At the head of the burgesses of La Rochelle, as determined as the Duchess of Rohan to secure their liberties or perish, was the president of the board of marine, soon afterwards mayor of the town, John Gutton, a rich merchant, whom the misfortunes of the times had wrenched away from his business to become a skilful admiral, an intrepid soldier, accustomed for years past to scour the seas as a corsair. “He had at his house,” says a narrative of those days, “a great number of flags, which he used to show one after another, indicating the princes from whom he had taken them.” When he was appointed mayor, he drew his poniard and threw it upon the council-table. “I accept,” he said, “the honor you have done me, but on condition that yonder poniard shall serve to pierce the heart of whoever dares to speak of surrender, mine first of all, if I were ever wretch enough to condescend to such cowardice.” Of indomitable nature, of passionate and proud character, Guiton, in fact, rejected all proposals of peace. “My friend, tell the cardinal that I am his very humble servant,” was his answer to insinuating speeches as well as to threats; and he prepared with tranquil coolness for defence to the uttermost. Two municipal councillors, two burgesses, and a clergyman were commissioned to judge and to punish spies and traitors; attention was concentrated upon getting provisions into the town; the country was already devastated, but reliance was placed upon promises of help from England; and religious exercises were everywhere multiplied. “We will hold out to the last day,” reiterated the burgesses. [Illustration: John Guiton’s Oath----254]