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.
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