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Updated: May 31, 2025
Lisle saw a silvery gleam in a strip of less-troubled water behind a boulder and taking up his rod he cast the gaudy fly across the ripple. There was a jar, a musical clinking of the reel, and when Nasmyth waded in with ready net all thought of Gladwyne passed out of the Canadian's mind.
But one distressing circumstance totally thwarted the Canadian's plans. The weather was thoroughly foul. We were approaching waterways where storms are commonplace, the very homeland of tornadoes and cyclones specifically engendered by the Gulf Stream's current. To face a frequently raging sea in a frail skiff was a race to certain disaster. Ned Land conceded this himself.
Still they made their way onward, once or twice narrowly escaping capture by an English cutter, until they reached a spot called Le Foullon, about three miles above the great fortress, where a rugged and winding footpath led to the top of the lofty and precipitous cliff not far from the Canadian's cottage.
AT THIS SHOUT the entire crew rushed toward the harpooner commander, officers, mates, sailors, cabin boys, down to engineers leaving their machinery and stokers neglecting their furnaces. The order was given to stop, and the frigate merely coasted. By then the darkness was profound, and as good as the Canadian's eyes were, I still wondered how he could see and what he had seen.
Without further ado, Ned Land got down to the important business of dinner. He came wonderfully to terms with its entire cooking. Grilling over the coals, those cutlets from the "bari-outang" soon gave off a succulent aroma that perfumed the air. But I catch myself following in the Canadian's footsteps. Look at me in ecstasy over freshly grilled pork!
He could guess the dark and dismal winter spent by the two alone, without books, without the comforts of life, far from any other human being. It must have been an experience to try the soul. But it had not shaken the Canadian's blithe joy in living. "Get him?" the Montanan asked. The answer he could guess. The North-West Mounted always brought back those they were sent for.
Coming from well out, a mild swell made the skiff roll gently, and a few cresting billows lapped at its bow. We were silent. What was Captain Nemo thinking? Perhaps that this approaching shore was too close for comfort, contrary to the Canadian's views in which it still seemed too far away. As for Conseil, he had come along out of simple curiosity.
Perrault this, if I recollect right was the Canadian's name had quarreled with the bourgeois, and the fort was too hot to hold him. Bordeaux, inflated with his transient authority, had abused him, and received a blow in return. The men then sprang at each other, and grappled in the middle of the fort.
George, fleeced as Drennen had been and at a time when the Canadian's soul had listened avidly to the voice of his wrath, embittered as Drennen was by the act of a woman, was scarcely less eager to be first than Drennen himself. And Max, reading the signs, grew watchful as his own eagerness mounted. Before night they found the trail which Drennen knew that, soon or late, he would come upon.
He did not speak, he roared, as, with his body thrown forward, he wrung the Canadian's shoulders. Then, leaving him, and turning to the ship of war, whose shot was still raining around him, he exclaimed, with a powerful voice, "Ah, ship of an accursed nation, you know who I am! I do not want your colours to know you by! Look! and I will show you mine!"
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