Iberville had not noticed the gathering storm, which now broke upon him. “Mist and darkness and roaring sleet drowned the death cries of the wounded, washed and tossed and jammed against the railings by the pounding seas. The _Pelican_ could only drive through the darkness before the storm flaw; ‘the dead,’ says an old record, ‘floating about on the decks among the living.’ The hawser that had towed the captive ship snapped like thread. Captor and captive in vain threw out anchors. The anchors raked bottom. Cables were cut, and the two ships drove along the sands. The deck of the _Pelican_ was icy with blood. Every shock of smashing billows jumbled dead and dying _en masse_. The night grew black as pitch. The little railing that still clung to the shattered decks of the _Pelican_ was now washed away, and the waves carried off dead and wounded. Tables were hurled from the cabin. The rudder was broken, and the water was already to the bridge of the foundering ship, when the hull began to split, and the _Pelican_ buried her prow in the sands, six miles from the fort.” The boats had been shot away. Men swam ashore with guns and powder-horns between their teeth. They also strove to tow rough rafts on which the wounded were placed. Eighteen lives were lost in the darkness. As for the survivors, “for twelve hours they had fought without pause for food, and now, shivering round fires kindled in the bush, the half-famished men devoured moss and seaweed raw. Two feet of snow lay on the ground, and when the men lighted fires and gathered round them, they became targets for sharpshooters from the fort, who aimed at the camp fires. Then three of Iberville’s other ships arrived, one without her steering gear, another without her rudder. The _Violent_ had foundered in a storm. A Frenchman went with flag of truce and bandaged eyes to demand surrender of the fort. Its English garrison sent him back with “No” for his answer. Under cover of fog, the French landed and erected their cannon in the very teeth of the fort. A mutual bombardment occupied two days. Then the French sent another emissary to explain that, if the fort did not surrender, no quarter would be given. “Quarter be cursed!” thundered Bailey, the English commander. Afterwards the palisades were hacked down; and when the inevitable capitulation took place, the garrison marched out with flags flying, to the defiant music of fife and drum.