Heralds of Empire Part 15

Indeed, I would fain suppress this part of M. Radisson's record, for he juggled with truth so oft, when he thought the end justified the means, he finally got a knack of juggling so much with truth that the means would never justify any end. I would fain repress the ign.o.ble faults of a n.o.ble leader, but I must even set down the facts as they are, so you may see why a man who was the greatest leader and trader and explorer of his times reaped only an aftermath of universal distrust.

He lied his way through thick and thin--as we traders used to say--till that lying habit of his sewed him up in a net of his own weaving like a grub in a coc.o.o.n.

G.o.defroy was giving a hand to bind up my gashed palm when something grunted a "huff-huff" beside us. Le Borgne was there with a queer look on his inscrutable face.

"Le Borgne, you rascal, you know who gave me this," I began, taking careful scrutiny of the Indian.

One eye was glazed and sightless, the other yellow like a fox's; but the fellow was straight, supple, and clean-timbered as a fresh-hewn mast. With a "huh-huh," he gabbled back some answer.

"What does he say, G.o.defroy?"

"He says he doesn't understand the white-man's tongue--which is a lie,"

added G.o.defroy of his own account. "Le Borgne was interpreter for the Fur Company at the south of the bay the year that M. Radisson left the English."

Were my a.s.sailants, then, Hudson's Bay Company men come up from the south end of James Bay? Certainly, the voice had spoken English. I would have drawn G.o.defroy aside to inform him of my adventure, but Le Borgne stuck to us like a burr. Jean was busy helping M. de Radisson at the trade, or what was called "trade," when white men gave an awl for forty beaver-skins.

"G.o.defroy," I said, "keep an eye on this Indian till I speak to M. de Radisson." And I turned to the group. 'Twas as pretty a bit of colour as I have ever seen. The sea, like silver, on one side; the autumn-tinted woods, brown and yellow and gold, on the other; M. de Radisson in his gay dress surrounded by a score of savages with their faces and naked chests painted a gaudy red, headgear of swans' down, eagle quills depending from their backs, and buckskin trousers fringed with the scalp-locks of the slain.

Drawing M. de Radisson aside, I gave him hurried account of the night's adventures.

"Ha!" says he. "Not Hudson's Bay Company men, or you would be in irons, lad! Not French, for they spoke English. Pardieu! Poachers and thieves--we shall see! Where is that vagabond Cree? These people are southern Indians and know nothing of him.--G.o.defroy," he called.

G.o.defroy came running up. "Le Borgne's gone," said G.o.defroy breathlessly.

"Gone?" repeated Radisson.

"He left word for Master Stanhope from one who wishes him well--"

"One who wishes him well," repeated M. Radisson, looking askance at me.

"For Master Stanhope not to be bitten twice by the same dog!"

Our amazement you may guess: M. de Radisson, suspicious of treachery and private trade and piracy on my part; I as surprised to learn that I had a well-wisher as I had been to discover an unknown foe; and G.o.defroy, all c.o.c.k-a-whoop with his news, as is the way of the vulgar.

"Ramsay," said M. Radisson, speaking very low and tense, "As you hope to live and without a lie, what--does--this--mean?"

"Sir, as I hope to live--I--do--not--know!"

He continued to search me with doubting looks. I raised my wounded hand.

"Will you do me the honour to satisfy yourself that wound is genuine?"

"Pis.h.!.+" says he.

He studied the ground. "There's nothing impossible on this earth.

Facts are hard dogs to down.--Jean," he called, "gather up the pelts!

It takes a man to trade well, but any fool can make fools drink!

G.o.defroy--give the knaves the rum--but mind yourselves," he warned, "three parts rain-water!" Then facing me, "Take me to that bank!"

He followed without comment.

At the place of the camp-fire were marks of the struggle.

"The same boot-prints as on the sand! A small man," observed Radisson.

But when we came to the sloping bank, where the land fell sheer away to a dry, pebbly reach, M. Radisson pulled a puzzled brow.

"They must have taken shelter from the rain. They must have been under your feet."

"But where are their foot-marks?" I asked.

"Washed out by the rain," said he; but that was one of the untruths with which a man who is ever telling untruths sometimes deceives himself; for if the bank sheltered the intruders from the rain, it also sheltered their foot-marks, and there was not a trace.

"All the same," said M. de Radisson, "we shall make these Indians our friends by taking them back to the fort with us."

"Ramsay," he remarked on the way, "there's a game to play."

"So it seems."

"Hold yourself in," said he sententiously.

I walked on listening.

"One plays as your friend, the other as your foe! Show neither friend nor foe your hand! Let the game tell! 'Twas the reined-in horse won King Charles's stakes at Newmarket last year! Hold yourself in, I say!"

"In," I repeated, wondering at this homily.

"And hold yourself up," he continued. "That c.o.xcomb of a marquis always trailing his dignity in the dust of mid-road to worry with a common dog like La Chesnaye--pis.h.!.+ Hold your self-respect in the chest of your jacket, man! 'Tis the slouching nag that loses the race! Hold yourself up!"

His words seemed hard sense plain spoken.

"And let your feet travel on," he added.

"In and up and on!" I repeated.

"In and up and on--there's mettle for you, lad!"

And with that terse text--which, I think, comprehended the whole of M.

Radisson's philosophy--we were back at the beach.

The Indians were not in such a state as I have seen after many a trading bout. They were able to accompany us. In embarking, M.

Radisson must needs observe all the ceremony of two races. Such a whiffing of pipes among the stately, half-drunk Indian chiefs you never saw, with a pompous proffering of the stem to the four corners of the compa.s.s, which they thought would propitiate the spirits. Jean blew a blast on the trumpet. I waved the French flag. G.o.defroy beat a rattling fusillade on the drum, grabbed up his bobbing tipstaff, led the way; and down we filed to the canoes.

At all this ostentation I could not but smile; but no man ever had greater need of pomp to hold his own against uneven odds than Radisson.

As we were leaving came a noise that set us all by the ears--the dull booming reverberations of heavy cannonading.

The Indians shook as with palsy. Jean Groseillers cried out that his father's s.h.i.+ps were in peril. G.o.defroy implored the saints; but with that lying facility which was his doom, M. de Radisson blandly informed the savages that more of his vessels had arrived from France.