"I demand to see your license," boldly challenged Radisson.
At that the fellows ashore put their heads together.
"In the name of the king, I demand to see your license instantly," repeated Sieur de Radisson, with louder authority.
"We have no license," explained one of the men, who was dressed with slashed boots, red doublet, and cocked hat.
M. Radisson smiled and poled a length closer.
"A ship without a license! A prize-for the taking! If the rascals complain—the galleys for life!" and he laughed softly.
"This coast is possessed by the King of France," he shouted. "We have a strong garrison! We mistook your firing for more French ships!" Shaping his hands trumpet fashion to his mouth, he called this out again, adding that our Indian was of a nation in league with the French.
The pirates were dumb as if he had tossed a hand grenade among them.
"The ship is ours now, lads," said Radisson softly, poling nearer. "See, lads, the bottom has tumbled from their courage! We'll not waste a pound o' powder in capturing that prize!" He turned suddenly to me—"As I live by bread, 'tis that bragging young dandy-prat—hop-o'-my-thumb—Ben Gillam of Boston Town!"
"Ben Gillam!"