were back at the beach. + +The Indians were not in such a state as I have seen after many a +trading bout. They were able to accompany us. In embarking, M. +Radisson must needs observe all the ceremony of two races. Such a +whiffing of pipes among the stately, half-drunk Indian chiefs you never +saw, with a pompous proffering of the stem to the four corners of the +compass, which they thought would propitiate the spirits. Jean blew a +blast on the trumpet. I waved the French flag. Godefroy beat a +rattling fusillade on the drum, grabbed up his bobbing tipstaff, led +the way; and down we filed to the canoes. + +At all this ostentation I could not but smile; but no man ever had +greater need of pomp to hold his own against uneven odds than Radisson. + +As we were leaving came a noise that set us all by the ears--the dull +booming reverberations of heavy cannonading. + +The Indians shook as with palsy. Jean Groseillers cried out that his +father's ships were in peril. Godefroy implored the saints; but with +that lying facility which was his doom, M. de Radisson blandly informed +the savages that more of his vessels had arrived from France. + +Bidding Jean go on to the Habitation with the Indians, he took the rest +of us ashore with one redskin as guide, to spy out the cause of the +firing. + +"'Twill be a pretty to-do if the English Fur Company's ships arrive +before we have a French fort ready to welcome them," said he. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE CAUSE OF THE FIRING + +The landing was but a part of the labyrinthine trickery in which our +leader delighted to play; for while Jean delayed the natives we ran +overland through the woods, launched our canoe far ahead of the Indian +flotilla, and went racing forward to the throbs of the leaping river. + +"If a man would win, he must run fast as the hour-glass," observed M. +Radisson, poising his steering-pole. "And now, my brave lads," he began, +counting in quick, sharp words that rang with command, "keep +time--one--two--three! One--two--three!" And to each word the paddles +dipped with the speed of a fly-wheel's spokes. + +"One--two--three! In and up and on! An you keep yourselves in hand, +men, you can win against the devil's own artillery! Speed to your +strokes, Godefroy," he urged. + +And the canoe answered as a fine-strung racer to the spur. Shore-lines +blurred to a green streak. The frosty air met our faces in wind. +Gurgling waters curled from the prow in corrugated runnels. And we were +running a swift race with a tumult of waves, mounting the swell, dipping, +rising buoyant, forward in bounds, with a roar of the nearing rapids, and +spray dashing athwart in drifts. M. Radisson braced back. The prow +lifted, shot into mid-air, touched water again, and went whirling through +the mill-race that boiled below a waterfall. Once the canoe aimed +straight as an arrow for rocks in mid-current. M. Radisson's steel-shod +pole flashed in the sun. There was a quick thrust, answered by +Godefroy's counter-stroke at the stern; and the canoe grazed past the +rocks not a hair's-breadth off. + +"Sainte Anne ha' mercy!" mumbled Godefroy, baling water from the canoe as +we breasted a turn in the river to calmer currents, "Sainte Anne ha' +mercy! But the master'd run us over Niagara, if he had a mind." + +"Or the River Styx, if 'twould gain his end," sharply added Radisson. + +But he ordered our paddles athwart for snatched rest, while he himself +kept alert at the bow. With the rash presumption of youth, I offered to +take the bow that he might rest; but he threw his head back with a loud +laugh, more of scorn than mirth, and bade me nurse a wounded hand. On +the evening of the third day we came to the Habitation. Without +disembarking, M. de Radisson sent the soldiers on sentinel duty at the +river front up to the fort with warning to prepare for instant siege. + +"'Twill put speed in the lazy rascals to finish the fort," he remarked; +and the canoe glided out to mid-current again for the far expanse of the +bay. + +By this we were all so used to M. Radisson's doings, 'twould not have +surprised us when the craft shot out from river-mouth to open sea if he +had ordered us to circumnavigate the ocean on a chip. + +He did what was nigh as venturesome. + +A quick, unwarned swerve of his pole, which bare gave Godefroy time to +take the cue, and our prow went scouring across the scud of whipping +currents where two rivers and an ocean-tide met. The seething waves +lashed to foam with the long, low moan of the world-devouring serpent +which, legend says, is ever an-hungering to devour voyageurs on life's +sea. And for all the world that reef of combing breakers was not unlike +a serpent type of malignant elements bent on man's destruction! + +Then, to the amaze of us all, we had left the lower river. The canoe was +cutting up-stream against a new current; and the moan of the pounding +surf receded to the rear. Clouds blew inland, muffling the moon; and M. +Radisson ordered us ashore for the night. Feet at a smouldering fire too +dull for an enemy to see and heads pillowed on logs, we bivouacked with +the frosty ground for bed. + +"Bad beds make good risers," was all M. Radisson's comfort, when Godefroy +grumbled out some complaint. + +A _hard_ master, you say? A wise one, say I, for the forces he fought in +that desolate land were as adamant. Only the man dauntless as adamant +could conquer. And you must remember, while the diamond and the charcoal +are of the same family, 'tis the diamond has lustre, because it is +_hard_. Faults, M. Radisson had, which were almost crimes; but look you +who judge him--his faults were not the faults of nearly all other men, +the faults which _are_ a crime--_the crime of being weak_! + +The first thing our eyes lighted on when the sun rose in flaming darts +through the gray haze of dawn was a half-built fort on an island in +mid-river. At the water side lay a queer-rigged brigantine, rocking to +the swell of the tide. Here, then, was cause of that firing heard across +the marsh on the lower river. + +"'Tis the pirate ship we saw on the high sea," muttered Godefroy, rubbing +his eyes. + +"She flies no flag! She has no license to trade! She's a poacher! She +will make a prize worth the taking," added M. Radisson sharply. Then, as +if to justify that intent--"As _we_ have no license, we must either take +or be taken!" + +The river mist gradually lifted, and there emerged from the fog a +stockaded fort with two bastions facing the river and guns protruding +from loopholes. + +"Not so easy to take that fort," growled Godefroy, who was ever a +hanger-back. + +"All the better," retorted M. de Radisson. "Easy taking makes soft men! +'Twill test your mettle!" + +"Test our mettle!" sulked the trader, a key higher in his obstinacy. +"All very well to talk, sir, but how can we take a fort mounted with +twenty cannon----" + +"I'll tell you _the how_ when it's done," interrupted M. de Radisson. + +But Godefroy was one of those obstinates who would be silent only when +stunned. + +"I'd like to know, sir, what we're to do," he began. + +"Godefroy, 'twould be waste time to knock sense in your pate! There is +only one thing to do always--only one, _the right thing_! Do it, fool! +An I hear more clack from you till it's done, I'll have your tongue out +with the nippers!" + +Godefroy cowered sulkily back, and M. de Radisson laughed. + +"That will quell him," said he. "When Godefroy's tongue is out he can't +grumble, and grumbling is his bread of life!" + +Stripping off his bright doublet, M. Radisson hung it from a tree to +attract the fort's notice. Then he posted us in ambuscade with orders to +capture whatever came. + +But nothing came. + +And when the fort guns boomed out the noon hour M. Radisson sprang up all +impatience. + +"I'll wait no man's time," he vowed. "Losing time is losing the game! +Launch out!" + +Chittering something about our throats being cut, Godefroy shrank back. +With a quick stride M. Radisson was towering above him. Catching +Godefroy by the scruff of the neck, he threw him face down into the +canoe, muttering out it would be small loss if all the cowards in the +world had their throats cut. + +"The pirates come to trade," he explained. "They will not fire at +Indians. Bind your hair back like that Indian there!" + +No sooner were we in the range of the fort than M. Radisson uttered the +shrill call of a native, bade our Indian stand up, and himself enacted +the pantomime of a savage, waving his arms, whistling, and hallooing. +With cries of welcome, the fort people ran to the shore and left their +guns unmanned. Reading from a syllable book, they shouted out Indian +words. It was safe to approach. Before they could arm we could escape. +But we were two men, one lad, and a neutral Indian against an armed +garrison in a land where killing was no murder. + +M. de Radisson stood up and called in the Indian tongue. They did not +understand. + +"New to it," commented Radisson, "not the Hudson's Bay Company!" + +All the while he was imperceptibly approaching nearer. He shouted in +French. They shook their heads. + +"English highwaymen, blundered in here by chance," said he. + +Tearing off the Indian head-band of disguise, he demanded in mighty +peremptory tones who they were. + +"English," they called back doubtfully. + +"What have you come for?" insisted Radisson, with a great swelling of his +chest. + +"The beaver trade," came a faint voice. + +Where had I heard it before? Did it rise from the ground in the woods, +or from a far memory of children throwing a bully into the sea? + +"I demand to see your license," boldly challenged Radisson. + +At that the fellows ashore put their heads together. + +"In the name of the king, I demand to see your license instantly," +repeated Sieur de Radisson, with louder authority. + +"We have no license," explained one of the men, who was dressed with +slashed boots, red doublet, and cocked hat. + +M. Radisson smiled and poled a length closer. + +"A ship without a license! A prize-for the taking! If the rascals +complain--the galleys for life!" and he laughed softly. + +"This coast is possessed by the King of France," he shouted. "We have a +strong garrison! We mistook your firing for more French ships!" Shaping +his hands trumpet fashion to his mouth, he called this out again, adding +that our Indian was of a nation in league with the French. + +The pirates were dumb as if he had tossed a hand grenade among them. + +"The ship is ours now, lads," said Radisson softly, poling nearer. "See, +lads, the bottom has tumbled from their courage! We'll not waste a pound +o' powder in capturing that prize!" He turned suddenly to me--"As I live +by bread, 'tis that bragging young dandy-prat--hop-o'-my-thumb--Ben +Gillam of Boston Town!" + +"Ben Gillam!" + +I was thinking of my assailant in the woods. "Ben was tall. The pirate, +who came carving at me, was small." + +But Ben Gillam it was, turned pirate or privateer--as you choose to call +it--grown to a well-timbered rapscallion with head high in air, +jack-boots half-way to his waist, a clanking sword at heel, and a nose +too red from rum. + +As we landed, he sent his men scattering to the fort, and stood twirling +his mustaches till the recognition struck him. + +"By Jericho--Radisson!" he gasped. + +Then he tossed his chin defiantly in air like an unbroken colt disposed +to try odds with a master. + +"Don't be afraid to land," he called down out of sheer impudence. + +"Don't be afraid to have us land," Radisson shouted up to him. "We'll +not harm you!" + +Ben swore a big oath, fleered a laugh, and kicked the sand with his +heels. Raising a hand, he signalled the watchers on the ship. + +"Sorry to welcome you in this warlike fashion," said he. + +"Glad to welcome you to the domain of His Most Christian Majesty, the +King of France," retorted Radisson, leaping ashore. + +Ben blinked to catch the drift of that. + +"Devil take their majesties!" he ejaculated. "He's king who conquers!" + +"No need to talk of conquering when one is master already," corrected M. +de Radisson. + +"Shiver my soul," blurts out Ben, "I haven't a tongue like an eel, but +that's what I mean; and I'm king here, and welcome to you, Radisson!" + +"And that's what I mean," laughed M. Radisson, with a bow, quietly +motioning us to follow ashore. "No need to conquer where one is master, +and welcome to you, Captain Gillam!" + +And they embraced each other like spider and fly, each with a free hand +to his sword-hilt, and a questioning look on the other's face. + +Says M. Radisson: "I've seen that ship before!" + +Ben laughs awkwardly. "We captured her from a Dutchman," he begins. + +"Oh!" says Sieur Radisson. "I meant outside the straits after the storm!" + +Gillam's eyes widen. "Were those your ships?" he asks. Then both men +laugh. + +"Not much to boast in the way of a fleet," taunts Ben. + +"Those are the two smallest we have," quickly explains Radisson. + +Gillam's face went blank, and M. Radisson's eyes closed to the watchful +slit of a cat mouse-hunting. + +"Come! Come!" exclaims Ben, with a sudden flare of friendliness, "I am +no baby-eater! Put a peg in that! Shiver my soul if this is a way to +welcome friends! Come aboard all of you and test the Canary we got in +the hold of a fine Spanish galleon last week! Such a top-heavy ship, +with sails like a tinker's tatters, you never saw! And her hold running +over with Canary and Madeira--oh! Come aboard! Come aboard!" he urged. + +It was Pierre Radisson's turn to blink. + +"And drink to the success of the beaver trade," importunes Ben. + +'Twas as pretty a piece of play as you could see: Ben, scheming to get +the Frenchman captive; M. Radisson, with the lightnings under his brows +and that dare-devil rashness of his blood tempting him to spy out the +lad's strength. + +"Ben was the body of the venture! Where was the brain? It was that took +me aboard his ship," M. Radisson afterward confessed to us. + +"Come! Come!" pressed Gillam. "I know young Stanhope there"--his mighty +air brought the laugh to my face--"young Stanhope there has a taste for +fine Canary----" + +"But, lad," protested Radisson, with a condescension that was vinegar to +Ben's vanity, "we cannot be debtors altogether. Let two of your men stay +here and whiff pipes with my fellows, while I go aboard!" + +Ben's teeth ground out an assent that sounded precious like an oath; for +he knew that he was being asked for hostages of safe-conduct while M. +Radisson spied out the ship. He signalled, as we thought, for two +hostages to come down from the fort; but scarce had he dropped his hand +when fort and ship let out such a roar of cannonading as would have +lifted the hair from any other head than Pierre Radisson's. + +Godefroy cut a caper. The Indian's eyes bulged with terror, and my own +pulse went a-hop; but M. Radisson never changed countenance. + +"Pardieu," says he softly, with a pleased smile as the last shot went +skipping over the water, "you're devilish fond o' fireworks, to waste +good powder so far from home!" + +Ben mumbled out that he had plenty of powder, and that some fools didn't +know fireworks from war. + +M. Radisson said he was glad there was plenty of powder, there would +doubtless be use found for it, and he knew fools oft mistook fireworks +for war. + +With that a cannon-shot sent the sand spattering to our boots and filled +the air with powder-dust; but when the smoke cleared, M. Radisson had +quietly put himself between Ben and the fort. + +Drawing out his sword, the Frenchman ran his finger up the edge. + +"Sharp as the next," said he. + +Lowering the point, he scratched a line on the sand between the mark of +the last shot and us. + +"How close can your gunners hit, Ben?" asked Radisson. "Now I'll wager +you a bottle of Madeira they can't hit that line without hitting you!" + +Ben's hand went up quick enough. The gunners ceased firing and M. +Radisson sheathed his sword with a laugh. + +"You'll not take the odds? Take advice instead! Take a man's advice, +and never waste powder! You'll need it all if he's king who conquers! +Besides," he added, turning suddenly serious, "if my forces learn you are +here I'll not promise I've strength to restrain them!" + +"How many have you?" blurted Ben. + +"Plenty to spare! Now, if you are afraid of the Hudson's Bay Company +ships attacking you, I'd be glad to loan you enough young fire-eaters to +garrison the fort here!" + +"Thanks," says Ben, twirling his mustaches till they were nigh jerked +out, "but how long would they stay?" + +"Till you sent them away," says M. de Radisson, with the lights at play +under his brows. + +"Hang me if I know how long that would be," laughed Gillam, half-puzzled, +half-pleased with the Frenchman's darting wits. + +"Ben," begins M. Radisson, tapping the lace ruffle of Gillam's sleeve, +"you must not fire those guns!" + +"No?" questions Gillam. + +"My officers are swashing young blades! What with the marines and the +common soldiers and my own guard, 'tis all I can manage to keep the +rascals in hand! They must not know you are here!" + +Gillam muttered something of a treaty of truce for the winter. + +M. Radisson shook his head. + +"I have scarce the support to do as I will," he protests. + +Young Gillam swore such coolness was scurvy treatment for an old friend. + +"Old friend," laughed Radisson afterward. "Did the cub's hangdog of a +father not offer a thousand pounds for my head on the end of a pikestaff?" + +But with Ben he played the game out. + +"The season is too far advanced for you to _escape_," says he with soft +emphasis. + +"'Tis why I want a treaty," answers the sailor. + +"Come, then," laughs the Frenchman, "now--as to terms----" + +"Name them," says Gillam. + +"If you don't wish to be discovered----" + +"I don't wish to be discovered!" + +"If you don't wish to be discovered don't run up a flag!" + +"One," says Gillam. + +"If you don't wish to be discovered, don't let your people leave the +island!" + +"They haven't," says Gillam. + +"What?" asks M. Radisson, glancing sharply at me; for we were both +thinking of that night attack. + +"They haven't left the island," repeats Gillam. + +"Ten lies are as cheap as two," says Radisson to us. Then to Gillam, +"Don't let your people leave the island, or they'll meet my forces." + +"Two," says Gillam. + +"If you don't wish the Fur Company to discover you, don't fire guns!" + +"Three," says Gillam. + +"That is to keep 'em from connecting with those inlanders," whispered +Godefroy, who knew the plays of his master's game better than I. "We can +beat 'em single; but if Ben joins the inlanders and the Fur Company +against us----" + +Godefroy completed his prophecy with an ominous shake of the head. + +"My men shall not know you are here," M. Radisson was promising. + +"One," counts Gillam. + +"I'll join with you against the English ships!" + +Young Gillam laughed derisively. + +"My father commands the Hudson's Bay ship," says he. + +"Egad, yes!" retorts M. Radisson nonchalantly, "but your father doesn't +command the governor of the Fur Company, who sailed out in his ship." + +"The governor does not know that I am here," flouts Ben. + +"But he would know if I told him," adds M. de Radisson, "and if I told +him the Company's captain owned half the ship poaching on the Company's +preserve, the Company's captain and the captain's son might go hang for +all the furs they'd get! By the Lord, youngster, I rather suspect both +the captain and the captain's son would be whipped and hanged for the +theft!" + +Ben gave a start and looked hard at Radisson. 'Twas the first time, I +think, the cub realized that the pawn in so soft-spoken a game was his +own neck. + +"Go on," he said, with haste and fear in his look. "I promised three +terms. You will keep your people from knowing I am here and join me +against the English--go on! What next?" + +"I'll defend you against the Indians," coolly capped M. Radisson. + +Godefroy whispered in my ear that he would not give a pin's purchase for +all the furs the New Englander would get; and Ben Gillam looked like a +man whose shoe pinches. He hung his head hesitating. + +"But if you run up a flag, or fire a gun, or let your people leave the +island," warned M. Radisson, "I may let my men come, or tell the English, +or join the Indians against you." + +Gillam put out his hand. + +"It's a treaty," said he. + +There and then he would have been glad to see the last of us; but M. +Radisson was not the man to miss the chance of seeing a rival's ship. + +"How about that Canary taken from the foreign ship? A galleon, did you +say, tall and slim? Did you sink her or sell her? Send down your men to +my fellows! Let us go aboard for the story." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +MORE OF M. RADISSON'S RIVALS + +So Ben Gillam must take M. Radisson aboard the Susan, or Garden, as she +was called when she sailed different colours, the young fellow with a +wry face, the Frenchman, all gaiety. As the two leaders mounted the +companion-ladder, hostages came towards the beach to join us. I had +scarce noticed them when one tugged at my sleeve, and I turned to look +full in the faithful shy face of little Jack Battle. + +"Jack!" I shouted, but he only wrung and wrung and wrung at my hand, +emitting little gurgling laughs. + +Then we linked arms and walked along the beach, where others could not +hear. + +"Where did you come from?" I demanded. + +"Master Ben fished me up on the Grand Banks. I was with the fleet. It +was after he met you off the straits; and here I be, Ramsay." + +"After he met us off the straits." I was trying to piece some +connection between Gillam's ship and the inland assailants. "Jack, +tell me! How many days have you been here?" + +"Three," says Jack. "Split me fore and aft if we've been a day more!" + +It was four since that night in the bush. + +"You could not build a fort in three days!" + +"'Twas half-built when we came." + +"Who did that? Is Captain Gillam stealing the Company's furs for Ben?" + +"No-o-o," drawled Jack thoughtfully, "it aren't that. It are something +else, I can't make out. Master Ben keeps firing and firing and firing +his guns expecting some one to answer." + +"The Indians with the pelts," I suggested. + +"No-o-o," answered Jack. "Split me fore and aft if it's Indians he +wants! He could send up river for them. It's some one as came from +his father's ship outside Boston when Master Ben sailed for the north +and Captain Gillam was agoing home to England with Mistress Hortense in +his ship. When no answer comes to our firing, Master Ben takes to +climbing the masthead and yelling like a fog-horn and dropping curses +like hail and swearing he'll shoot him as fails to keep appointment as +he'd shoot a dog, if he has to track him inland a thousand leagues. +Split me fore and aft if he don't!" + +"Who shoot what?" I demanded, trying to extract some meaning from the +jumbled narrative. + +"That's what I don't know," says Jack. + +I fetched a sigh of despair. + +"What's the matter with your hand? Does it hurt?" he asked quickly. + +Poor Jack! I looked into his faithful blue eyes. There was not a +shadow of deception there--only the affection that gives without +wishing to comprehend. Should I tell him of the adventure? But a loud +halloo from Godefroy notified me that M. de Radisson was on the beach +ready to launch. + +"Almost waste work to go on fortifying," he was warning Ben. + +"You forget the danger from your own crews," pleaded young Gillam. + +"Pardieu! We can easily arrange that. I promise you never to approach +with more than thirty of a guard." (We were twenty-nine all told.) +"But remember, don't hoist a flag, don't fire, don't let your people +leave the island." + +Then we launched out, and I heard Ben muttering under his breath that +he was cursed if he had ever known such impudence. In mid-current our +leader laid his pole crosswise and laughed long. + +"'Tis a pretty prize. 'Twill fetch the price of a thousand +beaver-skins! Captain Gillam reckoned short when he furnished young +Ben to defraud the Company. He would give a thousand pounds for my +head--would he? Pardieu! He shall give five thousand pounds and leave +my head where it is! And egad, if he behaves too badly, he shall pay +hush-money, or the governor shall know! When we've taken him, lads, +who--think you--dare complain?" And he laughed again; but at a bend in +the river he turned suddenly with his eyes snapping--"Who a' deuce +could that have been playing pranks in the woods the other night? Mark +my words, Stanhope, whoever 'twas will prove the brains and the +mainspring and the driving-wheel and the rudder of this cub's venture!" + +And he began to dip in quick vigorous strokes like the thoughts +ferreting through his brain. We had made bare a dozen miles when +paddles clapped athwart as if petrified. + +Up the wide river, like a great white bird, came a stately ship. It +was the Prince Rupert of the Hudson's Bay Company, which claimed sole +right to trade in all that north land. + +Young Gillam, with guns mounted, to the rear! A hostile ship, with +fighting men and ordnance, to the fore! An unknown enemy inland! And +for our leader a man on whose head England and New England set a price! + +Do you wonder that our hearts stopped almost as suddenly as the +paddles? But it was not fear that gave pause to M. Radisson. + +"If those ships get together, the game is lost," says he hurriedly. +"May the devil fly away with us, if we haven't wit to stop that ship!" + +Act jumping with thought, he shot the canoe under cover of the wooded +shore. In a twinkling we had such a fire roaring as the natives use +for signals. Between the fire and the river he stationed our Indian, +as hunters place a decoy. + +The ruse succeeded. + +Lowering sail, the Prince Rupert cast anchor opposite our fire; but +darkness had gathered, and the English sent no boat ashore till morning. + +Posting us against the woods, M. Radisson went forward alone to meet +the company of soldiers rowing ashore. The man standing amidships, +Godefroy said, was Captain Gillam, Ben's father; but the gentleman with +gold-laced doublet and ruffled sleeves sitting back in the sheets was +Governor Brigdar, of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company, a courtier of Prince +Rupert's choice. + +The clumsy boat grounded in the shallows, and a soldier got both feet +in the water to wade. Instantly M. Radisson roared out such a +stentorian "Halt!" you would have thought that he had an army at his +back. Indeed, that is what the party thought, for the fellow got his +feet back in the boat monstrous quick. And there was a vast bandying +of words, each asking other who they were, and bidding each other in no +very polite terms to mind their own affairs. + +Of a sudden M. Radisson wheeled to us standing guard. + +"Officers," he shouted, "first brigade!--forward!" + +From the manner of him we might have had an army under cover behind +that bush. + +All at once Governor Brigdar's lace handkerchief was aflutter at the +end of a sword, and the representative of King Charles begged leave to +land and salute the representative of His Most Christian Majesty, the +King of France. + +And land they did, pompously peaceful, though their swords clanked so +oft every man must have had a hand ready at his baldrick, Pierre +Radisson receiving them with the lofty air of a gracious monarch, the +others bowing and unhatting and bending and crooking their spines +supple as courtiers with a king. + +Presently came the soldiers back to us as hostages, while Radisson +stepped into the boat to go aboard the Prince Rupert with the captain +and governor. Godefroy called out against such rashness, and Pierre +Radisson shouted back that threat about the nippers pulling the end off +the fellow's tongue. + +Serving under the French flag, I was not supposed to know English; but +when one soldier said he had seen "Mr. What-d'y-call-'im before," +pointing at me, I recognised the mate from whom I had hired passage to +England for M. Picot on Captain Gillam's ship. + +"Like enough," says the other, "'tis a land where no man brings his +back history." + +"See here, fellow," said I, whipping out a crown, "here's for you to +tell me of the New Amsterdam gentleman who sailed from Boston last +spring!" + +"No New Amsterdam gentleman sailed from Boston," answered both in one +breath. + +"I am not paying for lies," and I returned the crown to my pocket. + +Then Radisson came back, urging Captain Gillam against proceeding up +the river. + +"The Prince Rupert might ground on the shallows," he warned. + +"That will keep them apart till we trap one or both," he told us, as we +set off in our canoe. But we had not gone out of range before we were +ordered ashore. Picking our way back overland, we spied through the +bush for two days, till we saw that Governor Brigdar was taking +Radisson's advice, going no farther up-stream, but erecting a fort on +the shore where he had anchored. + +"And now," said Radisson, "we must act." + +While we were spying through the woods, watching the English build +their fort, I thought that I saw a figure flitting through the bush to +the rear. I dared not fire. One shot would have betrayed us to the +English. But I pointed my gun. The thing came gliding noiselessly +nearer. I clicked the gun-butt without firing. The thing paused. +Then I called M. Radisson, who said it was Le Borgne, the wall-eyed +Indian. Godefroy vowed 'twas a spy from Ben Gillam's fort. The Indian +mumbled some superstition of a manitou. To me it seemed like a +caribou; for it faded to nothing the way those fleet creatures have of +skimming into distance. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +M. RADISSON BEGINS THE GAME + +M. Radisson had reckoned well. His warning to prepare for instant +siege set all the young fire-eaters of our Habitation working like +beavers to complete the French fort. The marquis took a hand at +squaring timbers shoulder to shoulder with Allemand, the pilot; and La +Chesnaye, the merchant prince, forgot to strut while digging up +earthworks for a parapet. The leaven of the New World was working. +Honour was for him only whose brawn won the place; and our young +fellows of the birth and the pride were keenest to gird for the task. +On our return from the upper river to the fort, the palisaded walls +were finished, guns were mounted on all bastions, the two ships beached +under shelter of cannon, sentinels on parade at the main gate, and a +long barracks built mid-way across the courtyard. + +Here we passed many a merry hour of a long winter night, the green +timbers cracking like pistol-shots to the tightening frost-grip, and +the hearth logs at each end of the long, low-raftered hall sending up a +roar that set the red shadows dancing among ceiling joists. After +ward-room mess, with fare that kings might have envied--teal and +partridge and venison and a steak of beaver's tail, and moose nose as +an _entrée_, with a tidbit of buffalo hump that melted in your mouth +like flakes--the commonalty, as La Chesnaye designated those who sat +below the salt, would draw off to the far hearth. Here the sailors +gathered close, spinning yarns, cracking jokes, popping corn, and +toasting wits, a-merrier far that your kitchen cuddies of older lands. +At the other hearth sat M. de Radisson, feet spread to the fire, a long +pipe between his lips, and an audience of young blades eager for his +tales. + +"D'ye mind how we got away from the Iroquois, Chouart?" Radisson asks +Groseillers, who sits in a chair rough-hewn from a stump on the other +side of the fire. + +Chouart Groseillers smiles quietly and strokes his black beard. Jean +stretches across a bear-skin on the floor and shouts out, "Tell us! +Tell us!" + +"We had been captives six months. The Iroquois were beginning to let +us wander about alone. Chouart there had sewed his thumb up, where an +old squaw had hacked at it with a dull shell. The padre's nails, which +the Indians tore off in torture, had grown well enough for him to +handle a gun. One day we were allowed out to hunt. Chouart brought +down three deer, the padre two moose, and I a couple of bear. That +night the warriors came back from a raid on Orange with not a thing to +eat but one miserable, little, thin, squealing pig. Pardieu! men, +'twas our chance; and the chance is always hiding round a corner for +the man who goes ahead." + +Radisson paused to whiff his pipe, all the lights in his eyes laughing +and his mouth expressionless as steel. + +"'Tis an insult among Iroquois to leave food at a feast. There were we +with food enough to stuff the tribe torpid as winter toads. The padre +was sent round to the lodges with a tom-tom to beat every soul to the +feast. Chouart and a Dutch prisoner and I cooked like kings' scullions +for four mortal hours!