Canada -- History -- 1763-1867; Canada -- History -- To 1763 (New France)
Night fell; the wind instead of calming grew fiercer. The sea became
truly terrible, seeking, seemingly, with all its power to drive the
_Pelican_ and the _Hudson's Bay_ upon the coast. The rudders of each
ship broke; the tide rose, and there seemed no hope for the crews,
whose destiny was so cruel. Their only hope, in the midst of the
bitter blast and clouds of snow which environed them, lay in the
strength of their cables. Soon after nine o'clock the _Hudson's Bay_
and its anchor parted with a shock.
"Instantly," said one of the survivors, "a piercing cry went up from
our forecastle. The wounded and dead lay heaped up with so little
separation one from the other that silence and moans alone
distinguished them. All were icy cold and covered with blood. They
had told us the anchor would hold, and we dreaded being washed up on
the shore stiff the next morning."
A huge wave broke over the main deck and the ship lurched
desperately. Two hours later the cable parted, and the ship was
hurled rudderless to and fro in the trough of the sea.
By the French account, matters were in no more enviable state aboard
the _Pelican_; Iberville, however, amidst scenes rivalling those just
described, did his best to animate his officers and men with a spirit
equalling his own.
"It is better," he cried, "to die, if we must, outside the bastions
of Fort Bourbon than to perish here like pent sheep on board."
{149}
When morning broke, it was seen by the French that their ship was not
yet submerged, and it was resolved to disembark by such means as lay
in their power. The Company's servants were more fortunate. The
_Hudson's Bay_ had drifted eight miles to the south of the fort, and
was wrecked on a bank of icy marshland, which at least constrained
them to wade no deeper than their knees. The French, however, were
forced to make their way through the icy water submerged to their
necks, from the results of which terrible exposure no fewer than
eighteen marines and seamen lost their lives. Once on shore they
could not, like the English, look forward to a place of refuge and
appease their hunger with provisions and drink. They were obliged,
in their shivering, half-frozen state, to subsist upon moss and
seaweed, but for which indifferent nourishment they must inevitably
have perished.
The Company's garrison witnessed the calamities which were overtaking
the French, but not knowing how great their number, and assured of
their hostility, did not attempt any acts of mercy. They perceived
the enemy camped in a wood, less than two leagues distant, where,
building several fires, they sought to restore their spirits by means
of warmth and hot draughts of boiled herbs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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