On the night of June 1 the French look-outs in Gabarus
Bay saw more lights than usual to the southward. Next
morning Louisbourg was early astir, anxiously eager to
catch the first glimpse of this great destroying armada,
which for several expectant hours lay invisible and dread
behind a curtain of dense fog. Then a light sea breeze
came in from the Atlantic. The curtain drew back at its
touch. And there, in one white, enormous crescent, all
round the deep-blue offing, stood the mighty fleet,
closing in for the final death-grip on its prey.
Nearly a whole week went by before the British landed.
Each day the scouting boats and vessels stood in as close
as possible along the shore. But they always found the
smashing surf too high. At last, on the 8th, the whole
army put off in three brigades of boats, supported by
the frigates, which fired at the French defences. All
three landing-places were threatened simultaneously,
White Point, Flat Point, and Kennington Cove. These
landing-places were, respectively, one, two, and four
miles west of Louisbourg.
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