exchanged a few words. Then Montcalm galloped over the bridge across the
St. Charles and toward the British army. It is stated of him that during
this ride his face was set and that he never spoke once to his aides.

Behind Montcalm came his army, hurrying to the battle-field, and, taking
the quickest course, it passed through Quebec, entering at the Palace
Gate and passing out through those of St. Louis and St. John, hastening,
always hastening, to join the battalion of Guienne, which already stood
in its white uniforms and beneath its banners on the Buttes-a-Neveu.

Montcalm's army included the veterans of many victories. Through long
years they had fought valiantly for France in North America. At
Ticonderoga they had shown how they could triumph over great odds, over
men as brave as themselves, and, as they pressed through the narrow
streets of the quaint old town, they did not doubt that they were going
to another victory. With them, too, were the swart Canadians fighting
for their homes, their flag and, as they believed then, for their
religion, animated, too, by confidence in their courage, and belief in
the skill of their leaders who had so seldom failed.

Behind the French and the Canadians were the Indians who had been drawn
so freely to Montcalm's banner by his success, thinking anew of
slaughter and untold spoil, such as they had known at William Henry and
such as they might have had at Ticonderoga. The gigantic Tandakora,
painted hideously, led them, and in all that motley array there was no
soul more eager than his for the battle.

On that eventful morning, which the vast numbers of later wars cannot
dim, the councils of France were divided. Vaudreuil, fearing an attack
on the Beauport shore, did not give the valiant Montcalm all the help
that he could spare, nor did De Ramesay, commanding the garrison of
Quebec, send the artillery that the Marquis asked.

But Montcalm was resolute. His soul was full of fire. He looked at the
ranks of Wolfe's army drawn up before him on the Plains of Abraham, and
he did not hesitate to attack. He would not wait for Bougainville, nor
would he hold back for the garrison of Quebec. He saw that the gauge of
battle had been flung down to him and he knew that he must march at once
upon the British--and the Americans. Mounted on a black horse, he rode
up and down the lines, waving or pointing his sword, his dark face alive
with energy.

Montcalm now formed his men in three d