iny bay where Wolfe had determined
to land. Suddenly, down from the dark heights there came a challenge:
"_Qui vive?_"

"_La France_," answered an officer of Fraser's Highlanders, who had
learned French in Flanders.

"_A quel Regiment?_"

"_De la Reine_," responded the Highlander; and to disarm suspicion he
added, "_Ne faites pas de bruit, ce sont les vivres._" From a
deserter, the English had learned that a convoy of provisions was
expected down the river that night; and the officer's response
deceived the sentry.

[Note 30: Now known as Wolfe's Cove.]

The boats of the Light Infantry swung in to the shore. The twenty-four
volunteers, who had been given the hazardous task of scaling the cliff
and overpowering Vergor's guard at the top of the path, now commenced
the ascent. On the strand below, the van of Wolfe's army breathlessly
waited the signal to dash up the cliff to support their daring scouts.
Presently quick ringing shots told the anxious General that his men
had begun their work, and in a few moments a thin British cheer
claimed possession of the rocky pathway up which Wolfe's battalions
now swarmed in the misty grey of early morning.

While this army climbed up the steep way to the Heights of Abraham,
Admiral Saunders was bombarding Montcalm's intrenchments, and boats
filled with marines and soldiers made a feint of landing on the
Beauport flats, while shots, bombs, shells, and carcasses burst from
Point Levi upon the town. At last, however, the French General grew
suspicious of the naval manoeuvres, and in great agitation he rode
towards the city. It was six in the morning as he galloped up the
slope of the St. Charles, and in utter amazement gazed upon the
scarlet ranks of Britain spread across the plain between himself and
Bougainville, and nearer to him, on the crest, the white-coated
battalion of Guienne which, the day before, he had ordered to occupy
the very heights where Wolfe now stood.

Montcalm summoned his army from the trenches at Beauport. In hot haste
they crossed the St. Charles, passed under the northern rampart of the
city, and in another hour the gates of St. Jean and St. Louis had
emptied out upon the battlefield a flood of defenders. It was a
gallant sight. The white uniforms of the brave regiments of the
line--Royal Roussillon, La Sarre, Guienne, Languedoc, Bearn--mixed
with the dark, excitable militia, the sturdy burghers of the town, a
band of _coureurs de bois_ in their pictu