"Thank God!" a soft, murmuring sigh ran through all the boats and
many a bronzed and bearded cheek was wet with tears. Each man
clasped hands with his neighbour; all were deeply moved, and even
as an audience melted renders no applause, so none felt any wish
to vent his deep emotion in a cheer.
Chapter 82. Scouting for Macomb
General Macomb knew that Sir George Prevost was a cautious and
experienced commander. The loss of his fleet would certainly make
a radical change in his plans, but what change? Would he make a
flank move and dash on to Albany, or retreat to Canada, or
entrench himself to await reinforcements at Plattsburg, or try to
retrieve his laurels by an overwhelming assault on the town?
Whatever his plan, he would set about it quickly, and Macomb
studied the enemy's camp with a keen, discerning eye, but nothing
suggesting a change was visible when the sun sank in the rainy west.
It was vital that he know it at once when an important move was
begun, and as soon as the night came down, a score of the
swiftest scouts were called for. All were young men; most of them
had been in McGlassin's band.
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