“Go,” I said to the Indian messenger. “Tell your leader that I refuse. We will fight to the last.”
“Hu,” muttered the red man, and he went out into the night that was approaching.
He could no more than have delivered my answer when a sentinel, from the seaward side of the fort, hastened to me with the news that there was considerable activity among our foes, and that several guns were being landed from the ships, and being brought to bear on the fort.
“Let them do their worst,” I cried, as cheerfully as I could to the men who were near me. “We will beat them yet. Will we not?”
Now, indeed, I expected that a hearty cheer would be my answer. Instead, there was only silence. I looked at the men.
“Are you Englishmen?” I asked, scornfully. “Are you going to give up before the battle is over?”
“Aye, we be Englishmen,” muttered a sailor. “We be true Englishmen, but of what is the use to fight all of France, and the Indians, too? We are but ninety men now, and perchance, if we yield we may get safe conduct to Boston or Salem town.”
I would have pierced the fellow with my sword had he not leaped back. Then I looked at him. I knew him simply as Simon, one of the sailors. Yet, as I gazed at him more keenly, I recognized him as a man who had followed my adversary, Sir George, into the Governor’s room, in Boston, the day I had received my commission. I recalled, also, that Simon had ever seemed to be near me; when we voyaged in the sloops, and when we stormed the fort at St. Johns. He was like a man appointed to watch over me, for no good purpose. And he had gained some hold over my men, for, when I looked from him to them, to see if his words found echo in their hearts, there was no one who said nay.
“You are all cowards,” I cried, but there was no answer.
Then, when I could command my voice, I asked whether it was the wish of the garrison to surrender, and, with almost one accord, they said it was. It was a bitter cup to drink of.