--" + +"We wanted to delay the feast till midnight," explains Groseillers. + +"And at midnight in trooped every man, woman, and brat of the +encampment. The padre takes a tom-tom and stands at one end of the +lodge beating a very knave of a rub-a-dub and shouting at the top of +his voice: 'Eat, brothers, eat! Bulge the eye, swell the coat, loose +the belt! Eat, brothers, eat!' Chouart stands at the boiler ladling +out joints faster than an army could gobble. Within an hour every brat +lay stretched and the women were snoring asleep where they crouched. +From the warriors, here a grunt, there a groan! But Chouart keeps +ladling out the meat. Then the Dutchman grabs up a drum at the other +end of the lodge, and begins to beat and yell: 'Stuff, brudders, stuff! +Vat de gut zperets zend, gast not out! Eat, braves, eat!' And the +padre cuts the capers of a fiend on coals. Still the warriors eat! +Still the drums beat! Still the meat is heaped! Then, one brave bowls +over asleep with his head on his knees! Another warrior tumbles back! +Guards sit bolt upright sound asleep as a stone!" + +"What did you put in the meat, Pierre?" asked Groseillers absently. + +Radisson laughed. + +"Do you mind, Chouart," he asked, "how the padre wanted to put poison +in the meat, and the Dutchman wouldn't let him? Then the Dutchman +wanted to murder them all in their sleep, and the padre wouldn't let +him?" + +Both men laughed. + +"And the end?" asked Jean. + +"We tied the squealing pig at the door for sentinel, broke ice with our +muskets, launched the canoe, and never stopped paddling till we reached +Three Rivers." [1] + +At that comes a loud sally of laughter from the sailors at the far end +of the hall. Godefroy, the English trader, is singing a rhyme of All +Souls' Day, and Allemand, the French pilot, protests. + + "Soul! Soul! For a soul-cake! + One for Peter, two for Paul, + Three for----." + +But La Chesnaye shouts out for the knaves to hold quiet. Godefroy bobs +his tipstaff, and bawls on: + + "Soul! Soul! For an apple or two! + If you've got no apples, nuts will do! + Out with your raisins, down with your gin! + Give me plenty and I'll begin." + +M. Radisson looks down the hall and laughs. "By the saints," says he +softly, "a man loses the Christian calendar in this land! 'Tis All +Souls' Night! Give the men a treat, La Chesnaye." + +But La Chesnaye, being governor, must needs show his authority, and +vows to flog the knave for impudence. Turning over benches in his +haste, the merchant falls on Godefroy with such largesse of cuffs that +the fellow is glad to keep peace. + +The door blows open, and with a gust of wind a silent figure blows in. +'Tis Le Borgne, the one-eyed, who has taken to joining our men of a +merry night, which M. de Radisson encourages; for he would have all the +Indians come freely. + +"Ha!" says Radisson, "I thought 'twas the men I sent to spy if the +marsh were safe crossing. Give Le Borgne tobacco, La Chesnaye. If +once the fellow gets drunk," he adds to me in an undertone, "that +silent tongue of his may wag on the interlopers. We must be stirring, +stirring, Ramsay! Ten days past! Egad, a man might as well be a +fish-worm burrowing underground as such a snail! We must stir--stir! +See here"--drawing me to the table apart from the others--"here we are +on the lower river," and he marked the letter X on a line indicating +the flow of our river to the bay. "Here is the upper river," and he +drew another river meeting ours at a sharp angle. "Here is Governor +Brigdar of the Hudson's Bay Company," marking another X on the upper +river. "Here is Ben Gillam! We are half-way between them on the +south. I sent two men to see if the marsh between the rivers is fit +crossing." + +[Illustration: Radisson's map.] + +"Fit crossing?" + +"When 'tis safe, we might plan a surprise. The only doubt is how many +of those pirates are there who attacked you in the woods?" + +And he sat back whiffing his pipe and gazing in space. By this, La +Chesnaye had distributed so generous a treat that half the sailors were +roaring out hilarious mirth. Godefroy astride a bench played big drum +on the wrong-end-up of the cook's dish-pan. Allemand attempted to +fiddle a poker across the tongs. Voyageurs tried to shoot the big +canoe over a waterfall; for when Jean tilted one end of the long bench, +they landed as cleanly on the floor as if their craft had plunged. But +the copper-faced Le Borgne remained taciturn and tongue-tied. + +"Be curse to that wall-eyed knave," muttered Radisson. "He's too deep +a man to let go! We must capture him or win him!" + +"Perhaps when he becomes more friendly we may track him back to the +inlanders," I suggested. + +M. de Radisson closed one eye and looked at me attentively. + +"La Chesnaye," he called, "treat that fellow like a king!" + +And the rafters rang so loud with the merriment that we none of us +noticed the door flung open, nor saw two figures stamping off the snow +till they had thrown a third man bound at M. de Radisson's feet. The +messengers sent to spy out the marsh had returned with a half-frozen +prisoner. + +"We found him where the ice is soft. He was half dead," explained one +scout. + +Silence fell. Through the half-dark the Indian glided towards the +door. The unconscious prisoner lay face down. + +"Turn him over," ordered Radisson. + +As our men rolled him roughly over, the captive uttered a heavy groan. +His arms fell away from his face revealing little Jack Battle, the +castaway, in a haven as strange as of old. + +"Search him before he wakes," commanded Radisson roughly. + +"Let me," I asked. + +In the pouches of the caribou coat was only pemmican; but my hand +crushed against a softness in the inner waistcoat. I pulled it out--a +little, old glove, the colour Hortense had dangled the day that Ben +Gillam fell into the sea. + +"Pish!" says Radisson. "Anything else?" + +There crumpled out a yellow paper. M. Radisson snatched it up. + +"Pish!" says he, "nothing--put it back!" + +It was a page of my copy-book, when I used to take lessons with +Rebecca. Replacing paper and glove, I closed up the sailor lad's coat. + +"Search his cap and moccasins!" + +I was mighty thankful, as you may guess, that other hands than mine +found the tell-tale missive--a badly writ letter addressed to "Captain +Zechariah Gillium." + +Tearing it open, M. Radisson read with stormy lights agleam in his eyes. + +"Sir, this sailor lad is an old comrade," I pleaded. + +"Then'a God's name take care of him," he flashed out. + +But long before I had Jack Battle thawed back to consciousness in my +own quarters, Jean came running with orders for me to report to M. +Radisson. + +"I'll take care of the sailor for you," proffered Jean. + +And I hastened to the main hall. + +"Get ready," ordered Radisson. "We must stir! That young +hop-o'-my-thumb suspects his father has arrived. He has sent this +fellow with word of me. Things will be doing. We must stir--we must +stir. Read those for news," and he handed me the letter. + +The letter was addressed to Ben's father, of the Hudson's Bay ship, +Prince Rupert. In writing which was scarcely legible, it ran: + + + I take Up my Pen to lett You knowe that cutt-throte + french viper Who deserted You at ye fort of ye bay 10 Years + ago hath come here for France Threatening us. + + he Must Be Stopped. Will i Do It? + + have Bin Here Come Six weekes All Souls' day and Not + Heard a Word of Him that went inland to Catch ye Furs + from ye Savages before they Mett Governor B----. If He + Proves False---- + + +There the crushed missive was torn, but the purport was plain. Ben +Gillam and his father were in collusion with the inland pirates to get +peltries from the Indians before Governor Brigdar came; and the +inlanders, whoever they were, had concealed both themselves and the +furs. I handed the paper back to M. Radisson. + +"We must stir, lad--we must stir," he repeated. + +"But the marsh is soft yet. It is unsafe to cross." + +"The river is not frozen in mid-current," retorted M. Radisson +impatiently. "Get ready! I am taking different men to impress the +young spark with our numbers--you and La Chesnaye and the marquis and +Allemand. But where a' devil is that Indian?" + +Le Borgne had slipped away. + +"Is he a spy?" I asked. + +"Get ready! Why do you ask questions? The thing is--to +do!--do!!--do--!!!" + +But Allemand, who had been hauling out the big canoe, came up sullenly. + +"Sir," he complained, "the river's running ice the size of a raft, and +the wind's a-blowing a gale." + +"Man," retorted M. de Radisson with the quiet precision of steel, "if +the river were running live fire and the gale blew from the inferno, +I--would--go! Stay home and go to bed, Allemand." And he chose one of +the common sailors instead. + +And when we walked out to the thick edge of the shore-ice and launched +the canoe among a whirling drift of ice-pans, we had small hope of ever +seeing Fort Bourbon again. The ice had not the thickness of the spring +jam, but it was sharp enough to cut our canoe, and we poled our way far +oftener than we paddled. Where the currents of the two rivers joined, +the wind had whipped the waters to a maelstrom. The night was +moonless. It was well we did not see the white turmoil, else M. +Radisson had had a mutiny on his hands. When the canoe leaped to the +throb of the sucking currents like a cataract to the plunge, La +Chesnaye clapped his pole athwart and called out a curse on such +rashness. M. Radisson did not hear or did not heed. An ice-pan +pitched against La Chesnaye's place, and the merchant must needs thrust +out to save himself. + +The only light was the white glare of ice. The only guide across that +heaving traverse, the unerring instinct of that tall figure at the bow, +now plunging forward, now bracing back, now shouting out a "Steady!" +that the wind carried to our ears, thrusting his pole to right, to left +in lightning strokes, till the canoe suddenly darted up the roaring +current of the north river. + +Here we could no longer stem both wind and tide. M. Radisson ordered +us ashore for rest. Fourteen days were we paddling, portaging, +struggling up the north river before we came in range of the Hudson's +Bay fort built by Governor Brigdar. + +Our proximity was heralded by a low laugh from M. de Radisson. "Look," +said he, "their ship aground in mud a mile from the fort. In case of +attack, their forces will be divided. It is well," said M. Radisson. + +The Prince Rupert lay high on the shallows, fast bound in the freezing +sands. Hiding our canoe in the woods, we came within hail and called. +There was no answer. + +"Drunk or scurvy," commented M. Radisson. "An faith, Ramsay, 'twould +be an easy capture if we had big enough fort to hold them all!" + +Shaping his hands to a trumpet, he shouted, "How are you, there?" + +As we were turning away a fellow came scrambling up the fo'castle and +called back: "A little better, but all asleep." + +"A good time for us to examine the fort," said M. de Radisson. + +Aloud, he answered that he would not disturb the crew, and he wheeled +us off through the woods. + +"See!" he observed, as we emerged in full view of the stockaded fur +post, "palisades nailed on from the inside--easily pushed loose from +the outside. Pish!--low enough for a dog to jump." + +Posting us in ambush, he advanced to the main edifice behind the +wide-open gate. I saw him shaking hands with the Governor of the +Hudson's Bay Company, who seemed on the point of sallying out to hunt. + +Then he signalled for us to come. I had almost concluded he meant to +capture Governor Brigdar on the spot; but Pierre Radisson ever took +friends and foes unawares. + +"Your Excellency," says he, with the bow of a courtier, "this is +Captain Gingras of our new ship." + +Before I had gathered my wits, Governor Brigdar was shaking hands. + +"And this," continued Radisson, motioning forward the common sailor too +quick for surprise to betray us, "this, Your Excellency, is Colonel +Bienville of our marines." + +Colonel Bienville, being but a lubberly fellow, nigh choked with +amazement at the English governor's warmth; but before we knew our +leader's drift, the marquis and La Chesnaye were each in turn presented +as commanders of our different land forces. + +"'Tis the misfortune of my staff not to speak English," explains Pierre +Radisson suavely with another bow, which effectually shut any of our +mouths that might have betrayed him. + +"Doubtless your officers know Canary better than English," returns +Governor Brigdar; and he would have us all in to drink healths. + +"Keep your foot in the open door," Pierre Radisson whispered as we +passed into the house. + +Then we drank the health of the King of England, firing our muskets +into the roof; and drank to His Most Christian Majesty of France with +another volley; and drank to the confusion of our common enemies, with +a clanking of gun-butts that might have alarmed the dead. Upon which +Pierre Radisson protested that he would not keep Governor Brigdar from +the hunt; and we took our departure. + +"And now," said he, hastening through the bush, "as no one took fright +at all that firing, what's to hinder examining the ship?" + +"Pardieu, Ramsay," he remarked, placing us in ambush again, "an we had +a big enough fort, with food to keep them alive, we might have bagged +them all." + +From which I hold that M. Radisson was not so black a man as he has +been painted; for he could have captured the English as they lay weak +of the scurvy and done to them, for the saving of fort rations, what +rivals did to all foes--shot them in a land which tells no secrets. + +From our place on the shore we saw him scramble to the deck. A man in +red nightcap rushed forward with an oath. + +"And what might you want, stealing up like a thief in the night?" +roared the man. + +"To offer my services, Captain Gillam," retorted Radisson with a hand +to his sword-hilt and both feet planted firm on the deck. + +"Services?" bawled Gillam. + +"Services for your crew, captain," interrupted Radisson softly. + +"Hm!" retorted Captain Gillam, pulling fiercely at his grizzled beard. +"Then you might send a dozen brace o' partridges, some oil, and +candles." + +With that they fell to talking in lower tones; and M. Radisson came +away with quiet, unspoken mirth in his eyes, leaving Captain Gillam in +better mood. + +"Curse me if he doesn't make those partridges an excuse to go back +soon," exclaimed La Chesnaye. "The ship would be of some value; but +why take the men prisoners? Much better shoot them down as they would +us, an they had the chance!" + +"La Chesnaye!" uttered a sharp voice. Radisson had heard. "There are +two things I don't excuse a fool for--not minding his own business and +not holding his tongue." + +And though La Chesnaye's money paid for the enterprise, he held his +tongue mighty still. Indeed, I think if any tongue had wagged twice in +Radisson's hearing he would have torn the offending member out. Doing +as we were bid without question, we all filed down to the canoe. Less +ice cumbered the upper current, and by the next day we were opposite +Ben Gillam's New England fort. + +"La Chesnaye and Forêt will shoot partridges," commanded M. de +Radisson. Leaving them on the far side of the river, he bade the +sailor and me paddle him across to young Gillam's island. + +What was our surprise to see every bastion mounted with heavy guns and +the walls full manned. We took the precaution of landing under shelter +of the ship and fired a musket to call out sentinels. Down ran Ben +Gillam and a second officer, armed cap-a-pie, with swaggering insolence +that they took no pains to conceal. + +"Congratulate you on coming in the nick of time," cried Ben. + +"Now what in the Old Nick does he mean by that?" said Radisson. "Does +the cub think to cower me with his threats?" + +"I trust your welcome includes my four officers," he responded. "Two +are with me and two have gone for partridges." + +Ben bellowed a jeering laugh, and his second man took the cue. + +"Your four officers may be forty devils," yelled the lieutenant; "we've +finished our fort. Come in, Monsieur Radisson! Two can play at the +game of big talk! You're welcome in if you leave your forty officers +out!" + +For the space of a second M. Radisson's eyes swept the cannon pointing +from the bastion embrasures. We were safe enough. The full hull of +their own ship was between the guns and us. + +"Young man," said M. Radisson, addressing Ben, "you may speak less +haughtily, as I come in friendship." + +"Friendship!" flouted Ben, twirling his mustache and showing both rows +of teeth. "Pooh, pooh, M. Radisson! You are not talking to a +stripling!" + +"I had thought I was--and a very fool of a booby, too," answered M. +Radisson coolly. + +"Sir!" roared young Gillam with a rumbling of oaths, and he fumbled his +sword. + +But his sword had not left the scabbard before M. de Radisson sent it +spinning through mid-air into the sea. + +"I must ask your forgiveness for that, boy," said the Frenchman to Ben, +"but a gentleman fights only his equals." + +Ben Gillam went white and red by turns, his nose flushing and paling +like the wattle of an angry turkey; and he stammered out that he hoped +M. de Radisson did not take umbrage at the building of a fort. + +"We must protect ourselves from the English," pleaded Ben. + +"Pardieu, yes," agreed M. de Radisson, proffering his own sword with a +gesture in place of the one that had gone into the sea, "and I had come +to offer you twenty men _to hold_ the fort!" + +Ben glanced questioningly to his second officer. + +"Bid that fellow draw off!" ordered M. Radisson. + +Dazed like a man struck between the eyes, Ben did as he was commanded. + +"I told you that I came in friendship," began Radisson. + +Gillam waited. + +"Have you lost a man, Ben?" + +"No," boldly lied Gillam. + +"Has one run away from the island against orders?" + +"No, devil take me, if I've lost a hand but the supercargo that I +killed." + +"I had thought that was yours," said Radisson, with contempt for the +ruffian's boast; and he handed out the paper taken from Jack. + +Ben staggered back with a great oath, vowing he would have the scalp of +the traitor who lost that letter. Both stood silent, each +contemplating the other. Then M. Radisson spoke. + +"Ben," said he, never taking his glance from the young fellow's face, +"what will you give me if I guide you to your father this afternoon? I +have just come from Captain Gillam. He and his crew are ill of the +scurvy. Dress as a coureur and I pass you for a Frenchman." + +"My father!" cried Ben with his jaws agape and his wits at sea. + +"Pardieu--yes, I said your father!" + +"What do you want in return?" stammered Ben. + +Radisson uttered a laugh that had the sound of sword-play. + +"Egad, 'tis a hot supper I'd like better than anything else just now! +If you feed us well and disguise yourself as a coureur, I'll take you +at sundown!" + +And in spite of his second officer's signals, Ben Gillam hailed us +forthwith to the fort, where M. Radisson's keen eyes took in every +feature of door and gate and sally-port and gun. While the cook was +preparing our supper and Ben disguising as a French wood-runner, we +wandered at will, M. Radisson all the while uttering low laughs and +words as of thoughts. + +It was--"Caught--neat as a mouse in a trap! Don't let him spill the +canoe when we're running the traverse, Ramsay! May the fiends blast La +Chesnaye if he opens his foolish mouth in Gillam's hearing! Where, +think you, may we best secure him? Are the timbers of your room sound?" + +Or else--"Faith, a stout timber would hold those main gates open! +Egad, now, an a man were standing in this doorway, he might jam a +musket in the hinge so the thing would keep open! Those guns in the +bastions though--think you those cannon are not pushed too far through +the windows to be slued round quickly?" + +And much more to the same purpose, which told why M. Radisson stooped +to beg supper from rivals. + +At sundown all was ready for departure. La Chesnaye and the marquis +had come back with the partridges that were to make pretence for our +quick return to the Prince Rupert. Ben Gillam had disguised as a +bush-runner, and the canoe lay ready to launch. Fools and children +unconsciously do wise things by mistake, as you know; and 'twas such an +unwitting act sprung M. Radisson's plans and let the prize out of the +trap. + +"Sink me an you didn't promise the loan of twenty men to hold the +fort!" exclaimed Ben, stepping down. + +"Twenty--and more--and welcome," cried Radisson eagerly. + +"Then send Ramsay and Monsieur La Chesnaye back," put in Ben quickly. +"I like not the fort without one head while I'm away." + +"Willingly," and M. Radisson's eyes glinted triumph. + +"Hold a minute!" cried Ben before sitting down. "The river is rough. +Let two of my men take their places in the canoe!" + +M. Radisson's breath drew sharp through his teeth. But the trap was +sprung, and he yielded gracefully enough to hide design. + +"A curse on the blundering cub!" he muttered, drawing apart to give me +instructions. "Pardieu--you must profit on this, Ramsay! Keep your +eyes open. Spoil a door-lock or two! Plug the cannon if you can! Mix +sand with their powder! Shift the sentinels! Get the devils +insubordinate----" + + +"M. Radisson!" shouted Gillam. + +"Coming!" says Radisson; and he went off with his teeth gritting sand. + + +[1] See Radisson's own account. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE WHITE DARKNESS + +How much of those instructions we carried out I leave untold. +Certainly we could not have been less grateful as guests than Ben +Gillam's men were inhospitable as hosts. A more sottish crew of rakes +you never saw. 'Twas gin in the morning and rum in the afternoon and +vile potions of mixed poisons half the night, with a cracking of the +cook's head for withholding fresh kegs and a continual scuffle of +fighters over cheating at cards. No marvel the second officer flogged +and carved at the knaves like an African slaver. The first night the +whole crew set on us with drawn swords because we refused to gamble the +doublets from our backs. La Chesnaye laid about with his sword and I +with my rapier, till the cook rushed to our rescue with a kettle of +lye. After that we escaped to the deck of the ship and locked +ourselves inside Ben Gillam's cabin. Here we heard the weather-vanes +of the fort bastions creaking for three days to the shift of fickle +winds. Shore-ice grew thicker and stretched farther to mid-current. +Mock suns, or sun-dogs, as we called them, oft hung on each side of the +sun. La Chesnaye said these boded ill weather. + +Sea-birds caught the first breath of storm and wheeled landward with +shrill calls, and once La Chesnaye and I made out through the ship's +glass a vast herd of caribou running to sniff the gale from the crest +of an inland hill. + +"If Radisson comes not back soon we are storm-bound here for the +winter. As you live, we are," grumbled the merchant. + +But prompt as the ring of a bell to the clapper came Pierre Radisson on +the third day, well pleased with what he had done and alert to keep two +of us outside the fort in spite of Ben's urgings to bring the French in +for refreshments. + +The wind was shifting in a way that portended a nor'easter, and the +weather would presently be too inclement for us to remain outside. +That hastened M. Radisson's departure, though sun-dogs and the long, +shrill whistling of contrary winds foretold what was brewing. + +"Sink me, after such kindness, I'll see you part way home! By the Lord +Harry, I will!" swore Ben. + +M. Radisson screwed his eyes nigh shut and protested he could not +permit young Captain Gillam to take such trouble. + +"The young villain," mutters La Chesnaye, "he wants to spy which way we +go." + +"Come! Come!" cries Ben. "If you say another word I go all the way +with you!" + +"To spy on our fort," whispers La Chesnaye. + +M. Radisson responds that nothing would give greater pleasure. + +"I've half a mind to do it," hesitates Ben, looking doubtfully at us. + +"To be sure," urges M. Radisson, "come along and have a Christmas with +our merry blades!" + +"Why, then, by the Lord, I will!" decides Gillam. "That is," he added, +"if you'll send the marquis and his man, there, back to my fort as +hostages." + +M. Radisson twirled his mustaches thoughtfully, gave the marquis the +same instructions in French as he had given us when we were left in the +New Englander's fort, and turning with a calm face to Ben, bade him get +into our canoe. + +But when we launched out M. Radisson headed the craft up-stream in the +wrong direction, whither we paddled till nightfall. It was cold enough +in all conscience to afford Ben Gillam excuse for tipping a flask from +his jacket-pouch to his teeth every minute or two; but when we were +rested and ready to launch again, the young captain's brain was so +befuddled that he scarce knew whether he were in Boston or on Hudson +Bay. + +This time we headed straight down-stream, Ben nodding and dozing from +his place in the middle, M. Radisson, La Chesnaye, and I poling hard to +keep the drift-ice off. We avoided the New Englander's fort by going +on the other side of the island, and when we shot past Governor +Brigdar's stockades with the lights of the Prince Rupert blinking +through the dark, Ben was fast asleep. + +And all the while the winds were piping overhead with a roar as from +the wings of the great storm bird which broods over all that northland. +Then the blore of the trumpeting wind was answered by a counter fugue +from the sea, with a roll and pound of breakers across the sand of the +traverse. Carried by the swift current, we had shot into the bay. It +was morning, but the black of night had given place to the white +darkness of northern storm. Ben Gillam jerked up sober and grasped an +idle pole to lend a hand. Through the whirl of spray M. Radisson's +figure loomed black at the bow, and above the boom of tumbling waves +came the grinding as of an earthquake. + +"We are lost! We are lost!" shrieked Gillam in panic, cowering back to +the stern. "The storm's drifted down polar ice from the north and +we're caught! We're caught!" he cried. + +He sprang to his feet as if to leap into that white waste of seething +ice foam. 'Twas the frenzy of terror, which oft seizes men adrift on +ice. In another moment he would have swamped us under the pitching +crest of a mountain sea. But M. Radisson turned. One blow of his pole +and the foolish youth fell senseless to the bottom of the canoe. + +"Look, sir, look!" screamed La Chesnaye, "the canoe's getting +ice-logged! She's sunk to the gun'ales!" + +But at the moment when M. Radisson turned to save young Gillam, the +unguided canoe had darted between two rolling seas. Walls of ice rose +on either side. A white whirl--a mighty rush--a tumult of roaring +waters--the ice walls pitched down--the canoe was caught--tossed +up--nipped--crushed like a card-box--and we four flung on the drenching +ice-pans to a roll of the seas like to sweep us under, with a footing +slippery as glass. + +"Keep hold of Gillam! Lock hands!" came a clarion voice through the +storm. "Don't fear, men! There is no danger! The gale will drive us +ashore! Don't fear! Hold tight! Hold tight! There's no danger if +you have no fear!" + +The ice heaved and flung to the roll of the drift. + +"Hold fast and your wet sleeves will freeze you to the ice! Steady!" +he called, as the thing fell and rose again. + +Then, with the hiss of the world serpent that pursues man to his doom, +we were scudding before a mountain swell. There was the splintering +report of a cannon-shot. The ice split. We clung the closer. The +rush of waves swept under us, around us, above us. There came a crash. +The thing gave from below. The powers of darkness seemed to close over +us, the jaws of the world serpent shut upon their prey, the spirit of +evil shrieked its triumph. + +Our feet touched bottom. The waves fell back, and we were ashore on +the sand-bar of the traverse. + +"Run! Run for your lives!" shouted Radisson. Jerking up Gillam, whom +the shock had brought to his senses. "Lock hands and run!" + +And run we did, like those spirits in the twilight of the lost, with +never a hope of rescue and never a respite from fear, hand gripping +hand, the tide and the gale and the driving sleet yelping wolfishly at +our heels! Twas the old, old story of Man leaping undaunted as a +warrior to conquer his foes--turned back!--beaten!--pursued by serpent +and wolf, spirit of darkness and power of destruction, with the light +of life flickering low and the endless frosts creeping close to a heart +beating faint! + +Oh, those were giants that we set forth to conquer in that harsh +northland--the giants of the warring elements! And giants were needed +for the task. + +Think you of that when you hear the slighting scorn of the rough +pioneer, because he minceth not his speech, nor weareth ruffs at his +wrists, nor bendeth so low at the knee as your Old-World hero! + +The earth fell away from our feet. We all four tumbled forward. The +storm whistled past overhead. And we lay at the bottom of a cliff that +seemed to shelter a multitude of shadowy forms. We had fallen to a +ravine where the vast caribou herds had wandered from the storm. + +Says M. Radisson, with a depth of reverence which words cannot tell, +"Men," says he, "thank God for this deliverance!" + + * * * * * * + +So unused to man's presence were the caribou, or perhaps so stupefied +by the storm, they let us wander to the centre of the herd, round which +the great bucks had formed a cordon with their backs to the wind to +protect the does and the young. The heat from the multitude of bodies +warmed us back to life, and I make no doubt the finding of that herd +was God Almighty's provision for our safety. + +For three days we wandered with nothing to eat but wild birds done to +death by the gale. [1] On the third day the storm abated; but it was +still snowing too heavily for us to see a man's length away. Two or +three times the caribou tossed up their heads sniffing the air +suspiciously, and La Chesnaye fell to cursing lest the wolf-pack should +stampede the herd. At this Gillam, whose hulking body had wasted from +lack of bulky rations, began to whimper-- + +"If the wolf-pack come we are lost!" + +"Man," says Radisson sternly, "say thy prayers and thank God we are +alive!" + +The caribou began to rove aimlessly for a time, then they were off with +a rush that bare gave us chance to escape the army of clicking hoofs. +We were left unprotected in the falling snow. + +The primal instincts come uppermost at such times, and like the wild +creatures of the woods facing a foe, instantaneously we wheeled back to +back, alert for the enemy that had frightened the caribou. + +"Hist!" whispers Radisson. "Look!" + +Ben Gillam leaped into the air as if he had been shot, shrieking out: +"It's him! It's him! Shoot him! The thief! The traitor! It's him!" + +He dashed forward, followed by the rest of us, hardly sure whether Ben +were sane. + +Three figures loomed through the snowy darkness, white and silent as +the snow itself--vague as phantoms in mist--pointing at us like wraiths +of death--spirit hunters incarnate of that vast wilderness riding the +riotous storm over land and sea. One swung a weapon aloft. There was +the scream as of a woman's cry--and the shrieking wind had swept the +snow-clouds about us in a blind fury that blotted all sight. And when +the combing billows of drift passed, the apparition had faded. We four +stood alone staring in space with strange questionings. + +"Egad!" gasped Radisson, "I don't mind when the wind howls like a wolf, +but when it takes to the death-scream, with snow like the skirts of a +shroud----" + +"May the Lord have mercy on us!" muttered La Chesnaye, crossing +himself. "It is sign of death! That was a woman's figure. It is sign +of death!" + +"Sign of death!" raged Ben, stamping his impotent fury, "'tis him--'tis +him! The Judas Iscariot, and he's left us to die so that he may steal +the furs!" + +"Hold quiet!" ordered M. Radisson. "Look, you rantipole--who is that?" + +'Twas Le Borgne, the one-eyed, emerging from the gloom of the snow like +a ghost. By signs and Indian words the fellow offered to guide us back +to our Habitation. + +We reached the fort that night, Le Borgne flitting away like a shadow, +as he had come. And the first thing we did was to hold a service of +thanks to God Almighty for our deliverance. + + +[1] See Radisson's account--Prince Society (1885), Boston--Bodleian +Library.--Canadian Archives, 1895-'96. