nd
jeering him as he was led through winding, narrow ways, up stairways,
and over obstructions, until at last the bandage was torn from his
eyes, and he found himself in the presence of Frontenac. The French
commander was clad in a brilliant uniform, and surrounded by his
staff, gay in warlike finery. With courtly courtesy he asked the envoy
for his letter, which, proving to be a curt summons to surrender, he
answered forthwith in a stinging speech. The envoy, abashed, asked for
a written answer.

"No," thundered Frontenac, "I will answer your master only by the
mouths of my cannon, that he may learn that a man like me is not to be
summoned after this fashion. Let him do his best, and I will do mine."

The envoy returned to his craft, and made his report. The next day
hostilities opened. Wheeling his ships into line before the
fortifications, Phipps opened a heavy fire upon the city. From the
frowning ramparts on the heights, Frontenac's cannon answered in kind.
Fiercely the contest raged until nightfall, and vast was the
consumption of gunpowder; but damage done on either side was but
little. All night the belligerents rested on their arms; but, at
daybreak, the roar of the cannonade recommenced.

The gunners of the opposing forces were now upon their mettle, and the
gunnery was much better than the day before. A shot from the shore cut
the flagstaff of the admiral's ship, and the cross of St. George fell
into the river. Straightway a canoe put out from the shore, and with
swift, strong paddle-strokes was guided in chase of the floating
trophy. The fire of the fleet was quickly concentrated upon the
adventurous canoeists. Cannon-balls and rifle-bullets cut the water
about them; but their frail craft survived the leaden tempest, and
they captured the trophy, and bore it off in triumph.

Phipps felt that the incident was an unfavorable omen, and would
discourage his men. He cast about in his mind for a means of
retaliation. Far over the roofs of the city rose a tapering spire,
that of the cathedral in the Upper Town. On this spire, the devout
Catholics of the French city had hung a picture of the Holy Family as
an invocation of Divine aid. Through his spy-glass, Phipps could see
that some strange object hung from the steeple, and, suspecting its
character, commanded the gunners to try to knock it down. For hours
the Puritans wasted their ammunition in this vain target-practice, but
to no avail. The picture still hun