of defence. It was necessary in the interest of that body, as well as in
the interest of the city, that this prejudice should be exploded.
Hardinge undertook to do it. No time was to be lost. In a fortnight
Quebec might be invested. He set to work with the assistance of only one
tried companion. Their project was kept a profound secret even from the
commander of the corps.

It was the night of the 6th November, 1775. Hardinge left headquarters
unnoticed and unattended, and proceeded at once to the furthest outpost
of the citadel. He was hailed by the sentinel and gave the countersign.
Then, addressing the soldier by name--the man belonged to his
regiment--he ordered him to hand over his musket. No questions were
asked and no explanations were given. Hardinge was an officer, and the
simple militiaman saw no other course than obedience. If he had any
curiosity or suspicion, both were relieved by the further order to keep
out of sight, but within hailing distance, until his services should be
required. The signal was to be a whistle.

Roderick Hardinge remained on guard from ten till twelve. As we have
seen, he was sharply observant of everything that lay before him. But
there was one point of the horizon to which his eye more assiduously
turned. It was the high road leading from Levis over the table-land of
the Beauce back to the forests. It was evidently from this direction
that the object of his watch was to appear. And he was not disappointed.

Just as the first stroke of twelve sounded from the turret of Notre-Dame
Cathedral, a blue light shot into the air from a point on this road, not
more than a hundred yards from the river bank.

Roused by the sight, Roderick straightened himself up, snatched his
carbine from his left side, threw it up on his right shoulder and
presented arms.

The sixth stroke of midnight was just heard, when a second blue light
darted skyward, but this time fully fifty yards nearer. The man who
fired it was evidently running toward the river.

Roderick made a step forward and uttered a low cry.

The last stroke of the twelve had hardly been heard, when a third light
whizzed up from the very brink of the river.

Roderick turned briskly round and gave a shrill whistle. The faithful
soldier, whose watch he had assumed, immediately rushed forward, had his
musket thrust back into his hands, with an injunction from Hardinge to
keep silence. The latter had barely time to recede into the darkn