Crawford flung on his clothes hastily enough. When he got on deck, he found the _Pelican_ heading out for the open bay, where three distant sail were leaning down the wind. The air had turned bitter cold overnight and storm was brewing in the grey sky, but who cared for that? Serigny was sighted, the long voyage was ended in triumph, a stroke at Nelson would be made ere set of sun! Out stood the ship to welcome her comrades, gay flags decking her spars, and Grandville’s gunners unstopping cannon for a salute of welcoming. Gaining the high poop-deck by the helm, where Iberville stood with his brother, Crawford joined the group of officers there. Signals were run up, and Iberville raised a glass to scrutinize the approaching ships. Then Crawford saw his eyes widen, saw him lower the glass, saw a sudden deadly pallor creeping into his cheeks. For one instant Iberville stood thus as though paralyzed, then turned and quietly touched the arm of La Potherie. “Bacqueville, order food served out at once--swiftly! Then take charge of the forecastle; I’ll send the Canadians to you. Bienville, how many men aboard fit for service?” “A hundred and twoscore, Pierre,” returned the boy carelessly. “Forty sick below, a score gone with Martigny in the pinnace--” “Go below. Tell Grandville and La Salle to clear the lower deck for action. You’ll take the upper tier with De Ligondez. Why the devil didn’t Martigny come back last night--we’ve not men enough to man the guns! Here, sergeant!” A Rochefort marine saluted. “Have hand-ropes stretched along the decks--ice is forming already, I see. Order the magazines opened. St. Martin! Get every Canadian to the forecastle instantly, under La Potherie, with fusils and fresh horns of powder, and serve out bullets. Swiftly, swiftly! Roundshot on deck, there!” At these rapid and impetuous orders, every eye was fastened on Iberville in stupefied amazement. From the masthead now rang down a sharp cry. “No signals answered!” Silence came upon the ship, a dread and terrible silence of horrified incredulity, of dismayed consternation--until a Canadian gave voice to the sharp, yelping war whoop of the Mohawks. Then all beheld tiny flecks of scarlet break out from the three ships bearing down the wind, and the white smoke of a gun jetted from the foremast. Not Serigny--but the enemy! “You’ll run out to sea?” Crawford turned to Iberville. The latter smiled grimly, his eyes flitting over the ship, not answering for a moment. Here mad activity was leaping forth--gunners stripping, boys on the run with powder and shot, ports slamming open, ropes being stretched for hand-hold, guns being unstopped. Spray was forming into ice as it fell. Iberville turned and silently swept his arm in three directions. This threefold gesture included the shore to the north, the long stretches of shallows and reefs to west and south--and to the eastward the open sea where the three English ships foamed down the wind.