ed in the deep-set
eyes flashed to life; and, fetching a deep breath, he said a queer
thing to Jean and me.

"'Tis good air, lads," says he; "'tis free!"

And I, who minded that bloody war in which my father lost his all, knew
what the words meant, and drank deep.

But for the screaming of the birds there was silence of death. And,
indeed, it was death we had come to disenthrone. M. Radisson issued
orders quick on top of one another, and the sailors swarmed from the
hold like bees from a hive. The drum beat a roundelay that set our
blood hopping. There were trumpet-calls back and forth from our ship
to the Ste. Anne. Then, to a whacking of cables through blocks, the
gig-boats touched water, and all hands were racing for the shore.
Godefroy waved a monster flag--lilies of France, gold-wrought on cloth
of silk--and Allemand kept beating--and beating--and beating the drum,
rumbling out a "Vive le Roi!" to every stroke. Before the keel
gravelled on the beach, M. Radisson's foot was on the gunwale, and he
leaped ashore. Godefroy followed, flourishing the French flag and
yelling at the top of his voice for the King of France. Behind, wading
and floundering through the water, came the rest. Godefroy planted the
flag-staff. The two crews sent up a shout that startled those strange,
primeval silences. Then, M. Radisson stepped forward, hat in hand,
whipped out his sword, and held it aloft.

"In the name of Louis the Great, King of France," he shouted, "in the
name of His Most Christian Majesty, the King of France, I take
possession of all these regions!"

At that, Chouart Groseillers shivered a bottle of wine against the
flag-pole. Drums beat, fifes shrieked as for battle, and lusty cheers
for the king and Sieur Radisson rang and echoed and re-echoed from our
crews. Three times did Allemand beat his drum and three times did we
cheer. Then Pierre Radisson raised his sword. Every man dropped to
knee. Catholics and Protestants, Calvinists and infidels, and
riff-raff adventurers who had no religion but what they swore by, bowed
their heads to the solemn thanks which Pierre Radisson uttered for safe
deliverance from perilous voyage. [1]

That was my first experience of the fusion which the New World makes of
Old World divisions. We thought we had taken possession of the land.
No, no, 'twas the land had taken possession of us, as the New World
ever does, fusing ancient hates and rearing a new race, of which--I