Heralds of Empire | Page 8

Agnes C. Laut
to
ruin him. By-and-bye Rebecca Stocking's father came in, and the three
sat talking plans for the northern trade till M. Radisson let drop that the
English commissioners were keen to join the enterprise. Then the two
Puritans would have naught to do with it.
Long ago, as you know, we dined at midday; but so swiftly had the
hour flown with M. Radisson's tales of daring that Tibbie was already
lighting candles when we rose from the dinner table.
"And now," cried M. Radisson, lifting a stirrup-cup of home-brewed
October, "health to the little gentleman who saved a life to-day! Health
to mine host! And a cup fathoms deep to his luck when Ramsay sails
yon sea!"
"He might do worse," said Eli Kirke grimly.
And the words come back like the echo of a prophecy.
I would have escaped my uncle, but he waylaid me in the dark at the
foot of the stairs.
"Ramsay," said he gently.
"Sir?" said I, wondering if flint could melt.
"'The Lord bless thee, and keep thee: the Lord make his face shine

upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: the Lord lift up his countenance
upon thee, and give thee peace!'"
CHAPTER III
TOUCHING WITCHCRAFT
That interrupted lesson with Rebecca finished my schooling. I was set
to learning the mysteries of accounts in Eli Kirke's warehouse.
"How goes the keeping of accounts, Ramsay?" he questioned soon after
I had been in tutelage.
I had always intended to try my fortune in the English court when I
came of age, and the air of the counting-house ill suited a royalist's
health.
"Why, sir," I made answer, picking my words not to trip his displeasure,
"I get as much as I can--and I give as little as I can; and those be all the
accounts that ever I intend to keep."
Aunt Ruth looked up from her spinning-wheel in a way that had
become an alarm signal. Eli Kirke glanced dubiously to the blasphemy
box, as though my words were actionable. There was no sound but the
drone of the loom till I slipped from the room. Then they both began to
talk. Soon after came transfer from the counting-house to the fur trade.
That took me through the shadowy forests from town to town, and
when I returned my old comrades seemed shot of a sudden from youth
to manhood.
There was Ben Gillam, a giff-gaffing blade home from the north sea, so
topful of spray that salt water spilled over at every word.
"Split me fore and aft," exclaims Ben, "if I sail not a ship of my own
next year! I'll take the boat without commission. Stocking and my
father have made an offer," he hinted darkly. "I'll go without
commission!"

"And risk being strangled for't, if the French governor catch you."
"Body o' me!" flouts Ben, ripping out a peck of oaths that had cost dear
and meant a day in the stocks if the elders heard, "who's going to
inform when my father sails the only other ship in the bay? Devil sink
my soul to the bottom of the sea if I don't take a boat to Hudson Bay
under the French governor's nose!"
"A boat of your own," I laughed. "What for, Ben?"
"For the same as your Prince Rupert, Prince Robber, took his. Go out
light as a cork, come back loaded with Spanish gold to the water-line."
Ben paused to take a pinch of snuff and display his new embroidered
waist-coat.
"Look you at the wealth in the beaver trade," he added. "M. Radisson
went home with George Carteret not worth a curse, formed the Fur
Company, and came back from Hudson Bay with pelts packed to the
quarter-deck. Devil sink me! but they say, after the fur sale, the
gentlemen adventurers had to haul the gold through London streets
with carts! Bread o' grace, Ramsay, have half an eye for your own
purse!" he urged. "There is a life for a man o' spirit! Why don't you join
the beaver trade, Ramsay?"
Why not, indeed? 'Twas that or turn cut-purse and road-lifter for a
youth of birth without means in those days.
Of Jack Battle I saw less. He shipped with the fishing boats in the
summer and cruised with any vagrant craft for the winter. When he
came ashore he was as small and eel-like and shy and awkward as ever,
with the same dumb fidelity in his eyes.
And what a snowy maid had Rebecca become! Sitting behind her
spinning-wheel, with her dainty fingers darting in the sunlight, she
seemed the pink and whitest thing that ever grew, with a look on her
face of apple-blossoms in June; but the sly wench had grown mighty
demure with me. When I laughed over that
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