Something must be done! That was the word on all lips. In warlike

days even peaceful citizens are not altogether ignorant of the arts

of war, and the burghers in the streets were mustering strong

together, every man of them armed, their faces stern and full of

determination as they moved all together to one of the open squares

in the city, and the place soon presented a most animated

appearance.

Not citizens alone, but pupils from the seminaries, Canadians from

the other shore, and a sprinkling of soldiers had joined the

muster. Every man carried arms, and when they had assembled to the

number of between one and two thousand, a loud call was made for

the Governor.

When Vaudreuil appeared, looking harassed and anxious, it was

explained to him that the burghers of the city demanded leave to

make a determined effort to save their houses and property from

destruction. Would the Governor grant them an experienced officer

to lead them? They would then cross the river at night, make a

compass round the English camp, and set upon them from behind at

dawn, whilst the guns from the town opened fire in front. Caught

thus between two fires, and attacked front and rear, they must

quickly be dislodged and annihilated; and the citizens would make

themselves masters of these hostile batteries, which they would

take good care should never fall into English hands again.

Their request was granted. An officer of considerable experience,

Dumas by name, was told off to head the expedition, and a good many

regular soldiers, who volunteered for the service, were permitted

to accompany them.

Dearly would the three midshipmen have loved to be of the party, to

see all that went on, but they knew they must not make such a

suggestion. They were known in the town as prisoners on parole. It

would appear to all that they meditated escape. But they urged upon

Colin to try to see it all, and bring word again what had befallen.

Colin was nothing loth. He longed to be in the thick of the

struggle. Moreover, he was well known to the citizens, and was

loved for his own sake as well as for that of his uncle the Abbe,

who went daily to and fro amongst the agitated people, seeking to

calm their fears and to inspire them with courage and hope.

"I will go!" he cried. "Watch you from this side, and mark how the

gunners do their work at dawn. If all goes well, our signal for

attack will be the sound of the guns opening fire upon yonder

batteries. And yet I shall scarcely wish to see the English

dislodged. I do not want our town laid in ruins; yet I truly

believe the English rule would be a benefit to this distracted

realm. Their own colonies, if report speaks truth, are far more

flourishing and strong than any France has ever planted. You have

the knack of it, you Britons. Sometimes I doubt whether we shall

ever learn it."

"Don't say 'we,'" cried Arthur. "You are more than half an

Englishman already, and we will teach you to be one of us before we

have done. You neither look nor speak nor act like a Frenchie. Of

course here in Quebec, amongst your own acquaintances and friends,

you will feel to belong in some sort to them; but once we get you

into English ranks, you will soon forget that you ever were

anything but an Englishman at heart."

Colin was almost ready to believe this himself, though he scarcely

liked to put it so broadly, lest it should seem like treachery to

his own family and friends. He was possessed of a very keen

admiration for British pluck and boldness and audacity. The things

he had heard and seen had fired his enthusiasm, and he was quite of

the opinion that were the free choice to be one day his, he would

choose to throw in his lot with the English invaders of Canadian

soil. To watch how this game of skill and address was to be played

out between the two powers was now his great aim and object, and he

was eager to be a spectator in the next scene of the drama.

His way was made quite easy; for the Abbe himself resolved to

accompany the expedition, and watch from a distance the effect of

the combined attack upon the English batteries. He would have been

better satisfied had Montcalm been consulted; but he was away at

Beauport, and if the citizens were to achieve anything, it would be

better for them to strike whilst the iron was hot. Another day and

the leaden storm might have opened upon the city, and the heart

might be taken out of them.

All was now hurry and confusion--too much confusion for the

approval of the Abbe, who, with the officer in command and the

regular troops, sought to allay it, and to infuse more of

discipline and organization into the arrangements.

Colin ran back to say farewell to Corinne and Madame Drucour; and

they bid him be careful of himself, and come back amongst the first

to bring them news. After promising this Colin departed, and the

night fell upon the town--a restless night for those within its

walls; for there was scarce a house but had contributed its one or

more members for the expedition, and all knew that the salvation of

their homes depended upon the success of the attack.

It was a hot, dark night, and there was little sleep in the city.

It would be impossible to hear at that distance, even if some

hand-to-hand fighting were to take place on the opposite bank. The

wind set the wrong way, and only if the big guns boomed out would

they be likely to know that the English had been aroused. Eagerly

was the dawn waited for, when the city guns would give the expected

signal; but the dawn came so wrapped in fog, and it was not quite

as early as was expected that the boom and roar from the

fortifications told that the gunners could sight the opposing

batteries. The blanket of fog seemed then to roll up and away,

leaving the glistening river lying like a sheet of silver at their

feet.

But what was the meaning of that crowd of boats all making for the

city as fast as oars and sails could bring them? It was hardly six

o'clock in the morning, and the attack could not well have been

commenced before five. What, then, were they doing, hurrying back

in their boats like hunted hares?

Those with telescopes, watching from the heights above, declared

that the English were pursuing their occupations with the most

perfect unconcern, that they were bringing up more guns, and that

the batteries were now so well planted and defended that the city

guns did no harm. Shell away as they might from Quebec, no effect

was produced upon their solid earthworks; and it was abundantly

evident that very soon they would he in a position to open fire

upon the hapless city. Down to the river level rushed the excited

people, to meet the returning boats. Such a clamour of inquiry,

response, anger, and disappointment arose that at first nothing

could be made out. The midshipmen cleared a path for the Abbe and

Colin through the gathering crowd; and as soon as they were fairly

within the walls of their home, they began to tell the dismal tale.

"It was just a fiasco from first to last!" cried Colin. "It was as

our uncle said: there was no order or discipline or preparation.

One might as well have sent out a pack of children to do the work!"

"What happened?" cried Corinne breathlessly.

"Why, nothing but a series of gross blunders. We got across all

safe, and landed unopposed. The Seminary scholars were over first,

and marched off up the hill before the rest came. We got separated

in that way, and almost at once one felt that a sort of panic had

got hold of the people. The burghers who were so anxious to come

now got frightened, and were most difficult to get into order.

Dumas and the regulars did their utmost; but it was plain that the

people were scared out of their lives lest the English should

suddenly appear and attack them. After a long time we got into a

sort of order, and began the march, when all of a sudden there were

a crash and a blaze, and everything was thrown into confusion. They

yelled out that the English were upon them, and headed for the

boats."

"O Colin--the men who were so keen to fight!" cried Corinne; whilst

the midshipmen doubled themselves up with laughter, exclaiming

beneath their breath:

"O gallant burghers of Quebec!"

"It was disgraceful!" cried Colin hotly; "and more disgraceful

still was it that the fire came from our own side--from the

Seminary scholars, who had gone in advance; a thing they had no

business to do. But this was not the worst--at least it was not the

end of the bungling; for if you will believe me, the same thing

happened three distinct times. Twice more after we had got the men

formed up again, and were leading them up the hill behind the

English guns, did those wretched Seminary scholars mistake them for

the enemy and fire into their ranks. The last time they killed a

score or more, and wounded quite a large number of others. That was

too much. The men turned tail and fled helter-skelter back to the

boats, and there was no getting them back after that. The scholars,

too, when they heard what they had done, were seized with panic,

and joined the rout.

"I never saw such a scene in my life as the opposite shore

presented just as the dawn was breaking and the first gun boomed

out, and we knew that we ought to have been marching in compact

order along the crest of the hill to fall upon the gunners from

behind. Well, if this is how Quebec manages her affairs, she

deserves to have her houses battered in. We shall soon have the

answer from the English batteries, and we shall deserve it, too!"

Colin was right. The iron storm began all too soon, and proved to

the full as destructive as had been feared. Churches and houses

were laid in ruins, and disastrous fires broke out, consuming

others. The unhappy occupants of the Lower Town fled from the

smoking ruins, some to take refuge with friends in the Upper Town,

which was considerably less exposed; others to fly into the open

country beyond, where they trusted to be safe from the English

invader. As the military authorities had proclaimed, this

destruction did not materially affect the position of the

belligerents--the English could not get much nearer their object by

shelling the town--but it did much to dishearten the citizens, and

produced a strong moral effect of depression, and murmurs even

arose in isolated quarters that it would be better to surrender

than to be destroyed.

Moreover, disquieting reports came from other places. The camp of

Montcalm extended, as has been said, from the river St. Charles to

the Falls of Montmorency. That great gorge was considered

protection enough, and it was believed that no enemy would be rash

enough to try to cross the river higher up; indeed, it was

popularly supposed that there was no ford. Nevertheless it soon

became known that Wolfe had effected a landing upon the farther

shore of the Montmorency; that he was fortifying a camp there, and

had found and was now holding a ford in the river above, whence, if

he chose, he could cross and fall upon the camp at Beauport.

There had been some argument at first as to the advisability of

dislodging him before he had made himself strong enough to resist

attack. The Intendant had given his voice in favour of the attack;

but for once the Governor and the General had been of one mind, and

had decided against it.

"Let him stay where he is," said Montcalm, after he had surveyed

the position; "he can do us little harm there. If we dislodge him,

he may find a footing elsewhere, and prove much more dangerous and

troublesome. If he tries to get across to us, we shall have a

welcome ready!"

So, though parties of Canadians and Indians harassed the English in

their camp, and were met and routed by the gallant Rangers, who

always accompanied the English forces, the soldiers remained in

their intrenchments, and took little notice of the rival camp.

Sometimes under flags of truce messages passed between the hostile

camps.

"You will no doubt batter and demolish a great part of the town,"

wrote Montcalm on one occasion, "but you will never get inside it!"

"I will have Quebec," wrote back Wolfe, "if I stay here till the

winter. I have come from England to win it. I do not go back till

my task is done."

Some smiled at that message; but Madame Drucour received it with a

little shivering sigh.

