The first
two men who appeared above the hatchway were promptly despatched, and
Iberville's sword was falling upon Gering, whom he did not recognise,
when De Casson's hand diverted the blow. It caught the shoulder of a man
at Gering's side.
"'Tis Monsieur Gering!" said the priest.
"Stop! stop!" cried a voice behind these. "I am the governor. We
surrender."
There was nothing else to do: in spite of Gering's show of defiance,
though death was above him if he resisted. He was but half-way up.
"It is no use, Mr. Gering," urged the governor; "they have us like sheep
in a pen."
"Very well," said Gering suddenly, handing up his, sword and stepping up
himself. "To whom do I surrender?"
"To an old acquaintance, monsieur," said Iberville, coming near, "who
will cherish you for the king of France."
"Damnation!" cried Gering, and his eyes hungered for his sword again.
"You would not visit me, so I came to look for you; though why, monsieur,
you should hide up here in the porch of the world passeth knowledge."
"Monsieur is witty," answered Gering stoutly; "but if he will grant me
my sword again and an hour alone with him, I shall ask no greater joy
in life."
By this time the governor was on deck, and he interposed.
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