ave; 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 fal