Darkness had fallen barely more than a quarter of an hour when the party of four prepared to leave the sloop. Those aboard her now knew what was about to happen. Indeed, the English troops aboard the fleet were aware of the attempt about to take place, and were already silently embarking in the boats secured to the ships' sides. As to the French, they still believed that an attack in force was impending at the mouth of the St. Charles, or against the Beauport lines, for the feints of the fleet at Cap Rouge had ceased entirely, while Montcalm did not even suspect that the bulk of Wolfe's army was aboard. There was a curious calm up the river, where there had been so much energy a few days ago, while down stream, at Point Lévis, the guns thundered even more loudly than before, and there was very obvious activity at the camp on the Isle of Orleans. Indeed, perched as they were high up in Quebec, and the ridge on either hand, the French could see every movement of the English, unless cloaked by the darkness. Montcalm had been an attentive watcher, and on this very night his charger stood ready saddled, so that the commander might gallop along the Beauport lines, wherever circumstances might call him. Little did Montcalm think that it was towards the opposite direction that his horse's hoofs would carry him. "Good luck, boys. Remember we're waiting. Remember that every man aboard the fleet looks to you to-night, and that every mother's son in Old England will sing your praises if you are successful." The captain of the sloop, a rough old sea dog, gripped each one of the party by the hand as they prepared to step into the canoe. Then he gave Steve a bag containing a dark lantern, flint, and steel. "Light it ashore," he said earnestly. "Even the best lamp of this sort might show a glimmer, and the French would see it. Get under cover when you strike the flint, lad. Don't forget. Under cover." There was a faint murmur from the men as Steve dropped gently into the canoe, while the clatter of booted troops lowering themselves into the boats of the fleet came softly to the ear. "Push off," he whispered. "Out paddles. Jim, take post in the stern." It was a silent party which floated down the mighty St. Lawrence, for up above there might be many listening ears. The paddles dipped ever so gently, while at the stern Jim sat stolidly, his nerves strung to high tension, for this was new work again, his paddle deep in the river, and his eyes following the faint line of the ridge. "Put her in. We have floated far enough, and, I think, are nearly opposite. H-u-u-s-h!" There was a sound high up above the river, and close at hand, for the canoe was now within a few yards of the bank. Then, startlingly loud on this calm night came the voice of a sentry. "_Qui va là?_ Who goes there? Reply or I fire." "Be silent. We are a provision boat. You will show the enemy our position."