await the end that was all too certain. Find the river-mouth she could not. There was no other shelter. And by this time tremendous seas were lifting from across the shallow bay, lifting her, battering her, promising to smash her to pieces even if the anchors held. What the English broadsides had begun, the waves would finish; she was practically sinking under them.
Toward ten of the night Iberville, Bienville and some remaining officers, gathered in the mess cabin. Bess Adams fetched some scraps of cold food and some wine, between the wild and frenzied lurches of the ship.
'Why lad—you're hurt! Below with you, below; and get the wounds dressed.
Across a table lay the shot-torn flag, with a great bloody smear across the three golden Fleurs-de-lis. Iberville, gaunt and harried and haggard, nodded gloomily at the ensign, while he puffed at a pipe.
"The lilies are red this night, and will be redder!" he said grimly. "Hear the poor wounded devils shriek as she plunges! And there's nothing we can do for them. We're all bound to hell together."
"At least, we've something new to relate in hell!" spoke up La Salle, the young ensign, with a faint laugh. "His Majesty's navy has learned something today, thanks to you. It's nearly thirty years since the first frigate was laid down. In all that time, no one has ever until now shown what such a ship could do if handled aright. All they teach in the Naval College is to lay alongside and keep on firing. Why, Iberville, do you realize what was discovered this day? Tactics, sea-
