amply justified; for the men whom Pepperrell was just
beginning to form into bodies with some kind of cohesion
were once more being allowed to dissolve into the original
armed mob.

The night of June 7 was dark and calm. A little before
twelve three hundred men, wisely discarding oars, paddled
out from the Royal Battery and met another hundred who
came from Lighthouse Point. The paddles took them along
in silence while they circled the island, looking for
the narrow landing-place, where only three boats could
go abreast between the destroying rocks on which the surf
was breaking. Presently they found the tiny cove, and a
hundred and fifty men landed without being discovered.
But then, with incredible folly, they suddenly announced
their presence by giving three cheers. The French commandant
had cautioned his garrison to be alert, on account of
the unusual darkness; and, at this very moment, he happened
himself to be pacing up and down the rampart overlooking
the spot where the volunteers were expressing their
satisfaction at having surprised him so well.

His answer was instantaneous and effective. The battery
'blazed with cannon, swivels, and small-arms,' which
fired point-blank at the men ashore and with true aim at
the boats crowded together round the narrow landing-place.
Undaunted though undisciplined, the men ashore rushed at
the walls with their scaling-ladders and began the assault.
The attempt was vain. The first men up the rungs were
shot, stabbed, or cut down. The ladders were smashed or