gether, force the stockades on the site of
Prescott Gate, and pour victoriously into Upper Town. In the meantime,
Livingston, with a regiment of Canadians, and Brown, with part of a
Boston regiment, were to make false attacks on Cape Diamond Bastion, St.
John and St. Louis Gates, which they were to fire, if possible, with
combustible prepared for that purpose.

Let us first follow Montgomery. Advancing from his quarters at Holland
House, he crossed the Plains of Abraham, descended to Wolfe's Cove, and
thence marched up the narrow road between the river and the towering
crag of Cape Diamond. The night was dark as ink, a blinding snow-storm
raged, and the sharp wind heaped the way with banks of drift. Silently
the heroic column moved on, in spite of the terrible weather, until it
reached a spot called Pres-de-Ville, the narrowest point at the entrance
of Lower Town. There it was stopped by a barrier which consisted of a
log house containing a battery of three pounders. The post was under the
command of two Canadians, Chabot and Picard, with thirty militiamen of
their own nationality, and a few British seamen acting as artillerists
under Captain Barnsfare and Sergeant McQuarters. Montgomery did not
hesitate. Ordering his carpenters to hew some posts that obstructed the
way to the barrier, he pulled them down with his own hands, then drawing
his sword, he put himself at the head of a handful of brave followers,
leaped over heaps of ice and snow, and charged. Sharp eyes were glaring
through the loop-holes of the block house, the match was lit, the word
trembled on tight-pressed lips. When the Americans were within forty
paces, Barnsfare shouted "Fire!" and a volley of grape swept down the
open space. Only one volley, but certainly the most fateful that was
ever belched from a cannon's mouth. No shot was ever more terribly
decisive.

The air was heavy with the groans of the wounded and dying. Thirteen
bodies lay stretched in a winding sheet of snow. Foremost among them was
that of Montgomery. There was a moment of silence, then the guns and
muskets of the block house poured forth a storm of missiles. But all to
no purpose, as the assaulting column, stunned by this first disaster,
fell back in confusion and retreated precipitately to Wolfe's Cove.

When daylight appeared, and news of the combat reached the authorities
of the Upper Town, a party under James Thompson, the Overseer of Works,
went out to view the field. As the s