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A CHALLENGE + +Filling the air with ghost-shadows, silencing earth, muffling the sea, +day after day fell the snow. Shore-ice barred out the pounding surf. +The river had frozen to adamant. Brushwood sank in the deepening drifts +like a foundered ship, and all that remained visible of evergreens was an +occasional spar or snow mushroom on the crest of a branch. + +No east, no west, no day, no night; nothing but a white darkness, +billowing snow, and a silence as of death. It was the cold, silent, +mystic, white world of northern winter. + +At one moment the fort door flings wide with a rush of frost like smoke +clouds, and in stamps Godefroy, shaking snow off with boisterous noise +and vowing by the saints that the drifts are as high as the St. Pierre's +deck. M. Groseillers orders the rascal to shut the door; but bare has +the latch clicked when young Jean whisks in, tossing snow from cap and +gauntlets like a clipper shaking a reef to the spray, and declares that +the snow is already level with the fort walls. + +"Eh, nephew," exclaims Radisson sharply, "how are the cannon?" + +Ben Gillam, who has lugged himself from bed to the hearth for the first +time since his freezing, blurts out a taunting laugh. We had done better +to build on the sheltered side of an island, he informs us. + +"Now, the shivers take me!" cries Ben, "but where a deuce are all your +land forces and marines and jack-tars and forty thousand officers?" + +He cast a scornful look down our long, low-roofed barracks, counting the +men gathered round the hearth and laughing as he counted. M. Radisson +affected not to hear, telling Jean to hoist the cannon and puncture +embrasures high to the bastion-roofs like Italian towers. + +"Monsieur Radisson," impudently mouths Ben, who had taken more rum for +his health than was good for his head, "I asked you to inform me where +your land forces are?" + +"Outside the fort constructing a breastwork of snow." + +"Good!" sneers Ben. "And the marines?" + +"On the ships, where they ought to be." + +"Good!" laughs Gillam again. "And the officers?" + +"Superintending the raising of the cannon. And I would have you to know, +young man," adds Radisson, "that when a guest asks too many questions, a +host may not answer." + +But Ben goes on unheeding. + +"Now I'll wager that dog of a runaway slave o' mine, that Jack Battle +who's hiding hereabouts, I'll wager the hangdog slave and pawn my head +you haven't a corporal's guard o' marines and land forces all told!" + +M. Radisson never allowed an enemy's taunt to hasten speech or act. He +looked at Ben with a measuring glance which sized that fellow very small +indeed. + +"Then I must decline your wager, Ben," says he. "In the first place, +Jack Battle is mine already. In the second, you would lose ten times +over. In the third, you have few enough men already. And in the fourth, +your head isn't worth pawn for a wager; though I may take you, body and +boots, all the same," adds he. + +With that he goes off, leaving Ben blowing curses into the fire like a +bellows. The young rake bawled out for more gin, and with head sunk on +his chest began muttering to himself. + +"That black-eyed, false-hearted, slippery French eel!" he mumbles, +rapping out an oath. "Now the devil fly off with me, an I don't slit him +like a Dutch herring for a traitor and a knave and a thief and a cheat! +By Judas, if he doesn't turn up with the furs, I'll do to him as I did to +the supercargo last week, and bury him deep in the bastion! Very fine, +him that was to get the furs hiding inland! Him, that didn't add a cent +to what Kirke and Stocking paid; they to supply the money, my father to +keep the company from knowing, and me to sail the ship--him, that might +'a' hung in Boston but for my father towing him out o' port--him the +first to turn knave and steal all the pelts!" + +"Who?" quietly puts in M. Groseillers, who had been listening with wide +eyes. + +But Ben's head rolled drunkenly and he slid down in sodden sleep. + +Again the fort door opened with the rush of frost clouds, and in the +midst of the white vapour hesitated three men. The door softly closed, +and Le Borgne stole forward. + +"White-man--promise--no--hurt--good Indian?" he asked. + +"The white-man is Le Borgne's friend," assured Groseillers, "but who are +these?" + +He pointed to two figures, more dead than alive, chittering with cold. + +Le Borgne's foxy eye took on a stolid look. "White--men--lost--in the +snow," said he, "white-man from the big white canoe--come +walkee--walkee--one--two--three sleep--watchee good Indian--friend--fort!" + +M. Groseillers sprang to his feet muttering of treachery from Governor +Brigdar of the Hudson's Bay Company, and put himself in front of the +intruders so that Ben could not see. But the poor fellows were so frozen +that they could only mumble out something about the Prince Rupert having +foundered, carrying half the crew to the river bottom. Hurrying the two +Englishmen to another part of the fort, M. Groseillers bade me run for +Radisson. + +I wish that you could have seen the triumphant glint laughing in Pierre +Radisson's eyes when I told him. + +"Fate deals the cards! 'Tis we must play them! This time the jade hath +trumped her partner's ace! Ha, ha, Ramsay! We could 'a' captured both +father and son with a flip o' the finger! Now there's only need to hold +the son! Governor Brigdar must beg passage from us to leave the bay; but +who a deuce are those inlanders that Ben Gillam keeps raving against for +hiding the furs?" + +And he flung the mess-room door open so forcibly that Ben Gillam waked +with a jump. At sight of Le Borgne the young New Englander sprang over +the benches with his teeth agleam and murder on his face. But the liquor +had gone to his knees. He keeled head over like a top-heavy brig, and +when we dragged him up Le Borgne had bolted. + +All that night Ben swore deliriously that he would do worse to Le +Borgne's master than he had done to the supercargo; but he never by any +chance let slip who Le Borgne's master might be, though M. Radisson, +Chouart Groseillers, young Jean, and I kept watch by turns lest the +drunken knave should run amuck of our Frenchmen. I mind once, when M. +Radisson and I were sitting quiet by the bunk where Ben was berthed, the +young rake sat up with a fog-horn of a yell and swore he would slice that +pirate of a Radisson and all his cursed Frenchies into meat for the dogs. + +M. Radisson looked through the candle-light and smiled. "If you want to +know your character, Ramsay," says he, "get your enemy talking in his +cups!" + +"Shiver my soul, if I'd ever come to his fort but to find out how strong +the liar is!" cries Ben. + +"Hm! I thought so," says M. de Radisson, pushing the young fellow back +to his pillow and fastening the fur robes close lest frost steamed +through the ill-chinked logs. + +By Christmas Ben Gillam and Jack Battle of the New Englanders' fort and +the two spies of the Hudson's Bay Company had all recovered enough from +their freezing to go about. What with keeping the English and New +Englanders from knowing of each other's presence, we had as twisted a +piece of by-play as you could want. Ben Gillam and Jack we dressed as +bushrangers; the Hudson's Bay spies as French marines. Neither suspected +the others were English, nor ever crossed words while with us. And +whatever enemies say of Pierre Radisson, I would have you remember that +he treated his captives so well that chains would not have dragged them +back to their own masters. + +"How can I handle all the English of both forts unless I win some of them +for friends?" he would ask, never laying unction to his soul for the +kindness that he practised. + +By Christmas, too, the snow had ceased falling and the frost turned the +land to a silent, white, paleocrystic world. Sap-frozen timbers cracked +with the loud, sharp snapping of pistol-shots--then the white silence! +The river ice splintered to the tightening grip of winter with the +grinding of an earthquake, and again the white silence! Or the heavy +night air, lying thick with frost smoke like a pall over earth, would +reverberate to the deep bayings of the wolf-pack, and over all would +close the white silence! + +As if to defy the powers of that deathly realm, M. de Radisson had the +more logs heaped on our hearth and doubled the men's rations. On +Christmas morning he had us all out to fire a salute, Ben Gillam and Jack +and the two Fur Company spies disguised as usual, and the rest of us +muffled to our eyes. Jackets and tompions were torn from the cannon. +Unfrosted priming was distributed. Flags were run up on boats and +bastions. Then the word was given to fire and cheer at the top of our +voices. + +Ben Gillam was sober enough that morning but in the mood of a ruffian +stale from overnight brawls. Hardly had the rocking echoes of +cannonading died away when the rascal strode boldly forward in front of +us all, up with his musket, took quick aim at the main flagstaff and +fired. The pole splintered off at the top and the French flag fluttered +to the ground. + +"There's for you--you Frenchies!" he shouted. "See the old rag tumble!" + +'Twas the only time M. Radisson gave vent to wrath. + +"Dog!" he ground out, wrenching the gun from Gillam's hands. + +"Avast! Avast!" cries Ben. "He who lives in glass-houses needs not to +throw stones! Mind that, ye pirate!" + +"Dog!" repeats M. Radisson, "dare to show disrespect to the Most +Christian of Kings!" + +"Most Christian of Kings!" flouts Ben. "I'll return to my fort! Then +I'll show you what I'll give the Most Christian of Kings!" + +La Chesnaye rushed up with rash threat; but M. de Radisson pushed the +merchant aside and stood very still, looking at Ben. + +"Young man," he began, as quietly as if he were wishing Ben the season's +compliments, "I brought you to this fort for the purpose of keeping you +in this fort, and it is for me to say when you may leave this fort!" + +Ben rumbled out a string of oaths, and M. Radisson motioned the soldiers +to encircle him. Then all Ben's pot-valiant bravery ebbed. + +"Am I a prisoner?" he demanded savagely. + +"Prisoner or guest, according to your conduct," answered Radisson +lightly. Then to the men--"Form line-march!" + +At the word we filed into the guard-room, where the soldiers relieved +Gillam of pistol and sword. + +"Am I to be shot? Am I to be shot?" cried Gillam, white with terror at +M. Radisson's order to load muskets. "Am I to be shot?" he whimpered. + +"Not unless you do it yourself, and 'twould be the most graceful act of +your life, Ben! And now," said M. Radisson, dismissing all the men but +one sentinel for the door, "and now, Ben, a Merry Christmas to you, and +may it be your last in Hudson Bay!" + +With that he left Ben Gillam prisoner; but he ordered special watch to be +kept on the fort bastions lest Ben's bravado portended attack. The next +morning he asked Ben to breakfast with our staff. + +"The compliments of the morning to you. And I trust you rested well!" M. +Radisson called out. + +Ben wished that he might be cursed if any man could rest well on bare +boards rimed with frost like curdled milk. + +"Cheer up, man! Cheer up!" encourages Radisson. "There's to be a +capture to-day!" + +"A capture!" reiterates Ben, glowering black across the table and doffing +his cap with bad grace. + +"Aye, I said a capture! Egad, lad, one fort and one ship are prize +enough for one day!" + +"Sink my soul," flouts Gillam, looking insolently down the table to the +rows of ragged sailors sitting beyond our officers, "if every man o' your +rough-scuff had the nine lives of a cat, their nine lives would be shot +down before they reached our palisades!" + +"Is it a wager?" demands M. Radisson. + +"A wager--ship and fort and myself to boot if you win!" + +"Done!" cries La Chesnaye. + +"Ah, well," calculates M. Radisson, "the ship and the fort are worth +something! When we've taken them, Ben can go. Nine lives for each man, +did you say?" + +"A hundred, if you like," boasts the New Englander, letting fly a +broadside of oaths at the Frenchman's slur. "A hundred men with nine +lives, if you like! We've powder for all!" + +"Ben!" M. Radisson rose. "Two men are in the fort now! Pick me out +seven more! That will make nine! With those nine I own your fort by +nightfall or I set you free!" + +"Done!" shouts Ben. "Every man here a witness!" + +"Choose!" insists M. Radisson. + +Sailors and soldiers were all on their feet gesticulating and laughing; +for Godefroy was translating into French as fast as the leaders talked. + +"Choose!" urges M. Radisson, leaning over to snuff out the great +breakfast candle with bare fingers as if his hand were iron. + +"Shiver my soul, then," laughs Ben, in high feather, "let the first be +that little Jack Sprat of a half-frozen Battle! He's loyal to me!" + +"Good!" smiles M. Radisson. "Come over here, Jack Battle." + +Jack Battle jumped over the table and stood behind M. Radisson as second +lieutenant, Ben's eyes gaping to see Jack's disguise of bushranger like +himself. + +"Go on," orders M. Radisson, "choose whom you will!" + +The soldiers broke into ringing cheers. + +"Devil take you, Radisson," ejaculates Ben familiarly, "such cool +impudence would chill the Nick!" + +"That is as it may be," retorts Radisson. "Choose! We must be off!" + +Again the soldiers cheered. + +"Well, there's that turncoat of a Stanhope with his fine airs. I'd +rather see him shot next than any one else!" + +"Thank you, Ben," said I. + +"Come over here, Ramsay," orders Radisson. "That's two. Go on! Five +more!" + +The soldiers fell to laughing and Ben to pulling at his mustache. + +"That money-bag of a La Chesnaye next," mutters Ben. "He's lady enough +to faint at first shot." + +"There'll be no first shot. Come, La Chesnaye! Three. Go on! Go on, +Ben! Your wits work slow!" + +"Allemand, the pilot! He is drunk most of the time." + +"Four," counts M. Radisson. "Come over here, Allemand! You're drunk +most of the time, like Ben. Go on!" + +"Godefroy, the English trader--he sulks--he's English--he'll do!" + +"Five," laughs M. Radisson. + +And for the remaining two, Ben Gillam chose a scullion lad and a wretched +little stowaway, who had kept hidden under hatches till we were too far +out to send him back. At the last choice our men shouted and clapped and +stamped and broke into snatches of song about conquerors. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE BATTLE NOT TO THE STRONG + +M. Radisson turned the sand-glass up to time our preparations. Before +the last grain fell we seven were out, led by M. Radisson, speeding +over the snow-drifted marsh through the thick frosty darkness that lies +like a blanket over that northland at dawn. The air hung heavy, gray, +gritty to the touch with ice-frost. The hard-packed drifts crisped to +our tread with little noises which I can call by no other name than +frost-shots. Frost pricked the taste to each breath. Endless reaches +of frost were all that met the sight. Frost-crackling the only sound. +Frost in one's throat like a drink of water, and the tingle of the +frost in the blood with a leap that was fulness of life. + +Up drifts with the help of our muskets! Down hills with a rush of +snow-shoes that set the powdery snow flying! Skimming the levels with +the silent speed of wings! Past the snow mushrooms topping underbrush +and the snow cones of the evergreens and the snow billows of under +rocks and the snow-wreathed antlers of the naked forest in a world of +snow! + +The morning stars paled to steel pin-pricks through a gray sky. +Shadows took form in the frost. The slant rays of a southern sun +struck through the frost clouds in spears. Then the frost smoke rose +like mist, and the white glare shone as a sea. In another hour it +would be high noon of the short shadow. Every coat--beaver and bear +and otter and raccoon--hung open, every capote flung back, every runner +hot as in midsummer, though frost-rime edged the hair like snow. When +the sun lay like a fiery shield half-way across the southern horizon, +M. Radisson called a halt for nooning. + +"Now, remember, my brave lads," said he, after he had outlined his +plans, drawing figures of fort and ship and army of seven on the snow, +"now, remember, if you do what I've told you, not a shot will be fired, +not a drop of blood spilled, not a grain of powder used, and to every +man free tobacco for the winter--" + +"If we succeed," interjects Godefroy sullenly. + +"_If_," repeats M. Radisson; "an I hear that word again there will be a +carving!" + +Long before we came to the north river near the Hudson's Bay Company's +fort, the sun had wheeled across the horizon and sunk in a sea of snow, +but now that the Prince Rupert had foundered, the capture of these +helpless Englishmen was no object to us. Unless a ship from the south +end of the bay came to rescue them they were at our mercy. Hastening +up the river course we met Governor Brigdar sledding the ice with a +dog-team of huskies. + +"The compliments of the season to Your Excellency!" shouted Radisson +across the snow. + +"The same to the representative of France," returned Governor Brigdar, +trying to get away before questions could be asked. + +"I don't see your ship," called Radisson. + +"Four leagues down the river," explained the governor. + +"_Under_ the river," retorted Radisson, affecting not to hear. + +"No--down the river," and the governor whisked round a bluff out of +call. + +The gray night shadows gathered against the woods. Stars seeded the +sky overhead till the whole heavens were aglow. And the northern +lights shot their arrowy jets of fire above the pole, rippled in +billows of flame, scintillated with the faint rustling of a flag in a +gale, or swung midway between heaven and earth like censers to the +invisible God of that cold, far, northern world. + +Then the bastions of Ben Gillam's fort loomed above the wastes like the +peak of a ship at sea, and M. Radisson issued his last commands. +Godefroy and I were to approach the main gate. M. Radisson and his +five men would make a detour to attack from the rear. + +A black flag waved above the ship to signal those inland pirates whom +Ben Gillam was ever cursing, and the main gates stood wide ajar. Half +a mile away Godefroy hallooed aloud. A dozen New Englanders, led by +the lieutenant, ran to meet us. + +"Where is Master Ben?" demanded the leader. + +"Le capitaine," answered Godefroy, affecting broken English, "le +capitaine, he is fatigue. He is back--voilá--how you for speak +it?--avec, monsieur! Le capitaine, he has need, he has want for you to +go with food." + +At that, with a deal of unguarded gabbling, they must hail us inside +for refreshments, while half a dozen men ran in the direction Godefroy +pointed with the food for their master. No sooner were their backs +turned than Godefroy whispers instructions to the marquis and his man, +who had been left as hostages. Forêt strolled casually across to the +guard-room, where the powder was stored. Here he posted himself in the +doorway with his sword jammed above the hinge. His man made a +precipitate rush to heap fires for our refreshment, dropping three logs +across the fort gates and two more athwart the door of the house. +Godefroy and I, on pretext of scanning out the returning travellers, +ran one to the nigh bastion, the other to the fore-deck of the ship, +where was a swivel cannon that might have done damage. + +Then Godefroy whistled. + +Like wolves out of the earth rose M. Radisson and his five men from the +shore near the gates. They were in possession before the lieutenant +and his men had returned. On the instant when the surprised New +Englanders ran up, Radisson bolted the gates. + +"Where is my master?" thundered the lieutenant, beating for admission. + +"Come in." M. Radisson cautiously opened the gate, admitting the +lieutenant alone. "It is not a question of where your master is, but +of mustering your men and calling the roll," said the Frenchman to the +astounded lieutenant. "You see that my people are in control of your +powder-house, your cannon, and your ship. Your master is a prisoner in +my fort. Now summon your men, and be glad Ben Gillam is not here to +kill more of you as he killed your super-cargo!" + +Half an hour from the time we had entered the fort, keys, arms, and +ammunition were in M. de Radisson's hands without the firing of a shot, +and the unarmed New Englanders assigned to the main building, where we +could lock them if they mutinied. To sound of trumpet and drum, with +Godefroy bobbing his tipstaff, M. Radisson must needs run up the French +flag in place of the pirate ensign. Then, with the lieutenant and two +New Englanders to witness capitulation, he marched from the gates to do +the same with the ship. Allemand and Godefroy kept sentinel duty at +the gates. La Chesnaye, Forêt, and Jack Battle held the bastions, and +the rest stood guard in front of the main building. + +From my place I saw how it happened. + +The lieutenant stepped back to let M. de Radisson pass up the ship's +ladder first. The New Englanders followed, the lieutenant still +waiting at the bottom step; and when M. Radisson's back was turned the +lieutenant darted down the river bank in the direction of Governor +Brigdar's fort. + +The flag went up and M. Radisson looked back to witness the salute. +Then he discovered the lieutenant's flight. The New Englanders' +purpose was easily guessed--to lock forces with Governor Brigdar, and +while our strength was divided attack us here or at the Habitation. + +"One fight at a time," says Radisson, summoning to council in the +powder-house all hands but our guard at the gate. "You, Allemand and +Godefroy, will cross the marsh to-night, bidding Chouart be ready for +attack and send back re-enforcements here! You two lads"--pointing to +the stowaway and scullion--"will boil down bears' grease and porpoise +fat for a half a hundred cressets! Cut up all the brooms in the fort! +Use pine-boughs! Split the green wood and slip in oiled rags! Have a +hundred lights ready by ten of the clock! Go--make haste, or I throw +you both into the pot! + +"You, Forêt and La Chesnaye, transfer all the New Englanders to the +hold of the ship and batten them under! If there's to be fighting, let +the enemies be outside the walls. And you, Ramsay, will keep guard at +the river bastion all night! And you, Jack Battle, will gather all the +hats and helmets and caps in the fort, and divide them equally between +the two front bastions----" + +"Hats and helmets?" interrupts La Chesnaye. + +"La Chesnaye," says M. Radisson, whirling, "an any one would question +me this night he had best pull his tongue out with the tongs! Go, all +of you!" + +But Godefroy, ever a dour-headed knave, must test the steel of M. de +Radisson's mood. + +"D'ye mean me an' the pilot to risk crossing the marsh by night----" + +But he got no farther. M. de Radisson was upon him with a cudgel like +a flail on wheat. + +"An you think it risk to go, I'll make it greater risk to stay! An you +fear to obey, I'll make you fear more to disobey! An you shirk the +pain of toeing the scratch, I'll make it a deal more painful to lag +behind!" + +"But at night--at night," roared Godefroy between blows. + +"The night--knave," hissed out Radisson, "the night is lighter than +morning with the north light. The night"--this with a last drive--"the +night is same as day to man of spirit! 'Tis the sort of encouragement +half the world needs to succeed," said M. Radisson, throwing down the +cudgel. + +And Godefroy, the skulker, was glad to run for the marsh. The rest of +us waited no urgings, but were to our posts on the run. + +I saw M. Radisson passing fife, piccolo, trumpet, and drum to the two +tatterdemalion lads of our army. + +"Now blow like fiends when I give the word," said he. + +Across the courtyard, single file, marched the New Englanders from +barracks to boat. La Chesnaye leading with drawn sword, the marquis +following with pointed musket. + +Forêt and La Chesnaye then mounted guard at the gate. The sailor of +our company was heaping cannon-balls ready for use. Jack Battle +scoured the fort for odd headgear. M. de Radisson was everywhere, +seizing papers, burying ammunition, making fast loose stockades, +putting extra rivets in hinges, and issuing quick orders that sent Jack +Battle skipping to the word. Then Jack was set to planting double rows +of sticks inside on a level with the wall. The purpose of these I +could not guess till M. Radisson ordered hat, helmet, or cap clapped +atop of each pole. + +Oh, we were a formidable army, I warrant you, seen by any one mounting +the drift to spy across our walls! + +But 'twas no burlesque that night, as you may know when I tell you that +Governor Brigdar's forces played us such a trick they were under +shelter of the ship before we had discovered them. + +Forêt and La Chesnaye were watching from loopholes at the gates, and I +was all alert from my place in the bastion. The northern lights waved +overhead in a restless ocean of rose-tinted fire. Against the blue, +stars were aglint with the twinkle of a million harbour lights. Below, +lay the frost mist, white as foam, diaphanous as a veil, every floating +icy particle aglimmer with star rays like spray in sunlight. Through +the night air came the far howlings of the running wolf-pack. The +little ermine, darting across the level with its black tail-tip marking +the snow in dots and dashes, would sit up quickly, listen and dive +under, to wriggle forward like a snake; or the black-eyed hare would +scurry off to cover of brushwood. + +Of a sudden sounded such a yelling from the New Englanders imprisoned +in the ship, with a beating of guns on the keel, that I gave quick +alarm. Forêt and La Chesnaye sallied from the gate. Pistol-shots rang +out as they rounded the ship's prow into shadow. At the same instant, +a man flung forward out of the frost cloud beating for admittance. M. +de Radisson opened. + +"The Indians! The Indians! Where are the New Englanders?" cried the +man, pitching headlong in. + +And when he regained his feet, Governor Brigdar, of the Hudson's Bay +Company, stood face to face with M. de Radisson. + +"A right warm welcome, Your Excellency," bowed M. de Radisson, bolting +the gate. "The New Englanders are in safe keeping, sir, and so are +you!" + +The bewildered governor gasped at M. Radisson's words. Then he lost +all command of himself. + +"Radisson, man," he stormed, "this is no feint--this is no time for +acting! Six o' my men shot on the way--four hiding by the ship and the +Indians not a hundred yards behind! Take my sword and pistol," he +proffered, M. de Radisson still hesitating, "but as you hope for +eternal mercy, call in my four men!" + +After that, all was confusion. + + +Forêt and the marquis rushed pell-mell for the fort with four terrified +Englishmen disarmed. The gates were clapped to. Myriad figures darted +from the frost mist--figures with war-paint on their faces and bodies +clothed in white to disguise approach. English and French, enemies +all, crouched to the palisades against the common foe, with +sword-thrust for the hands catching at pickets to scale the wall and +volleying shots that scattered assailants back. The redskins were now +plainly visible through the frost. When they swerved away from shelter +of the ship, every bastion let go the roar of a cannon discharge. +There was the sudden silence of a drawing off, then the shrill +"Ah-o-o-o-oh! Ah-o-o-o-oh! Ah-o-o-o-oh!" of Indian war-cry! + +And M. Radisson gave the signal. + +Instantaneously half a hundred lights were aflare. Red tongues of fire +darted from the loop-holes. Two lads were obeying our leader's call to +run--run--run, blowing fife, beating drum like an army's band, while +streams of boiling grease poured down from bastions and lookout. +Helmets, hats, and caps sticking round on the poles were lighted up +like the heads of a battalion; and oft as any of us showed himself he +displayed fresh cap. One Indian, I mind, got a stockade off and an arm +inside the wall. That arm was never withdrawn, for M. Radisson's +broadsword came down, and the Indian reeled back with a yelping scream. +Then the smoke cleared, and I saw what will stay with me as long as +memory lasts--M. Radisson, target for arrows or shot, long hair flying +and red doublet alight in the flare of the torches, was standing on top +of the pickets with his right arm waving a sword. + +"Whom do you make them out to be, Ramsay?" he called. "Is not yon Le +Borgne?" + +I looked to the Indians. Le Borgne it was, thin and straight, like a +mast-pole through mist, in conference with another man--a man with a +beard, a man who was no Indian. + +"Sir!" I shouted back. "Those are the inland pirates. They are +leading the Indians against Ben Gillam, and not against us at all." + +At that M. Radisson extends a handkerchief on the end of his sword as +flag of truce, and the bearded man waves back. Down from the wall +jumps M. Radisson, running forward fearlessly where Indians lay +wounded, and waving for the enemy to come. But the two only waved back +in friendly fashion, wheeled their forces off, and disappeared through +the frost. + +"Those were Ben Gillam's cut-throats trying to do for him! When they +saw us on the walls, they knew their mistake," says M. de Radisson as +he re-entered the gate. "There's only one way to find those pirates +out, Ramsay. Nurse these wounded Indians back to life, visit the +tribe, and watch! After Chouart's re-enforcements come, I'll send you +and Jack Battle, with Godefroy for interpreter!" + +To Governor Brigdar and his four refugees M. de Radisson was all +courtesy. + +"And how comes Your Excellency to be out so late with ten men?" he +asked, as we supped that night. + +"We heard that you were here. We were coming to visit you," stammered +Governor Brigdar, growing red. + +"Then let us make you so welcome that you will not hasten away! Here, +Jack Battle, here, fellow, stack these gentlemen's swords and pistols +where they'll come to no harm! Ah! No? But I must relieve you, +gentlemen! Your coming was a miracle. I thank you for it. It has +saved us much trouble. A pledge to the pleasure--and the length--of +your stay, gentlemen," and they stand to the toast, M. de Radisson +smiling at the lights in his wine. + +But we all knew very well what such welcome meant. 'Twas Radisson's +humour to play the host that night, but the runaway lieutenant was a +prisoner in our guard-house. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +WE SEEK THE INLANDERS + +In the matter of fighting, I find small difference between white-men +and red. Let the lust of conquest but burn, the justice of the quarrel +receives small thought. Your fire-eating prophet cares little for the +right of the cause, provided the fighter come out conqueror; and many a +poet praises only that right which is might over-trampling weakness. I +have heard the withered hag of an Indian camp chant as spirited +war-song as your minstrels of butchery; but the strange thing of it is, +that the people, who have taken the sword in a wantonness of conquest, +are the races that have been swept from the face of the earth like dead +leaves before the winter blast; but the people, who have held immutably +by the power of right, which our Lord Christ set up, the meek and the +peace-makers and the children of God, these are they that inherit the +earth. + +Where are the tribes with whom Godefroy and Jack Battle and I wandered +in nomadic life over the northern wastes? Buried in oblivion black as +night, but for the lurid memories flashed down to you of later +generations. Where are the Puritan folk, with their cast-iron, narrow +creeds damning all creation but themselves, with their foibles of +snivelling to attest sanctity, with such a wolfish zeal to hound down +devils that they hounded innocents for witchcraft? Spreading over the +face of the New World, making the desert to bloom and the waste places +fruitful gardens? And the reason for it all is simply this: Your +butchering Indian, like your swashing cavalier, founded his _right_ +upon _might_; your Puritan, grim but faithful, to the outermost bounds +of his tragic errors, founded his _might_ upon _right_. + +We learn our hardest lessons from unlikeliest masters. This one came +to me from the Indians of the blood-dyed northern snows. + + * * * * * * + +"Don't show your faces till you have something to report about those +pirates, who led the Indians," was M. Radisson's last command, as we +sallied from the New Englanders' fort with a firing of cannon and +beating of drums. + +Godefroy, the trader, muttered under his breath that M. Radisson need +never fear eternal torment. + +"Why?" I asked. + +"Because, if he goes _there_," answered Godefroy, "he'll get the better +o' the Nick." + +I think the fellow was smarting from recent punishment. He and +Allemand, the drunken pilot, had been draining gin kegs on the sly and +replacing what they took with snow water. That last morning at prayers +Godefroy, who was half-seas over, must yelp out a loud "Amen" in the +wrong place. Without rising from his knees, or as much as changing his +tone, M. de Radisson brought the drunken knave such a cuff it flattened +him to the floor. + +Then prayers went on as before. + +The Indians, whom we had nursed of their wounds, were to lead us to the +tribe, one only being held by M. Radisson as hostage for safe conduct. +In my mind, that trust to the Indians' honour was the single mistake M. +Radisson made in the winter's campaign. In the first place, the Indian +has no honour. Why should he have, when his only standard of right is +conquest? In the second place, kindness is regarded as weakness by the +Indian. Why should it not be, when his only god is victory? In the +third place, the lust of blood, to kill, to butcher, to mutilate, still +surged as hot in their veins as on the night when they had attempted to +scale our walls. And again I ask why not, when the law of their life +was to kill or to be killed? These questions I put to you because life +put them to me. At the time my father died, the gentlemen of King +Charles's court were already affecting that refinement of philosophy +which justifies despotism. From justifying despotism, 'twas but a step +to justifying the wicked acts of tyranny; and from that, but another +step to thrusting God's laws aside as too obsolete for our clever +courtiers. "Give your unbroken colt tether enough to pull itself up +with one sharp fall," M. Radisson used to say, "and it will never run +to the end of its line again." + +The mind of Europe spun the tissue of foolish philosophy. The savage +of the wilderness went the full tether; and I leave you to judge +whether the _might_ that is _right_ or the _right_ that is _might_ be +the better creed for a people. + +But I do not mean to imply that M. Radisson did not understand the +savages better than any man of us in the fort. He risked three men as +pawns in the game he was playing for mastery of the fur trade. +Gamester of the wilderness as he was, Pierre Radisson was not the man +to court a certain loss. + +The Indians led us to the lodges of the hostiles safely enough; and +their return gave us entrance if not welcome to the tepee village. We +had entered a ravine and came on a cluster of wigwams to the lee side +of a bluff. Dusk hid our approach; and the absence of the dogs that +usually infest Indian camps told us that these fellows were marauders. +Smoke curled up from the poles crisscrossed at the tepee forks, but we +could descry no figures against the tent-walls as in summer, for heavy +skins of the chase overlaid the parchment. All was silence but in one +wigwam. This was an enormous structure, built on poles long as a mast, +with moose-hides scattered so thickly upon it that not a glint of +firelight came through except the red glow of smoke at the peak. There +was a low hum of suppressed voices, then one voice alone in