"Ah," she exclaimed, "I have seen Monsieur Wolfe; I can hear him

speak the words! Somehow it seems to me that he is a man who will

never go back from his resolve. If he has made up his mind to take

Quebec, Quebec will be taken!"

Book 6: Without Quebec.

Chapter 1: In Sight Of His Goal.

Wolfe stood rapt in thought beside the batteries upon Point Levi.

From his own camp at the Montmorency falls he had come over in a

boat to visit Brigadier Moncton's camp, opposite the city of

Quebec; and now he stood surveying the town--and the havoc wrought

upon its buildings by his cannon--with a glass at his eye, a look

of great thoughtfulness and care stamped upon his thin face.

Near at hand, ready to answer if addressed, was Brigadier Moncton,

a brave and capable officer; and a little farther off, also

watching the General and the scene spread out before him, stood a

little group of three, who had come across with Wolfe in the boat,

and who were, in fact, none other than our old friends, Fritz

Neville, Julian Dautray, and Humphrey Angell.

It had been an immense joy to these three men to meet together in

the camp of Wolfe round about Quebec. Julian had accompanied the

expedition from England, Fritz had joined Admiral Durell's

contingent whilst it was waiting for junction with the fleet from

England, and Humphrey had come to join them in the transport ships

from New York, bringing news of friends in Philadelphia, where he

had passed a portion of the time of waiting.

Now these three comrades, so long parted, and now brought together

by the chances of war, were almost inseparable. Wolfe had appointed

them posts about his own person, having taken for Fritz almost the

same warm liking that he had from the first felt towards Julian and

Humphrey, and which, in the case of Julian, had ripened into a deep

and ardent friendship.

Whilst the young General was making his survey, rapt in thoughts

which as yet he kept to himself, the three comrades spoke together

of the war and the outlook.

"It will be a hard nut to crack, this city of Quebec," said

Humphrey; "they were all saying that in Philadelphia as I left. Yet

all men say that Quebec is the key of Canada. If that falls into

our hands, we shall be masters of the country."

"And if our General has set his mind upon it, he will accomplish

it," said Julian briefly.

"He is a wonderful man," said Fritz, with a look of admiration

directed towards the tall, slim figure of the soldier; "would that

his body were as strong as his spirit! Sometimes when I look at him

I fear that the blade is too keen for the scabbard. That ardent

spirit will wear out the frail body."

"That is the danger," said Julian gravely; "but it is wonderful

what he can compel that frail body to go through. He will rise from

an almost sleepless night of pain and exhaustion, and do the work

of a man in sound health, infusing life and energy and enthusiasm

into everyone with whom he comes in contact! Truly the King's words

about him contained a great truth."

"What words?" asked Fritz.

"Why, you know that this Wolfe of ours is but a young man, gallant

enough, but far younger and less known than many another of half

his capacity. You know, too, that the Duke of Newcastle, to whose

blundering we owe half our misfortunes in the west, was never known

to make a wise selection of men for posts of command, and was

shocked and alarmed when he heard that Pitt had appointed a

comparatively young and untried man for the command of such an

expedition as this. He once said testily to the King that Pitt's

new general was mad.

"'Mad is he?' quoth His Majesty, with a laugh; 'then I hope he will

bite some more of my generals!'"

Fritz laughed at the sally.

"In truth we could have done with some more of that sort of madness

amongst the leaders of those border wars which have ended so

disastrously for us. But in very truth the tide did turn, as the

Abbe Messonnier had foretold, when Pitt's hand was placed upon the

helm of England's government. So much has been accomplished already

that I myself do not believe we shall turn our backs upon these

scenes before Quebec is ours."

"That is what they say in Philadelphia," cried Humphrey--"that

Quebec must and shall fall. If General Amherst can but capture

Ticonderoga and Crown Point, he will march to our assistance by

land. Then the French will be caught between two armies, and the

nut will be cracked indeed! Did I tell you that our kinsman

Benjamin Ashley has declared that, directly Quebec falls, he will

come and visit the great city of which so much has been spoken, to

see for himself the great work? If he does this, he will bring his

wife and Susanna with him. You cannot think how keenly alive the

Philadelphians are becoming to the glory it will be to rid Canada

of French rule, and found an English-speaking colony there. The

Quakers still stand aloof, and talk gloomily of the sin of warfare;

but the rest of the people heed them no whit. They have furnished

and equipped a gallant band to join General Amherst, and they are

kindling with a great enthusiasm in the cause. Even our old friend

Ebenezer Jenkyns has been talking great swelling words of warlike

import. He would have joined the militia, he says, had not his

father forbidden him."

"It is well they have awoke at last," said Fritz, a little grimly;

"but it would have been better had they done so before their border

was harried, and their brothers and countrymen done to death by the

bands of Indian marauders."

At which saying Humphrey's face grew dark; for there was stamped

upon his brain one scene the memory of which would never be

effaced, though it should be a thousandfold avenged.

"I would that Charles could have lived to see the day when the

English should enter the city of Quebec!"

He spoke beneath his breath; but Fritz heard him, and answered with

thoughtful gravity:

"Perhaps it were not true kindness to wish him back. His death blow

was struck when his wife and children perished. The days which

remained to him were days of sorrow and pain. The light of his

life, the desire of his eyes, had been taken away. He lived but for

an act of vengeance, and when that was accomplished, I believe he

would have faded out of life had it not been that his own life was

extinguished at the same time as that of his foe."

Humphrey made a silent sign of assent. He could not speak much even

yet of the tragic fate of his brother, or of the events which had

led to it. Fritz turned the subject by speaking of John Stark and

the Rangers, asking Humphrey what had been known of them since the

breaking-up of the band after the disaster of Ticonderoga.

"I saw Stark," answered Humphrey eagerly. "Have I not told you

before? Ah well, we have not much time for talking these busy days.

Yes, I saw Stark; he came to visit his kinsfolk of the inn when I

was in Philadelphia. He has gone now with Amherst's party. He will

join Rogers, I suppose; and, doubtless, the Rangers will again do

good service, as they do everywhere. He was in half a mind to come

north with the expedition for Quebec, but decided that he would be

of more use in country every foot of which was familiar to him. But

he declared that, if once Ticonderoga were to fall, he would bring

us the news faster than any other messenger. How he will come, and

by what route, I know not; but this I know, that if there is a

victory for English arms yonder in the west, and if John Stark be

not killed, the sight of his face amongst us here will be the sign

to us that the victory has been won."

"And right welcome will be the sight of his face," cried Fritz, "be

his news what it may. John Stark is one of the best and bravest men

I know. I have told our General many a tale of him and his prowess.

Wolfe will have a welcome for him if he ever appears here."

Wolfe seemed to have finished his survey. He took the glass from

his eye and looked round him. Moncton was at his side in a moment.

He, in common with all who fought with and under him, had a great

admiration for the gallant young General.

"Moncton," said Wolfe, in a voice loud enough for the other three

to hear plainly, "I want to get some ships past the city into the

upper reach of the river. The French General will not fight. I give

him chance after chance against me, but he does not take it. He

thinks a waiting game will serve his turn best, and perhaps he is

right. But we must leave no stone unturned to harass and perplex

him. I want a footing in the upper reach of the river. I want to

get some vessels past the town."

Moncton drew his lips together in a silent whistle.

"Will not the town batteries sink them like logs as they pass?" he

asked.

"They will, if they see them. They have left the river free of

vessels; they trust entirely to their guns. But our sailors have

done bolder deeds before this than the passing of some batteries

upon a dark night. If you were to cover their advance by a furious

cannonade upon the town, do you not think we could slip a few past

those frowning batteries, and make a new basis of operations for

ourselves in the upper reach of the river, above the town?"

Moncton's eyes glistened. It was a daring project, but it was not

without promise of success. Such things might be done, and yet

there was serious risk.

"It will weaken us in one way," pursued Wolfe, speaking in his

quiet, meditative fashion. "As it is, we are divided into three

camps--one here, one at Montmorency, and one on the Isle of

Orleans. If we carry out this plan, we shall be divided into four;

and should any pressing danger menace any one of those four camps,

it might be some while before assistance could be sent. And yet I

am more than half disposed to try. Montcalm does not appear to have

any intention of attacking us. And if we weaken ourselves, we shall

also weaken him by this movement. At present he is concentrating

his whole strength in and below the city. If we get a footing on

the upper river, he will have to send a contingent there to watch

us. Whether we have any reasonable hope of getting at the city in

that way, I cannot yet tell; I know too little of the character of

the ground. But at least we shall have won a strategic victory in

getting our ships past the guns of Quebec; and we shall cause

consternation and alarm there, even if nothing else."

"I will cover the movement with all the power of my guns," cried

Moncton eagerly; "and if the thing can be done, our sailors will do

it; they are in no whit afraid of the enemy's guns. And look--if

the ships get through, why not let our red-coats and blue-jackets

drag a fleet of boats across the base of this Point Levi, along the

low ground yonder, and launch them in the river above, where they

can join the ships and bring them reinforcements of men? Then we

shall have means of transporting men and provisions to these

vessels, and the sight of them upon their upper river will further

dishearten the citizens of Quebec, who have been very well punished

already by our guns."

"Yes," answered Wolfe. "I would sooner have shattered the citadel

than the houses and convents; but we must e'en do what we can in

this game of war. But your idea is excellent, Moncton. If the ships

succeed in making the passage, the boats shall certainly be brought

across, as you suggest. It will be a strategic triumph for us, even

though we do not reap immediate fruit from it. And if once Amherst

can march to join us, it will be everything to have shipping in the

upper river."

"And you are hopeful that he will?"

"If he can make good his position upon the lakes and in the west. I

have information that things are going well for us there; but so

far no definite news of the capture of Ticonderoga has reached us.

