"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.