rounding the point of the Island of Orleans.

To the eyes of Sir William Phips and his men the great fortress, crowned
with walls, towers, and guns, rising three hundred feet above the water,
the white banner flaunting from the chateau and the citadel, the
batteries, the sentinels upon the walls--were suggestive of stern work.
Presently there drew away from Phips's fleet a boat carrying a subaltern
with a flag of truce, who was taken blindfold to the Chateau St. Louis.
Frontenac's final words to the youth were these: "Bid your master do his
best, and I will do mine."

Disguised as a river-man, Iberville himself, with others, rowed the
subaltern back almost to the side of the admiral's ship, for by the freak
of some peasants the boat which had brought him had been set adrift. As
they rowed from the ship back towards the shore, Iberville, looking up,
saw, standing on the deck, Phips and George Gering. He had come for
this. He stood up in his boat and took off his cap. His long clustering
curls fell loose on his shoulders, and he waved a hand with a nonchalant
courtesy. Gering sprang forward. "Iberville!" he cried, and drew his
pistol.

Iberville saw the motion, but did not stir. He called up, however, in a
clear, distinct voice: "Breaker of parole, keep your truce!"

"He is right," said Gering quietly; "quite right." Gering was now hot
for instant landing and attack. Had Phips acted upon his advice the
record of the next few days might have been reversed. But the disease of
counsel, deliberation, and prayer had entered into the soul of the sailor
and treasure-hunter, now Sir William Phips, governor of Massachusetts.
He delayed too long: the tide turned; there could be no landing that