It is rumoured that Niagara is attacked, and is likely to pass into

our hands. There is no doubt that the French all along the western

boundary are in extremity. If Quebec goes, all will go; they will

have no heart to hold out. But, on the other hand, if we are beaten

here, and are forced to retreat unsuccessfully, it will have a

great moral effect throughout Canada."

"Canada is becoming very half-hearted towards its French masters,"

said Moncton. "We hear a good deal from prisoners brought to the

camp by our scouts. We had one brought in the other day--a cunning

old rascal, but by no means reticent when we had plied him with

port wine. He said that they were sick to death of the struggle,

and only wished it over one way or the other. They would be glad

enough to stand neutral, and serve either French or English

according as the victory went; but their priests threaten them with

spiritual terrors if they do not fight for the cause of Holy

Church, as they term it, whilst the military authorities threaten

them with the Indians, and we, on the other side, with the

destruction of their farms and houses if they interfere in any way

with us. Their case is certainly a hard one."

"It is," answered Wolfe; "but, all the same, I am not going to

permit any infringement of the orders I have laid down. If the

people will stand neutral or help us, they shall have protection

and all reasonable help if the Indians attack them; but if they

prefer to obey their French masters or their priestly tyrants, and

harry and worry us, I keep my word, and I send out harrying parties

to drive off their cattle and bring themselves prisoners to our

camps. No violence shall be done them; no church shall be violated;

not a finger shall be laid upon any woman or child. If outrages are

committed by my soldiers, the men shall instantly be hanged or

shot. But I will have no infringement of my commands. What I say I

mean. I have posted up my intentions. The people know what they

have to expect. The free choice is theirs. If they will not take

the offered protection, they must abide by the consequences."

Inflexible firmness was written upon the thin face of the young

General. Cruelty was abhorrent to him whatever form it took; but he

could be stern and rigorous in the prosecution of any plan which

had been adopted after careful consideration. He knew that the

greatest blessing to the Canadians would be the termination of this

long and wearing war. From his heart he believed that transference

from French to English rule would be the happiest possible change

of fortune for them. Therefore he did not shrink from any measures

which should tend to bring about this consummation; and whilst

giving them every opportunity to save themselves and their property

by aiding or at least not interfering with or opposing his

measures, he made it abundantly plain that, if they persisted in

inimical courses, they would be treated as enemies.

The idea of effecting a passage of the city and forming a camp, or

at least a flotilla, above the town was a matter which afforded

much discussion and excitement throughout the English ranks. The

daring of it appealed to all hearts, and the sailors when they

heard it were keen for the enterprise, confident of success were

only a dark night to be chosen for the attempt. Old Killick, with

his hands in his pockets, rolled up and down his deck, chewing a

quid of tobacco, and giving his opinions on the subject.

"Pass Quebec! bless you, my dears, I'll undertake to pass the town

guns any hour of the day or night you like to send me. What a rout

they did make, to be sure, about their old river! They make just

such a rout about their precious guns! What English ship ever

feared to pass a French battery yet? Give me a capful of wind, and

I'll undertake to get my boat past whilst the Frenchies are trying

to get their guns pointed low enough to sink me! The soldiers have

been having their turn for a bit; it's time we had one now. We've

had nothing to amuse us since those pretty fireworks the Frenchies

were kind enough to get up for us the other week! Oh that they

should think to scare us with such toys as that! Oh my, what fools

some men can be!"

With Wolfe resolution was speedily followed by action. No sooner

had he made up his mind what he meant to do than preparations were

instantly set on foot. He came down in person to inspect the fleet,

and discuss with the Admirals what ships should be chosen for the

service. Finally, the Sutherland was selected as the ship to run

the gauntlet, on account of her sailing capacities and the

excellence of her sailing master and crew. A frigate was to

accompany her, and several smaller vessels, one of which, to his

great satisfaction, was Killick's; and he was permitted to lead the

way, as his shrewdness and skill in nautical matters were well

known throughout the fleet.

Colonel Carleton, a promising and experienced officer, was in

charge of the troops. But Wolfe himself could not be far away. He

was to watch everything from Point Levi, and in the event of

success to superintend the passage overland of the flotilla of

boats; and in one of these he purposed himself to join the

expedition in the upper river, and make a careful survey of the

defences there.

Dearly would he have liked to make one of the daring party who were

to run the gauntlet of the French batteries, but he knew his

responsibilities as General of the forces too well to expose

himself rashly where he could not take the lead. He must trust to

the sailors for this thing; his turn would come later.

All was in readiness. The selected vessels were lying at anchor,

ready to loose from their moorings when the sun had sunk. Wolfe in

his light boat, managed by Humphrey and Fritz, had made a tour of

inspection, and was now speeding across the water towards Point

Levi, up the heights of which several additional powerful guns had

been carried earlier in the day to assist in the cannonade planned

for the night.

Little was spoken by the General or his subordinates. Wolfe had

been suffering much during the past days from acute rheumatism, and

from the inward malady which gave him little rest night or day. His

face looked very thin and drawn, but the fire in his eyes was

unquenchable, and it was plain that his mind was not with himself,

but with the enterprise, carefully thought out and courageously

planned, which was to be attempted that night.

"Take me as near to the town batteries as is safe," he said; and

the boat's head was directed towards the northern shore.

"I believe it will be done," he said, after a keen inspection of

the batteries through his glass. "The guns are almost all pointed

towards Point Levi. If the ships make good way with wind and tide,

as they should, they will glide so fast along that, even if

sighted, they will almost have passed before the guns can be

depressed sufficiently to be dangerous."

Then they made for Point Levi, and Wolfe stepped ashore, to be

received by Moncton, who escorted him to the batteries to see their

preparations. The three friends, released from attendance upon him,

took up a position from which they could command a view of what

passed, in so far as the darkness of night should permit them any

view. A pall of cloud hung in the sky, and the shades of evening

fell early. Yet it seemed long to the anxious watchers before the

darkness blotted out the view of the distant city, and of the

panorama of dancing water beneath.

Generally the guns from Point Levi boomed all day, but were silent

at night, leaving the camp to repose. But though they had ceased to

fire at sundown, darkness had no sooner fallen than the iron mouths

opened in a prolonged and terrific roar, a blaze of yellow light

glowed along the batteries, and the watchers from the strand heard

the huge shells screaming overhead as they hurtled through the air,

carrying with them their terrible messages of death and

destruction.

The noise was terrific; the sight was terrible in its fierce

grandeur. The three companions had seen many strange and fearful

things during the past years, but perhaps they had never before

been quite so near to a battery spouting out its leaden rain in

great broad flashes of lambent flame.

Julian and Fritz could not turn their eyes from the magnificent

sight; but Humphrey, after one glance, turned his upon the dark

waterway, and it was his voice that spoke at last in accents of

keen emotion.

"Here come the ships."

The others could not see for a while--their eyes were dazzled; and

in the roar and rattle of artillery overhead nothing could be heard

of the silent advance of those darkened hulls as they slipped like

ghosts through the water. They were as close to the south bank as

it was safe to keep, and followed Killick's sloop with as much

precision as possible. The strong tide beneath them, and the light,

favouring wind, bore them past at a rate that the spectators had

scarcely expected. They could just descry the dark, looming objects

gliding swiftly and silently along. But would the gunners in Quebec

see them? The onlookers held their breath as the phantom ships

sailed upon their way. They were passing the blazing batteries now,

and the cannonade was more furious than ever. The guns of Quebec

were blazing back. But was the fire directed only at the opposite

heights? or had the flitting sails been seen, and would the iron

rain pour upon the gallant vessels making the daring passage?

Fritz felt such an oppression upon his heart that he could scarce

draw his breath; but moments came and moments went, and the ships

glided unharmed upon their way. They had all passed the batteries

now. They were in the very narrowest part of the channel, just

where the town batteries commanded the passage. Humphrey could

stand it no longer.

"To the boat," he cried, "to the boat! yonder she lies! Let us

follow and make sure, and bring the General word!"

In a moment the three had rushed down, and were running their boat

into the water. Next minute the sail was up, and the light little

craft was cutting through the black river at a gallant pace. Now

she had caught up the last of the silent string of daring cruisers;

now she was gliding by the large warship. All was safe, all was

silent on the water; only overhead the hurtling bombs and balls

roared and boomed. The gunners of Quebec had not sighted the

stealthy ships. The town knew nothing of what was being done under

cover of that furious cannonade. And now the batteries had been

safely passed; the lights of the town upon the right were beginning

to fade in the distance.

A sudden rift in the clouds let through a glancing beam of

moonlight, which fell full upon the figure of old Killick as he

stood upon the forecastle of his vessel, preparing to let down the

anchor as arranged when a safe place had been found. The old

sea-dog had convoyed the party as cleverly as he had navigated the

dangerous channel of the Traverse. He pulled out his battered

sou'wester and waved it in the direction of Quebec.

"Bless you, my dears! how well you do sleep! You ought to be sound

and hearty, I'm sure. Good luck to you, every man of you at the

guns! Bless my soul! if I were the Markiss of Montcalm, when I

awoke in the morning to see the English ships in the basin above

the town, I'd hang every mother's son of them each to his own gun!

But poor fellows, it would be hard to blame them. They can't help

being born Frenchmen and fools after all!"

A laugh and a cheer from those who heard greeted old Killick's

sally; and Humphrey, quickly turning round the prow of the boat,

sent her speeding back to Point Levi, to bring certain tidings of

the success to Wolfe.

Chapter 2: Days Of Waiting.

"I am sorry that you should have to be disturbed, dear ladies, but

it is no longer safe for you to remain where you were. My soldiers

require the ground. But tomorrow you shall be sent in safety to

Quebec, under a flag of truce. You will be safer there than at

Pointe-aux-Trembles, now that my ships are in the upper river."

