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.
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