They filed into the flat-bottomed boats, so tightly packed that MacKim could scarcely breathe. The tension was palpable as men looked to their front, aware that after months of training, they were finally going to war. Fraser’s Highlanders, more than a thousand untried men, would soon be facing veteran French battalions waiting behind entrenchments and stone walls. The raw young lads from the Highland glens would have to prove their worth to King George, or the stigma of the Jacobite Rising would continue.
“Keep your head down, MacKim. Don’t try to be a hero,” Chisholm advised. “A good soldier is a live soldier.”
The British landing force fought sea-sickness and apprehension as they looked over to Louisbourg, where the black-mouthed muzzles of cannon waited in silent menace.
“The French