Wolfe spoke thus at the conclusion of a supper party, which he had

hastily got up for the benefit of the prisoners brought to Point

Levi by his fleet of boats. The soldiers had landed along the upper

river, and in spite of a faint resistance from Indians and

Canadians, had effected a landing. Though they had not found much

in the way of stores or cattle, they had taken what they could, and

had brought a number of prisoners to Wolfe's camp. These were

mostly French--a great number being women and children and old men

who had left Quebec during the bombardment, and sought refuge in

the outlying village.

The idea of being sent back to town was not exactly palatable, but

it was plain that there was now no safety along the upper river;

the English troops seemed to be everywhere at once.

"You are such dreadful people, you English!" sighed one lady,

looking, not without admiration, towards the youthful General, who

was entertaining them at his own table, and who had given the

strictest orders that the humbler of the prisoners should be

equally well treated elsewhere: "you seem to fly from point to

point, to divide your army as you will, and conquer wherever you

appear. It is wonderful, but it is terrible, too! And yet with all

this, how are you to get into Quebec? For it seems to me you are no

nearer that than you were a month ago."

Wolfe smiled his slight, peculiar smile.

"Madame," he answered, "we have a proverb in En gland which says

that 'where there's a will there's a way.' I have been sent out by

the government of my country to take Quebec, and here I stay till I

have carried out that order. How and when it will be accomplished I

do not yet know; what I say is that I am here to do it, and that I

mean to do it. When you return to the city, present my respects to

the Marquis of Montcalm, and tell him what I say."

The ladies looked at one another, and lifted eyes and hands. In the

aspect of the young General, despite his physical feebleness, there

was an air of such calm, confident power that they were deeply

impressed; and one of them, looking earnestly at him, cried:

"You make us admire you as much as we fear you, Monsieur Wolfe. But

if you are to have Quebec, pray take it quickly; for this long,

cruel war wears us out."

"Madame," he answered, "I would that I could; but Monsieur de

Montcalm gives me no chance of fighting. If he were not so

cautious, I should greatly rejoice. I give him all sorts of chances

to attack me, but he will not avail himself of them. If caution

could save Quebec, assuredly it would never fall!"

"If he take not care, his caution will be his undoing," said a

Canadian dame of sprightly turn. "As for us of the country, we are

weary to death of uncertainty. They tell me that the Canadian

militia will not long remain loyal if kept in such inactivity. We

Canadians do not understand this sort of warfare. Quick raids,

sharp fighting, quick return home is what our men are used to. They

can be brave enough in their native forests; but this sitting down

in camps for weeks and months together, whilst their harvests are

lying uncut in the fields, or left a prey to Indian marauders--no,

that they do not understand or appreciate. They are almost ready to

welcome English rule sooner than go on like this. I doubt not you

have heard as much from your prisoners before."

"Something like it," answered Wolfe, with a slight curl of the lip.

"I confess I have no great opinion of the militia of Monsieur de

Montcalm. His regular troops are fine soldiers; but for the rest,

they would give us little trouble, I take it. Perhaps the Marquis

knows that, and therefore will not fight."

"In the woods one Canadian soldier is worth three regulars,"

remarked the lady, with a shrewd glance at Wolfe, and a smile upon

her face; "but in the open one regular is worth half a dozen

Canadians. We do not understand standing firm under fire. Give us a

tree to run behind, and we will be as valiant as you wish, and

shoot down our foes with unerring aim; but we must have cover. We

have been used to it, and we do not understand being without it. I

am sure I well understand the feeling. I should make a good enough

Canadian militiaman, but I should never have the nerve to be a

regular soldier."

Wolfe smiled and made a little bow to his guests.

"I believe, Mesdames, that ladies have a higher courage than men

when the hour of peril really comes. I had the honour to become

acquainted with Madame Drucour at the siege of Louisbourg. I was

told, and can well believe, that it was in great part her heroic

example which inspired the men there to that courage which they

showed, and which gave us such hard work. Courage is by no means

the prerogative of the soldier or of man. The women of the world

have again and again set the loftiest examples of it to those who

come after."

The ladies returned his bow, and drank to his health before they

retired to their tents for the night.

"If we see you within Quebec, Monsieur Wolfe, we shall know how

generous a victor we have to deal with. Madame Drucour has told us

the same; but now we have seen it with our own eyes."

"Pray give my best compliments to Madame Drucour," said Wolfe

earnestly, "and tell her that not the least pleasant element in the

anticipation of getting into Quebec is the thought that in so doing

I shall have the honour and pleasure of renewing acquaintance with

her."

Wolfe was on the strand upon the following morning to see his

captives safely off to Quebec, whilst a flag of truce was hoisted,

and the batteries ceased to fire.

"Farewell, my dear ladies; I hope soon to meet you all again," said

the young General, with playful geniality, as he handed them to

their seats. "If Monsieur de Montcalm will but give me the chance

of coming to conclusions with him, I will do my utmost to bring

this uncomfortable state of affairs to a close."

"Ah, Monsieur, you are very complaisant! but the only way that you

want to take is the capture of our poor city."

"Very true, dear ladies; that is the only end I am willing to

contemplate. And yet, believe me, in desiring this I desire nothing

that shall be for your final discomfiture. I know what the rule of

France is in these parts, and what that of England is also. Believe

me that beneath English government peace and prosperity such as she

has never known before will come to Canada. I believe that the day

will speedily come when you will see this for yourselves."

"I should not wonder," answered the Canadian dame, with a light

laugh; "I am half disposed to think the same myself. His Majesty of

France has not endeared himself to us these many years past. I

should not be broken hearted to see a change of monarch."

The boats pushed off, and Wolfe stood watching them on their way

across the river. His face was grave and thoughtful, and he turned

presently to Fritz with a sigh.

"Poor ladies! I am sorry to send them back to the horrors of the

siege; but it is the only safe place for them.

"And now we must think seriously of our next step. The time is

flying, and we must not let the grass grow under our feet. It is

true what they said last night: we are no nearer taking Quebec than

when we sailed from England months ago. We have frightened and

harassed the foe, but we are not one step nearer the goal."

"And yet we have one ship and several smaller vessels in the upper

river," said Julian; "and where one ship has passed others may do

so."

"Yes; I shall try to bring up other vessels. One never knows what

the chances of war will be. It is well to have the command of the

river both above and below; and if Amherst should form a junction

with us, we may find the fleet above the town of great use. But we

are now at the end of July, and Ticonderoga, though threatened, has

not yet fallen, so far as we know; and even were it to do so

quickly, there will be much for Amherst to do there and at Crown

Point, and a long, long march before he could reach us. We must

face the possibility of having to accomplish this matter with the

forces now at command; and we are in the position now that our camp

is split up into four, and we have no great muster of troops at any

one point. If Montcalm were to make a determined dash at any one of

our camps, he could destroy it before the rest of the army could be

mustered for its defence. Why he does not avail himself of the

chances given him I do not know. But his policy of inaction has its

drawbacks too for us, since I would sooner face him in a pitched

battle than be kept here inactive, waiting upon chances that never

offer."

The army was certainly getting rather weary of this inaction. It

was not idle, for Wolfe's manifesto to the Canadians was now being

enforced. Supplies were wanted for the troops, and the inimical

Canadians were forced to supply them. Indeed, great numbers of

these harassed and undecided inhabitants of the disputed territory

were glad enough to be made prisoners by the English and sent on

board their transports for safety. Their cattle, of course, fell a

prey to the invaders; but they were in so much peril of robbery

from the Indians that this was a small matter. When once within

Wolfe's camp their lives were safe, and no ill treatment was

permitted; and to some of the wretched Canadians this had become a

boon. It was small wonder they were growing sick and weary of the

war, and would have welcomed either nation as conqueror, so that

they could only know again the blessings of peace and safety.

Yet something more definite must be attempted; Wolfe was more and

more determined upon that. It was difficult to know how best to

attack an enemy so strongly intrenched and so well able to repulse

attack; yet his men were burning with ardour, and his own spirit

was hot within him. He sometimes felt as though his feeble body

would not much longer be able to endure the strain put upon it. The

cracked pitcher may go once too often to the well. To die in the

service of his country was what Wolfe desired and expected for

himself; but he wished that death might come to him in the din and

excitement of the battle, and in the hour of victory; not by the

hand of disease, whilst his aim and object was yet unaccomplished.

"We must fight!" he said to Julian, as he took his way back to his

camp at the Montmorency; "we must seek to bring the enemy to close

quarters. We shall fight at terrible disadvantage, I well know; we

shall suffer heavy loss. But I would back a hundred of our brave

fellows against a battalion of Canadian militia. We must try

conclusions with them somehow, and by a concerted attack, both from

Montmorency and from the strand, seek to effect something, even if

it be only to affright and dishearten them."

The soldiers were ready and eager to be allowed a fling at the foe.

They were full of ardour and enthusiasm, for so far every attempt

made had been vigorously and successfully carried out, and they

began to have an idea that Wolfe could not be frustrated in any

scheme of his.

To attack the city itself was obviously impossible under present

conditions, They could never get a footing near those solid walls

and ramparts. But the camp along the Beauport shore was more

vulnerable. If they could effect a landing there, they might rush

one or more of the batteries, and bring about a general engagement.

It was impossible, as it happened, for Wolfe to estimate the full

strength of the French position; but he knew that the task would be

no light one, even though he could not see that there were

batteries upon the heights above.

It was near to the Montmorency that he designed to make the attack.

The shores of the river were, for the most part, very steep here;

but at one place there was at low water a strand of muddy ground

about half a mile wide, protected at the edge by a French redoubt.

From there the ground rose steep and slippery to the higher land

above. If the men could land and take the redoubt, Wolfe had hopes

of bringing men over by the Montmorency ford--the one above the

cataract--and effecting a junction there, and by combining the

actions of these two detachments, succeed in dislodging a portion

of the French army, and effecting a firm foothold upon the north

bank of the St. Lawrence.

