Heralds of Empire

by Agnes C. Laut

  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 driftslike a foundered ship, and all that remained visible of evergreens was anoccasional 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 smokeclouds, and in stamps Godefroy, shaking snow off with boisterous noiseand vowing by the saints that the drifts are as high as the St. Pierre'sdeck. M. Groseillers orders the rascal to shut the door; but bare hasthe latch clicked when young Jean whisks in, tossing snow from cap andgauntlets like a clipper shaking a reef to the spray, and declares thatthe 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 firsttime since his freezing, blurts out a taunting laugh. We had done betterto build on the sheltered side of an island, he informs us.

  "Now, the shivers take me!" cries Ben, "but where a deuce are all yourland forces and marines and jack-tars and forty thousand officers?"

  He cast a scornful look down our long, low-roofed barracks, counting themen gathered round the hearth and laughing as he counted. M. Radissonaffected not to hear, telling Jean to hoist the cannon and punctureembrasures high to the bastion-roofs like Italian towers.

  "Monsieur Radisson," impudently mouths Ben, who had taken more rum forhis health than was good for his head, "I asked you to inform me whereyour 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, ahost may not answer."

  But Ben goes on unheeding.

  "Now I'll wager that dog of a runaway slave o' mine, that Jack Battlewho's hiding hereabouts, I'll wager the hangdog slave and pawn my headyou 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. Helooked at Ben with a measuring glance which sized that fellow very smallindeed.

  "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 timesover. 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 andboots, all the same," adds he.

  With that he goes off, leaving Ben blowing curses into the fire like abellows. The young rake bawled out for more gin, and with head sunk onhis 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 himlike 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 tothe 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 centto what Kirke and Stocking paid; they to supply the money, my father tokeep 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 thefirst to turn knave and steal all the pelts!"

  "Who?" quietly puts in M. Groseillers, who had been listening with wideeyes.

  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 themidst 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 arethese?"

  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 thesnow," said he, "white-man from the big white canoe--comewalkee--walkee--one--two--three sleep--watchee good Indian--friend--fort!"

  M. Groseillers sprang to his feet muttering of treachery from GovernorBrigdar of the Hudson's Bay Company, and put himself in front of theintruders so that Ben could not see. But the poor fellows were so frozenthat they could only mumble out something about the Prince Rupert havingfoundered, carrying half the crew to the river bottom. Hurrying the twoEnglishmen to another part of the fort, M. Groseillers bade me run forRadisson.

  I wish that you could have seen the triumphant glint laughing in PierreRadisson's eyes when I told him.

  "Fate deals the cards! 'Tis we must play them! This time the jade hathtrumped her partner's ace! Ha, ha, Ramsay! We could 'a' captured bothfather and son with a flip o' the finger! Now there's only need to holdthe son! Governor Brigdar must beg passage from us to leave the bay; butwho a deuce are those inlanders that Ben Gillam keeps raving against forhiding the furs?"

  And he flung the mess-room door open so forcibly that Ben Gillam wakedwith a jump. At sight of Le Borgne the young New Englander sprang overthe benches with his teeth agleam and murder on his face. But the liquorhad gone to his knees. He keeled head over like a top-heavy brig, andwhen we dragged him up Le Borgne had bolted.

  All that night Ben swore deliriously that he would do worse to LeBorgne's master than he had done to the supercargo; but he never by anychance let slip who Le Borgne's master might be, though M. Radisson,Chouart Groseillers, young Jean, and I kept watch by turns lest thedrunken 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, theyoung rake sat up with a fog-horn of a yell and swore he would slice thatpirate 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 toknow your character, Ramsay," says he, "get your enemy talking in hiscups!"

  "Shiver my soul, if I'd ever come to his fort but to find out how strongthe liar is!" cries Ben.

  "Hm! I thought so," says M. de Radisson, pushing the young fellow backto his pillow and fastening the fur robes close lest frost steamedthrough the ill-chinked logs.

  By Christmas Ben Gillam and Jack Battle of the New Englanders' fort andthe two spies of the Hudson's Bay Company had all recovered enough fromtheir freezing to go about. What with keeping the English and NewEnglanders from knowing of each other's presence, we had as twisted apiece of by-play as you could want. Ben Gillam and Jack we dressed asbushrangers; the Hudson's Bay spies as French marines. Neither suspectedthe others were English, nor ever crossed words while with us. Andwhatever enemies say of Pierre Radisson, I would have you remember thathe treated his captives so well that chains would not have dragged themback to their own masters.

