The enemy made at once for the Dering, which, besides being the smallest ship, had suffered severely. She crowded on all sail and managed to avoid an encounter, and Iberville being in no condition to prosecute the chase, returned to the Hudson's Bay, which soon surrendered. Iberville was not destined, however, to reap much advantage from his prize, the Hampshire. The English flag-ship was unable to render any assistance to her and she soon went down with nearly all on board.[33]
To render the situation more distressing, no sooner had some ninety prisoners been made, than a storm arose; so that it became out of the question to approach the shore with design of landing. They were without a long-boat and each attempt to launch canoes in the boiling surf was attended with failure.
A great storm.
Night fell; the wind instead of calming, grew fiercer. The sea became truly terrible, seeking, seemingly, with all its power to drive the Pelican and the Hudson's Bay upon the coast. The rudders of each ship broke; the tide rose and there seemed no hope for the crews whose destiny was so cruel. Their only hope in the midst of the bitter blast and clouds of snow which environed them, lay in the strength of their cables. Soon after nine o'clock the Hudson's Bay and its anchor parted with a shock.
"Instantly," says one of the survivors, "a piercing cry went up from our forecastle. The wounded and dead lay heaped up, with so little separation one from the other that silence and moans alone distinguished them. All were icy cold, and covered with blood. They had told us the anchor would hold; and we dreaded being washed up on the shore stiff the next morning."
A huge wave broke over the main deck and the ship rocked desperately. Two hours later the keel was heard to split, and the ship was hurled rudderless to and fro in the trough of the sea.
By the French account, matters were in no more enviable state aboard the Pelican; Iberville, however, amidst scenes rivalling those just described, did his best to animate his officers and men with a spirit equalling his own.
"It is better," he cried, "to die, if we must, outside the bastions of Fort Bourbon than to perish here like pent sheep on board."
Terrible plight of the shipwrecked French.
When morning broke, it was seen by the French that their ship was not yet submerged, and it was resolved to disembark by such means as lay in their power. The Company's servants were more fortunate. The Hudson's Bay had drifted eight miles to the south of the fort, and was wrecked on a bank of icy marshland, which at least constrained them to wade no deeper than their knees. The French, however, were forced to make their way through the icy water submerged to their necks, from the results of which terrible exposure no fewer than eighteen marines and seamen lost their lives. Once on shore they could not, like the English, look forward to a place of refuge and appease their hunger with provisions and drink. They were obliged, in their shivering, half frozen state, to subsist upon moss and seaweed, but for which indifferent nourishment they must inevitably have perished.