solemn +tones, then guttural grunts of applause. + +"In council," whispered Godefroy, steering straight for the bearskin +that hung flapping across the entrance. + +Bidding Jack Battle stand guard outside, we followed the Indians who +had led us from the fort. Lifting the tent-flap, we found ourselves +inside. A withered creature with snaky, tangled hair, toothless gums, +eyes that burned like embers, and a haunched, shrivelled figure, stood +gesticulating and crooning over a low monotone in the centre of the +lodge. + +As we entered, the draught from the door sent a tongue of flame darting +to mid-air from the central fire, and scores of tawny faces with glance +intent on the speaker were etched against the dark. These were no camp +families, but braves, deep in war council. The elder men sat with +crossed feet to the fore of the circle. The young braves were behind, +kneeling, standing, and stretched full length. All were smoking their +long-stemmed pipes and listening to the medicine-man, or seer, who was +crooning his low-toned chant. The air was black with smoke. + +Always audacious, Godefroy, the trader, advanced boldly and sat down in +the circle. I kept back in shadow, for directly behind the Indian +wizard was a figure lying face downward, chin resting in hand, which +somehow reminded me of Le Borgne. The fellow rolled lazily over, got +to his knees, and stood up. Pushing the wizard aside, this Indian +faced the audience. It was Le Borgne, his foxy eye yellow as flame, +teeth snapping, and a tongue running at such a pace that we could +scarce make out a word of his jargon. + +"What does he say, Godefroy?" + +"Sit down," whispered the trader, "you are safe." + +This was what the Indian was saying as Godefroy muttered it over to me: + +"Were the Indians fools and dogs to throw away two fish for the sake of +one? The French were friends of the Indians. Let the Indians find out +what the French would give them for killing the English. He, Le +Borgne, the one-eyed, was brave. He would go to the Frenchman's fort +and spy out how strong they were. If the French gave them muskets for +killing the English, after the ships left in the spring the Indians +could attack the fort and kill the French. The great medicine-man, the +white hunter, who lived under the earth, would supply them with +muskets----" + +"He says the white hunter who lives under the earth is giving them +muskets to make war," whispered Godefroy. "That must be the pirate." + +"Listen!" + +"Let the braves prepare to meet the Indians of the Land of Little White +Sticks, who were coming with furs for the white men--" Le Borgne went +on. + +"Let the braves send their runners over the hills to the Little White +Sticks sleeping in the sheltered valley. Let the braves creep through +the mist of the morning like the lynx seeking the ermine. And when the +Little White Sticks were all asleep, the runners would shoot fire +arrows into the air and the braves would slay--slay--slay the men, who +might fight, the women, who might run to the whites for aid, and the +children, who might live to tell tales." + +"The devils!" says Godefroy under his breath. + +A log broke on the coals with a flare that painted Le Borgne's evil +face fiery red; and the fellow gabbled on, with figure crouching +stealthily forward, foxy eye alight with evil, and teeth glistening. + +"Let the braves seize the furs of the Little White Sticks, trade the +furs to the white-man for muskets, massacre the English, then when the +great white chief's big canoes left, kill the Frenchmen of the fort." + +"Ha," says Godefroy. "Jack's safe outside! We'll have a care to serve +you through the loop-holes, and trade you only broken muskets!" + +A guttural grunt applauded Le Borgne's advice, and the crafty scoundrel +continued: "The great medicine-man, the white hunter, who lived under +the earth, was their friend. Was he not here among them? Let the +braves hear what he advised." + +The Indians grunted their approbation. Some one stirred the fire to +flame. There was a shuffling movement among the figures in the dark. +Involuntarily Godefroy and I had risen to our feet. Emerging from the +dusk to the firelight was a white man, gaudily clothed in tunic of +scarlet with steel breastplates and gold lace enough for an ambassador. +His face was hidden by Le Borgne's form. Godefroy pushed too far +forward; for the next thing, a shout of rage rent the tent roof. Le +Borgne was stamping out the fire. A red form with averted face raced +round the lodge wall to gain the door. Then Godefroy and I were +standing weapons in hand, with the band of infuriated braves +brandishing tomahawks about our heads. Le Borgne broke through the +circle and confronted us with his face agleam. + +"Le Borgne, you rascal, is this a way to treat your friends?" I +demanded. + +"What you--come for?" slowly snarled Le Borgne through set teeth. + +"To bring back your wounded and for furs, you fool," cried Godefroy, +"and if you don't call your braves off, you can sell no more pelts to +the French." + +Le Borgne gabbled out something that drove the braves back. + +"We have no furs yet," said he. + +"But you will have them when you raid the Little White Sticks," raged +Godefroy, caring nothing for the harm his words might work if he saved +his own scalp. + +Le Borgne drew off to confer with the braves. Then he came back and +there was a treacherous smile of welcome on his bronze face. + +"The Indians thought the white-men spies from the Little White Sticks," +he explained in the mellow, rhythmic tones of the redman. "The Indians +were in war council. The Indians are friends of the French." + +"Look out for him, Godefroy," said I. + +"If the French are friends to the Indians, let the white-men come to +battle against the Little White Sticks," added Le Borgne. + +"Tell him no! We'll wait here till they come back!" + +"He says they are not coming back," answered Godefroy, "and hang me, +Ramsay, an I'd not face an Indian massacre before I go back +empty-handed to M. Radisson. We're in for it," says he, speaking +English too quick for Le Borgne's ear. "If we show the white feather +now, they'll finish us. They'll not harm us till they've done for the +English and got more muskets. And that red pirate is after these same +furs! Body o' me, an you hang back, scared o' battle, you'd best not +come to the wilderness." + +"The white-men will go with the Indians, but the white-men will not +fight with the Little Sticks," announced Godefroy to Le Borgne, +proffering tobacco enough to pacify the tribe. + +'Twas in vain that I expostulated against the risk of going far inland +with hostiles, who had attacked the New England fort and were even now +planning the slaughter of white-men. Inoffensiveness is the most +deadly of offences with savagery, whether the savagery be of white men +or red. Le Borgne had the insolence to ask why the tribe could not as +easily kill us where we were as farther inland; and we saw that +remonstrances were working the evil that we wished to avoid--increasing +the Indians' daring. After all, Godefroy was right. The man who fears +death should neither go to the wilderness nor launch his canoe above a +whirlpool unless he is prepared to run the rapids. This New World had +never been won from darkness if men had hung back from fear of spilt +blood. + +'Twas but a moment's work for the braves to deck out in war-gear. +Faces were blackened with red streaks typifying wounds; bodies clad in +caribou skins or ermine-pelts white as the snow to be crossed; quivers +of barbed and poisonous arrows hanging over their backs in otter and +beaver skins; powder in buffalo-horns for those who had muskets; +shields of toughened hide on one arm, and such a number of scalp-locks +fringing every seam as told their own story of murderous foray. While +the land still smoked under morning frost and the stars yet pricked +through the gray darkness, the warriors were far afield coasting the +snow-billows as on tireless wings. Up the swelling drifts water-waved +by wind like a rolling sea, down cliffs crumbling over with snowy +cornices, across the icy marshes swept glare by the gales, the braves +pressed relentlessly on. Godefroy, Jack Battle, and I would have hung +to the rear and slipped away if we could; but the fate of an old man +was warning enough. Muttering against the braves for embroiling +themselves in war without cause, he fell away from the marauders as if +to leave. Le Borgne's foxy eye saw the move. Turning, he rushed at +the old man with a hiss of air through his teeth like a whistling +arrow. His musket swung up. It clubbed down. There was a groan; and +as we rounded a bluff at a pace that brought the air cutting in our +faces, I saw the old man's body lying motionless on the snow. + +If this was the beginning, what was the end? + +Godefroy vowed that the man was only an Indian, and his death was no +sin. + +"The wolves would 'a' picked his bones soon anyway. He wore a score o' +scalps at his belt. Pah, an we could get furs without any Indians, I'd +see all their skulls go!" snapped the trader. + +"If killing's no murder, whose turn comes next?" asked Jack. + +And that gave Godefroy pause. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A BOOTLESS SACRIFICE + +For what I now tell I offer no excuse. I would but record what +savagery meant. Then may you who are descended from the New World +pioneers know that your lineage is from men as heroic as those +crusaders who rescued our Saviour's grave from the pagans; for +crusaders of Old World and New carried the sword of destruction in one +hand, but in the other, a cross that was light in darkness. Then may +you, my lady-fingered sentimentalist, who go to bed of a winter night +with a warming-pan and champion the rights of the savage from your soft +place among cushions, realize what a fine hero your redman was, and +realize, too, what were the powers that the white-man crushed! + +For what I do not tell I offer no excuse. It is not permitted to +relate _all_ that savage warfare meant. Once I marvelled that a just +God could order his chosen people to exterminate any race. Now I +marvel that a just God hath not exterminated many races long ago. + +We reached the crest of a swelling upland as the first sun-rays came +through the frost mist in shafts of fire. A quick halt was called. +One white-garbed scout went crawling stealthily down the snow-slope +like a mountain-cat. Then the frost thinned to the rising sun and +vague outlines of tepee lodges could be descried in the clouded valley. + +An arrow whistled through the air glancing into snow with a soft +whirr at our feet. It was the signal. As with one thought, the +warriors charged down the hill, leaping from side to side in a +frenzy, dancing in a madness of slaughter, shrieking their long, +shrill--"Ah--oh!--Ah--oh!"--yelping, howling, screaming their +war-cry--"Ah--oh!--Ah--oh!--Ah--oh!"--like demons incarnate. The +medicine-man had stripped himself naked and was tossing his arms with +maniacal fury, leaping up and down, yelling the war-cry, beating the +tom-tom, rattling the death-gourd. Some of the warriors went down on +hands and feet, sidling forward through the mist like the stealthy +beasts of prey that they were. + +Godefroy, Jack Battle, and I were carried before the charge helpless as +leaves in a hurricane. All slid down the hillside to the bottom of a +ravine. With the long bound of a tiger-spring, Le Borgne plunged +through the frost cloud. + +The lodges of the victims were about us. We had evidently come upon +the tribe when all were asleep. + +Then that dark under-world of which men dream in wild delirium became +reality. Pandemonium broke its bounds. + + * * * * * * + +And had I once thought that Eli Kirke's fanatic faith painted too lurid +a hell? God knows if the realm of darkness be half as hideous as the +deeds of this life, 'tis blacker than prophet may portray. + +Day or night, after fifty years, do I close my eyes to shut the memory +out! But the shafts are still hurtling through the gray gloom. Arrows +rip against the skin shields. Running fugitives fall pierced. Men +rush from their lodges in the daze of sleep and fight barehanded +against musket and battle-axe and lance till the snows are red and +scalps steaming from the belts of conquerors. Women fall to the feet +of the victors, kneeling, crouching, dumbly pleading for mercy; and the +mercy is a spear-thrust that pinions the living body to earth. Maimed, +helpless and living victims are thrown aside to await slow death. +Children are torn from their mothers' arms--but there--memory revolts +and the pen fails! + +It was in vain for us to flee. Turn where we would, pursued and +pursuer were there. + +"Don't flinch! Don't flinch!" Godefroy kept shouting. "They'll take +it for fear! They'll kill you by torture!" + +Almost on the words a bowstring twanged to the fore and a young girl +stumbled across Jack Battle's feet with a scream that rings, and rings, +and rings in memory like the tocsin of a horrible dream. She was +wounded in the shoulder. Getting to her knees she threw her arms round +Jack with such a terrified look of helpless pleading in her great eyes +as would have moved stone. + +"Don't touch her! Don't touch her! Don't touch her!" screamed +Godefroy, jerking to pull Jack free. "It will do no good! Don't help +her! They'll kill you both--" + +"Great God!" sobbed Jack, with shivering horror, "I can't help helping +her--" + +But there leaped from the mist a figure with uplifted spear. + +May God forgive it, but I struck that man dead! + +It was a bootless sacrifice at the risk of three lives. But so was +Christ's a bootless sacrifice at the time, if you measure deeds by +gain. And so has every sacrifice worthy of the name been a bootless +sacrifice, if you stop to weigh life in a goldsmith's scale! + +Justice is blind; but praise be to God, so is mercy! + +And, indeed, I have but quoted our Lord and Saviour, not as an example, +but as a precedent. For the act I merited no credit. Like Jack, I +could not have helped helping her. The act was out before the thought. + +Then we were back to back fighting a horde of demons. + +Godefroy fought cursing our souls to all eternity for embroiling him in +peril. Jack Battle fought mumbling feverishly, deliriously, +unconscious of how he shot or what he said--"Might as well die here as +elsewhere! Might as well die here as elsewhere! Damn that Indian! +Give it to him, Ramsay! You shoot while I prime! Might as well die +here as elsewhere----" + +And all fought resolute to die hard, when, where, or how the dying came! + +To that desperate game there was but one possible end. It is only in +story-books writ for sentimental maids that the good who are weak +defeat the wicked who are strong. We shattered many an assailant +before the last stake was dared, but in the end they shattered my +sword-arm, which left me helpless as a hull at ebb-tide. Then +Godefroy, the craven rascal, must throw up his arms for surrender, +which gave Le Borgne opening to bring down the butt of his gun on +Jack's crown. + +The poor sailor went bundling over the snow like a shot rabbit. + +When the frost smoke cleared, there was such a scene as I may not +paint; for you must know that your Indian hero is not content to kill. +Like the ghoul, he must mutilate. Of all the Indian band attacked by +our forces, not one escaped except the girl, whose form I could descry +nowhere on the stained snow. + +Jack Battle presently regained his senses and staggered up to have his +arms thonged behind his back. The thongs on my arms they tightened +with a stick through the loop to extort cry of pain as the sinew cut +into the shattered wrist. An the smile had cost my last breath, I +would have defied their tortures with a laugh. They got no cry from +me. Godefroy, the trader, cursed us in one breath and in the next +threatened that the Indians would keep us for torture. + +"You are the only man who can speak their language," I retorted. "Stop +whimpering and warn these brutes what Radisson will do if they harm us! +He will neither take their furs nor give them muskets! He will arm +their enemies to destroy them! Tell them that!" + +But as well talk to tigers. Le Borgne alone listened, his foxy glance +fastened on my face with a strange, watchful look, neither hostile nor +friendly. To Godefroy's threats the Indian answered that "white-man +talk--not true--of all," pointing to Jack Battle, "him no friend great +white chief--him captive----" + +Then Godefroy burst out with the unworthiest answer that ever passed +man's lips. + +"Of course he's a captive," screamed the trader, "then take him and +torture him and let us go! 'Twas him stopped the Indian getting the +girl!" + +"Le Borgne," I cut in sharply, "Le Borgne, it was I who stopped the +Indian killing the girl! You need not torture the little white-man. +He is a good man. He is the friend of the great white chief." + +But Le Borgne showed no interest. While the others stripped the dead +and wreaked their ghoulish work, Le Borgne gathered up the furs of the +Little Sticks and with two or three young men stole away over the crest +of the hill. + +Then the hostiles left the dead and the half-dead for the wolves. + +Prodded forward by lance-thrusts, we began the weary march back to the +lodges. The sun sank on the snowy wastes red as a shield of blood; and +with the early dusk of the northern night purpling the shadowy fields +in mist came a south wind that filled the desolate silence with +restless waitings as of lament for eternal wrong, moaning and sighing +and rustling past like invisible spirits that find no peace. + +Some of the Indians laid hands to thin lips with a low "Hs-s-h," and +the whole band quickened pace. Before twilight had deepened to the +dark that precedes the silver glow of the moon and stars and northern +lights, we were back where Le Borgne had killed the old man. The very +snow had been picked clean, and through the purple gloom far back +prowled vague forms. + +Jack Battle and I looked at each other, but the Indian fellow, who was +our guard, emitted a harsh, rasping laugh. As for Godefroy, he was +marching abreast of the braves gabbling a mumble-jumble of pleadings +and threats, which, I know very well, ignored poor Jack. Godefroy +would make a scapegoat of the weak to save his own neck, and small good +his cowardice did him! + +The moon was high in mid-heaven flooding a white world when we reached +the lodges. We three were placed under guards, while the warriors +feasted their triumph and danced the scalp-dance to drive away the +spirits of the dead. To beat of tom-tom and shriek of gourd-rattles, +the whole terrible scene was re-enacted. Stripping himself naked, but +for his moccasins, the old wizard pranced up and down like a fiend in +the midst of the circling dancers. Flaming torches smoked from poles +in front of the lodges, or were waved and tossed by the braves. +Flaunting fresh scalps from lance-heads, with tomahawk in the other +hand, each warrior went through all the fiendish moves and feints of +attack--prowling on knees, uttering the yelping, wolfish yells, +crouching for the leap, springing through mid-air, brandishing the +battle-axe, stamping upon the imaginary prostrate foe, stooping with a +glint of the scalping knife, then up, with a shout of triumph and the +scalp waving from the lance, all in time to the dull thum--thum--thum +of the tom-tom and the screaming chant of the wizard. Still the south +wind moaned about the lodges; and the dancers shouted the louder to +drown those ghost-cries of the dead. Faster and faster beat the drum. +Swifter and swifter darted the braves, hacking their own flesh in a +frenzy of fear till their shrieks out-screamed the wind. + +Then the spirits were deemed appeased. + +The mad orgy of horrors was over, but the dancers were too exhausted +for the torture of prisoners. The older men came to the lodge where we +were guarded and Godefroy again began his importunings. + +Setting Jack Battle aside, they bade the trader and me come out. + +"Better one be tortured than three," heartlessly muttered Godefroy to +Jack. "Now they'll set us free for fear of M. Radisson, and we'll come +back for you." + +But Godefroy had miscalculated the effects of his threats. At the door +stood a score of warriors who had not been to the massacre. If we +hoped to escape torture the wizard bade us follow these men. They led +us away with a sinister silence. When we reached the crest of the +hill, half-way between the lodges and the massacre, Godefroy took +alarm. This was not the direction of our fort. The trader shouted out +that M. Radisson would punish them well if they did us harm. At that +one of the taciturn fellows turned. They would take care to do us no +harm, he said, with an evil laugh. On the ridge of the hill they +paused, as if seeking a mark. Two spindly wind-stripped trees stood +straight as mast-poles above the snow. The leader went forward to +examine the bark for Indian signal, motioning Godefroy and me closer as +he examined the trees. + +With the whistle of a whip-lash through air the thongs were about us, +round and round ankle, neck, and arms, binding us fast. Godefroy +shouted out a blasphemous oath and struggled till the deer sinew cut +his buckskin. I had only succeeded in wheeling to face our treacherous +tormentors when the strands tightened. In the struggle the trader had +somehow got his face to the bark. The coils circled round him. The +thongs drew close. The Indians stood back. They had done what they +came to do. They would not harm us, they taunted, pointing to the +frost-silvered valley, where lay the dead of their morning crime. + +Then with harsh gibes, the warriors ran down the hillside, leaving us +bound. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +FACING THE END + +Below the hill on one side flickered the moving torches of the +hostiles. On the other side, where the cliff fell sheer away, lay the +red-dyed snows with misty shapes moving through the frosty valley. + +A wind of sighs swept across the white wastes. Short, sharp barkings +rose from the shadowy depth of the ravine. Then the silence of +desolation . . . then the moaning night-wind . . . then the shivering +cry of the wolf-pack scouring on nightly hunt. + +For a moment neither Godefroy nor I spoke. Then the sinews, cutting +deep, wakened consciousness. + +"Are they gone?" asked Godefroy hoarsely. + +"Yes," said I, glancing to the valley. + +"Can't you break through the thongs and get a hand free?" + +"My back is to the tree. We'll have to face it, Godefroy--don't break +down, man! We must face it!" + +"Face what?" he shuddered out. "Is anything there? Face what?" he +half screamed. + +"The end!" + +He strained at the thongs till he had strength to strain no more. Then +he broke out in a volley of maledictions at Jack Battle and me for +interfering with the massacre, to which I could answer never a word; +for the motives that merit greatest applause when they succeed, win +bitterest curses when they fail. + +The northern lights swung low. Once those lights seemed censers of +flame to an invisible God. Now they shot across the steel sky like +fiery serpents, and the rustling of their fire was as the hiss when a +fang strikes. A shooting star blazed into light against the blue, then +dropped into the eternal darkness. + +"Godefroy," I asked, "how long will this last?" + +"Till the wolves come," said he huskily. + +"A man must die some time," I called back; but my voice belied the +bravery of the words, for something gray loomed from the ravine and +stood stealthily motionless in the dusk behind the trader. +Involuntarily a quick "Hist!" went from my lips. + +"What's that?" shouted Godefroy. "Is anything there?" + +"I am cold," said I. + +And on top of that lie I prayed--prayed with wide-staring eyes on the +thing whose head had turned towards us--prayed as I have never prayed +before or since! + +"Are you sure there's nothing?" cried the trader. "Look on both sides! +I'm sure I feel something!" + +Another crouching form emerged from the gloom--then another and +another--silent and still as spectres. With a sidling motion they +prowled nearer, sniffing the air, shifting watchful look from Godefroy +to me, from me to Godefroy. A green eye gleamed nearer through the +mist. Then I knew. + +The wolves had come. + +Godefroy screamed out that he heard something, and again bade me look +on both sides of the hill. + +"Keep quiet till I see," said I; but I never took my gaze from the +green eyes of a great brute to the fore of the gathering pack. + +"But I feel them--but I hear them!" shouted Godefroy, in an agony of +terror. + +What gain to keep up pretence longer? Still holding the beast back +with no other power than the power of the man's eye over the brute, I +called out the truth to the trader. + +"Don't move! Don't speak! Don't cry out! Perhaps we can stare them +back till daylight comes!" + +Godefroy held quiet as death. Some subtle power of the man over the +brute puzzled the leader of the pack. He shook his great head with +angry snarls and slunk from side to side to evade the human eye, every +hair of his fur bristling. Then he threw up his jaws and uttered a +long howl, answered by the far cry of the coming pack. Sniffing the +ground, he began circling--closing in--closing in---- + +Then there was a shout--a groan, a struggle--a rip as of teeth--from +Godefroy's place! + + +Then with naught but a blazing of comets dropping into an everlasting +dark, with naught but a ship of fire billowing away to the flame of the +northern lights, with naught but the rush of a sea, blinding, +deafening, bearing me to the engulfment of the eternal--I lost +knowledge of this life! + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +AFTERWARD + +A long shudder, and I had awakened in stifling darkness. Was I dreaming, +or were there voices, English voices, talking about me? + +"It was too late! He will die!" + +"Draw back the curtain! Give him plenty of air!" + +In the daze of a misty dream, M. Picot was there with the foils in his +hands; and Hortense had cried out as she did that night when the button +touched home. A sweet, fresh gust blew across my face with a faint odour +of the pungent flames that used to flicker under the crucibles of the +dispensary. How came I to be lying in Boston Town? Was M. Radisson a +myth? Was the northland a dream? + +I tried to rise, but whelming shadows pushed me down; and through the +dark shifted phantom faces. + +Now it was M. Radisson quelling mutiny, tossed on plunging ice-drift, +scouring before the hurricane, leaping through red flame over the fort +wall, while wind and sea crooned a chorus like the hum of soldiers +singing and marching to battle. "Storm and cold, man and beast, powers +of darkness and devil--he must fight them all," sang the gale. "Who?" +asked a voice. In the dark was a lone figure clinging to the spars of a +wreck. "The victor," shrieked the wind. Then the waves washed over the +cast-away, leaving naught but the screaming gale and the pounding seas +and the eternal dark. + +Or it was M. Picot, fencing in mid-room. Of a sudden, foils turn to +swords, M. Picot to a masked man, and Boston to the northland forest. I +fall, and when I awaken M. Picot is standing, candle in hand, tincturing +my wounds. + +Or the dark is filled with a multitude--men and beasts; and the beasts +wear a crown of victory and the men are drunk with the blood of the slain. + +Or stealthy, crouching, wolfish forms steal through the frost mist, +closer and closer till there comes a shout--a groan--a rip as of +teeth--then I am up, struggling with Le Borgne, the one-eyed, who pushes +me back to a couch in the dark. + +Like the faces that hover above battle in soldiers' dreams was a white +face framed in curls with lustrous eyes full of lights. Always when the +darkness thickened and I began slipping--slipping into the folds of +bottomless deeps--always the face came from the gloom, like a star of +hope; and the hope drew me back. + +"There is nothing--nothing--nothing at all to fear," says the face. + +And I laugh at the absurdity of the dream. + +"To think of dreaming that Hortense would be here--would be in the +northland--Hortense, the little queen, who never would let me tell +her----" + +"Tell her what?" asks the face. + +"Hah! What a question! There is only one thing in all this world to +tell her!" + +And I laughed again till I thought there must be some elf scrambling +among the rafters of that smothery ceiling. It seemed so absurd to be +thrilled with love of Hortense with the breath of the wolves yet hot in +one's face! + +"The wolves got Godefroy," I would reason, "how didn't they get me? How +did I get away? What was that smell of fur--" + +Then some one was throwing fur robes from the couch. The phantom +Hortense kneeled at the pillow. + +"There are no wolves--it was only the robe," she says. + +"And I suppose you will be telling me there are no Indians up there among +the rafters?" + +"Give me the candle. Go away, Le Borgne! Leave me alone with him," says +the face in the gloom. "Look," says the shadow, "I am Hortense!" + +A torch was in her hand and the light fell on her face. I was as certain +that she knelt beside me as I was that I lay helpless to rise. But the +trouble was, I was equally certain there were wolves skulking through the +dark and Indians skipping among the rafters. + +"Ghosts haven't hands," says Hortense, touching mine lightly; and the +touch brought the memory of those old mocking airs from the spinet. + +Was it flood of memory or a sick man's dream? The presence seemed so +real that mustering all strength, I turned--turned to see Le Borgne, the +one-eyed, sitting on a log-end with a stolid, watchful, unreadable look +on his crafty face. + +Bluish shafts of light struck athwart the dark. A fire burned against +the far wall. The smoke had the pungent bark smell of the flame that +used to burn in M. Picot's dispensary. This, then, had brought the +dreams of Hortense, now so far away. Skins hung everywhere; but in +places the earth showed through. Like a gleam of sunlight through dark +came the thought--this was a cave, the cave of the pirates whose voices I +had heard from the ground that night in the forest, one pleading to save +me, the other sending Le Borgne to trap me. + +Leaning on my elbow, I looked from the Indian to a bearskin partition +hiding another apartment. Le Borgne had carried the stolen pelts of the +massacred tribe to the inland pirates. The pirates had sent him back for +me. + +And Hortense was a dream. Ah, well, men in their senses might have done +worse than dream of a Hortense! + +But the voice and the hand were real. + +"Le Borgne," I ask, "was any one here?" + +Le Borgne's cheeks corrugate in wrinkles of bronze that leer an evil +laugh, and he pretends not to understand. + +"Le Borgne, was any one here with you?" + +Le Borgne shifts his spread feet, mutters a guttural grunt, and puffs out +his torch; but the shafted flame reveals his shadow. I can still hear +him beside me in the dark. + +"Le Borgne is the great white chief's friend," I say; "and the white-man +is the great white chief's friend. Where are we, Le Borgne?" + +Le Borgne grunts out a low huff-huff of a laugh. + +"Here; white-man is here," says Le Borgne; and he shuffles away to the +bearskin partition hiding another apartment. + +Ah well as I said, one might do worse than dream of Hortense. But in +spite of all your philosophers say about there being no world but the +world we spin in our brains, I could not woo my lady back to it. Like +the wind that bloweth where it listeth was my love. Try as I might to +call up that pretty deceit of a Hortense about me in spirit, my perverse +lady came not to the call. + +Then, thoughts would race back to the mutiny on the stormy sea, to the +roar of the breakers crashing over decks, to M. Radisson leaping up from +dripping wreckage, muttering between his teeth--"Blind god o' chance, +they may crush, but they shall not conquer; they may kill, but I snap my +fingers in their faces to the death!" + +Then, uncalled, through the darkness comes her face. + +"God is love," says she. + +If I lie there like a log, never moving, she seems to stay; but if I feel +out through the darkness for the grip of a living hand, for the substance +of a reality on which souls anchor, like the shadow of a dream she is +gone. + +I mind once in the misty region between delirium and consciousness, when +the face slipped from me like a fading light, I called out eagerly that +love was a phantom; for her God of love had left me to the blind gods +that crush, to the storm and the dark and the ravening wolves. + +Like a light flaming from dark, the face shone through the gloom. + +"Love, a phantom," laughs the mocking voice of the imperious Hortense I +knew long ago; and the thrill of her laugh proves love the realest +phantom life can know. + +Then the child Hortense becomes of a sudden the grown woman, grave and +sweet, with eyes in the dark like stars, and strange, broken thoughts I +had not dared to hope shining unspoken on her face. + +"Life, a phantom-substance, the shadow--love, the all," the dream-face +seems to be saying. "Events are God's thoughts--storms and darkness and +prey are his puppets, the blind gods, his slaves-God is love; for you are +here! . . . You are here! . . . You are here with me!" + +When I feel through the dark this time is the grip of a living hand. + +Then we lock arms and sweep through space, the northern lights curtaining +overhead, the stars for torches, and the blazing comets heralding a way. + +"The very stars in their courses fight for us," says Hortense. + +And I, with an earthy intellect groping behind the winged love of the +woman, think that she refers to some of M. Picot's mystic astrologies. + +"No--no," says the dream-face, with the love that divines without speech, +"do you not understand? The stars fight for us--because--because----" + +"Because God is love," catching the gleam of the thought; and the stars +that fight in their courses for mortals sweep to a noonday splendour. + +And all the while I was but a crazy dreamer lying captive, wounded and +weak in a pirate cave. Oh, yes, I know very well what my fine gentlemen +dabblers in the new sciences will say--the fellow was daft and +delirious--he had lost grip on reality and his fevered wits mixed a +mumble-jumble of ancient symbolism with his own adventures. But before +you reduce all this great universe to the dimensions of a chemist's +crucible, I pray you to think twice whether the mind that fashioned the +crucible be not greater than the crucible; whether the Master-mind that +shaped the laws of the universe be not greater than the universe; whether +when man's mind loses grip--as you call it--of the little, nagging, +insistent realities it may not leap free like the jagged lightnings from +peak to peak of a consciousness that overtowers life's commoner levels! +Spite of our boastings, each knows neither more nor less than life hath +taught him. For me, I know what the dream-voice spoke proved true: life, +the shadow of a great reality; love, the all; the blind gods of storm and +dark and prey, the puppets of the God of gods, working his will; and the +God of gods a God of love, realest when love is near. + +Once, I mind, the dark seemed alive with wolfish shades, sniffing, +prowling, circling, creeping nearer like that monster wolf of fable set +on by the powers of evil to hunt Man to his doom. A nightmare of fear +bound me down. The death-frosts settled and tightened and closed--but +suddenly, Hortense took cold hands in her palms, calling and calling and +calling me back to life and hope and her. Then I waked. + +Though I peopled the mist with many shadows, Le Borgne alone stood there. