fire, succeeded in making
his way at the head of 1300 men to the ford on the river St. Charles.

Phipps, however, instead of co-operating with the land force, had made
a premature movement, and leaving his moorings had sailed up the
channel opposite the city, there to engage in a terrific duel with the
guns of Fort St. Louis and the several batteries of Upper Town. Cannon
and mortars belched forth their missiles with the rapidity of
musketry, making an uproar as of a great battle. The English gunners
made poor practice, however, and the projectiles falling within the
city did almost no damage. Twenty-six cannon-balls dropped harmlessly
in the garden of the Ursuline convent, and furnished new ammunition
for the garrison. On the other hand, the decks of the attacking
vessels were swept by fire from the cliffs. One shot carried away the
ensign of the flag-ship, and another tore away her rigging and
shattered her mizzen, and the rest of the fleet was similarly
battered.

[Footnote 16: Of the gallant Le Moyne family, of whom also was
d'Iberville, the soldier, explorer, and governor.]

This unequal cannonade continued for two days before Phipps realised
its futility. On shore, Walley persisted for three days in attempting
to force his way across the St. Charles; but his field-pieces were
half buried in the mud, sickness had attacked his camp, and the rain
and sleet of an early winter completed his discomfiture. Seeing,
moreover, that their admiral had now ceased to fight, and that
Frontenac was thus able to concentrate defence upon the landward side,
the militiamen felt the hopelessness of further assault and returned
to the ships. After this rebuff Phipps weighed anchor and dropped down
stream with his battered armada.

[Illustration: NOTRE DAME DE LA VICTOIRE]

Quebec had been saved, though not without dire peril and sore straits;
for before the withdrawal of the enemy the crowded city had already
felt the pinch of famine, and the violence of the batteries had all
but emptied her magazines. Throughout the bombardment a picture of the
Holy Family had hung inviolate on the spire of the Basilica, defying
the heretical cannonade; and in cloister and chapel the beleaguered
citizens had ceaselessly invoked their favourite saints. To one and
all the victory was of Heaven, and in the midst of her rejoicing
Quebec did not forget to redeem her vows. The little chapel of Notre
Dame de la Victoire, hidden among the quaint winding