Quebec is built on a height, and the streets are steep and narrow, sometimes being nothing more than flights of steps. And now, instead of being taken directly to the Governor, the young officer was dragged up and down these steep and stony streets. Now here, now there, he was led, stumbling blindly over stones and steps, and followed by a laughing, jeering crowd, who told him it was a game of blind man's bluff. At last, thoroughly bewildered and exhausted, he was led into the castle, and the bandage was suddenly taken from his eyes. Confused and dazzled by the bright light he stood for a moment gazing stupidly about him. Before him, haughty and defiant, stood Frontenac surrounded by his officers. Their splendid uniforms glittered with gold and silver lace, their wigs were curled and powdered, their hats were decked with feathers, as if for a ball rather than for war. For a moment the young Englishman stood abashed before them. Then, recovering himself, he handed his commander's letters to Frontenac. The letter was written in English, but an interpreter read it aloud, translating it into French. In haughty language it demanded the surrender of Quebec, in the name of William and Mary, within an hour. When the reading was finished the officer pulled his watch out of his pocket, and held it towards Frontenac. "I cannot see the time," said he. "It is ten o'clock," replied the Englishman. "By eleven I must have your answer." Frontenac's brow grew dark with anger. Hitherto he had held himself in check, but now his wrath burst forth. "By heaven," he cried, "I will not keep you waiting so long. Tell your General that I do not acknowledge King William. The Prince of Orange who calls himself so is a usurper. I know of no king of England save King James." The Englishman was quite taken aback by Frontenac's vehemence. He felt he could not go back to his leader with such an answer. "Will you give me your answer in writing?" he said. "No," thundered Frontenac, "I will answer your general with the mouths of my cannon only. Let him do his best, and I will do mine." And with this answer the Englishman was forced to be content. Once more his eyes were blindfolded, and again he was jostled and hustled through the streets until he reached his boat. When Phips received Frontenac's proud answer he prepared to attack. But he was no match for the fierce old lion of a Frenchman. The New Englanders were brave enough, but they had little discipline, and, worse still, they had no leader worthy of the name. They spent shot and shell uselessly battering the solid rock upon which Quebec is built. Their aim was bad, and their guns so small that even when the balls hit the mark they did little damage.