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +WHO THE PIRATES WERE + +How long I lay in the pirates' cave I could not tell; for day and night +were alike with the pale-blue flame quivering against the earth-wall, +gusts of cold air sweeping through the door, low-whispered talks from +the inner cave. + +At last I surprised Le Borgne mightily by sitting bolt upright and +bidding him bring me a meal of buffalo-tongue or teal. With the stolid +repartee of the Indian he grunted back that I had tongue enough; but he +brought the stuff with no ill grace. After that he had much ado to +keep me off my feet. Finally, I promised by the soul of his +grandfather neither to spy nor listen about the doors of the inner +cave, and he let me up for an hour at a time to practise walking with +the aid of a lance-pole. As he found that I kept my word, he trusted +me alone in the cave, sitting crouched on the log-end with a buckskin +sling round my shattered sword-arm, which the wolves had not helped +that night at the stake. + +In the food Le Borgne brought was always a flavour of simples or drugs. +One night--at least I supposed it was night from the chill of the air +blowing past the bearskin--just as Le Borgne stooped to serve me, his +torch flickered out. Before he could relight, I had poured the broth +out and handed back an empty bowl. + +Then I lay with eyes tight shut and senses wide awake. The Indian sat +on the log-end watching. I did not stir. Neither did I fall asleep as +usual. The Indian cautiously passed a candle across my face. I lay +motionless as I had been drugged. At that he stalked off. Voices +began in the other apartment. Two or three forms went tip-toeing about +the cave. Shadows passed athwart the flame. A gust of cold; and with +half-closed eyes I saw three men vanish through the outer doorway over +fields no longer snow-clad. + +Had spring come? How long had I lain in the cave? Before I gained +strength to escape, would M. Radisson have left for Quebec? Then came +a black wave of memory--thought of Jack Battle, the sailor lad, +awaiting our return to rescue him. From the first Jack and I had held +together as aliens in Boston Town. Should I lie like a stranded hull +while he perished? Risking spies on the watch, I struggled up and +staggered across the cave to that blue flame quivering so mysteriously. +As I neared, the mystery vanished, for it was nothing more than one of +those northern beds of combustibles--gas, tar, or coal--set burning by +the ingenious pirates. [1] + +The spirit was willing enough to help Jack, but the flesh was weak. +Presently I sank on the heaped pelts all atremble. I had promised not +to spy nor eavesdrop, but that did not prohibit escape. But how could +one forage for food with a right arm in bands and a left unsteady as +aim of a girl? Le Borgne had befriended me twice--once in the storm, +again on the hill. Perhaps he might know of Jack. I would wait the +Indian's return. Meanwhile I could practise my strength by walking up +and down the cave. + +The walls were hung with pelts. Where the dry clay crumbled, the roof +had been timbered. A rivulet of spring water bubbled in one dark +corner. At the same end an archway led to inner recesses. Behind the +skin doorway sounded heavy breathing, as of sleepers. I had promised +not to spy. Turning, I retraced the way to the outer door. Here +another pelt swayed heavily in the wind. Dank, earthy smells of +spring, odours of leaves water-soaked by melting snows, the faint +perfume of flowers pushing up through mats of verdure, blew in on the +night breeze. + +Pushing aside the flap, I looked out. The spur of a steep declivity +cut athwart the cave. Now I could guess where I was. This was the +hill down which I had stumbled that night the voices had come from the +ground. Here the masked man had sprung from the thicket. Not far off +M. Radisson had first met the Indians. To reach the French Habitation +I had but to follow the river. + +That hope set me pacing again for exercise; and the faster I walked the +faster raced thoughts over the events of the crowded years. Again the +Prince Rupert careened seaward, bearing little Hortense to England. +Once more Ben Gillam swaggered on the water-front of Boston Town, +boasting all that he would do when he had ship of his own. Then Jack +Battle, building his castles of fortune for love of Hortense, and all +unconsciously letting slip the secret of good Boston men deep involved +in pirate schemes. The scene shifted to the far north, and a masked +man had leaped from the forest dark only to throw down his weapon when +the firelight shone on my face. Again the white darkness of the storm, +the three shadowy figures and Le Borgne sent to guide us back to the +fort. Again, to beat of drum and shriek of fife, M. Radisson was +holding his own against the swarming savages that assailed the New +Englanders' fort. Then I was living over the unspeakable horror of the +Indian massacre ending in that awful wait on the crest of the hill. + +The memory brought a chill as of winter cold. With my back to both +doors I stood shuddering over the blue fire. Whatever logicians may +say, we do not reason life's conclusions out. Clouds blacken the +heavens till there comes the lightning-flash. So do our intuitions +leap unwarned from the dark. 'Twas thus I seemed to fathom the mystery +of those interlopers. Ben Gillam had been chosen to bring the pirate +ship north because his father, of the Hudson's Bay Company, could +screen him from English spies. Mr. Stocking, of Boston, was another +partner to the venture, who could shield Ben from punishment in New +England. But the third partner was hiding inland to defraud the others +of the furs. That was the meaning of Ben's drunken threats. Who was +the third partner? Had not Eli Kirke planned trading in the north with +Mr. Stocking? Were the pirates some agents of my uncle? Did that +explain why my life had been three times spared? One code of morals +for the church and another for the trade is the way of many a man; but +would the agents of a Puritan deacon murder a rival in the dark of a +forest, or lead Indians to massacre the crew of partners, or take furs +gotten at the price of a tribe's extermination? + +Turning that question over, I heard the inner door-flap lift. There +was no time to regain the couch, but a quick swerve took me out of the +firelight in the shadow of a great wolfskin against the wall. You will +laugh at the old idea of honour, but I had promised not to spy, and I +never raised my eyes from the floor. There was no sound but the +gurgling of the spring in the dark and the sharp crackle of the flame. + +Thinking the wind had blown the flap, I stepped from hiding. Something +vague as mist held back in shadow. The lines of a white-clad figure +etched themselves against the cave wall. It floated out, paused, moved +forward. + +Then I remember clutching at the wolfskin like one clinching a +death-grip of reality, praying God not to let go a soul's anchor-hold +of reason. + +For when the figure glided into the slant blue rays of the shafted +flame it was Hortense--the Hortense of the dreams, sweet as the child, +grave as the grown woman-Hortense with closed eyes and moving lips and +hands feeling out in the dark as if playing invisible keys. + +She was asleep. + +Then came the flash that lighted the clouds of the past. + +The interloper, the pirate, the leader of Indian marauders, the +defrauder of his partners, was M. Picot, the French doctor, whom Boston +had outlawed, and who was now outlawing their outlawry. We do not +reason out our conclusions, as I said before. At our supremest moments +we do not _think_. Consciousness leaps from summit to summit like the +forked lightnings across the mountain-peaks; and the mysteries of life +are illumined as a spread-out scroll. In that moment of joy and fear +and horror, as I crouched back to the wall, I did not _think_. I +_knew_--knew the meaning of all M. Picot's questionings on the fur +trade; of that murderous attack in the dark when an antagonist flung +down his weapon; of the spying through the frosted woods; of the +figures in the white darkness; of the attempt to destroy Ben Gillam's +fort; of the rescue from the crest of the hill; and of all those +strange delirious dreams. + +It was as if the past focused itself to one flaming point, and the +flash of that point illumined life, as deity must feel to whom past and +present and future are one. + +And all the while, with temples pounding like surf on rock and the roar +of the sea in my ears, I was not _thinking_, only _knowing_ that +Hortense was standing in the blue-shafted light with tremulous lips and +white face and a radiance on her brow not of this life. + +Her hands ran lightly over imaginary keys. The blue flame darted and +quivered through the gloom. The hushed purr of the spring broke the +stillness in metallic tinklings. A smile flitted across the sleeper's +face. Her lips parted. The crackle of the flame seemed loud as tick +of clock in death-room. + +"To get the memory of it," she said. + +And there stole out of the past mocking memories of that last night in +the hunting-room, filling the cave with tuneless melodies like thoughts +creeping into thoughts or odour of flowers in dark. + +But what was she saying in her sleep? + +"Blind gods of chance"--the words that had haunted my delirium, then +quick-spoken snatches too low for me to hear--"no-no"--then more that +was incoherent, and she was gliding back to the cave. + +She had lifted the curtain door--she was whispering--she paused as if +for answer-then with face alight, "The stars fight for us--" she said; +and she had disappeared. + +The flame set the shadows flickering. The rivulet gurgled loud in the +dark. And I came from concealment as from a spirit world. + +Then Hortense was no dream, and love was no phantom, and God--was what? + +There I halted. The powers of darkness yet pressed too close for me to +see through to the God that was love. I only knew that He who throned +the universe was neither the fool that ignorant bigots painted, nor the +blind power, making wanton war of storm and dark and cold. For had not +the blind forces brought Hortense to me, and me to Hortense? + +Consciousness was leaping from summit to summit like the forked +lightnings, and the light that burned was the light that transfigures +life for each soul. + +The spell of a presence was there. + +Then it came home to me what a desperate game the French doctor had +played. That sword-thrust in the dark meant death; so did the attack +on Ben Gillam's fort; and was it not Le Borgne, M. Picot's Indian ally, +who had counselled the massacre of the sleeping tribe? You must not +think that M. Picot was worse than other traders of those days! The +north is a desolate land, and though blood cry aloud from stones, there +is no man to hear. + +I easily guessed that M. Picot would try to keep me with him till M. +Radisson had sailed. Then I must needs lock hands with piracy. + +Hortense and I were pawns in the game. + +At one moment I upbraided him for bringing Hortense to this wilderness +of murder and pillage. At another I considered that a banished +gentleman could not choose his goings. How could I stay with M. Picot +and desert M. de Radisson? How could I go to M. de Radisson and +abandon Hortense? + +"Straight is the narrow way," Eli Kirke oft cried out as he expounded +Holy Writ. + +Ah, well, if the narrow way is straight, it has a trick of becoming +tangled in a most terrible snarl! + +Wheeling the log-end right about, I sat down to await M. Picot. There +was stirring in the next apartment. An ebon head poked past the door +curtain, looked about, and withdrew without detecting me. The face I +remembered at once. It was the wife of M. Picot's blackamoor. Only +three men had passed from the cave. If the blackamoor were one, M. +Picot and Le Borgne _must_ be the others. + +Footsteps grated on the pebbles outside. I rose with beating heart to +meet M. Picot, who held my fate in his hands. Then a ringing +pistol-shot set my pulse jumping. + +I ran to the door. Something plunged heavily against the curtain. The +robe ripped from the hangings. In the flood of moonlight a man pitched +face forward to the cave floor. He reeled up with a cry of rage, +caught blindly at the air, uttered a groan, fell back. + +"M. Picot!" + +Blanched and faint, the French doctor lay with a crimsoning pool wet +under his head. "I am shot! What will become of her?" he groaned. "I +am shot! It was Gillam! It was Gillam!" + +Hortense and the negress came running from the inner cave. Le Borgne +and the blackamoor dashed from the open with staring horror. + +"Lift me up! For God's sake, air!" cried M. Picot. + +We laid him on the pelts in the doorway, Le Borgne standing guard +outside. + +Hortense stooped to stanch the wound, but the doctor motioned her off +with a fierce impatience, and bade the negress lead her away. Then he +lay with closed eyes, hands clutched to the pelts, and shuddering +breath. + +The blackamoor had rushed to the inner cave for liquor, when M. Picot +opened his eyes with a strange far look fastened upon me. + +"Swear it," he commanded. + +And I thought his mind wandering. + +He groaned heavily. "Don't you understand? It's Hortense. Swear +you'll restore her--" and his breath came with a hard metallic rattle +that warned the end. + +"Doctor Picot," said I, "if you have anything to say, say it quickly +and make your peace with God!" + +"Swear you'll take her back to her people and treat her as a sister," +he cried. + +"I swear before God that I shall take Hortense back to her people, and +that I shall treat her like a sister," I repeated, raising my right +hand. + +That seemed to quiet him. He closed his eyes. + +"Sir," said I, "have you nothing more to say? Who are her people?" + +"Is . . . is . . . any one listening?" he asked in short, hard breaths. + +I motioned the others back. + +"Listen"--the words came in quick, rasping breaths. "She is not +mine . . . it was at night . . . they brought her . . . ward o' the +court . . . lands . . . they wanted me." There was a sharp pause, a +shivering whisper. "I didn't poison her"--the dying man caught +convulsively at my hands--"I swear I had no thought of harming +her. . . . They . . . paid. . . . I fled. . . ." + +"Who paid you to poison Hortense? Who is Hortense?" I demanded; for +his life was ebbing and the words portended deep wrong. + +But his mind was wandering again, for he began talking so fast that I +could catch only a few words. "Blood! Blood! Colonel Blood!" Then +"Swear it," he cried. + +That speech sapped his strength. He sank back with shut eyes and faint +breathings. + +We forced a potion between his lips. + +"Don't let Gillam," he mumbled, "don't let Gillam . . . have the furs." + +A tremor ran through his stiffening frame. A little shuddering +breath--and M. Picot had staked his last pawn in life's game. + + +[1] In confirmation of Mr. Stanhope's record it may be stated that on +the western side of the northland in the Mackenzie River region are gas +and tar veins that are known to have been burning continuously for +nearly two centuries. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +HOW THE PIRATES CAME + +Inside our Habitation all was the confusion of preparation for leaving +the bay. Outside, the Indians held high carnival; for Allemand, the +gin-soaked pilot, was busy passing drink through the loopholes to a +pandemonium of savages raving outside the stockades. 'Tis not a pretty +picture, that memory of white-men besotting the Indian; but I must even +set down the facts as they are, bidding you to remember that the white +trader who besotted the Indian was the same white trader who befriended +all tribes alike when the hunt failed and the famine came. La +Chesnaye, the merchant prince, it was, who managed this low +trafficking. Indeed, for the rubbing together of more doubloons in his +money-bags I think that La Chesnaye's servile nature would have +bargained to send souls in job lots blindfold over the gangplank. But, +as La Chesnaye said when Pierre Radisson remonstrated against the +knavery, the gin was nine parts rain-water. + +"The more cheat, you, to lay such unction to your conscience," says M. +de Radisson. "Be an honest knave, La Chesnaye!" + +Forêt, the marquis, stalked up and down before the gate with two guards +at his heels. All day long birch canoes and log dugouts and tubby +pirogues and crazy rafts of loose-lashed pine logs drifted to our +water-front with bands of squalid Indians bringing their pelts. Skin +tepees rose outside our palisades like an army of mushrooms. Naked +brats with wisps of hair coarse as a horse's mane crawled over our +mounted cannon, or scudded between our feet like pups, or felt our +European clothes with impudent wonder. Young girls having hair +plastered flat with bear's grease stood peeping shyly from tent flaps. +Old squaws with skin withered to a parchment hung over the campfires, +cooking. And at the loopholes pressed the braves and the bucks and the +chief men exchanging beaver-skins for old iron, or a silver fox for a +drink of gin, or ermine enough to make His Majesty's coronation robe +for some flashy trinket to trick out a vain squaw. From dawn to dusk +ran the patter of moccasined feet, man after man toiling up from +river-front to fort gate with bundles of peltries on his back and a +carrying strap across his brow. + +Unarmed, among the savages, pacifying drunken hostiles at the +water-front, bidding Jean and me look after the carriers, in the +gateway, helping Sieur de Groseillers to sort the furs--Pierre Radisson +was everywhere. In the guard-house were more English prisoners than we +had crews of French; and in the mess-room sat Governor Brigdar of the +Hudson's Bay Company, who took his captivity mighty ill and grew +prodigious pot-valiant over his cups. Here, too, lolled Ben Gillam, +the young New Englander, rumbling out a drunken vengeance against those +inland pirates, who had deprived him of the season's furs. + +Once, I mind, when M. Radisson came suddenly on these two worthies, +their fuddled heads were close together above the table. + +"Look you," Ben was saying in a big, rasping whisper, "I shot him--I +shot him with a brass button. The black arts are powerless agen brass. +Devil sink my soul if I didn't shoot him! The red--spattered over the +brush----" + +M. Radisson raised a hand to silence my coming. + +Ben's nose poked across the table, closer to Governor Brigdar's ear. + +"But look you, Mister What's-y-er-name," says he. + +"Don't you Mister me, you young cub!" interrupts the governor with a +pompous show of drunken dignity. + +"A fig for Your Excellency," cries the young blackguard. "Who's who +when he's drunk? As I was a-telling, look you, though the red +spattered the bushes, when I run up he'd vanished into air with a flash +o' powder from my musket! 'Twas by the black arts that nigh hanged him +in Boston Town----" + +At that, Governor Brigdar claps his hand to the table and swears that +he cares nothing for black arts if only the furs can be found. + +"The furs--aye," husks Ben, "if we can only find the furs! An our men +hold together, we're two to one agen the Frenchies----" + +"Ha," says M. Radisson. "Give you good-morning, gentlemen, and I hope +you find yourselves in health." + +The two heads flew apart like the halves of a burst cannon-shell. +Thereafter, Radisson kept Ben and Governor Brigdar apart. + +Of Godefroy and Jack Battle we could learn naught. Le Borgne would +never tell what he and M. Picot had seen that night they rescued me +from the hill. Whether Le Borgne and the hostiles of the massacre lied +or no, they both told the same story of Jack. While the tribe was +still engaged in the scalp-dance, some one had untied Jack's bands. +When the braves went to torture their captive, he had escaped. But +whither had he gone that he had not come back to us? Like the sea is +the northland, full of nameless graves; and after sending scouts far +and wide, we gave up all hope of finding the sailor lad. + +But in the fort was another whose presence our rough fellows likened to +a star flower on the stained ground of some hard-fought battle. After +M. Radisson had quieted turbulent spirits by a reading of holy lessons, +Mistress Hortense queened it over our table of a Sunday at noon. +Waiting upon her at either hand were the blackamoor and the negress. A +soldier in red stood guard behind; and every man, officer, and commoner +down the long mess-table tuned his manners to the pure grace of her +fair face. + +What a hushing of voices and cleansing of wits and disusing of oaths +was there after my little lady came to our rough Habitation! + +I mind the first Sunday M. Radisson led her out like a queen to the +mess-room table. When our voyageurs went upstream for M. Picot's +hidden furs, her story had got noised about the fort. Officers, +soldiers, and sailors had seated themselves at the long benches on +either side the table; but M. Radisson's place was empty and a sort of +throne chair had been extemporized at the head of the table. An angry +question went from group to group to know if M. Radisson designed such +place of honour for the two leaders of our prisoners--under lock in the +guard-room. M. de Groseillers only laughed and bade the fellows +contain their souls and stomachs in patience. A moment later, the door +to the quarters where Hortense lived was thrown open by a red-coated +soldier, and out stepped M. Radisson leading Hortense by the tips of +her dainty fingers, the ebon faces of the two blackamoors grinning +delight behind. + +You could have heard a pin fall among our fellows. Then there was a +noise of armour clanking to the floor. Every man unconsciously took to +throwing his pistol under the table, flinging sword-belt down and +hiding daggers below benches. Of a sudden, the surprise went to their +heads. + +"Gentlemen," began M. Radisson. + +But the fellows would have none of his grand speeches. With a cheer +that set the rafters ringing, they were on their feet; and to Mistress +Hortense's face came a look that does more for the making of men than +all New England's laws or my uncle's blasphemy boxes or King Charles's +dragoons. You ask what that look was? Go to, with your teasings! A +lover is not to be asked his whys! I ask you in return why you like +the spire of a cathedral pointing up instead of down; or why the muses +lift souls heavenward? Indeed, of all the fine arts granted the human +race to lead men's thoughts above the sordid brutalities of living, +methinks woman is the finest; for God's own hand fashioned her, and she +was the last crowning piece of all His week's doings. The finest arts +are the easiest spoiled, as you know very well; and if you demand how +Mistress Hortense could escape harm amid all the wickedness of that +wilderness, I answer it is a thing that your townsfolk cannot know. + +It is of the wilderness. + +The wilderness is a foster-mother that teacheth hard, strange +paradoxes. The first is _the sin of being weak_; and the second is +that _death is the least of life's harms_. + + +Wrapped in those furs for which he had staked his life like many a +gamester of the wilderness, M. Picot lay buried in that sandy stretch +outside the cave door. Turning to lead Hortense away before Le Borgne +and the blackamoor began filling the grave, I found her stonily silent +and tearless. + +But it was she who led me. + +Scrambling up the hillside like a chamois of the mountains, she flitted +lightly through the greening to a small open where campers had built +night fires. Her quick glance ran from tree to tree. Some wood-runner +had blazed a trail by notching the bark. Pausing, she turned with the +frank, fearless look of the wilderness woman. She was no longer the +elusive Hortense of secluded life. A change had come--the change of +the hothouse plant set out to the bufferings of the four winds of +heaven to perish from weakness or gather strength from hardship. Your +woman of older lands must hood fair eyes, perforce, lest evil masking +under other eyes give wrong intent to candour; but in the wilderness +each life stands stripped of pretence, honestly good or evil, bare at +what it is; and purity clear as the noonday sun needs no trick of +custom to make it plainer. + +"Is not this the place?" she asked. + +Looking closer, from shrub to open, I recognised the ground of that +night attack in the woods. + +"Hortense, then it was you that I saw at the fire with the others?" + +She nodded assent. She had not uttered one word to explain how she +came to that wild land; nor had I asked. + +"It was you who pleaded for my life in the cave below my feet?" + +"I did not know you had heard! I only sent Le Borgne to bring you +back!" + +"I hid as he passed." + +"But I sent a message to the fort----" + +"Not to be bitten by the same dog twice--I thought that meant to keep +away?" + +"What?" asked Hortense, passing her hand over her eyes. "Was that the +message he gave you? Then monsieur had bribed him! I sent for you to +come to us. Oh, that is the reason you never came----" + +"And that is the reason you have hidden from me all the year and never +sent me word?" + +"I thought--I thought--" She turned away. "Ben Gillam told monsieur +you had left Boston on our account----" + +"And you thought I wanted to avoid you----" + +"I did not blame you," she said. "Indeed, indeed, I was very +weak--monsieur must have bribed Le Borgne--I sent word again and +again--but you never answered!" + +"How could you misunderstand--O Hortense, after that night in the +hunting-room, how could you believe so poorly of me!" + +She gave a low laugh. "That's what your good angel used to plead," she +said. + +"Good angel, indeed!" said I, memory of the vows to that miscreant +adventurer fading. "That good angel was a lazy baggage! She should +have compelled you to believe!" + +"Oh--she did," says Hortense quickly. "The poor thing kept telling me +and telling me to trust you till I--" + +"Till you what, Hortense?" + +She did not answer at once. + +"Monsieur and the blackamoor and I had gone to the upper river watching +for the expected boats----" + +"Hortense, were you the white figure behind the bush that night we were +spying on the Prince Rupert!" + +"Yes," she said, "and you pointed your gun at me!" + +I was too dumfounded for words. Then a suspicion flashed to my mind. +"Who sent Le Borgne for us in the storm, Hortense?" + +"Oh," says Hortense, "that was nothing! Monsieur pretended that he +thought you were caribou. He wanted to shoot. Oh," she said, "oh, how +I have hated him! To think--to think that he would shoot when you +helped us in Boston!" + +"Hortense, who sent Le Borgne and M. Picot to save me from the wolves?" + +"Oh," says Hortense bravely, with a shudder between the words, "that +was--that was nothing--I mean--one would do as much for +anybody--for--for--for a poor little stoat, or--or--a caribou if the +wolves were after it!" + +And we laughed with the tears in our eyes. And all the while that vow +to the dying adventurer was ringing like a faint death toll to hope. I +remember trying to speak a gratitude too deep for words. + +"Can--I ever--ever repay you--Hortense?" I was asking. + +"Repay!" she said with a little bitter laugh. "Oh! I hate that word +repay! I hate all give-and-take and so-much-given-for-so-much-got!" +Then turning to me with her face aflame: "I am--I am--oh--why can't you +understand?" she asked. + +And then--and then--there was a wordless cry--her arms reached out in +mute appeal--there was no need of speech. + +The forest shone green and gold in the sunlight. The wind rustled past +like a springtime presence, a presence that set all the pines swaying +and the aspens aquiver with music of flower legend and new birth and +the joy of life. There was a long silence; and in that silence the +pulsing of the mighty forces that lift mortals to immortality. + +Then a voice which only speaks when love speaks through the voice was +saying, "Do you remember your dreams?" + +"What?" stooping to cull some violets that had looked well against the +green of her hunting-suit. + +"'Blind gods of chance--blind gods of chance'--you used to say that +over and over!" + +"Ah, M. Radisson taught me that! God bless the blind gods of +chance--Hortense teaches me that; for"--giving her back her own +words--"you are here--you are here--you are here with me! God bless +the gods of chance!" + +"Oh," she cried, "were you not asleep? Monsieur let me watch after you +had taken the sleeping drug." + +"The stars fight for us in their courses," said I, handing up the +violets. + +"Ramsay," she asked with a sudden look straight through my eyes, "what +did he make you promise when--when--he was dying?" + +The question brought me up like a sail hauled short. And when I told +her, she uttered strange reproaches. + +"Why--why did you promise that?" she asked. "It has always been his +mad dream. And when I told him I did not want to be restored, that I +wanted to be like Rebecca and Jack and you and the rest, he called me a +little fool and bade me understand that he had not poisoned me as he +was paid to do because it was to his advantage to keep me alive. +Courtiers would not assassinate a stray waif, he said; there was wealth +for the court's ward somewhere; and when I was restored, I was to +remember who had slaved for me. Indeed, indeed, I think that he would +have married me, but that he feared it would bar him from any property +as a king's ward----" + +"Is that all you know?" + +"That is all. Why--why--did you promise?" + +"What else was there to do, Hortense? You can't stay in this +wilderness." + +"Oh, yes," says Hortense wearily, and she let the violets fall. +"What--what else was there to do?" + +She led the way back to the cave. + +"You have not asked me how we came here," she began with visible effort. + +"Tell me no more than you wish me to know!" + +"Perhaps you remember a New Amsterdam gentleman and a page boy leaving +Boston on the Prince Rupert?" + +"Perhaps," said I. + +"Captain Gillam of the Prince Rupert signalled to his son outside the +harbour. Monsieur had been bargaining with Ben all winter. Ben took +us to the north with Le Borgne for interpreter----" + +"Does Ben know you are here?" + +"Not as Hortense! I was dressed as a page. Then Le Borgne told us of +this cave and monsieur plotted to lead the Indians against Ben, capture +the fort and ship, and sail away with all the furs for himself. Oh, +how I have hated him!" she exclaimed with a sudden impetuous stamp. + +Leaving her with the slaves, I took Le Borgne with me to the +Habitation. Here, I told all to M. Radisson. And his quick mind +seized this, too, for advantage. + +"Precious pearls," he exclaims, "but 'tis a gift of the gods!" + +"Sir?" + +"Pardieu, Chouart; listen to this," and he tells his kinsman, +Groseillers. + +"Why not?" asks Groseillers. "You mean to send her to Mary Kirke?" + +Mary Kirke was Pierre Radisson's wife, who would not leave the English +to go to him when he had deserted England for France. + +"Sir John Kirke is director of the English Company now. He hath been +knighted by King Charles. Mary and Sir John will present this little +maid at the English court. An she be not a nine days' wonder there, my +name is not Pierre Radisson. If she's a court ward, some of the crew +must take care of her." + +Groseillers smiled. "An the French reward us not well for this +winter's work, that little maid may open a door back to England; eh, +kinsman?" + + +'Twas the same gamestering spirit carrying them through all hazard that +now led them to prepare for fresh partnership, lest France played +false. And as history tells, France played very false indeed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +WE LEAVE THE NORTH SEA + +So Sieur Radisson must fit out a royal flotilla to carry Mistress +Hortense to the French Habitation. And gracious acts are like the gift +horse: you must not look them in the mouth. For the same flotilla that +brought Hortense brought all M. Picot's hoard of furs. Coming down the +river, lying languidly back among the peltries of the loaded canoe, +Hortense, I mind, turned to me with that honest look of hers and asked +why Sieur Radisson sent to fetch her in such royal state. + +"I am but a poor beggar like your little Jack Battle," she protested. + +I told her of M. Radisson's plans for entrance to the English court, +and the fire that flashed to her eyes was like his own. + +"Must a woman ever be a cat's-paw to man's ambitions?" she asked, with +a gleam of the dark lights. "Oh, the wilderness is different," says +Hortense with a sigh. "In the wild land, each is for its own! Oh, I +love it!" she adds, with a sudden lighting of the depths in her eyes. + +"Love--what?" + +"The wilderness," says Hortense. "It is hard, but it's free and it's +pure and it's true and it's strong!" + +And she sat back among the pillows. + +When we shot through racing rapids--"sauter les rapides," as our French +voyageurs say--she sat up all alert and laughed as the spray splashed +athwart. Old Allemand, the pilot, who was steersman on this canoe, +forgot the ill-humour of his gin thirst, and proffered her a paddle. + +"Here, pretty thing," says he, "try a stroke yourself!" + +And to the old curmudgeon's surprise she took it with a joyous laugh, +and paddled half that day. + +Bethink you who know what warm hearts beat inside rough buckskin +whether those voyageurs were her slaves or no! The wind was blowing; +Mistress Hortense's hair tossed in a way to make a man swear (vows, not +oaths), and Allemand said that I paddled worse than any green hand of a +first week. At the Habitation we disembarked after nightfall to +conceal our movements from the English. After her arrival, none of us +caught a glimpse of Mistress Hortense except of a Sunday at noon, but +of her presence there was proof enough. Did voices grow loud in the +mess-room? A hand was raised. Some one pointed to the far door, and +the voices fell. Did a fellow's tales slip an oath or two? There was +a hush. Some one's thumb jerked significantly shoulderwise to the +door, and the story-teller leashed his oats for a more convenient +season. + +"Oh, lordy," taunts an English prisoner out on parole one day, "any +angels from kingdom come that you Frenchies keep meek as lambs?" + +Allemand, not being able to explain, knocked the fellow flat. + +It would scarce have been human nature had not some of the ruffians +uttered slurs on the origin of such an one as Hortense found in so +strange a case. The mind that feedeth on carrion ever goeth with the +large mouth, and for the cleansing of such natures I wot there is no +better physic than our crew gave those gossips. What the sailors did I +say not. Enough that broken heads were bound by our chirurgeon for the +rest of the week. + +That same chirurgeon advised a walk outside the fort walls for Mistress +Hillary's health. By the goodness of Providence, the duty of escorting +her fell to me. Attended by the blackamoor and a soldier, with a +musket across my shoulder, I led her out of a rear sally-port and so +avoided the scenes of drunkenness among the Indians at the main gate. +We got into hiding of a thicket, but boisterous shouting came from the +Indian encampment. I glanced at Hortense. She was clad in a green +hunting-suit, and by the light of the setting sun her face shone +radiant. + +"You are not afraid?" + +A flush of sheer delight in life flooded her cheeks. + +"Afraid?" she laughed. + +"Hortense! Hortense! Do you not hear the drunken revel? Do you know +what it means? This world is full of what a maid must fear. 