It was a rather desperate scheme; but it was received with

enthusiasm by the soldiers and sailors, both of whom would be

needed for the attempt. The vessels and boats for the transport of

the men were quickly made ready, whilst others were told off to

hover about the basin in order to perplex the French, and keep them

ignorant of the real point of attack.

Wolfe himself took up his position in the battleship Centurion,

which anchored near to the Montmorency, and opened fire upon the

redoubts just beyond the strand. Julian was with him, watching

intently, and noting every movement made by enemy or friend. But

Fritz and< Humphrey could not be denied their share in the fight.

They were upon an armed transport that was standing in shore to

further harass and batter the redoubt, and to be left stranded by

the ebb tide, as near to her as might be.

It was at low water that the attack must be made. Boats from Point

Levi were hovering around the strand all the afternoon, sometimes

making for one point, sometimes for another, keeping the French

always on the alert, uncertain and wondering. But Montcalm was too

acute a general to be long deceived. He saw where the real attack

must be made, and there he concentrated his chief force. Had Wolfe

been able to see how his batteries could sweep with a crossfire the

whole of the steep ascent from the redoubt to the heights above,

where the men from the Montmorency camp might be able to join with

them, he might have withheld his men from the bold attack. And yet

English soldiers have won the victory even against such odds as

these!

He stood in a commanding place upon the ship, and his eyes

anxiously scanned the scene. The hot sun had gone in now beneath

banks of heavy cloud. A few splashes of rain seemed to herald an

approaching storm; there was a rumble as of thunder away to the

right.

The tide was out; the bank of mud lay bare. Wolfe gave a long look

round him and waved his hand.

It was the signal waited for. The moment after, the Centurion's

guns opened their iron mouths, and a storm of shot rattled around

the redoubt. The batteries from the Montmorency blazed forth, and

so did the more distant ones from Point Levi. The fire of all three

was concentrated upon the redoubts and batteries and forces at this

portion of the Beauport camp; and the French gave answer back from

their well-placed batteries.

Under cover of this heavy fire the boats rowed to shore, and the

men in waiting upon the stranded transports leaped out and joined

their comrades. The grenadiers were the first to land; and though

Moncton's brigade and Fraser's Highlanders were close behind, the

eagerness of the men could not be restrained. They did not wait for

their companions; they did not even wait to form up in very orderly

fashion themselves. They made a gallant dash upon the redoubt, and

so strong was the onrush that the French, after a very brief

resistance, fled; and with a shout and cheer of triumph the English

gained their prize.

Julian, standing beside Wolfe on the vessel, could not refrain from

a shout of triumph; but the face of the General was grave and

stern.

"They are wrong--they are wrong!" he said; "they are too impetuous.

Their rash gallantry will cost them dear. See, they are not even

waiting now for their companions to join them; they are trying to

rush the heights alone! Folly--madness! They will lose everything

by such rashness! There! did I not say so?"

At that moment the batteries on the brink of the height opened

their murderous crossfire. The men were mown down like grass before

the scythe; but so full were they of fury and desire of victory

that they heeded nothing, and pressed onward and upward, as though

resolved to carry everything before them.

Had they been able to see the heights above, they would have noted

that across the ford above the Montmorency a compact body of men

was passing in perfect order, to fall upon the French from behind,

and effect a junction with them. But at that moment, whilst the

fortunes of the day seemed hanging in the balance, the very

floodgates of heaven seemed to open, and a deluge of rain

descended, whilst the blackness of a terrific thunderstorm fell

upon the combatants.

The slippery grass no longer gave foothold, and the men rolled down

the steep heights--dead, wounded, and unhurt in one medley. The

ammunition grew soaked, and the guns refused their task. The glare

of the lightning lit up a scene of utter confusion.

Wolfe saw all, standing with grave face and stern, watchful eyes.

At last he spoke.

"Sound the retreat," he said, and then bit his lip; and Julian, by

a glance into his face, knew what it had cost him to speak those

words.

The retreat was made in good order, and was distinguished by a few

acts of personal gallantry; for the Indians swooped down, as they

always did when they saw their chance, to scalp the wounded and the

dead. Soldiers risked their lives to save their fallen comrades

from this fate, dragging the wounded with them, at risk of their

own lives. The guns of the captured redoubt did some service in

beating off the savages; and the boats were launched once more,

though their load was a far lighter one than when they had brought

up their eager crews an hour before. The strand and the height

above were covered with the dead who had paid for their rash

gallantry with their lives. It was a scene upon which Wolfe's eyes

dwelt with sadness and pain, as he ordered a boat to be got ready

for him, that he might address the men on their return to quarters.

It was with stern words that Wolfe met his soldiers. He was not a

man to condone a lack of discipline because it had been coupled

with personal bravery.

"Do you grenadiers suppose that you can beat the French

single-handed?" he asked, eying the thinned ranks with stern

displeasure in his eyes. "Such impetuous, irregular, and

unsoldierlike proceedings as those witnessed today destroy all

order, and make it impossible for a commander to form any

disposition for an attack, and put it out of the General's power to

execute his plans. The death of those five hundred brave men who

lie on the strand yonder is due, in the main, to your rashness and

insubordination."

The men were shamefaced and contrite. They recognized their error,

and were the more grieved inasmuch as they saw how the check had

affected their brave young General. They heard, too, that the

French were full of triumphant rejoicings; that they declared this

repulse to be the end of the English attempt upon Quebec. They

looked upon the game as already in their hands; and although the

English were fond of declaring that but for the storm they would

yet have won the heights, and with the aid of their other

contingent have routed the French gunners and got a footing there,

they knew that, as facts were now, they had rather suffered than

benefited by the action, for it had put fresh hope into the hearts

of their foes; and it was possible that the disappointment had

something to do with the access of violent illness and suffering

which at this juncture prostrated their General.

Wolfe was indeed dangerously ill. He had long been putting the

strongest pressure upon himself, and Julian had been struck upon

the day of the assault with the look of suffering upon his worn

face. He kept up during the next few days, but looked so ghastly

that his friends were deeply concerned; and Julian, together with

Fritz and Humphrey, scoured the neighbourhood in order to find a

place of greater comfort where their commander could lie. Presently

they came upon a little farmhouse near to the camp at Montmorency,

sheltered from the wind, and pleasantly situated. It had been

deserted by its occupants, who had, however, left behind furniture

enough to enable them to get one room at least fit for the

habitation of the sufferer. And none too soon.

That very day Wolfe, after trying to make a survey of the lines,

was found in his tent half fainting with pain. He looked up at

Julian with heavy eyes, and stretching out his hand to him, he

said:

"I fear me I shall never live to enter Quebec. I have fought till I

can fight no more. Take me somewhere that I can rest. I can do no

more--yet."

They took him to the little farmhouse, and laid him upon the bed

they had prepared. The doctors came, and looked grave; for the

fever was high, the suffering keen, and the wasted frame seemed

little able to withstand the ravages of disease. Yet never a murmur

passed his lips; and when there came intervals of comparative ease,

he would ask of those about him how affairs without were

proceeding, giving orders from time to time with all his old acumen

and force, and never forgetting to inquire for the wounded who had

been brought off from the ill-starred assault, and had been given

the best quarters which the camp afforded. He had never any pity

for himself, but always plenty to spare for others.

Great gloom hung over the camp. Not only were the soldiers

depressed by their repulse, and by the apparent impossibility of

getting into the city, but they were in fear and trembling lest

they should also lose their brave General.

"If Wolfe goes, hope goes," was a common saying in the camp. They

seemed to know by intuition that with him would expire all hope of

achieving an almost impossible victory.

Fritz and Julian nursed the sick man; and never were nurses more

skilful and tender. Humphrey constituted himself messenger and

forager, bringing everything he could get that the invalid was

likely to need, and keeping them informed of everything that went

on at the different camps.

Other vessels had passed the guns of Quebec. Scouts from the

interior reported disaffection toward the French cause all through

Canada. English soldiers were carrying the terror of the British

arms through large tracts of country. The French were becoming

anxious and dispirited.

So much they learned during those days of waiting; but they could

rejoice but little whilst Wolfe lay low, racked with pain which no

medicine could alleviate, and in danger of sinking through the

wearing exhaustion which followed.

"How will it end? how will it end?" spoke Fritz to himself one day

late in August, as he stepped outside the house to obtain a breath

of air. The next moment he gave a great start, and held out his

hands in a gesture of amazement,

"What--who--how--is it a ghost I see?"

A hearty laugh was the answer, and his hands were gripped in a

clasp that was very certainly one of flesh and blood, to say

nothing of bone and muscle.

"Ghost indeed! Nay, Fritz, you know better than that! It is John

Stark himself, come to fulfil his promise, and to bring to General

Wolfe the news that Ticonderoga has fallen!"

Chapter 3: A Daring Design.

Ticonderoga fallen! The news was like new wine in the veins of

Wolfe. Ill as he was, he insisted that Stark should be brought to

his bedside, and he eagerly entreated the bold Ranger to tell him

the whole story.

"There is not so much to tell as there might be," said Stark, "for

the French made no fight, either at Ticonderoga or at Crown Point.

We came with a gallant array against their fortresses, only to find

that the enemy had evacuated them. They tried to blow up

Ticonderoga before they left; but only one bastion was destroyed.

Crown Point was deserted without a blow being struck. I waited for

that, and then made good my word. I said I would be the first to

take the news of the fall of Ticonderoga to General Wolfe at

Quebec."

Wolfe's eyes were shining with excitement.

"Then is General Amherst on his way here with his army?" he asked

eagerly.

Stark shook his head.

