CHAPTER XXVII
HOME FROM THE BAY
'Twas as fair sailing under English colours as you could wish tillPierre Radisson had undone all the mischief that he had worked againstthe Fur Company in Hudson Bay. Pierre Radisson sits with a pipe in hismouth and his long legs stretched clear across the cabin-table,spinning yarns of wild doings in savage lands, and Governor Phipps, ofthe Hudson's Bay Company, listens with eyes a trifle too sleepilywatchful, methinks, for the Frenchman's good. A summer sea kept uscourse all the way to the northern bay, and sometimes Pierre Radissonwould fling out of the cabin, marching up and down the deck muttering,"Pah! Tis tame adventuring! Takes a dish o' spray to salt thefreshness out o' men! Tis the roaring forties put nerve in a man'smarrow! 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 governorturns with a sleepy laugh to the captain.
"A pox on the rantipole!" says he. "May the sharks test the nerve ofhis marrow after he's captured back the forts!"
In the bay great ice-drift stopped our way, and Pierre Radisson'simpatience took fire.
"What a deuce, Captain Gazer!" he cries. "How long do you intend tosquat here anchored to an ice-pan?"
A spark shot from the governor's sleepy eyes, and Captain Gazerswallowed 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 away?"
"Carve a way yourself, Radisson," says the governor contemptuously.
That was let enough for Pierre Radisson. He had the sailors loweringjolly-boats in a jiffy; and off seven of us went, round the ice-pans,ploughing, cutting, portaging a way till we had crossed the obstructionand were pulling for the French fort with the spars of three Companyboats far in the offing.
I detained the English sailors at the river-front till M. Radisson hadentered the fort and won young Jean Groseillers to the change ofmasters. Before the Fur Company's ships came, the English flag wasflying above the fort and Fort Bourbon had become Fort Nelson.
"I bid you welcome to the French Habitation," bows Radisson, throwingwide 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 tradespeoplethat," 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 stowedaway in three ships' holds--than Pierre Radisson's foes unmasked. Themorning of our departure Governor Phipps marched all our Frenchmenaboard like captives of war.
"Sir," expostulated M. de Radisson, "before they gave up the fort Ipromised 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 youcould play us when the fancy took you!"
M. Radisson said not a word. He pulled free a gantlet and strodeforward, but the doughty governor hastily scuttled down the ship'sladder and put a boat's length of water between him and PierreRadisson's challenge.
The gig-boat pulled away. Our ship had raised anchor. Radisson leanedover the deck-rail and laughed.
"Egad, Phipps," he shouted, "a man may not fight cowards, but he cancudgel them! An I have to wait for you on the River Styx, I'll punishyou 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 beforethey are visible to the naked eye!"
And as the Happy Return wore ship for open sea he stood moodily silentwith eyes towards the shore where Governor Phipps's gig-boat had mooredbefore Fort Nelson.
Then, speaking more to himself than to Jean and me, his lips curledwith a hard scorn.
"The Happy Return!" says he. "Pardieu! 'tis a happy return to beatdevils and then have all your own little lies come roosting home likeimps that filch the victory! They don't trust me because I won bytrickery! Egad! is a slaughter better than a game? An a man wins, whoa devil gives a rush for the winnings? 'Tis the fight and thegame--pah!--not the thing won! Storm and cold, man and beast, powerso' darkness and devil, knaves and fools and his own sins--aye, that'sthe scratch!--The man and the beast and the dark and the devil, he canbreast 'em all with a bold front! But knaves and fools and his ownsins, pah!--death grubs!--hatching and nesting in a man's bosom tillthey wake to sting him! Flesh-worms--vampires--blood-suckers--spun outo' a man's own tissue to sap his life!"
He rapped his pistol impatiently against the deck-rail, stalked pastus, then turned.
"Lads," says he, "if you don't want gall in your wine and a grub inyour victory, a' God's name keep your own counsel and play the gamefair and square and aboveboard."
And though his speech worked a pretty enough havoc with fine-spunrhetoric to raise the wig off a pedant's head, Jean and I thought weread some sense in his mixed metaphors.
On all that voyage home he never once crossed words with the Englishofficers, but took his share of hardship with the French prisoners.
"I mayn't go back to France. They think they have me cornered and intheir power," he would say, gnawing at his finger-ends and gazing intospace.
Once, after long reverie, he sprang up from a gun-waist where he hadbeen 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 putfoot ashore when we came to anchor in British port. There were yetfour hours before the post-chaise left for London, and the English crewmade the most of the time by flocking to the ale-houses. M. Radissondrew Jean and me apart.
"We'll beat our detractors yet," he said. "If news of this capture becarried to the king and the Duke of York[1] before the shareholdersspread 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 tohorse and away. Our horse's feet rang on the cobblestones with theecho of steel and the sparks flashed from M. Radisson's eyes. Awharfmaster rushed into mid-road to stop us, but M. Radisson rode himdown. 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 offwith 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! Throwoff 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 toa 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 oneither side; plodding workmen stand to stare and are gone; open fieldsgive place to forest, forest to village, village to bare heath; andstill we race on.
* * * * * *
Midnight found us pounding through the dark of London streets forCheapside, where lived Mr. Young, a director of the Hudson's BayCompany, 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 onehand 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 thetimepiece 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 tenshillings 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' furwithout a pound of shot or the trade of a nail-head for them. TheFrench had these furs in store ready for us!"
Mr. Young lifts his candle so that the light falls on Radisson'sbronzed face. He stands staring as if to make sure we are no wraiths.
"Twenty thousand pounds," says he, slowly extending his right hand toPierre 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 bearthe news to them ourselves?" asks Radisson.
"That you shall," cries Mr. Young; and he led us up-stairs, where wemight refresh ourselves for the honour of presentation to His Majestynext day.
[1] The Duke of York became Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company afterPrince Rupert's death, and the Company's charter was a royal favourdirect from the king.