Part 42 (1/2)

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 gra.s.sy 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 G.o.d 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 friends.h.i.+p 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 G.o.ds 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 companions.h.i.+p 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 l.u.s.tily 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 b.l.o.o.d.y, 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.”