The squadron left Newfoundland on July 8. By the 25th, the ships had entered the straits amid berg and floe, with the long, transparent daylight, when sunset merges with sunrise. Iberville was on _The Pelican_ with Bienville, his brother, two hundred and fifty men and fifty guns. The other brother, Serigny, commanded _The Palmier_, and Edward Fitzmaurice of Kerry, a Jacobite, had come as chaplain. A gun gone loose in the hold of _The Wasp_, created a panic during the heavy seas of the Upper Narrows in the straits—the huge implement of terror rolling from side to side of the dark hold with each wash of the billows in a way that threatened to capsize the vessel—not a man daring to risk his life to stop the cannon’s roll; and several gunners were crushed to death before _The Wasp_ could come to anchor in a quiet harbor to mend the damage. On _The Pelican_, Iberville’s ship, forty men lay in their berths ill of scurvy. The fleet was stopped by ice at Digges’ Island at the west end of the straits—a place already famous in the raiders’ history. Here, the icepans, contracted by the straits, locked around the vessels in iron grip. Fog fell concealing the ships from one another, except for the ensigns at the mastheads, which showed all the fleet anchored southward except Iberville’s _Pelican_. For eighteen days the impatient raider found himself forcibly gripped to the ice floes in fog, his ship crushed and banged and bodily lifted until a powder blast relieved pressure, or holes drilled and filled with bombs broke the ice crush, or unshipping the rudder, his own men disembarked and up to the waist in ice slush towed _The Pelican_ forward. On the 25th of August at four in the morning, the fog suddenly lifted. Iberville saw that _The Palmier_ had been carried back in the straits. _The Wasp_ and _Violent_ had disappeared, but straight to the fore, ice-jammed, were _The Profound_, and—Iberville could scarcely believe the evidence of his eyes—three English men-of-war, _The Hampshire_, and _Dering_, and _Hudson’s Bay_ closing in a circle round the ill-fated and imprisoned French ship. Just at that moment, the ice loosened. Iberville was off like a bird in _The Pelican_, not waiting to see what became of _The Profound_, which escaped from the ice that night after a day’s bombardment when the English were in the act of running across the ice for a hand-to-hand fight.