returning and falling back upon
either flank as the column scrambled up the last five hundred yards
and halted on the fringe of the clearing. Of the enemy John could
see nothing: only a broad belt of sunlight beyond the last few
tree-trunks and their green eaves. The advance had been well timed,
the separate columns arriving and coming to the halt almost at
clockwork intervals; nor did the halt give him much leisure to look
about him. To the right were drawn up the Highlanders, their dark
plaids blending with the forest glooms. In the space between, Beaver
had stepped forward and was chatting with their colonel. By and by
the dandified Gage joined them, and after a few minutes' talk Beaver
came striding back, with his scabbard tucked under his armpit, to be
clear of the undergrowth. At once the order was given to fix
bayonets, and at a signal the columns were put in motion and marched
out upon the edge of the clearing.

There, as he stepped forth, the flash of the noonday sun upon lines
of steel held John's eyes dazzled. He heard the word given again to
halt, and the command "Left, wheel into line!" He heard the calls
that followed--"Eyes front!" "Steady," "Quick march," "Halt, dress
"--and felt, rather than saw, the whole elaborate manoeuvre; the rear
ranks locking up, the covering sergeants jigging about like dancers
in a minuet--pace to the rear, side step to the right--the pivot men
with stiff arms extended, the companies wheeling up and dressing; all
happening precisely as on parade.

What, after all, was the difference? Well, to begin with, the
clearing ahead in no way resembled a parade-ground, being strewn and
criss-crossed with fallen trees and interset with stumps, some
cleanly cut, others with jagged splinters from three to ten feet
high. And beyond, with the fierce sunlight quivering above it, rose
a mass of prostrate trees piled as if for the base of a tremendous
bonfire. Not a Frenchman showed behind it. Was _that_ what they had
to carry?

"The battalion will advance!"

Yes, there lay the barrier; and their business was simply to rush it;
to advance at the charge, holding their fire until within the
breastwork.

The French, too, held their fire. The distance from the edge of the
clearing to the abattis was, at the most, a long musket-shot, and for
two-thirds of it the crescent-shaped line of British ran as in a
paper-chase, John a Cleeve vaulting across tree-trunks, leaping over
st