As
they rowed from the ship back towards the shore, Iberville, looking up,
saw, standing on the deck, Phips and George Gering. He had come for
this. He stood up in his boat and took off his cap. His long clustering
curls fell loose on his shoulders, and he waved a hand with a nonchalant
courtesy. Gering sprang forward. "Iberville!" he cried, and drew his
pistol.
Iberville saw the motion, but did not stir. He called up, however, in a
clear, distinct voice: "Breaker of parole, keep your truce!"
"He is right," said Gering quietly; "quite right." Gering was now hot
for instant landing and attack. Had Phips acted upon his advice the
record of the next few days might have been reversed. But the disease of
counsel, deliberation, and prayer had entered into the soul of the sailor
and treasure-hunter, now Sir William Phips, governor of Massachusetts.
He delayed too long: the tide turned; there could be no landing that
night.
Just after sundown there was a great noise, and the ringing of bells and
sound of singing came over the water to the idle fleet.
"What does it mean?" asked Phips of a French prisoner captured at
Tadousac.
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