He knew the chances were
against him, but it was his cue to keep heart in his followers. For days
they sailed without seeing a single ship; then three showed upon the
horizon and faded away. They kept on, passing Florida and Carolina,
hoping to reach Boston before the treasure-ships, and to rob them at
their own door. Their chances were fair, for the Maid of Provence had
proved swift, good-tempered, and a sweet sailer in bad waters.
Iberville had reckoned well. One evening, after a sail northwards as
fine as the voyage down was dirty, they came up gently within forty miles
of Boston, and then, because there was nothing else to do, went idling up
and down all night, keeping watch. The next morning there was a mist in
the air, which might become fog. Iberville had dreaded this; but he was
to have his chance, for even when Berigord's face lowered most the look-
out from the shrouds called down that he sighted two ships. They were
making for the coast. All sail was put on, they got away to meet the
newcomers, and they were not long in finding these to be their quarry.
Phips did not think that any ship would venture against them so near
Boston, and could not believe the Maid of Provence an enemy. He thought
her an English ship eager to welcome them, but presently he saw the white
ensign of France at the mizzen, and a round shot rattled through the
rigging of the Bridgwater Merchant.
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