M. de Radisson’s face was a study in masks.

“You may ask, La Chesnaye,” says he, rubbing his chin with a wrinkling smile, “you may ask, but I’m hanged if I answer!”

And from lips that had whitened with fear but a moment before came laughter that set the timbers ringing.

Then Foret found his tongue.

“Hang a baker’s dozen of the mutineers from the yard-arm!”

“A baker’s dozen is thirteen, Foret,” retorted Radisson, “and the Ste. Anne’s crew numbers fifteen.”

“Hang ’em in effigy as they do in Quebec,” persists Foret.

Pierre Radisson only pointed over his shoulder to the port astern.  Crowding to the glazed window we saw a dozen scarecrows tossing from the crosstrees of Groseillers’s ship.

“What does Captain Radisson advise?” asks La Chesnaye.

“La Chesnaye,” says Radisson, “I never advise.  I act!”

CHAPTER VII

M. DE RADISSON ACTS

Quick as tongue could trip off the orders, eyes everywhere, thought and act jumping together, Pierre Radisson had given each one his part, and pledged our obedience, though he bade us walk the plank blindfold to the sea.  Two men were set to transferring powder and arms from the forehold to our captain’s cabin.  One went hand over fist up the mainmast and signalled the Ste. Anne to close up.  Jackets were torn from the deck-guns and the guns slued round to sweep from stem to stern.  With a jarring of cranes and shaking of timbers, the two ships bumped together; and a more surprised looking lot of men than the crew of the Ste. Anne you never saw.  Pierre Radisson had played the rogues their own game in the matter of signals.  They had thought the St. Pierre in league, else would they not have come into his trap so readily.  Before they had time to protest, the ships were together, the two captains conferring face to face across the rails, and our sailors standing at arms ready to shoot down the first rebel.

At a word, the St. Pierre’s crew were scrambling to the Ste. Anne’s decks.  A shout through the trumpet of the Ste. Anne’s bo’swain and the mutinous crew of the Ste. Anne were marched aboard the St. Pierre.

Then M. Radisson’s plan became plain.  The other ship was the better.  M. de Radisson was determined that at least one crew should reach the bay.  Besides, as he had half-laughingly insinuated, perhaps he knew better than Chouart Groseillers of the Ste. Anne how to manage mutinous pirates.  Of the St. Pierre’s crew, three only remained with Radisson:  Allemand, in the pilot-house; young Jean Groseillers, Chouart’s son, on guard aft; and myself, armed with a musket, to sweep the fo’castle.

And all the time there was such a rolling sea the two ships were like to pound their bulwarks to kindling wood.  Then the Ste. Anne eased off, sheered away, and wore ship for open sea.