"Carve a way yourself, Radisson," says the governor contemptuously.
That was let enough for Pierre Radisson. He had the sailors lowering jolly-boats in a jiffy; and off seven of us went, round the ice-pans, ploughing, cutting, portaging a way till we had crossed the obstruction and were pulling for the French fort with the spars of three Company boats far in the offing.
I detained the English sailors at the river-front till M. Radisson had entered the fort and won young Jean Groseillers to the change of masters. Before the Fur Company's ships came, the English flag was flying above the fort and Fort Bourbon had become Fort Nelson.
"I bid you welcome to the French Habitation," bows Radisson, throwing wide the gates to the English governor.
"Hm!" returns Phipps, "how many beaver-skins are there in store?"
M. Radisson looked at the governor. "You must ask my tradespeople that," he answers; and he stood aside for them all to pass.
"Your English mind thinks only of the gain," he said to me.
"And your French mind?" I asked.
"The game and not the winnings," said he.
No sooner were the winnings safe—twenty thousand beaver-skins stowed away in three ships' holds—than Pierre Radisson's foes unmasked. The morning of our departure Governor Phipps marched all our Frenchmen aboard like captives of war.