rings. The
wind blew the flames into the rigging of the "Entreprenant," and then
into that of the "Capricieux." At night all three were in full blaze;
for when the fire broke out the English batteries turned on them a
tempest of shot and shell to prevent it from being extinguished. The
glare of the triple conflagration lighted up the town, the trenches, the
harbor, and the surrounding hills, while the burning ships shot off
their guns at random as they slowly drifted westward, and grounded at
last near the Barachois. In the morning they were consumed to the
water's edge; and of all the squadron the "Prudent" and the
"Bienfaisant" alone were left.

In the citadel, of which the King's Bastion formed the front, there was
a large oblong stone building containing the chapel, lodgings for men
and officers, and at the southern end the quarters of the Governor. On
the morning after the burning of the ships a shell fell through the roof
among a party of soldiers in the chamber below, burst, and set the place
on fire. In half an hour the chapel and all the northern part of the
building were in flames; and no sooner did the smoke rise above the
bastion than the English threw into it a steady shower of missiles. Yet
soldiers, sailors, and inhabitants hastened to the spot, and labored
desperately to check the fire. They saved the end occupied by Drucour
and his wife, but all the rest was destroyed. Under the adjacent
rampart were the casemates, one of which was crowded with wounded
officers, and the rest with women and children seeking shelter in these
subterranean dens. Before the entrances there was a long barrier of
timber to protect them from exploding shells; and as the wind blew the
flames towards it, there was danger that it would take fire and
suffocate those within. They rushed out, crazed with fright, and ran
hither and thither with outcries and shrieks amid the storm of iron.

In the neighboring Queen's Bastion was a large range of barracks built
of wood by the New England troops after their capture of the fortress in
1745. So flimsy and combustible was it that the French writers call it a
"house of cards" and "a paper of matches." Here were lodged the greater
part of the garrison: but such was the danger of fire, that they were
now ordered to leave it; and they accordingly lay in the streets or
along the foot of the ramparts, under shelters of timber which gave some
little protection against bombs. The order was well ti