ss messengers had borne
the evil tidings to Montcalm, and far and near his wide-extended camp
resounded with the rolling of alarm-drums and the din of startled
preparation. He, too, had had his struggles and his sorrows. The civil
power had thwarted him; famine, discontent, and disaffection were rife
among his soldiers; and no small portion of the Canadian militia had
dispersed from sheer starvation. In spite of all, he had trusted to hold
out till the winter frosts should drive the invaders from before the
town, when on that disastrous morning the news of their successful
temerity fell like a cannon-shot upon his ear. Still he assumed a tone
of confidence. "They have got to the weak side of us at last," he is
reported to have said, "and we must crush them with our numbers." With
headlong haste his troops were pouring over the bridge of St. Charles,
and gathering in heavy masses under the western ramparts of the town.
Could numbers give assurance of success, their triumph would have been
secure, for five French battalions and the armed colonial peasantry
amounted in all to more than seven thousand five hundred men. Full in
sight before stretched the long, thin lines of the British forces--the
Highlanders, the steady soldiery of England, and the hardy levies of the
provinces--less than five thousand in number, but all inured to battle,
and strong in the full assurance of success.

It was nine o'clock, and the adverse armies stood motionless, each
gazing on the other. The clouds hung low, and at intervals warm light
showers descended besprinkling both alike. The coppice and corn-fields
in front of the British troops were filled with French sharp-shooters,
who kept up a distant spattering fire. Here and there a soldier fell in
the ranks, and the gap was filled in silence.

At a little before ten the British could see that Montcalm was preparing
to advance, and in a few moments all his troops appeared in rapid
motion. They came on in three divisions, shouting after the manner of
their nation, and firing heavily as soon as they came within range. In
the British ranks not a trigger was pulled, not a soldier stirred, and
their ominous composure seemed to damp the spirits of the assailants. It
was not till the French were within forty yards that the fatal word was
given, and the British muskets blazed forth at once in one crashing
explosion. Like a ship at full career arrested with sudden ruin on a
sunken rock, the ranks of Mo