And there, too, but farther south under the cliffs, Frontin and Sir Phelim Burke and their men fell upon the corvette _Albemarle_ in the dawning. None too soon either, for the floes and shore ice were breaking up beneath their feet. Deakin’s three scurvy-smitten men fought them and were cut down. One of these, before he died, related the fate that had befallen Crawford. Then fell Frontin to work like a madman, and all of them likewise. Presently the _Albemarle_ was working out through ice-channels, until she gained open water with the early light of day and tacked back and forth through the mist while the guns roared to the northward. No sign of Crawford’s little skiff did they find, however. So they, who no less than Moses Deakin had their destiny to accomplish, tacked down to the southward that day and then back again, seeking vainly. And at set of sun, when the fog lifted for a little space, there suddenly loomed through the greyness a huge shape, and a gun thundered in air above them, and over the puny, frightened corvette frowned the heavy batteries of Serigny in the _Palmier_. The Frenchmen came aboard and took her. Frontin, cursing bitterly, shook his fist at the fog and blasphemed like the buccaneer he was, as the ship was headed to the west and south. Then came storm that night, and the pilots were ignorant of the bay, and the ships drove blindly before the wind. Thus did fate, working through the activities of little men, lay out a blood-red net in which to snare heroes. And Iberville, all unwitting, bore up for Fort Nelson. CHAPTER III CONFIRMING A BELIEF IN MIRACLES On this early night of September there was gaiety aboard the _Pelican_. She lay anchored ten miles southwest of Fort Nelson, in the open bay. Upon reaching the river the previous day, she found all buoys destroyed and the channel-marks removed, so that Iberville dared not attempt the precarious river entrance, across the wide mud flats, until he had taken soundings. The bay charts and pilots were all with Serigny, as were the supplies and siege guns, and he was bitterly disappointed not to find his other three ships here ahead of him. At least he had beaten the English squadron, however. So Martigny and a score of Canadians departed in the pinnace to take soundings, scout the fort, and roam the woods in search of friendly Indians, and that evening high celebration was held aboard ship. The guns were shifted, battle lanterns hung about, all hands made merry. There were fiddles, with a flute or two to help, and no lack of good wine all around. French and Canadians sang chansons and Mohawk chants and gay sentimental court ballads, officers and men intermingling in Latin good-fellowship, voyageur and chevalier dancing and drinking together, Iberville joining hands with his powder boys.