they had scaled with such boldness a few hours before.

It was a fine sight to see the troops pouring in by the Palace
Gate, and out again by the gates of St. Louis and St. John--the
white uniforms and gleaming bayonets of the battalions of old
France, the Canadian militia, and the troops of painted Indians
following, cheered by the citizens, reinforced by the garrison,
their hearts animated by lust of conquest and an assurance of
victory, which assurance was not altogether shared by the citizens
themselves, whose scouts had brought in alarming tidings concerning
the strength of the English position.

And now the soldiers had all marched through; the last of the bands
had disappeared from the streets; the garrison had taken themselves
to their own quarters; the men of the town had flocked out of the
city in the hope of seeing something of the fight; and the streets
were chiefly thronged by anxious women and wondering, wide-eyed
children--all crowding together in groups, their faces turned
towards those heights above where they knew the struggle was to be
fought out.

"Hark to the firing!"

A deep silence fell upon the crowds in the streets--the hush of a
breathless expectancy. The rattle of musketry fell upon their ears,
and then a sound almost like a cannon shot. It was the volley of
the English, delivered with such admirable precision. An
involuntary scream arose from many as that sound was heard. Had the
English got their artillery up to those inaccessible heights?

But no; there was no further sound of cannonading, only a fierce
and continuous fusillade, which told of the battle raging so
fiercely up yonder on the heights.

Some women crowded into the churches to offer prayers at the
shrines of saint or Virgin; but the majority could not tear
themselves away from the streets, nor from the open space near to
the gate of St. Louis, by which gate news would most likely enter.

And it did.

How the time went none could say, but it seemed only a short time
after the firing had commenced before white-faced scouts from the
town, who had gone forth to see the battle, came running back with
gestures of terror and despair.

"The English are shooting us down like sheep. The French give way
on every side. Their terrible fire mows down our ranks like grass
before the scythe! They are charging upon us now! We are scattered
and fleeing every way! Alas, alas! the day is lost. Quebec will
fall!"

"Lost! it cannot be