e showed upon the
horizon and faded away. They kept on, passing Florida and Carolina,
hoping to reach Boston before the treasure-ships, and to rob them at
their own door. Their chances were fair, for the Maid of Provence had
proved swift, good-tempered, and a sweet sailer in bad waters.

Iberville had reckoned well. One evening, after a sail northwards as
fine as the voyage down was dirty, they came up gently within forty
miles of Boston, and then, because there was nothing else to do, went
idling up and down all night, keeping watch. The next morning there was
a mist in the air, which might become fog. Iberville had dreaded this;
but he was to have his chance, for even when Berigord's face lowered
most the look-out from the shrouds called down that he sighted two
ships. They were making for the coast. All sail was put on, they got
away to meet the newcomers, and they were not long in finding these to
be their quarry.

Phips did not think that any ship would venture against them so near
Boston, and could not believe the Maid of Provence an enemy. He thought
her an English ship eager to welcome them, but presently he saw the
white ensign of France at the mizzen, and a round shot rattled through
the rigging of the Bridgwater Merchant.

But he was two to one, and the game seemed with him. No time was wasted.
Phips's ships came to and stood alongside, and the gunners got to work.
The Bridgwater Merchant was high in the water, and her shot at first did
little damage to the Maid of Provence, which, having the advantage of
the wind, came nearer and nearer. The Swallow, with her twenty-odd guns,
did better work, and carried away the foremast of the enemy, killing
several men. But Iberville came on slowly, and, anxious to dispose of
the Swallow first, gave her broadsides between wind and water, so that
soon her decks were spotted with dying men, her bulwarks broken in, and
her mainmast gone. The cannonade was heard in Boston, from which, a
few hours later, two merchantmen set out for the scene of action, each
carrying good guns.

But the wind suddenly sank, and as the Maid of Provence, eager to close
with the Bridgwater Merchant, edged slowly down, a fog came between,
and the firing ceased on both sides. Iberville let his ship drift on her
path, intent on a hand-to-hand fight aboard the Bridgwater Merchant; the
grappling-irons were ready, and as they drifted there was silence.

Every eye was strained. Suddenly a shape spran