can imagine the indignation of the dauntless explorers at this answer.  Their cargo of furs the preceding year had saved New France from bankruptcy.  Offering to venture their lives a second time for the extension of the French domain, they were told they might do so if they would share half the profits with an avaricious governor.  Their answer was characteristic.  Discoverers were greater than governors; still, if the Indians of the Upper Country invited his Excellency, Radisson and Groseillers would be glad to have the honor of his company; as for his servants—­men who went on voyages of discovery had to act as both masters and servants.

D’Avaugour was furious.  He issued orders forbidding the explorers to leave Three Rivers without his express permission.  Radisson and Groseillers knew the penalties of ignoring this order.  They asked the Jesuits to intercede for them.  Though Gareau had been slain trying to ascend the Ottawa and Father Menard had by this time preached in the forests of Lake Michigan, the Jesuits had made no great discoveries in the Northwest.  All they got for their intercessions was a snub.[2]

While messages were still passing between the governor and the explorers, there swept down the St. Lawrence to Three Rivers seven canoes of Indians from the Upper Country, asking for Radisson and Groseillers.  The explorers were honorable to a degree.  They notified the governor of Quebec that they intended to embark with the Indians.  D’Avaugour stubbornly ordered the Indians to await the return of his party from the Saguenay.  The Indians made off to hide in the rushes of Lake St. Peter.  The sympathy of Three Rivers was with the explorers.  Late one night in August Radisson and Groseillers—­who was captain of the soldiers and carried the keys of the fort—­slipped out from the gates, with a third Frenchman called Lariviere.  As they stepped into their canoe, the sentry demanded, “Who goes?” “Groseillers,” came the answer through the dark.  “God give you a good voyage, sir,” called the sentry, faithful to his captain rather than the governor.

The skiff pushed out on the lapping tide.  A bend in the river—­and the lights of the fort glimmering in long lines across the water had vanished behind.  The prow of Radisson’s boat was once more heading upstream for the Unknown.  Paddling with all swiftness through the dark, the three Frenchmen had come to the rushes of Lake St. Peter before daybreak.  No Indians could be found.  Men of softer mettle might have turned back.  Not so Radisson.  “We were well-armed and had a good boat,” he relates, “so we resolved to paddle day and night to overtake the Indians.”  At the west end of the lake they came up with the north-bound canoes.  For three days and nights they pushed on without rest.  Naturally, Radisson did not pause to report progress at Montreal.  Game was so plentiful in the surrounding forests that Iroquois hunters were always abroad in the regions