rest of the
captives; which noble example was followed by the soldiery, who
generously crowded about those unhappy people, sharing the provisions,
rum, and tobacco with them. They were sent in the evening on board of
transports in the river." Again, two days later: "Colonel Fraser's
detachment returned this morning, and presented us with more scenes of
distress and the dismal consequences of war, by a great number of
wretched families, whom they brought in prisoners, with some of their
effects, and near three hundred black cattle, sheep, hogs, and horses."

On the next night the attention of the excellent journalist was
otherwise engaged. Vaudreuil tried again to burn the English fleet.
"Late last night," writes Knox, under date of the twenty-eighth, "the
enemy sent down a most formidable fireraft, which consisted of a parcel
of schooners, shallops, and stages chained together. It could not be
less than a hundred fathoms in length, and was covered with grenades,
old swivels, gun and pistol barrels loaded up to their muzzles, and
various other inventions and combustible matters. This seemed to be
their last attempt against our fleet, which happily miscarried, as
before; for our gallant seamen, with their usual expertness, grappled
them before they got down above a third part of the Basin, towed them
safe to shore, and left them at anchor, continually repeating, _All's
well_. A remarkable expression from some of these intrepid souls to
their comrades on this occasion I must not omit, on account of its
singular uncouthness; namely: 'Damme, Jack, didst thee ever take hell in
tow before?'"

According to a French account, this aquatic infernal machine consisted
of seventy rafts, boats, and schooners. Its failure was due to no
shortcoming on the part of its conductors; who, under a brave Canadian
named Courval, acted with coolness and resolution. Nothing saved the
fleet but the courage of the sailors, swarming out in their boats to
fight the approaching conflagration.

It was now the end of July. More than half the summer was gone, and
Quebec seemed as far as ever beyond the grasp of Wolfe. Its buildings
were in ruins, and the neighboring parishes were burned and ravaged; but
its living rampart, the army of Montcalm, still lay in patient defiance
along the shores of Beauport, while above the city every point where a
wildcat could climb the precipices was watched and guarded, and Dumas
with a thousand men held the impregnab