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Heralds of Empire

Chapter 8 M. DE RADISSON COMES TO HIS OWN

Word Count: 3133    |    Released on: 06/12/2017

eel 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

ome! 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

, lads," says

which my father lost his all, knew

g 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 a

outed, "in the name of His Most Christian Majesty, the

oed 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 an

we had taken possession of the land. No, no, 'twas the land had taken possession of us, as the New Wor

nished 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

. 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 cur

of us, it had go

r that drew through the nostrils in thirst-quenching draughts; blood atingle to the laughing rhythm of the river-wha

loud from fu

hwart, ripped off his b

he had room to stret

run a thousand miles and jum

ales and play bowling-balls with the spheres, you

turer," said Jean quiet

ndering if Eli Kirke ever

at, "if people moved more and moped less, they'd bre

light strokes, silent from zest, carel

st the mill race without gaining an inch. The canoe squirmed like a hunter balking a hedge, and Jean's blade splintered of

nd not gain a boat l

, and to be swept back,"

slippery rocks, with the pace set at a run by M. de Radisson. Jean and I followed with the pack straps across

ed, M. de Radisson traced the sa

faint outlines of a footprint, "and

n. "We are a thousand m

"But pardieu, there are neither white women in this wilderness, nor ghosts

te 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 comm

h farther do we go, sir?" asked G

them," answere

und them

hundred yards behind. Mistaking us for his own people, he whistled the hunter's signal to head the game back. Then he saw that

and joined the thicket he paused and began tracing t

it, Godefroy?" he d

quizzically at S

moccasin turn out," says

d M. Radisson, "and hang me, if the s

d back to

" began Godefroy, "and

ngs; and he bade us heap such a fire as could be seen by Indians for a hundred miles. "If once I can find t

and Godefroy began to complain that black deeds were done in the d

e will make of us in the

s eyes glist

d the trader, giving a hand to hoist the shed of sheet canvas that wa

turned sharply; but the h

uccaneers began shooting from the bush

he. Taking Godefroy by the ear, with a prick of the sword he led th

M. Radisson l

oss the rascal's heels that made him hop. The canoe clapped down, and Godefroy was safe.

s; for the clouds were rolling overhead black as ink and the wind roared up the river-bed with a wall of pelting

and devil-knaves and fools and his own sins-he mu

ght them all

and warm red flashed to the surf

p quickly towards the gathe

ir

gh for hunters

ire not b

wind is loud. One could go close without being heard. Pardieu, I'll wager a good scout could creep up to a log

rt, half-suspecting a

t out? Eh, lad,

e. Without a word

u will escape back with the news," calle

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 g

ward like a wet sail, a roar of wind in my ears and the words of M. Radisson ringing their battle-cry-"Storm and cold-ma

ad I run in a circle and come again on M. Radisson's

owards 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.

o light. Before I had time to think, but not-thanks to M. Picot's lessons long ago-

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 adversar

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,

rt at the hilt. A cold point was at my throat pressing me down and back as the foil had caught me that

t-powers of darkness and dev

ike a battle-cry. Beaten? Not yet!

both in the light now, a bearded man pushing his sword through my hand, and I falling down. Then my anta

roken rapier, the left was gashed across the palm, a

there. But

servance, which was never neglected by M. Radisson after season of peril. I

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