'Tis her +fear protects her." + +"Ah?" asks Hortense. + +And she opened the tight-clasped hunting-cloak. A Spanish poniard hung +against the inner folds. + +"'Tis her courage must protect her. The wilderness teaches that," says +Hortense, "the wilderness and men like Picot." + +Then we clasped hands and ran like children from thicket to rock and +rock to the long stretches of shingly shore. Behind came the +blackamoor and the soldier. The salt spray flew in our faces, the wind +through our hair; and in our hearts, a joy untold. Where a great +obelisk of rock thrust across the way, Hortense halted. She stood on +the lee side of the rock fanning herself with her hat. + +"Now you are the old Hortense!" + +"I _am_ older, hundreds of years older," laughed Hortense. + +The westering sun and the gold light of the sea and the caress of a +spring wind be perilous setting for a fair face. I looked and looked +again. + +"Hortense, should an oath to the dead bind the living?" + +"If it was right to take the oath, yes," said Hortense. + +"Hortense, I may never see you alone again. I promised to treat you as +I would treat a sister----" + +"But--" interrupts Hortense. + +Footsteps were approaching along the sand. I thought only of the +blackamoor and soldier. + +"I promised to treat you as I would a sister--but what--Hortense?" + +"But--but I didn't promise to treat you as I would a brother----" + +Then a voice from the other side of the rock: "Devil sink my soul to +the bottom of the sea if that viper Frenchman hasn't all our furs +packed away in his hold!" + +Then--"A pox on him for a meddlesome--" the voice fell. + +Then Ben Gillam again: "Shiver my soul! Let 'im set sail, I say! +Aren't you and me to be shipped on a raft for the English fort at the +foot o' the bay?" + +"We'll send 'em all to the bottom o' hell first." + +"An you give the word, all my men will rise!" + +"Capture the fort--risk the ships--butcher the French!" + +Hortense raised her hand and pointed along the shore. Our two guards +were lumbering up and would presently betray our presence. Stealing +forward we motioned their silence. I sent both to listen behind the +rock, while Hortense and I struck into cover of the thicket to regain +the fort. + +"Do not fear," said I. "M. Radisson has kept the prisoners in hand. +He will snuff this pretty conspiracy out before Brigdar and Ben get +their heads apart." + +She gave that flitting look which laughs at fear and hastened on. We +could not go back as we had come without exposing ourselves to the two +conspirators, and our course lay nearer the Indian revel. About a mile +from the fort Hortense stopped short. Through the underbrush crawled +two braves with their eyes leering at us. + +"Hortense," I urged, "run for the rear gate! I'll deal with these two +alone. There may be more! Run, my dear!" + +"Give me your musket," she said, never taking her eyes from the savages. + +Wondering not a little at the request, I handed her the weapon. + +"Now run," I begged, for a sand crane flapped up where the savages had +prowled a pace nearer. + +Quick as it rose Hortense aimed. There was a puff of smoke. The bird +fell shot at the savages' feet, and the miscreants scudded off in +terror. + +"That was better," said Hortense, "_you_ would have killed a man." + +In vain I urged her to hasten back. She walked. + +"You know it may be the last time," she laughed, mocking my grave air +of the beach. + +"Hortense--Hortense--how am I to keep a promise?" + +But she did not answer a word till we reached the sally-port. There +she turned with a brave enough look till her eyes met mine, when all +was the confusion that men give their lives to win. + +"Yes--yes--keep your promise. If you had not come, I had died; if I +had not come, you had died. Let us keep faith with truth, for that's +keeping faith with God--and--and--God bless you," she whispered +brokenly, and she darted through the gate. + + * * * * * * + +And the next morning we embarked, young Jean Groseillers remaining with +ten Frenchmen to hold the fort; Brigdar and Ben aboard our ship instead +of going to the English at the foot of the bay; half the prisoners +under hatches in M. Groseillers's ship; the other half sent south on +the raft--a plan which effectually stopped that conspiracy of Ben's. +Not one glimpse of our fair passenger had we on all that voyage south, +for what with Ben's oaths and Governor Brigdar's drinking, the cabin +was no place for Hortense. + +At Isle Percée, entering the St. Lawrence, lay a messenger from La +Chesnaye's father with a missive that bore ill news. + +M. de la Barre, the new governor, had ordered our furs confiscated +because we had gone north without a license, and La Chesnaye had +thriftily rigged up this ship to send half our cargo across to France +before the Farmers of the Revenue could get their hands upon it. It +was this gave rise to the slander that M. de Radisson ran off with half +La Chesnaye's furs--which the records de la marine will disprove, if +you search them. + +On this ship with her blackamoors sailed Mistress Hortense, bearing +letters to Sir John Kirke, director of the Hudson's Bay Company and +father of M. Radisson's wife. + +"Now praise be Heaven, that little ward will open the way for us in +England, Chouart," said M. de Radisson, as he moodily listened to news +of the trouble abrewing in Quebec. + +And all the way up the St. Lawrence, as the rolling tide lapped our +keel, I was dreaming of a far, cold paleocrystic sea, mystic in the +frost-clouds that lay over it like smoke. Then a figure emerged from +the white darkness. I was snatched up, with the northern lights for +chariot, two blazing comets our steeds, and the north star a charioteer. + + + + +PART III + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A CHANGE OF PARTNERS + +Old folks are wont to repeat themselves, but that is because they would +impress those garnered lessons which age no longer has strength to +drive home at one blow. + +Royalist and Puritan, each had his lesson to learn, as I said before. +Each marked the pendulum swing to a wrong extreme, and the pendulum was +beating time for your younger generations to march by. And so I say to +you who are wiser by the follies of your fathers, look not back too +scornfully; for he who is ever watching to mock at the tripping of +other men's feet is like to fall over a very small stumbling-block +himself. + +Already have I told you of holy men who would gouge a man's eye out for +the extraction of one small bean, and counted burnings life's highest +joy, and held the body accursed as a necessary evil for the +tabernacling of the soul. Now must I tell you of those who wantoned +"in the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eye and the pride of +life," who burned their lives out at a shrine of folly, and who held +that the soul and all things spiritual had gone out of fashion except +for the making of vows and pretty conceits in verse by a lover to his +lady. + +For Pierre Radisson's fears of France playing false proved true. Bare +had our keels bumped through that forest of sailing craft, which ever +swung to the tide below Quebec fort, when a company of young cadets +marches down from the Castle St. Louis to escort us up to M. de la +Barre, the new governor. + +"Hm," says M. Radisson, looking in his half-savage buckskins a wild +enough figure among all those young jacks-in-a-box with their gold lace +and steel breastplates. "Hm--let the governor come to us! An you will +not go to a man, a man must come to you!" + +"I am indisposed," says he to the cadets. "Let the governor come to +me." + +And come he did, with a company of troops fresh out from France and a +roar of cannon from the ramparts that was more for the frightening than +welcoming of us. + +M. de Radisson bade us answer the salute by a firing of muskets in +mid-air. Then we all let go a cheer for the Governor of New France. + +"I must thank Your Excellency for the welcome sent down by your +cadets," says M. de Radisson, meeting the governor half-way across the +gang-plank. + +M. de la Barre, an iron-gray man past the prime of life, gave spare +smile in answer to that. + +"I bade my cadets request you to _report_ at the castle," says he, with +a hard wrinkling of the lines round his lips. + +"I bade your fellows report that I was indisposed!" + +"Did the north not agree with Sieur Radisson?" asks the governor dryly. + +"Pardieu!--yes--better than the air of Quebec," retorts M. Radisson. + +By this the eyes of the listeners were agape, M. Radisson not budging a +pace to go ashore, the governor scarce courting rebuff in sight of his +soldiers. + +"Radisson," says M. de la Barre, motioning his soldiers back and +following to our captain's cabin, "a fellow was haltered and whipped +for disrespect to the bishop yesterday!" + +"Fortunately," says M. Radisson, touching the hilt of his rapier, +"gentlemen settle differences in a simpler way!" + +They had entered the cabin, where Radisson bade me stand guard at the +door, and at our leader's bravado M. de la Barre saw fit to throw off +all disguise. + +"Radisson," he said, "those who trade without license are sent to the +galleys----" + +"And those who go to the galleys get no more furs to divide with the +Governor of New France, and the governor who gets no furs goes home a +poor man." + +M. de la Barre's sallow face wrinkled again in a dry laugh. + +"La Chesnaye has told you?" + +"La Chesnaye's son----" + +"Have the ships a good cargo? They must remain here till our officer +examines them." + +Which meant till the governor's minions looted both vessels for His +Excellency's profit. M. Radisson, who knew that the better part of the +furs were already crossing the ocean, nodded his assent. + +"But about these English prisoners, of whom La Chesnaye sent word from +Isle Percée?" continued the governor. + +"The prisoners matter nothing--'tis their ship has value----" + +"She must go back," interjects M. de la Barre. + +"Back?" exclaims M. Radisson. + +"Why didn't you sell her to some Spanish adventurer before you came +here?" + +"Spanish adventurer--Your Excellency? I am no butcher!" + +"Eh--man!" says the governor, tapping the table with a document he +pulled from his greatcoat pocket and shrugging his shoulders with a +deprecating gesture of the hands, "if her crew feared sharks, they +should have defended her against capture. Now--your prize must go back +to New England and we lose the profit! Here," says he, "are orders +from the king and M. Colbert that nothing be done to offend the +subjects of King Charles of England----" + +"Which means that Barillon, the French ambassador----?" + +M. de la Barre laid his finger on his lips. "Walls have ears! If one +king be willing to buy and another to sell himself and his country, +loyal subjects have no comment, Radisson." [1] + +"Loyal subjects!" sneers M. de Radisson. + +"And that reminds me, M. Colbert orders Sieur Radisson to present +himself in Paris and report on the state of the fur-trade to the king!" + +"Ramsay," said M. Radisson to me, after Governor la Barre had gone, +"this is some new gamestering!" + +"Your court players are too deep for me, sir!" + +"Pish!" says he impatiently, "plain as day--we must sail on the frigate +for France, or they imprison us here--in Paris we shall be kept +dangling by promises, hangers-on and do-nothings till the moneys are +all used--then----" + +"Then--sir?" + +"Then, active men are dangerous men, and dangerous men may lie safe and +quiet in the sponging-house!" + +"Do we sail in that case?" + +"Egad, yes! Why not? Keep your colours flying and you may sail into +hell, man, and conquer, too! Yes--we sail! Man or devil, don't +swerve, lad! Go your gait! Go your gait! Chouart here will look +after the ships! Paris is near London, and praise be Providence for +that little maid of thine! We shall presently have letters from +her--and," he added, "from Sir John Kirke of the Hudson's Bay Company!" + +And it was even as he foretold. I find, on looking over the tattered +pages of a handbook, these notes: + +_Oct. 6._--Ben Gillam and Governor Brigdar this day sent back to New +England. There will be great complaints against us in the English +court before we can reach London. + +_Nov. 11._--Sailed for France in the French frigate. + +_Dec. 18._--Reach Rochelle--hear of M. Colbert's death. + +_Jan. 30._--Paris--all our furs seized by the French Government in +order to keep M. Radisson powerless--Lord Preston, the English +ambassador, complaining against us on the one hand, and battering our +doors down on the other, with spies offering M. Radisson safe passage +from Paris to London. + +I would that I had time to tell you of that hard winter in Paris, M. +Radisson week by week, like a fort resisting siege, forced to take +cheaper and cheaper lodgings, till we were housed between an attic roof +and creaking rat-ridden floor in the Faubourg St. Antoine. But not one +jot did M. Radisson lose of his kingly bearing, though he went to some +fête in Versailles with beaded moccasins and frayed plushes and +tattered laces and hair that one of the pretty wits declared the birds +would be anesting in for hay-coils. In that Faubourg St. Antoine +house, I mind, we took grand apartments on the ground floor, but up and +up we went, till M. Radisson vowed we'd presently be under the +stars--as the French say when they are homeless--unless my Lord +Preston, the English ambassador, came to our terms. + +That starving of us for surrender was only another trick of the +gamestering in which we were enmeshed. Had Captain Godey, Lord +Preston's messenger, succeeded in luring us back to England without +terms, what a pretty pickle had ours been! France would have set a +price on us. Then must we have accepted any kick-of-toe England chose +to offer--and thanked our new masters for the same, else back to France +they would have sent us. + +But attic dwellers stave off many a woe with empty stomachs and stout +courage. When April came, boats for the fur-trade should have been +stirring, and my Lord Preston changes his tune. One night, when Pierre +Radisson sat spinning his yarns of captivity with Iroquois to our attic +neighbours, comes a rap at the door, and in walks Captain Godey of the +English Embassy. As soon as our neighbours had gone, he counts out one +hundred gold pieces on the table. Then he hands us a letter signed by +the Duke of York, King Charles's brother, who was Governor of the +Hudson's Bay Company, granting us all that we asked. + +Thereupon, Pierre Radisson asks leave of the French court to seek +change of air; but the country air we sought was that of England in +May, not France, as the court inferred. + + +[1] The reference is evidently to the secret treaty by which King +Charles of England received annual payment for compliance with King +Louis's schemes for French aggression. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +UNDER THE AEGIS OF THE COURT + +The roar of London was about us. + +Sign-boards creaked and swung to every puff of wind. Great +hackney-coaches, sunk at the waist like those old gallipot boats of ours, +went ploughing past through the mud of mid-road, with bepowdered footmen +clinging behind and saucy coachmen perched in front. These flunkeys +thought it fine sport to splash us passers-by, or beguiled the time when +there was stoppage across the narrow street by lashing rival drivers with +their long whips and knocking cock-hats to the gutter. 'Prentices stood +ringing their bells and shouting their wares at every shop-door. "What +d'ye lack? What d'ye lack? What d'ye please to lack, good sirs? Walk +this way for kerseys, sayes, and perpetuanoes! Bands and ruffs and +piccadillies! Walk this way! Walk this way!" + +"Pardieu, lad!" says M. Radisson, elbowing a saucy spark from the wall +for the tenth time in as many paces. "Pardieu, you can't hear yourself +think! Shut up to you!" he called to a bawling 'prentice dressed in +white velvet waistcoat like a showman's dummy to exhibit the fashion. +"Shut up to you!" + +And I heard the fellow telling his comrades my strange companion with the +tangled hair was a pirate from the Barbary States. Another saucy vender +caught at the chance. + +"Perukes! Perukes! Newest French periwigs!" he shouts, jangling his +bell and putting himself across M. Radisson's course. "You'd please to +lack a periwig, sir! Walk this way! Walk this way--" + +"Out of my way!" orders Radisson with a hiss of his rapier round the +fellow's fat calves. "'Tis a milliner's doll the town makes of a man! +Out of my way!" + +And the 'prentice went skipping. We were to meet the directors of the +Hudson's Bay Company that night, and we had come out to refurbish our +scant, wild attire. But bare had we turned the corner for the +linen-draper's shops of Fleet Street when M. Radisson's troubles began. +Idlers eyed us with strange looks. Hucksters read our necessitous state +and ran at heel shouting their wares. Shopmen saw needy customers in us +and sent their 'prentices running. Chairmen splashed us as they passed; +and impudent dandies powdered and patched and laced and bewigged like any +fizgig of a girl would have elbowed us from the wall to the gutter for +the sport of seeing M. Radisson's moccasins slimed. + +"Egad," says M. Radisson, "an I spill not some sawdust out o' these +dolls, or cut their stay-strings, may the gutter take us for good and +all! Pardieu! An your wig's the latest fashion, the wits under 't don't +matter--" + +"Have a care, sir," I warned, "here comes a fellow!" + +'Twas a dandy in pink of fashion with a three-cornered hat coming over +his face like a waterspout, red-cheeked from carminative and with the +high look in his eyes of one who saw common folk from the top of church +steeple. His lips were parted enough to show his teeth; and I warrant +you my fine spark had posed an hour at the looking-glass ere he got his +neck at the angle that brought out the swell of his chest. He was +dressed in red plush with silk hose of the same colour and a square-cut, +tailed coat out of whose pockets stuck a roll of paper missives. + +"Verse ready writ by some penny-a-liner for any wench with cheap smiles," +says M. Radisson aloud. + +But the fellow came on like a strutting peacock with his head in air. +Behind followed his page with cloak and rapier. In one hand our dandy +carried his white gloves, in the other a lace gewgaw heavy with musk, +which he fluttered in the face of every shopkeeper's daughter. + +"Give the wall! Give the wall!" cries the page. "Give the wall to +Lieutenant Blood o' the Tower!" + +"S'blood," says M. Radisson insolently, "let us send that snipe +sprawling!" + +At that was a mighty awakening on the part of my fine gentleman. + +"Blood is my name," says he. "Step aside!" + +"An Blood is its name," retorts M. Radisson, "'tis bad blood; and I've a +mind to let some of it, unless the thing gets out of my way!" + +With which M. Radisson whips out his sword, and my grand beau condescends +to look at us. + +"Boy," he commands, "call an officer!" + +"Boy," shouts M. Radisson, "call a chirurgeon to mend its toes!" and his +blade cut a swath across the dandy's shining pumps. + +At that was a jump! + +Whatever the beaux of King Charles's court may have been, they were not +cowards! Grasping his sword from the page, the fellow made at us. What +with the lashing of the coachmen riding post-haste to see the fray, the +jostling chairmen calling out "A fight! A fight!" and the 'prentices +yelling at the top of their voices for "A watch! A watch!" we had had it +hot enough then and there for M. Radisson's sport; but above the melee +sounded another shrill alarm, the "Gardez l'eau! Gardy loo!" of some +French kitchen wench throwing her breakfast slops to mid-road from the +dwelling overhead. [1] + +Only on the instant had I jerked M. Radisson back; and down they +came--dish-water--and coffee leavings--and porridge scraps full on the +crown of my fine young gentleman, drenching his gay attire as it had been +soaked in soapsuds of a week old. Something burst from his lips a deal +stronger than the modish French oaths then in vogue. There was a shout +from the rabble. I dragged rather than led M. Radisson pell-mell into a +shop from front to rear, over a score of garden walls, and out again from +rear to front, so that we gave the slip to all those officers now running +for the scene of the broil. + +"Egad's life," cried M. de Radisson, laughing and laughing, "'tis the +narrowest escape I've ever had! Pardieu--to escape the north sea and +drown in dish-water! Lord--to beat devils and be snuffed out by a wench +in petticoats! 'Tis the martyrdom of heroes! What a tale for the +court!" + +And he laughed and laughed again till I must needs call a chair to get +him away from onlookers. In the shop of a draper a thought struck him. + +"Egad, lad, that young blade was Blood!" + +"So he told you." + +"Did he? Son of the Blood who stole the crown ten years ago, and got +your own Stanhope lands in reward from the king!" + +What memories were his words bringing back?--M. Picot in the hunting-room +telling me of Blood, the freebooter and swordsman. And that brings me to +the real reason for our plundering the linen-drapers' shops before +presenting ourselves at Sir John Kirke's mansion in Drury Lane, where +gentlemen with one eye cocked on the doings of the nobility in the west +and the other keen for city trade were wont to live in those days. + +For six years M. Radisson had not seen Mistress Mary Kirke--as his wife +styled herself after he broke from the English--and I had not heard one +word of Hortense for nigh as many months. Say what you will of the +dandified dolls who wasted half a day before the looking-glass in the +reign of Charles Stuart, there are times when the bravest of men had best +look twice in the glass ere he set himself to the task of conquering fair +eyes. We did not drag our linen through a scent bath nor loll all +morning in the hands of a man milliner charged with the duty of turning +us into showmen's dummies--as was the way of young sparks in that age. +But that was how I came to buy yon monstrous wig costing forty guineas +and weighing ten pounds and coming half-way to a man's waist. And you +may set it down to M. Radisson's credit that he went with his wiry hair +flying wild as a lion's mane. Nothing I could say would make him +exchange his Indian moccasins for the high-heeled pumps with a buckle at +the instep. + +"I suppose," he had conceded grudgingly, "we must have a brat to carry +swords and cloaks for us, or we'll be taken for some o' your cheap-jack +hucksters parading latest fashions," and he bade our host of the Star and +Garter have some lad searched out for us by the time we should be coming +home from Sir John Kirke's that night. + +A mighty personage with fat chops and ruddy cheeks and rounded waistcoat +and padded calves received us at the door of Sir John Kirke's house in +Drury Lane. Sir John was not yet back from the Exchange, this grand +fellow loftily informed us at the entrance to the house. A glance told +him that we had neither page-boy nor private carriage; and he half-shut +the door in our faces. + +"Now the devil take _this thing_ for a half-baked, back-stairs, +second-hand kitchen gentleman," hissed M. Radisson, pushing in. "Here, +my fine fellow," says he with a largesse of vails his purse could ill +afford, "here, you sauce-pans, go tell Madame Radisson her husband is +here!" + +I have always held that the vulgar like insolence nigh as well as silver; +and Sieur Radisson's air sent the feet of the kitchen steward pattering. +"Confound him!" muttered Radisson, as we both went stumbling over +footstools into the dark of Sir John's great drawing-room, "Confound him! +An a man treats a man as a man in these stuffed match-boxes o' towns, +looking man as a man on the level square in the eye, he only gets himself +slapped in the face for it! An there's to be any slapping in the face, +be the first to do it, boy! A man's a man by the measure of his stature +in the wilderness. Here, 'tis by the measure of his clothes----" + +But a great rustling of flounced petticoats down the hallway broke in on +his speech, and a little lady had jumped at me with a cry of "Pierre, +Pierre!" when M. Radisson's long arms caught her from her feet. + +"You don't even remember what your own husband looked like," said he. +"Ah, Mary, Mary--don't dear me! I'm only dear when the court takes me +up! But, egad," says he, setting her down on her feet, "you may wager +these pretty ringlets of yours, I'm mighty dear for the gilded crew this +time!" + +Madame Radisson said she was glad of it; for when Pierre was rich they +could take a fine house in the West End like my Lord So-and-So; but in +the next breath she begged him not to call the Royalists a gilded crew. + +"And who is this?" she asked, turning to me as the servants brought in +candles. + +"Egad, and you might have asked that before you tried to kiss him! You +always did have a pretty choice, Mary! I knew it when you took me! +That," says he, pointing to me, "that is the kite's tail!" + +"But for convenience' sake, perhaps the kite's tail may have a name," +retorts Madame Radisson. + +"To be sure--to be sure--Stanhope, a young Royalist kinsman of yours." + +"Royalist?" reiterates Mary Kirke with a world of meaning to the +high-keyed question, "then my welcome was no mistake! Welcome waits +Royalists here," and she gave me her hand to kiss just as an elderly +woman with monster white ringlets all about her face and bejewelled +fingers and bare shoulders and flowing draperies swept into the room, +followed by a serving-maid and a page-boy. With the aid of two men, her +daughter, a serving-maid, and the page, it took her all of five minutes +by the clock to get herself seated. But when her slippered feet were on +a Persian rug and the displaced ringlets of her monster wig adjusted by +the waiting abigail and smelling-salts put on a marquetry table nearby +and the folds of the gown righted by the page-boy, Lady Kirke extended a +hand to receive our compliments. I mind she called Radisson her "dear, +sweet savage," and bade him have a care not to squeeze the stones of her +rings into the flesh of her fingers. + +"As if any man would want to squeeze such a ragbag o' tawdry finery and +milliners' tinsel," said Radisson afterward to me. + +I, being younger, was "a dear, bold fellow," with a tap of her fan to the +words and a look over the top of it like to have come from some saucy +jade of sixteen. + +After which the serving-maid must hand the smelling-salts and the +page-boy haste to stroke out her train. + +"Egad," says Radisson when my lady had informed us that Sir John would +await Sieur Radisson's coming at the Fur Company's offices, "egad, +there'll be no getting Ramsay away till he sees some one else!" + +"And who is that?" simpers Lady Kirke, languishing behind her fan. + +"Who, indeed, but the little maid we sent from the north sea." + +"La," cries Lady Kirke with a sudden livening, "an you always do as well +for us all, we can forgive you, Pierre! The courtiers have cried her up +and cried her up, till your pretty savage of the north sea is like to +become the first lady of the land! Sir John comes home with your letter +to me--boy, the smelling-salts!--so!