Ben wished that he might be cursed if any man could rest well on bare boards rimed with frost like curdled milk.
"Cheer up, man! Cheer up!" encourages Radisson. "There's to be a capture to-day!"
"A capture!" reiterates Ben, glowering black across the table and doffing his cap with bad grace.
"Aye, I said a capture! Egad, lad, one fort and one ship are prize enough for one day!"
"Sink my soul," flouts Gillam, looking insolently down the table to the rows of ragged sailors sitting beyond our officers, "if every man o' your rough-scuff had the nine lives of a cat, their nine lives would be shot down before they reached our palisades!"
"Is it a wager?" demands M. Radisson.
"A wager—ship and fort and myself to boot if you win!"
"Done!" cries La Chesnaye.
"Ah, well," calculates M. Radisson, "the ship and the fort are worth something! When we've taken them, Ben can go. Nine lives for each man, did you say?"
"A hundred, if you like," boasts the New Englander, letting fly a broadside of oaths at the Frenchman's slur. "A hundred men with nine lives, if you like! We've powder for all!"