"Alas, no! there is still much work to be done. If the French have

abandoned these two forts, it is only that they may concentrate all

their strength at Isle-aux-Noix, where the General must now attack

them. And to do this he must build a brigantine and other vessels;

and though there is a sawmill at Ticonderoga, the work will still

take somewhat long to accomplish. I fear that many weeks will

elapse before he can advance; and meantime--"

He paused, for he scarce knew how to conclude the sentence. He had

heard as he passed through the camp towards Wolfe's quarters that

the outlook was not altogether a bright one, despite the fact that

success had crowned many of the enterprises hitherto undertaken.

Wolfe took up the unfinished sentence and spoke.

"Meantime the winter gales will be threatening us, and if the walls

of Quebec still shut us out, we may be forced to sail to England

with our task yet uncompleted, or to take up our winter quarters in

one of the islands, and wait for better things next spring. Was

that the thought in your mind, John Stark?"

"In truth, sir, as I came along and surveyed the position of the

notable city of Quebec, it seemed to me that it would be a hard

task to bring it to surrender; but then we all know that General

Wolfe can accomplish the impossible if any man can."

A slight smile crossed Wolfe's worn face.

"I look like a man to perform the impossible, don't I, good Stark?"

he said; and the Ranger's eyes filled with pitiful sympathy as he

made answer:

"Indeed, sir, I grieve to find you so; and yet men say that Wolfe

sick is better than half a dozen other generals in full health and

strength. Believe me, we have faith in you, and believe that you

will win the day even single handed, though all the world should

look on in scornful amaze, and say that you had set yourself the

impossible."

Wolfe's eyes flashed. A flush rose for a moment in his pale cheek.

Julian saw that such words as these moved him and braced his spirit

like a tonic. He was half afraid lest it should be too much

excitement, and he signed to Fritz to take Stark away.

"But I will see him again anon," said Wolfe; "I must hear more of

these things. Let him be fed and well looked to, and presently I

will ask him to come to me again."

And when the two had left him, Wolfe turned to Julian and said:

"I see now that I have nothing to hope for in a junction with

Amherst. He will have his hands full till the close of the season.

If Quebec is to be taken, we must take it ourselves, unaided from

without. I think I would rather die out here, and leave this

carcass of mine in a Canadian grave, than return to England with

the news that Quebec still holds out against the English flag!"

"Nay, say not so," answered Julian earnestly, "for the greatest

general may be baffled at some point. And think of your

mother--and--Miss Lowther!"

A softer look came into Wolfe's eyes. Upon his lips there hovered a

slight, strange smile. Instinctively his hand sought for something

beneath his pillow. Julian well knew what it was: a case containing

miniature portraits of the two beings he loved best in the

world--his mother, and the fair girl who had promised to become his

wife.

He did not open it, but he held it in his hand, and spoke with a

dreamy softness of intonation.

"There be times when I think that men of war should have no mothers

or sisters or lovers," he said. "We leave so sad a heritage behind

for them so oft. And we are not worth the sacred tears that they

shed over us when we fall."

"And yet I think they would scarce be without those sacred memories

to cherish," answered Julian, thinking of Mrs. Wolfe's idolization

of her son, and of Kate Lowther's bright eyes, overflowing with

loving admiration. "But why speak you so, as though you would see

them no more? Your health is slowly mending now, and you have been

through perils and dangers before now, and have come safe out of

them."

"That is true," answered Wolfe thoughtfully; "and yet a voice in my

heart seems to tell me that I shall see those loved faces no more.

It may be but the fantasy of a troubled and fevered brain; but in

dreams I have seen them, tears in their eyes, weeping for one

unworthy of such grief, who lies in a far-off grave beneath the

frowning battlements of yon great city. I wonder ofttimes whether

we are given to know something of that which is about to befall;

for in my heart a voice has spoken, and that voice has said that

Quebec shall be ours, but that these eyes shall never see what lies

within the ramparts, for they will be sealed in death before that

hour shall arrive."

Julian had no reply ready; he knew not what to say. It did indeed

seem little likely that that frail form could survive the perils

and hardships of this great siege, should it be prosecuted to the

end, and should some daring assault be successfully made against

the impregnable city.

From the day upon which Stark arrived in the camp at Montmorency with

the news from Ticonderoga Wolfe began to mend. It seemed as though

the certainty that the English arms were prevailing in the west,

though no help could be looked for this season from Amherst, combined

to put a sort of new vigour and resolution into the heart of the

dauntless young General. If anything were to be accomplished, he

must now do it by his own unaided efforts; and since August was

well nigh past, if he were to act at all it must be soon, or the

winter storms might come sweeping down, and render his position

untenable.

He had had plenty of time whilst lying helpless in bed to think out

various plans of attack upon the city. Each one seemed desperate

and hopeless, whether, as before, the assault were made by means of

boats along the Beauport shore, or by crossing the upper ford above

Montmorency and fetching a compass behind the French position, or

by storming the lower town, now almost in ruins, for it was

commanded by the batteries in the citadel and upper town. In fact,

the French position was so strong everywhere that it was difficult

to see how any enterprise could possibly prove successful.

In his hours of comparative ease Wolfe had thought out, and Julian

had written out at his dictation, a sketch of one or two

alternative plans for attack, which he sent in the form of a letter

to the Brigadiers commanding the various detachments of the army,

asking them to take counsel together over them, and to meet at the

farmhouse as soon as he was well enough to see them, and let them

discuss the matter together. All Wolfe's projects were for attack

from the lower river; for lying ill and helpless as he was, he had

hardly realized what had been going steadily on ever since that

first successful attempt to get shipping past the town guns and

into the upper reach of the St. Lawrence. Every time there was a

suitable night, with a favouring wind, vessels had run the gauntlet

of the batteries, always covered by a heavy fire from Point Levi;

and now quite a fleet of warships, frigates, and transports lay in

the reach above the town, whilst Montcalm had had to weaken his

camp at Beauport to watch the heights there. For though these were

steep and rugged and inaccessible, it would not do to leave them

unguarded.

When the Brigadiers met in the old farmhouse, Wolfe was up and

dressed for almost the first time, looking gaunt and haggard, his

face lined with pain and care, but full of calm and steadfast

purpose, and with a mind as clear as ever. He was touched by the

warm greetings of his officers, and by their tales as to the

enthusiastic delight in the ranks at the news that their General

was better.

The army was animated by a spirit of great courage and confidence.

The news from Ticonderoga had done good. This had been followed by

tidings of the capture of the Niagara fort. Even though Amherst

could not coalesce with them, they were feeling that English arms

were everywhere invincible, and that even Quebec would not long

stand against them. It would be the greater glory to vanquish it

single-handed; and had they not Wolfe to lead them?

Wolfe could not but smile as he heard this, and then the discussion

began. The Brigadiers had read his alternative proposals; but they

had another to lay before him which they thought more likely of

success. This was to make the real attack above the town,

transporting men and munitions by means of their ships now lying in

the upper reach, and seeking to obtain a footing upon the heights,

from whence they might bombard the upper city, or even carry it by

an impetuous assault.

"We can make a feint of attacking at Beauport, to keep the Marquis

upon the alert there, and his troops from being detached to the

defence of the heights. But let our real assault be on that side,"

advised Moncton, whose position at Point Levi gave him considerable

knowledge of affairs upon the upper river. "It is true that the

heights are watched and guarded, but the force there is not large.

They trust to the nature of the ground, which is inhospitable to

the last degree, to hinder any attempt at landing. And our vessels

in the river below are leading poor Bougainville a fine dance up

and down the banks. He has some twenty miles to protect with less

than two thousand men--so far as we can learn--and Admiral Holmes,

who commands the fleet, takes care that he shall have no rest night

or day. The men begin to know the ground; they are full of desire

for the attack. It sounds desperate, we are well aware; but then so

do all the plans. Yet if we are to make one great dash upon Quebec

before we give up the hope of taking it this season, we must

attempt the apparently impossible!"

Into Wolfe's eyes had sprung the battle light. Desperate it might

be to scale almost perpendicular cliffs and plant batteries on the

top whilst exposed to the fire of a sleepless enemy there, who

could send for reinforcements by thousands when once aware of the

threatened peril. And yet now that he knew his strength in the

upper river, and the wishes of his officers, he hesitated not one

instant.

"It shall be tried," he said, "and it shall be tried quickly. The

issues of life and death, of battle and victory, are in higher

hands than ours. It is for us to do our utmost to brave all. We can

do no more, but we can do that!"

The meeting broke up. The Brigadiers went back to their respective

stations to announce the decision and to make preparation. Eager

enthusiasm prevailed throughout the ranks of the army, and the

question in all mouths was, would the General be fit to lead them

in person.

This was Wolfe's own great anxiety. His physician shook his head,

but received this characteristic admonition:

"I know perfectly well you cannot cure me; but pray make me up so

that I may be free from unbearable pain for a few days, able to do

my duty by my brave soldiers, That is all I ask or want."

As soon as ever he was able, Wolfe visited the Admirals on their

ships and discussed his plan with them. They were all becoming

rather anxious at the lateness of the season, and were thinking of

moving away. But they consented to remain till this attempt should

be made; Wolfe, on his part, agreeing that if it failed he must

abandon the hope of reducing Quebec this season, and not expose his

soldiers to the needless hardships of a winter in these inclement

latitudes,

As it was, there was a good deal of sickness amongst the men, and

the number of able-bodied soldiers was considerably reduced. Wolfe

visited those in hospital, and spoke kind and cheering words to

them. He knew what it was to be laid aside from active service, and

how hard inactivity was when there was work to be done.

The camp on the Montmorency was broken up first. Wolfe wanted his

soldiers elsewhere, and he thought it no bad move to take this

step, as the French would probably think it the first move in the

evacuation of the whole position. Montcalm, indeed, would have

fallen upon them in the rear and inflicted heavy damage, if Moncton

at Point Levi had not seen the danger, and sent a number of men in

boats to make a feint of attacking Beauport; upon which the troops

were hastily recalled.