--and I say to him, 'Sir John, take +the story to His Royal Highness!' Good lack, Pierre, no sooner hath the +Duke of York heard the tale than off he goes with it to King Charles! +His Majesty hath an eye for a pretty baggage. Oh, I promise you, Pierre, +you have done finely for us all!" + +And the lady must simper and smirk and tap Pierre Radisson with her fan, +with a glimmer of ill-meaning through her winks and nods that might have +brought the blush to a woman's cheeks in Commonwealth days. + +"Madame," cried Pierre Radisson with his eyes ablaze, "that sweet child +came to no harm or wrong among our wilderness of savages! An she come to +harm in a Christian court, by Heaven, somebody'll answer me for't!" + +"Lackaday! Hoighty-toighty, Pierre! How you stamp! The black-eyed +monkey hath been named maid of honour to Queen Catherine! How much +better could we have done for her?" + +"Maid of honour to the lonely queen?" says Radisson. "That is well!" + +"She is ward of the court till a husband be found for her," continues +Lady Kirke. + +"There will be plenty willing to be found," says Pierre Radisson, looking +me wondrous straight in the eye. + +"Not so sure--not so sure, Pierre! We catch no glimpse of her nowadays; +but they say young Lieutenant Blood o' the Tower shadows the court +wherever she is----" + +"A well-dressed young man?" adds Radisson, winking at me. + +"And carries himself with a grand air," amplifies my lady, puffing out +her chest, "but then, Pierre, when it comes to the point, your pretty +wench hath no dower--no property----" + +"Heaven be praised for that!" burst from my lips. + +At which there was a sudden silence, followed by sudden laughter to my +confusion. + +"And so Master Stanhope came seeking the bird that had flown," twitted +Radisson's mother-in-law. "Faugh--faugh--to have had the bird in his +hand and to let it go! But--ta-ta!" she laughed, tapping my arm with her +fan, "some one else is here who keeps asking and asking for Master +Stanhope. Boy," she ordered, "tell thy master's guest to come down!" + +Two seconds later entered little Rebecca of Boston Town. Blushing pink +as apple-blossoms, dressed demurely as of old, with her glances playing a +shy hide-and-seek under the downcast lids, she seemed as alien to the +artificial grandeur about her as meadow violets to the tawdry splendour +of a flower-dyer's shop. + +"Fie, fie, sly ladybird," called out Sir John's wife, "here are friends +of yours!" + +At sight of us, she uttered a little gasp of pleasure. + +"So--so--so joysome to see Boston folk," she stammered. + +"Fie, fie!" laughed Lady Kirke. "Doth Boston air bring red so quick to +all faces?" + +"If they be not painted too deep," said Pierre Radisson loud and +distinct. And I doubt not the coquettish old dame blushed red, though +the depth of paint hid it from our eyes; for she held her tongue long +enough for me to lead Rebecca to an alcove window. + +Some men are born to jump in sudden-made gaps. Such an one was Pierre +Radisson; for he set himself between his wife and Lady Kirke, where he +kept them achattering so fast they had no time to note little Rebecca's +unmasked confusion. + +"This is an unexpected pleasure, Rebecca!" + +She glanced up as if to question me. + +"Your fine gallants have so many fine speeches----" + +"Have you been here long?" + +"A month. My father came to see about the furs that Ben Gillam lost in +the bay," explains Rebecca. + +"Oh!" said I, vouching no more. + +"The ship was sent back," continues Rebecca, all innocent of the nature +of her father's venture, "and my father hopes that King Charles may get +the French to return the value of the furs." + +"Oh!" + +There was a little silence. The other tongues prattled louder. Rebecca +leaned towards me. + +"Have you seen her?" she asked. + +"Who?" + +She gave an impetuous little shake of her head. "You know," she said. + +"Well?" I asked. + +"She hath taken me through all the grand places, Ramsay; through +Whitehall and Hampton Court and the Tower! She hath come to see me every +week!" + +I said nothing. + +"To-morrow she goes to Oxford with the queen. She is not happy, Ramsay. +She says she feels like a caged bird. Ramsay, why did she love that +north land where the wicked Frenchman took her?" + +"I don't know, Rebecca. She once said it was strong and pure and free." + +"Did you see her oft, Ramsay?" + +"No, Rebecca; only at dinner on Sundays." + +"And--and--all the officers were there on the Sabbath?" + +"All the officers were there!" + +She sat silent, eyes downcast, thinking. + +"Ramsay?" + +"Well?" + +"Hortense will be marrying some grand courtier." + +"May he be worthy of her." + +"I think many ask her." + +"And what does Mistress Hortense say?" + +"I think," answers Rebecca meditatively, "from the quantity of love-verse +writ, she must keep saying--No." + +Then Lady Kirke turns to bid us all go to the Duke's Theatre, where the +king's suite would appear that night. Rebecca, of course, would not go. +Her father would be expecting her when he came home, she said. So Pierre +Radisson and I escorted Lady Kirke and her daughter to the play, riding +in one of those ponderous coaches, with four belaced footmen clinging +behind and postillions before. At the entrance to the playhouse was a +great concourse of crowding people, masked ladies, courtiers with pages +carrying torches for the return after dark, merchants with linkmen, work +folk with lanterns, noblemen elbowing tradesmen from the wall, tradesmen +elbowing mechanics; all pushing and jostling and cracking their jokes +with a freedom of speech that would have cost dear in Boston Town. The +beaux, I mind, had ready-writ love-verses sticking out of pockets thick +as bailiffs' yellow papers; so that a gallant could have stocked his own +munitions by picking up the missives dropped at the feet of disdainfuls. +Of the play, I recall nothing but that some favourite of the king, Mary +Davies, or the famous Nell, or some such an one, danced a monstrous bold +jig. Indeed, our grand people, taking their cue from the courtiers' +boxes, affected a mighty contempt for the play, except when a naughty +jade on the boards stepped high, or blew a kiss to some dandy among the +noted folk. For aught I could make out, they did not come to hear, but +to be heard; the ladies chattering and ogling; the gallants stalking from +box to box and pit to gallery, waving their scented handkerchiefs, +striking a pose where the greater part of the audience could see the +flash of beringed fingers, or taking a pinch of snuff with a snap of the +lid to call attention to its gold-work and naked goddesses. + +"Drat these tradespeople, kinsman!" says Lady Kirke, as a fat townsman +and his wife pushed past us, "drat these tradespeople!" says she as we +were taking our place in one of the boxes, "'tis monstrous gracious of +the king to come among them at all!" + +Methought her memory of Sir John's career had been suddenly clipped +short; but Pierre Radisson only smiled solemnly. Some jokes, like +dessert, are best taken cold, not hot. + +Then there was a craning of necks; and the king's party came in, His +Majesty grown sallow with years but gay and nonchalant as ever, with +Barillon, the French ambassador, on one side and Her Grace of Portsmouth +on the other. Behind came the whole court; the Duchess of Cleveland, +whom our wits were beginning to call "a perennial," because she held her +power with the king and her lovers increased with age; statesmen hanging +upon her for a look or a smile that might lead the way to the king's ear; +Sir George Jeffreys, the judge, whose name was to become England's +infamy; Queen Catherine of Braganza, keeping up hollow mirth with those +whose presence was insult; the Duke of York, soberer than his royal +brother, the king, since Monmouth's menace to the succession; and a host +of hangers-on ready to swear away England's liberties for a licking of +the crumbs that fell from royal lips. + +Then the hum of the playhouse seemed as the beating of the north sea; for +Lady Kirke was whispering, "There! There! There she is!" and Hortense +was entering one of the royal boxes accompanied by a foreign-looking, +elderly woman, and that young Lieutenant Blood, whom we had encountered +earlier in the day. + +"The countess from Portugal--Her Majesty's friend," murmurs Lady Kirke. +"Ah, Pierre, you have done finely for us all!" + +And there oozed over my Lady Kirke's countenance as fine a satisfaction +as ever radiated from the face of a sweating cook. + +"How?" asks Pierre Radisson, pursing his lips. + +"Sir John hath dined twice with His Royal Highness----" + +"The Duke is Governor of the Company, and Sir John is a director." + +"Ta-ta, now there you go, Pierre!" smirks my lady. "An your pretty +baggage had not such a saucy way with the men--why--who can tell----" + +"Madame," interrupted Pierre Radisson, "God forbid! There be many lords +amaking in strange ways, but we of the wilderness only count honour worth +when it's won honourably." + +But Lady Kirke bare heard the rebuke. She was all eyes for the royal +box. "La, now, Pierre," she cries, "see! The king hath recognised you!" +She lurched forward into fuller view of onlookers as she spoke. +"Wella-day! Good lack! Pierre Radisson, I do believe!--Yes!--See!--His +Majesty is sending for you!" + +And a page in royal colours appeared to say that the king commanded +Pierre Radisson to present himself in the royal box. With his wiry hair +wild as it had ever been on the north sea, off he went, all unconscious +of the contemptuous looks from courtier and dandy at his strange, +half-savage dress. And presently Pierre Radisson is seated in the king's +presence, chatting unabashed, the cynosure of all eyes. At the stir, +Hortense had turned towards us. For a moment the listless hauteur gave +place to a scarce hidden start. Then the pallid face had looked +indifferently away. + +"The huzzy!" mutters Lady Kirke. "She might 'a' bowed in sight of the +whole house! Hoighty-toighty! We shall see, an the little moth so +easily blinded by court glare is not singed for its vanity! Ungrateful +baggage! See how she sits, not deigning to listen one word of all the +young lieutenant is saying! Mary?" + +"Yes----" + +"You mind I told her--I warned the saucy miss to give more heed to the +men--to remember what it might mean to us----" + +"Yes," adds Madame Radisson, "and she said she hated the court----" + +"Faugh!" laughs Lady Kirke, fussing and fuming and shifting her place +like a peacock with ruffled plumage, "pride before the fall--I'll +warrant, you men spoiled her in the north! Very fine, forsooth, when a +pauper wench from no one knows where may slight the first ladies of the +land!" + +"Madame," said I, "you are missing the play!" + +"Master Stanhope," said she, "the play must be marvellous moving! Where +is your colour of a moment ago?" + +I had no response to her railing. It was as if that look of Hortense had +come from across the chasm that separated the old order from the new. In +the wilderness she was in distress, I her helper. Here she was of the +court and I--a common trader. Such fools does pride make of us, and so +prone are we to doubt another's faith! + +"One slight was enough," Lady Kirke was vowing with a toss of her head; +and we none of us gave another look to the royal boxes that night, though +all about the wits were cracking their jokes against M. Radisson's +"Medusa locks," or "the king's idol, with feet of clay and face of +brass," thereby meaning M. Radisson's moccasins and swarth skin. At the +door we were awaiting M. Radisson's return when the royal company came +out. I turned suddenly and met Hortense's eyes blazing with a hauteur +that forbade recognition. Beside her in lover-like pose lolled that +milliners' dummy whom we had seen humbled in the morning. + +Then, promising to rejoin Pierre Radisson at the Fur Company's offices, I +made my adieux to the Kirkes and flung out among those wild revellers who +scoured London streets of a dark night. + + +[1] The old expression which the law compelled before throwing slops in +mid-street. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +JACK BATTLE AGAIN + +The higher one's hopes mount the farther they have to fall; and I, who +had mounted to stars with Hortense, was pushed to the gutter by the +king's dragoons making way for the royal equipage. There was a +crackling of whips among the king's postillions. A yeoman thrust the +crowd back with his pike. The carriages rolled past. The flash of a +linkman's torch revealed Hortense sitting languid and scornful between +the foreign countess and that milliner's dummy of a lieutenant. Then +the royal carriages were lost in the darkness, and the streets thronged +by a rabble of singing, shouting, hilarious revellers. + +Different generations have different ways of taking their pleasure, and +the youth of King Charles's day were alternately bullies on the street +and dandies at the feet of my lady disdainful. At the approach of the +shouting, night-watchmen threw down their lanterns and took to their +heels. Street-sweeps tossed their brooms in mid-road with cries of +"The Scowerers! The Scowerers!" Hucksters fled into the dark of side +lanes. Shopkeepers shot their door-bolts. Householders blew out +lights. Fruit-venders made off without their baskets, and small +urchins shrieked the alarm of "Baby-eaters! Baby-eaters!" + +One sturdy watch, I mind, stood his guard, laying about with a stout +pike in a way that broke our fine revellers' heads like soft pumpkins; +but him they stood upon his crown in some goodwife's rain-barrel with +his lantern tied to his heels. At the rush of the rabble for shelves +of cakes and pies, one shopman levelled his blunderbuss. That brought +shouts of "A sweat! A sweat!" In a twinkling the rascals were about +him. A sword pricked from behind. The fellow jumped. Another prick, +and yet another, till the good man was dancing such a jig the sweat +rolled from his fat jowls and he roared out promise to feast the whole +rout. A peddler of small images had lingered to see the sport, and +enough of it he had, I promise you; for they dumped him into his wicker +basket and trundled it through the gutter till the peddler and his +little white saints were black as chimney-sweeps. Nor did our merry +blades play their pranks on poor folk alone. At Will's Coffee House, +where sat Dryden and other mighty quidnuncs spinning their poetry and +politics over full cups, before mine host got his doors barred our +fellows had charged in, seized one of the great wits and set him +singing Gammer Gurton's Needle, till the gentlemen were glad to put +down pennies for the company to drink healths. + +By this I had enough of your gentleman bully's brawling, and I gave the +fellows the slip to meet Pierre Radisson at the General Council of +Hudson's Bay Adventurers to be held in John Horth's offices in Broad +Street. Our gentlemen adventurers were mighty jealous of their secrets +in those days. I think they imagined their great game-preserve a kind +of Spanish gold-mine safer hidden from public ken, and they held their +meetings with an air of mystery that pirates might have worn. For my +part, I do not believe there were French spies hanging round Horth's +office for knowledge of the Fur Company's doings, though the +doorkeeper, who gave me a chair in the anteroom, reported that a +strange-looking fellow with a wife as from foreign parts had been +asking for me all that day, and refused to leave till he had learned +the address of my lodgings. + +"'Ave ye taken the hoath of hallegiance, sir?" asked the porter. + +"I was born in England," said I dryly. + +"Your renegade of a French savage is atakin' the hoath now," confided +the porter, jerking his thumb towards the inner door. "They do say as +'ow it is for love of Mary Kirke and not the English--" + +"Your renegade of a French--who?" I asked sharply, thinking it ill omen +to hear a flunkey of the English Company speaking lightly of our leader. + +But at the question the fellow went glum with a tipping and bowing and +begging of pardon. Then the councillors began to come: Arlington and +Ashley of the court, one of those Carterets, who had been on the Boston +Commission long ago and first induced M. Radisson to go to England, and +at last His Royal Highness the Duke of York, deep in conversation with +my kinsman, Sir John Kirke. + +"It can do no harm to employ him for one trip," Sir John was saying. + +"He hath taken the oath?" asks His Royal Highness. + +"He is taking it to-night; but," laughs Sir John, "we thought he was a +good Englishman once before." + +"Your company used him ill. You must keep him from going over to the +French again." + +"Till he undo the evil he has done--till he capture back all that he +took from us--then," says Sir John cautiously, "then we must consider +whether it be politic to keep a gamester in the company." + +"Anyway," adds His Highness, "France will not take him back." + +And the door closed on the councillors while I awaited Radisson in the +anteroom. A moment later Pierre Radisson came out with eyes alight and +face elate. + +"I've signed to sail in three days," he announced. "Do you go with me +or no?" + +Two memories came back: one of a face between a westering sun and a +golden sea, and I hesitated; the other, of a cold, pallid, disdainful +look from the royal box. + +"I go." + +And entering the council chamber, I signed the papers without one +glance at the terms. Gentlemen sat all about the long table, and at +the head was the governor of the company--the Duke of York, talking +freely with M. de Radisson. + +My Lord Ashley would know if anything but furs grew in that wild New +World. + +"Furs?" says M. Radisson. "Sir, mark my words, 'tis a world that grows +empires--also men," with an emphasis which those court dandies could +not understand. + +But the wise gentlemen only smiled at M. Radisson's warmth. + +"If it grew good soldiers for our wars--" begins one military gentleman. + +"Aye," flashes back M. Radisson ironically, "if it grows men for your +wars and your butchery and your shambles! Mark my words: it is a land +that grows men good for more than killing," and he smiles half in +bitterness. + +"'Tis a prodigious expensive land in diplomacy when men like you are +let loose in it," remarks Arlington. + +His Royal Highness rose to take his leave. + +"You will present a full report to His Majesty at Oxford," he orders M. +Radisson in parting. + +Then the council dispersed. + +"Oxford," says M. Radisson, as we picked our way home through the dark +streets; "an I go to meet the king at Oxford, you will see a hornets' +nest of jealousy about my ears." + +I did not tell him of the double work implied in Sir John's words with +the prince, for Sir John Kirke was Pierre Radisson's father-in-law. At +the door of the Star and Garter mine host calls out that a +strange-looking fellow wearing a grizzled beard and with a wife as from +foreign parts had been waiting all afternoon for me in my rooms. + +"From foreign parts!" repeats M. Radisson, getting into a chair to go +to Sir John's house in Drury Lane. "If they're French spies, send them +right about, Ramsay! We've stopped gamestering!" + +"We have; but perhaps the others haven't." + +"Let them game," laughs M. Radisson scornfully, as the chair moved off. +Not knowing what to expect I ran up-stairs to my room. At the door I +paused. That morning I had gone from the house light-hearted. Now +interest had died from life. I had but one wish, to reach that +wilderness of swift conflict, where thought has no time for regret. +The door was ajar. A coal fire burned on the hearth. Sitting on the +floor were two figures with backs towards me, a ragged, bearded man and +a woman with a shawl over her head. What fools does hope make of us! +I had almost called out Hortense's name when the noise of the closing +door caught their hearing. I was in the north again; an Indian girl +was on her knees clinging to my feet, sobbing out incoherent gratitude; +a pair of arms were belabouring my shoulders; and a voice was saying +with broken gurgles of joy: "Ship ahoy, there! Ease your helm! Don't +heave all your ballast overboard!"--a clapping of hands on my +back--"Port your helm! Ease her up! All sheets in the wind and the +storms'l aflutter! Ha-ha!" with a wringing and a wringing like to +wrench my hands off--"Anchor out! Haul away! Home with her . . . !" + +"Jack Battle!" + +It was all I could say. + +There he was, grizzled and bronzed and weather-worn, laughing with joy +and thrashing his arms about as if to belabour me again. + +"But who is this, Jack?" + +I lifted the Indian woman from her knees. It was the girl my blow had +saved that morning long ago. + +"Who--what is this?" + +"My wife," Says Jack, swinging his arms afresh and proud as a prince. + +"Your wife? . . . Where . . . who married you?" + +"There warn't no parson," says Jack, "that is, there warn't no parson +nearer nor three thousand leagues and more. And say," adds Jack, "I +s'pose there was marryin' afore there _could_ be parsons! She saved my +life. She hain't no folks. I hain't no folks. She got away that +morning o' the massacre--she see them take us captive--she gets a white +pelt to hide her agen the snow--she come, she do all them cold miles +and lets me loose when the braves ain't watching . . . she risks her +life to save my life--she don't belong to nobody. I don't belong to +nobody. There waren't no parson, but we're married tight . . . +and--and--let not man put asunder," says Jack. + +For full five minutes there was not a word. + +The east was trying to understand the west! + +"Amen, Jack," said I. "God bless you--you are a man!" + +"We mean to get a parson and have it done straight yet," explained +Jack, "but I wanted you to stand by me----" + +"Faith, Jack, you've done it pretty thorough without any help----" + +"Yes, but folks won't understand," pleaded Jack, "and--and--I'd do as +much for you--I wanted you to stand by me and tell me where to say +'yes' when the parson reads the words----" + +"All right--I shall," I promised, laughing. + +If only Hortense could know all this! That is the sorrow of rifted +lives--the dark between, on each side the thoughts that yearn. + +"And--and," Jack was stammering on, "I thought, perhaps, Mistress +Rebecca 'd be willing to stand by Mizza," nodding to the young squaw, +"that is, if you asked Rebecca," pleaded Jack. + +"We'll see," said I. + +For the New England conscience was something to reckon with! + +"How did you come here?" I asked. + +"Mizza snared rabbits and I stole back my musket when we ran away and +did some shooting long as powder lasted----" + +"And then?" + +"And then we used bow and arrow. We hid in the bush till the hostiles +quit cruisin'; but the spring storms caught us when we started for the +coast. I s'pose I'm a better sailor on water than land, for split me +for a herring if my eyes didn't go blind from snow! We hove to in the +woods again, Mizza snaring rabbit and building a lodge and keepin' fire +agoin' and carin' for me as if I deserved it. There I lay +water-logged, odd's man--blind as a mole till the spring thaws came. +Then Mizza an' me built a raft; for sez I to Miz, though she didn't +understand: 'Miz,' sez I, 'water don't flow uphill! If we rig up a +craft, that river'll carry us to the bay!' But she only gets down on +the ground the way she did with you and puts my foot on her neck. +Lordy," laughs Jack, "s'pose I don't know what a foot on a neck feels +like? I sez: 'Miz, if you ever do that again, I'll throw you +overboard!' Then the backwash came so strong from the bay, we had to +wait till the floods settled. While we swung at anchorman, what d'y' +think happened? I taught Miz English. Soon as ever she knew words +enough I told her if I was a captain I'd want a mate! She didn't catch +the wind o' that, lad, till we were navigating our raft downstream agen +the ice-jam. Ship ahoy, you know, the ice was like to nip us, and +lackin' a life-belt I put me arm round her waist! Ease your helm! +Port--a little! Haul away! But she understood--when she saw me save +her from the jam before I saved myself." + +And Jack Battle stood away arm's length from his Indian wife and +laughed his pride. + +"And by the time we'd got to the bay you'd gone, but Jean Groseillers +sent us to the English ship that came out expecting to find Governor +Brigdar at Nelson. We shipped with the company boat, and here we be." + +"And what are you going to do?" + +"Oh, I get work enough on the docks to pay for Mizza's lessons--" + +"Lessons?" + +"Yes--she's learning sewin' and readin' from the nuns, and as soon as +she's baptized we're going to be married regular." + +"Oh!" A sigh of relief escaped me. "Then you'll not need Rebecca for +six months or so?" + +"No; but you'll ask her?" pleaded Jack. + +"If I'm here." + +As they were going out Jack slipped back from the hallway to the +fireplace, leaving Mizza outside. + +"Ramsay?" + +"Yes?" + +"You think--it's--it's--all right?" + +"What?" + +"What I done about a mate?" + +"Right?" I reiterated. "Here's my hand to you--blessing on the voyage, +Captain Jack Battle!" + +"Ah," smiled Jack, "you've been to the wilderness--you understand! +Other folks don't! That is the way it happens out there!" + +He lingered as of old when there was more to come. + +"Ramsay?" + +"Sail away, captain!" + +"Have you seen Hortense?" he asked, looking straight at me. + +"Um--yes--no--that is--I have and I haven't." + +"Why haven't you?" + +"Because having become a grand lady, her ladyship didn't choose to see +me." + +Jack Battle turned on his heel and swore a seaman's oath. +"That--that's a lie," said he. + +"Very well--it's a lie, but this is what happened," and I told him of +the scene in the theatre. Jack pulled a puzzled face, looking askance +as he listened. + +"Why didn't you go round to her box, the way M. Radisson did to the +king's?" + +"You forget I am only a trader!" + +"Pah," says Jack, "that is nothing!" + +"You forget that Lieutenant Blood might have objected to my visit," and +I told him of Blood. + +"But how was Mistress Hortense to know that?" + +Wounded pride hugs its misery, and I answered nothing. + +At the door he stopped. "You go along with Radisson to Oxford," he +called. "The court will be there." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +AT OXFORD + +Rioting through London streets or playing second in M. Radisson's games +of empire, it was possible to forget her, but not in Oxford with the +court retinue all about and the hedgerows abloom and spring-time in the +air. M. Radisson had gone to present his reports to the king. With a +vague belief that chance might work some miracle, I accompanied M. +Radisson till we encountered the first belaced fellow of the King's +Guard. 'Twas outside the porter's lodge of the grand house where the +king had been pleased to breakfast that morning. + +"And what might this young man want?" demanded the fellow, with lordly +belligerence, letting M. Radisson pass without question. + +Your colonial hero will face the desperate chance of death; but not the +smug arrogance of a beliveried flunkey. + +"Wait here," says M. Radisson to me, forgetful of Hortense now that his +own end was won. + +And I struck through the copse-wood, telling myself that chance makes +grim sport. Ah, well, the toughening of the wilderness is not to be +undone by fickle fingers, however dainty, nor a strong life blown out +by a girl's caprice! Riders went clanking past. I did not turn. Let +those that honoured dishonour doff hats to that company of loose women +and dissolute men! Hortense was welcome to the womanish men and the +mannish women, to her dandified lieutenant and foreign adventuresses +and grand ambassadors, who bought English honour with the smiles of +evil women. Coming to a high stone wall, I saw two riders galloping +across the open field for the copse wood. + +"A very good place to break foolish necks," thought I; for the riders +were coming straight towards me, and a deep ditch ran along the other +side of the wall. + +To clear the wall and then the ditch would be easy enough; but to clear +the ditch and then the wall required as pretty a piece of foolhardy +horsemanship as hunters could find. Out of sheer curiosity to see the +end I slackened my walk. A woman in green was leading the pace. The +man behind was shouting "Don't try it! Don't try it! Ride round the +end! Wait! Wait!" But the woman came on as if her horse had the bit. +Then all my mighty, cool stoicism began thumping like a smith's forge. +The woman was Hortense, with that daring look on her face I had seen +come to it in the north land; and her escort, young Lieutenant Blood, +with terror as plainly writ on his fan-shaped elbows and pounding gait +as if his horse were galloping to perdition. + +"Don't jump! Head about, Mistress Hillary!" cried the lieutenant. + +But Hortense's lips tightened, the rein tightened, there was that +lifting bound into air when horse and rider are one--the quick +paying-out of the rein--the long, stretching leap--the backward +brace--and the wall had been cleared. But Blood's horse balked the +jump, nigh sending him head over into the moat, and seizing the bit, +carried its cursing rider down the slope of the field. In vain the +lieutenant beat it about the head and dug the spurs deep. The beast +sidled off each time he headed it up, or plunged at the water's edge +till Mistress Hortense cried out: "Oh--please! I cannot see you risk +yourself on that beast! Oh--please won't you ride farther down where I +can get back!" + +"Ho--away, then," calls Blood, mighty glad of that way out of his +predicament, "but don't try the wall here again, Mistress Hillary! I +protest 'tis not safe for you! Ho--away, then! I race you to the end +of the wall!" + +And off he gallops, never looking back, keen to clear the wall and meet +my lady half-way up. Hortense sat erect, reining her horse and smiling +at me. + +"And so you would go away without seeing me," she said, "and I must +needs ride you down at the risk of the lieutenant's neck." + +"'Tis the way of the proud with the humble," I laughed back; but the +laugh had no mirth. + +Her face went grave. She sat gazing at me with that straight, honest +look of the wilderness which neither lies nor seeks a lie. + +"Your horse is champing to be off, Hortense!" + +"Yes--and if you looked you might see that I am keeping him from going +off." + +I smiled at the poor jest as a court conceit. + +"Or perhaps, if you tried, you might help me to hold him," says +Hortense, never taking her search from my face. + +"And defraud the lieutenant," said I. + +"Ah!" says Hortense, looking away. "Are you jealous of anything so +small?" + +I took hold of the bit and quieted the horse. Hortense laughed. + +"Were you so mighty proud the other night that you could not come to +see a humble ward of the court?" she asked. + +"I am only a poor trader now!" + +"Ah," says Hortense, questioning my face again, "I had thought you were +only a poor trader before! Was that the only reason?" + +"To be sure, Hortense, the lieutenant would not have welcomed me--he +might have told his fellow to turn me out and made confusion." + +And I related M. Radisson's morning encounter with Lieutenant Blood, +whereat Mistress Hortense uttered such merry peals of laughter I had +thought the chapel-bells were chiming. + +"Ramsay!" she cried impetuously, "I hate this life--why did you all +send me to it?" + +"Hate it! Why----?" + +"Why?" reiterated Hortense. "Why, when a king, who is too busy to sign +death-reprieves, may spend the night hunting a single moth from room to +room of the palace? Why, when ladies of the court dress in men's +clothes to run the streets with the Scowerers? Why, when a duchess +must take me every morning to a milliner's shop, where she meets her +lover, who is a rope-walker? Why, when our sailors starve unpaid and +gold enough lies on the basset-table of a Sunday night to feed the +army? Ah, yes!" says Hortense, "why do I hate this life? Why must you +and Madame Radisson and Lady Kirke all push me here?" + +"Hortense," I broke in, "you were a ward of the crown! What else was +there for us to do?" + +"Ah, yes!" says Hortense, "what else? You kept your promise, and a +ward of the crown must marry whom the king names--" + +"Marry?" + +"Or--or go to a nunnery abroad." + +"A nunnery?" + +"Ah, yes!" mocks Hortense, "what else is there to do?" + +And at that comes Blood crashing through the brush. + +"Here, fellow, hands off that bridle!" + +"The horse became restless. This gentleman held him for me till you +came." + +"Gad's life!" cries the lieutenant, dismounting. "Let's see?" And he +examines the girths with a great show of concern. "A nasty tumble," +says he, as if Hortense had been rolled on. "All sound, Mistress +Hillary! Egad! You must not ride such a wild beast! I protest, such +risks are too desperate!" And he casts up the whites of his eyes at +Mistress Hortense, laying his hand on his heart. "When did you feel +him getting away from you?" + +"At the wall," says Hortense. + +The lieutenant vaulted to his saddle. + +"Here, fellow!" + +He had tossed me a gold-piece. They were off. I lifted the coin, +balanced it on my thumb, and flipped it ringing against the wall. When +I looked up, Hortense was laughing back over her shoulder. + + +On May 17th we sailed from Gravesend in the Happy Return, two ships +accompanying us for Hudson Bay, and a convoy of the Royal Marine coming +as far as the north of Scotland to stand off Dutch highwaymen and +Spanish pirates. + +But I made the news of Jack Battle's marriage the occasion of a letter +to one of the queen's maids of honour. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +HOME FROM THE BAY + +'Twas as fair sailing under English colours as you could wish till +Pierre Radisson had undone all the mischief that he had worked against +the Fur Company in Hudson Bay. Pierre Radisson sits with a pipe in his +mouth and his long legs stretched clear across the cabin-table, +spinning yarns of wild doings in savage lands, and Governor Phipps, of +the Hudson's Bay Company, listens with eyes a trifle too sleepily +watchful, methinks, for the Frenchman's good. A summer sea kept us +course all the way to the northern bay, and sometimes Pierre Radisson +would fling out of the cabin, marching up and down the deck muttering, +"Pah! Tis tame adventuring! Takes a dish o' spray to salt the +freshness out o' men! Tis the roaring forties put nerve in a man's +marrow! Soft days are your Delilah's that shave away men's strength! +Toughen your fighters, Captain Gazer! Toughen your fighters!" + +And once, when M. Radisson had passed beyond hearing, the governor +turns with a sleepy laugh to the captain. + +"A pox on the rantipole!" says he. "May the sharks test the nerve of +his marrow after he's captured back the forts!" + +In the bay great ice-drift stopped our way, and Pierre Radisson's +impatience took fire. + +"What a deuce, Captain Gazer!" he cries. "How long do you intend to +squat here anchored to an ice-pan?" + +A spark shot from the governor's sleepy eyes, and Captain Gazer +swallowed words twice before he answered. + +"Till the ice opens a way," says he. + +"Opens a way!" repeats Radisson. "Man alive, why don't you carve a +way?" + +"Carve a way yourself, Radisson," says the governor contemptuously. + +That was let enough for Pierre Radisson. He had the sailors lowering +jolly-boats in a jiffy; and off seven of us went, round the ice-pans, +ploughing, cutting, portaging a way till we had crossed the obstruction +and were pulling for the French fort with the spars of three Company +boats far in the offing. + +I detained the English sailors at the river-front till M. Radisson had +entered the fort and won young Jean Groseillers to the change of +masters. Before the Fur Company's ships came, the English flag was +flying above the fort and Fort Bourbon had become Fort Nelson. + +"I bid you welcome to the French Habitation," bows Radisson, throwing +wide the gates to the English governor. + +"Hm!" returns Phipps, "how many beaver-skins are there in store?" + +M. Radisson looked at the governor. "You must ask my tradespeople +that," he answers; and he stood aside for them all to pass. + +"Your English mind thinks only of the gain," he said to me. + +"And your French mind?" I asked. + +"The game and not the winnings," said he. + + +No sooner were the winnings safe--twenty thousand beaver-skins stowed +away in three ships' holds--than Pierre Radisson's foes unmasked. The +morning of our departure Governor Phipps marched all our Frenchmen +aboard like captives of war. + +"Sir," expostulated M. de Radisson, "before they gave up the fort I +promised these men they should remain in the bay." + +Governor Phipps's sleepy eyes of a sudden waked wide. + +"Aye," he taunted, "with Frenchmen holding our fort, a pretty trick you +could play us when the fancy took you!" + +M. Radisson said not a word. He pulled free a gantlet and strode +forward, but the doughty governor hastily scuttled down the ship's +ladder and put a boat's length of water between him and Pierre +Radisson's challenge. + +The gig-boat pulled away. Our ship had raised anchor. Radisson leaned +over the deck-rail and laughed. + +"Egad, Phipps," he shouted, "a man may not fight cowards, but he can +cudgel them! An I have to wait for you on the River Styx, I'll punish +you for making me break promise to these good fellows!" + +"Promise--and when did promise o' yours hold good, Pierre Radisson?" + +The Frenchman turned with a bitter laugh. + +"A giant is big enough to be hit--a giant is easy to fight," says he, +"but egad, these pigmies crawl all over you and sting to death before +they are visible to the naked eye!" + +And as the Happy Return wore ship for open sea he stood moodily silent +with eyes towards the shore where Governor Phipps's gig-boat had moored +before Fort Nelson. + +Then, speaking more to himself than to Jean and me, his lips curled +with a hard scorn. + +"The Happy Return!" says he. "Pardieu! 