“The provision boats. Hush, or the English will hear. They are not far away.”
The sentry knew that some provision boats were expected along that night, so said no more. As a matter of fact, the order to send the provisions down the river had been countermanded but a few hours before, but without the sentry’s knowledge. Thus fortune again favored the English.
At last the headland above Anse du Foulon was gained. Here the tide swept along rapidly and some boats were carried partly past the cove.
“No guard in sight,” whispered one of the lookouts.
“It is well,” murmured Wolfe.
Only the sound of a gurgling brook as it rushed into the St. Lawrence broke the stillness of the night. Before the boats lay the dark, frowning bluff, with its loose rocks, and its straggling cedars, other trees, and brushwood. The path was there, doubly uncertain in the darkness.
Twenty-four volunteers, picked men, good shots, and with nerves of iron, led the way. In the meantime those in the other boats waited by the shore, for the signal to land if it proved safe, or to pull away with might and main should the French have led them into a trap.
“Tell you what, Henry, this is a ticklish task,” whispered Silvers, as he examined the new firearm he had received.
“It certainly is that,” answered the young soldier. “But I reckon General Wolfe knows what he is doing.”
“Silence there,” came the low command, and the two said no more.