Iberville, thorough sailor as he was, had chosen for his captain one who
had sailed the Spanish Main. He had commanded on merchant-ships which
had been suddenly turned into men-of-war, and was suited to the present
enterprise: taciturn, harsh of voice, singularly impatient, but a perfect
seaman and as brave as could be. He had come to Quebec late the previous
autumn with the remnants of a ship which, rotten when she left the port
of Havre, had sprung a leak in mid-ocean, had met a storm, lost her
mainmast, and by the time she reached the St. Lawrence had scarce a stick
standing. She was still at Quebec, tied up in the bay of St. Charles,
from which she would probably go out no more. Her captain--Jean Berigord
--had chafed on the bit in the little Hotel Colbert, making himself more
feared than liked, till one day he was taken to Iberville by Perrot.

A bargain was soon struck. The nature of the expedition was not known in
Quebec, for the sailors were not engaged till the eve of starting, and
Perrot's men were ready at his bidding without why or wherefore. Indeed,
when the Maid of Provence left the island of Orleans, her nose seawards,
one fine July morning, the only persons in Quebec that knew her
destination were the priest who had brought Iberville the chart of
the river, with its accurate location of the sunken galleon, Iberville's
brothers, and Count Frontenac himself--returned again as governor.

"See, Monsieur Iberville," said the governor, as, with a fine show of
compliment, in full martial dress, with his officers in gold lace,
perukes, powder, swords, and ribbons, he bade Iberville good-bye--"See,
my dear captain, that you find the treasure, or make these greedy English
pay dear for it. They have a long start, but that is nothing, with a
ship under you that can show its heels to any craft. I care not so much
about the treasure, but I pray you humble those dull Puritans, who turn
buccaneers in the name of the Lord."