It is raining, an icy drizzle, and the red-coated British soldiers on sentry duty huddle beneath trees. They are cold and wet but dare not light fires for fear it will ruin their night vision. The moon is curtained by heavy cloud and of no use, so the sentries do not see the unlit French ships holding position just off the coast. Nor do they hear the sounds of the ships’ rigging through the hiss of the rain on the ocean. The French longboat that enters the mouth of the harbor has been tarred to a deep black. Thibault’s soldiers on board are covered by black cowls and the wooden cage at the stern is also black, as is what is inside. Two identical boats follow, also invisible on the dark ocean. The boats are not rowed, but sculled by a single oar at the stern. This is slow for a heavy longboat, but it is silent, and the current assists, sweeping them into the mouth of the harbor with the incoming tide. The British sentries neither hear nor see the disaster that approaches. The longboats slip past the headlands and keep to the center of the estuary, away from any curious eyes.
