ys to Robert. Mass after
mass of British and Colonials continued to charge upon the wooden
wall, always to be broken down by the French fire, leaving heaps of
their dead among those logs and boughs and on that bristling array of
spikes. At last they advanced no more, twilight came over the field,
the terrible fire that had raged since noon died, and the sun set upon
the greatest military triumph ever won by France in the New World.

Twilight gathered over the most sanguinary field America had yet seen.
In the east the dark was already at hand, but in the west the light
from the sunken sun yet lingered, casting a scarlet glow alike over
the fallen and the triumphant faces of the victors. Within the works
where the French had stood fires were lighted, and everything there
was brilliant, but outside, where so much valor had been wasted,
the shadows that seemed to creep out of the illimitable forest grew
thicker and thicker.

The wind moaned incessantly among the leaves, and the persistent smoke
that had been so bitter in the throat and nostrils of Robert still
hung in great clouds that the wind moved but little. From the woods
came long, fierce howls. The wolves, no longer frightened by the crash
of cannon and muskets, were coming, and under cover of bushes and
floating smoke, they crept nearer and nearer.

Robert sat a long time, bewildered, stunned. The incredible had
happened. He had seen it with his own eyes, and yet it was hard to
believe that it was true. The great Anglo-American army had been
beaten by a French force far less in numbers. Rather, it had beaten
itself. That neglect to bring up the cannon had proved fatal, and the
finest force yet gathered on the soil of North America had been cut
to pieces. A prodigious opportunity had been lost by a commander who
stayed a mile and a half in the rear, while his valiant men charged to
certain death.

Young Lennox walked stiffly a few steps. No one paid any attention to
him. In the dark, and amid the joyous excitement of the defenders, he
might have been taken for a Frenchman. But he made no attempt,
then, to escape. No such thought was in his mind for the moment. His
amazement gave way to horror. He wanted to see what was beyond the
wooden wall where he knew the dead and wounded lay, piled deep among
the logs and sharpened boughs. Unbelievable it was, but it was true.
His own eyes had seen and his own ears had heard. He listened to the
triumphant shouts of the Fre