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      THAT evening Lieut. Bowersox sent a telegram to Deacon Klegg. It had to be strictly limited to 10 words, and read:

      But Landor was not aware that there was any. "Cairness is a very decent sort of a fellow," he said[Pg 108] good-humoredly. "And, personally, I am indebted to him for having saved Mrs. Landor's life up Black River way."

      But it was full two hours, in the end, before they did start. Flasks had to be replenished, farewell drinks taken, wives and families parted from, the last behests made, of those going upon an errand of death. Citizens burning with ardor to protect their hearths and stock were routed out of saloons and dance halls, only to slip away again upon one pretext or another.

      When Montcalm was informed of this wonderful feat, he thought it merely some new feint to draw him from his lines; but when he had ascertained with his own eyes the truth, he said, "I see them, indeed, where they ought not to be; but, as we must fight, I shall crush them." He immediately led his troops over the bridge of the St. Charles, and up to the eminence above the town. There he found the English already advanced in order of battle to within cannon-shot of Quebec. Wolfe had drawn them up with much judgment. His left wing was formed in what military men call en potencethat is, facing two ways, so as to guard against being outflanked. In this wing, too, he had placed a regiment of Highlanders, one of those which Pitt had formed, and which had already shown its bravery. His right, extending towards the St. Lawrence, had in the van the Grenadiers who had distinguished themselves at the taking of Louisburg, supported by a regiment of the line. Wolfe had taken his post on this wing. The sailors had managed to drag up one cannon, and they had seized four other small guns at the battery they had passed; that was all their artillery. But in this respect Montcalm was no better off, for in his haste he had only brought along with him two guns. He had ordered a cloud of Indians to hover on the left of the English, and had lined the thickets and copses with one thousand five hundred of his best marksmen. These concealed skirmishers fired on the advancing pickets of the English with such effect, that they fell back in confusion; but Wolfe hastened forward, encouraged them to dash on, and ordered the first line to reserve their fire till within forty yards of the enemy. The men well obeyed the order, and marched briskly on without firing a shot, whilst the French came hurrying forward, firing as they came. They killed many of the English, but, as soon as these came within the forty yards' distance, they poured a steady and well-directed a volley into the enemy that did dreadful execution. Wolfe, with characteristic enthusiasm, was in the front line, encouraging them by voice and action, and in less than half an hour the French ranks broke, and many began to fly. Meanwhile Wolfe, exposing himself to the very hottest fire, had been wounded in the wrist by nearly the first discharge; and he had scarcely wrapped his handkerchief around it, when another bullet hit him in the groin. Still appearing to[136] pay no attention to these serious wounds, he was in the act of inciting his men to fresh efforts, when a ball pierced his chest, and he fell. He was carried to the rear, and, whilst he seemed to be in the very agony of death, one of those around him cried, "See how they run!" "Who run?" exclaimed Wolfe, raising himself, with sudden energy, on his elbow. "The enemy," replied the officer; "they give way in all directions." "God be praised!" ejaculated Wolfe; "I die happy!" and, falling back, he expired. Nearly at the same moment Brigadier Monckton was severely wounded, and Brigadier Townshend took the command, and completed the victory. Montcalm, also, had fallen. He was struck by a musket-ball whilst endeavouring to rally his men, and was carried into the city, where he died the next day. When told that he could not live"So much the better," replied this brave and able man; "I shall not then live to see the surrender of Quebec." His second in command was also mortally wounded, and being taken on board the English ships, also died the next day. Of the French, one thousand five hundred had fallen, and six hundred and forty of the English. On the 18th September, five days after the battle, the city capitulated, the garrison marching out with the honours of war, and under engagement to be conveyed to the nearest French port. Other fragments of the defeated army retired to Montreal.

      Then all his consciousness seemed to wake up at once into an agony of fear of being left behind to fall into the hands of the rebels. He made a desperate effort to call out, but his tongue seemed dry and useless as a cornhusk in his parched mouth, and his throat too burning hot to perform its office. Nor could he lift a finger nor move a toe.




      "And you hamstrung those horses."