'tis a happy return to beat +devils and then have all your own little lies come roosting home like +imps that filch the victory! They don't trust me because I won by +trickery! Egad! is a slaughter better than a game? An a man wins, who +a devil gives a rush for the winnings? 'Tis the fight and the +game--pah!--not the thing won! Storm and cold, man and beast, powers +o' darkness and devil, knaves and fools and his own sins--aye, that's +the scratch!--The man and the beast and the dark and the devil, he can +breast 'em all with a bold front! But knaves and fools and his own +sins, pah!--death grubs!--hatching and nesting in a man's bosom till +they wake to sting him! Flesh-worms--vampires--blood-suckers--spun out +o' a man's own tissue to sap his life!" + +He rapped his pistol impatiently against the deck-rail, stalked past +us, then turned. + +"Lads," says he, "if you don't want gall in your wine and a grub in +your victory, a' God's name keep your own counsel and play the game +fair and square and aboveboard." + +And though his speech worked a pretty enough havoc with fine-spun +rhetoric to raise the wig off a pedant's head, Jean and I thought we +read some sense in his mixed metaphors. + +On all that voyage home he never once crossed words with the English +officers, but took his share of hardship with the French prisoners. + +"I mayn't go back to France. They think they have me cornered and in +their power," he would say, gnawing at his finger-ends and gazing into +space. + +Once, after long reverie, he sprang up from a gun-waist where he had +been sitting and uttered a scornful laugh. + +"Cornered? Hah! We shall see! I snap my fingers in their faces." + +Thereafter his mood brightened perceptibly, and he was the first to put +foot ashore when we came to anchor in British port. There were yet +four hours before the post-chaise left for London, and the English crew +made the most of the time by flocking to the ale-houses. M. Radisson +drew Jean and me apart. + +"We'll beat our detractors yet," he said. "If news of this capture be +carried to the king and the Duke of York[1] before the shareholders +spread false reports, we are safe. If His Royal Highness favour us, +the Company must fall in line or lose their charter!" + +And he bade us hire three of the fleetest saddle-horses to be found. +While the English crew were yet brawling in the taverns, we were to +horse and away. Our horse's feet rang on the cobblestones with the +echo of steel and the sparks flashed from M. Radisson's eyes. A +wharfmaster rushed into mid-road to stop us, but M. Radisson rode him +down. A uniformed constable called out to know what we were about. + +"Our business!" shouts M. Radisson, and we are off. + +Country franklins got their wains out of our way with mighty confusion, +and coaches drew aside for us to pass, and roadside brats scampered off +with a scream of freebooters; but M. Radisson only laughed. + +"This is living," said he. "Give your nag rein, Jean! Whip and spur! +Ramsay! Whip and spur! Nothing's won but at cost of a sting! Throw +off those jack-boots, Jean! They're a handicap! Loose your holsters, +lad! An any highwaymen come at us to-day I'll send him a short way to +a place where he'll stay! Whip up! Whip up!" + +"What have you under your arm?" cries Jean breathlessly. + +"Rare furs for the king," calls Radisson. + +Then the wind is in our hair, and thatched cots race off in a blur on +either side; plodding workmen stand to stare and are gone; open fields +give place to forest, forest to village, village to bare heath; and +still we race on. + + * * * * * * + +Midnight found us pounding through the dark of London streets for +Cheapside, where lived Mr. Young, a director of the Hudson's Bay +Company, who was favourable to Pierre Radisson. + +"Halloo! Halloo!" shouts Radisson, beating his pistol-butt on the door. + +A candle and a nightcap emerge from the upper window. + +"Who's there?" demands a voice. + +"It's Radisson, Mr. Young!" + +"Radisson! In the name o' the fiends--where from?" + +"Oh, we've just run across the way from Hudson Bay!" says Radisson. + +And the good man presently appears at the door with a candle in one +hand and a bludgeon in the other. + +"In the name o' the fiends, when did you arrive, man?" exclaims Mr. +Young, hailing us inside. + +"Two minutes ago by the clock," laughs Radisson, looking at the +timepiece in the hall. "Two minutes and a half ago," says he, +following our host to the library. + +"How many beaver-skins?" asks the Englishman, setting down his candle. + +The Frenchman smiles. + +"Twenty thousand beaver--skins and as many more of other sorts!" + +The Englishman sits down to pencil out how much that will total at ten +shillings each; and Pierre Radisson winks at us. + +"The winnings again," says he. + +"Twenty thousand pounds!" cries our host, springing up. + +"Aye," says Pierre Radisson, "twenty thousand pounds' worth o' fur +without a pound of shot or the trade of a nail-head for them. The +French had these furs in store ready for us!" + +Mr. Young lifts his candle so that the light falls on Radisson's +bronzed face. He stands staring as if to make sure we are no wraiths. + +"Twenty thousand pounds," says he, slowly extending his right hand to +Pierre Radisson. "Radisson, man, welcome!" + +The Frenchman bows with an ironical laugh. + +"Twenty thousand pounds' worth o' welcome, sir!" + +But the director of the Fur Company rambles on unheeding. + +"These be great news for the king and His Royal Highness," says he. + +"Aye, and as I have some rare furs for them both, why not let us bear +the news to them ourselves?" asks Radisson. + +"That you shall," cries Mr. Young; and he led us up-stairs, where we +might refresh ourselves for the honour of presentation to His Majesty +next day. + + +[1] The Duke of York became Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company after +Prince Rupert's death, and the Company's charter was a royal favour +direct from the king. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +REBECCA AND I FALL OUT + +M. Radisson had carried his rare furs to the king, and I was at Sir +John Kirke's door to report the return of her husband to Madame +Radisson. The same grand personage with sleek jowls and padded calves +opened the door in the gingerly fashion of his office. This time he +ushered me quick enough into the dark reception-room. + +As I entered, two figures jumped from the shadow of a tapestried alcove +with gasps of fright. + +"Ramsay!" + +It was Rebecca, the prim monkey, blushing a deal more than her +innocence warranted, with a solemn-countenanced gentleman of the cloth +scowling from behind. + +"When--when--did you come?" she asked, all in a pretty flutter that set +her dimples atrembling; and she forgot to give me welcome. + +"Now--exactly on the minute!" + +"Why--why--didn't you give us warning?" stammered Rebecca, putting out +one shy hand. + +At that I laughed outright; but it was as much the fashion for +gentlemen of the cloth to affect a mighty solemnity in those days as it +was for the laity to let out an oath at every other word, and the young +divine only frowned sourly at my levity. + +"If--if--if you'd only given us warning," interrupts Rebecca. + +"Faith, Rebecca, an you talk of warning, I'll begin to think you needed +it----" + +"To give you welcome," explains Rebecca. Then recovering herself, she +begs, with a pretty bobbing courtesy, to make me known to the Reverend +Adam Kittridge. + +The Reverend Kittridge shakes hands with an air as he would sound my +doctrine on the spot, and Rebecca hastens to add that I am "a +very--_old--old_ friend." + +"Not so _very_ old, Rebecca, not so very long ago since you and I read +over the same lesson-books. Do you mind the copy-heads on the +writing-books? + +"'_Heaven to find. The Bible mind. In Adam's fall we sinn'ed all. +Adam lived a lonely life until he got himself a wife._'" + +But at that last, which was not to be found among the head-lines of +Boston's old copy-books, little Rebecca looked like to drop, and with a +frightened gesture begged us to be seated, which we all accomplished +with a perceptible stiffening of the young gentleman's joints. + +"Is M. Radisson back?" she asks. + +"He reached England yesterday. He bade me say that he will be here +after he meets the shareholders. He goes to present furs to the king +this morning." + +"That will please Lady Kirke," says the young gentleman. + +"Some one else is back in England," exclaims Rebecca, with the air of +news. "Ben Gillam is here." + +"O-ho! Has he seen the Company?" + +"He and Governor Brigdar have been among M. Radisson's enemies. Young +Captain Gillam says there's a sailor-lad working on the docks here can +give evidence against M. Radisson." + +"Can you guess who that sailor-lad is, Rebecca?" + +"It is not--no--it is not Jack?" she asks. + +"Jack it is, Rebecca. That reminds me, Jack sent a message to you!" + +"A message to me?" + +"Yes--you know he's married--he married last year when he was in the +north." + +"Married?" cries Rebecca, throwing up her hands and like to faint from +surprise. "Married in the north? Why--who--who married him, Ramsay?" + +"A woman, of course!" + +"But--" Rebecca was blushing furiously, "but--I mean--was there a +chaplain? Had you a preacher? And--and was not Mistress Hortense the +only woman----?" + +"No--child--there were thousands of women--native women----" + +"Squaws!" exclaims the prim little Puritan maid, with a red spot +burning on each cheek. "Do you mean that Jack Battle has married a +squaw?" and she rose indignantly. + +"No--I mean a woman! Now, Rebecca, will you sit down till I tell you +all about it?" + +"Sir," interjects the young gentleman of the cloth, "I protest there +are things that a maid ought not to hear!" + +"Then, sir, have a care that you say none of them under cloak of +religion! _Honi soit qui mal y pense_! The mind that thinketh no evil +taketh no evil." + +Then I turned to Rebecca, standing with a startled look in her eyes. + +"Rebecca, Madame Radisson has told you how Jack was left to be tortured +by the Indians?" + +"Hortense has told me." + +"And how he risked his life to save an Indian girl's life?" + +"Yes," says Rebecca, with downcast lids. + +"That Indian girl came and untied Jack's bonds the night of the +massacre. They escaped together. When he went snow-blind, Mizza +hunted and snared for him and kept him. Her people were all dead; she +could not go back to her tribe--if Jack had left her in the north, the +hostiles would have killed her. Jack brought her home with him----" + +"He ought to have put her in a house of correction," snapped Rebecca. + +"Rebecca! Why would he put her in a house of correction? What had she +done that she ought not to have done? She had saved his life. He had +saved hers, and he married her." + +"There was no minister," said Rebecca, with a tightening of her +childish dimpled mouth and a reddening of her cheeks and a little +indignant toss of the chin. + +"Rebecca! How could they get a minister a thousand leagues away from +any church? They will get one now----" + +Rebecca rose stiffly, her little lily face all aflame. + +"My father saith much evil cometh of this--it is sin--he ought not to +have married her; and--and--it is very wrong of you to be telling me +this--" she stammered angrily, with her little hands clasped tight +across the white stomacher. + +"Very unfit," comes from that young gentleman of the cloth. + +We were all three standing, and I make no doubt my own face went as red +as theirs, for the taunt bit home. That inference of evil where no +evil was, made an angrier man than was my wont. The two moved towards +the door. I put myself across their way. + +"Rebecca, you do yourself wrong! You are measuring other people's +deeds with too short a yardstick, little woman, and the wrong is in +your own mind, not theirs." + +"I--I--don't know what you mean!" cried Rebecca obstinately, with a +break in her voice that ought to have warned; but her next words +provoked afresh. "It was wicked!--it was sinful!"--with an angry +stamp--"it was shameful of Jack Battle to marry an Indian girl----" + +There I cut in. + +"Was it?" I asked. "Young woman, let me tell you a bald truth! When a +white man marries an Indian, the union is as honourable as your own +would be. It is when the white man does _not_ marry the Indian that +there is shame; and the shame is to the white man, not the Indian----!" + +Sure, one might let an innocent bundle of swans' down and baby cheeks +have its foibles without laying rough hands upon them! + +The next,--little Rebecca cries out that I've insulted her, is in +floods of tears, and marches off on the young gentleman's arm. + +Comes a clatter of slippered heels on the hall floor and in bustles my +Lady Kirke, bejewelled and befrilled and beflounced till I had thought +no mortal might bend in such massive casings of starch. + +"La," she pants, "good lack!--Wellaway! My fine savage! Welladay! +What a pretty mischief have you been working? Proposals are amaking at +the foot of the stairs. O--lud! The preacher was akissing that little +Puritan maid as I came by! Good lack, what will Sir John say?" + +And my lady laughs and laughs till I look to see the tears stain the +rouge of her cheeks. + +"O-lud," she laughs, "I'm like to die! He tried to kiss the baggage! +And the little saint jumps back so quick that he hit her ear by +mistake! La," she laughs, "I'm like to die!" + +I'd a mind to tell her ladyship that a loosening of her stays might +prolong life, but I didn't. Instead, I delivered the message from +Pierre Radisson and took myself off a mighty mad man; for youth can be +angry, indeed. And the cause of the anger was the same as fretteth the +Old World and New to-day. Rebecca was measuring Jack by old standards. +I was measuring Rebecca by new standards. And the measuring of the old +by the new and the new by the old teareth love to tatters. + +Pierre Radisson I met at the entrance to the Fur Company's offices in +Broad Street. His steps were of one on steel springs and his eyes +afire with victory. + +"We've beaten them," he muttered to me. "His Majesty favours us! His +Majesty accepted the furs and would have us at Whitehall to-morrow +night to give account of our doings. An they try to trick me out of +reward I'll have them to the foot o' the throne!" + +But of Pierre Radisson's intrigue against his detractors I was not +thinking at all. + +"Were the courtiers about?" I asked. + +"Egad! yes; Palmer and Buckingham and Ashley leering at Her Grace of +Portsmouth, with Cleveland looking daggers at the new favourite, and +the French ambassador shaking his sides with laughter to see the women +at battle. His Royal Highness, the Duke of York, got us access to +present the furs. Egad, Ramsay, I am a rough man, but it seemed +prodigious strange to see a king giving audience in the apartments of +the French woman, and great men leering for a smile from that huzzy! +The king lolls on a Persian couch with a litter of spaniel puppies on +one side and the French woman on the other. And what do you think that +black-eyed jade asks when I present the furs and tell of our captured +Frenchmen? To have her own countrymen sold to the Barbadoes so that +she may have the money for her gaming-table! Egad, I spiked that +pretty plan by saying the Frenchmen were sending her a present of furs, +too! To-morrow night we go to Whitehall to entertain His Majesty with +our doings! We need not fear enemies in the Company now!" + +"I'm not so sure of that," said I. "The Gillams have been working +against you here, and so has Brigdar." + +"Hah--let them work!" + +"Did you see _her_?" I asked. + +"_Her_?" questions Radisson absently. "Pardieu, there are so many +_hers_ about the court now with no she-saint among them! Which do you +mean?" + +The naming of Hortense after such speech was impossible. Without more +mention of the court, we entered the Company's office, where sat the +councillors in session around a long table. No one rose to welcome him +who had brought such wealth on the Happy Return; and the reason was not +far to seek. The post-chaise had arrived with Pierre Radisson's +detractors, and allied with them were the Gillams and Governor Brigdar. + +Pierre Radisson advanced undaunted and sat down. Black looks greeted +his coming, and the deputy-governor, who was taking the Duke of York's +place, rose to suggest that "Mr. Brigdar, wrongfully dispossessed of +the fort on the bay by one Frenchman known as Radisson, be restored as +governor of those parts." + +A grim smile went from face to face at Pierre Radisson's expense. + +"Better withdraw, man, better withdraw," whispers Sir John Kirke, his +father-in-law. + +But Radisson only laughs. + +Then one rises to ask by what authority the Frenchman, Radisson, had +gone to report matters to the king instead of leaving that to the +shareholders. + +M. de Radisson utters another loud laugh. + +Comes a knocking, and there appears at the door Colonel Blood, father +of the young lieutenant, with a message from the king. + +"Gentlemen," announces the freebooter, "His Majesty hath bespoke dinner +for the Fur Company at the Lion. His Royal Highness, the Duke of York, +hath ordered Madeira for the councillors' refreshment, and now awaits +your coming!" + +For the third time M. Radisson laughs aloud with a triumph of insolence. + +"Come, gentlemen," says he, "I've countered. Let us be going. His +Royal Highness awaits us across the way." + +Blood stood twirling his mustaches and tapping his sword-handle +impatiently. He was as swarth and straight and dauntless as Pierre +Radisson, with a sinister daring in his eyes that might have put the +seal to any act. + +"Egad's life!" he exclaimed, "do fur-traders keep royalty awaiting?" + +And our irate gentleman must needs haste across to the Lion, where +awaited the Company Governor, the Duke of York, with all the merry +young blades of the court. King Charles's reign was a time of license, +you have been told. What that meant you would have known if you had +seen the Fur Company at dinner. Blood, Senior, I mind, had a +drinking-match against Sir George Jeffreys, the judge; and I risk not +my word on how much those two rascals put away. The judge it was who +went under mahogany first, though Colonel Blood scarce had wit enough +left to count the winnings of his wager. Young Lieutenant Blood stood +up on his chair and bawled out some monstrous bad-writ verse to "a +fair-dark lady"--whatever that meant--"who was as cold as ice and +combustible as gunpowder." Healths were drunk to His Majesty King +Charles, to His Royal Highness the Duke of York, to our councillors of +the Company, to our governors of the fur-posts, and to the captains. +Then the Duke of York himself lifted the cup to Pierre Radisson's +honour; whereat the young courtiers raised such a cheering, the grim +silence of Pierre Radisson's detractors passed unnoticed. After the +Duke of York had withdrawn, our riotous sparks threw off all restraint. +On bended knee they drank to that fair evil woman whom King Louis had +sent to ensnare King Charles. Odds were offered on how long her power +with the king would last. Then followed toasts to a list of +second-rate names, dancing girls and French milliners, who kept place +of assignation for the dissolute crew, and maids of honour, who were no +maids of honour, but adventuresses in the pay of great men to advance +their interest with the king, and riffraff women whose names history +hath done well to forget. To these toasts Colonel Blood and Pierre +Radisson and I sat with inverted glasses. + +While the inn was ringing to the shouts of the revellers, the +freebooter leaned across to Pierre Radisson. + +"Gad's name if they like you," he mumbled drunkenly. + +"Who?" asked Radisson. + +"Fur Company," explained Blood. "They hate you! So they do me! But +if the king favours you, they've got to have you," and he laughed to +himself. + +"That's the way with me," he whispered in drunken confidence to M. +Radisson. "What a deuce?" he asked, turning drowsily to the table. +"What's my boy doing?" + +Young Lieutenant Blood was to his feet holding a reaming glass high as +his head. + +"Gentlemen, I give you the sweet savage!" he cried, "the Diana of the +snows--a thistle like a rose--ice that burns--a pauper that spurns--" + +"Curse me if he doesn't mean that saucy wench late come from your north +fort," interrupted the father. + +My hands were itching to throw a glass in the face of father or son, +but Pierre Radisson restrained me. + +"More to be done sometimes by doing nothing," he whispered. + +The young fellows were on their knees draining bumpers; but Colonel +Blood was rambling again. + +"He gives 'em that saucy brat, does he? Gad's me, I'd give her to +perdition for twopenny-worth o' rat poison! Look you, Radisson, 'tis +what I did once; but she's come back! Curse me, I could 'a' done it +neater and cheaper myself--twopenny-worth o' poison would do it, Picot +said; but gad's me, I paid him a hundred guineas, and here she's come +back again!" + +"Blood . . . Colonel Blood," M. Picot had repeated at his death. + +I had sprung up. Again M. Radisson held me back. + +"How long ago was that, Colonel Blood?" he asked softly. + +"Come twenty year this day s'ennight," mutters the freebooter. "'Twas +before I entered court service. Her father had four o' my fellows +gibbeted at Charing Cross, Gad's me, I swore he'd sweat for it! She +was Osmond's only child--squalling brat coming with nurse over Hounslow +Heath. 'Sdeath--I see it yet! Postillions yelled like stuck pigs, +nurses kicked over in coach dead away. When they waked up, curse me, +but the French poisoner had the brat! Curse me, I'd done better to +finish her myself. Picot ran away and wrote letters--letters--letters, +till I had to threaten to slit his throat, 'pon my soul, I had! And +now she must marry the boy----" + +"Why?" put in Radisson, with cold indifference and half-listening air. + +"Gad's life, can't you see?" asked the knave. "Osmond's dead, the +boy's lands are hers--the French doctor may 'a' told somebody," and +Colonel Blood of His Majesty's service slid under the table with the +judge. + +M. Radisson rose and led the way out. + +"You'd like to cudgel him," he said. "Come with me to Whitehall +instead!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +THE KING'S PLEASURE + +My Lady Kirke was all agog. + +Pierre Radisson was her "dear sweet savage," and "naughty spark," and +"bold, bad beau," and "devilish fellow," and "lovely wretch!" + +"La, Pierre," she cries, with a tap of her fan, "anybody can go to the +king's _levee_! But, dear heart!" she trills, with a sidelong ogle. +"Ta!--ta! naughty devil!--to think of our sweet savage going to +Whitehall of an evening! Lud, Mary, I'll wager you, Her Grace of +Portsmouth hath laid eyes on him----" + +"The Lord forbid!" ejaculates Pierre Radisson. + +"Hoighty-toighty! Now! there you go, my saucy spark! Good lack! An +the king's women laid eyes on any other man, 'twould turn his head and +be his fortune! Naughty fellow!" she warns, with a flirt of her fan. +"We shall watch you! Ta-ta, don't tell me no! Oh, we know this _gâité +de coeur_! You'll presently be _intime_ o' Portsmouth and Cleveland +and all o' them!" + +"Madame," groans Pierre Radisson, "swear, if you will! But as you love +me, don't abuse the French tongue!" + +At which she gave him a slap with her fan. + +"An I were not so young," she simpers, "I'd cuff your ears, you saucy +Pierre!" + +"So young!" mutters Pierre Radisson, with grim looks at her powdered +locks. "Egad's life, so is the bud on a century plant young," and he +turns to his wife. + +But my Lady Kirke was blush-proof. + +"Don't forget to pay special compliments to the favourites," she calls, +as we set out for Whitehall; and she must run to the door in a flutter +and ask if Pierre Radisson has any love-verse ready writ, in case of an +_amour_ with one of the court ladies. + +"No," says Radisson, "but here are unpaid tailor bills! 'Tis as good +as your _billets-doux_! I'll kiss 'em just as hard!" + +"So!" cries Lady Kirke, bobbing a courtesy and blowing a kiss from her +finger-tips as we rolled away in Sir John's coach. + +"The old flirt-o'-tail," blurted Radisson, "you could pack her brains +in a hazel-nut; but 'twould turn the stomach of a grub!" + + * * * * * * + +'Twas not the Whitehall you know to-day, which is but a remnant of the +grand old pile that stretched all the way from the river front to the +inner park. Before the fires, Whitehall was a city of palaces reaching +far into St. James, with a fleet of royal barges at float below the +river stairs. From Scotland Yard to Bridge Street the royal ensign +blew to the wind above tower and parapet and battlement. I mind under +the archway that spanned little Whitehall Street M. Radisson dismissed +our coachman. + +"How shall we bring up the matter of Hortense?" I asked. + +"Trust me," said Radisson. "The gods of chance!" + +"Will you petition the king direct?" + +"Egad--no! Never petition a selfish man direct, or you'll get a No! +Bring him round to the generous, so that he may take all credit for it +himself! Do you hold back among the on-lookers till I've told our +story o' the north! 'Tis not a state occasion! Egad, there'll be +court wenches aplenty ready to take up with a likely looking man! Have +a word with Hortense if you can! Let me but get the king's ear--" And +Radisson laughed with a confidence, methought, nothing on earth could +shake. + +Then we were passed from the sentinel doing duty at the gate to the +king's guards, and from the guards to orderlies, and from orderlies to +fellows in royal colours, who led us from an ante-room to that glorious +gallery of art where it pleased the king to take his pleasure that +night. + +It was not a state occasion, as Radisson said; but for a moment I think +the glitter in which those jaded voluptuaries burned out their +moth-lives blinded even the clear vision of Pierre Radisson. The great +gallery was thronged with graceful courtiers and stately dowagers and +gaily attired page-boys and fair ladies with a beauty of youth on their +features and the satiety of age in their look. My Lord Preston, I +mind, was costumed in purple velvet with trimming of pearls such as a +girl might wear. Young Blood moved from group to group to show his +white velvets sparkling with diamonds. One of the Sidneys was there +playing at hazard with my Lady Castlemaine for a monstrous pile of gold +on the table, which some onlookers whispered made up three thousand +guineas. As I watched my lady lost; but in spite of that, she coiled +her bare arm around the gold as if to hold the winnings back. + +"And indeed," I heard her say, with a pout, "I've a mind to prove your +love! I've a mind not to pay!" + +At which young Sidney kisses her finger-tips and bids her pay the debt +in favours; for the way to the king was through the influence of +Castlemaine or Portsmouth or other of the dissolute crew. + +Round other tables sat men and women, old and young, playing away +estate and fortune and honour at tick-tack or ombre or basset. One +noble lord was so old that he could not see to game, and must needs +have his valet by to tell him how the dice came up. On the walls hung +the works of Vandyke and Correggio and Raphael and Rubens; but the pure +faces of art's creation looked down on statesmen bending low to the +beck of adventuresses, old men pawning a noble name for the leer of a +Portsmouth, and women vying for the glance of a jaded king. + +At the far end of the apartment was a page-boy dressed as Cupid, +singing love-songs. In the group of listeners lolled the languid king. +Portsmouth sat near, fanning the passion of a poor young fool, who hung +about her like a moth; but Charles was not a lover to be spurred. As +Portsmouth played her ruse the more openly a contemptuous smile flitted +over the proud, dark face of the king, and he only fondled his lap-dog +with indifferent heed for all those flatterers and foot-lickers and +curry-favours hovering round royalty. + +Barillon, the French ambassador, pricked up his ears, I can tell you, +when Chaffinch, the king's man, came back with word that His Majesty +was ready to hear M. Radisson. + +"Now, lad, move about and keep your eyes open and your mouth shut!" +whispers M. Radisson as he left me. + +Barillon would have followed to the king's group, but His Majesty +looked up with a quiet insolence that sent the ambassador to another +circle. Then a page-boy touched my arm. + +"Master Stanhope?" he questioned. + +"Yes," said I. + +"Come this way," and he led to a tapestried corner, where sat the queen +and her ladies. + +Mistress Hortense stood behind the royal chair. + +Queen Catherine extended her hand for my salute. + +"Her Majesty is pleased to ask what has become of the sailor-lad and +his bride," said Hortense. + +"Hath the little Puritan helped to get them married right?" asked the +queen, with the soft trill of a foreign tongue. + +"Your Majesty," said I, "the little Puritan holds back." + +"It is as you thought," said Queen Catherine, looking over her shoulder +to Hortense. + +"Would another bridesmaid do?" asked the queen. + +Laughing looks passed among the ladies. + +"If the bridesmaid were Mistress Hillary, Your Majesty," I began. + +"Hortense hath been to see them." + +I might have guessed. It was like Hortense to seek the lonely pair. + +"Here is the king. We must ask his advice," said the queen. + +At the king's entrance all fell back and I managed to whisper to +Hortense what we had learned the night before. + +"Here are news," smiled His Majesty. "Your maid of the north is +Osmond's daughter! The lands young Lieutenant Blood wants are hers!" + +At that were more looks among the ladies. + +"And faith, the lieutenant asks for her as well as the lands," said the +king. + +Hortense had turned very white and moved a little forward. + +"We may not disturb our loyal subject's possession. What does Osmond's +daughter say?" questioned the king. + +Then Hortense took her fate in her hands. + +"Your Majesty," she said, "if Osmond's daughter did not want the lands, +it would not be necessary to disturb the lieutenant." + +"And who would find a husband for a portionless bride?" asked King +Charles. + +"May it please Your Majesty," began Hortense; but the words trembled +unspoken on her lips. + +There was a flutter among the ladies. The queen turned and rose. A +half-startled look of comprehension came to her face. And out stepped +Mistress Hortense from the group behind. + +"Your Majesties," she stammered, "I do not want the lands----" + +"Nor the lieutenant," laughed the king. + +"Your Majesties," she said. She could say no more. + +But with the swift intuition of the lonely woman's loveless heart, +Queen Catherine read in my face what a poor trader might not speak. +She reached her hand to me, and when I would have saluted it like any +dutiful subject, she took my hand in hers and placed Hortense's hand in +mine. + +Then there was a great laughing and hand-shaking and protesting, with +the courtiers thronging round. + +"Ha, Radisson," Barillon was saying, "you not only steal our forts--you +must rifle the court and run off with the queen's maid!" + +"And there will be two marriages at the sailor's wedding," said the +queen. + + +It was Hortense's caprice that both marriages be deferred till we +reached Boston Town, where she must needs seek out the old Puritan +divine whom I had helped to escape so many years ago. + +Before I lay down my pen, I would that I could leave with you a picture +of M. Radisson, the indomitable, the victorious, the dauntless, living +in opulence and peace! + +But my last memory of him, as our ship sheered away for Boston Town, is +of a grave man standing on the quay denouncing princes' promises and +gazing into space. + +M. Radisson lived to serve the Fur Company for many a year as history +tells; but his service was as the flight of a great eagle, harried by a +multitude of meaner birds. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERALDS OF EMPIRE*** + + +******* This file should be named 18182-8.txt or 18182-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/1/8/18182 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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