All was activity and secret industry in the English lines, A whole

fleet of baggage boats was laden and smuggled past the town guns

into the upper river; more craft followed, till quite an armament

lay in that wider reach above; and yet the French were not

permitted to have any exact notion as to what was to be done, nor

that any serious attack was meditated in that direction.

Wolfe himself was taken up the river in one of the vessels. He was

still weak and suffering, but he could no longer give any thought

to his own condition.

"I can rest when the battle is fought," he said to Julian, who

would fain have bidden him spare himself more; and it seemed to his

friend as though there were more in those words than met the ear.

News was daily brought in of the strength of the French position.

Montcalm, very uneasy at the action of the English fleet, sent as

many reinforcements as he could spare to man the heights and gorges

of the upper river. Batteries were planted, and every step taken to

guard against the danger of attack. Rain and wind hindered the

English from putting their plan into immediate execution, and the

men suffered a good deal from close crowding on the transports, and

from various brushes with the enemy which enlivened the monotony of

those days of waiting.

Wolfe's eyes were everywhere. He was in the Admiral's vessel, and

although sometimes hardly able to drag himself upon deck, he would

note with all his old keenness every nook and cranny in the

precipitous shores, every movement of the enemy, every natural

advantage which could possibly be made use of in his attempt.

All this time the ships were drifting to and fro with the tide from

the basin of the upper river, just above Quebec itself, right away

to Cap Rouge, where the French had their headquarters, and were

always ready for an assault. This action on the part of the ships

was a very politic one, for it kept the French troops ceaselessly

upon the march and the watch, wearing them out with fatigue; whilst

the English soldiers on board their vessels were at their ease,

save that they were rather uncomfortably crowded.

The long delay was over at last. The weather had improved; Wolfe

had made up his mind as to every detail of the attack; the troops

at Point Levi and on the Isle of Orleans had been instructed as to

the parts they were to play in drawing off the enemy's attention

from the real point of attack.

"I should like to address the men once more," said Wolfe to Julian,

upon a still September morning. "I should like them to take one

last charge from my own lips; perhaps it may be the last I shall

ever give them!"

For Wolfe seemed to have upon his spirit the presentiment of coming

doom. He looked round upon the eager, expectant faces, and his own

kindled with a loving enthusiasm. He had loved these men, and they

loved him. The sight of his tall, gaunt form and thin, white face

evoked cheer after cheer from soldiers and sailors alike. He had to

wait till the tumult subsided before he could speak, and then his

voice rang out clear and trumpet-like as he briefly described to

the listening host the position of affairs and what was expected of

them.

"The enemy's force is now divided, great scarcity prevails in their

camp, and universal discontent among the Canadians. Our troops

below are in readiness to join us, all the light artillery and

tools are embarked at Point Levi, and the troops will land where

the French seem least to expect it. The first body that gets on

shore is to march directly to the enemy and drive them from any

little post they may occupy; the officers must be careful that the

succeeding bodies do not by any mistake fire on those who go before

them. The battalions must form on the upper ground with expedition,

and be ready to charge whatever presents itself. When the artillery

and troops are landed, a corps will be left to secure the landing

place while the rest march on and endeavour to bring the Canadians

and French to a battle. The officers and men will remember what

their country expects of them, and what a determined body of

soldiers, inured to war, is capable of doing against five weak

French battalions mingled with a disorderly peasantry."

Cheer after cheer rent the air as these words were heard. The

enthusiasm of the men had suffered no diminution during the days of

waiting. They loved their General; they respected and admired their

officers. They were full of eagerness to find themselves at last

face to face with the foe. They knew that upon the issue of this

enterprise hung the whole fate of the long campaign. If they failed

in their design, they must return to England with a story of

failure so far as Quebec was concerned; and no one would understand

the full difficulties of the situation, or appreciate all the solid

work that had already been accomplished towards the attainment of

that object.

Everything that could be done had been done. Admiral Saunders, in the

Basin of Quebec, was deceiving Montcalm by preparations which

convinced that General that the real point of attack was to be along

the Beauport shore, where he therefore massed his troops in readiness;

whilst Admiral Holmes, with his bateaux and flat-bottomed troop boats,

was deluding Bougainville with the notion that his camp at Cap Rouge

was to be the immediate object of the English assault. But all the

while Wolfe and a few of his officers--only a few--were in the secret

of the real basis of action; though the men knew that all was decided

upon, and that they would be led with consummate skill and address.

In the grey of the morning, Julian, too excited to sleep, heard the

soft plash of oars alongside the Sutherland, and raising his head

to look over the bulwarks, he heard his name pronounced in a

familiar voice.

"Humphrey, is that you?"

"Yes," he answered. "I have gleaned some news. I want to impart it

to the General."

Wolfe was lying on deck looking up at the quiet stars overhead,

worn out with the long strain, yet free from acute pain, and

thankful for the boon. He heard the words, and sat up.

"Bring him to me," he ordered; "I will hear his report."

The next minute Humphrey was on deck and beside him. Humphrey was

often employed to carry messages from ship to ship. He had built

himself a light, strong canoe; and could shoot through the water

almost like an Indian. He stood beside Wolfe's couch and told his

tale.

"I went up to the French camp as close as possible. I heard there

that some boatloads of provisions were to be sent down tonight upon

the ebb to Montcalm's camp. They have done this before, and will do

it again. Later on I came upon two Canadians, seeking to escape

from the French camp. I took them across to our vessels for safety.

They confirmed what I had overheard. Boats laden with provision

will be passing the French sentries along the coast tonight. If our

boats go down in advance of these, they may do so almost

unchallenged."

Wolfe's eyes brightened before he had heard the last word. He

instantly perceived the advantage which might accrue to them from

this piece of information luckily hit upon. He grasped Humphrey's

hand in a warm clasp, and said:

"You bring good news, comrade. I think the star of England is about

to rise upon this land. Go now and rest yourself; but be near to me

in the time of struggle. You are a swift and trusty messenger. It

is such as you"--and his eyes sought Julian and Fritz, who were

both alert and awake--"that I desire to have about me in the hour

of final struggle."

Then, when Humphrey had gone below with Fritz, Wolfe turned to

Julian and said, speaking slowly and dreamily:

"There is something I would say to you, my friend. I have a strange

feeling that the close of my life is at hand--that I shall not live

to see the fruit of my toil; though to die in battle--in the hour,

if it may be, of victory--has been ever the summit of my hopes and

ambition. Something tells me that I shall gain the object of my

hope tomorrow, or today perchance. I have one charge to give you,

Julian, if that thing should come to pass."

Julian bit his lip; he could not speak. He was aware of the

presentiment which hung upon Wolfe's spirit, but he had fought

against it might and main.

The, soldier placed his hand within the breast of his coat, and

detached and drew out that miniature case containing the likeness

of his mother and his betrothed. He opened it once, looked long in

the dim light at both loved faces, and pressed his lips to each in

turn.

"If I should fall," he said, "give it to Kate; I think she will

like to have it. Tell her I wore it upon my heart till the last. I

would not have it shattered by shot and shell. Give it her with my

dying blessing and love, and tell her that my last prayer will be

for her happiness. She must not grieve too much for me, or let her

life be shadowed. I am happy in having known her love. I desire

that happiness shall be her portion in life. Tell her that when you

give her that case."

He closed it and placed it in Julian's hands, and spoke no more;

though throughout that day of preparation and thought a gentle

quietude of manner possessed him, and struck all with whom he came

in contact.

Even when at last all was in readiness and the General in one of

the foremost boats was drifting silently down the dark river, with

the solemn stars overhead, it was not of battles or deeds of daring

that he spoke with those about him. After the silence of deep

tension his melodious voice was heard speaking words that fell

strangely on the ears of the officers clustered about him.

"The curlew tolls the knell of parting day" spoke that voice; and

in the deep hush of night the whole of that "Elegy" was softly

rehearsed in a strangely impressive manner, a thrill running

through many at the words:

"The paths of glory lead but to the grave."

When the recitation was over there was a long, deep silence, broken

at last by Wolfe himself, who said:

"Gentlemen, I would rather have written that poem than take

Quebec!"

Chapter 4: In The Hour Of Victory.

"Qui vive?"

It was the French sentry upon the shore, as the boats glided slowly

by in the darkness. Julian was waiting for the challenge, and was

ready with the answer.

"France!"

"A quel regiment?" came the voice again.

"De la Reine," answered Julian, who had not spoken in vain with the

deserting Canadians, and knew a good deal about Bougainville's

camp. Then afraid of being asked the password, he hastily added,

still speaking French, "Have a care; the English will hear us! The

provision boats from the camp!"

That hint was enough. The sentry knew that provision boats were

expected, and that English vessels were anchored not far off. He

let the fleet of English boats pass by in the darkness.

The strong current swept them along. Now they had reached the

appointed place--passed it, indeed before they could get out of the

current; but there was a narrow strand, wide enough for

disembarkation, and the band of picked men who had volunteered for

the task were already out, preparing to scale the lofty heights and

see what lay beyond.

Up they went in the close darkness of the autumn night, the

four-and-twenty selected men leading the way, closely followed by a

larger band of comrades. No word was spoken, no cry was raised. The

tense excitement of the moment seemed to preclude any such

demonstration. It was believed that at this point there would be

little resistance. There was no sentry on the shore, and no

appearance of any camp along the top. It was believed that the

French officer Vergor, with a small detachment of troops, was

somewhere in the vicinity; but the renown of that worthy was not

such as to check the ardour of the English troops.

