ivisions. M. de Senezergues led
the left wing made up of the regiments of Guienne and Royal Roussillon,
supported by Canadian militia. M. de Saint Ours took the right wing with
the battalion of La Sarre and more Canadian militia. Montcalm was in the
center with the regiment of Languedoc and the battalion of Bearn. On
both flanks were Canadians and numerous Indians.

Robert from his position on a little knoll with Willet and Tayoga
watched all these movements, and he was scarcely conscious of the
passage of time. There was a shifting in the British army also, as it
perfected its alignment, and the bagpipes of the Scotchmen were already
screaming defiance, but his eyes were mainly for the French before him.
He recognized Montcalm as he rode up and down the lines, raising his
sword, and presently he saw another gallant figure on horseback that he
knew. It was St. Luc, and the old thrill shot through him: St. Luc for
whom the ancient M. de Chatillard had taken him, St. Luc with whom he
must have some blood tie.

Though it was now far beyond the time for the rising of the sun, the day
was still dark, heavy with clouds, and now and then a puff of rain was
blown in the faces of the waiting men, though few took notice. The wait
and the preparations had to Robert all the aspects of a duel, and the
incessant shrill screaming of the Scotch bagpipes put a fever in his
blood, setting all the little pulses in his head and body to beating.
Ever after he maintained that the call of the bagpipes was the most
martial music in the world.

The crackle of firing broke out on the flanks. The Canadian and Indian
sharpshooters, from the shelter of houses, bushes and knolls, had opened
fire. Now and then a man in scarlet fell, but the army of Wolfe neither
moved nor replied, though some of the New England rangers, stealing
forward, began to send bullets at their targets.

"I see Tandakora," said Tayoga, "and, in an hour, the score between us
will be settled. Tododaho told me so last night, but it is still
uncertain which shall be the victor."

"Can't you get a shot at him?" asked Robert.

"It is not yet time, Dagaeoga. Tododaho will say when the moment comes
for me to pull trigger on the Ojibway."

Then Robert's gaze shifted back to the figure of St. Luc. The chevalier
rode a white horse, and he was helping Montcalm to form the lines in the
best order for the attack. He too held in his hand a sword, the small
sword that Robert had seen