would know that the treacherous river channels were unnavigable for big boats. But what business could a strange craft have at Albany—a craft manned by a crew speaking a tongue unknown to the bay, with a captain who spoke English as no skipper of company ship or Newfoundland whaler spoke it?
"De channel to de fort no good for beeg boat," replied Laroque, his swart features, stone-hard in their immobility, masking the thoughts which harassed his brain.
"How deep is the channel at low tide?"
"Onlee seex, eight feet ovair de bar. No good for beeg boat," insisted the Cree, searching the bearded face before him for a glimmer of the purpose behind the question.
At the reply the captain turned to the men beside him, and spoke rapidly in the alien tongue, while the restless eyes of Gaspard Laroque swept deck and rigging, to fall again upon the shrouded shapes rising from the after-deck which first had baffled his curiosity. His inspection was interrupted by:
"How far above the mouth of the river is the fort?"
"Feefteen mile' dey call eet."
"How large is the garrison? How many guns have they? "
Laroque shook his head, but he was thinking hard.
"Do you understand me?" Then the officer articulated slowly as he added: "How many men are at the fort? How many guns are there, and what size?"
