Others quietly went without
asking. An air of hopelessness stole over the garrison, which was
deepened to despair when news came from Louisburg that no help could
be expected from that quarter, the town being strictly blockaded by
the English.
At length, in an ignoble way, came the crisis. In one of the two vaulted
chambers of masonry which were dignified with the title of "bombproofs,"
a party of French officers, with a captive English lieutenant, were
sitting at breakfast. A shell from the English mortars dropped through
the ceiling, exploded, and killed seven of the company. Vergor, with
other officers and Le Loutre, was in the second bombproof. His martial
spirit was confounded at the thought that the one retreat might turn
out to be no more "bomb-proof" than the other. Most of his subordinate
officers shared his feelings, and in a few minutes, to the pleasant
astonishment of the English, and in spite of the furious protests
of Le Loutre and of two or three officers who were not lost to all
sense of manhood, a white flag was hoisted on Beausejour. The firing
straightway ceased, on both sides, and an officer was sent forth to
negotiate a capitulation.
Pierre threw down his musket, and looked at his father, who stood
watching the proceedings with a smile of grim contempt. Then he turned
to the sergeant, who was smoking philosophically.
"Is _this_ the best France can do?" he cried, in a sharp voice.
"The English do certainly show to rather the better advantage,"
interposed Lecorbeau; but the old sergeant hastened to answer, in a
tone of sober grief:
"You must'nt judge _la belle France_ by the men she has been sending
out to Canada and Acadie these late years, my Pierre.
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