I slept not at all that night, and, several times, I was half minded to rush out, all alone, and fight, single handed, until I was slain. But life was sweet, and, shameful as it was, I resolved to give up the fort. I had none to defend it, and we might be treated as prisoners of war, to be exchanged, in due season. There was nothing else to do, so, with sorrow in my heart, I ordered the white flag run up, as the sun rose. Then came Castine and Iberville, the leaders, who had been waiting for the signal.
To Iberville I handed my sword. I could not but gaze with longing eyes on the bit of steel that had served me so well. Now I was like never to see it nor feel it in my hand again.
But Iberville, noting my wistful glance, after he had held the weapon in his hand a moment, poising it as one who well knew its worth, said:
“’Tis a pretty blade.”
“Aye,” I answered, bitterly. “It has found sheath in many an English foe, both French and Indian.”
His face, that had held a smile, went dark in a second. I expected nothing less than he would lunge at me. But he seemed to recover himself, though with an effort, and said, graciously:
“Perchance it may again.”
And he handed me back the sword.
I was too surprised to give him thanks. Soon we were deep in the details of the surrender. It was arranged that I was to march out at the head of my men, and we went on board the French vessels, as prisoners. We were to sail for Boston, to be exchanged for some French hostages held captive there.
It was not long before we left Pemaquid in the distance, a French garrison being in charge. The voyage was without incident, and, one day in July, I walked ashore at Boston town, with my command. Sending word to Governor Phips that I would call on him the next day, I made a hasty meal, secured a horse, and was soon on the road to Salem and to Lucille.