The voice of the negro, who was the property of one of the wealthiest royalists on the lake, became more and more vociferous as the bateau approached the shore. “Wot de goodness youse shakaroons doin’ yere? We ain’t goin’ land yere–no, sir! Dis ain’t no place fur us. Who yo’ t’ink capen ob dis craft, anyway?”
“Oh, come along, old man! we wanter see ye!” shouted Bolderwood from the shore. “We won’t eat ye up.”
“Dis ain’ no place for us, I tells yo’!” cried the darky, and as the outline of the bateau and the objects upon it were now visible, they could see the whites of his rolling eyes. “I ain’ got nuttin’ ter do wid yo’ shakaroons.”
“Come on, there!” shouted Allen. “Gag that black rascal if he doesn’t talk less and use his sweeps well.”
“Who dat say fur ter gag me?” demanded the black, his teeth chattering. “D’you knows who I is, sah? I’se Major Skeene’s nigger, an’ dis Major Skeene’s bateau, an’ we gotter load o’ freight fo’ de castle.”
“We’ve got another sort of freight for you, my man,” said the Green Mountain leader. “So come ashore here and have no more words about it.”
“But dese yere gemmen say dey goin’ fishin’ an’ git me ter lend ’em passage!” cried the darky, in despair.
“And so we are going fishing,” cried Ethan Allen. “And you shall go, too, my black friend. But it will be different fishing from any that you’ve experienced before. Out with you, now!” he added, as the bateau grounded on the shore. “Get that freight off, men. What boats we have we must use at once. Perhaps they can be returned for another party to cross after us. I’ll never forgive myself if this oversight makes a wreck of our expedition.”
At that moment the man who, earlier in the evening, had crossed the lake from the fort, came and spoke to Ethan Allen. The leader of the Americans listened attentively, slapping his thigh now and again with evident satisfaction as he heard the report of this faithful patriot who, as Allen had previously said, dared enter the lion’s jaws. He had gone to Ticonderoga as a trader, had spent parts of two days in the fort, learning much that encouraged Allen in this desperate game he was playing. Although expecting additions to the garrison, Captain De la Place had not yet received the reinforcements. The buttresses of the fort, too, were in a sad state of repair. Indeed, since the British had swept the French from the lake, and with them driven the Hurons and Algonquins into the northern wilderness, few if any repairs had been made upon Ticonderoga. The British had simply held it as a storehouse and the garrison was small. If the American troops now gathering upon the eastern shore of Lake Champlain could once cross the water and approach the fort unperceived, there was hope in the hearts of all that the stronghold would be captured and the garrison overcome without any great loss of life.
“The God of Battles has been with ye!” exclaimed Allen, when the man had finished his report. “And if He is with us, as I believe, yonder fort and all it contains shall be ours before sunrise.... But hasten! Tell Baker to bring up his troops. Bolderwood, you and your scouts must go over first with us. Colonel Arnold, you will come in my boat if you wish. Major Warner, I leave you to assist our good friend Easton. The boats shall return as soon as we have landed. Count the men who enter these boats, gentlemen. The lake is calm; but do not overload the craft. We desire no accident to delay our landing on the other side.”