did not relish this foolish
bravado, and I forbade it; but presently I consented, on condition that
he take me to General Wolfe's camp at Montmorenci first; for now I felt
strong enough to be again on active service.

Clark took the Terror of France up the river in midday, running
perilously close to the batteries; and though they pounded at him
petulantly, foolishly angry at his contemptuous defiance, he ran the
gauntlet safely, and coming to the flagship, the Sutherland, saluted
with his six swivels, to the laughter of the whole fleet and his own
profane joy.

"Mr. Moray," said General Wolfe, when I saw him, racked with pain,
studying a chart of the river and town which his chief engineer had just
brought him, "show me here this passage in the hillside."

I did so, tracing the plains of Maitre Abraham, which I assured him
would be good ground for a pitched battle. He nodded; then rose, and
walked up and down for a time, thinking. Suddenly he stopped, and fixed
his eyes upon me.

"Mr. Moray," said he, "it would seem that you, angering La Pompadour,
brought down this war upon us." He paused, smiling in a dry way, as if
the thought amused him, as if indeed he doubted it; but for that I cared
not, it was an honour I could easily live without.

I bowed to his words, and said, "Mine was the last straw, sir."

Again he nodded, and replied, "Well, well, you got us into trouble; you
must show us the way out," and he looked at the passage I had traced
upon the chart. "You will remain with me until we meet our enemy on
these heights." He pointed to the plains of Maitre Abraham. Then he
turned away, and began walking up and down again. "It is the last
chance!" he said to himself in a tone despairing and yet heroic. "Please
God, please God!" he added.

"You will speak nothing of these plans," he said to me at last, half
mechanically. "We must make feints of landing at Cap Rouge--feints
of landing everywhere save at the one possible place; confuse both
Bougainville and Montcalm; tire out their armies with watchings and want
of sleep; and then, on the auspicious night, make the great trial."

I had remained respectfully standing at a little distance from him. Now
he suddenly came to me, and, pressing my hand, said quickly, "You have
trouble, Mr. Moray. I am sorry for you. But maybe it is for better
things to come."

I thanked him stumblingly, and a moment later left him, to serve him
on the morrow, and so on through many