  "How can I handle all the English of both forts unless I win some of themfor friends?" he would ask, never laying unction to his soul for thekindness that he practised.

  By Christmas, too, the snow had ceased falling and the frost turned theland to a silent, white, paleocrystic world. Sap-frozen timbers crackedwith the loud, sharp snapping of pistol-shots--then the white silence!The river ice splintered to the tightening grip of winter with thegrinding of an earthquake, and again the white silence! Or the heavynight air, lying thick with frost smoke like a pall over earth, wouldreverberate to the deep bayings of the wolf-pack, and over all wouldclose the white silence!

  As if to defy the powers of that deathly realm, M. de Radisson had themore logs heaped on our hearth and doubled the men's rations. OnChristmas morning he had us all out to fire a salute, Ben Gillam and Jackan
d the two Fur Company spies disguised as usual, and the rest of usmuffled to our eyes. Jackets and tompions were torn from the cannon.Unfrosted priming was distributed. Flags were run up on boats andbastions. Then the word was given to fire and cheer at the top of ourvoices.

  Ben Gillam was sober enough that morning but in the mood of a ruffianstale from overnight brawls. Hardly had the rocking echoes ofcannonading died away when the rascal strode boldly forward in front ofus all, up with his musket, took quick aim at the main flagstaff andfired. The pole splintered off at the top and the French flag flutteredto 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 tothrow stones! Mind that, ye pirate!"

  "Dog!" repeats M. Radisson, "dare to show disrespect to the MostChristian of Kings!"

  "Most Christian of Kings!" flouts Ben. "I'll return to my fort! ThenI'll show you what I'll give the Most Christian of Kings!"

  La Chesnaye rushed up with rash threat; but M. de Radisson pushed themerchant aside and stood very still, looking at Ben.

  "Young man," he began, as quietly as if he were wishing Ben the season'scompliments, "I brought you to this fort for the purpose of keeping youin 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 soldiersto 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 Radissonlightly. Then to the men--"Form line-march!"

  At the word we filed into the guard-room, where the soldiers relievedGillam of pistol and sword.

  "Am I to be shot? Am I to be shot?" cried Gillam, white with terror atM. 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 ofyour life, Ben! And now," said M. Radisson, dismissing all the men butone sentinel for the door, "and now, Ben, a Merry Christmas to you, andmay it be your last in Hudson Bay!"

  With that he left Ben Gillam prisoner; but he ordered special watch to bekept on the fort bastions lest Ben's bravado portended attack. The nextmorning 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 bareboards rimed with frost like curdled milk.

  "Cheer up, man! Cheer up!" encourages Radisson. "There's to be acapture to-day!"

  "A capture!" reiterates Ben, glowering black across the table and doffinghis cap with bad grace.

  "Aye, I said a capture! Egad, lad, one fort and one ship are prizeenough for one day!"

  "Sink my soul," flouts Gillam, looking insolently down the table to therows of ragged sailors sitting beyond our officers, "if every man o' yourrough-scuff had the nine lives of a cat, their nine lives would be shotdown 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 worthsomething! 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 abroadside of oaths at the Frenchman's slur. "A hundred men with ninelives, if you like! We've powder for all!"

  "Ben!" M. Radisson rose. "Two men are in the fort now! Pick me outseven more! That will make nine! With those nine I own your fort bynightfall 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 greatbreakfast candle with bare fingers as if his hand were iron.

  "Shiver my soul, then," laughs Ben, in high feather, "let the first bethat 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 secondlieutenant, Ben's eyes gaping to see Jack's disguise of bushranger likehimself.

  "Go on," orders M. Radisson, "choose whom you will!"

  The soldiers broke into ringing cheers.

  "Devil take you, Radisson," ejaculates Ben familiarly, "such coolimpudence 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'drather see him shot next than any one else!"

  "Thank you, Ben," said I.

  "Come over here, Ramsay," orders Radisson. "That's two. Go on! Fivemore!"

  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 enoughto 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 drunkmost 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 wretchedlittle stowaway, who had kept hidden under hatches till we were too farout to send him back. At the last choice our men shouted and clapped andstamped and broke into snatches of song about conquerors.