CHAPTER XV

THE BATTLE NOT TO THE STRONG

M. Radisson turned the sand-glass up to time our preparations.  Before the last grain fell we seven were out, led by M. Radisson, speeding over the snow-drifted marsh through the thick frosty darkness that lies like a blanket over that northland at dawn.  The air hung heavy, gray, gritty to the touch with ice-frost.  The hard-packed drifts crisped to our tread with little noises which I can call by no other name than frost-shots.  Frost pricked the taste to each breath.  Endless reaches of frost were all that met the sight.  Frost-crackling the only sound.  Frost in one’s throat like a drink of water, and the tingle of the frost in the blood with a leap that was fulness of life.

Up drifts with the help of our muskets!  Down hills with a rush of snow-shoes that set the powdery snow flying!  Skimming the levels with the silent speed of wings!  Past the snow mushrooms topping underbrush and the snow cones of the evergreens and the snow billows of under rocks and the snow-wreathed antlers of the naked forest in a world of snow!

The morning stars paled to steel pin-pricks through a gray sky.  Shadows took form in the frost.  The slant rays of a southern sun struck through the frost clouds in spears.  Then the frost smoke rose like mist, and the white glare shone as a sea.  In another hour it would be high noon of the short shadow.  Every coat—­beaver and bear and otter and raccoon—­hung open, every capote flung back, every runner hot as in midsummer, though frost-rime edged the hair like snow.  When the sun lay like a fiery shield half-way across the southern horizon, M. Radisson called a halt for nooning.

“Now, remember, my brave lads,” said he, after he had outlined his plans, drawing figures of fort and ship and army of seven on the snow, “now, remember, if you do what I’ve told you, not a shot will be fired, not a drop of blood spilled, not a grain of powder used, and to every man free tobacco for the winter—­”

“If we succeed,” interjects Godefroy sullenly.

“If,” repeats M. Radisson; “an I hear that word again there will be a carving!”

Long before we came to the north river near the Hudson’s Bay Company’s fort, the sun had wheeled across the horizon and sunk in a sea of snow, but now that the Prince Rupert had foundered, the capture of these helpless Englishmen was no object to us.  Unless a ship from the south end of the bay came to rescue them they were at our mercy.  Hastening up the river course we met Governor Brigdar sledding the ice with a dog-team of huskies.

“The compliments of the season to Your Excellency!” shouted Radisson across the snow.

“The same to the representative of France,” returned Governor Brigdar, trying to get away before questions could be asked.

“I don’t see your ship,” called Radisson.