Wolfe remained below, silent and motionless. His hands were locked

together, and his pale face upturned towards the towering heights

above. The gurgle and plash of the river was in his ears, mingled

with those other sounds--the sounds of scrambling as his soldiers

made their way up the rugged heights in the uncertain light of the

waning stars. It was a moment never to be forgotten in his life.

The presentiment of coming death was forgotten--everything was

forgotten but the wild, strong hope of victory; and when from the

top of the gorge there came at last the ring of a British cheer,

the sound of brisk musket firing, and then another ringing shout as

of triumph, the blood rushed into his white face, and he sprang

from the boat on to the strand, exclaiming:

"They have won the foothold. Form up, men, and follow. We have

England's honour in our keeping this day. Never let her say we

failed her at the moment of greatest need."

It was a precipitous gorge up the sides of which the men had to

climb. Julian looked anxiously up it and then at Wolfe, and said:

"It is too steep; do not try it. Let me find an easier path for you

if I can."

He smiled as he scanned the sides of the gorge.

"I doubt if I shall get up," he answered; "but I mean to try."

And so strong was the resolution which inspired him that he found

strength to drag himself up the steep declivity, with only a little

assistance from Julian; and found himself, with the first breaking

of the dawn, breathless, giddy, exhausted, upon the summit of those

Heights of Abraham which today he was to make famous.

Instantly he took the command of the situation. Cannon were heard

opening fire close on the left. It was the battery of Samos firing

upon the English boats in the rear, now just visible in the

broadening daylight.

"Silence that battery!" said Wolfe to an officer whose men were

just forming up.

Their response was a cheer, as they moved away in orderly array;

and when the distant battery of Sillary opened its mouth and

uttered its menacing roar, there was another battalion ready to

start off to capture and silence it. Soon the great guns uttered

their voices no more. The English were masters of the coveted

heights, and still their troops continued to land and clamber up to

join their comrades upon the top.

The hearts of the soldiers beat high with pride and joy; but the

face of Wolfe was inscrutable as he stood surveying the plain which

formed a sort of tableland on the western side of the city of

Quebec.

The town itself he could not see, though he knew where it lay, and

how beyond it extended the camp of Beauport, from which Montcalm

could march battalion after battalion to meet him in battle. He

knew, too, that behind him lay Bougainville and his thousands, who,

by joining in a concentrated action with Montcalm, could hem him in

between two fires, and cut his gallant little army to pieces. He

realized all this right well, if others did not, and knew that

victory or death--even annihilation--lay before them. And knowing

this, he made his survey of the place with a concentrated

attention, and issued his orders without hesitation or delay.

The grassy plain was pretty level. Quebec bounded it on the east,

the precipices on the St. Lawrence on the south, the declivities to

the basin of the St. Charles on the north. In one place the

plain--called the Plains of Abraham, from the old settler who once

made a home there--was little more than a mile wide. When Wolfe

reached it, he halted, and after a careful survey said:

"This will be the place to make our stand. Here we will meet our

foe in battle. Fight they must now; and if heaven will grant us the

victory, let the praise and glory of the day be to God above. If He

think well to withhold His countenance from us, let us sell our

lives as dearly as may be, and die sword in hand, with our face to

the foe!"

Then the orders were issued. The brigades and battalions were

marshalled into position. The Brigadiers received their orders from

their young General, and took up the positions allotted to them.

Each of them grasped him by the hand before quitting his side. To

each one he spoke a word of praise for his gallantry during the

tedious campaign, and of thanks for the personal friendship shown

to one who felt so unworthy of it, having been so often a care and

a trouble instead of a source of strength to those about him.

Julian stood near, a strange mistiness before his eyes; and as

Fritz turned away to take up his position at the head of his men,

he said in a husky voice to his friend:

"You will stay beside him and guard him from ill. I know not why,

but my heart is full of misgiving. Quebec will be dearly won if it

lose us the gallant Wolfe!"

"He will not think so," said Julian. "And his life has been so full

of trouble and pain. I think few know how he has suffered. Perhaps

there is some truth in the old heathen saying, 'Those whom the gods

love die young.' Perhaps it has a better fulfilment and

significance now that the Light has come into the world, and that

there is no sting now in death."

They pressed each other by the hand, and Fritz swung away. It was a

moment of deep though suppressed emotion. Both men knew that they

might have looked their last upon the face of the other, and after

many years of close and brother-like companionship such partings

cannot be without their thrill of pain and wonder.

"Why must these things be?" spoke Julian, beneath his breath. "Why

must men stand up to kill and be killed? How long will it be before

the reign of the Prince of Peace, when all these things shall be

done away?"

Light showers were scudding over the landscape, sometimes blotting

out the view, sometimes illumined by shafts of golden sunlight,

which gave a curious glory to the scene. The battle was set in

array. Every disposition which military genius could suggest had

been made to avoid surprise or outflanking or any other peril.

Puffs of smoke from over the plains denoted the presence of

ambushed Indians or Canadians, and skirmishers were scouring hither

and thither to dislodge any parties who approached unpleasantly

near.

The soldiers were bidden to lie down, to be safer from accident,

and to rest themselves in preparation for what was coming. The main

body of the army was quiet, but to the left, where some woods and

houses gave cover to the enemy, the fire be came galling, and some

light infantry were sent out to make an end of the foes there, to

take and burn the houses and scatter the marksmen.

This was successfully done, and again there was quiet. Wolfe, who

seemed to be everywhere at once, went round the field once again,

cheered lustily wherever he appeared; grave, watchful, with the air

of a man who knows that the crisis of his life is at hand, and that

upon the issue of the day hang results greater than he can reckon

or comprehend.

It was about ten in the morning before his quick eye saw signs that

the enemy was at last advancing to take up the gage of battle so

gallantly thrown down. Hitherto the French had succeeded in

avoiding a pitched encounter with their foe; now they must fight,

or have their city hopelessly cut off from the basis of their

supplies. Wolfe knew that at last the hour had come, and his pale

face flushed with a strange exultation as he saw the first white

lines advancing towards him.

"At last!" he exclaimed--"at last! We have waited many months for

this moment; now that it has come, pray Heaven we may strike a blow

for England's honour which France shall never forget!"

Julian's attention was distracted by the sight of a little knot of

men coming slowly towards the rear, where the surgeons were

stationed to care for the wounded, who were to be carried there

when possible.

"It is Fritz!" he exclaimed; "he has been wounded!"

Wolfe uttered an expression of concern, and stepped forward to

inquire. It had been the regiment in command of Fritz which had

been sent to silence the sharpshooters in the farms and copses.

John Stark had gone with him, their former life as Rangers having

well qualified them for this species of warfare. Fritz was now

being led back, white and bloody, one ball having lodged in his

shoulder, and another in his foot. He walked with difficulty,

supported by two of his men.

"I am grieved to see you so!" cried Wolfe, with the ready concern

he showed in any sufferings not his own.

"It is naught," answered Fritz, faintly but cheerfully; "I would

care no whit but that it will keep me from the fight.

"I have left John Stark in command, sir," he added to the General;

"the men are perfectly steady when he directs their movements."

Wolfe nodded. He knew the intrepidity and cool courage of the

Ranger. There would be no blundering where Stark held the command.

"Care for your patient well," said the young General to a surgeon

who came hurrying up at the moment; "Captain Neville is too good a

soldier and officer for us to lose."

Then turning to Humphrey, who was acting in the capacity of

aide-de-camp, he said in a quick undertone:

"If anything should happen to me in the battle, let Brigadier

Moncton know that I recommend Captain Neville for promotion."

Then he turned his attention towards the oncoming tide of battle,

knowing that the great crisis for which he had been waiting all

these long months was now upon him.

The French were forming up along the opposite ridge, which hid the

city from view. Wolfe took in their disposition at a glance, and a

grim smile formed itself upon his lips. He saw that though the

centre of the three bodies forming up into order was composed

entirely of regular troops, both flanks were regulars intermixed

with Canadians; and for the Canadian militia in the open he had an

unbounded contempt. Moreover, he noted that instead of waiting

until they were in good and compact order, they began almost

immediately to advance, and that without any of the method and

precision so necessary in an attack upon a well-posted and

stationary foe.

He passed along the word of command to his own officers,

instructing them how to act, and stood watching with the breathless

intensity of a man who knows that the crisis of a mighty destiny is

at hand.

The moment the French soldiers got within range they commenced to

fire; not as one man, in a crashing volley, but wildly,

irregularly, excitedly, uttering cries and shouts the while--a

trick caught from their Indian allies, who used noise as one of

their most effective weapons.

"Bah!" cried Wolfe, with a sudden exclamation of mingled contempt

and amusement; "look there! Saw you ever such soldiers as these?"

Those about him looked, and a hoarse laugh broke from them, and

seemed to run along the ranks of immovable red-coats drawn up like

a wall, and coolly reserving their fire.

The gust of laughter was called forth by the action of the Canadian

recruits, who, immediately upon discharging their pieces, flung

themselves down upon the ground to reload, throwing their

companions into the utmost confusion, as it was almost impossible

to continue marching without trampling upon their prostrate

figures.

"I would sooner trust my whole fate to one company of regulars,"

exclaimed Wolfe, "than attempt to fight with such soldiers as

these! They are fit only for their native forests; and were I in

command, back they should go there, quick march."

Yet still the oncoming mass of French approached, the dropping fire

never ceasing. Nearer and nearer they came, and now were not fifty

paces distant from the English lines.

"Crash!"

It was not like a volley of musketry; it was like a cannon shot.

The absolute precision with which it was delivered showed the

perfect steadiness and nerve of the men. Upon Wolfe's face might be

seen a smile of approbation and pride. This was the way English

soldiers met the foe; this was the spirit in which victory was won.

Another crash, almost as accurate as the first, and a few minutes

of deafening clattering fire; a pause, in which nothing could be

seen but rolling clouds of smoke; and then?