am ready enough to join in avoiding useless
slaughter, but I have an account to square with you, for which
there shall be no calling off when we meet. Remember that!"

I laughed and saluted, mightily intrigued at what his meaning might
be, and then rode off to attend on the General.

Meantime the fighting along the line had been severe, and the
enemy's artillery had told on us with such effect that at last our
centre wavered and began to give way. Supported by a wood, our
left stood firm within about twenty paces of the foe, when a flurried
adjutant ran along the line with orders to make a half-turn to the
right and retire to some houses in the rear.

M. Malartic, major of La Sarre, stood aghast; it virtually meant
retreat, and retreat in such a position invited certain destruction.
He hurried over to M. de Barroute, a captain of Bearn, which stood
next to the right, and repeated the order. They agreed at once a
mistake had been made, and an ominous murmur arose from the men as
the news was whispered from one to another. On this M. Dalquier,
their colonel, as fine and experienced an officer as ever drew
sword, rode up, and, inquiring of their difficulty, swept it aside
by crying, "I will take it upon me to disobey the order. Fix
bayonets, mes enfants!" The command was executed in an instant;
then, rising in his stirrups, he swung his sword above his head
and roared in a voice that could be heard all along the line,
"Charge!"

The effect was indescribable; there was one quick, sharp shout of
"Vive le Roi!" and the men went on like so many demons.

"Look at La Sarre!" cried Poulariez, with the Royal Roussillon on
the right, as we marked the sudden confusion and then the charge.
"The English have advanced too far! Ride to the Canadians, Maxwell!
Half-wheel to the left, and we fall on their flank!"

It was the deciding-point of the battle. The English line was thrown
into complete disorder, and thence forward there was nothing but
hand-to-hand fighting of the fiercest description, which lasted
until it ended in the utter rout of the enemy.

At one point I saw M. de Boucherville, who carried the flag of the
Montreal troops, go down in a melee, but the colours were saved by
the determined gallantry of M. de Sarennes, who carried them off
amid a storm of cheers.

"Bravo, Sarennes!" I called to him as he rode past a moment later.
"Your lady-love should have seen that!"

"Go to the devil!" he roared back at me, with